#CRYING OVER BLINK LIKE AN IDIOT I JUST LOVE THIS BAND

[blink-wave]

[steddieas-shegoes]

documentary

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'behind the music'

rated m | 723 words | cw: implied sexual content | tags: modern era, famous corroded coffin, established steddie

📹📹📹📹📹📹📹📹📹📹

"Steve!" Gareth calls from the couch of the living room, not caring that Eddie was fast asleep in his chair. "It's on!"

Steve rushes into the room, nearly falling face first when he slips on the corner of the rug. He's wiping his hands on a towel, probably wet from doing the dishes after dinner.

Jeff and Frankie are sitting on the other couch, leaning forward to watch.

Eddie's still asleep somehow.

"Metal bands have always been expected to just make due with whatever already exists in the metal community. 'Don't play acoustic' and 'You can't play Coachella' and 'You can't feature a pop star.' But we just like music. We wanna share music with people."

"Listen to you, Jeff. So poetic," Frankie teases. Jeff shoves him, but they keep watching the ad for their documentary.

"We live in a time where people don't have to just like one thing. Someone can have a playlist that's got us right next to Dolly Parton and Taylor Swift if they want. If people saw my playlists, they'd think a group of teenagers made it."

Eddie doesn't even wake up when his voice fills the room, his face on the screen.

"Corroded Coffin announces world tour with a new opening guest for every show. The artists range anywhere from Chappell Roan to Sleep Token." A male reporter is shown on the screen.

"No one's doing it like them, that's why we love them," a few fans say into a camera during an interview.

"The members of Corroded Coffin refused to do a documentary for years, too busy writing, recording, and performing music for the masses. But they've taken time off this year, focusing on personal time with loved ones and staying out of the limelight they worked so hard to reach. We finally managed to sit down with them and find out who they are...behind the music."

The ad changes to a fast food commercial and Steve laughs.

"That was somehow more dramatic than anything Eddie's ever done," he says as he walks over to wake up his still sleeping boyfriend. "Ed, you missed it."

Eddie's eyes blink open, but he doesn't seem to remember that he fell asleep with everyone in the room. He grabs Steve's thighs and pulls him down so he's straddling his waist.

"Hey, big boy. Was just dreamin' about you."

Steve laughs. "You can tell me all about it later. When your best friends are not sitting a few feet away."

Eddie turns his head, but doesn't take his hands off of Steve's hips. "You should all go. I have business to attend to."

"You missed the ad, dumbass," Gareth says, throwing one of the pillows at Eddie. "Keep your hands to yourself until the next run."

"Don't you think it's already on social media?" Frankie asked before Eddie could.

"Probably, but it's different on tv."

Eddie squeezes Steve's hips, but lets him get up. He sits up and smiles up at Steve. "Later?"

"If you can stay awake, sure."

Steve leaves the room and Jeff, Frankie, and Gareth all start teasing Eddie immediately. He lets them; He knows he's a lovesick idiot.

When the next ad comes on as scheduled, Eddie watches it silently.

He pulls his phone out and calls Wayne, asking if he saw it.

And then he starts crying.

Everyone's in complete shock.

"Steve! Eddie's crying!" Gareth yells.

This time when Steve comes rushing into the room, it's with panic in his eyes. He seems to realize what's going on the moment he sees Eddie, though. He shoos everyone out of the room as he makes his way to him, kneeling in front of him and placing his hands on his face.

The guys don't hear much, but they can make out Eddie blubbering "we worked so hard for this and it's happening" and Steve's gentle shushing and praise.

"Should we get pizza delivered?" Frankie asks.

"I think now's a good time to just leave," Jeff suggests. "We can get hibachi."

"Hell yeah!" Frankie fist pumps and opens the front door, holding it open as Jeff walks through it.

Gareth looks back towards where Steve has Eddie's head against his shoulder, hand in his hair. He smiles to himself as he leaves to join Jeff and Frankie.

They really did work their asses off to get here.

[riordanness]

out of the woods - [h.haddock]

wordcount: 0.9K

warnings: this sucks

requested: no

I stumbled through the woods, tripping over branches and roots. My boots were pretty worn out, and my feet aches from yet another long day of walking.

How far I’d come, I had no idea. For all I knew, I’d been running away for a year, although my common sense told me it couldn’t have been more than a week or two.

And yet, I still hadn’t found anyone. I’d vowed I wouldn’t stop until I found civilisation, but so far, no people at all.

Living off of berries and streams, I’d been travelling away from my old village. I walked everyday from sunrise till it was too dark to walk safely.

The first day had been the hardest. My wounds were still fresh, both my physical and emotional ones. I’d spent half the day crying, and the other half finding new leaves and moss to patch up my wounds as best I could.

Shoving a branch out of my face, i skirted around a tree and entered a clearing.

“Whoa,” I said. A huge chunk of the earth had been scraped away somehow. It was almost as if a huge something had slid down the embankment, taking most of the dirt with it.

On a whim, I decided to see where it went. I crept rather cautiously down the slope, staying near the protection of the trees. At the edge of a big drop off, I crawled up, peeking over the rim.

I gasped aloud, ducking my head. A dragon? And not just any dragon, a Night Fury! I crouched on the ground, breathing as quietly as I could.

I risked another glance at the dragon. That was when I noticed the boy. A skinny boy with dark ruffled hair was creeping toward the dragon. I realised the dragon was bound with ropes.

As I watched, the boy studied the Night Fury. He slowly pulled a small knife out, holding it up. I narrowed my eyes. Surely this kid wasn’t going to kill the dragon all on his own? He looked more scared than the dragon!

The boy dropped his arms, looking defeated. Then, he began cutting the ropes off the dragon. My eyes went wide. This was going to end very badly for the boy, and very tasty for the dragon.

I considered calling out to the boy to tell him to stop being an idiot, but my voice caught in my throat. I couldn’t manage to get the words out.

The dragon attacked the boy the moment it’s bands were cut off. It pinned the boy against a boulder, staring at him. Just as I was covering my eyes (peeping through my fingers, of course), the dragon roared in the boy’s face, then turned and took off.

The boy shakily reached for his knife, got unsteadily to his feet, walked like two steps, and promptly collapsed.

I waited a few minutes just to be sure. Then, I crept over to the boy. I took his knife, shoving it in my belt beside my own. Then, I shook him awake.

“Hey,” I said quietly. I didn’t want the dragon coming back. It might be hungrier the next time.

The boy sat up groggily. “Who are you?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You are an idiot.”

He blinked. “Um… what?” He rubbed his head, messing up his brown hair even more.

“Letting that dragon loose?” I said. “Dumbest thing I’ve seen in ages.” I held out my hand for him to take. “But that took guts, I’ll give you that.”

The boy seemed hesitant, but he took my hand. I pulled him to his feet. “Thank you?” he said, but it sounded like a question.

“That was a Night Fury,” I said softly. “Who managed to shoot it down?”

“Uh, I did.”

Now it was my turn to be surprised. “Really? Cool. How many dragons have you got so far?”

“That was my first…” He frowned a little, his eyes glancing away from mine.

I raised an eyebrow. “Huh. That’s cool, anyway, I guess.” I paused. “I’m y/n.”

“Hiccup.”

“Nice name,” I commented, trying to hide my smile.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Love it.”

I laughed slightly. “It could be worse.”

“Yeah.” He eyed me, a smile playing at his mouth. “I could be called y/n.”

“Hey!” I protested.

He laughed, so I just rolled my eyes at him, managing a smile.

“So where are from, anyway?” Hiccup asked. “You’re not from my village.”

I hesitated. “No, I’m not.” I wasn’t sure how much to say. Not that I thought Hiccup was an untrustworthy guy; he seemed alright to me thus far, but I wasn’t one to tell people my personal stuff.

“If you don’t want to tell me, don’t,” Hiccup said. “But if you need a pace to stay, I’ve got a spare bed.”

I met his eyes. “Really? That… that would be great, actually.”

He smiled. “Then it’s settled. Come on.”

[chaoticallyfragmentary]

MSBY ‘Tsumu x Partner Reader

prev

He hears a choked sob escape you, that you immediately want to slam back into your throat. Rin is leading you away, away from the love of your fucking life, away from your ‘Tsumu.

“Up ya get idiot.”

Osamu watches as ‘Tsumu begged the healers for a better explanation, the slump of his spine a sudden attack of aphasia because, this was-is his brother and Osamu didn’t know how to keep him from falling apart as the doctor had no real answers to offer.

“Will my body remember what it learned?”

“You’ll have to test it out, Miya san. But in another month. No sports till then.”

‘Tsumu wanted to punch that doc’s face in. A few other specialists visit, as they tell ‘Samu his care plan, his limits and what he could expect in the coming months. They temper his hope with ornamental bookends, maybes and possibilities. They spoke of no absolutes, offering no confidence, leaving him with the sense that when if he got his memories back, it would be a difficult road to navigate.

All the while ‘Samu’s hand was encased in his and Kita san was standing next to the door. Little mercies, huh?

“Should we call your wife, Miya—”

“Don’t call her that,” he snaps with a visceral recoil. Osamu’s clearly grinding his jaw shut, smothering his rebuttal.

“Rest for now, Miya san. You’ll be discharged in a few days.”

‘Samu gets up too,

“Where--?”

He drops something in his hands and leaves, a chain with a ring looped through it, his wedding band. “I’ll be back.”

“Atsumu—” Kita san haltingly begins. He looks up at his captain, utterly lost, tired and very confused. Slowly, he sits down on the seat next to the bed, beginning to speak in a calm, quiet tone.

“I know, okay? You’ve got us here, me, Osamu, Suna and all your MSBY teammates too. I’ll let Osamu tell you about all that. You’ve got your wife too. She loves you; you know?”

“But I hardly… know her, and K-Kita san, I’m not the Atsumu she married and I’ve got volleyball.”

Kita san’s eyes widen, as a visceral grief suddenly swells in him, an ache for a memory he did not know.

“Oh, in yer heart, yer the same; 6 years or no. You made it work before; you were stupidly in love. You will make it work again, volleyball or not”

His eyes screw shut, sorting through all the new information he’s been flooded in the past hour. He examines the Kita san in front of him, the same except for skin tanned from working long hours in the sun, a bit more command in the set of his shoulders, calloused hands and laugh lines he didn’t know existed.

“W-what are you doing Kita san? The rice farmer you’ve always wanted to be?”

“Yeah, it is rewarding work. I’ve recently delivered a batch to Onigiri Miya—”

He stares, world spinning for a moment, latching on to his words, “Onigiri Miya”

He felt choked, short of breath. “’Samu’s finally got his own store eh Kita san?”

