#thought it was Stranger with a hint of Eye/Spiral but actually?

[thisshadowwrites]

me: oh, i remember like one episode from season 5 that i had a huge problem with when i listened to it for the first time, the one with doctor daniel. but that's waaaays away, ill be fine!! what's this next one? hm, a spider statement about an addict trying to stay clean while everyone around them tells them that they should just give up and give in? pffff, easyyy, it was a breeze listening to that one back then!!

episode 172:

me, an ex-addict that's been clean since shortly after finishing tma the first time: ..................oh

[riddles-fiddles]

The pregnancy scenario is so gorgeous, I love!! And perfect timing, I literally had a dream the night before about having a kid with Leona and Idia (two different dream timelines of the same scenario converging later as a kind of after party). I thought you might get a kick out of my brain’s toy box nonsense :3

The Leona timeline was very sweet, him comforting me after someone attempted to kill me for imperfect human genetics, and then getting me pregnant to spite the killer. Idia was too nervous to kiss me to wake me up from a Maleficent curse sleep. He eventually woke me up and we then had a kid who I think was called Scoot? Started with an S and had a double O in the middle.

At the after party scene, both the kids looked like the Tsums of the father, since my brain struggles to render babies in sleep XD But the fathers were both thrilled and proceeded to show them off to everyone around them!

Honestly this is so cute anon!!! You're making me want to write more domestic scenarios with the boys,,,

Leona knocking you up in spite from the killer is so him lmao but ohhhhh think if the killer was hired by his parents to erase you out of his life. Just makes Leona more possessive of you, so when you finally grow a bump visible enough he'll be walking around with his hands always somewhere on your body, making sure to let everyone know you are his most perfect human mate (and he'll personally throw hands at anyone who even dares look at you with any hint of disgust or mockery). When the baby arrives, Leona is so lively - his lazy demeanor never truly leaves his soul, but at least now he has one motivation to get up from bed and slack off - especially if it's a girl! I can totally see him being such an endearing girldad, the type to make feminine voices when playing house and always getting so invested when throwing fake tea parties, also gets his daughter the biggest unicorn on the fair, no matter if he needs to go through some ridiculous game. Either be it a girl or a boy, Leona's favourite thing to do is go to small walks with his baby on his shoulders, squealing in excitement from all the stimuli around them, teaching them about everyday things like what is a butterfly, why birds chirp, and so on. You could say your child really did bring a light to Leona's life.

Idia... he wants to give the baby an unique name, or something regarding the online games or otaku media he consumes, but all you need to do is bat your eyelashes and hold his hand in a death gentle grip to sort his mind out of this idea. Idia's very nervous and overly cautious around the baby, always, and easily freaks out from the smallest ractions - when the baby sneezes, when they cough, even innocent, bright squeals sends him spiraling into an anxious coma. He's horrified of the idea of accidentally dropping his own child or just hurting them in some way, so he's always with a firm grip around the head and body, sustaining them even with trembling hands. He's very dedicated though, so Idia is always close to them, literally. He'll have the baby secured against his chest in a baby carrier while gaming, sometimes making effect sounds to amuse them; you know they truly are Idia's child from the way they look so enthralled to the screen, curious eyes scanning every move, every change of scenario like they're actually understanding something. He finds it annoying to go out in public with them though! His child is just so freaking cute with their cheeks so rosy and squeezable every stranger wants to talk and cuddle them, making Idia feel proud and at the same time mortified, fighting the urge to just turn heels and run back home as fast as possible. Idia doesn't care what gender his child is, but you can be sure he'll want to dress them in gamer onesies and clothing. 'Player three' and 'level 1 human' kinda shit, you know? But he will neeeeever admit he's doing it because he secretly finds it cute; god forbid Idia Shroud enjoying something so normie. Cringe.

[missjoolee]

Always Come Take Me Down

The barest hint of a snore coming from where Julie's head is resting against his thigh is what alerts Luke that she's asleep and no longer working on lyrics. He'd been so in his own head, humming melodies and jotting them down, that it was more an afterthought sort of processing of the fact that she had been quiet for a bit now. He knows it happened, but couldn't say when. What is he supposed to do? Leave her be? Wake her up? If it were Alex or Reggie, he'd let them sleep if they had just come from home, but definitely would wake them up with a wet willy. That's not an option this time! Not when it's the girl you most definitely have feelings for. Feelings that are complicated by the fact you are dead and couldn't even touch until a few weeks ago. Oh god, he's starting to sweat. Can ghosts even sweat?

The pen in Julie's hand shifts as her grip relaxes and he realizes something he can do. Reaching over, trying his best not to jostle her, he grabs the notebook that is still propped up against the makeshift easel that is her legs. Gently prying it from under hand, he sets it on the arm of the couch on his other side. Julie shuffles for a second, her head moving into a more comfortable position. Suddenly, all of Luke's panic dissipates. How can he feel anything but lucky? He lightly brushes his fingers across her forehead, trailing along one of the many curls that currently frames her face. It reminds him of the phone cord from the kitchen phone back home. The 90s version of home. It was one of the many things not still there that he'd had to get used to when he'd started visiting his parents. How do people do it? Make phone calls without the cord to entangle their fingers in. Memories of calling all the clubs (both music and book) he could think of while winding the spiral cord around an index finger just barely too tight so that it started cutting of circulation. The realization that more loops fit around it now that he's had a growth spurt.

Shaking off the memories, his eyes focus back on the studio. Looking down, he finds that he's wrapped one of Julie's curls around his finger like the phone cord. It's softer than the weird plastic, but not as smooth. He slowly unwinds his finger, marveling that he can even do that. They still don't know what happened that night that allowed them to touch. But he was given a third chance. He'd told Julie that he'd only had one real regret in life. How he'd left things with his mom. And he hadn't lied that night, that he still had no regrets in this life. Afterlife. Whatever. It all feels the same at this point whenever he's with her. But he does know he wants to do better by her than he had at the beginning of their friendship. He wants her to know he'll always choose her. He won't bail on her and cause her to cry again. It's just not an option.

A melody drifts through his head with those thoughts and he can't help but quietly hum along as he fiddles with the ends of her hair. He was nine when the song originally came out. It wasn't exactly his scene, even at nine, but you couldn't just escape a top 40 hit in the 80s. It was everywhere. At the grocery store with his mom, on the radio, at the arcade, the bowling alley, and Reggie's house before his parents started fighting. But the more he hums, the more Luke realizes how apt the lyrics are. Everything he wants to tell Julie, promise her. It's all there in the lyrics of this song that feels only seven years old but is actually... crap. Thirty-three years old. Is this really their life?

The lyrics slip out of him in a soft lullaby as he continues gently brushing her hair away from her temples.

"We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I"

He pauses at the next lines. Asking for a full commitment in their current state is probably too much, even if he does think he could give her better than any other guy. Her friend Nick pops into his head. He's been coming by a lot since the Orpheum. No, that's not the point right now. The point is communicating how he feels about her. He skips those lines.

"I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand"

Here he puts all his intent into the words, pledging them to her. Never again will he be the reason she feels alone and abandoned.

"Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you"

Slender fingers latch onto his and Julie lets out a deep, content, sigh. Her eyes peek open and look up at him and he can't help the smile that shines down on her.

Her own voice is low and quiet with sleep when she asks, "Did you just rickroll me?"

Luke's smile turns to confusion.

"What's a rickroll?"

[talesfromthesnogbox]

Let's Talk Turkey

Summary: Alex calls Henry to talk turkey. Henry's POV of Red, White & Royal Blue, Chapter Four, pages 76-82

Rating: All

Word Count: 2,179

AO3 Link

Henry was no stranger to insomnia. Three o’clock in the morning was a less than comforting time for him to be awake, but a familiar time nonetheless. It was quiet, it was peaceful; he was overtired enough to be entirely without thought, but awake enough to focus on the finer details of the latest episode of Bake Off. Until his phone chimed that is.

Alex Claremont-Diaz [3:02 AM]

THEY KNOW

He frowned at his phone. There was nothing new about receiving a text message from one Alex Claremont-Diaz, but the familiar name on his screen still sent bubbles of excitement through him. 

Alex Claremont-Diaz [3:02 AM]

THEY KNOW I HAVE ROBBED THEM OF FIVE-STAR ACCOMMODATIONS TO SIT IN A CAGE IN MY ROOM, AND THE MINUTE I TURN MY BACK THEY ARE GOING TO FEAST ON MY FLESH.

The confusion only lasts a moment before the realization dawns, and a chuckle erupts from between Henry’s lips. Right, the turkeys. A stupid tradition in his opinion, and Alex is completely correct to be upset about it, but the turn of events where he was now on turkey duty was just plain hilarious.

Please send photos

Henry is only half disappointed when a photo comes through, and it wasn’t of Alex shirtless in his bed. He’d been privy to sending those as of late, and every time without fail it sent Henry into a horny, lovesick tailspin… he’d never responded to one of Alex’s bedtime selfies out of self preservation.

He’d seen turkeys before, and Cornbread didn’t look any different than any other turkey, but he was truly hideous. The beady eyes, wrinkled skin, it unsettled him to no end. 

I think he’s cute

Alex Claremont-Diaz [3:05 AM]

that’s because you can’t hear all the menacing gobbling

Yes, famously the most sinister of all animal sounds, the gobble

Before he could even lower his phone and go back to Bake Off, his phone was ringing.

INCOMING CALL

Alex Claremont-Diaz

Henry panicked. Within the first few months of their friendship, they’d actually managed to act like real adult human beings, and despite quite a lot of ribbing from either side (flirting more like it, from Henry at least), it seemed like their friendship was actually blossoming past that of some of his “stately” acquaintances. But they’d never spoken on the phone before. Sure, they’d sent each other voice notes, and the occasional snapchat video, but hearing Alex’s smooth voice, the hint of a southern accent, in real time? Enough to send Henry into a spiral. His heart raced, finger hovering over the decline call button, but at the last minute, he picked up.

“You know what, you little shit,” Oh this was more than what Henry’s poor homosexual heart could handle at this time of the night, “you can hear it for yourself and then tell me how you would handle this—”

“Alex?” Henry winced, hearing the crack in his voice. “Have you really rung me at three o’clock in the morning to make me listen to a turkey?”

“Yes, obviously.” It was the most Alex Claremont-Diaz thing he’d ever heard in his short life. Hearing Alex’s voice had him suddenly very awake, and giddy. He’d tried to tamp down the schoolboy crush on the First Son, but then he’d gone and done something stupid, like call Henry to talk turkey, and it came rushing back up to the surface with a vengeance. “Jesus Christ, it’s like they can see into your soul. Cornbread knows my sins, Henry. Cornbread knows what I have done, and he is here to make me atone.” 

While we’re on the topic of sinning… I know how you can atone. Was what Henry would have said if he threw his self control out the window. Which he was about five seconds off from doing. The thought of Alex and sinning… it was late enough to acknowledge that he’d definitely had a flash of a thought of what the dark haired man would look like on his knees.

“Let’s hear the cursed gobble, then.” 

“Okay, brace yourself.”

Henry waited… and waited… but nothing happened. The only sounds were the sounds of his own breathing. He checked to make sure the call hadn’t disconnected, but Alex was still there.

“Truly harrowing.” He said with an eye roll.

“It—okay, this is not representative. They’ve been gobbling all fucking night, I swear.”

“Sure they have.” A smile creeps onto Henry’s face, and his cheeks flushed crimson. The tit-for-tat they had going on felt an awful lot like flirting, only even for the Prince of England’s Hearts, it hadn’t come as naturally as this did. 

“No, hang on. I’m gonna… I’m gonna get one to gobble.” Henry bit his lip when he heard rustling from the other side of the phone. Alex was moving from what sounded like his crisp bed sheets, and the thought of the two of them side-by-side in bed chatting had a warm feeling spread through his chest. “Um, how do you get a turkey to gobble?”

He bit back a laugh. “Try gobbling. And see if he gobbles back.” 

“Are you serious?”

“We hunt loads of wild turkeys in the spring.” Henry supplies, unhelpfully. He also, unhelpfully, leaves out the part where that was a complete lie. “The trick is to get into the mind of the turkey.” 

“How the hell do I do that?”

He sits up straighter in bed, prompting David to turn to him questioningly. “So,” he says with a smile, patting the dog on the head, “do as I say. You have to get quite close to the turkey, like, physically.” Henry once again holds back a giggle as he hears Alex move. “Make eye contact with the turkey. Do you have it?”

“Yeah.”

Henry’s breath hitched at how deep and breathy Alex’s voice sounded. It was intimate, oddly so, for what they were actually talking about.

He shook his head and put on his director’s hat, pulling from memories of visiting his dad on set and all the ridiculous things he’d heard filmmakers say.

“Right, now hold it.” He dipped his voice down low, trying his best to hide his smile. “Connect with the turkey. Earn the turkey’s trust… befriend the turkey… buy a summer home in Majorca with the turkey—”

“Oh I fucking hate you!”

A deep laugh erupted from Henry, and for a second, he forgot it was three A.M. and the rest of the palace, hell the rest of the country was sleeping. It was just him and his crush bonding over Alex’s turkey trauma. In the background, he could hear a faint gobble, which sent him into another fit of laughter, this one earning a dissatisfied groan from a sleeping David.

“Goddamnit, did you hear that?”

“Sorry, what? I’ve been stricken deaf.”

“You’re such a dick.”

Talking turkey with Alex weirdly enough felt incredibly natural. The fear Henry felt before picking up the call had completely dissipated as soon as he’d heard Alex’s smooth voice, and their banter paddled back and forth with ease. 

The conversation had turned to utter nonsense so quickly, and as much as Bea and Pez were totally in the know about his gay disaster antics, he was absolutely never telling them about this.

“Raptors in my bedroom, Henry. And you want me to go to sleep like they’re not gonna bust out of their enclosures and take over the island the minute I close my eyes? Okay. Maybe your white ass.”

“I’m really going to have you offed. You’ll never see it coming.  Our assassins are trained in discretion. They will come in the night, and it will look like a humiliating accident.”

“Autoerotic asphyxiation?” Henry spluttered. Oh no, he thought, Alex absolutely can not make this sexual, his poor heart couldn’t take that.

He had to slow down the conversation the only way he knew how. “Toilet heart attack. You’ve been warned.” Nailed it. 

“I thought you’d kill me in a more personal way. Silk pillow over my face, slow and gentle suffocation. Just you and me. Sensual.” Henry’s head thumped against the headboard as he let out a rush of air. Could it possible that Alex was… flirting? The entire night’s antics were fairly tame so far, but you and me, and sensual ran through his mind on repeat faster than anything else ever had. This could be a slippery slope, one he wouldn’t be able to dig himself out of if it went wrong, one that could possibly out him to not only an entire nation, but the entire world if it went horribly sideways. Not that he thought Alex would out him, but… well Henry had dealt with these hot popular jock types before, and it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. 

“Ha. Well.” 

It only took a few more minutes of flirting for David to get visibly annoyed with Henry keeping him awake, and for him to wander back over and lick at his hand. And with David came Bea’s devil of a cat, Mr. Wobbles. God only knew how they were friends and didn’t fight like, well, like cats and dogs. 

Alex seemed amused by Henry’s own, albeit friendlier, bedroom petting zoo, and Henry tried to ignore the hint of fondness in Alex’s voice. 

“So you like Bake Off, huh?” Cutecutecutecutecute, Henry’s mind was still reeling from Alex calling his insomnia activity cute.

“It’s just so soothing.”

Their easy back and forth was cut off abruptly after an hour by Alex’s yawn. Henry knew it was ass-o’clock in the morning, but he didn’t want to hang up, didn’t want this easy exchange to go away. But he knew Alex wasn’t someone he could have, and it was best to cut it off early than to be disappointed by what could have been later.

“Alex. The turkeys are not going to Jurassic Park you. You’re not the bloke from Seinfeld. You’re Jeff Goldblum. Go to sleep.”

It was quiet on the other end of the line, and Henry wonders if Alex had maybe drifted off on his own accord.

“You go to sleep.” It may have been wishful thinking, but he could almost hear the bitten back smile in his voice.

It was childish, it definitely didn’t mean anything, but it felt like a turning point in their relationship. Henry couldn’t help his own smile as he lay back, settling into his pillow. “I will.”

“Okay. But like, why if they gobble again?”

Henry shook his head. “Go sleep in June’s room, you numpty.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Henry loved romance novels, he’d enjoyed the occasional romantic comedy film, although he never quite understood some of the actions of the main characters. Until now that is. He used to roll his eyes whenever anyone dared utter the words “you hang up first”, but now here he was. He didn’t want to do it. Henry didn’t want to be the one to hang up this call, and end whatever impasse they’d found themselves standing at.

But it was four in the morning, and he had an appearance to make in the morning.

“Okay.” It was a bittersweet goodbye. “So. Good night.”

“Cool. Good night.”

The click of the phone was startling after a solid hour of easy conversation, and the silence in his room was suddenly absolutely deafening. He’d gone from feeling like Alex was right beside him, to the stark realization that it was a fantasy he’d never get to experience. 

He’d quickly been making his way up the ranks towards being one of Henry’s best friends, but the knowledge that that’s all they’d be left Henry sighing into his pillow. 

David had sidled up to one side of him, resting his head on the pillow beside Henry, and Mr. Wobbles to his other side. He felt like they knew, without understanding any of these silly human emotions, they knew that Henry needed the extra love tonight so he wouldn’t be lonely. 

A ping from his phone cut through the silence suddenly, startling him into action.

Alex Claremont-Diaz [4:15 A.M.]

i sent pics of turkeys so i deserve pics of your animals too

Henry chuckled and decided it was high time he try to match one of Alex’s infamous bed selfies. He mussed his hair up a bit as to not look too pristine, and threw one of his arms above his head, hoping he looked nonchalant, and not like he was trying to show off his bicep. (Although he quite liked the way the deep blue of his sleep shirt contrasted with his pale skin, and the short sleeve was tight enough to accentuate the muscle he did have.)

It took a few tries to get the angle right, to get both animals looking their cutest, and to get his face to look as relaxed as possible, but he couldn’t hide the flush that painted his cheeks. 

Before he could think about it too much, he chose the best photo and hit “send”

This is what I must endure

Good night, honestly.

[afuturewithoutus]

something i've been thinking about, essentially non-stop, every time i think of tma is how mag5: thrown away is, to me, an almost perfect representation of & unintentional foreshadowing for the eyepocalypse. i know, i know, jonny's said himself that it was during when he was still playing around with themes for the entities, and it was initially meant to be... i think the flesh? but hear me out on this.

the eye rules the eyepocalypse, and all other fears are therefore feeding it while also feeding themselves; the eye's servants are also the catalyst for the eyepocalypse. with this (albeit common) knowledge laid out, let me explain what i mean by the claim i made:

the episode follows a bunch of garbage truck drivers, and their visits to 93 lancaster road where they find... incredibly odd garbage. it also features several themes of several entities.

the large collections of specific types of waste could be categorized with the extinction, and it being, in general, garbage could tie into the corruption (since... filth).

the bag of doll's heads easily fits under the stranger.

the bag of singed strips of the our father (also called the lord's prayer) can be a hint to the desolation, this isn't even just due to the papers being singed, to me it also feels as if the prayer's “potential” is being destroyed as it now cannot be finished, if this makes sense; the dark, mostly in relation to the people's church of the divine host and the religious themes the cult brought into the dark; and of course the flesh which has some of the strongest religious themes, particularly in relation to christianity (albeit this most often being when cannibalism is at play).

the bag of teeth may also tie in with the flesh, it manifesting in bones and all; the stranger, think “bone apple teeth” (mag34: anatomy class); the corruption, unsanitary/filth, decay (if any of the teeth are decaying/decayed, that is); the end, also manifests in bones; and potentially the extinction due to human remains, which i know the extinction is specifically “destruction of human skin/tissue,” i do think over 1000 teeth could end up falling under it.

and then there's the eye; alan parfitt became so intensely focused on 93 lancaster road, to the point where it started to be a detriment to his health and relationships. the intense desire and morbid curiousity to learn who is leaving these bags at 93 lancaster road, and potentially why they're doing it, not only lead them to keep checking what's in these bags but it also ultimately lead to his death.

and, of course, alan's heart, plated in metal, ties back to the flesh. one could also argue that keiran woodward (the statement giver) sending alan's heart to a medical incinerator could be another small manifestation of the extinction (and this time it's actually destruction of human tissue).

i think i previously said (to friends, not really here) that i've seen a connection to every entity in this episode though i'm not sure whether i was hyperbolizing or if i simply don't remember the potential ties to the hunt, slaughter, spiral, lonely, vast, buried, and web.

i guess what i'm saying, and what my thoughts are, is that mag5: thrown away is a mixed bag (badum-tssss) of entities and the eye, mostly through alan parfitt though also keiran and the others, is kind of like a catalyst to the spiral into their constantly checking what's in those bags, showing manifestions of all the entities, feeding them with their fears. it just a very unintentional amalgamation of entity manifestions that blend in a very eyepocalypse-y way? or, at least, i like interpreting it that way.

[jayflying]

And why is Martyn... Like That? (No Stranger Curses AU)

[Part 1] (Part 2: "Spiraling in unreality.") [Part 3]

The first thing Martyn realizes is that he's not dead. This is a horrifying premise, considering the last thing he remembers doing was blowing himself up on purpose.

The second thing he realizes is that he remembers. In the first game, he had remembered nothing. In the second game, he'd remembered the first, but the memories were sparse and hazy. This time, though? He remembers everything.

He remembers how he met with BigB. He remembers how they found the games. He remembers how it felt to wake up without remembering anything at all. He remembers forsaking the morals he had once fought so hard to rebuild, and making an enemy of the friend he had come here to find. He remembers building, and learning, and loving, and lying, and fighting, and dying, and waking back up to do it all over again.

Is he about to do it all over again? Where is he, anyway?

A quick scan of his surroundings informs him, a hill. A closer look clarifies, a hill in the middle of a forest. He finds this significantly less helpful than he was anticipating. A search of his inventory leaves his hands buzzing with magic but doesn't turn up anything useful either.

The communicator strapped to his belt chimes all too cheerfully. Welcome to Double Life, its notification declares, and his heart sinks.

It takes Martyn two minutes to read the rules presented to him in their entirety, twenty seconds to process the implications, and three hours to realize that something about this new game is wrong.

Maybe he's just being paranoid. Maybe it's just his mind playing tricks on him. Maybe his fear has him chasing shadows.

But the afternoon sun has no warmth. Animals behave like they barely notice him. The wind through the trees sounds more like static– in fact, nothing sounds quite right. His surroundings seem to waver whenever he looks away. And when he finally runs into other people, only some of them seem to recognize something is off.

(None of them seem to hear it. The blank lack of recognition in their eyes makes his heartbeat stutter with a sudden panic. He doesn't mention his concerns again.) Either his senses are failing him, he's losing his mind, or not all of this is actually real. Maybe even some combination of all three. He decides on the spot that, as much as the thought of isolation still hurts, still makes a tight knot out of something deep in his chest, he'd rather be having this imminent mental breakdown as far away from other people as possible.

(Something in his mind screams at him desperately, no, no, no, why are you leaving, you'll never see them again– and yet he grits his teeth and keeps moving forward. For all he knows, they could still all be ghosts. He can't bring himself to check.)

Pearl's inability to take a hint is her own damn fault. He remembers now, so why doesn't she? Why doesn't she know him well enough to recognize how his excuses ring hollow? Going to the Nether, in the first week— screw that! What rational reason would he have to actually want that? And yet, even without remembering him, she looks him in the lie and follows him regardless. Well now he has to commit to his own stupidity.

(They talk as they go. She describes the soulbond as a heartbeat in time with her own, a comforting background noise in her head. Martyn doesn't feel it. Which is fine. He doesn't need anyone else in his head.)

…Cleo. His bond is to Cleo. The heartbeat thing really should've been a hint. He presents his efforts to her and is resoundingly rejected. Her words cut straight to the heart, and his face burns. There is so much venom in her words, in her posture… but there's nothing in her eyes. No emotion at all. (Maybe he's just being paranoid.)

The more he looks for it, the more he finds it. While some of them seem to be real, others have that hollow gaze, and with it, other things that aren't quite right. None of those empty stares seem to fear death. None of them seem to remember. Oh, they speak and smile and act well enough, but that's all it is. Acting. He refuses to fall for a trick he's already mastered. He can just keep his distance. He won't fall for this.

Cleo backs down, even if only in secret. She doesn't apologize as much as she traces the outline of an apology and leaves him to read between the lines. He knows for a fact that's the best he would ever get from her, even if any of this was actually real.

He shouldn't care about her approval. It shouldn't bring him as much relief, as much hope, as much happiness as it does. It makes him angry to feel his own heart soar at such a little thing. His pride knows he's better than this! He can't be chasing shadows. He can't be falling for an echo, a specter, a lie.

It takes three months for his patience, his sanity, his willingness to play along with this delusion, to snap. He's not quite sure what does it. Maybe it's the fact Cleo finally apologizes to his face for the way she rejected him. Maybe it's because he knows she would never do that. His chest feels tight with the turmoil of it all. His whole body shudders with every beat of his heart, and for a moment, he wonders if the thing pretending to be Cleo can feel the way he shakes.

Martyn pushes her, and there is no remorse. He watches her fall as he tries something he hasn't attempted since the end of the Southlands. He prays for salvation. To whatever might be listening. To whoever might be there.

(In his defense, he would've tried it earlier if he'd known it was going to work this time.)

[marvojpr]

A GAME WORTH PLAYING |

CHAPTER 5 - kaisagi, saesagi centric

Summary: Isagi Yoichi has a friend. Boy does he love him, a little too much, almost concerningly so. Unfortunately for him, there are some people out there who love him just as much. One fight with his boy and he went spiral, so it is up for a certain someone, to make him see his true self and maybe keep Isagi as his.

Oh and Isagi doesn't get the boy. He's devastated.

Inspired by Strangers from Hell the show and webtoon.

Pairings: Michael Kaiser x Yoichi Isagi, Sae Itoshi x Yoichi Isagi, Original Character (Navitsu) x Yoichi Isagi

Tags: Slow Burn, Identity Issues, Non-Graphic Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to even worse Enemies actually, Possessive, Obsessive, Itoshi Sae, Possessive, Obsessive, Michael Kaiser, Bottom Isagi Yoichi, Michael Kaiser is Bad at Feelings, Eventual Smut, Everyone Loves Isagi Yoichi, not following manga after phase 2 so after pxg and bm match i’ll make my own shitcuz i can’t wait for each update also it’s ass wdym nagi is locked off? he’s happily ranked top 10 easily, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Re Al Madrid team based on Real Madrid irl

Chapter 5:

Isagi was always a huge Re Al fan since he was a kid. 

He spent countless evenings in front of the television, glued to the screen as he watched their exhilarating matches unfold. Every game was an orchestration of raw talent and expert synergy, with each player contributing their unique essence to the team's dynamics. 

The way they moved in sync made his heart race. He adored the little quirks each member displayed, reminders of their individuality, even within the collective spirit of the team. Isagi would often daydream about being on that pitch, feeling that electric energy and wearing the iconic Re Al jersey.

Their triumphs had inspired him, fueling his desire to become one of the elite. He studied their strategies, memorized their moves, and idolized the way they transcended the sport, turning it into an art form.

“ISAGI YOICHI, FROM THE GERMAN TEAM BASTARD MÜNCHEN, GETS AN OFFER OF 200 MILLION YEN TO JOIN THE PRESTIGIOUS TEAM—RE AL!”

His heart raced, pounding in his chest as disbelief swept over him. Was this real? The eyes of his fellow teammates widened in shock, their expressions mirroring his own. There was a moment of stunned silence, thick with disbelief before the cacophony of murmurs erupted around him.

Why in God’s name did they want him? He had trained hard, yes, but was he truly worthy of standing among the giants of Re Al? The thought both exhilarated and terrified him. 

He felt multiple bodies on top of him now, some even screaming his ears raw.

“Isagi!” He heard Kurona yell, his face filled with excitement. “Are you gonna take the offer?!”

“Of course he is!” Hiori tackled him from the side, grinning from ear to ear. 

The question left Isagi quiet, his mind now racing with thoughts of his mentor, Ego.

Was he going to let him go?

Or will he keep him under his wing?

The speakers started buzzing lightly again, a sound that cut through the loud conversations like a knife. A hush fell over the room, every gaze snapping toward the overhead system, anticipation thrumming in the air. The atmosphere shifted, and a collective breath was held in suspense.

“Isagi Yoichi,” Anri’s voice resonated through the cramped dormitories, authoritative yet laced with a hint of exasperation. “Head to Ego’s office, please.” She ended with a small groan, a sound that encapsulated both her fatigue and the weight of the moment.

The mention of his name hung in the air, its echo magnifying the swirl of emotions churning within him. He caught the curious glances from his teammates, some filled with envious admiration, while others expressed concern as they began to piece together the significance of the announcement.

With urgency fueling his steps, Isagi quickly started heading towards the door, his heart drumming in his chest as he navigated the maze of familiar hallways. He felt the scrutiny of countless eyes on him.

As he walked, his mind raced with questions. Would he be met with praise for the potential they saw in him, or would they emphasize the weight of responsibility that came hand-in-hand with such an opportunity? 

His steps quickened at the thought of Ego, the team’s enigmatic coach known for his rigorous standards and brutal honesty. Ego was a man whose vision for the future of football bordered on the prophetic, and Isagi had always free-fallen into his teachings, eager to absorb every lesson. But now, standing at the precipice of his dreams, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was entirely unprepared for the conversation ahead.

He knocked gently, the sound echoing in the stillness that enveloped him. A deep, commanding voice beckoned him to enter, and he steeled himself for the unknown.

Isagi felt no need to announce his arrival, since Ego was already staring deep into him.

“Will you accept it?” He asked the young striker, firmly and darkly.

“Isn’t that up to you?” 

Ego obviously didn’t like his answer from how he started glaring daggers at him. “The decision is yours. I won’t be responsible for your screw ups.”

He saw a small movement from beside Ego, it was Anri. “We, of course, need to discuss—”

“No.” Ego interrupted, making Anri’s expression turn even more sour, “he should decide.”

Decide where he should improve?

“Why are you pretending to be uncaring when we both know you do?” Anri kept pushing.

But Bastard München has the greatest striker of all time.

“Stop pampering him, Anri. I’m sure he can come up with a yes or no answer on his own.”

While Re Al was the greatest team of all times.

“It’s not pampering!” She argued, “I just want to make sure this is the best decision.”

Where can he get better… who can make his abilities shine brighter…

“Just shut up.”

Who?

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Yes.” He finally spoke up, his voice breaking through the awkward tension that had settled in the room, causing Anri and Ego to finally turn their heads back to him. Their expressions were a blend of curiosity and something more inscrutable—anticipation, perhaps? 

“Yes… what?” Anri questioned, a flicker of disbelief in her eyes, not sure if she was hearing him correctly.

Isagi took a moment, feeling the weight of their gazes upon him. The determination that had surged within him now burned like fire, intense and undeniable. “Yes, I will accept Re Al’s proposal.” The words tumbled out, each syllable laced with a mixture of resolve and trepidation. While he was sure of his decision, deep-rooted fears still coiled around the edges of his mind. 

What would Ego think? What would this mean for his growth, his relationship with the team, and the future he had envisioned?

He shifted his gaze to Ego, hoping to read his mentor’s reaction. But Ego simply stared back, his expression inscrutable as he processed the moment, a shifting tension hanging in the air. A slight flicker of something, disapproval, or perhaps calculated indifference, crossed his face before he turned back to the screens lining the wall, each one illuminating highlights of past games, player statistics, and tactical formations.

“I see.” Ego’s voice was dismissive, as if the life-changing decision Isagi had just shared was nothing more than a minor detail in an ongoing narrative. He returned his focus to the screens, the swirling anticipation in the room swallowed whole by the cold glow of data and footage. It was as if Isagi had stepped into the room for a moment only to be mobbed by the weight of mundane reality.

“I—what?” Isagi stumbled over his words, confusion spilling out. This was definitely not the reaction he was expecting. Surely, he had envisioned a discussion, a debate, maybe even a strategic breakdown of what this meant for his career. But Ego’s abrupt shift back to his screens felt like a door slamming shut on an open conversation about potential and promise.

Anri looked at him, a softness in her gaze that contrasted sharply with Ego’s aloofness. Her expression held a mixture of empathy and encouragement, and she nodded ever so slightly, as if saying, ‘Yes, go ahead.’ It was as if she understood the conflict within him, his indecisiveness, his fear, yet she also recognized the importance of forging his own path.

Caught between the realization of this monumental decision and the lack of acknowledgment from his mentor, Isagi felt a wave of uncertainty wash over him. What was he supposed to do now? He glanced back at Ego, half-expecting a deeper conversation to dig into.

But in the blink of an eye, the decision felt heavier. He took a deep breath, fighting the urge to press further, realizing that this was not the moment he had envisioned. Ego’s dismissal turned his conscience into a whirlwind of thoughts, mixing the thrill of opportunity with the sting of rejection—all in the heartbeat of a single moment.

Defeated but resolute, Isagi turned back toward the door. As the heavy weight of expectation shifted from his shoulders to the door handle, he found his footing. This was his choice; he had to own it, even if those in his corner seemed to view it differently. Taking one last glance over his shoulder at the back of Ego’s chair before he stepped outside, he whispered a quiet affirmation to himself. 

His breathing came to a halt.

“No–” He immediately turned back, hurrying back into the room. “I won’t accept! Not yet.”

“Eh–?” Anri looked completely taken aback by the sudden resolution, while Ego didn’t so much as blink, as if expecting the outburst.

“Can they,” he swallowed, “can they wait for me?”

“Of course.” Anri answered, still bewildered by the whole ordeal. “After all, Kaiser also hasn’t accepted them. But keep in mind they might change the offer, for better or for worse.”

Isagi shook his head violently, “no, no, money isn’t the issue.” He looked at his jersey, fumbling with the hem of it, “I have one request though…” he shyly asked.

— — — — — 

“Do you think he’ll accept?” one of the teammates asked, a hint of anxiety coloring his voice as they huddled in the common area, their eyes darting toward Ego’s closed door.

“Only an idiot would be dumb enough to turn down La Re Al,” another chimed in, crossing his arms defiantly as confidence radiated from him. 

“He’ll get to see my sweet Sae! How lucky!” one of them exclaimed, their voice brimming with hope, almost dreamlike in its enthusiasm.

“I doubt he’ll go just for the sake of Sae Itoshi,” a skeptical voice broke in.

“Yeah right!” another teammate scoffed, laughter rippling through the room, the mood lightening despite the earlier tension.

“...” The conversation fell into a stunned silence, the room hanging in suspended disbelief. It was unclear what they should be most shocked about—Isagi seemingly materializing out of thin air or the revelation that one of their own had taken a leap for the oldest Itoshi.

Isagi smiled gently at the group, his demeanor serene. However, there was a hint of sadness lingering in the depths of his eyes, remnants of the earlier interaction with Ego sitting heavily on his mind. “Hey guys,” he greeted, trying to shake off the weight.

“Yocchan!” Bachira’s enthusiastic voice cut through the air as he scampered over, wrapping both arms around him in an exuberant hug. “Is it true? Will you really accept their offer?” His innocent excitement was palpable, and Isagi couldn’t help but feel a warm flutter from Bachira’s unfiltered hope.

He sat down, allowing the other to cuddle with him freely. “Well, I thought of going,” Isagi began, his words deepening as he seemingly ignored the buzzing presence of his surrounding teammates who were erupting with various theories and predictions. “But then I thought of how Re Al has turned every member it has into some legend. I won’t go there for an easy getaway; I will go there to beat everyone there.” 

A beat of silence settled in the room after he spoke, the weight of the implications hanging heavily in the space between them.

“So…” Reo finally broke the silence, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Did you accept?”

Isagi’s expression shifted as he locked eyes with Reo for a moment. Then, smiling softly at the excitement emanating from Bachira, he patted his head rhythmically, as if to ease the anticipation in the air. “Nah,” he said simply, a surprising response that sent confusion rippling through the group.

“What?” Yukimiya asked, his voice laced with disbelief, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. It was a question that echoed in the minds of the others as well.

“I… I want to get better. The best,” Isagi pronounced, his voice gaining strength as he leaned into his conviction. “Going there when I can barely beat Kaiser wouldn’t make sense.” He paused, lost in thought, as the weight of his own ambitions pulled at him. “So, I’m going to get some help... and then join Re Al.”

At that, the room collectively turned toward him, confusion etched on their faces, eyes wide and questioning as if he had just revealed a hidden strategy in an intense match.

— — — — — 

Sae was a naturally busy man. 

His life was a perpetual whirlwind of training sessions, match analysis, and the intricate strategies that governed them. The world of football was demanding, but he thrived in it, driven by an insatiable desire for perfection and success.

Whether he was training on the pitch or analyzing a match at his apartment, every moment was dedicated to honing his skills. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue across his meticulously organized living space, he was immersed in his latest game footage, seeking the tiniest details that could enhance his performance. 

“Good evening. Yes, this is Girolan Dabadie. O-oh! Yes! I will get him on the phone right now! Yes, thank you.” The vibration of urgency in his agent’s voice broke through Sae's concentration. Girolan’s movements were almost frantic as he jotted down notes, his anxious energy palpable in the quiet room. The sudden click of the call disconnecting made Girolan flinch lightly, and Sae couldn’t help but momentarily pause, eyes still glued to the screen, curiosity piqued.

“Sae.” Girolan called out, his voice laced with a mix of anticipation and worry. “There’s an important meeting with Ego tomorrow; he said it was urgent.” Silence hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. Sae felt a flicker of tension in his chest. 

Girolan waited for a response, but the stillness grew deeper, and he stepped back with an exasperated sigh, the sort that hinted at an underlying frustration. If only Sae would show some sign of acknowledgment, of engagement. But the truth was, Sae was lost in his own thoughts, cocooned in the intensity of his focus.

In the room, Sae lay on his bed, scrolling through his phone, but his mind was elsewhere. Intrigue plagued his thoughts; what could Ego possibly want to discuss that warranted such urgency? Was it about Rin? Or, God forbid, Shidou? Anxiety gnawed at him—Ego was not the kind of person to call for pleasantries. He gritted his teeth at the very thought of Shidou and his relentless, abrasive tactics.

As he pondered the possibilities, Sae’s mind drifted towards a certain striker that particularly vaught his eye. 

With renewed determination, he pushed himself off the bed, his brows furrowing in concentration. He hastily opened the door. Girolan stood outside, his expression a mixture of relief and concern. As he caught sight of Sae, he instinctively straightened, ready to relay any details he could gather. 

The next day, everyone awaited with anticipation.

Ego’s familiar, ominous presence at the center of his room, illuminated by the glow of endless screens. Isagi sat stiffly on the edge of a chair to the right, clearly nervous but resolute. 

The door opened with a sharp creak, and Sae Itoshi strolled in with his usual composed demeanor. His gaze immediately scanned the room, pausing briefly on Isagi before settling on Ego.

“Ego,” Sae began, cutting straight to the point. “What’s so urgent?” His voice was calm, but there was a touch of irritation underlying it.

Ego gestured lazily toward Isagi without even looking away from Sae. “He is.”

Sae turned his full attention to the younger striker, his expression unreadable. After the U20 match, it was safe to say Isagi had caught his interest. But, he didn’t want him to sense the slight favoritism towards the sprout head.

“And why, exactly, does this concern me?” Sae asked bluntly.

Before Ego could respond, Isagi stood abruptly, his voice trembling slightly but firm. “I want to train with you.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sae blinked, stunned for a brief second before a smirk crept onto his face, tinged with amusement. “You want to train with me?” Sae repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. “Do you even know what you’re asking for?”

“I do.” Isagi nodded firmly. “You’re the best midfielder in the world. And, since you’re on La Re Al, I was hoping you’d prepare me. If I want to grow stronger—if I want to beat everyone in my way—I need to learn from you. Please.”

Sae raised a brow, crossing his arms as he leaned casually against the doorframe. “What makes you think I have the time, or the interest, for something like this?” 

Ego interjected, his voice sharp. “Because you don’t have a choice. This isn’t just about Isagi or you, Itoshi. It’s about the bigger picture. You know what Blue Lock stands for—what it’s capable of creating. If you can refine him, even by an inch, we’ll prove once and for all that our methods surpass the traditional framework of football.”

Sae let out a quiet scoff, though a hint of intrigue flickered in his expression. His gaze turned back to Isagi, narrowing slightly as if evaluating him at that moment.

“So this is about your little experiment.” Sae pushed off the doorframe, approaching Isagi, popping Isagi’s little personal bubble once again this week. “Fine. Prove it. Prove to me you’re worth my time.”

He might be a hypocrite, but he wanted to see all that Isagi could offer. He was already proven wrong when he lost to him, and yet… he still wanted Isagi to work for his attention.

But Isagi didn’t waver. “I will. Give me the chance, and I’ll show you.”

Ego groaned at the two, “if you two are done wooing each other, we can start making a schedule.”

“O-oh!” Isagi finally let out his inner fanboy manners, after all, Sae couldn’t back away now. “I was hoping to start immediately! If you can, of course.” He leaned in towards Sae, close enough to feel his breath brushing against his lips.

Sae didn’t flinch, allowing the shorter man to feel comfortable around him.

“No, not today.” He didn’t miss the way Isagi’s eyes fell in disappointment. He turned his head towards Ego, his gaze no longer filled with the same warmth it once had a mere second ago, “my agent will contact you about my schedule. See ya.” Not waiting for anyone to respond, he left the building abruptly.

— — — — — 

“What do you think, Ness?”

“About?”

“Re Al’s sudden proposal. Do you think they’re trying to rile me up?”

“Don’t overthink the situation. It’s simply because Isagi managed to outplay Sae’s younger brother in the game.”

Kaiser hummed, eyeing Ness with a strange look which caused the other to tilt his head in confusion.

“What?” He asked the blonde.

“Nothing,” Kaiser shrugged off,  turning his attention towards the food in front of him, “you’ve just never called Yoichi by his given name.” 

Ness’s expression didn’t change, but Kaiser noticed the small glint of sadness that flashed in his eyes. “That so?” He rhetorically asked.

The two sat in silence, which in other words meant Kaiser stared at Ness while the other at his own food, refusing to make eye contact with him.

The silence stretched, making even the other BM members sitting near them eye them worriedly, Ness finally cleared his throat. “So, will you accept Re Al’s proposal now that Isagi is out of your way?”

“Who said he was out of my way?” Kaiser asked.

“Isn’t he?” He asked, irritation slowly building up again. “Why are you torturing yourself? I can guarantee you that you’re the best already.”

“You’re acting weird, Ness. Did something happen?” He heard Erik next to him say.

Ness narrowed his eyes, “what do you mean?”

No one answered him, they all just looked at him in pity.

The tension between Kaiser and Ness was palpable, thickening the air like a storm about to break. The clinking of utensils and murmurs from the other BM players seemed distant, swallowed up by the unspoken words between the two.

Ness’s voice cut through the strained quiet, brittle and defensive. “What do you mean, ‘acting weird’? I’m the same as I’ve always been.”

Kaiser tilted his head, his icy blue eyes narrowing as he studied Ness. His expression was unreadable, calm on the surface but laced with something sharper beneath. "You're anxious, Ness. That's not like you."

Ness’s knuckles tightened around the edge of his plate. "I'm not anxious," he snapped, though his tone betrayed him. "I’m just tired of you doubting yourself. You are the best, Kaiser. Why do you always need to prove it to people who aren’t worth your time?"

Kaiser leaned back in his chair, unfazed. He rested his chin on his palm, staring at Ness with a mix of anger and curiosity. “Isagi isn’t worth my time? Is that what you think?”

Ness hesitated for a moment before nodding. "He's not. He's talented, sure. Persistent, annoyingly so. But compared to you? He’s still chasing the stars you’ve already reached. You don’t need to waste time on someone who will never catch up."

The words spilled out in a rush, laced with bitterness, but Kaiser remained silent, his gaze unflinching. The moment stretched as the tension between them grew heavier, suffocating the space around them.

One of their teammates, Theo, shifted uncomfortably, his chair creaking. "Ness, you're really laying it on thick," he muttered under his breath, earning a glare from Ness.

"You think I’m being dramatic?” Ness shot back, his voice rising slightly. He looked around at the other players. “You all act like you’re fine with Isagi waltzing in here, disrupting everything. Taking up his attention—”

“That’s enough, Ness.” Kaiser’s tone was sharp now, cutting through the room like a blade.

Ness’s mouth snapped shut as his gaze fell to the table. The other players exchanged uneasy glances, clearly wanting to be anywhere else but there. For a moment, the room was silent again. Then Kaiser stood up, towering over Ness. The weight of his presence made the tension almost unbearable.

“You think this is about attention?” Kaiser said, his voice low but crackling with intensity. “It’s not. Isagi is a competition. A challenge. He’s someone who makes me better, whether you like it or not.”

Ness looked up at him, his expression a mix of frustration and hurt. "I just want you to win. To be the best, always."

“And you think avoiding challenges is how I do that?” Kaiser shook his head, a humorless smile on his lips. “You’re wrong, Ness. Winning without risk is meaningless. And until Isagi stops proving he's worth my time...” He turned to walk away. "...I’ll keep knocking him down.”