Kita-san’s face falls as he tries his best to control the welling of tears pooling on his lower lids, a blink away from spilling, lifting his hands to cover his face as his shoulders heave.

“’Tsumu I got yer favorite Onigiri—” ‘Samu enters just to hear ‘Tsumu trying to muffle a sob that nearly fucking breaks his heart, eyes bulging almost immediately with rising alarm because crying, it isn’t what ‘Tsumu does. Angry tears, yes but not tears of heartbreak.

He leaves the Onigiri by the door to kneel down by ‘Tsumu, hands hovering over him, taking quite literally all the strength within him to not just hold his brother. “’Tsum, yer breaking ma heart now, tell me what’s wrong brother—”

‘Tsumu doesn’t let him finish, just sort of falling into his big brother’s chest, curled over in on himself like he’s trying to fold himself up until he’s gone. He feels so small, his little brother. Ah, his vision is starting to blur too. He wraps his arms around his little brother and holds him, Kita san quietly shutting the door to give them a modicum of privacy.

‘Tsumu can’t speak because when he goes full meltdown, he apparently goes full fucking meltdown. He can’t speak because he’s too busy sobbing his fucking heart out and every time he tries to form words, to ask about his volleyball, his wife or even ‘Samu’s store, he ends up making a truly hideous, choked noise that sounds a lot like he’s gagging and probably hyperventilating as Osamu rubs soothing circles into his back and he feels like he is a child again, five and ten and sixteen, always the little brother.

You are on the other side of the door, carving a canyon of selfish grief in the stupid hospital floor, face etched with misery, pain, and hurt for ‘Tsum bubbling over like a pot on boil, pressing both of your hands over your mouth as you finally let yourself cry, Rin watching you with his eyebrows tugged tight together as he sniffs too, eyes blotchy red as he rubs your back, holding on to your hand. He cries too, finding the door inexplicably hard to close once it’s busted open. He lets you cry, like a child.

‘Tsumu didn’t have the energy for complex thought, let alone capacity for conversation. ‘Samu didn’t ask in the following quiet that clawed across the space between them. ‘Tsumu draws back and ‘Samu lets him with a silent nod, offering a small smile. ‘Tsumu’s face goes just a bit softer, something passing between brothers that only twins could ever hope to understand, hope so fragile and sturdy at the same time, that only exists between them.

You feel ridiculously jealous of the past you, the you that hugged ‘Tsumu just for a minute, the you that only kissed him twice before he had to leave for the match, the you that didn’t get to tell your ‘Tsum that you love him, thinking you’d surprise him once he’s back. It is an ugly feeling, wanting rather fiercely to break the fucking door down and hold your husband, possessive and envious. You shove it down with an internal disgust. “I’m going home Rin—” you take a deep shuddering breath, your stomach abruptly cramping with fear. “Like hell am I letting him forget about me-” you rasp, biting the inside of your cheek, trying to starve off the devastation creeping in like a vice around your throat. “I just have to make him fall in love with me again.”  

Rin is looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. Maybe you did. But a life without your better half is out of the question. How could you possibly put into words what you feel right now? What language burns in melancholy and drowns in heartbreak only to go to sleep with grief and wake up with hope? Your home is with Atsumu Miya. You cannot bear the thought of facing your house without him in it. You outwardly shake your head, breath gusting from your seized chest, finally unclenching as a hollow laugh leaves you. 

“But first, lets get drunk Rin. My husband doesn’t remember he has a wife.”

(Quietly whispers, I’ve got no idea how to reply to ppl so i’mma do it here. Cackles maniacally, it will be a happy ending between the reader and Atsumu. But they will take a long fucking road to finally get there. This will be the last update for a while because uni fucking sucks)

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

20k (2) Masterlist

part one

A Ticket to Another World (ao3) - lovealways1990 luke/ashton M, 29k

Summary: When a car crash erases Luke’s memories, he wakes up in the year 2014. Only problem..his last memory - testing a new drummer for the band’s first gig - is from 2011. Now, he’s forced to rely on second-hand accounts and flashbacks to retrieve his memories. Not to mention the new drummer Ashton is making everything incredibly unsettling.

Bittersweet (ao3) - @daydadahlias​ (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) luke/ashton T, 20k

Summary: It’s not growing older that scares Luke. It’s that everyone else will outgrow him before he catches up.

Broken Love in the First Degree (ao3) - tigerlily_sunshine ot4, michael/calum, luke/ashton T, 29k

Summary: “It’s not me, Cal.”

The bottom drops out of Calum’s world at the tone of Michael’s voice. It is so… empty that it takes Calum a moment to understand what he has said and then another to process it. Calum blinks, his mind still sluggish from sleep. He mouths Michael’s words in the vain hope he might catch on to what Michael actually means.

Calum takes too long. Michael sighs. He hits pause on his game and finally—finally—gives Calum the attention he deserves. His eyes are sad. His bottom lip is a little wobbly. Calum is afraid Michael might cry, but Michael can’t cry. Not on Calum’s birthday.

“Look at your wrist.”

(In which Calum is Michael’s soulmate, but Michael isn’t Calum’s.)

Complication In Your Heart (ao3) - DracosPubicHair michael/luke E, 29k

Summary: Michael has killed over 10 people and has never been caught, and maybe Luke is just as crazy.

Everything We Couldn’t Say (ao3) - Anonymous luke/calum M, 20k

Summary: “Oh, so you’re just going to walk away from this bullshit?” “Not the bullshit but fucking you. I’m here to work not to listen to you accuse me of something I didn’t do!” “Accuse you? There’s nothing to be accused of when I fucking saw you right after you did it! Stop acting like you’re some innocent victim here because news flash, you’re not. You’re just some cheating asshole!”

Or: Two years after Luke was sexually assaulted at a party he is forced to confront his trauma and anger when his ex starts working at the same cafe.

Hold my hand and kiss my cheek darling (the world is watching us) (ao3) - Abbypd luke/ashton, michael/calum G, 23k

Summary:

“But why do I need a fake boyfriend to come out?” Ashton asked, glaring at his manager – a woman in her forties who usually knew exactly what she was talking about. This time, the young singer wasn’t too sure. “Because why else would you have waited for two whole years to come out? With a boyfriend you can just tell them you didn’t know you were into guys until you met him. It will be romantic and everybody will love it.”

Or Luke and Ashton are both idiots who are too scared to admit that their kisses aren’t just for the cameras.

i ain’t changed, but i know i ain’t the same (ao3) - mukelftv michael/luke E, 20k

Summary: michael clifford is an employee at the local mall. luke hemmings is a pop star on his mall tour. what happens when the two of them cross paths?

if we make it through december (ao3) - allsassnoclass (brightblackholes) luke/ashton T, 28k

Summary: “I didn’t tell them,” he blurts. Ashton falls silent on the other end of the line. “My family. I didn’t tell them about the breakup. And I know that I should’ve and I swear I will, but Gram asked about you today and it’s probably her last Christmas with us and you know how much she loves you. I couldn’t do it. It’d break her heart, and I can’t do that to her. Not right now. So if you– I mean. What I’m trying to say is that you’re still invited to Christmas, if you want. You don’t have to, I can make an excuse for you, and I swear I’ll tell them after the holidays, but I thought maybe… maybe you’d want to see them one last time.”

KawaiiCalPal (ao3) - TheLarryDiaries michael/calum, luke/ashton M, 25k

Summary: Calum is an adorable YouTuber known as KawaiiCalPal. He’s most known for his oversized sweaters and matching flower crowns. Also, he’s in love with the world famous punk rock band, Swallow the Goldfish. But more accurately, the lead guitarist, Michael Clifford.

Luke, Ashton, and Michael are the three band members of Swallow the Goldfish. They all happen to be jelly beans, Calum’s name for his subscribers. It’s also quite obvious that Michael believes Calum is his ‘soulmate’. It’s also remarkable as Calum is very open with his homosexuality, and love for Michael.

It really started when Calum had the opportunity to interview the band for a video.

Line Work (ao3) - ashtonhours (heartandmindxx) luke/ashton, michael/calum M, 21k

Summary: Ashton Irwin, 07/07/94, no known medical conditions and not under the influence of drugs or alcohol – and originally from Sydney, as it turns out – is looking to get a bird on his neck.

“A California condor,” he says for about the twelfth time, “on my nape.”

a story about boundaries, trust, and a line in the sand.

Lucky Charm (ao3) - jbhmalum michael/ashton E, 28k

Summary: during the european leg of the rowyso tour, michael is pining after ashton, and he finds himself on an interesting journey with luck

Mixology (ao3) - dafeedil luke/ashton, michael/calum E, 23k

Summary: In which Michael is reeling from a recent breakup, Calum has just flunked a semester of university, Luke has never taken a risk in his life, and Ashton has taken too many.

One night, four boys, one Los Angeles bar. A recipe for…well, quite possibly, not disaster.

(or, they all meet at a bar and fall hopelessly in love for the night. Only, it’s actually a lot more than that.)

Paint Me In Your Sunshine (ao3) - mukeclemmings michael/ashton, minor luke/calum M, 26k

Summary: Ashton is smiling and it grows when he turns to look at Michael. Dimples, is all Michael can think and then he notices the bit of blond coloring in his hair and oh my god, is he going to be in this class everyday? Because Michael knows he won’t be able to focus on anything else with Ashton right here.

(Michael is an awkward, freshman art major who really wants to kiss the dimples of the upperclassman who sits beside him in painting class.)

Risky Risqué - @daydadahlias​ (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) luke/ashton, michael/crystal E, 22k

Summary: It’s only his freshman year in college and Luke is having too many problems. One, he can barely afford to feed himself. Two, the junior in the dorm next door has way too pretty hazel eyes and keeps offering to make him dinner.

Or, the one where Luke needs a job to pay his tuition and ends up getting one as a phone sex operator.

the flatmate arrangement (ao3) - kaleidoscopeminds luke/calum T, 20k

Summary: Hi Calum/Poor Struggling Paralegal,   So I’ll be upfront with you. It’s a one-bed flat. I also live here. HOWEVER before you delete this and think I’m a freak, I work nights so I wouldn’t be here anytime you would be. You can have the flat exclusively from 6 pm to 8 am, Saturday night and all day Sunday. Understand this sounds like a bit of a crazy arrangement but I could do with the cash, let me know what you think?

Luke Hemmings (Poor Struggling Children’s Nurse)

A 'The Flatshare’ AU

The Wrong Ways to Fall in Love (ao3) - WhoknewZeus calum/ashton M, 28k

Summary: Ashton believes he cannot fall in love anymore; he just can’t find the time to personally invest himself into someone. So he decides to use his best friend, Calum Hood, to substitute the feeling until he is able to find the one.