Kaiser’s departure left a heavy silence in the room. Ness sat frozen, staring down at his untouched food. The pitying glances from the other players stung more than he wanted to admit.

Erik leaned over slightly, his voice soft. “Maybe you should tell him what’s really bothering you.” Ness’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his heart heavy as he watched the door swing shut behind Kaiser.

Kaiser was never one to think with his heart, nor did he care to.

He wanted him to just realize, that maybe, this isn’t just a ‘challenge’, that the reason for his sudden attachment to the sprout-head was more than an obstacle. Ness knew, the rest of the team knew, everyone with eyes knew. 

Kaiser needed Isagi around for motivation. 

Kaiser needed Isagi.

Not to mention the fight during the PxG match.

It reminded everyone on the team just how Kaiser still is. And for the first time, they can safely say it was related to Isagi. 

— — — — —

“We should celebrate!” Yukimiya yelled, his composed demeanor cracking open like sunlight breaking through the clouds, revealing the rare sight of unrestrained excitement. His smile was genuine, contagious, and proud.

Beside him, Hiori nodded aggressively, almost bouncing in place. “Ego mentioned we’ll be getting an entire week off for completing Phase Two!” His eyes glimmered with enthusiasm, a spark that contrasted starkly with the usual soft-spoken energy he carried.

“Only?!” Raichi’s booming voice overpowered the rising noise in the room. He groaned dramatically as he threw himself onto the nearest couch, sprawling across it like a lazy king. “We deserve at least two weeks for carrying Blue Lock on our backs!”

“Well, it’s not just about us,” Kiyora reasoned, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall. His tone was measured, pragmatic as always. “Ego doesn’t want us losing momentum by staying idle for too long. A week’s long enough to reset, not slack off.”

“Well, obviously that’s because Ego knows I’ll be carrying Phase Three too,” Raichi shot back with his trademark bravado, arms folded across his chest.

“Keep dreaming,” Kiyora quipped, eyes not leaving his friend, Kurona, but his smirk visible to all.

“What do you think the next phase will be?” Kurona’s soft voice cut through the banter.

They all hummed in thought, Ego has always been unpredictable, guessing what he might do was next to impossible, they’d rather think of where to celebrate. 

Isagi’s face lit up with excitement, eyes gleaming as he shot forward in his seat. “There’s this café near a mall I always go to! It’s seriously the best—tasty, cozy, and to die for!” His words tumbled out with the enthusiasm of someone reliving a cherished memory. As he spoke, he kept adding more and more details—how the atmosphere was perfect for unwinding, how the desserts were unmatched, how he always went there whenever he wanted to relax or hang out with Navitsu.

The second that name left his lips, a noticeable shift rippled through the room. It wasn’t loud or obvious, but it was there. A stiffening of shoulders. The way some players averted their eyes. The way others exchanged brief, uncertain glances, an unspoken tension tightening the air. No one said anything. No one acknowledged it. As if not addressing it would erase the weight the name carried.

But Isagi didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, and just chose to pretend he didn’t. “Let’s go there and celebrate,” he concluded, still wearing the same easy-going smile.

Raichi, ever the instigator, leaned back with a smug grin. “Will the Germans be there?”

Yukimiya shot him a sharp look. “Of course, we’re a team.” His words carried an edge, a pointed reminder.

Raichi only scoffed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Hiori, who had been quietly observing the exchange, subtly shifted his gaze to Isagi. He half-expected some kind of reaction, maybe a deadpan remark, maybe a dry joke about Kaiser jumping off a cliff. That was normal for Isagi.

But this time? Nothing.

His expression didn’t falter, his posture didn’t shift. He looked… normal. Too normal.

Hiori frowned. It wasn’t just the quietness or the distance—it was the way he seemed to slip away mid-conversation, the way his usual sharpness had dulled into something harder to read. The way he didn’t even react when Kaiser’s name was thrown around.

The conversation carried on, bouncing back and forth between details—time, place, who to invite.

And in the end, they came to a decision.

They were going to invite everyone. Anyone and everyone. No exceptions. The more, the merrier.

They would meet as soon as they could—the day after their break.

And at the place Isagi allegedly went on ‘dates’ with their number one public enemy. 

They sent the invites and awaited the day.

Oh how Isagi wished it never came.

The first to arrive were Isagi and Navitsu, seated in their usual corner, lost in conversation as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. They spoke in low, animated voices, their laughter blending seamlessly with the soft hum of the café. The warm glow of vintage lamps cast golden hues on their faces, making the moment feel almost timeless, like they were reliving a cherished memory rather than merely catching up.

The second to arrive was Barou, alone.

Isagi spotted him first, his sharp gaze picking him out from the small crowd filtering through the café’s entrance. He waved, beaming, completely unfazed by the way Barou scoffed, his expression twisting in barely concealed irritation. The self-proclaimed king stomped toward them with all the grace of a storm rolling in.

“Couldn’t pick a shittier café?” Barou grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Isagi huffed, leaning back against the worn-out booth. “Don’t be rude. It’s vintage.” He lifted his arm lazily to flag down a waiter, as if to emphasize his point.

But Barou was no longer listening. His gaze had locked onto the other boy sitting beside Isagi—Navitsu, whose arm was draped casually over Isagi’s shoulders. It wasn’t just a friendly touch, either; it was effortless, relaxed, possessive in a way that made Barou’s stomach twist uncomfortably. His jaw tensed, and he scoffed again, louder this time.

“Lost my appetite,” he muttered, dropping onto the seat across from them. His glare flickered toward the door, silently wishing someone would show up and spare him from whatever this was.

As if on cue, the door chimed, and in walked a small group from Manshine City—Chigiri, Reo, and Nagi.

The café’s warm lighting illuminated Chigiri’s striking red hair as he scanned the room, immediately locking eyes with Isagi. He gestured for the others to follow, weaving past tables with practiced ease. Barou groaned internally. If he thought the situation was bad before, it had just gotten exponentially worse.

The greetings exchanged were casual, the usual playful jabs and sarcastic remarks filling the air. However, Reo, unlike the others, had a different target in mind. He slid into the seat directly across from Navitsu, his sharp violet eyes flickering to where the blonde’s arm still rested around Isagi before quickly redirecting his gaze.

“Sup, Suko.”

Navitsu groaned instantly, rubbing his temple as if just hearing the name gave him a headache. “Don’t call me that,” he grumbled. “You of all people should know how awful it is to be called by your last name.” With a heavy sigh, he added, “And hello to you too, I guess.”

Reo smirked, unfazed by the attitude. “Nagi said you wanted to see us.”

At that, Navitsu tensed slightly, his fingers flexing against Isagi’s shoulder before he quickly withdrew his hand. His face flushed, and he made a point to avoid looking at Isagi altogether. “Well, yeah,” he admitted. “He said you and Chigiri had a small… thing that belongs to me.”

The words made Chigiri and Reo exchange glances, clearly not liking where this conversation was heading. Chigiri was the first to break the silence, leaning forward slightly.

“So… you’re Isagi’s secret admirer?”

Navitsu stiffened, eyes immediately darkening with annoyance. “Not at all,” he scoffed. “It’s just a gift.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’d like to have it back, please.”

But the other two weren’t looking at him anymore. Their gazes had shifted toward Isagi, who, oblivious to the sudden tension at their table, was busy trying—and failing—to mediate between Nagi and Barou. The two were bickering over something trivial, their sharp words barely registering in Isagi’s ears as he struggled to keep the peace.

Navitsu followed their stares instinctively—and then he saw it.

Hanging around Isagi’s neck was the very necklace he thought he had lost.

The sight made him pause.

For a second, the world around him faded, the noise of the café turning into a distant hum. The silver chain caught the light just enough to glimmer softly against the navy of Isagi’s shirt, as if to mock him. A ghost of a smile tugged at Navitsu’s lips, his earlier irritation momentarily forgotten.

So Isagi still had it.

And he was wearing it.

Navitsu’s heart clenched.

For the first time that night, he didn’t know if that made him feel triumphant—

Or like a complete idiot.

A few hours later, the café had transformed into a chaotic, bustling hub of voices and laughter. More and more players trickled in, filling the already-cramped space to capacity. Their table was, without a doubt, the loudest in the entire café, their conversations cutting through the warm hum of background music and the clatter of dishes. Even if they tried to be quiet, they would fail inevitably—it was simply in their nature.

Shidou, as expected, was reveling in the mayhem.

“I can’t believe little Yoi got an offer before me!” he exclaimed, throwing an arm around Isagi’s shoulders with a lazy grin. His sharp teeth glinted under the café lights, mischief practically dripping from his voice.

Isagi sighed, already exhausted by the blond’s antics, but Shidou, being Shidou, took that as encouragement rather than dismissal. His grin widened, and his fingers drummed lightly against Isagi’s shoulder.

“So,” he drawled, tilting his head with a teasing smirk, “how exactly are you gonna get help, huh?”

“Excuse me?” Isagi blinked, momentarily thrown off.

Shidou purred, leaning in just slightly. “You said you wanted help,” he reminded him. “Then join Re Al.”

It took Isagi a second to piece together what he meant before realization hit. “Oh! I asked Ego to arrange some practice lessons with Sae,” he explained casually, waving a hand. The words had barely left his mouth before a voice; low, dark, and laced with something razor-sharp—cut through the noise like a blade.

“Excuse me?”

The air at the table shifted.

The sound was sharp enough to slice through the chaos, making conversations die mid-sentence. Heads turned, gazes snapping toward the source. Standing at the entrance, backlit by the café’s warm glow, was Michael Kaiser.

The air seemed to tighten.

“Kaiser?” Kurona was the first to speak, blinking in surprise. He knew Yukimiya had invited him, but he never actually thought he’d show up.

Yet, Kaiser wasn’t looking at him.

He wasn’t looking at any of them.

His piercing blue eyes were locked onto one person, and one person only.

Isagi.

And god, was he livid.

His expression was carefully neutral, but anyone who knew him, truly knew him, could see the tension coiled in his jaw, the way his fingers curled just slightly, as if resisting the urge to clench into fists. His shoulders were rigid beneath his jacket, and the intensity of his stare was suffocating, as if he was trying to burn holes straight through Isagi.

For a moment, no one dared to speak.

Isagi felt the weight of Kaiser’s gaze settle over him, and a flicker of confusion flashed across his features. “Uh… what?”

Kaiser scoffed, stepping closer. Slow. Deliberate.

“You,” he said, voice quieter this time, but no less dangerous, “asked Ego to set up training sessions with Sae?” He said the name like it was something vile on his tongue.

Isagi’s brows furrowed, oblivious to the reason there was tension spiking in the room. “Yeah?”

Something flickered behind Kaiser’s eyes, something dark, something dangerous. His lips curled into a smirk, but it was sharp, bitter, laced with something venomous.

“How cute,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “You’re running off to another genius now?”

That was when it clicked. Isagi stiffened. Kaiser wasn’t just angry. He was… he couldn’t find the right word…

Shidou, ever the chaos-seeker, leaned forward, eyes glittering with amusement. “Ooooh?” he hummed, grinning. “What’s this? Kaiser, are you jealous?”

Kaiser’s gaze snapped to him, sharp as a dagger.

“Shut up.”

Shidou just cackled.

Isagi, however, still looked confused. “Kaiser, it’s just training. Why are you making such a big deal—”

“You really are an idiot,” Kaiser cut him off, tone sharp enough to draw blood.

“Watch your mouth–” Isagi tried to press but was interrupted rudely.

He stepped even closer now, towering over Isagi, forcing him to tilt his head to maintain eye contact. His voice dropped lower, just for him to hear.

“You’re mine to crush,” Kaiser murmured, his smirk faltering, but his eyes giving away the dark anger simmering beneath the surface. “Not to Sae. Not to anyone else. Got it?”

And suddenly, Isagi wasn’t so sure if this café was warm because of the lights—

Or because of the fire burning behind Kaiser’s eyes.

Anger started babbling up inside of him, he could tell Navitsu was ready to defend him, but the thought made him see red. Something about what Kaiser was saying made him frustrated; rightfully so. 

A voice interrupted them, “not this again, please.” Hiori pleaded. The others nodded, too tired to stop them.

Isagi looked back and saw their now indifference, he finally tsked’ and began munching on his dessert. 

The night pressed on, and despite their best efforts to move past the earlier exchange, there was an undeniable weight lingering in the air—something that clung stubbornly to the atmosphere like the last remnants of a storm.

Kaiser, for all his outward bravado, was still visibly simmering, his sharp blue gaze cutting through the lighthearted banter like a cold knife. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the wooden table, slow, deliberate, almost as if he were counting down the seconds before he made another move.

But Isagi?

He wasn’t paying attention.

No, his attention had long since drifted elsewhere—to the presence at his side, the warmth that had so easily settled against him.

Navitsu.

It should’ve been surprising how quickly things fell back into place, how naturally they slipped into easy closeness again. But Isagi didn’t question it. Especially not when Navitsu, without hesitation, draped his arm around him once more, his grip just firm enough to be grounding.

Isagi let himself sink into the touch, the simple, unspoken comfort of it. It felt right. Easy. And in the moment, he thought, God, I’m lucky.

And yet—he could feel it.

Two sets of eyes burning into him, lingering, watching.

Shidou.

And Kaiser.

One held a glint of mischief, something playful, teasing, as if waiting for the perfect opportunity to stir the pot once more. 

The other?

Oh, the other was not so friendly.

Kaiser’s gaze was heavier, darker, a silent accusation wrapped in barely restrained possessiveness. He wasn’t the type to throw a fit—not publicly, at least. No, he preferred to play the long game, letting his anger simmer, waiting for the right moment to strike.

And Isagi could feel it. The weight of unspoken words hanging between them, the storm brewing behind Kaiser’s cool exterior.

But before the tension could thicken any further, Reo, ever the opportunist, leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he lazily chewed a bite of his food. “You know,” he started, his voice slow, calculated, like he was savoring the words before saying them, “come to think about it…”

His gaze flickered between Isagi and Navitsu, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I thought you two got into a fight,” he mused, raising a single finger to point between them. “Why are you all lovey-dovey now?”

The words sent a ripple through the group.

Isagi barely had a chance to react before he felt the subtle shift in Navitsu beside him. The moment Reo’s words settled, Navitsu tensed, so slight that most wouldn’t have caught it—but Isagi did.

Without missing a beat, he reached over, patting Navitsu’s shoulder lightly, reassuringly, before offering Reo a small, knowing smile. “It was just a misunderstanding,” he said simply, voice even, unbothered. “We know better than to let trivial matters—” A sudden, sharp crack echoed through the air. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was noticeable enough that several heads turned, eyes scanning for the source. “—get in the way.”

Reo, either completely oblivious or very aware of what he was doing, pressed on. “In the way of what?” he prodded, curiosity dripping from his tone.

“Reo.” Chigiri’s warning came swiftly, his sharp red eyes cutting through the space between them.

“What?” Reo huffed, rolling his eyes. “We can’t talk about Re Al, we can’t talk about Navitsu. Why bother coming to celebrate?”

“You just came for drama,” Chigiri deadpanned, unimpressed.

Kurona, who had been quietly observing, hummed in agreement. “Yeah, maybe worry about your relationship instead.” Kurona barely had time to process the comment before a piece of bread came flying across the table, landing squarely against his forehead with a soft thud.

The table erupted into laughter.

Kurona, unfazed, blinked before turning to Reo with an exaggerated scowl. “Did you seriously just throw bread at me?”

Reo shrugged, smirking. “You had it coming.”

“Wow. Rude and immature.”

“You didn’t let Isagi answer my question,” Reo retorted, reaching out to playfully grab Kurona’s cheek, tugging at it in mock-scolding.

Navitsu, who had remained mostly quiet throughout the exchange, suddenly let out a small chuckle. It was soft, barely noticeable amidst the noise, but Isagi caught it. He turned slightly, glancing at Navitsu, who had a half-smile tugging at his lips, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of his glass.

Isagi nudged him lightly. “See? Even you’re enjoying yourself.”

Navitsu scoffed, shaking his head. “I guess it’s not the worst way to spend a night.”

“Admit it,” Isagi grinned, “you missed this.”

A pause.

Navitsu’s eyes flickered, expression unreadable for a second before he sighed, tilting his head slightly.

“…Yeah.” His voice was quieter, more sincere. “Maybe I did.”

But before the conversation could turn any more sentimental, Shidou—who had been way too quiet for way too long—leaned forward, propping his chin on his palm with an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, alright,” he drawled, dragging out the words. “All this cute little bonding is adorable and all, but…” His eyes twinkled with mischief as he tilted his head.

He turned to Kaiser, who had been silently brooding this entire time, his expression unreadable, save for the occasional flicker of irritation dancing behind his sharp gaze.

Shidou smirked.

“…You haven’t said much, Blondie.”

The table groaned.

A small, dangerous smile curled at the corner of Kaiser’s lips.

“Oh?” he murmured, voice low, almost amused.

Shidou shrugged. “I mean, your golden boy here—” he gestured lazily toward Isagi, “—is out here getting real cozy, making all sorts of new ‘training’ plans.” He placed deliberate emphasis on the word training, eyes glinting with amusement.

Kaiser’s smile didn’t falter, but the sharp glint in his eyes darkened.

“I don’t waste my breath on insignificant things,” he said smoothly, though there was an unmistakable bite to his words.

Isagi sighed, rubbing his temples. “Okay, enough.”

Kaiser merely chuckled, but there was no humor in it.

“Oh, Yoichi,” he murmured, resting his chin on his palm as he tilted his head. “You really do love testing my patience.”

Shidou let out a bark of laughter. “See? This is what I came for.”

Kaiser exhaled sharply, rubbing at his eyes in pure exasperation. The night had already drained him, but now—now, this was just getting ridiculous. The tension clung to the air like a suffocating mist, thick and inescapable, seeping into the very fabric of the conversation.

But just as he was about to fire back, a light pressure settled on his thigh. His body tensed. He didn’t even have to look down to know who it was. Ness. The touch was gentle but firm, a silent plea, a subtle tether meant to ground him before he completely lost himself in his temper.

‘Not here. Not now.’

Ness didn’t say a word, only shook his head slightly, his eyes practically begging Kaiser to let it go, to not make this worse than it already was. For a fleeting second, Kaiser considered it.

And then, just as quickly, he shoved Ness’s hand off, his patience splintering into nothing. “Just who the hell is this random Natsu anyway?” Kaiser scoffed, the bitterness in his tone evident.

Karasu, who had been casually watching, snickered, pointing lazily. “Nah, man, you’re thinking of the anime character.”

Beside him, Hiori elbowed him sharply. “Not the time, Karasu.”

Isagi narrowed his eyes, confusion flickering across his face. Kaiser rolled his own in response, letting out a low, irritated hum.

“Is he really what you’d settle for?” His voice was quiet, but the venom laced in his words was undeniable. His gaze never wavered, locked onto Isagi’s with an almost dangerous intensity. “What a waste.”

It was a blatant insult, a challenge disguised as an offhand remark, but Isagi refused to take the bait. At least, he tried. He could feel irritation bubbling under his skin, raw and unyielding. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay composed.

But before he could even attempt a response, a new voice cut through the rising tension.

“Oh, please.” The smirk on Navitsu’s face was sharp, unrelenting. “We’re just friends, Kaiser. No need to get all hot and bothered over it.” The casual delivery, the sheer arrogance of it—Kaiser’s fingers twitched against the table. Navitsu leaned in slightly, eyes glinting with something almost predatory. “Not like it would make a difference, though…” And then, he said it. “After all, Yoichi wouldn’t choose you if you were the last person alive.”

Isagi’s stomach twisted.

This wasn’t defending him.

This wasn’t about him.

No—Navitsu was provoking Kaiser. Taunting him. And worst of all? It was working.

Kaiser’s grip on his glass tightened, his knuckles stark white against the dim lighting of the café. Still, he said nothing. So, Navitsu took that as an invitation to continue.

“You act like you own Yoichi.” His voice was quieter now, more deliberate, each word laced with something dark and knowing. “Do you even know why he came to Blue Lock in the first place?”

A flicker of something crossed Kaiser’s face—just for a second. But it was enough.

Hiori, who had been silently observing the exchange, suddenly stiffened. He sees it too. He could see the barely concealed panic in Isagi’s expression, the way his hands clenched into tight fists against his lap. He didn’t want this conversation to happen. He didn’t want this to come out.

“Navitsu—”

But it was too late.

Navitsu’s smirk deepened, and the words left his lips like a death sentence.

“Because of me.”

Kaiser’s expression didn’t change—not outwardly. But something about him became impossibly still, a predator coiled tightly before striking.

Isagi swallowed hard, the weight of the revelation pressing down on him like a vice.

Navitsu leaned back, exuding a quiet confidence, his eyes never once leaving Kaiser’s. “Yoichi was only ever encouraged to push harder each day, while thinking of me.” His voice was unwavering, steady, ruthless. “You think you hold so much importance in his life?” A scoff. “He’ll beat better players. Join better teams. And forget you even existed.”

The words struck like a hammer, precise and brutal.

And then—

The final blow.

“At the first sight of a better player, Sae Itoshi, Yoichi chose him to train him, trusting a mere midfielder over your so-called God-given prowess.”

That was it.

The moment the words left Navitsu’s mouth, the atmosphere shattered.

A chair scraped harshly against the floor as Kaiser pushed back, his body language a clear warning.

Several players stood up instinctively, their movements sharp, tense, and ready to intervene.

Because they knew. They knew what was about to happen. 

Kaiser exhaled sharply, his breath slow, measured, his gaze fixed on Navitsu like a wolf sizing up its prey. “Careful,” he murmured, voice dangerously low, almost mocking. “You’re starting to sound desperate.”

Navitsu’s smirk twitched.

“Oh? And what are you going to do about it?”

A pause.

Isagi felt his pulse hammering in his ears, his body frozen in place.

Kaiser’s eyes found themselves sneaking a glance at the panicked striker, he looked heartbroken, as if what Navitsu had just done betrayed all he had built up. The sight made his heart tighten.

Kaiser’s lips curled up, but it wasn’t a smile. Not a real one, at least.

A flicker of amusement danced in his icy blue eyes, but beneath it lay something darker—something more venomous. The table felt suffocatingly small, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on everyone like an invisible force. Even those who had no personal stake in the rivalry were drawn into the tension, watching like spectators to an inevitable clash.

Navitsu, smirking like he already won, leaned back in his seat, his arm still draped lazily around Isagi’s shoulders. He relished the way Kaiser’s jaw tensed, the way his fingers twitched as if itching to wrap around something—someone.

“Kaiser,” Ness called out, voice careful, but it was clear he was already prepared to intervene if needed.