They were supposed to realize their love for each other, but it came in all the wrong ways. They’ll hurt each other, comfort each other, and learn to hate the other. But most importantly, they’ll horribly fall in love.

Maybe it was all a waste of time for them, or maybe it was a bad idea and should give up on each other… but what if it was all worth it? Will they endure it all or fall into pieces?

tie me to your fingertip (don’t let me float away) (ao3) - diets0dasociety michael/calum, luke/ashton T, 22k

Summary: or, the malum soulmate fic nobody was waiting for in which Calum and Ashton are sort of brothers and Luke and Michael keep popping up.

too much, too young, too fast (ao3) - antisocialhood michael/calum E, 27k

Summary: Michael and Calum are loose in Florida, still young, foolish and desperately in love.

Trapped Under Your Spell (ao3) - mariawritesstuff (orphan_account) luke/calum N/R, 26k

Summary: Calum opens his eyes and grins. From where he is, he can see Luke smiling down at him. The sun is shining from behind Luke’s head and from Calum’s position it kind of looks like Luke himself is the sun. Calum is momentarily stunned.

Or, A Hogwarts Cake AU where the boys are the boys and feelings are caught/have been there all along.

two paper airplanes flying (ao3) - dazedlight (opinionoutpost) Michael/Luke T, 21k

Summary: Michael and Luke are neighbours, and, to get his attention, Michael starts sending Luke cute notes in the form of paper airplanes.

[lestories]

01/02/24 - Stage Fright

I stare at myself through the grungy mirror littered with stickers. My eyes are wide, sweat drips down my face. I should have never agreed to this, why did I agree to this? Dallon, that's why. I'm starting to think he can get me to do just about anything. Even if it scares the shit out of me, like standing in front of a crowd of strangers that are all way cooler than me, that would probably listen to any other band play. That's not fair, Dallon and Beck are pretty good. I look over to their reflections, sitting on the thoroughly broken in couch. They'd almost look as anxious as I am if they weren't so obviously excited. This is our first real performance not in Dallon's basement. Of course they're nervous but I feel like I'm about to implode. They're talking about where we should go after the show to celebrate, wondering if there will be any after parties. God I can't even think about going to another crowd of strangers after this.

"Attachment Day, five minute warning."

The stage tech leaves before I really hear what she said. Dallon must have noticed the empty yet hectic look in my eyes.

"You're okay dude, we got this. It'll be just like rehearsal."

"Yeah, except now there's a couple hundred people watching." Beck offers, not as comfort. Not as anything really.

"Not helping Beck."

"Sorry."

Dallon draws his face back to mine. I've only known his for a few months but I'm surprised by how little him being so close to my face bothers me. He's a bit intense when he gets serious so maybe I've just gotten accustom to that.

"Toni, look at me," He holds onto my shoulders, "Breathe."

We take a deep breath together, mine coming off far more shaky than his.

"You can do this. That voice in your head doesn't know what it's talking about. Becks and I will be up there with you. And we're gonna do great and get invited back and become regulars then get really really famous and have loads of fans and- this has stopped being helpful." He stops for a moment, thinking. "We're gonna go out there, play, and whatever happens, happens. We do amazing we celebrate! We do terrible, we celebrate the fact we got to play. It's a win-win."

Just as what Dallon said starts to set in the stage tech returns to tell us it's go time. Before any objections can escape my mouth Beck and Dallon are up and following, dragging me along with them.

When we get to the side stage, the band on before us are just finishing up. The crowd loves them. Perfect. This is fine. Totally fine. I definitely don't feel a sense of impending doom and disaster and I am totally not worried I will mess up and ruin the whole night for everyone involved. Ow! I grab at my arm. Beck pinched me.

"It's show time pretty boy!" She smirks as she pushes my guitar into my hand and runs on stage.

Dallon is already setting up behind the drum set. I let out a sigh and before any thoughts pry their way into my head I walk out to my place on stage.

Standing under the lights, the tiny suns shooting down on me. The crowd is a blur emitting a constant hum of noise I can't decipher. Nothing is happening, why is nothing happening. Oh shit I'm supposed to introduce us.

"Uhm we- " Feedback cuts me off. Lovely. If my voice wasn't shaky before it definitely is now. "Sorry.. we are Attachment Day."

There's some scattered claps across the crowd. I faintly hear Dallon count us in with his sticks. The tapping drones on and dissipates. I blink and when I look up the crowd is made up parents and bored middle schoolers. I'm holding the guitar my mom got me for my ninth birthday. My knees feels weak and shaky. I can't find my mom in the crowd. How long have I just been standing here?

"Play something already!" The crowd responds with laughter.

My eyes widen and my chest tightens, if I had to guess this is what the start of a heart attack feels like. Why did I ever think I could do this? I'm such an idiot for thinking I'd be good at this. All I can do is cry. A teacher runs up to escort me off stage.

I turn to leave and Beck holds out her bass in front of me, I hadn't noticed her standing next to me. "Can't leave yet, we were just getting to the best part." She signals Dallon to count us in again. She keeps eye contact with me as we both start playing our parts. She gives me a small reassuring nod. Unable to face the crowd I stay in this moment with her and let out the first line of our song. As I sing my thoughts drift away and all I'm left with is how I feel. Having these two people that hardly know me but I know would back me up in everything, be there whenever I need them. Like Dallon said, we're gonna celebrate us, however this show goes won't change that. Won't change us.

[rons-wheezely]

224 || G.W.

George Weasley x Reader, Soulmate AU

Genre: Fluff, humor

Summary: Each soulmate pair receives a special number to them, and them only, on the day they’re born into this world. The placement on the body can vary, so people usually keep to themselves unless they fancy someone or it’s displayed somewhere public. How do you go around explaining to your best friend that he’s the one?

A/N: i have been so inactive, I’m so sorry rip I am going to try to post a fic here and there, but I’m still a student doing student things... This blog recently turned 2 years old, and has reached about 300 followers, so thank you so much for those of you who have found me in the piles of other wonderful works :) I love you all from the bottom of my heart.

--x--

“Oh, do forgive me, Georgie,” you playfully shove him out of the way. He stumbles away from the shelf containing the last package of Fizzing Whizbees in time for you to snatch it into your hands. You hear him chuckle as he regains his balance behind you. It’s suffocatingly crowded with fellow students in Honeydukes, so he leans in close so you can hear him. 

His warm breath comes close to your ear, saying with a soft laugh,” At least share, alright?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully as the smile plastered on your face turned into a smirk. You make your way to the cashier with George close behind. The candy in the box shake in your hands, and the decorative ring you’re wearing on your middle finger glimmers in the shop’s light. You call over your shoulder,” If you win the next match against Slytherin, I might.” 

This statement alone had George fist pump the air in satisfaction. Even if he lost, you would most likely share it anyways –– to cheer him up, of course. You two have been best friends since your first year when you cleverly evaded one of the twins’ pranks. It was a lucky guess, but the outcome left Fred and George tangled in a mess of burping up slugs for three hours. It was an easy friendship after that, other than the secret feelings you harbored for George, that is. 

Soon enough, the match came and the sight was an absolutely thrilling one. You watch as each player flies by, and each time the wind sweeps your hair in every direction. Fred and George are on a spectacular streak, and they never once miss the bludger. Thankfully you had a pair of binoculars and Lee Jordan’s commentary; the team was so small in the air that it was hard to tell what was happening.

Harry Potter was no doubt going to catch the snitch, and here he comes now swooping in underneath his teammates. He’s almost flat against his broomstick, urging it to go faster before Malfoy could get to the fluttering golden speck. All eyes are on Potter, and the boy is mere inches away. Just as his nimble fingers wrap around the snitch, another Gryffindor teammate drops from the air.

You can hear the subtle gasps from a few in the crowd who noticed. The Gryffindor team were too enraptured with Harry’s catch to notice that one of them was dropping ten, twenty, thirty meters to the ground. “George!” You cried.

As if sending a telepathic message to the other twin, though it is most likely he heard you yell as clear as day, Fred swoops down to save his brother from impact. You notice now that you're standing on your feet and leaning on the railing that separates you from your best friends on the field. You watch on in horror as Fred barely makes it in time. The breath you didn’t know you were holding finally escapes you, and your surroundings come back all at once. 

You hear the deafening silence and the sound of the wind blowing by. No one moves as they watch Fred land on the ground with George. It was Lee who ended the tension,” And with that, Gryffindor earns 130 points and has won the match…” 

All at once, everyone in the stands scrambles to get out. Elated with Harry’s catch and the twins’ safety, the student body goes their separate ways. You follow them as well and weave your way through the crowd to get to Fred and George. Panic fills your lungs, and every fiber in your body screams to make sure they’re okay.

“Fred!” You call out,” Are you two alright?”

“Yeah, no harm done to me,” he sighs,” –– Other than this git. A bludger whacked him straight on the side and he passed out on his ride down.” 

“It looks like it hurts… but it’s nothing Madame Pomfrey can’t handle, right?” You wince. You try to convince yourself that George is just sleeping a very deep, restful sleep.

“I reckon he’ll be fine, y/n.” Fred winks your way with a sly grin. “Visit him lots, yeah?”

Madame Pomfrey refused to let anyone in until she was done running some tests. When she finally let you visit, you rushed to sit next to George’s bedside. He stirred at your frantic movements and opened an eye to see you. “It’s not that bad is it?” He chuckles.

“She said that you’ve broken a few ribs, but you’ll be alright.” You smile. 

George sits up slowly, pretending to be in agonizing pain. You worry for a bit and reach out to him on instinct, but he laughs and tells you he’s okay. His torso is wrapped entirely with gauze over his clothes, and there are a few bandages wrapped around his forearms as well. Pomfrey had drawn a blanket over George earlier, so the white sheet still covered the lower half of his body. A moment goes by, and you hear a soft wheeze leaving George’s lips. “You don’t suppose my soulmate is into beaten up ginger-heads, do you?”

“Well,” you mull over your words. Pretending to take his question seriously, you answer,” they would have if you were Fred..” You laugh a little as you catch the glint in his eyes –– the mischievous one you had grown to love. 

“Oh, if only I looked exactly like that bloke.” He jokes. His head falls a little forward as he laughs. His gaze is drawn to his lap, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he looked like those shy love interests in romantic muggle films. 