Kaiser ignored him.

“Is that right?” Kaiser mused, cocking his head slightly, eyes locked onto Navitsu like a predator eyeing its prey. His voice was pleasant, almost too pleasant, coated in a thin layer of mockery. “You think you’re the reason Isagi pushes himself so hard? Cute.”

Navitsu raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Not ‘think,’ blondie. I know.”

Kaiser’s fingers curled into a fist beneath the table, his other hand gripping the edge of his seat. But his smile remained, even as his patience thinned. The air crackled with the kind of hostility that wasn’t loud or explosive—it was far more dangerous. It simmered, waiting for just the right moment to boil over.

“Yoichi,” Kaiser finally said, shifting his gaze to Isagi, who had been silent for far too long. “Is that true?”

Isagi stiffened.

All eyes were on him now, his teammates, his rivals, even the cafe staff who had started pretending to clean a single table for far too long just to eavesdrop.

Isagi hated this. He hated being put on the spot, being forced to validate someone’s ego in a battle he never wanted to be a part of. But most of all, he hated the way both Navitsu and Kaiser were acting like he was something to own.

He opened his mouth, unsure of what he would say—

CLATTER.

“Oops.”

A fork clattered to the floor, and everyone turned to see Shidou stretching, an exaggerated grin on his face. He bent down leisurely to pick it up, but his movements were slow, deliberate, his presence a reminder that he was very much enjoying the show.

“Damn,” he drawled, twirling the fork in his fingers as he propped his chin up with his free hand. “This is fun. Keep going.”

“You’re not helping,” Chigiri sighed, arms crossed.

“I’m not trying to,” Shidou countered, flashing a sharp grin. “C’mon, don’t stop now. I wanna see who breaks first.”

“Enough,” Reo cut in, shaking his head. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“It was ridiculous the moment Kaiser walked in,” Kurona muttered under his breath.

Kaiser, still eerily composed, exhaled sharply. “Yoichi,” he repeated, voice softer this time. But there was something else in it now, just a little desperate, a little vulnerable. “Say something.”

Isagi clenched his fists.

What was he supposed to say? That Navitsu was right? That Kaiser was right? That neither of them were?

His silence only made things worse.

“I don’t like the way you’re treating him,” Hiori suddenly spoke up, voice cutting through the tension like a knife. His eyes were sharp as they flickered between Navitsu and Kaiser. “Isagi’s not some prize to be won.”

“Thank you,” Isagi muttered under his breath, relieved that someone finally said it.

Navitsu scoffed. “No one said he was—”

“You’re acting like it,” Karasu pointed out, stretching his arms behind his head. “Both of you.”

“You’re deflecting,” Kaiser accused, but his eyes were still fixed on Isagi, reading every twitch of his expression, every flicker of hesitation. And then, just as Kaiser was about to push further, someone laughed. It was low, quiet at first, then it grew louder.

“Damn.” Shidou’s lips curled as he leaned forward, eyes gleaming with something akin to wicked delight.  “You two are pathetic.”

Kaiser’s gaze snapped to him, but Shidou wasn’t done. He jabbed his fork into a piece of his croissant, chewing thoughtfully before continuing.

“Both of you are so busy fighting over who means more to Isagi, but you don’t even realize—”

The table stilled.

“—there’s already a winner.”

The words sent a ripple through the group, some confused, some intrigued. Kaiser’s fingers twitched. “What?”

Navitsu’s smirk faltered just a little. “What are you talking about?”

Shidou grinned, dragging it out. He looked at Isagi, eyes full of mischief, before finally answering.

“You two are so caught up in your own egos,” he mused, “you don’t even realize Isagi’s already chosen someone else.”

Dead silence.

The tension, already suffocating, turned unbearable.

Everyone turned to look at Isagi again, who had gone impossibly still.

Navitsu frowned, trying to brush it off. “Is that so?”

Kaiser didn’t move. He just stared, as if trying to read the truth directly from Isagi’s soul.

And Isagi?

He said nothing.

Judging by the way Shidou threw his head back and laughed like he had just won the lottery, he caught it too.

The real winner?

Neither of them.

But someone else entirely.

This is chapter 5

1, 2, 3, 4, <- 5 -> 6

[offurywithin]

Did Malia actually think stiles was going to willingly open that door of his? No because Stiles had been it super clear to me, to the pack when he graduated it was over. The bonds that formed was for high school. The love I fought for, the love he once made me feel was a puppy love, high school. And yeah Stiles had ripped my heart into two, after I was the second choice, it that always been Lydia but hey according to Stiles’s dad the pair had split up a hell of long time ago, was it wrong to gloat about that falling relationship? Maybe but Malia never hid her distaste for the pain that was caused. 

Malia knew at this mission the pack, the brains to saving Allison we needed Stiles even if he was hellbend on pretending we never existed. She held a torch for him, hints the jeep why it was one of her prize obsessions, and why she found herself working for his dad; yes her extra set of abilities helped with solving a crime but it was Stiles. He once loved her and made her believe she was gonna be okay, have some kind of a normal life. And she believed him. And now against all the issues; the mistrust, the reasons why the male left Beacon Hills, it didn’t matter. Allison a girl I barely knew, felt like a stranger now needed rescuing. She was confused disoriented, she was hearing voices controlling her every move, and Stiles might be the key, All that to say; the female had to sniffle a laugh to herself when she heard his retort regarding Derek, he was a special cup of tea. “ Oh I know, most days I want to ring his neck apart.” Uttering in a response, the brunette then waited until his spiraling of thoughts of why? How was Allison handling it all, Why Derek speech had come to a pause. 

“ I don’t know, I think the Nogitsune is controlling her, Jackson only mentioned them finding Derek before she does, I think Scott intends on stopping her, he believes he can break through to her. I bolted when Jackson mentioned Scott wasn’t going to call you. I figured I may be able to get you on board.” A smirk hitting the corners of her lips almost prideful now. Malia hoped the male would appreciate the fact she bolted at the mention of him not being involved meaning there was no pack without him, Hands on the wheel the brunette had swerved onto the main road, a few minutes in passing as she noted the exit signs, a food stand, one of the icons held the burger sign, possibly the curly fries and burgers Stiles was speaking off. The low growling in her stomach spoke for her. 

“ You know, we could never resist some good curly fries, besides I think it’ll give us time to catch up.” Pausing as her eyes glanced over to him purposely. “ Before we have to jump right into the world of risks.” Enough experience Malia wanted to hold onto a good memory; one last meal before the danger; before we face whatever was controlling Allison.

Continued

@nowwatchmequip

A place you once called home. For me it was a person. The one boy I had believed saw me, and loved me for who I was. I was far from perfect or normal. Considering I had killed my family when I was a wolf. I had flaws, I had the pressure of wanting to show remorse, I wanted to make amends for myself. Once I found out I was no other than Peter Hale’s daughter I felt the ground beneath me shatter. I felt like the walls were closing in. I was ashamed because I heard the stories he was seen as a monster. He was a killer by nature. And the last thing I ever wanted to do was be like him. I cared about people. Especially Stiles; he was the first boy I ever loved; he made me feel special and safe. For awhile it was a part of my life I wanted to hold onto. Until it was the part I wanted to erase. 

It wasn’t his fault or mine. We bonded on honesty; we had always turned to each other. Until I was no longer the girl he wanted at his side. It happened fast and all at once. It was a pain I had buried so deep I pretended it never existed. I had kept my distance, of course I helped out his dad at the station which meant I had a peace of him with me. I wanted to help, I knew I had the strength to make a difference when it counted. So I tried, but the impulse i had to travel miles at a time to get Stiles was called insanity. It had been years since we spoke one word to each other. Since we had even remotely wanted to talk. Did I miss him? Yeah not that I’d ever admit it. But he was someone I deeply loved; Someone I wanted to try to make amends with; or in our case face the music of that awkward conversation. My visit wasn’t about me. It was about him. He was the missing piece; Scott was on a death mission to save his true love from limbo; it made you think. 

So here I was; at the outside of his deep. Hands curled into fist; as I knocked on the door. I could only imagine the shock that Stiles felt when he heard my voice. I knew him; and I knew his clumsy self; when it surprising when I heard the wood knocking to the floor from behind this door. No absolutely not. 

I had to hold the laugh that dared to fall; instead I had kept knocking. Did I care if I woke up his stupid neighbors? No. I was a girl on a mission. This impossible mission of saving Allison from herself felt incomplete without him. So I was going against my own rules to forget him; to forget us. Sucking in a exhaled breath as I heard the locks of his door; which led to his reveal. The door edging open. I had to let my eyes rake over his frame, he was handsome, the short brunette locks, the FBi look good on him. If I wanted to tease him I could’ve but I had more pressing matters on my mind. 

“ Took you long enough, as for your neighbors do you think I care if I woke them up? No. Why didn’t you come to Beacon Hills when Scott called? I thought you’d never turn your back on him. “ Defiant in her voice as she pushed pass the male entering his apartment.

[aseaofyoongi]

we belong together | chp. 2

min yoongi x reader (f)

genre: min twins au; angst; smut; arranged dating themes; fake dating; enemies to lovers; slow burn

rating: mature audiences only (18+)

summary: before college you and your bestfriend yoongi promised your parents if you were to come back home single you would begin dating to marry as a way to get them to back off your love lives. upon coming back however, although you’re both single, yoongi is in love with someone else and unwilling to let them go. unfortunately, you are left to carry out the hapless promise with yoongi’s twin brother and your sworn enemy min yoojin.

warnings: lots of bickering (like an excessive amount); angst; foul language; brief mentions of soobin (txt) again; jimin feature; annoying/irritating parents; flashback scenes; emotional constipation; edited but when i was half asleep so yea lol; no smut here sorry!

word count: 7,8 thousand words

posted: thursday january 19, 2023

previous: part 1 | next: to be announced

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There were tints of ash gray prancing around in your head.

Life was dull.

Everything was stripped bare of its hues.

There was nothing but black dotted lines and blank spaces waiting to be colored in. Your velvet fingertips sweeped past the wooden handles of your paint brushes but no matter how hard you tried, there was no strength in you to lift up the paperweight tools. No matter how much you put your mind to it, it was ponderous.

You chucked the lack of mobility in your upper extremities to the carpal tunnel residuals lingering from years prior but why was your universe dwelt behind the bland combination of pale white and dark black all of the sudden?

Surely, it was connected to your rather wild endeavors the night prior. Perhaps, the volume of the booming bass had fucked with your head or maybe your thoughts lingered back to that random man you kissed on the dance floor out of spite for the upside down twin.

Though, spite was a putrid word you had to admit you really enjoyed the way, Yoojin’s eyes glared at you as your lips tangoed against the disposable stranger pressed up on you. His intense glare read you intently—he was absorbed by your being much like a hypnotic spiral. The feeling set a fire ablaze on your skin but your eyes, they kept drifting towards him at the bar and even though you wanted to keep your distance. . No, you needed to keep your distance. You simply didn’t know how to rip your eyes away from him.

Yoojin had this thing about him, sort of flamboyant. . hard to miss, impossible to avoid aura. He filled your void and colored every inch of your life with cool tones. It spread a funny feeling to the pit of your stomach, sent tingles down to your toes, it sent a shiver down your spine yet you were repulsed by him so much.

You brushed away at the canvas vigorously, your mind was blank and you weren’t actually painting anything in particular—just insignificant lines and then some more lines.

Your mind was clouded with shape-less thoughts, just a jumble of mush. Nothing you had the capacity to decipher or untangle at that moment in time. Worse of it all was that the forefront of your mind was occupied by the one face belonging to two different people: one was the personification of your guardian angel sent to you from heaven, the one who wrapped you up in his loving embrace. The other was the treacherous Aeneous, setting earthquakes in his path as he abandoned you.

And still, your heart drew him as the missing piece to your unfinished puzzle but your mind, it knew to hate him. You could trust your mind. It was viable and it knew Min Yoojin was like a fucking fever you couldn’t break.

‘Do you miss. . .’

His lewd words vibrated down the walls of your inner ear. He didn’t get to finish what he intended but you knew exactly what he was hinting at. And you tried. . you tried to brush off the incorrigible thoughts surfacing but no matter how many times you tried to bury them in the back of your mind, they always resurfaced.

The pressing question looped and you found yourself in a mental debate.

Did you miss it?

Did you miss him?

You were over him—you were used to the achromatic path of your everyday life but of course, Yoojin just had to alter the palpitations of your heart with his unwelcomed presence.

Stepping away from the canvas the brush strokes marked the face of the twisted twin, the man you so harshly detested. Your mind still registered its rightful duty. It reminded you that despite what your heart communicated and despite what your treacherous hands created, the two of you were not meant to be.

He was not your Yoojin.

And you were no longer his.

“You do not belong to me,” you shouted at the painting sitting on the eisel, “just fucking leave me alone. You do not belong to me.”

You kicked the eisel down and watched as Yoojin laid on the floor. There was intense rage fueling your thoughts. You wanted to hurt him, you craved to have him hurting as much as you did.

“I fucking hate you,” you uttered through gritted teeth.

“Yoongi’s not here you know,” Yoojin annoyingly shoved a handful of cereal into his mouth. You sat on one of the stools in the kitchen of the Min household. Your best friend Yoongi was supposed to make it home after basketball practice so that you could help him out with an essay but it’s been about thirty minutes since the coach was supposed to let them go and he has yet to make it home.

“I know that, Yoojin,” you squinted your eyes and shook your head.

“So why are you still sitting in our kitchen like a lost puppy?” he asked, still munching on his cereal so fucking irritatingly.

“Yoongi needs help with some school work,” you shrugged, “and I personally do not have it in me to go home right now.”

“The princess has grown in wrangle with her guardians. Such an original story line in our current social standing,” you knew he was joking, yet you couldn’t help how much it stung coming from someone else’s lips.

Your life would always be a constant battle with what you wanted versus what your parents had chosen for your future and there was nothing you could do. Nothing.

“Your life isn’t much more original to mine.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he snickered.

“Is your major not marked off as business administrations like the rest of us, Mr. Photography is my entire being.”

“That’s just it, Ms. Painting is my life,” Min Yoojin was truly annoying. He was, “I am bringing forth to my parents eyes only what they want to see. They wanna see business administration checked off on my college applications? That is fine with me, but remember that majors can always be changed once we set foot on campus.”

“So you’re lying now?”

“What is lying to a bunch of control freaks?” he took a seat on the stool right beside you. Yoojin, although sharing the same exact face as your best friend, they were so distinct. Yoongi was compliant. . he listened to his parents, much like you. He was content with letting them manage his life, and not letting them in to meet the real him. Yoojin wasn’t so afraid to go head-to-head with them and even though he was aware of the repercussions he wasn’t scared of putting his dreams and passions above all else, “this is our life to live. They let themselves be controlled by their parents but that doesn’t mean we also have to comply. So no, I have no remorse for lying.”

“Hm. What else are you lying about?” You placed your palm under your chin. His entitled banter was exceedingly entertaining and while you knew how snobby an affluent teen sounded complaining of the struggles attached to his rich and fortune, he wasn’t wrong.

All of you deserved your chances at living life. Your own lives.

“They think I’m in debate but I’ve been in the photography club since freshman year,” he explained nonchalantly, “oh, and my internship is in film not for some stupid finance company.”

“You’re bad, Min Yoojin.”

“Don’t tell me you have never gone against what your parents say?” he asked, “last I checked you have enrolled in every art related elective since year nine.”

“And you also stalk me?” you gasped.

“Do not flatter yourself,” Yoojin laughed, it was nice. Soft and peaceful, and it reminded you of the way birds sang in the early morning, “I did community service in the front office last year.”

“You do community service?” you joked.

“It’s mandatory, you jerk.”

“Whatever.”

The massive kitchen was stilled by silence for a couple of seconds and the two of you just sat by each other’s side. Your vision was transfixed out the massive window behind the sink focusing on the vibrant oranges of the evening sky descended on its journey to meet the horizon. He attention was still diverted to the remnants of the sugary breakfast delicacy.

His voice once again filled the void, “do you plan on sticking to your parents’ plans?”

“I have no choice,” your tone was soft—you despised the reminder of the lack of control over your life, “I do not have a twin to hide behind.”

He chuckled, “as selfish as it may be I’m thankful Yoongi serves as the model child in the Min penitentiary. They already expect disappointment from me so there’s not much to be disappointed about.”

“I suppose you’ve been lucky.”

His hickory russet eyes turned a soft caramel under the lasting golden hour. You have spent countless occasions in the company of Min Yoojin, but never have you had to sit this close to him, or had his eyes fixed on you the way they were now, and you certainly never felt yourself sparing so many thoughts at what lingered around in his mind.

It was all foreign but you found yourself welcoming in with open arms.

“You should be a painter,” he shot you a smile as he circled the massive island to place the dirty bowl in the sink, “I can see the way your eyes light up when any one mentions the arts.”

The feeling of his absent body beside you felt lonesome and frigid, you found yourself shivering as a result. It longed to have him take his place back on the seat next to you, even if it was in silence, even if neither of you had anything else to say, but instead you watched as he trotted up the stairs. Leaving you in the past like an afterthought never to be recollected again.

He can see the way my eyes light up when I mention the arts—that was short for: he’s paying you an ounce of thought, he sees you, he knows what you long for.

You wondered if he has noticed the same starkles in your eyes whenever the two of you crossed each other's paths?

Would he grow agitated at the sceneries he’d be exposed to if you ever let him cross through the tiny entrance of your heart?

Is he aware of the strumming ballad that loops within you at the mention of his name?

The feelings you bare were caged with torment—they would not do you any good but unfortunately you couldn’t shut them out. Even if it was unintentional, you wore it in your eyes, you know you did, so why hasn’t he noticed?

Perhaps, he has noticed and he simply can not reciprocate what you feel.

Your mind chose to believe the latter.

These ridiculous vivid dreams of yours had you on the brink of losing your sanity, this was the second one in the last twenty-four hours.

It’s astounding how you had to keep reminding yourself that Yoojin did not finger you against your kitchen counter the night before, you were not working in a portrait of his irritating face right now and you were certainly no longer high schoolers ogling each other behind unspoken words and forbidden confessions of love. He would never have you wrapped around his finger the way he did back then, no longer a blushing mess.

You were an adult now, and you would act as such, and that meant invalidating his existence entirely.

It would be as if he’s not even there.

Except, he would be.

Because your Yoongi will unfortunately be substituted by him, God, you almost forgot about that whole charade. How you wish it was only a depiction of your crudest nightmares.

You threw your velvet duvet over your head and groaned in exasperation—if you would have ever been placed in the worst scenario your life could’ve steered down, this was it.

“Yoongi and I are dating,” you practiced imagining the face of the ominous twin in replacement of your best friend. The amiability behind Yoongi’s sparkling radiance was replaced by darkness. Worse of it, it did not matter how identical Yoongi and Yoojin were because to you they were worlds apart.

The bright morning sun invaded your room as it pierced through the floor to ceiling glass windows. Usually, the view of the city serenades you with peace but today it was no use—you were in your own ordeal.

Walking into the kitchen your nostrils were invaded by a plethora of scents distinctive only to the most delicious of breakfast dishes.

“Yoongi, I thought you were taking care of Jimin this morning,” you rounded the corner only to be met with the distorted double.

“Good morning,” his wicked eyes were casted on you.

“Yoojin?” you remained at your place near the hall leading back to your room, “what are you doing here?”

“Yoongi, asked me to look after you.”

“Yoongi, would never do that to me.”

He chuckled, “I have no ill intentions.”

“Your very existence is an ill intention,” you spat at him. Hurtful words you hoped would give you some sort of satisfaction, they didn’t.

“I do not remember you to be this iniquitous.”

“There are eras you miss about a person, when you pack up and leave from one day to the other,” was he truly unaware of the vicinity of the concoction stirring away in your heart? Heartbreak and vengeance were a fatal mixture.

“Is one of these eras kissing random guys in the club?” He continued scrambling the eggs in the pan.

“Why do you care about Yoojin?”

I don’t. . besides all I’m saying is I left for my own sanity. .”

“Congratulations to you, Yoojin. Did you get to find yourself? I am beaming with happiness at your tales of self discovery.”

He threw the wooden spoon in the sink, the loud clank vibrated through the apartment “you know you don’t have to be such a bit-”

“Finish it,” you yelled, “fucking finish it!”

He walked up to you, completely disregarding the food he had been preparing for you, “you don’t have to be a bitch about it.”

“I’ll be a bitch all I fucking want,” you pushed him off of you, “you hear me? And I’ll be the biggest fucking bitch you’ll ever encounter.”

The doorbell to your apartment chimed while the both of you stood across from each other, fists balled, steaming with anger.

“Shut the fuck up,” you whispered over to him before walking towards the front door. Looking through the peephole, you saw your mother standing on the other side of the door. A string of curses escaped your lips as you realized the gravity of the situation.

Your mom was here, but so was Yoojin who would be pretending to be Yoongi, who would be pretending to date you.

“Fuck,” you tiptoed back towards Yoojin, “it’s my mother, please go hide in my room.”

“Would you look at that? You are mannered after all,” his sarcasm certainly was not appreciated but quarreling any further would only result in him not complying. So, you remained quiet, guiding him in the direction of your bedroom.

“Thank you,” you slammed the door and dashed back to welcome your mother in as she continued annoyingly pressing on the doorbell over and over again.

“Hi, mom,” you opened.

“Hi,” her voice was skeptical and her eyes roamed around the rest of the apartment behind you, “what took you so long to answer?”

“You just woke me up,” you fake yawned.

“No wonder you look a mess,” your mother never paid you a single compliment for as long as you could remember, you were only on the other end of her criticism and spiteful words, “are you gonna let me in?”

You sighed and moved away from your stance which once blocked the entrance to your house. She took a seat on the couch and waited for you to join her on the seat across from her. Your mother was a woman of great poise—possessing perfect posture, intelligible words and a pristine reputation.

As her only daughter, she expected nothing less than perfection of you.

She expected you to mimic her very being, something you truly did not hold an ounce of interest for.

“Have you spoken with Yoongi?” She asked.

“He knows of everything mother,” you replied, “he is the man I will be dating and my best friend after all.”

“That is the precise reason, I am against this entire. . thing,” she wore a sour expression on her face, “best friends should not marry each other.”

“You also believe marriage doesn't stem from love but the size of someone’s wallet,” though, it is true that your mom stood under the same scale of hatred you held for Yoojin, you always tried to hold a level of respect for her.

Though, sometimes it felt impossible.

“Watch your mouth,” she threatened, “your father may be buying all of this but I am certain you only pulled this stunt to escape your marriage to Choi Soobin.”

“You sold me off like cattle,” you stood, now pacing back and forth behind the couch, “you didn’t even consult me about it.”