You notice that his fiery hair is covering his eyes, and your body compels you to get another glimpse of that wonderful boy’s face. Ever so gently, you reach your hand out and tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. When your fingers curve around the back of his ear, you notice a few dark marks of what looks like a tattoo. Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion. You go to move more of his hair out of the way, but he turns his eyes to you. 

“Are you getting handsy with me y/n? Tryin’ to make a move, are you?” He smiles, but there is a small panic in his eyes as they frantically search yours. “You could’ve just asked me out, you know.”

“Is that your soulmate mark?” You ask.

“Maybe.”

“Well,” you huff playfully,” I might be able to tell you who your soulmate is. I might cry if your soulmate is Madame Pomfrey, though.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks, a playful tone in his voice.

"Georgie, please don’t tell me you have a thing for milfs.”

It takes everything in him to hold back his laughter. George pulls his hair back to reveal the numbers 224 etched behind his left ear. Your breath catches in your throat, but you try to hide your very obvious shock. 224 was a number you knew too well, and seeing that number reflected on your best friend’s skin meant that your deepest feelings were true. It’s okay to be in love with George because now... now there is chance he feels the same way.

Your mark is tattooed on the band of your middle finger, which is usually covered up by jewelry. You fidget with your rings nervously, trying to ground yourself all the while. George doesn’t pay too much attention to it when he says,“Fred has his numbers on his right ear. I might be the right-hand man, but he’s lucky enough to be the right-ear man.”

You laugh at his really bad pun,” Really? Out of all of the ear jokes, you chose that one?” 

“It made you laugh, didn’t it?” He nudges you with his shoulder, and you can’t help but giggle some more.

“Would you like to hear a fun fact?” You ask. You gulp down all of the fear that has started to swallow you whole. You are George’s soulmate. The idea buzzes in your head along with a million other thoughts. George nods for you to continue, and you fight the panicked urge to scream. “...In the muggle world, they have such advanced technology.”

“Yeah, dad would know––” George interjects for a second.

“The numbers 224 actually hold a meaning to them. It’s something like a code–– it’s related to their fancy devices I think? Anyways,” you take a deep breath. You remember vividly the details your friend went to great lengths explaining to you. 

“Your number is all kinds of special, y/n!” Mae beams at you. Her eyes twinkle in an amusing manner as she tries to prove herself. A soft thud could be heard when her hands meet with the common room table, and she quickly jumps to her feet. “Imagine, having such a fantastic number as that!” She exclaims with awe.

“I don’t understand?” You bemusedly remark. Why would numbers hold more meanings beyond your standard soulmate reason?

“My brother loves binary code, a certain muggle science,” she explains,” and he told me a few meanings. One of them being yours! Now, if only fate would tell us who your soulmate was...”

If Mae were in this room, she would be bursting at the seams from pure glee. You look into George’s eyes and say,” ...the numbers actually mean something along the lines of ‘Today, Tomorrow, Forever.’ It has to do with the bond you and your soulmate have together.“

He blinks once or twice before breaking out into a grin,” Okay, can you say it again but,” he emphasizes,” simpler, maybe?

“––it means that your soulmate will love an accident-prone idiot like you forever and always,” You joke halfheartedly.

The familiar gleaming smile he wore after a successful prank creeps up onto his face: one of self satisfaction and deserving of many awards based on looks alone. His smile is much gentler and you almost miss it, but a blush tints the very tips of his cheeks. “Oh? wait ‘till dad finds out that numbers have meanings to muggles. How’d you know all of this anyway?”

“Oh, it’s just something my friend talked to me about.” You dismiss his questioning gaze and clear your throat. Every second that passes makes you more and more anxious being around George, simply just by knowing you two are soulmates. It’s a dream come true, sure. But how do you go around explaining to your best friend that he’s the one?

“Are you alright, y/n?” George asks. “You seem real fidgety. Do you need to go somewhere?”

“Oh–– no, it just that,” you gulp. “Well.. I think left the Fizzing Whizbees back in my dorm room.” You lie. You know it’s in your bag with your other belongings, safely tucked away for later consumption. “Post-game snacks are essential, and I did make a promise.”

“Are you sure you left it there? I thought I saw it in your bag...” He leans over to find your bag, and sure enough, he pulls out the box of candy.

“Oh.” You look at him. There’s an awkward pause before he clears his throat.

“You’ve really got to get yourself together mate–– looks like Nearly Headless Nick showed you his neck hole again or something.” George jokes to lighten the mood, but he’s right. The longer you sit there and stare at him, the more you either want to slam your lips against his or vomit profusely. You feel pale and sickly; just enough to feel the twists and turns of your stomach. Is this what having butterflies feel like? He opens the bag of candy and offers you some.

You share the box of whizbees with him, taking one out and popping them into your mouth. It fizzes and jolts a little as the sweet taste melts on your tongue. “I think maybe Fred slipped something to me earlier,” you avert your gaze,” I’m not sure.”

“Yeah, sounds like Fred.” George grabs your hand and looks you in the eyes. He’s rubbing soothing circles on your hands, and it does seem to relax some of your nerves. He looks at you softly and gently, and all at once, your anxiety starts to melt away in his presence. You almost forget why you’re so worried in the first place. “You know I’m not going anywhere. If you have to take a massive shit, I’ll wait for you.” He says as he pats your hand reassuringly.

You erupt into laughter and shove him away. “And here I thought we were having a moment.”

“Nothing says true love like bowl movements, darling.”

As the laughter dies down, the somber feeling in your gut returns. It’s now or never, right? “George, I think I need to tell you something. I—“

Fred bursts into the door with Lee following shortly behind. “There’s my favorite twin!” He beams. He gets a disapproving look from Madame Pomfrey peering around the corner from her office. Fred doesn’t pay much attention, choosing to walk past her with barely a glance over his shoulder. George rolls his eyes as Fred happily trots over, spilling some liquid from two mugs in his hands. “—had to have Lee help sneak these in for the party, which you lot are missing out on.” He hands you a mug of butter beer and George, the other.

You decide to drop the subject even after George was free from the hospital bed. It’s a few weeks since then, and school has made you push those thoughts of pesky soulmates and true love aside. Of course, George kept looking at you funny, waiting for you to bring it up again. To his dismay, you didn’t.

“Alright everyone, class is dismissed.” Professor Sprout announces as she busies herself in setting up plants for the next day. It’s the last class of the day, and you couldn’t be happier. Repotting plants was hard work, and you were sweaty enough as it is. Beads of sweat dripped down the side of your face, and as much as you hated it, it did make for good eye candy across the room — namely George, although there’s a lot of dirt smudged onto his face too.

He’s cleaning up rather quickly so you call out to him,” Can you grab my rings, Georgie? They’re over there by my bag.” You had to remove jewelry in order to “safely handle” the creatures and wear proper gloves. Those of which you hastily pull off to wash your hands. The suds come and go as you lather and rinse away in the sink.

“Today, tomorrow, forever eh?” George’s deep voice rumbles in your ear. You jump a little at the sudden scare. “I think I like the sound of that, don’t you?”

You turn your head a little to the side and come very close to George’s face. You can feel his breath fanning on your skin, and his nose is just barely touching yours. You fear that if you blink, the sight in front of you will vanish. Every freckle that glitters his skin is so close you could count them like the stars and draw constellations between them if you wanted to. It’s absolutely breathtaking. Your body feels like it’s on a cloud— so feather light and airy— as he smiles at you. Your throat is dry; your tongue struggles to keep up with your thoughts. “...what?” You choke out. You cover your hands on impulse, but you know it’s too late.

“It means you’re stuck with me forever, y/n.” He grins. “Soulmate magic is no joke, you know.” He hands you your rings and walks beside you out of the greenhouse. You slip the rings on to your middle finger where it’s always resided, deciding to fidget with it a little.

Nothing should be different. You’re walking with George in the hallways like you always do, your hair is no different than yesterday, and class was the same as an other day. And yet your heart is beating faster and the sun seems to shine brighter. The grass is greener and the lake bluer than it was this morning. Words remain unspoken, but the truth is there. His fingers are interlocked with yours. 224.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

bb / gg, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook is the lead singer in a rock band and failed his Biology class last semester, so he has to take remedial classes over the summer. You're the Biology TA, double major in Psychology and Biology, watching him freak out over his make-up exam because he had overslept. Both of you are surrounded by rumors. Does the title stand for bad boy / good girl or bad bitch / good guy? Who knows.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; not the healthiest dynamic tbh; slight angst due to perceived unrequited love; smut (fem reader, D/s dynamics, begging, scratching / marking, choking, handjob (he is still wearing underwear), multiple orgasms, cowgirl, hair pulling, edging / orgasm denial, cock ring usage, m-masturbation, cum-eating); non-idol!BTS – rock singer, sub!Jungkook x studious, dom!reader

yes, it's SOWOOZOO JK, both the first yellow tropical look and the shredded black shirt look; for those who wanted him to be dom!JK, there is a moment when he is but not in the way you think because that's how I operate

--

Jeon Jungkook was a bad boy.

Wore too much black, dyed his hair too much, had tattoos, always had girls hanging around him. Sang in a rock band on the weekends, played electric guitar, played the game of how-many-numbers-can-I-get tonight? Never gave a girl his leather jacket to wear but was happy to buy her a drink and flirt with her until she got hot with arousal.

You were a good girl.

Always wore a blazer. Crisp white dress shirt and pleated skirt underneath, usually in a dark color. Sensible heels, but always heels. Did too many units a semester because you were double majoring in psychology and biology. Always arrived to class early, always turned in your assignments on time, always turned in your tests early and aced that shit. Took physics with calculus even though you didn’t have to because it was the harder one and you wanted a challenge.

-

Against the wall, shoving a fist into the neck, lips to lips, teeth snapping, hand travelling down, whimpering pleas and harsh growls, keep crying, I like it, ecstasy and pain, nails to skin. Tearing clothes off, biting, marking, I own you, and then, yes, you do, mouth and tongue, aching pleasure, cocked eyebrow, mocking the pathetic whines and cries, stopping right before the end, no, please, I’ve been good, and, you take what you get, hand fitting onto the neck, squeezing the sides, eyes rolling back, skin to skin, bruising slaps that would be seen tomorrow in the mirror, traced with shaking fingers and pants of an open mouth, moaning at the memory of sky-high pleasure while lightheaded and thoughtless, desperate to do it again.

-

There was a rumor.

Everyone liked Jeon Jungkook. He had two smiles, an endearing one and a teasing one. Both encapsulated the kind of person he was, honest and playful. He always sang with conviction, he rapped with savagery, and his lyrics were always from the heart. He always hung out with his bandmates after their performances at bars and interacted with those that came up to him. No one ever said Jungkook was mean or rude in any way.