“I don’t have to consult you about anything.” You scoffed but she continued, “you simply do as you are told.”

“That might have worked when I was a teenager in highschool,” you crouched down, placing your elbows on the backrest of the couch—your eyes now leveled to hers, “but if there’s one thing I will have control over is who I get to spend the rest of my life with.”

“We’ll see about that,” your mother was a woman of her word and although you knew technically she was right, you would not marry Yoongi. It was now within your full intent to marry as you please—you would not give her the satisfaction.

“This is not a debate mother,” the sternness in your voice remained, “I am telling you I will not marry to your choosing.”

“And I said, we will see about that.”

“Good morning,” the irritating voice announced itself, cutting through the heated atmosphere you and your mom had created, “I couldn’t help but come and greet you once I heard your voice.”

“Yoongi,” even the way she said his name was distasteful. . However you were preoccupied with the concern of whether she would actually buy the twin switch.

“I hope you’re doing well. It’s been quite some time since we last spoke,” Yoojin was proficient in adopting his brother’ vocabulary, in dropping the slight slugness of his real voice and picking up the pace in his words, his mannerisms resembled those of your bestfriends perfectly too. It was a bit odd.

If you didn’t know any better, you would say this was Yoongi right in front of you.

“I could be better.” She responded barely above a whisper—almost disregarding who the question derived from. For someone who considered herself to be of the highest societal rank she possessed a great deal of disrespect.

“He’s also doing well mom. Thank you for bothering enough to ask,” you hissed.

“I’ll concern myself with asking as soon as I see you walking down the aisle with him. When I am sure you are not doing this out og rebellion,” she stood grabbing her bag and walking slowly towards the entrance in her perfectly ironed skirt suit, “and clean up the place, would you? Your father and I do not pay your rent for you to be trashing the place.”

“Dad’s name is on the lease. Not yours.”

“What’s your father’s is mine and vice versa,” she turned back and patted your check with her palm softly. Clearly not looking to cause any harm but to fuel you with anger instead.

You walked right behind and waited for her to cross the threshold before slamming the door right behind her. You placed your hands on your knees, gasping for air. She was so agitating, it literally consumed every last bit of your energy every time you engaged in conversation with her.

Sometimes you wondered what cruel affairs you had been acquainted with in your past life to ever be condemned with a mother like her.

“I thought I told you to stay in the room.”

“Things just seemed much more interesting out here though,” he walked over to the kitchen island and stuffed his mouth with whatever he had prepared.

“I’m glad my afflictions are amusing to you.”

“Not amusing. . just less boring than all the white furniture you had me staring at in your room,” he hurled himself on the couch, now using his elbows to prop himself up, “how are you a painter and your apartment is lacking so much color.”

“I’m not a painter.”

“Still lying to yourself claiming it’s a hobby?”

You shrugged, “It is.”

“No, you’re just letting them win.”

“Yoojin, I am physically and mentally tired. There is no more fight in me and I wanna be alone, please finish whatever it is that you have to do and get the fuck out of my apartment,” you waved him off, walking back in the direction of your room.

“Hey,” he called out—you turned around, “I promise I didn't mean to cause a scene with you this morning.”

“Your promises mean nothing here.” you hollered back.

The afternoon strolled in a haste and Yoojin had managed to leave your apartment shortly after you kicked him out.

After cleaning the mess he left behind in the kitchen, you showered quickly and plopped back into bed—your energy had been absorbed by the two most irritable people in your life and frankly you had no energy to engage in anything else at the moment.

You just wanted to lay in bed in the dark and be consumed by your thoughts.

But as soon as your closed your eyes the incessant ringing of your phone blared through the otherwise quiet room.

It was Jimin.

“Jiminie!”

“Baby!” He matched your squealing tone, “How are you?”

“I’m . .” You paused, “exhausted.”

“Me too. I just finished my shift—and I saw Yoojin come in all pissed this afternoon.”

“And why do you assume it’s related to me?”

“He came in cursing your name. I’m pretty sure he put a hex on you at some point.”

“That little bitch.”

Jimin sighed, “So, what happened?”

“He was just at my house when I woke up—” you sounded just as baffled as did that very morning when you found him in your kitchen, “like he owned the fucking place.”

“Yoongi asked him to follow you up and make sure you made it in ok,” Jimin confessed, “while he took me home.”

“I would have much rather slept on the sidewalk.”

“You hate him that much?”

“Hate is not a strong enough word to describe what I feel towards Min Yoojin.”

“Should I give him a beating?”

Jimin’s protectiveness lurked dear to your heart. He was a dulcet person and his friendship was your most exorbitant and treasured possession.

“It happened long ago, Jimbles. You do not have to fight him.” You chuckled.

“I was just making sure,” he giggled on the other side of the line, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What did he do?”

“Well today he spoke the truth and I just didn’t like it. .” There was hesitancy in your voice. It’s not that you didn’t trust Jimin, it’s just that no one really knew what went down between you and Yoojin besides the two of you. Not even Yoongi, “But we also have a bit of a tension filled past.”

Jimin continued speaking but his voice became muffled, your thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Still lying to yourself claiming it’s a hobby?

Against the venom you spewed his way his words had never vacated your thoughts. Matter of fact he never left once and even tonight you found yourself entranced by his articulation.

Still lying to yourself claiming it’s a hobby?

You had heard those exact words before.

“You’re still here?” He opened the door to Yoongi’s room abrasively allowing the hallway light to seep into the unlit room while you laid in your best friend’s bed.

“Yoongi said he was coming shortly,” your eyes remained on the ceiling, Yoongi had adorned the previously empty space with dozens of glow in the dark stars, “but then again that was like. . 20 minutes ago.”

“Lies,” he laid down next to you, “something tells me you’re still avoiding going back home.”

“And you are absolutely right.”

“Do you ever stand up to them?”

You looked over to him but his eyes remained on the vague luminary stickers up above.

“I do not believe that to be an option for me.”

“Why is that?”

“They—” you huffed, “I don’t even know.”

“Tell me.”

“They just make me feel so trapped. It’s like I’m drowning in a glass of water and although they see it and have the power to ease my sorrow. . They chose to opt out of helping and just continue to pour water in.”

There was a momentary silence until Yoojin finally spoke up, “Is that not just more reason to speak up?”

“They fund my entire life Yoojin. I cannot defy them.”

“Financial ties. . That’s always a strain.”

“I mean I would run away. . but who the fuck is going to hire an eighteen year high-school drop out who just couldn’t hold off a couple months to make it to graduation.”

“I suppose you’re right,” his tone was that of defeat, because although he was intransigent

—there was not a boulder large enough for him to hide behind, “I have only been able to hide behind Yoongi’s compliant nature for limited situations.”

“It’s like micromanagement gets them off or something.”

He burst out a thunderous laugh, “It really does, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” you smiled.

Yoojin and Yoongi were twins and while you were absolutely aware they shared even their own distinctive features—somehow the boy before you wore them differently. His smile was brighter, his eyes were richer in their brown hue, his cheeks were dusted with a glowing pink.

And you were drawn to all of it. You were drawn to him.

You wish you could yell it out on the highest of mountain tops, unfortunately, cowardice kept you immobilized at the slope and you were never able to reach its peak.

You would never be able to confess.

“You hang with my brother a lot. .”

“That’s a wise observation. Yoongi is my best friend, he’s my other half. You know that.”

“Yeah. .” he drifted off, “I’m actually trying to steer this in a different direction.”

“Steer away, Yoojin.”

His gaze landed on you, your eyes finally met for the very first time that day. For a moment, the sham stars on the ceiling became blinking lights like those rejoicing in the night, sprawled out through the dark sky just outside the window. Their light source became enough to spotlight the two of you.

He was glowing like never before.

“He’s just so determined on keeping his distance from girls. . I was just wondering if you held the same ideas about boys.”

“If I’m as celibate and hoeless as Yoongi?”

Yoojin nodded. He was serious.

“I’m not really sure how to answer that.”

“Truthfully.”

“I don’t hold the same ideas as Yoongi.”

“So you. .?”

“Are you asking if I’m a virgin?”

“I guess. .”

You were aware summer was nearing but none of that justified how hot the room became in such a short amount of time.

“We’re 19, Yoojin,” you said, “I haven’t been a virgin for months now.”

“I haven’t been one for a while either.” You asked for no elaboration, just hummed along to acknowledge his response, “but I also wanted to ask.”

“Yes?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Why do you ask?” Realistically speaking you didn’t care about his 10-page interview questions regarding your personal life. You just enjoyed the way he became shy even though he initiated the conversation. It was cute.

“You know. .”

“Is this how you normally flirt?”

“No,” he protests, “I’m not flirting.”

“Hmm,” you began, “so you haven’t been staring at my lips for the past ten minutes either?”

His eyes blew to the size of pool balls and while you were patiently trying to get this out of him, you also realized that a tiny push wouldn’t do—you needed to dive right in.

“For what it’s worth I did want to kiss you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but you aren’t flirting with me remember so you must not want to kiss me.”

“Don’t do me like that.”

“I didn’t do anything. Those were your words not mine.”

“You’re cruel.”

You chortled and grabbed your jacket from where you previously hung it on the backrest of Yoongi’s computer chair. Your lips met his soft cheek leaving the trace of a timid peck.

“Tell Yoongi I got tired of waiting, will you?”

“I will,” He waved you off with one hand while the other remained on the cheek you kissed.

The park near the town square was empty today. As gloomy as the day was, all you could replay back in your head were all the happy memories you had lived through on a swing set very similar to this one when you were just a little girl.

Back then, you felt invincible. Like you could take on anything and come out victorious on the other side.

What would your eight year old self say today? Painted by cowardice you allowed your parents to drag you along your life like a rag doll, you let your life long crush trump your heart like dirt and now resented him for it.

You were a joke. A sad fucking joke.

The usual tint of azure in the sky was a light gray, but it hasn’t rained yet.

“Funny seeing you here,” Yoojin swept in, taking a seat on the swing right next to you.

“I arranged this meeting, remember?”

“How about you let us live in the moment,” he began swinging his feet back and forth, creating a bit of momentum. This was typical Yoojin behavior, deflecting, making jokes out of a serious situation, and being immature.

None of it was new to you.

“I summoned you out here as an attempt to have a serious conversation,” God knows you were trying, real hard. “Can you manage that?”

“I’m not five years old, you know.”

“You act like it.”

He heaved, “what is it that you want?”

“The annual end of spring Min party is in a few days—”

“I know.”

You shut your eyes as a remedy for patience which you needed to channel every ounce of. “We need to. .” you muttered, “get things together.”

“You and Yoongi have been best friends since forever. There’s no room to fabricate much.”

“But we do need to get certain details straight.”

“Analyze away.”

You weren’t looking at him, your eyes were set on the multitude of birds utilizing the fountain nearby.

“We’ll tell them you and I became closer during this past summer. I know they think they’re giving us freedom but between my father and the Min’s they have practically already planned our wedding,” you cleared your throat, “well Yoongi and I that is.”

“Got it,” Yoojin nodded, “so pretend they haven’t been setting up this whole thing. Cool. What about your mom?”

“What about her?”

“After this yesterday morning. How do we convince her?”

“There’s no convincing her really but we cannot falter in our plans or she will schedule more Soobin dates.”

“I thought that was stamped as strictly platonic?”

“Since when have our parents cared about our opinions?”

“I suggest running away,” his joke had a bitter aftertaste which resided in the back of your throat.

“I know you’re good at that,” the words left your mouth, before you even processed them.

“Right.”

“Actually Houdini,” the mood shifted and although it was within your full intentions to maintain some sort of peace between the two of you moving forward, sometimes you just couldn’t help it, “after you disappeared, Yoongi and I scattered under your parents’ instructions to find you. They knew of your love for Thailand and Los Angeles so we went there for a couple of days but we obviously did not find you.”

“You searched for me?”

“We searched for you,” you corrected, “but after we came back our parents’ scrutiny became harsher and they began meddling in our personal life a lot more than they would.”

“All because I left. .”

It wasn’t really a question but you answered anyway by nodding your head, “I guess your parents were scared of losing Yoongi as well and even on the sidelines mine grew weary that I would do the same.”

He didn’t say anything—just continued staring off into the distance. Yoojin’s expression remained blank and again you despised how little he expressed through his emotion.

“Are you going to be ok seeing your parents after so long?”

“I’ll be fine. .”

“I suppose fine is okay but we have to be perfect.”

“We’ll be better than perfect.”

His lack of words was haunting and only accentuated the dismal afternoon. Right then you noticed the darkened tone the clouds had now adopted. If it didn’t seem like rain was on the forecast before, it most definitely was now.

You shivered a bit as a swift breeze sweeped by. In the back of your mind, you knew your walk back to your apartment as overdue but

“What if we have to kiss in front of them?”

“What of it?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“If we’re dating I can’t necessarily shove you away, Yoojin.”

“I know. .” he murmured, “it’s just. This is super significant to you. I just wanted to make sure.”

“Not all of us run wild with your privilege at freedom. I’m doing what I can to satisfy my needs for now.”

“Satisfy your needs,” he licked his rose tinted lips.

You rolled your eyes, “Be fucking mature.”

“You made it too easy.”

Yoojin’s humor still tickled at your sides, and although you wanted to utter as much as a giggle, all your mind could muster up derived from every thing that happened that night all of those years ago.

You were aware you were being a bit resentful but your pain is irrefutable and there was nothing he could do to change the past or make you forget.

You would always resent him for it.

“Do you really have to walk around with your camera around your neck at all times?”

“You never know when something beautiful might turn up. I gotta be ready for anything.”

“You’re such a photographer,” you scoffed.

The trees were a deep emerald, it matched the color of Yoojin’s shirt. You hadn’t really noticed before. It was within your full intent to keep your eyes away from him—anything to stop your mind from behaving as recklessly as your heart. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

“Says the one who walked around school with overalls splattered with paint all over.”

“I’ve grown from that. You’re twenty-five looking exactly the same as you did all those years back.”

“Exactly the same?”

“That’s what I said.”

He laughed airily, almost snorting in the process. It was cute—NO. No it wasn’t.

“So I look exactly the same as the boy you couldn’t resist back in senior year?”

You hated him so much.

“The only difference is he was a better person.”

“I’ve changed, you know.”

“If you have to announce that you’ve changed then it makes it a little impossible to believe.”

“You haven’t even given me a chance.”

“That’s a little hard to do when my welcome was you butt ass naked in Yoongi’s kitchen, when you act one way around others and the complete opposite around me,” you spewed without caution, “you have not changed Yoojin. We are both here for a reason. Can we please not fuck it up for Yoongi?”

“Of course.”

On the day of your eighteenth birthday when the little hand on the clock struck twelve, you developed a tunnel vision with your own means of finding an apartment in order to reap some sort of freedom.

And eventually you sort of did.

Because while your apartment is far from your parents’ estate it simply wasn’t far enough and impromptu visits from your mom, like the one from this morning weren’t completely uncommon.

You supposed it was freedom on a limited time offer—but some was better than none at all.

Living in your parents’ house you often had to hide; of course they were aware of what they often referred to as your ‘less than ideal’ hobbies. Your life at their house was your own personal hell, a living nightmare and day-by-day you bore the grating corners of your soul. They disposed of your art tools, made calls to unregister you from art classes, they even destroyed your paintings with little regard to your hard work. Truly, they marked the worst years of your life.

Thankfully, you were able to make a clean escape, setting up your own art studio was the first step towards healing. You were able to work freely and display your work without a care in the world.

This was your haven; the only place where you were cocooned with warmth and safety.

So profoundly safe.

Sitting on the stool you stared at the blank canvas on the eisel, while an abundance of ideas streamed in your mind nothing was clear enough to portray. Your thoughts were jumbled into one like scribbles on a blank page all circling the one name you told yourself no longer resided within you.

The embellished walls of your makeshift exhibit were beaming as your paintings were hung on them with black frames. Every single one pinpointed a memorable time in your life—ranging from the beach you visited with the Mins’ every summer; the gardens in your family home you often used to escape to after school; the skate park Yoojin used to drag you and Yoongi to on Sunday afternoons; among other scenic places you were able to capture in your past.

It was a bittersweet stroll down memory lane.

That was typically your art style, capturing the landscapes that graced your vision.

There was your one attempt at a portrait up on the farthest wall from you. The brush strokes on his face featured the ample curves of his ethereal face, his hair sat on his head so perfectly as it usually did. Although, he was the real inspiration you had presented that exact painting as a gift to your very own best friend.

It was Yoongi to everyone else but it was Yoojin to you and it would only ever be Yoojin.

“I’m so glad you answered my texts,” Yoojin opened the passenger door to his car and stood aside waiting for you to go in but you stood beside him instead.

“Your power of persuasion has always been excessive. .” While you were couped up in the house, pulsed to the ends of earth by your own mind, reflection and existence Min Yoojin was the last person you intended on having an outing with.

“I didn’t hold a weapon to your head,” he argued, his eyebrows furrowed at the extent of your accusation, “you could have said no.”

“Get dressed. I'm picking you up in an hour,” you recited the text word for word from your phone, “doesn’t really supply much room for decision making.”

“Will you just get in the car please?”

“I do not take orders from you, Yoojin.”

“Oh, come on,” he leaned in closer to you as his lips shadowed over the shell of your ear. You felt as if you were out at sea, floating aimlessly as the tide dragged you farther and farther away. “That was one of the many things you loved about me.”

You elbowed his side, he grunted at the blow to his ribs, “I think you forget that your charms are dormant with me. Your spark has dimmed out.”

“My spark is everlasting.”

“Well, it died the moment you walked away,” you deadpanned.

“Just please get in the car,” he tried once more, he was exasperated by your banter but it only fueled your desire to see him crumble.

You scoffed, “Only because you said please.”

The minute you sat down your nostrils were invaded by the dominant fragrance of cedarwood and cypress inundating his car. A scent which was only unique to Min Yoojin, it tainted every inch of his skin; like the various paints which marked their territory on your canvas’. Just as that painting of him which wreaked havoc in your own heaven. It was intoxicating, invasive. . and just as alluring as you remembered.

If you could pinch your nose to block the smell you would.

“I hope you don’t plan to be lulled by your phone the entire time,” he closed the car door behind him before starting the engine.

“I hope you don’t think this is an open invitation for interminable conversations,” you rolled your eyes, still scrolling aimlessly through countless apps.

“I never took you for holding grudges.”

“I never took you for someone who would just believe he would be so easily forgiven,” a deep rancor rooted deep within you.

His knuckles hugged the steering wheel just a bit tighter, “I’m trying to make amends.”

“Fuck making amends, Yoojin. You’re exhausting.”

“And you’re not?” His tone blared within the small space of the vehicle. There was no serenity in your futile wanders across the deep blue sea. The foreboding clouds neared and raucous rumbles roared loudly—the streaks of thunder snapped the sky into pieces. You were astounded but he continued, “fuck I’m trying. You see that I’m trying. Don’t you?”

“Trying does nothing for me,” you yelled back.

He sighed, “I suppose we only tolerate each other today. . For Yoongi, as you say.”

The remaining car ride was soundless— the silence was increasingly deafening, causing your ears to ring continuously. It simulated the same insipid screams of lightning.

Still, you remained weightless in the buoyancy of the water.

You knew you weren’t a victim, you continued landing jabs at him. Out of pettiness, spite, vengeance. . whatever it was you dismantled him and you proceeded being drifted off by the soundless waves. The shore was no longer in your line of vision. Yoojin was mangled, though. You could read it in his features, with protruding pouty bottom lip, watery eyes and the indented wrinkles marking his forehead. Even when you found it in your heart to feel the slightest taint of remorse, you still remembered that he broke you first.

“What are we doing here?” The car pulled up to the Min boutique owned by Yoojin and Yoongi’s mother herself.

“You know how particular my mother can be about her ridiculous parties. She forwarded Yoongi the dress code set out for the both of you,” he explained, “and I figured it would be more bearable if the two of us endured this together.”

“So this is our first public outing. . Together?”

“Together.”

“You could have warned me.”

He leaned back on the leather seat, “I would but you’re so difficult to communicate with sometimes.”

“I could say the same about you.”

His eyes became ignited behind inextinguible flames and you could see your very own reflection burning away into ashes. It wasn’t always within your intention to rile him up continuously but it came so naturally to you.

“Can we just get through the afternoon?”

“I can definitely pretend.”

After handing his car keys to the valet, you and Yoojin walked into the Mins’ Boutique with your balmy palms clasped together, and your slender fingers intertwined.

Mindy, the store clerk greeted the two of you, “I organized the private fitting room with all your favorites and all the pieces in accord with your mother’s preferred dress code.”

“Thank you, Mindy,” the two of you followed the store clerk as she led the way up the glass stairs, away from all of the store attendees on the first floor, “you are too good to us.”

She was a short woman in her mid-forties who had been employed at the Min boutique for many years before you even knew Yoongi. She was graceful and often treated you and the twins as her very own children when you came in to visit.

Mindy was also someone your parents’ could not buy into your life—she too resided within the pumping walls of your heart.

“How are you doing?” She pushed open the clear doubled doors revealing the massive dressing room. The lights seemed bright and in the farthest wall there were two seperate rooms hidden behind dark green curtains. In the middle of the room there was a coffee table containing a champagne bottle in a metal chiller bucket, two glasses half way full and a silver platter with a handful of finger sandwiches, “I hear there’s romance sparking between you two.”

“Oh, yes,” Yoojin released you from his tight grip and traveled deeper into the private room, “we began seeing each other this past summer.”

“I always thought you would end up with one of those love birds,” she patted your shoulder lightly, you chuckled lightly in response, “just I always thought it would be Yoojin.” she whispered for only you to hear.

“He’s gone, Mindy,” in a way even though Yoojin was right there just a few feet in front of you, it was as if he wasn’t here at all.

“He’ll be back my darling,” her smile was soft; comforting, “If you guys need anything please be sure to let me know.”

“We will. Thank you Mindy,” she vowed and exited the room before leaving you and Yoojin alone.

“What was Mindy talking about?”

You took a sip of the bubbly liquor, “There was no specific topic.”

“But the two of you were glaring at me.”

“Noone was glaring at you.” We were discussing our intertwined destinies—she thinks you and I belong together. “You are so self centered, Yoojin.”

“Self centered?”

“That’s what I said.”

He threw his hands up in defeat, “Let’s just get to the clothes. Shall we?”

He signaled you towards the dressing room while picking up his phone disregarding your existence entirely, and the remainder of the time at the Min Boutique ticked away quickly as you rushed through the countless outfits laid out for you.

One after the other, Your temples glistened with sweat as you rushed into the fifth and last outfit—the one you perceived closer to your own personal style. It’s a white spaghetti strap mid-thigh dress with a ruffle hemline.