And yet.

There was a rumor.

A rumor that Jeon Jungkook was taken.

He was the kind of guy that always made sure a drunk girl got home safe even though he didn’t know them. Paid for their taxi and everything. He focused a lot on his music and writing lyrics he thought would connect with others while taking into account his band members. He always told the truth if a girl confessed to him, saying he wasn’t looking right now, that he was very sorry if she thought otherwise, that there was someone he was already interested in.

-

“Oi.”

You slammed a hand onto the tabletop and Jeon Jungkook jumped, the shredded black shirt he was wearing falling down his shoulder, revealing his ink black tattoos on his tan skin. He was wearing a black tank top underneath.

“What’s with you? You missed the exam for your remedial class and you’ve spent the past ten minutes spacing out at your make-up exam,” you barked, pointing to his empty exam sheet. “You haven’t even filled out you name.”

Jungkook swallowed hard. “S… Sorry.”

You frowned. Why was he apologizing to you? Honestly, why did you sign up for this summer TA position again? Oh, right, money and credits. Hmph. It was really just an excuse for the professor to slack off while you did the tedious things like grading and watching over idiots that skipped class. Sorry, overslept. Hung over, probably, since this was the Jeon Jungkook. Rockstar, hottie, famous in his own way.

Whatever.

He could be Jesus Christ and you would still be scolding him for missing his remedial Biology exam.

“Fill out your name so at least I can fail you properly.”

Not that it mattered, since you knew who he was. He didn’t know you knew who he was, and you had zero incentive to inform him that you were indeed aware of the existence of black-haired, tattooed, chiseled-jaw, sparkly-eyed Jeon Jungkook, all due to the constant snide remarks that followed you in your wake.

You wouldn’t be such a bitch if a guy like Jeon Jungkook put you in your place.

Who the fuck was Jeon Jungkook?

This guy, this weirdo about to fail his fucking Biology exam in front of your face.

Impatiently, you rolled up the sleeves of your gray blazer and grabbed a chair, dragging it up to the table. You snapped the chair down and sat in it, smoothing your skirt. You liked to be neat. Even though university didn’t have a uniform, you liked to keep some sort of uniform for yourself. There was a sense of security in knowing you didn’t have to select an outfit every morning. Today, white dress shirt, gray blazer, pleated black skirt that hit slightly higher than mid-thigh. Every other outfit was some variation of this and, in the winter, you wore thick stockings.

You clicked your heels together under the table sharply.

He flinched at the sound.

Jungkook wasn’t looking at you. He was mumbling at his paper.

“I… I think I studied the wrong chapters…”

You clicked your tongue. Jeez.

His hand was shaking so bad that his pen was practically vibrating. You leaned over the table, grabbing his fist to still it.

“Stop.”

Your bare knees hit his bare knees, mostly because he was wearing black jeans with giant holes in them. Jungkook froze, head snapping up, silver earrings jangling, black hair flying, undercut visible for a second.

“You want to pass this class or what?”

He nodded quickly in response.

“Good. I want to get out of here. Keep your mouth shut. Answer to the first question is A.”

His eyes widened.

“Are you… helping me cheat?” he whispered, terrified.

You cocked your head, letting go of his hand. “You said you studied the wrong chapters. I’m not spending forty-five minutes of my life to watch you panic and then ten minutes more failing you,” you replied lowly, dangerous edge to your voice.

“I… couldn’t… I mean…”

You shoved his knees open with yours, narrowing your eyes as he yelped, pleading look in those brown doe eyes. You pressed your knees on the inside of his thighs, keeping them open.

“Answer to the second question is C.”

When Jungkook didn’t move, you reached over and cupped his chin. Felt his racing heartbeat pounding through his veins, coursing through your fingertips. Stared deep into those eyes, lowering the octave of your voice, keeping his thighs spread for you under the table.

“Listen to me,” you murmured softly. “Okay, Jungkook?”

“O… Okay…”

And he did.

-

There was a rumor.

Nobody liked you. Maybe it was because of your high scores ruining the class test average. Maybe it was the dismissive way you spoke to people, almost demeaning. Most likely it was a combination of the two. Students talked behind your back all the time, spreading rumors. Friends? What friends? You had an average of twenty class credits a semester. You didn’t have time to make friends. And besides, why try to make friends when clearly nobody wanted to be your friend?

And yet.

There was a rumor.

You ignored such things. You didn’t need such distractions.

-

“It would be too suspicious if you got full marks. This score is high enough.”

“O… Okay…”

“Get on the table.”

Jungkook scrambled on the wooden tabletop as you pushed his exam aside. You were still sitting in your chair. Your head tilted, eyebrow lifting at his speedy response to your rather suspicious request.

“You listened.”

He blinked at you. “Uh… yeah?”

Silence.

“Why?” you finally said.

Jungkook gulped. “Be… because you asked,” he mumbled, knees on the table, hands clutching his knees.

“You can just walk out and report me.”

He shook his head quickly, black hair flying everywhere. “I don’t want to.”

Your other eyebrow raised. He chewed on his lip, a flash of pink tongue in his movement.

“Tell me what you want. I’ll do it.”

Well.

You decided to test his conviction.

“Edge of the table. Spread your legs for me.”

Instantly, obediently, Jeon Jungkook surprised you by doing it, putting each leg on either side of you, chunky black sneakers hanging down. Shredded black shirt open, hands behind his ass, towering over you, and yet his eyes were watching you, waiting for more, begging for instruction.

“Hm.”

You raised your chin, seeing his impressively muscular thighs and body displayed for you to take. He was so close you could smell his clean, dreamy scent, like a meadow in summer dusk, surrounded by peeking stars and blinking fireflies. Interesting.

But you didn’t need the distraction.

“That’s it. You can go now,” you said dismissively, about to push your chair back.

His legs closed in, pressing firmly into your upper arms. Your eyes flickered up to him.

Jungkook shook his head very slowly.

“Do what you want.”

You saw his chest rise and fall, his silvery voice deepening, pupils expanding.

“I know you want to do something to me.”

His erection was bulging against the zipper of his black jeans. Your eyes went back to his face. He shivered at your sharp stare. All of this was happening in an otherwise empty lecture hall, with you and Jungkook at the very bottom.

Just you and him.

You placed your hands on his thighs. He jumped a little, but scooted closer to you. You slid your hands up. You undid the button of his jeans, scrutinizing those brown eyes. He raised his hips to help you as you pulled the zipper down.

“You don’t know me,” you finally said, no inflection in your voice.

He didn’t look away. “I don’t care.”

“Hmm.” You smirked. “Bad boy, aren’t you?”

Jungkook shook his head slightly, but didn’t break eye contact as you pulled his pants to his knees and reached for his black boxer briefs. “No. I’m a good guy. I want to give you what you want.” You hooked your fingers over the waistband and nicked his skin with your nails, making him gasp, the pleasure evident in his tone. He did not try to hide it from you. “I want to be good for you.”

“Why is that?”

He hung his head a little.

“Something about… how you make me feel…” he muttered. His gaze finally faltered. You reached up and righted his chin, forcing him to look at you. Saw that Jungkook had a mole under his mouth, perfectly in the center. He had a nice shape to his pink lips. You tapped his cheek, nudging him to elaborate. “You… You’re so pretty… and smart… Everyone looks up to you because you have such good grades…”

You doubted that.

Jungkook probably had no idea that most of the school hated your guts.

You didn’t have classes with Jungkook, but you were sure he knew your name because your name was posted on the Dean’s List of the highest-ranking students of the university every semester. Also, you weren’t hard to miss. Every student moved out of your way when you walked through the halls, whispering behind their hands.

Jungkook brought you back to the present.

“I feel,” he whispered, voice trembling, gaze locking with yours. “I feel like I want to be on my knees for you.”

His skin was warm under your nails.

“Like this is where I belong, in your hands.”

You stood up.

Jungkook started, turning into a tight squeak as you placed your hand on his chest and pushed him down.

“Lift up your shirt with both hands.”

He did was he was told, revealing his toned abs and the lower half of his pecs, biting his lip, clutching onto his tank top, ears turning red as he craned his head to look down at you. You didn’t give him any satisfying response. His tan skin seemed to glow under the overhead lights. You studied his face.

Reached up and began to rub his erection through his underwear.

“A… ah…”

“Gonna make you cum like this.”

He shook his head quickly. “P… Please, no…”

You felt him swell and twitch under your hand. He was pretty big. Thick. Pretty boy with a pretty dick, probably. You rubbed the head with your palm, feeling his pre-cum leaking through the thin fabric. He wasn’t kidding when he said you made him feel some kind of way.

“Why not? Make you cum in your underwear and then you have to go all the way home covered in it. All dirty, just for me.”

His handsome face twisted with sinful pleasure at your suggestion, whimpers in his throat. His cock jerked with need, wanting it.

“O… Okay. Whatever you want.”

So obedient.

“So obedient, Jungkook,” you purred, rubbing faster.

He nodded. “For you. Only for you. Just for you.”

Was it just saying those things because he thought that was what you wanted to hear? Or was that how he actually felt? Surely not the latter, considering he didn’t really know you. You leaned over him, placing your free elbow on the table to stabilize yourself. You hadn’t even kissed him.

“You’re so hard for me,” your drawled, lowering your head, letting your warm breath float down onto his skin. “You want to cum for me, don’t you?”

“Y… yes, please…”

“You want to be my toy?”

You pressed your lips to his bellybutton, feeling the smoothness of his skin, tasting it. He moaned at your kiss, your swift tongue flickering out to that delicious skin, whining when your teeth nipped at the softness. Fuck, he tasted so good that you wanted to mark him. Looked so fucking good that you wanted to mess him up, mar him with temporary imperfections on the perfection that was Jeon Jungkook.

“Yes…”

With breathless, lustful conviction.

You licked up his abs, increasing the intensity and speed of rubbing the engorged head of his cock, the pre-cum already soaked through and creating a slippery surface, turning Jungkook’s pitched whines to deep moans, a melody that filled up the entire lecture hall until was the only thing you could hear, Jungkook’s moans as you bit his skin, his moans as you sucked on his skin, moans as you kissed the hard muscle, cries for more at you left marks, pleading for you, sweet and beautiful, clutching his shirt so tight that his knuckles were white, the black tattoos of his right hand standing out, his cock throbbing in your hand, his hips rising to hump your palm, your name on his lips, over and over and over.

“Gonna… gonna cum…” he panted, sniffing slightly, cheeks flushing pink. “Gonna cum like how you want me to, all over my underwear…”

Your fingertips touched his side, seeing him stiffen and then shudder at your gentle caress.