Trying it on felt like a breath of fresh air compared to everything you’d discarded previously. It hugged your body in all the right places, accentuating every single curve.

“Weren’t you supposed to come out and show me some of the clothes?”

“No, I don’t think I was supposed to do anything,” After changing back into your own clothes you walked out from behind the curtain with the dress in your hand.

He walked up behind you—those fucking butterflies erupted at your stomach once again, “lucky for you I like surprises.”

-

-

-

author’s note: this chapter kinda sucked but i hope its an enjoyable read nevertheless.

thanks for reading. comments, likes, reblogs and messages are always appreciated. let me know what you think ;)

[quarter-life-crisis2]

Just enough help

✿ Yoongi x reader (she/her) (Namjoon is there for 2 seconds)

✿ wc: 2.1k

✿ baby angst, minimal fluff

✿ summary: You're stuck, not knowing what to do in your life to be happy and content. A surprising conversation makes you think that maybe you can turn things around.

✿ warnings: some talk of capitalism, hopelessness, and being stuck in life, a touch of loneliness & low self-esteem, but nothing physical, just one little wish of being more beautiful, weed smoking occurs (oh no, 2/2 on this one), talk about purpose and shit that's keeping me up at night, but it's not too heavy, ends with more hope than it starts I promise

Maybe part two...?

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

A lovely spring day by the canal, birds singing, sun shining, couples smiling, all that bullshit and yet you’ve been walking around with a dark cloud above you. Sometimes going for a walk makes you feel like you’re finally photosynthesising after a long winter, yet seeing all these happy people reminds you of how bitter you feel. 

Sitting down on the patch of grass overlooking the water, staring into the distance you feel like everything you’ve been working towards has been completely pointless. You pictured this amazing life for yourself, with a career you love and are confident in, living it up in the big city, with a highrise flat, a dog and a partner. Yet all you’ve got right now is disappointment, in yourself and your achievements. 

And that just makes you feel ungrateful because you have a career, a decent one at that, that pays you enough that you don’t have to worry about your bills and you can indulge here and there. Your flat might not be overlooking the city, but it’s nice enough, you decorated it to your tastes and you don’t have to share it with any strangers and argue over whose turn it is to do the dishes. 

Yet it just feels like it’s all wrong, it’s not you, you’re not really living. You’re going through the motions every day, seeing how much you can get away with before you get called in for a disciplinary meeting. Seeing how many hours you can spend laying down on your bed with your eyes closed, picturing you’re someone else entirely, someone better, more confident, more interesting, more beautiful. 

You thought you finally had it, that treasured feeling you’ve been chasing for as long as you can remember, that content little light inside that made you walk with a little more joy, make you lift your head a bit higher, like you actually like yourself. How fragile was it really? It seems like all it took was a slump, and then you went right back to isolating yourself, not taking care of yourself and no longer trying. 

“Here, take this” 

A water bottle is suddenly in your line of vision, startling you from your self-deprecating spiral. Looking up at the man standing in front of you, realising you’ve been crying, in public, in broad daylight, completely sober. Shock and shame quickly mix together, so you take the bottle hoping he’ll leave you alone to wallow for a bit longer before you pull yourself together and make the hour-long journey back to your corner of the city. No such luck, he seems to not get the hint, sitting down next to you, a good 4 feet apart. 

“Don’t worry, I just bought it, it’s sealed. You just looked like you needed it.”

You look down surprised, to the unopened bottle, muttering a small thanks and taking a sip. He’s settled in, staring out at the beautiful view, looking completely at ease with your discomfort, while you’re inspecting his profile, confused about what the hell he wants from you. He can’t possibly just be nice, no one talks to crying people here, you might as well be invisible. The last time this happened, when you were 20, having just moved cities, far from home, it was like you suddenly got a superpower, if you ever cried in public, and you did for a while, a lot, everyone avoided eye contact like they could catch some crying disease. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

Letting out a sudden laugh, you might as well engage in this, whatever this is, it might never happen again. Hopefully, it never does, how many times can one embarrass themselves before their self-esteem finally reaches rock bottom? 

“I’m just being dramatic, it’s nothing much.”

“Try me”

“Fine, if you’re really that interested... I just fucking hate my life... I hate my job, I hate my flat, and I hate that I’m not where I thought I’ll be at this age. But I’m sure I’m not the first or the last to think that, so I should just be happy with what I’ve got, it could be so much worse.”

“So what? Just because it could be worse, what, can’t it be better as well?”

“I guess, but at this point, I don’t know what better looks like. I’m sitting here complaining about how unhappy I am, yet I couldn’t even tell you what I want. Pretty fucking pathetic.”

You’re angry you realise, you’re angry with yourself mainly. What is the point of this little sad song you’re singing for yourself? You’re not grateful for what you’ve got and you’re not trying to get anything better, so why would you deserve some amazing life for yourself if you can’t even try? 

“Splif?”

Looking at the guy again, you realise he didn’t say anything back to your lovely rendition of your failures, just offering you a smoke. 

“Fuck it, why not.” 

So you sit there, in silence, going back and forth, smoking this stranger’s weed looking out at the orange hues in the water reflecting from the sunset. 

“How old are you?” you finally ask, once the buzz kicked in and you can feel your anger subside, making room for the light haze. 

“30”

“And are you happy?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes…?”

“Yeah, sometimes. I’m happy right now.” 

“Why would you be happy right now? I doubt anyone wants to spend their Saturday afternoon wasting their weed on a random crying stranger.”

He doesn’t look at you at all while talking, just sits there calmly, takes a final toke, has a sip of his coke and lays down on the grass before answering. This man seems like he’s meditated his way to inner peace right now. 

“It’s not that bad, the weather is nice, there’s music playing, there’s no screaming children. I had a nice lunch and a nice smoke, and you’re not crying anymore. So I’m happy right now. It doesn’t take that much.”

He’s right, it’s a beautiful day, it’s as peaceful as the city will ever feel, and you’re not crying anymore. So you stop, take a deep breath, trying to embody his carefree attitude, and lay down on the grass. You focus on the clear sky, the gentle breeze moving the tree leaves above you and the gentle guitar you can hear from somewhere behind you. 

“How old are you?”

Looking to your right, he’s finally looking your way, sitting up on his elbows, eyes a bit droopy and red. 

“28”

“And what did you think would already happen that hasn’t?”

“I’m not sure anymore, I just thought I’d feel some purpose, like I’d be some inspiring career woman. But all I feel is just dread… like, is this it? For the rest of my life, just wake up, drag myself to do something that’s good enough, that pays me enough, that’s just not annoying enough or hard enough that I leave. Get home, eat, watch some movie that’s interesting enough, sleep, repeat.”

“What’s annoying about it, your job?”

“It doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. I’m helping a bunch of rich corporations figure out if they can maybe squeeze another million out of people while trying hard not to spend a cent to help anyone. Not even their own employees. They ask for more money, or better parental leave, or bereavement days, or to not be discriminated against after helping them increase their billions and they say “Sorry, no can do, but here’s a ping pong table and a couple of beers on Friday.” It just doesn’t matter at best and at worst I’m helping capitalism thrive at everyone’s expense. Surely this isn’t what we’re meant to be doing.” 

“Yeah, well I agree with you on that… So you obviously know why this doesn’t feel right, then what should we be doing?”

“What, all of us, as a society?”

“Yeah, all of us.”

“We should be helping each other. Not fucking over everyone we can just so some rich dude can buy another yacht. But so what? I’m not gonna start some class revolution. I can barely keep my fridge stocked. It doesn’t matter how I think we should be.” 

“I mean, I’m pretty sure a lot of people feel that way.”

“Maybe… No, you’re right, I know they do. I didn’t come up with any of this. Just not the people that can actually do something about it.”

“You can do something about it, anyone can. Why can’t you help people?”

“Cause it won’t make a difference.”

“Did that water make a difference?” he points to the empty bottle on your lap. 

“I mean, I’m not thirsty anymore…? What’s your point?”

“Did the weed make a difference?”

“Yeah, it did. So what, should we just give out weed to people and hold hands and hope our corporate overlords decide to join us?”

“You’re thinking too big. How do you feel? Like right now, this second?”

“I feel… I feel high. I feel like I’m chatting shit to a stranger.” 

He laughs a bit, continuing his gentle interrogation. 

“And how did you feel 20 minutes ago? Be honest.”

“You’re really walking around providing free therapy?”

“Just indulge me…”

“Fine, I felt like crap, and really fucking hopeless.”

“Well, you still seem a bit hopeless, I won’t lie to you, but you’ve smiled about 1.5 - oh, there we go, 2 times now, so surely that’s a tiny bit better, no?”

“Yeah, I guess so…”

“Well then, I helped you a tiny bit. Do you feel like that matters at all?”

“In the grand sch-”

“No, no, not in the grand scheme, to you, does it matter to you? That you’re high and feel a little bit less crappy?”

“Yeah, I suppose. But, that’s not helping people, that’s just me.”

“Well you’re a person, I’m a person, we’re both people, unless that’s not the case, which if you’re not, please tell me now because that’s a great high conversation to have.”

You laugh a bit amused at how this dude is just taking your ramblings in stride, somehow finding time to not only make eye contact with a crying stranger but somehow give them life advice as well. 

“3, that’s a full smile, new record. Well, now that we’ve established we’re both people, and I helped you a tiny bit, and you helped me pass some time and have a nice chat, then why would it not matter?”

“Right… so you’re saying I should start small?”

“Well if you could actually fix society, like all of it, I’d be really fucking impressed, but I doubt you can just wake up one day and do that. Maybe just think of what you do well in your job, and see if anyone is willing to pay you for it, some place where it’s helping, someone, anyone. Even if it’s just one person. I’m sure there’s something.” 

You look at him for a few seconds, just surprised. It’s not like he’s told you the secret to the universe. You’ve probably given this advice to a friend before, ‘start small, focus on what you can control’, ‘every little bit counts’ all of that. But sometimes, just knowing something isn’t enough, you need someone to tell you just the right thing at the right time. 

“Thank you.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you, that actually really helped.”

“Nah, I’m sure you would’ve gotten there eventually. My friend’s finally here, I’m gonna head out. Hope you figure it out.”

You watch him walk away with a little wave. You’re surprised, you realise. He didn’t do anything creepy, he didn’t try to hit on you or ask for your number. He didn’t even ask for your name actually. He was just nice, he listened, gave a little bit of advice and went on his way. He did help, so maybe it’s a sign. How many times would this realistically happen? You would’ve said 0 30 min ago. So maybe you can turn things around, figure out a way to feel useful, a little bit less like a hypocrite. 

……

“Who was that?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean? You were talking for ages.”

“I don’t know her, just seemed upset so I talked to her for a bit.”

“And had a smoke.”

“Yeah, and had a smoke.”

“Sooo…did you get her number?”

“No.”

“What? Since when do you talk to strangers just because? You barely even talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to tell you man, I just did.”

“Yeah, whatever you say… come on, let’s go, we’re already fucking late.” 

soooo I'm clearly going through something

[teamfreewill56-blog]

Shinjurou did not physically abuse his boys. He. Did. Not. He is a passionate, enthusiastic, loving father who fell into a horrible depression and downward spiral. The only time he ever laid a hand on them was when Senjuro was trying to separate him from Tanjiro when he attacked him in anger. Senjuro and Kyojuro are not afraid of him, Senjuro gets nervous around him because he wants to make his father happy just like Kyojuro does, he wants to please him, and he wants to help but he doesn’t know how and so that makes him nervous. But he still tries to help and interact with him. If Shinjurou beat them Senjuro wouldn’t talk as openly with him as he does or go so out of his way to speak to him, being struck in the face by his father would have had a different reaction from Senjuro after he and Tanjiro sat down to talk. He probably would have been more downcast, upset, and normally animes and manga will give hints to physical abuse going on but that never happens here. When Senjuro and Tanjiro talk about Shinjurou, Senjuro is sweet and chipper and he immediately brushed it off because he knew Shinjurou didn’t mean it. And Shinjurou isn’t perfect, most people aren’t going to freeze in an attack if their kid grabs the arm they’re using to swing at someone. Kyojuro is also a extremely righteous and protective person guys, if Shinjurou laid a hand on his little brother Kyojuro would have addressed it. When you’re close to your siblings like Kyojuro and Senjuro are, you don’t let ANYBODY touch your younger sibling, parent or not and you will go to blows with anybody regardless of how kind and gentle you are---that’s not a cute story trope guys, I’ve seen it many many times, including in my own life. Kyojuro isn’t afraid of Shinjurou at all either, just like Senjuro he goes out of his way to interact with his father, he isn’t ever nervous around him. He doesn’t flinch when Shinjurou throws a sake jug at him because he knows Shinjurou would never hit him because he never has. He goes as far as to say he thinks the reason Shinjurou keeps telling them they’re bad swordsmen is because he believes his father doesn’t want to lose his boys too. They’re all he has left of his wife, and they’re his sons, of course he wouldn’t want them to do something as dangerous as the Demon Slayer Corp. Having his wife be taken from him by an illness he realized he can’t protect his family from everything, but he knew if he told the boys not to join the Demon Slayer Corp that would at least lessen the chances of them getting killed early. You have to also remember the first time he said this to Kyojuro he was still actively the Flame Pillar. They’re also his sons so just like Ruka he knew they wanted to be Flame Pillars so he couldn’t just ask them not to join, their family has been the Flame Pillar for generations. He tore up the records after he heard about Kyojuro’s death not only because he probably wanted to guarantee Senjuro couldn’t become the next Flame Pillar so he wouldn’t risk losing him too but also because he probably completely blamed Kyojuro’s death on the fact that he became the Flame Pillar. He thought if he told Kyojuro and Senjuro they weren’t good enough they’d eventually abandon it and it didn’t work, so that’s something to be upset about for him. When people are upset, it’s easier to blame someone else for the bad thing that happened, and Shinjurou (especially drunk) wasn’t going to admit to a stranger he felt it was his fault Kyojuro died, and that’s why I think he told Tanjiro that Kyojuro died because he was “weak”. Because blaming it on Kyojuro meant he didn’t have to reflect on the fact that he left Senjuro and Kyojuro alone. I don’t believe Shinjurou truly believed either of his sons to be weak, I think he told them they weren’t good enough because he hoped that if he said it enough they would eventually abandon it and then he wouldn’t have to risk losing them. In Rengoku Gaiden he was still grieving Ruka, and doing his Pillar duties and as we see it was taking its toll on his emotions, he wasn’t able to handle the grief and anger of losing her properly and at some point his depression just got so bad that he couldn’t function anymore and went to one of the darkest depths of depression where he just stayed in bed all day. Guys he never looks at Senjuro and Kyojuro when they’re talking to him, his back is always to them, because he can’t even handle the reminder of his wife in their features anymore. Especially considering Kyojuro is a exact replica of her but with his dad’s hair and eyes. That’s not even touching the traits in personality he shares with her. That is how hard her death hit him, instead of being glad that he could see her face every day it just hurt him to see her in his boys because it reminded him she was gone and not coming back and it was too much for him. Shinjurou was mad at himself, he felt like he was worthless, he probably felt like Senjuro and Kyojuro blamed him or resented him for letting their beloved mother die. He felt so badly about himself that he assumed Kyojuro had a complaint about him before Senjuro could even tell him what Kyojuro said. When he hears what Kyojuro actually said, and thinks back to the last time he saw Kyojuro he openly cries, and it’s not like a tear trickle it is grief-stricken crying just like what Senjuro was doing. Once Shinjurou stops drinking we see what I believe is the real him. The letter he sends to Tanjiro in the Entertainment District arc is a great indicator of the real Shinjurou. He has nothing but praise and affectionate words for Tanjiro and for his sons, he thanks Tanjiro for grieving Kyojuro, apologizes for his actions, explains how he got to that point in his life, praises Senjuro’s growth and his and Tanjiro’s friendship, praises Kyojuro’s accomplishments and affectionately tells Tanjiro about how they are so much like their mother. He didn’t have to send all this. He could have just sent the info, but he doesn’t, because he does love his family and he loves his sons and he knows them and he appreciates how much Tanjiro cares about his sons and so feels comfortable enough to share these thoughts with him. If he was abusive to the boys he would not say all those things, he wouldn’t care about their emotions or their accomplishments but he does care, Shinjurou loved and adored his family, he made some mistakes in his grief, and went about dealing with it wrong, but he loved his boys, he definitely loved them too much to harm them.

[thekillingmoonmoon]

one | wisteria wishes

part one / part two // sequel: part one / part two

(welcoming, hospitality, healing)

Pairing: Inui x fem!reader (what if Inui fought in the underground fighting rings for Brahman, and other things inspired by that official art of him wrapping a bandage around his arm - you know the one)

Warnings: NSFW, mentions of blood and violence and being a post-grad 

Length: 3,2k

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

The night was soft, blurred at the edges, right on the cusp of spring.

Inui was warm, almost floating, although that might have had something to do with the elbow he took to the head just a while earlier. But his vision was clear, balance certain, it was his thoughts that were spiralling just out of reach, brushing at his outstretched fingers, evading comprehension.

It was still early, at least for him, for the other creatures that slunk back into the shadows as the fights were concluded. It was Friday, and Brahman was raucous, boisterous, a clamour of back-slapping and hand-clasps. Several times an unfamiliar touch invaded Inui’s world, accompanied by a congratulations or grateful remark that he’d won another stranger more money. Inui was drifting, yet still rooted to the concrete, his mind dancing away from him whilst he droned through his post-fight routine.

He blinked and stiffened as he left the building, the ice of winter still lingering in the night air. Draken waited for him at his bike, the fresh dye of his braid melting into the ink of the night sky, his haori fluttering in the breeze. The others had already left in a roar, their bikes travelling the familiar routes to the various broken down bars and restaurants that welcomed their kind. Draken offered his destination and a drink to celebrate Inui’s win, but he refused with a gentle shake of his head and small smile.

He should have gone with Draken, Inui scolded himself as his friend departed. It was his job after all, to lurk in the shadows of bars, the corners of clubs, watching, listening to the heartbeat of Tokyo’s underworld. But not tonight. Tonight, Inui craved reality, the tangible beat of a human heart, not the murmuring of lowlifes and criminals. He threw his leg over his bike, thoughts still far ahead as he absently started up the engine and peeled away into the night.

Your neighbourhood was quiet, and Inui had only realised where he was when the silence of the area was shattered by the growl of his bike. Why had he come here? Was it to see you? Why? Inui freewheeled into the parking lot outside your apartment building, long legs skimming over asphalt as he rolled to a halt. Your building looked different at night, Inui noted, the bright hues of the new spring blooms at the entrance muted by the touch of the night’s shadow. Seaswept eyes wandered aimlessly up the face of the building, unconsciously seeking the window to your world. Three floors up, and two windows from the left, your balcony and its rows of potted plants beckoned to him in welcome. Why was he here, Inui wondered. You weren’t part of his world, just as the brief flutter of a butterfly’s wings was not a part of a flower’s life. You were just a burst of colour, a wave of warmth in his cold, colourless life, destined to brighten his world for a breath before disappearing down the path of your own fate. You and Inui had been thrown together by chance, by a stubborn engine and a sudden snowstorm at the first gasp of winter, by a giggled realisation that you lived just a few blocks over from him, by a shared love of simple things, of soft pastries and strong coffee. Inui was long-accustomed to loneliness – how long had it been since Koko had left, actually? – so he had indulged in your company, in your comforting silence and homemade sweets as he’d nursed your car back to full health. Draken had tried to tease him, to drop hints regarding the unspoken bond between you and Inui, but he’d ignored it with a raised brow and uncurled mouth. You were just a passing fancy, a glimpse of a life Inui would never experience. Yours was the world of western cafes, of old books with bent spines, of lectures held in vast halls of oak and history. His was the world of bloody knuckles and motorcycle grease, of sworn enemies and forgotten friends. And yet, here he was, gazing up at your window, wishing for a flicker of light from behind closed curtains.

You were still awake, surprisingly, the light from your apartment trickling through the windows to curl around Inui’s heart and call for him. And so, with a scoff of astonishment at himself, Inui secured his bike, entered your building and rang your bell.

…

You were drowning, figuratively. Surrounded by towers of books, stray papers and neatly compiled notes, you were trapped in a fortress of knowledge. Your legs had long fallen asleep, and you wished you could join them, daydreams of your soft pillow and warm blankets flitting across the pages as you squinted at yet another textbook.

Your doorbell rang, startling you and sending one of your delicately constructed piles of paper across the carpet with a scattered whoosh.W ho? You scrambled to your feet, clutching your cardigan over your shoulders whilst you went over all the possible people who could be looking for you at this hour. No-one from your university, that was for sure. Post-graduates had the tendency to retreat at sundown, hissing in horror at the thought of any nightly activities. Old friends from school? No, most of them were married with kids, too exhausted from hours of wailing bundles and domestic felicity to venture out after dark. Your heart leapt at the wishful conclusion your mind made. Of course, it was just a whimsical hope, a remnant of your teenage sentiments, a silly fantasy where the object of your affections magically appeared on your doorstep.

Inui was just about to leave, already turning away, shoulders slightly slumped. “Hello?” your voiced was muffled, by both the intercom and the hour, slumber lacing your greeting with a softness that made Inui’s chest tighten. “It’s Inui,” he replied, suddenly awkward, “Are you free?” You crackled, and Inui unconsciously tensed his jaw in preparation. “Yeah, you wanna come up?” “If that’s okay,” he answered, blood thundering through his veins. “Alright, I’ll open up.” The door buzzed and Inui heard the lock click open. The lobby was nothing special, but it was clean, which was more than Inui could say about where he lived. The elevator was walled with mirrors and Inui nearly turned on his heel the instant the doors slid open.

Dried blood lay along his hairline, and purple had begun to bloom beneath the porcelain of his cheekbone. The wounds were small, superficial, but to anyone not used to seeing a fighter’s injuries it would be a shocking sight. What was he thinking? Using the sleeve of his jacket, Inui rubbed at his stained skin, wondering at his sudden recklessness. He must have gone mad. Here he was, invading your life with his violent touch, barging in at an unholy hour of the night, fresh from a fight where he’d bludgeoned a stranger half to death. Hell, he was still wearing his uniform, and the white shirt he’d worn beneath was now coloured red with his opponent’s loss.

But it was too late, and the elevator door was expelling him onto your floor with an indignant ding. Inui raised his war-torn knuckles to knock on your door, only for you to open it with wide eyes and furrowed brows. “Uh – hi,” you squeaked from nervousness, inwardly smacking yourself over the head for you behaving like a lovestruck fool. “I look awful, sorry,” Inui started, “I didn’t know until I got here.” His marine gaze was steady and your cheeks warmed. You took a step back, beckoning him in. “That’s alright. I have a first-aid kit somewhere in here,” you gestured towards your bathroom, “um, make yourself comfortable.”