“Do it,” you murmured. “Show me how good you are at listening, Jungkook.”

He bit his lower lip, jaw clenching, squeezing his eyes shut, tipping his head back into the tabletop, whining your name in his chest, your palm working him, slick and hot and hard, pulsating under your roughness. With a sharp moan, his lower lip popped out of his teeth, dark red and swollen, small mole quivering.

“F-Fuck…!”

You felt it and heard it, the unmistakable jolt and squelch as his orgasm splattered inside his boxer briefs, drenching the fabric, drenching your hand, his embarrassed whines as he realized what he had done but still humping your hand, forcing out every last twitch of dribbling cum, causing you to smear it everywhere, coating the sensitive head and adding to the pleasure, his cheeks flushed red, eyes squeezed shut to savor the pleasure and avoid looking at you.

“Shh…”

You crawled onto the table, still holding his cock through his soiled underwear, squeezing it, free hand slipping under his head and lifting him, his eyes weakly opening, scared and anxious, but all you did was lean down and kiss him, pressing your lips to that pure softness, exhaling his name into his mouth, his scent staining your hand, his cologne filling your nose, your whisper in his throat.

“Time for you to go home.”

-

Jungkook thought you would tell everyone.

You did no such thing.

Instead, you ignored him.

He would see you three times a week and, three times a week, you arrived with the professor and left with the professor. Jungkook tried much harder to attend classes, but you seemed not to care either way. He would come to the front and collect his assignment and find that you had marked it up exactly like everyone else, red marks all over his incorrect answers. You didn’t even look in his direction.

The next exam was coming up quickly.

Part of him considered skipping exam day to have one-on-one time with you again.

“Jungkook.”

He jumped, jerking his head towards the hall, confused. Somehow, he had heard your voice. Or rather, did he imagine it? His teeth sunk into his lip, placing a hand on his forehead, confused. His head was confused. He couldn’t think straight. Why had he done such an embarrassing thing with you? Even you had told him to leave and report you. But Jungkook just couldn’t. Not then and not now. He had asked for it.

He still wanted it.

Nobody knew. Everybody thought he was a cocky, womanizing playboy. And he was, but not because of the sex. It was only because he was bored and that was all he could get. There was power in being on top.

And there was power in letting go.

You were bad for him.

He was a good guy.

You were a bad bitch.

And nobody knew.

A hand slapped down on his shoulder and yanked him around, the loose short sleeves of his yellow tropical shirt flaring out, making his sunglasses rattle on his face. You narrowed your eyes at him. Instant shivers down his spine at your stern gaze.

“Are you deaf?” you snapped. “I’ve been calling your name for the past minute.”

“I… S-Sor–”

You waved a hand dismissively, grabbing his right hand and slapping down a post-it into it.

“Chapters for the exam, including the date and time. Do not miss it this time. I will not let you make it up and fail you on the spot.”

You turned on your heel, letting go of his hand.

His left one shot out and circled around your arm, his rings pressing into your skin.

“Wait.”

You jerked your head towards him, glaring sharply. “Don’t touch me.”

And you yanked your arm out of his grasp, but his legs made the choice for him, following your swift strides, his backpack hanging off one shoulder, clutching the post-it and his last strands of sanity.

“Please, wait.”

“What?” was your curt response, not looking back at him.

“Please do it again,” he gasped breathlessly, unable to stop himself.

“Do what?”

“Have your way with me.”

You stopped walking.

Jungkook walked straight into your back and banged his nose on your head. He winced, stepping back and rubbing it gingerly. He didn’t register you turning around until it was too late and you were right in his face. You raised your chin and eyebrow simultaneously.

“No.”

He blinked rapidly, his tinted sunglasses halfway down the bridge of his nose.

“W… Why? Did you not like it? Was… was I bad?”

You let out an amused scoff.

The side of your lips curved upwards.

He had made you smile, even if only a little bit. Just that small thing was enough to feed his courage.

“I…” Jungkook coughed, clearing his throat before he spoke again, voice still a soft whisper in his embarrassment even though no one was around to eavesdrop. “I can be better. I can do better.”

Silence.

He thought you were going to walk away again.

You reached up and plucked his glasses off his nose. Folded them neatly and tucked them in his tropical shirt pocket. Then your eyes found his again and he knew something was different. He could see you clearly now, his vision no longer clouded by sienna.

Now, Jungkook could no longer stop it.

He could feel it all over him, coursing through his veins, arousal like fire. Something about you and something about him. Jungkook could sense the danger, but he didn’t want to run even though he knew he should. He had heard the rumors surrounding you. They could be true.

And yet.

“I want it,” Jungkook breathed, inviting himself into the danger. “I want you. I want to be your toy.”

Your discerning expression didn’t change.

You reached up and gripped his chin, digging your nails into his soft skin.

He whimpered in his chest, moving closer to you.

“What’s my name?”

His brows furrowed, saying your name hesitantly.

You pulled his chin down so he was eye-level.

“Next time you say my name, I will be choking it out of you.”

-

Everyone thought Jeon Jungkook was the kind of guy to grip your wrist with his left hand and your throat in his right, his lips against your ear and his sweaty chest against your back as you slapped your ass into his crotch and fucked yourself with his rock-hard cock, his smirk in your ear as he provided you with a certain type of encouragement.

“That’s right, you want this dick, don’t you? Show me. Prove to me you want it.”

His fingertips tightening against the sides of your neck, listening to your pathetic cries and moans as you tried to squirm against him, brain running out of oxygen due to lack of blood, running out of thoughts, running out of pleas as Jungkook gripped your wrist, deep snarl against your hair as he roughly finished himself off using your body because that’s all you were, someone to be used by him and nothing more, neck suddenly released with a breathless gasp and shoved face first into the sheets with his right hand splayed on your back, his tattoos and your orgasm crashing down on you, his growls staining the air and a fierce jerk of his hips to spill into your tight hole and leave you moments after, nothing but a discarded toy in his eyes.

You thought.

That was what everyone thought when Jeon Jungkook stood on stage, flipping his dark violet microphone between verses and smirking like a devil, truly in command of every thought and every pair of eyes on him, surrounded by a heavy bass line and deafening drums, guitar solo tearing through the moment to emphasize the next of his lips nearing the mic again, entrancing the crowd with his beautiful lips and talented tongue.

No one knew.

-

You were riding him hard and fast, torn condom wrappers and used condoms littering his bed, back-to-back orgasms, his head pressed into his pillows, your hand around his neck, the other leaving long lines down his chest, scratching him so hard that it dotted red, blooming lines of pain.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, f-fuck…”

Jungkook was hoarsely whispering, clutching his sheets, black hair soaked with sweat, raising his chest to your nails, whimpering, punish me, punish me, punish me, and you muttered plainly with a sharp edge, you talk too much, your grip tightening again, pressing onto the sides of his neck, cutting off the blood flow, and Jungkook moaned gratefully, eyelids fluttering, the slap of your hips to his louder and louder, filling up his whole bedroom, rattling his bedframe, fucking him so hard he was slowly sliding up to his headboard.

Your name fell from his lips in pure ecstasy, back arching to shove his whole length fully into you, thick and hard and twitching with need, your slick walls clamping down on him, fitting to him with a hiss. He began to match you, breathless, lightheaded, world hazy, moaning from deep in his chest, I love you, and your reply was only tightening your grip, your hand and your pussy, harder, harder, harder.

“Aren’t you such a good guy?” you scoffed sarcastically, letting up for only a second to let him reply, blood rocketing back into his brain, flooding him with oxygen, and Jungkook sucked in a lungful of air, reeling.

“N-No…” he panted. “You’re the good girl… you’re always s-so… so good to me…”

His eyes locked with yours hazy with lust and love. You almost looked away out of instinct.

“You a-always remember… what I like…” he managed to choke out.

-

You left him when you were done using him.

You pretended he didn’t say those words to you. There was no point in acknowledging the nonsense that he said in the middle of being choked and barely functioning. You tapped your pencil against your textbook.

You caught yourself thinking about him.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your eyes flickered to the clock. Late at night on a Friday. He was probably at a bar. You watched the second hand of your plain silver clock tick, tick away. You never asked to watch him and his band perform even though Jungkook always made it a point to text you the address and the time.

It was obvious Jungkook didn’t want you to be his secret.

He wasn’t really your secret either. You just saw no benefit to letting anyone know there was a connection between you and Jeon Jungkook. After all, you were just using him.

You stopped tapping your pencil.

Stared at the second hand.

Tick.

Heard the voices of the rumors poisoning you, saying the things they said.

She thinks she’s so much better than everyone else because she’s a nerd.

The only reason she has good grades is because she fucked that one professor.

I heard she dated him.

I mean, there’s a reason he left in the middle of the semester, right?

He had a wife!

Snap.

Your eyes flickered down.

The tip of your pencil lead rolled across the page, leaving tiny pinpricks of granite.

There was never any evidence because nothing happened. Nothing happened between you and said psychology professor. He left in the middle of the semester because his wife had a miscarriage and he wanted to be with her. It had nothing to do with you. You had long discussions with him about life and existentialism, hanging out during his office hours.

Sometimes, you felt bad.

Had you kept him from his wife? Would it have not happened if he just skipped his office hours and didn’t spend them talking to you? These were irrational, foolish thoughts. They made you guilty even when there was nothing to be guilty about.

He was a nice guy, mid-thirties. Everyone liked this professor.

They blamed you because they didn’t know.

Only you knew, because he told you with tears in his eyes and thanked you for being his student.

You didn’t tell anyone, because he did not owe you an explanation and you were not going to divulge someone’s personal business that they had shared with you in confidence. You watched your reputation crumble and fall apart, watched friends ostracize you, because you didn’t tell them anything and they didn’t believe you. You watched yourself turn bitter and hateful.

Just tell the truth.

There was no truth to be told.

You put your pencil down.

Closed your eyes.

Remembered Jungkook’s face.

-

Your hands were in his hair, pulling hard. His hot breath was in your face, arms shaking as he held himself up, fucking you into his mattress with whines in his chest, begging you, begging you, begging you.

“P-Please… let me cum, please…”

You liked to watch the sweat clinging to his high cheekbones and neck, jaw glistening with tension, feeling his strong body between your legs, his twitching hardness sliding into you repeatedly in rough, hard smacks, squeezing him every time he was fully sheathed inside you, vibrations coursing through you every time he came down.

“Not until I’m done,” you growled and he whimpered, pleading look in those brown doe eyes, black pupils expanded, unable to cum because a vibrating cock ring was restricting his orgasm, keeping him hard but unable to climax, sending thundering pleasure through him and into you. He watched helplessly as you gripped his hair, hissing sharply as another wave of pleasure overtook you, closing your eyes to savor it, savor his swollen cock twitching inside you as he felt the intense massage of your pussy walls closing around him, throbbing around the head and driving him insane, moaning pathetically because he couldn’t follow suit no matter how desperate he was.

Jungkook didn’t ask if you were done.

He just kept going because you told him he couldn’t cum until you were done.

And you didn’t say you were done.

You stared into those brown orbs, hazy with lust and full of conviction to be good for you.

Desperate to be the best and the only one, not knowing there was no one else because no one else wanted you like the way Jeon Jungkook wanted you.

“Pull out.”

“B-But…”

“You heard me,” you exhaled, throbs of pleasure still trembling through you. Your hands slid down, cupping his chin, nails digging into his sweaty cheeks. “Obey.”

With a pained whine, Jungkook obeyed, pulling out of you, his cock covered in your juices, wearing a condom and the black cock ring. You reached over with one hand to press the button on the remote to turn in off.

“Take it all off. Let me see your cock.”

He reached down and slowly pulled the cock ring off, taking the condom with it, whimpering at the sensitivity, his tone hitting a lovely pitched groan as the silicone squeezed the base of the head. His whole body was shaking as it fell from his hands, the veins on his length standing out, head purple-red and angry, white pre-cum slowly beading at the tip, and his face, looking down at you, waiting for your next move.

Cock waiting to be used.

You tapped your chest.

“Cum on my tits.”

“B-But–”

You cut him off.

“You’re going to cum on my tits and then you’re going to lick it off while I watch.”

-

He listened.

Jungkook straddled your waist with his thighs, muscular and defined, right hand wrapping around his cock, sweat making the tattoos on his forearm and shoulder glow in the low light, smelling like sex and musk, his core tightening as he touched his overstimulated length, using the lube of the condom and his own pre-cum to add to the pleasure as he began to stroke himself, moaning as you lifted your hands and cupped your breasts, pushing them together, his eyes on the curve of your cleavage and points of your hard nipples sticking out, and then your face, an indifferent look with a cocked eyebrow, taunting him, unimpressed by his timid grip on his cock, so he squeezed harder, tighter, embarrassing cries falling from his mouth, living for the smirk that slowly began to form on your lips.

It empowered him somehow, that smirk, the little inkling of satisfaction that Jungkook wanted, needed, craved, knowing he was doing well, being good, furiously pumping his aching cock over your pressed-together tits and he couldn’t last, couldn’t help it, too overstimulated and too turned on, too in love with this to prevent himself from tipping over with a hot gasp, spilling streams of sticky white lines over your breasts, spreading them everywhere, making a huge mess because he wanted a huge mess to clean up, shoving the head into your cleavage and shuddering at the sensation of warmth to his scorching heat, able to feel the pulse of the engorged tip dripping out what was left, shivers up and down his spine, the words falling from his mouth that he never stopped saying even though you never acknowledged them.

“I... l-love you…”

He stayed like that for nearly a full minute, but you didn’t tell him to get off.

His eyes were closed, savoring the feeling.

Slowly, Jungkook gingerly removed himself, lowering his body over yours, tongue sliding out, touching your skin covered in his cum, his taste, mine, no one else’s, him on you, lapping it up, salty and bitter and yet he loved it, loved that you told him to do it, loved that you let him paint your skin with his orgasm and now his saliva. He didn’t care that you never said anything to his I love you, didn’t care that you seemed to pretend he never said it, because he would continue saying it when he was with you, hopeless as it was.

It was the small things that kept him going, sucking his own cum off your nipple and wrapping his lips around it, hearing your soft sigh of pleasure, feeling the tap on his thigh that instructed him to scoot up, the small thing of your hand closing in on his spent cock, sending sparks of pain but also pleasure, moaning into your skin as you massaged his balls with your fingers, knowing that he could take more pressure and roughness because he had just came, the small thing of your thumb rubbing the sensitive slit, his face pressing into your breasts, smearing his cheek with his cum and saliva, sliding across your slick skin because of the intensity of the high it gave him, the pleasure and the pain, his right arm coming up to wrap around you, tattoos cradling your torso.

“I love you…” he whispered to your racing heart under his ear, lost in the rhythm of your heartbeat and the firmness of your touch. Jungkook did not care if you hated him saying it.

He would continue saying it as long as he was with you.

-

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing…?”

“Hmm.”

He placed his hand over the bottom of his phone and smiled at the cute girl that was talking to him at the bar.

“Sorry. I have to take this call. It’s important to me.”

He didn’t hear her response, because he backed away, bowing lightly, pressing his phone back to his ear.

“Ah, never mind, Jungkook.”

“No, no. What is it? Tell me.”

“You’re at a noisy place. It’s Saturday night.”

Jungkook pushed through the people, mumbling his apologies and straining to hear your voice over the thundering bass. “I finished. Well, we finished. We’re only drinking. I can leave at any time. I’ll just text the guys to bring my equipment back for me. Where are you?”

“Forget it.”

He opened the door of the club as the dial tone rang in his ear.

Looked up.

Your hand dropped to your side. You were still in your white dress shirt and navy skirt, dressed exactly like you were when at school minus the blazer. Jungkook’s eyes widened. He was in a torn-up long-sleeve shirt with the right sleeve removed, showing off his tattoos. His black hair was wild and half-wet, and he was wearing tight leather pants.

You clicked your tongue.

“I said forget it,” you repeated hollowly.

You sighed and turned around, skirt swishing in your wake.

“Wait, I’ll come with you–”

“Go back to where you belong, Jungkook.”

His hand closed around your forearm, holding tight.

“I belong with you.”

You stopped walking, silent.

“What is it? Tell me.”

You scowled. “It’s dumb.”

“So am I, remember?” he chuckled, his hand slipping down, squeezing yours. “I’m not very good at school.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Cars and people brushed past, but Jungkook was focused onto on your stillness, watching your eyes seemed to be thinking about many things. You hadn’t pulled your hand out of his yet. By now, Jungkook knew that if you didn’t want something, you wouldn’t be shy about telling him right away.

You started walking again. Jungkook was still holding your hand.

“It was just a moment of weakness,” you mumbled under your breath.

“A guy…?”

You didn’t answer.

Jungkook squeezed your hand. “It’s okay,” he murmured tightly. “I understand.”

He did not. He wanted to cry.

Your eyes shot to him, pinning him in place. “You don’t understand, Jeon Jungkook. You understand nothing.” You pulled your hand out of his and Jungkook let go, trying to hold his pain, trying not to breathe because he was preparing himself for the inevitable, the moment you were going to break his heart and, if it was right here and right now, then so be it, because he had said how he felt repeatedly and there was nothing more he could do than that.

He loved you so, so bad.

Jungkook knew he shouldn’t, that it was madness, but he did anyway.

But you surprised him.

Your sharp gaze softened.

“You know what they say about me. You have to know,” you exhaled, shaking your head. “You must know the rumors.”

Good girl gone bad.

Jungkook frowned. “About you and the professor?”

He watched your jaw clench.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

Your eyes shifted, not quite looking at him.

“Whether something did or didn’t happen, what does that have to do with me?”

And now you looked at him, guarded, not letting him know your thoughts.

“You…” He swallowed, trying to press the lump down in his throat. “You’re just using me, right? It doesn’t… doesn’t really matter, because in the end I don’t matter to you anyway… right?”

He did not want to cry and yet he did, because he knew he loved you. It was the small things, the way you never let up on him even in class, the way you picked days that were never the weekend and never before exams, the way you would brush your fingertips on his knuckles before leaving when you thought he was asleep, the way on the last time, the last time you were together, that you pressed your lips to his forehead when you thought he was asleep, running your fingers through his hair.

Jungkook was standing outside this bar and there were people he knew walking past, seeing you and him, but he kept his eyes on you, because the only one that mattered was you.

The one he belonged to was you.

He had decided that when he climbed onto the table that day.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and let out a heavy breath. “If people say things about you, then they say things about you. Whether it’s the truth or not doesn’t change the fact I love you. It doesn’t make me love you less,” Jungkook said, speaking at his usual volume, because there was no reason to whisper the truth. “Even if it’s pointless and crazy, I want to be with you until the day you don’t want to be with me.”

His smiled and blinked back tears.

“Even if that day is today, I will never regret it.”

In this cruel summer, you could have ruined his reputation. You could have told everyone the kind of person he really was and you didn’t. You could have spread embarrassing stories of the things you made him do and you didn’t.

Even if he didn’t matter to you, Jungkook was confident that you weren’t a malicious person.

You rubbed your forehead. “The rumors will come to you.”

Jungkook laughed. “So what? I heard a rumor that I removed two ribs so I could suck my own dick. I admit, I considered doing it after hearing that.”

You scowled, but Jungkook only smiled in return. He could see the tension falling from your face with his comment. You clicked your tongue and tilted your head, as if to say, can’t be helped.

“There’s no other guy,” you muttered. “There’s just you and you’re dumb.”

Jungkook blinked rapidly, confused.

“You say it over and over and make me think about it all the time.” You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair. “I’m not a good girl. People pushed me away and I stayed there instead of trying to repair the burned bridges. I don’t even think I want to repair them. Who knows what will happen next? I don’t think it would be a good idea to put you through that shit.”

You sucked on the inside of your cheek, looking at him apologetically.

“You’re not the bad boy everyone says you are. You’re a good guy. You should find a good girl.”

Is that what you think? Jungkook chuckled, taking out his hand and rubbing his nose thoughtfully.

“I don’t want a good girl.”

He stepped toward you, lowering his hand and his head so that he was eye level with you.

“I love a bad bitch who can push me around and makes me their toy.”

He tilted his head, small curve on those beautiful lips, tiny mole underneath appearing with every smile.

“Which can only be you, you know.”

Jungkook didn’t try to kiss you. He only wanted to look into your eyes so you knew his conviction.

“I love you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’ve heard you say it.”

He nodded. “And I’m going to keep saying it until the day you leave me.”

Silence.

Ah.

Your eyebrow lowered and you gave him an indifferent look.

“Hm. I wonder when that will be, Jungkook.”

You leaned in, but before you kissed him, he heard the whisper against his lips, felt the shape of yours as they brushed against his, words he prepared himself to never hear from you, words that he thought you would never say, and that was fine with him, because you showed it, and that was enough.

He thought.

“I love you.”

And then your lips on his and his tears fell onto your cheeks because Jungkook wanted to cry all this time and he could not stop now, knowing that he was so, so in love with you and you finally, finally said it back to him.