Inui took a moment to inhale your apartment, eyes sweeping over the single room that housed your entire life. He’d been here before, for brief cups of coffee and collections of books you’d lent to him, but now that he’d caught you in the midst of living, he felt like he’d interrupted something sacred. The low table where you’d knelt and shared a plate of pastries was now covered in your research materials, and your futon had been laid out in a previously empty corner of the studio apartment. He settled himself to one side of your makeshift desk, careful not disturb the mountains of paper and books.

“Would you like some tea?” you asked, trailing from your bathroom, red box in hand. Inui nodded. “Please.” He watched as you clattered around your tiny kitchen, retrieving mugs and setting the kettle to boil. He’d truly broken a private moment of your life, and he selfishly revelled in the rare sight of you in a state of repose. You looked comfortable, soft at the edges, and once again, Inui realised that you were beautiful.

You huffed as you made your way towards him, pausing to haphazardly wrestle your research material into slightly less conspicuous piles on the bookshelves against the wall. “Not going well?” Inui ventured, and the sigh you let out was more telling than your actual answer. “So-so. It’s just taking so long,” you knelt in front of him, medical kit on your lap, “I feel as old and worn as those textbooks,” you gestured to the cracked tomes you’d just arranged on the shelves. Inui gave a small chuckle. “You don’t look it,” he teased, breath catching at your fluttering lashes and shy smile. You shook off your fluster, snapping open your first aid kit with a clack.

“Alright, jacket off. Shirt too. Your face wasn’t the only victim, I assume?” you prepared some cotton swabs with disinfectant, watching from the periphery of your vision as your guest shucked his outer garment from his broad shoulders. You stilled, and then looked directly at his blood-soaked shirt. “It’s not mine,” Inui reassured, “other guy got a nosebleed,” he pulled the shirt over his head, his hair cascading over his shoulders in a golden wave. “See?” the skin of his torso was unbroken, save for the odd scrape or cut. “Hm,” you shuffled closer, “don’t complain too much, please.”

You wiped his face with a wet cloth and Inui stared over your shoulder with a vacant gaze. It looked a lot worse than it actually was, and you inadvertently sighed in relief. Your touch trembled as your hands moved down his neck to his collarbones. Your wildest dreams had done Inui a serious injustice, you thought. The young man was solid, an Adonis of lean muscle cut from marble, littered with ivory scars. And you were touching him, holding yourself steady on his shoulder as you leaned towards him. His skin was warm beneath your palm, the faint scent of him brushing at your senses. He smelled of pine, and gasoline, and the sweat he’d earned during the fight you were currently cleaning up. Your hand lingered, fingers brushing over his collarbones when you turned to retrieve the cotton swabs.

Inui took your hand, lifting it from his chest, and you prepared to snatch it away in embarrassment. But he cradled it in his lap, throwing his legs out on either side of you, groaning his back onto the wall behind him. You glanced at him from the corners of your eyes, at your hand in his, at his fingertips as they trailed over your skin. Carefully, you dabbed disinfectant onto his wounds, spreading your knees slightly to keep your balance, Inui still holding onto your other hand.

Touch had never been part of your companionship, at least, not until now. And Inui cursed himself for not initiating contact before. Even the light, fleeting brush of the stinging alcohol to his skin felt intoxicating, felt impossible. His eyes flickered closed and he watched you from beneath his lashes. Eventually, his breathing matched yours, and he caught the subtle hitch of your breath when he shifted beneath your fingers. You patched him up in silence, layering gauze and plasters over the larger grazes on his ribs. Eventually you rocked back to sit on your feet, still frustratingly close to your patient.

“There we go,” you hummed, eyes fixed to the space where your fingers intertwined with Inui’s. He squeezed your hand. “Thank-you, pretty girl,” he murmured, causing you to snap your eyes to his. “What?” “Hm?” “What did you just call me?” “’Pretty girl.’ You don’t like it?” Inui raised an eyebrow at you. You flustered, your free hand dancing in a flurry of awkwardness. “No, um,” you shook your head, “but, why? Why all of a sudden?” “I just think you’re pretty,” Inui shrugged, his nonchalance a stark contrast to your flushed state. You glanced down at yourself and then back at him. Blue eyes observed you with quiet seriousness. “Wait, really? Now?” “Not just now,” Inui said, “I’ve always found you beautiful and I wanted you to know.” His thumbs traced circles over the back of your hand, sending shivers down your spine. This must be a dream. You cleared your throat, desperate to gain control of the situation. “Is that why you came?” you asked, hoping that the dizzy butterflies trapped inside your ribcage would quiet down. Inui tilted his head in thought. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “I just wanted to see you. Is that okay?” You found yourself nodding before you could even think. “Yeah, anytime,” you replied, shifting in your seat. “Any time?” Inui sounded surprised, you glanced at him, sincerity clear in your gaze. “Any time, Inui,” you stated, voice suddenly firm. Out of everything in your life, of this you were certain: you cherished Inui, and you wanted to be a part of his world. “I’m in a gang. Are you sure?” his true question lay beneath his words. You raised your brows at him. “I know. I don’t mind. It’s important to you, right?” “I guess so. But this,” he pointed to his face, “this isn’t half of it. I don’t want to upset your life with my shit.” “But what if I want you to?” you retorted, and his eyes widened. You continued. “Look, Inui.” “Seishu,” he interrupted. You gulped. “Seishu. I don’t know what impression you got from me, but your way of life doesn’t bother me. It only bothers me if it bothers you. You, um, You’ve become important to me, and you’re welcome in my life. Like, really welcome,” you swallowed down the anxiety curled in your throat. Seishu’s fingers tentatively caressed your cheek, scuffed knuckles brushing over your soft skin. Your gaze met his, and you drowned in the storm sealed in his eyes.

Inui’s lips met yours with restraint, sending ripples of shock through your skin. His chapped lips bestowed you with a ghost of a kiss before he drew back to look at you. Large glossy eyes blinked at him, you mouth slightly parted and your breath shallow. You wanted him, craved him. That gentle meeting of your bodies, that brief gasp of unity – it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

But Inui’s face was still, silent, and you wondered if you should retreat. But then you caught sight of his eyes, his heavy-lidded gaze dyed dark with his desire. “Can I kiss you, again?” he rasped. You nodded, a shiver spiralling down your spine as Inui leaned forward. “I need to hear you say yes, pretty girl,” he coaxed you closer, and you found the plea had left your mouth before you could catch it. “Please, Seishu,” you breathed, “please kiss me.”

Inui Seishu tasted of iron and lust, of cold nights and bloody knuckles. He kissed in the same way he lived, intensely, meaningfully. Within moments, you were on his lap, scooped up by broad hands on your hips and straddled over his spreadeagled thighs, his fingers teasing your skin with whispers of caresses and promises of touch. He took careful control of your kiss, a guttural sigh rumbling through his chest when you let his tongue slide past your lips. Inui kissed you slowly, thorough in his mouth’s ministrations, stealing each breath from your lungs with a nip of his teeth or swipe of his tongue.

Your hands came to a natural rest at the nape of his neck, fingers entangled in the strands of sunlight that fell to his shoulders. Inui hummed at the sensation, his own fingers tracing their way up your thighs to your hips, slipping beneath the hem of your jersey. He was the first to break from the kiss, tilting his head back to drink in the dizzying sight of you, flushed and dazed.

“This okay?” he asked, tapping his fingers in a wave over your hips, his index fingers brushing the sensitive skin just above the waistline of your pants. “Yeah,” you whispered, cautious of his possible rejection if you didn’t clearly state what you wanted. And you wanted. You pressed your forehead to his, shuddering slightly as his hands took a firmer grip on your hips. Inui tugged you impossibly closer, taking your weight off your knees and onto his thighs, your chest pressed to his. He radiated warmth, the hazy sunlight of a late summer’s day, intoxicating, calming. He claimed your mouth once again, catching your lips in an open-mouthed kiss that sent you spinning whilst his fingers inched their way from your hips to your waist, ghosting beneath your jersey and the tee shirt you wore underneath that. His touch was electrifying, yet soothing, all too natural as he felt the contours of your body.

Your hips met his lap with a groan of friction and a whimper caught in your throat. The thin material of your pants did little to separate you from the growing bulge in Inui’s trousers, the cotton of your panties catching at your clit and pushing a hiss past your lips. Inui’s lips began to shift from your mouth, nibbling and sucking at your jaw as you fidgeted on his lap.

“It’s okay, my angel, you can rub your pretty pussy on my cock, yeah?” he murmured into your neck and you keened, your fingers tightening in his hair. One of his hands came back down your hips to rock you against him, the hushed moan you let out nothing short of heaven to his ears. Hesitantly you moved over him, guided by his fingertips at the small of your back, the friction causing tingles to spread through your lower abdomen. “That’s it, that’s my pretty girl,” Inui nosed at the collar of your jersey, laying wet kisses on your neck and collarbones. “Your pretty girl?” hope laced through your voice, soft and meek as you hid your face in the crook of Inui’s neck. He pried you from your abashed embrace, his mouth set in a serious line. “If you want to be,” he offered, then frowned, “although I don’t have much to offer…” you shook your head with sudden violence, earning you a set of wide eyes. “Just you is enough, Seishu,” you rubbed your thumb in reassuring circles on his shoulder and was rewarded with his crooked smile, followed by another drawn-out kiss that had you falling into a daze. “Then you’re mine, angel,” Inui cooed into your skin, “all mine.” He coaxed your hips over his cock once more, feeling you melt against him in a haze of soft pleasure.

“Now,” his fingers drifted up your back, “’ wanna see you.” 

my little flowers: @cursedmoonchild @issamomma @ravenina14 @sujiko @mrskisaki​ 

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[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 1

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Summary: Assigned all cases involving android-related crimes, saddled with a prototype that follows him around like a plastic puppy, Detective Connor Anderson knows this must be karma for all the bad shit he’s ever done.

He thought he'd hit rock bottom, that he didn't have much left to lose, but he's proven wrong by the android sent by CyberLife. And Connor learns just how much further he can fall.

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang​ 2020 challenge!

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

AO3

(Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​​)

November 5th, 2038

Friday 11:21PM

The whiskey was harsh and burned like liquid fire as it slid down his throat. He dropped the shot glass onto the bar top and closed his eyes and savored the bloom of the cheap booze warming his chest. The music from the old jukebox behind him belted out tunes that would have been considered outdated when the place opened.

It was like this most nights. He was alone, exhausted, and well on his way to a pleasant buzz. The one thing Connor had going for him was that he hadn’t started in on his third drink until 11 PM.

That had to be some kind of record. On a Friday night, he was usually shitfaced by 10. Call it the long hours he’d been working, or maybe the fact he felt more self-loathing than usual, he’d somehow managed to hold off on spiraling until nearly midnight.

Definitely a record. And Connor deserved to celebrate.

When he tipped the glass with one finger and caught Jimmy’s eye, he nearly looked away in shame. The bartender had never given him shit before, at least in a verbal sense, but the cool stare he gave Connor now made him want to crawl into a hole and die there.

But Jimmy didn’t say a word, just gave him another dose of poison and turned away, leaving Connor in relative peace to enjoy the game. Denton Carter was kicking ass tonight, so at least there was that.

It was all going beautifully until the door opened and the sound of rain echoed throughout the tiny bar, along with a distinct smell of wet asphalt and dirty concrete. Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw two of the other regulars shift in their seats to stare at the newcomer.

Not another regular, then. And by how lengthy the stares were and the sudden shift in atmosphere, Connor guessed the barometric pressure had taken a drop due to a pair of long legs and pretty eyes.

Turning his body only far enough to get a glance for himself, Connor was not disappointed, eyeing the stranger from their black dress shoes, up their shapely legs clad in dark jeans, past curvy hips and—

Oh.

Connor turned back in his seat, hunched over and grimacing in disgust, put there by the sight of a blue triangle on a lapel and a glowing armband around one arm. He hadn’t even needed to look higher for the LED to know what the fuck had just waltzed into the joint like it actually belonged there.

He nursed his whiskey, praying the thing would pass him by and leave him the fuck alone. Or better yet, Jimmy would throw it out.

No such luck, of course.

“Detective Anderson,” spoke a smooth, raspy voice to his right. “I’m the YN800 model sent by CyberLife.”

He elected to ignore it. Maybe if he did so for long enough, it would take the hint and go away.

Again, Connor’s luck was not holding out.

“I called your cell phone, but you didn’t answer,” the voice continued, unimpeded. “I then looked for you at the station after checking your home, but you weren’t there either. Your colleagues indicated you tended to frequent the bars in the area, and I was fortunate to find you at the fifth one.”

His eye twitched. This thing had gone to his apartment?

“Well, here I am,” he answered, dry and caustic as he stared straight ahead at the wall of bottles. He calculated how angry Jimmy would be if he took out his service pistol and shot it through the head.

Pretty angry, Connor decided. It would probably leave a stain. Also, he didn’t want to compensate some asshole company for property damage.

“What do you want?” he finally growled, scratching his nail into the bar top already marred with various scuffs and dings.

“You were assigned a case earlier this evening. A homicide.”

Already, a headache was forming between the eyes at the sound of the android’s irritatingly friendly voice.

“Yeah, and?”

“It involved a CyberLife android,” it said in that same smooth inflection. “In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”

You have to be shitting me.

Connor grit his teeth and clenched his glass tighter, a flush of heat moving through him that had nothing to do with his blood alcohol content. A fucking android was sent to help cops do their job?

Fuck that, and fuck this hunk of junk.

“Good for them,” he answered as he tipped the glass up to his lips. “I couldn’t give less of a shit. Now get the fuck out of my face. We don’t need any help, especially from a plastic pair of tits like you.”

He should have known that wasn’t the end of it. The android spoke again, adopting a tone of what it had probably been programmed as “sympathetic.”

“I understand you may be experiencing reluctance to having an android’s assistance in this matter, but I am—“

“—ruining a perfectly good evening, butting your nose where it doesn’t belong and sure as fuck isn’t welcome.”

Connor put his glass down harder on the bar top than he meant to, nearly spilling his drink.

“I suggest you leave before I void your warranty.”

Connor thought the machine got the message when it finally went silent. He could even see its mood ring spinning yellow out of the corner of his eye before it settled on that annoying placid blue.

He’d just brought the glass halfway to his lips when it said, “I’m sorry, Detective, but I must insist.”

Connor set the glass back down and started to count to ten. He couldn’t lose it now, he’d promised Jimmy he wouldn’t break anything else after the last brawl he’d gotten into.

But the fucking thing just kept on talking.

“My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you.”

“You know where you can stick your instructions?” Connor growled before downing the glass of whiskey.

It was a good thing he had, because its next words made him choke on spit.

“No. Where?”

Connor set the glass down, and for the first time that evening, fully turned toward the android and stared at it.

The damn thing was staring back, head slightly tilted like a curious puppy. It had large eyes to match the image too, earnest and innocent and entirely too sincere. Its attire at second glance wasn’t the typical android faire. A smooth grey android jacket and a dark, patterned tie marked it as something different. Unique.

And just a little too pretty. Every designed, group-focused imperfection on its face made it that much more appealing. Its hair was neatly coifed, pulled up and pinned behind its head, exposing the smooth curve of its neck.

Hanging down the left side of its face was a strategically-placed lock of hair that Connor immediately want to twirl his finger around. He suspected that was the point.

The further down Connor’s eyes traveled, the more he lost his train of thought. The perfectly sensible tie was lying on the slope of its breasts, something even the jacket couldn’t cover. Why the fuck androids had breasts to begin with, Connor couldn’t begin to fathom, and it seemed even more ludicrous now seeing them on a “specialized model.”

The android hadn’t moved apart from its artificial breathing, another thing about the machines that was uncanny. They weren’t human, and the fact CyberLife kept trying to pass them off as such was a goddamn insult to humanity.

He met the thing’s eye, gave an unimpressed huff, and went back to nursing his drink. If the fucking tin can didn’t understand a dirty innuendo, he certainly wasn’t going to ruin its pristine, virginal programming.

Connor doubted everything that had just gone through his head as those unnecessarily realistic tits were pressed against his elbow, without warning or any sense of decency or a concept of personal space.

“How about this, Detective?”

Connor fumbled, nearly spilling his drink, a massive what the fuck! warning flashing in his head as the machine pressed closer.

“I’ll buy you another drink, on the house. Surely that’s worth a few minutes of your time? And if not, you can send me on my way.”

Connor couldn’t speak with that voice right into his ear like a close confidant, sultry and low and borderline pornographic, so it was a good thing the android didn’t bother waiting for a response.

Instead, it turned to Jimmy and said in a louder, more normal tone, “Bartender, another round for the detective, please.”

Jimmy turned from where he was cleaning glasses on the counter, eyebrows shooting upward as he looked from the machine to Connor. It had backed up a few inches, but there were a lot of reflective bottles on the wall. Connor wondered just how much Jimmy had seen.

Connor gave a little helpless shrug as if to say, Don’t look at me, I don’t know what the fuck it’s doing!

But when the damn thing actually brought out real paper money and set it on the counter, Jimmy got moving. Seemed he wasn’t picky about where his money came from, and Connor almost resented the fact he hadn’t thrown the android out on principle.

Who the hell gave it money in the first place? CyberLife? What, did they hand it a few bucks of allowance before letting it off its leash?

Despite all his reservations, and there were a great many of them, Connor was not about to turn down a free drink. Or two.

“Make it a double,” he grumbled, purposefully avoiding the android’s focused gaze. He could practically feel the thing staring into the side of his head, but at least it remained at a distance and wasn’t pressed against his side like a drunk, horny badge bunny anymore.

“Thanks, Jim.” Connor took the glass and tipped it back, drowning it in one go. The slide of the familiar burn down his throat, spreading throughout his limbs, did quite a lot to help ease the tension in his muscles.

He released a heavy exhale, pushed away from the bar, and got to his feet.

“You want to play plastic cop? Okay, then. Keep up,” he said, tilting his head in its direction without actually looking at it. “Or I’m leaving your ass behind.”

Connor didn’t wait for a response, only raised his hand in parting to Jimmy, and pushed open the door to let the rain-drenched Detroit night swallow him whole. But even through the sound of the rain pinging off the hood of his nearby car he could hear the even footfalls behind him, just a little too close for comfort.

Fucking androids.

Next Chapter

[nothoughtsonlynat]

Human (Natasha Romanoff)

Human: Chapter 1

A/N: Troyes, France is 6 hours ahead of NYC so 7pm there is 1pm in NYC. For the sake of this fic we’re going to pretend that the Battle of New York lasted quite a few hours.

*This is my first ever fic and I wrote it at 3am so bear with me

WARNINGS: swearing; mentions of weapons; violence; panic attack; anxiety; my crappy writing; and I think that’s it (lmk if there’s anything I should add)

Barcelona, Spain; January, 2012:

The repetitive ticking of the clock registered in my brain before my eyes even opened. I didn’t need that clock to know what time it was, of course. It was 4:30 am— the same time I've woken up everyday for the past twenty-five years of my life. I no longer need to wake up this early, yet it’s a habit so deeply engrained in my framework that it’s seemingly unbreakable. I roll out of bed and make my way into the dingy kitchen with light footsteps. With some quick math I figured that I got barely two hours of sleep last night, but that’s more than usual. I started the coffee machine and asked with a sigh, “Would you like some coffee or are you just going to lurk in the corner?”

The leather-clad stranger with an eyepatch stepped up to the kitchen island opposite of me and responded, “I wouldn’t mind a cup. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you knew I was here.”

“Well, you know what they say about old habits. You got a name?”

“You can call me Fury. We have a lot to talk about, Eight.” I slid him a mug of cheap coffee and gestured for him to take a seat. 

“Then we’d better get started so you can get the hell out of my apartment.” He simply chuckled in response and I could already feel my patience wavering.

Two Hours Later:

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division? Really, dude?”

“Yeah, it’s a mouthful. Trust me I know.”

“I’m sorry that you came all this way for nothing, Fury, but there’s no way in hell I'm working for some government spy circus.”

“It’s technically an extra-governmental spy agency-“

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not joining,” I said, cutting him off.

“So, you’re just gonna hop from one shitty apartment to the next until you die? That doesn’t seem like a great life.”

“Better than the one I lived before.”

“You aren’t the person to live in hiding. You’re the person who thrives in the action and lives to kick ass, and we both know it.” When I didn’t respond he continued, “I’ll leave you my card. When you change your mind, which you will, you’ll know where to find me. You don’t have to be the bad guy anymore, Eight.” With that he slid off the stool and left my apartment, leaving me with nothing but my rapidly spiraling thoughts and a black business card.

Troyes, France; May, 2012:

It had been four months since Director Fury came to my apartment in Barcelona. We’d kept in contact and he hasn’t given up on me joining S.H.I.E.L.D.. I'm living in my third apartment since then. Wow…those landlords must really hate me. I was watching the seven o’clock news when I saw something that made me choke on my Cheerios. “An alien invasion?! What the fu-” My Cheerio-muffled exclamation was interrupted by the ring of my burner phone. “Hello?”

“Eight, you watched the news recently?”

“Uh yeah, I'm watching it now. You fighting aliens now, Nicky?”

“Okay first of all, I told you to stop calling me that. Second, yes… aliens. I’m forming a team of…extraordinary people to help protect against these threats and they could really use a hand to finish off this fight.”

“I may be weird as hell but I ain't ‘extraordinary’, Fury. I don’t wanna join your band of misfits.”

“Alright, how about a compromise? You fly your fancy jet here right now and help them out and if you still don’t wanna join once the battle is over, you can go right back to France and I’ll stop bothering you about joining.” After a few seconds of silence I agreed. 

“Fine, but I’m not gonna change my mind. Wait, how do you know about my jet?”

He gave a hearty laugh and said “I know everything, Eight. You should know that by now.”

New York, New York; 96 Minutes Later: 

I flew my jet into the city, making sure to take out a few flying Chitauri in the process. We don’t need to talk about how I got my hands on a German jet that can fly 2100mph. I saw a few interesting characters standing in a circle fighting off an endless sea of aliens. I maneuvered the jet and— wait…is that guy wearing blue tights? Is this what Fury meant by extraordinary? Whatever. I landed in the street about 20 yards away and killed the engines. I hopped out and started jogging towards the group. A couple of them turned around, probably wondering who the hell the chick in the black uniform is and— whoa that’s a beautiful woman. After realizing my steps had literally faltered in a mini gay panic, I slowed to a walk and said “Y’all need a hand?”

“Depends on whose hand it is,” replied the redheaded source of my panic.

“I’m a friend of Fury’s. He practically begged me to come save your asses.”

“Fury doesn’t beg,” she said in a doubtful tone.

“Not typically, but I'm just that awesome. If you don’t believe me then call him up but I’m gonna go kill some aliens.” With that I took off down another street where there was a group of the repulsive bastards. After unloading all of my magazines into Chitauri bodies, I switched to my swords and daggers. After another hour or so of fighting, there were no more aliens in sight. I started jogging toward the rich dude’s tower when I saw said rich dude falling through the rapidly-closing portal. I stopped next to Mr. Blue Tights and the buff blonde guy with the hammer when the big green dude grabbed Mr. Rich Dude from the sky and landed next to us. The green guy yelled, waking Mr. Rich Dude up with a start. “What the hell? What happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me. Except for her, she’s pretty hot,” he said nodding toward me. Just then the redhead jogged over to us and eyed my blood-soaked form from head to toe. 

“See something you like, Red?”

“No. I’m pretty sure I'd be classified as a sadist if I liked the sight of that much blood,” she said with a raise of her eyebrow.

“Yeah that’s fair.” She shook her head at me with a small smirk. There was barely a second of silence when Mr. Rich Dude spoke up. 

“Anybody want shawarma?”

Three Hours Later:

I had gone to the Triskelion after the band of misfits apprehended Loki. Agent Hill showed me where to park my jet and directed me to a room so I could shower and stay the night if I wanted to. I had put on black jeans, a white tee, and a black jean jacket, all of which had been in a to-go bag in my jet. I was toweling off my hair when someone knocked on the door. I opened the door to see none other than the one-eyed-wonder standing there. “What can I do for you, Nicky?”

“The Avengers are being debriefed in Conference Room 6B in ten minutes. You should come.”

“The Avengers? Is that what you’re calling them? That’s cute. But I'm not an Avenger and I don’t want to be an Avenger, so no thanks.”

“You should come anyway.”

“I don’t actually have a choice, do I?”

“You know me so well, Eight,” he said with an amused grin.

I walked into the conference room and the Avengers were already there. Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor, and Natasha Romanoff—whose names I learned from Hill— were scattered around a large table, along with Fury. Romanoff eyed me from where she was standing and arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. I squinted my eyes and wiggled my eyebrows in response, and I could see her stifle a laugh. “What’s your name?” She accompanied the question with a blank expression, which made me feel oh-so-special. 

“That’s a very personal question, Miss Romanoff. Let’s slow the pace, please.”

“You know my name but I can’t know yours? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“The world isn’t fair, Miss Romanoff, and I love a good mystery.”

“If you two are done flirting, we have business to attend to,” interjected Fury.

“Right, my apologies, Nicky.”

“Don’t call me that, Eight.”

After an excruciating 43 minutes and 27 seconds, Fury finally let us leave. I was so close to freedom when that unbelievably sexy voice called to me. “Eight!” Romanoff hastily walked towards me in an effort to catch up.

“Yeah?”

“Is your name actually Eight?”

“If you want it to be.”

“Why are you so damn stubborn?”

“It amuses me, Red.” There was a brief silence during which both of us were trying to figure out if the conversation was over. 

I was about to leave when she continued, “So that’s it? You’re just gonna leave?”

“Well, no. I’m going to stay the night, steal some really expensive jet fuel, and then leave in the morning before Fury can get up my ass about joining his little team.”

She rolled her eyes and responded, “Why won’t you join the Avengers? And why won’t you tell me your real name?”

“It’s just not my style. I’d rather fly solo.”

“You ignored my second question.”

“Then maybe you should take the hint and stop asking.” With that I turned around and started walking away, but a hand on my arm stopped me dead in my tracks. Alarms started going off in my head, and I'm pretty sure Romanoff was saying something to me but I was too caught up in the memories of beatings, punishments, and psychological conditioning to register it. After a few of the longest seconds of my life, the white of my vision cleared up and the voice telling me ‘physical contact is strictly forbidden’ faded into the background. My heart was still hammering in my chest and I was trying to keep my breathing steady despite the inevitable panic attack trying to drag me under, I regained my neutral expression and said. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Are you okay?” She had a concerned expression and if I wasn’t so blinded with anxiety, I would’ve appreciated how cute the furrow of her eyebrows was.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna turn in. It’s been a long day.” I turned around and walked back to my temporary room at a brutal pace. As soon as the door closed behind me, hot tears raced down my cheeks and I lost the ability to breathe. It was gonna be a long night.

3:21 am:

I finally managed to calm myself down and stop the panic attack after almost four hours. Well, I passed out because I couldn’t breathe but it did calm me down. Trying to sleep would be pointless, so I decided to leave before anyone woke up. I didn’t really have much to pack so I grabbed my duffel bag and left the room. I made it to the corridor attached to the landing pads and ran into the one person I really didn’t want to see. “What are you doing out and about, Red?”

“I’ve got places to be and things to do. Were you just going to sneak out in the middle of the night like a teenager with a rebellious streak?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing, actually. Do you need a ride? Where are you going?”

“Madrid. Fury said I could hitch a ride on another plane that’s headed for Germany.”

“Well I’m going to France if you wanna ride with me. My jet will get you there a lot faster.” She studied me for what felt like way too long, probably debating if I would try to kill her or not. You know how spies are with their trust issues.

“What the hell, why not?”

And that is how I ended up in a jet with “Candy Shop” playing over the speakers and Natasha Romanoff in the copilot seat yelling at me to, and I quote, ‘slow the fuck down.’ “Why would I slow down, you psycho?! That’s the whole damn point of this thing!”

“Where did you even get a German jet this fast?”

“Germany.”

“No shit Sherlock. How did you get it?”

“I went to Germany, stopped in at the local speedy-jet dealership, and walked out with this beauty.”

“Sarcasm is a defense mechanism, you know? You’re only being like this to keep me from seeing the real you. You built walls. You want everyone to think you’re fine when in reality, you’re falling apart.”

“Okay…um…there was no need for that, Dr. Romanoff. I can find my own therapist, thank you very much. And don’t go pretending you’re all healthy in the head, Miss Assassin.” It was quiet for all of five seconds before we both burst into laughter.

Madrid, Spain:

I landed the jet at the local S.H.I.E.L.D. base and killed the engines. Romanoff and I removed our headsets and I stood to help her get her bags. “Welp, I’ll see you around I guess.” I really wasn’t good at this type of thing. Or any social interactions, really. Twenty-four years in a cell will do that to you.

“Will I? See you around, I mean?”

“Um, I don’t really know, honestly. I’m not part of S.H.I.E.L.D. so we won’t just run into each other or anything but…”

“Why won’t you join S.H.I.E.L.D.? I mean what else are you doing?”

“Ohhh, I see. You just love me so much that you don’t want me to leave. You’re gonna miss me so much-” I was cut off when she threw her backpack at my head. “Hey! You’re lucky I caught that! Freaking crazy woman.”

When our laughter died down she said, “Well I should probably go. Thank you for the ride.”

“Of course. Hitchhikers are always welcome aboard my beloved jet.” A small smile appeared on her face and she stepped forward to give me a hug but she must’ve seen my body go rigid because she stepped back. She might’ve said something but the voice in my head was too loud for me to understand her. I don’t know how long it was before I unfroze but when I did, she was gone. I walked to the front of the jet and started the journey to France.

[etherrealoblivion]

Nice To Meet You

Spencer Reid x Reader

Prompt: Reader somehow gets Spencer’s number and texts him, no idea who he is.

Content warnings: Smut. Dangerous scenario. choking ;)

gif by @toyboxboy​

Words: 2,165

MASTERLIST

~

Glancing at your phone, you were surprised to find that it was already 1:34 AM. How had your friends distracted you enough to have you stay out this late?

You shoved your way to the bar and tried to order a drink over the pulsating music filling the club.

“Aw, come on, mama,” you could hear a man next to you sweet talking one of your friends, “he’s six-foot-one and can tell you more interesting facts than you’d ever learn yourself. Plus he’s got three PhD’s. Tell me that doesn’t get you goin’.”

Your friend scoffed and dropped a napkin onto the bar. Ten neatly scrawled digits written across the bottom. Without thinking, you picked up the napkin, looked it over, and slipped it into your pocket.

“No thanks, honey,” your friend said, “But, I wouldn’t be opposed to you buying me a drink.”

And suddenly, her and the man were on the dance floor, leaving you alone yet again.

You supposed it was about time to turn in, shooting a quick text to your friend and catching a cab back to your apartment.

As you got in bed, not bothering to change out of your club outfit, you felt the lump in your pocket that held the phone number.

As much as you despised technology, you had finally gotten the hang of saving phone numbers into your phone. That and telling the time was the only thing it was good for anyway.

So it wasn’t too much of a surprise when your hands automatically typed in the number and pressed call.

What was a surprise, was the nervous voice on the other end answering on the second ring.

“H-hello?”

It was a man. His voice was scratchy and low, like he’d been asleep.

“Hello?”

“Do you need me to come in?” there was rustling on the other end, like he was getting out of bed.

“What?”

He went silent, seemingly realizing that you weren’t who he thought you were.

“Who is this?”

For some reason, you found yourself smiling at the way he asked.

“Who is this?”

Your answer seemed to have shocked him judging by the noise of him opening and closing his mouth a few times.

“I’m, uh, certainly not going to give my name to a stranger on the phone who won’t tell me theirs.”

You chuckled.

“Fair enough. I got your number at a bar. I thought i’d .. call . . . And I’m just realizing how weird this is.”

In your defense, he did chuckle softly.

“No, no. It’s interesting. I don’t really meet a lot of new people so, um. Wait. Did the number happen to be written on a napkin? Perhaps given to you by a suave asshat named Derek?”

You giggled into the phone, pleased to hear he was enjoying the conversation.

“Napkin yes. Derek? No clue. I don’t really talk to people at bars.”

“Yeah. I don’t really go to bars.”

“Seriously? Then how do I have your number?”

He cleared his throat harshly.

“I, ahem, I was telling my friend Derek about how I don’t really, um . . . get girls and he bet me he could find at least one woman who’d be . . . interested.”

You laughed, charmed by the way he stuttered.

“Ah, that makes sense. I was with my friend and she, uh, dropped the napkin. Although, I will say, you do have adorable handwriting.”

“Oh, right. Yes, thank-thank you. You have a nice voice. It’s calming. I mean, people tend to be about sixteen percent more attracted to nice voices. Not that I’m attracted to you. I mean! Not that you aren’t um. Actually i don’t know what you look like so I can’t really . . . um.”

A surge of boldness ran through you and in that moment, at 2:16 in the morning, you made a decision.

“Do you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Know what I look like?”

He stuttered on the other end, unsure what you were saying.

Before he could say anything else, you hung up, texted your address to him, and jumped in the shower.

Only when the warm water hit your skin did you realize the weight of what you’d just done. You’d just texted your home address to a complete stranger whose name you didn’t even know.

“Oh god.”

Were you in danger? Jesus. You jumped out of the shower and ran to your phone, suddenly much more awake.

“I should call the cops, right?” you muttered to yourself, throwing on a bathrobe. “I should! Right?”

But the knock at the door snapped you out of your downward spiral.

You had two options. Call the police. Or open the door.

Your hand found the doorknob faster than you’d like to admit, throwing open the front door and being hit by the sight of the man in front of you.

True to what the man at the bar said, he was tall. But that wasn’t what struck you. He was wearing a pale blue set of pajamas and old sneakers on his feet. His fluffy hair was rumpled from sleep but his eyes were wide open.

You suddenly remembered your own state of disarray: hair wet from the shower, no makeup, and only wearing a bathrobe.

“I—“ he started to speak, unsure of what to say. Understandably so; this was a very unlikely situation.

You reached out to him, hand sneaking around the lapel of his pajama top and pulling him into your apartment and leading him towards the bedroom.

His eyes were blown wide, watching you intently, letting you take charge of the situation.

So you did. Pushing him so he sat down on your bed and standing between his legs. He didn’t move. Just stared nervously, maintaining eye contact.

After he didn’t make any move, you gently grasped his hands, leading them up to the tie of your robe, placing them there.

He took the hint, quicker than you expected, and got to work untying the knot. The moment he did, you started to unbutton his pajamas, pushing the top back off his torso, revealing a smooth, tough chest that you could run your hands over for hours.

He’d untied your robe, but his hands were now nervously hovering over the opening.

You climbed into his lap, resting your arms on his shoulders and leaning in to whisper in his ear. You recalled something his friend at the bar had said.

“What are you waiting for? Doctor.”

A soft moan escaped his lips at the name, pulling you closer, hands tight around your hips.

Intrigued, you continued.

“Oh? You like it when I call you that, doctor?”

Suddenly, you were on your back, hands pinned above your head. He had flipped you over, now laying between your legs, you could feel his growing erection pressed up against you.

A dark look flickered across his eyes, quickly replaced by one of worry. He removed his hands from yours and started to sit up, presumably to apologise for getting rough. You weren’t having that.

You quickly flipped the two of you so you were straddling him, gently grinding against his growing bulge.

The look in his eyes did horrible things to you and you couldn’t stand another second without his lips against yours.

The kiss was hot and fueled by the danger of the circumstance, you being at the mercy of this utter stranger that, for some reason, you trusted completely.

You pulled back, panting heavily and running your hands up and down his chest. His hands were placed softly against your back, lightly stroking through your robe.

“Take it off,” you growled into his ear.

That seemed to be the last straw, for he flipped you over again, ripping your robe off and throwing it across the room, pulling his pajama pants down and grinding painfully slowly against you.

“Is this what you want?” his voice was low and scratchy, like it had been on the phone but there was more to it now. There was something you couldn’t place in his eyes. The words sent a chill through you, making you dig your nails into his back, pulling him against you.

“Not quite,” you muttered against his ear, digging through your bedside drawer and pushing him away. He took the lead, shedding his underwear, grabbing the condom and rolling it on.

Now, with him on top of you, cock gently pressing against your entrance, not quite pushing in yet, you realized that what you’d seen in his eyes wasn’t worry. It was care.

When he spoke, it was gentle, light.

“Is this okay?”

A warm surge went through you at the question. He was genuinely concerned about how you felt.

You smiled gently at him, and he smiled back, a hint of worry remaining in his expression.

Rather than answer aloud, you hooked your legs around his back and pulled him into you.

His face lit up, mouth forming an O as he moaned softly, eyebrows furrowing as he plunged into your tight heat.

He was considerably bigger than you’d expected, going off his slight stature. The sensation was very new. You hadn’t been with anyone in a while and you gasped quite loudly as the two of you adjusted to the feeling.

After a moment, he started fidgeting, eager to move.

You released your grip with your legs, allowing more room for movement. The second you did, he began to thrust, slow at first, almost teasingly. He was soon spurred on by the volume and intensity of your moans, probably also from you being so close to his ear.

A wave of pleasure suddenly shocked you as he hit just the right spot, resulting in a strange squeak coming from your mouth.

His eyes went wild and suddenly his hand was at your throat, squeezing the sides every so gently.

You felt your eyes roll back, overwhelmed by the sensation. His hand snapped away quickly and he froze.

“Shit. . . I’m so sorry . . . I—I didn’t mean—“

But you simply grabbed his hand and placed it back on your neck, softly squeezing his fingers and giving a little nod.

It took him a moment to get the hint, but when he did, he really went for it. Pounding into you, biting down on your clavicle, and making the blood rush to your head — amongst other places.

You had to force yourself to move your hands from where they were clawing at his lower back. You pulled his shoulders forward and bit his earlobe, causing his movements to stutter.

“Oh, fuck. . . . I don’t know how long. . . .”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, slipping a hand down between you and rubbing your clit, increasing the feeling tenfold.

Your moans quickly became louder, only making him pound harder. Surely the headboard was banging against the wall. The neighbors would for sure complain.

Suddenly, the hand on your throat flew to your ankle, gripping it tightly and swinging your leg up over his shoulder. The angle was now just right and he hit the spot inside you each time he thrust in, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Oh, god. Yes. Ohhhhh . . .” you rubbed furiously, on the verge of your orgasm. “I’m gonna—“

“Me too,” his voice was so sweet and still so dirty.

An unexpected idea washed over you.

“Look at me.”

His eyes snapped open, startling you with the haze over his pupils. Although, you were sure if someone held a mirror to you right now, you’d look pretty much the same.

Almost the instant your eyes met, you felt the knot in your stomach snap, sending waves and waves of pleasure through you as you tightened around your partner.

He could definitely feel you coming, eyebrows furrowing and speeding up his thrusts so they were now shallow and quick, just enough to get him off. Which he did very shortly after you, hand snaking around your throat and pushing you down onto his cock as he came.

He grunted on the last thrust, using every ounce of his strength not to collapse on top of you.

Your voice froze in your throat as he pulled out, discarding the condom and plopping down next to you, breathing heavily.

Somehow, your post-coital brain started to rush with the guilt of what you’d just done. You didn’t know this man in the slightest.

“I don’t even know your name,” you whispered to the ceiling, staring at the little popcorn-like bumps.

He turned on his side, lightly running a finger along your jaw in a way that was far too sweet for a one-night stand.

You turned to look at him. His eyes were much lighter now. You could see small flecks of green behind them.

“My name’s Spencer.”

A smile lit up your face, prompting one from him in turn.

“I’m Y/N.”

He blushed, holding out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You took his hand, shaking it firmly and beaming at him.

“Nice to meet you, Spencer.”

[equalseleventhirds]

fdsjflsk hello i have had the magnus archives and the web specifically on my mind AGAIN and this is only tangentially related to the convo last night BUT

a lot of ppl have shown up on my & other ppl's posts abt 'wow manipulation and spiders? why??' going 'well but there are spider tricksters in mythology'

and like... yeah, ok, there are. but are there that many, compared to other animal tricksters, and spider not-tricksters? enough to justify the exclusivity of spiders to the one entity??

so i. made a list, as i do. (you can't judge me for this you should know by now i make lists at the SLIGHTEST provocation) actually i made TWO lists, one of spiders in mythology & how they line up with tma's entities, and one of tricksters in mythology. (i knew some of these already but i also got a lot of them off of wikipedia. also tried to avoid detailing the uh. worse aspects of mythologies. we all know abt it but that isn't the point here.)

(we are ignoring for now my theory that the web's actually shit at manipulation and mostly just does control, and considering any spider that does manipulation OR control to be web-aligned)

spiders in mythology (and how they align w/ tma's various entities, if they even do):

anansi: okay i'll give you this one! yeah he is the trickster spider! yeah he lies & manipulates! he's not really uhhhh evil in any way or would inspire ppl to generate fear for the entities to shape themselves to, but ok yeah i'll give you that one as web!

arachne: she literally just wove tapestries? got into a competition with athena and wove a tapestry detailing the infidelities of the gods. like, if anything she is eye, going around revealing truths and stuff.

uttu: mostly seems to be about creation? weaving & plants. hid herself in her web, which isn't manipulation at all, it's just hiding. not rly entity aligned at all, at worst she's probably a victim of like, the hunt? maybe?

iktomi: another trickster! p much the same boat as anansi, where he's not particularly evil, but we'll let him be web.

spider grandmother: she just is helpful!! she creates & guides & protects! no entities.

ai apaec: creator & leader god again. only sometimes a spider.

djieien: just a very strong spider who hid its heart so it couldn't be killed? like, if anything, end.

great goddess of teotihuacan: associated with spiders, maybe not a spider herself? doesn't seem to be much known abt her, but potentially underworld, darkness, earth, creation, lots of things. no mention of manipulation or control.

nareau: another creation god. i guess he does do some arguably flesh-aligned stuff in that creation, but like, so do a lot of other creation myths.

areop-enap: again creation! hmm what a pattern emerges. doesn't seem particularly aligned with any entities.

tsuchigumo: ok i can give you web here i guess? bcos it does trick ppl, even if that tricking also kind of slides into spiral/stranger territory. and hunt territory obvs it literally is there to consume prey. also can give you evil here.

jorogumo: can also be web! there is lying & shapeshifting here, like the tsuchigumo, but slightly less pure evil? there's like, a couple of neutral depictions, but also evil ones. anyway. web.

gamba: not on wikipedia but wikipedia only talks abt the filipino story of the spider who wanted to marry the fly, NOT gamba, and i LOVE gamba. anyway she just created things. got too into her work and turned into a spider. idk what entity is 'fear of being a workaholic' but it's not the web. maybe lonely, since she neglected her family relationships abt it?

conrad of constance: not a spider himself, but drank out of a cup with a spider in it, showing that the cup was not poisoned even tho ppl thought spiders were poisonous. i don't... i don't think this is an entity. hey jonny maybe take some hints here, spiders are not that bad--

robert of bruce: my dude saw a v persistent spider and was inspired! it's chill it's cool! spiders helped scotland gain independence one time! wow no wonder fucking smirke hated them--

pan twardowski: again not a spider himself, but he lives on the moon and a spider hangs out with him and brings him news. a friendly spider! pan twardowski himself can be lonely ig, maybe the spider is eye, but like, a friendly eye.

vedic philosophy: now this is not technically mythology but i thought it was interesting, in this one a spider's web hides the true reality from ppl. could be argued as web but seems pretty much spiral to me? but like, a not v evil spiral, just like. neutral? it's fine.

overall... majority creation gods, actually. very few even evil depictions? wow jonny, rude.

anyway, list of animals (besides spiders) shown as tricksters in mythology:

humans! majority humans!! also like. specifically clowns several times? like, specifically clowns.

just kinda non-animal spirits/beings/whatever? sometimes vaguely humanoid.

rabbits & hares

foxes

coyotes

wolves

g...goats? sort of?? half a goat, anyway, thank you pan.

cats

ravens

mouse-deer! look up mouse-deer you will LOVE them.

monkeys

raccoons

also raccoon dogs

snakes

horses

praying mantises

tortoises

lizards

also a bunch of tricksters who shapeshift into like, a multitude of animals, but given that those are not their primary or even main secondary forms i guess we will not go into those (mostly that would just. take so much time omg.)

i didn't do a full tally, but foxes especially show up a TON, and rabbits or hares quite a bit, so either of those could've been the fear-god of manipulation. if like, we're relying on the 'there are stories about spider tricksters' thing (which we are not, in fact, i think jonny just picked a Cool Literary Symbol and did not think abt the worldbuilding implications so much)

EDIT bcos ppl keep misunderstanding: i don't think tricksters are the main source of the fear of manipulation. i don't even think tricksters should be considered a reasonable source for the web's manifestations. BUT people kept bringing them up when i had issues with the web's spider exclusivity (when both spiders and manipulation SHOULD have multiple metaphors and not be exclusive to each other) and that is why i made this list, thank you.

(also i'm aware there are ways to justify spiders meaning control sometimes. given the worldbuilding of tma, i don't think there's a way to justify them meaning control always. but that's a different post.)