--

masterpost

[samstree]

Just a Little Pretense

Jaskier and Geralt stage a fake breakup. Someone’s feelings get hurt for real.

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

AO3

“… It would be to take you off my hands!”

Geralt’s voice echoes in the ballroom, between the tall walls and the high ceiling. Everyone on the dance floor has fallen into silence. Even the band has stopped playing, their lead singer gaping with round eyes.

Jaskier blinks, impressed.

All the eyes are on the two of them. Jaskier’s back prickles with the gazes. As the fight escalated, more and more guests have stopped dancing just to eavesdrop on the witcher and the bard, the most peculiar couple in the room.

Which is just perfect. The more people witnessing their breakup, the more awkward it will be afterward, and the easier it will be to get out of this tedious party. And here Jaskier is, regretting ever having doubted his dear witcher’s ability to perform.

Who would have thought Geralt is a method actor? Drawing inspiration from a past argument is ingenious.

His old acting professor back in Oxenfurt would approve of this. The show is going swimmingly and he is pumped with adrenaline—maybe he should go back on stage one day, do a play or two.

But alas, he can muse the idea later. The show must go on.

“Really? Just like that?” Jaskier croaks, seemingly on the verge of crying. He’s not so bad himself, classically trained and everything. “Thirty years, Geralt. I followed you for thirty years, and just like that, you will kick me out of your life? Did I ever—” he breaks off with a whimper. “Did I ever mean anything to you? Or were you ready to cast me aside this whole time?”

A tear rolls down. His lips wobble. The crowd erupts in hushed murmurs and sympathetic sighs. The set-up, the build, everything has been perfect. Now the only thing left is for Geralt to break things off, and the two of them can ride into the metaphorical sunset and never see this court again.

Jaskier waits in anticipation, but his witcher opens his mouth.

And closes it.

Geralt looks as upset as he should, angry and torn and equally shocked, his golden eyes wide and his jaw clenched tight. It’s a nice picture to paint for the audience. They are supposedly having the biggest fight in their lives and his body language is very convincing.

More than convincing.

Except, it just might be … too convincing.

Wait—

Jaskier focuses on Geralt, who looks as if he wants to shrink into himself, his shoulders slumped and arms drawn in. He looks as if he’s waiting to be struck. Wait, something’s not right.

“I can’t do this.” A whisper leaves Geralt’s lips, small and achingly sad.

It’s not the line he’s supposed to say.

Geralt’s eyebrows droop ever so slightly, and there’s a flash of distress behind the molten gold. It’s gone in a second, hidden behind a façade of indifference.

The tells are subtle, near imperceivable to the untrained eye, but to Jaskier, they are clear as day—Geralt is hurt. For real.

Oh.

Fuck.

“Geralt,” Jaskier tries, instantly snapped out of his character.

And yet, there’s no reply. Geralt lowers his head, turns around, and flees the scene within one heartbeat and the next. The crowd is too eager to make way for him.

“Shit,” Jaskier curses, ready to chase after Geralt, but the Countess de Stael appears out of nowhere with a flock of maids and positively blocks him in all directions. She’s eager to lament the loss of love and companionship, and to offer Jaskier a place at her court once again. Oh, shit.

Jaskier brushes her off, all the while painfully remembering he and Geralt’s goal from the beginning—to use the breakup as an excuse to get out of this place.

Well, the plan is shit. Is it too late to notice?

Weaving through dozens of nobles is a lot more difficult when they all want to extend sympathy, and Jaskier is only placating them absent-mindedly, faking regret and heartbreak. His mind is full of his witcher, who is either brooding or spiraling over the venom he spewed earlier.

The truth is, Jaskier has long forgotten about the mountain—not because it didn’t hurt. To be shunned by Geralt, blamed for everything, and denied friendship, was the worst thing to have happened to him at the time. It’s just that Jaskier has forgiven it, so long ago and so completely.

Jaskier cannot get to their room fast enough, and when he pushes open the door, the sight of Geralt’s dejected face is a stab through the chest. The witcher is perched on the bed, somehow looking a lot smaller than he is.

Jaskier never should have come up with the stupid fake breakup thing, never should have inadvertently reopened the old wound. They healed, together. They shouldn’t be hurting anymore.

“I explained. We can leave now,” Jaskier tires, but in fairness, he doesn’t remember what he said to the Countess. “Geralt?”

The witcher himself crosses his arms, hugging his midriff and avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. “Good,” he answers curtly, shoulders still tense.

He looks angry, and when Geralt is angry, it’s most likely with himself. Oh, whatever heartbreak Jaskier acted out earlier, it’s not a match to a fraction of what he’s feeling now. It must be the one millionth time Geralt’s self-loathing has broken Jaskier’s heart, and it never gets easier, not when Jaskier caused it himself.

“Hey.” Jaskier desperately wants to wrap his arms around Geralt. So he does. He sits down on the bed and pulls his witcher into the biggest bear hug, which is returned immediately and so very tightly. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I fucked up, Geralt. I’m—”

“Don’t be.” Geralt buries his nose into Jaskier’s neck and shakes his head. “I never should have said those things, Jask. I should be the one apologizing. It was wrong and untrue and I would never abandon you. You are my best friend. How can I ever? Please, believe me…”

Geralt trails off, his hands rubbing circles into Jaskier’s back. Although it’s unclear who he’s trying to soothe.

“I know. It’s okay. I know,” Jaskier murmurs, over and over again, sealing each reassurance with a kiss pressed into silver hair.

“I never meant it, Jask.”

“I know. It was fake. We were pretending.”

Geralt pulls away, golden eyes dead serious, pausing between every word. “I never meant it.”

Jaskier meets his gaze unwaveringly, with not an ounce of doubt. “I know.”

They stay there for a while, just holding each other. Geralt keeps sniffing Jaskier’s scent the same way he always does to check for injury or distress. He thinks he’s subtle, the sweet man, so Jaskier never mentions it.

Despite what an outsider might assume, Geralt is the sensitive one between the two. He’s so careful when it comes to their relationship, especially after the mountain and sometimes to his own detriment.

He’s so scared of hurting Jaskier again.

“I was an idiot for suggesting it,” Jaskier breaks the silence, nudging Geralt in the knee.

Geralt hums, lips pursed.

“Fake breakup is a terrible idea. Next time we’ll just grit our teeth and sit through the month-long party.”

Still, no smile.

“Alright, you win. Next time I won’t take you to a month-long party to start with.” Jaskier gently pats Geralt on the cheek. “For your delicate sensibilities, darling.”

Finally, finally, Geralt’s lips turn upwards, just a smidge.

“You are an idiot,” Geralt says, the crease between his brows fading. “Just…don’t make me make you cry again.”

Melting into the warmth welling up between his ribcage, Jaskier leans forward and presses a tiny kiss at his witcher’s forehead, so softly as if he’d break with any more force.

“Yes, dear.”

Being careless with Geralt’s heart is a mistake that Jaskier never wants to repeat. As he put a hand over his witcher’s languid heartbeat, Jaskier feels the soft thrumming against his palm, and realizes just how terribly he needs to guard it with the same care too. Against his frivolous self, and against the past that never seems to stop haunting them.

Because Jaskier needs this thing between them to work. If a faked breakup already seems unbearable, he shudders to imagine a real one.

A witcher’s life is already riddled with pain and sadness and could-have-beens. A poet would hate it if he added himself to the list.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[peeterparkr]

red; tom's version|one.

chapter one: sad, beautiful tragic. “Long handwritten note deep in your pocket”

pairing: Tom Holland x Reader (tom's not famous here) story summary: you’re reminiscing through your relationship months after the heartbreak and breakup. Wondering if it went wrong from the very start when Tom arrived at New York, and him being a cautionary tale or if the problems came along the way. Perhaps the key to find back your way to him is going back through the nice things before the heartbreak came. Or is it too painful to go all over again?

chapter summary: you haven't seen him since he ditched you, after months of wearing plaid you go out and realize he's back in new york warnings: angsty, I mean it's a breakup, swearing. word count: 7.3k playlist (updated after each chapter, including Red songs+ other for the chapter): Spotify | Apple Music

fic masterlist next chapter

a/n: Hi, I couldn't wait to share it so I said, screw it, I'm posting this. You don't know how excited I am to write this and share it with you. As you know, this is inspired by Red by Taylor Swift and will hurt. So I expect us all to be crumpled up pieces of paper wearing scarves by the end of this. (perennial is still coming, I'm just waiting on a few people who're reading it). SPECIAL THANKS TO @erodasghosts for reading it and hyping me up and helping me figure this all out. I hope you guys all like it as much as I did. The story is set in New York. Please give feedback!

One month after the breakup.

Strong whiskey, on the rocks. That was his drink of choice that night. The night before had been a beer. You knew you could imagine the taste of his lips by only looking at him. You wondered if he’d gone there for a second night for the same reason you had.

When you had seen him across the place the night before, you had tried to decide how to feel. We always think we will react one way or another when we see our official heartbreak walking through. Victorious as he is perfectly dressed, with his hair flowing.

He hadn’t brought her. Which you didn’t know how to feel about.

The day before you had not been alone, Jules, Matty, and Lula were there.

“Shit, the axolotl at 10 o'clock, you’ve got to be shitting me,” Lourdes, Lula, had whispered before sipping her drink, a Long Island Tea. “We are celebrating she’s doing better, can’t fucking believe this,” she hissed at Jules who only lifted her chin slightly to see who she was referring to. “What the fuck is he doing here? Ay, es que, con qué huevos se atreve a venir aquí? Que no mame.” [with what balls did he dare to come here? He shouldn’t fuck with us. ]

You loved hanging out with Lula and listening to her very refined Spanish cursing.

“It’s not him,” Julia said.

You tried looking back to see who they were referring to. “Who is—?”

“Y/N, wait I just noticed the haircut!” Matt pointed out, reaching over, getting your attention back to them and not at whatever they were referring to. “It looks great. It’s like a new you!”

This new you. The one that had been screwed over twice. Men really have the nerve when it comes to breaking hearts. They recklessly go in and let you believe love comes in all shades of colors, passionate red like the roses they send, and tender pinks like your sweet innocence that they end up stealing. But they never tell you it’ll be you all alone in a dark room with shades of grey under a flickering light that barely warms you.

The new you, which was still a bit lost. Your old self was a stranger to you now. You had no idea who this new you was, she was quiet now. Didn’t have a heart because someone had stolen it and broken it and left it behind a dumpster. Still trying to find it. The new you wasn't.. you.

Your friends were glad, however, they finally got you to go out again. After weeks of wearing plaid and watching Fleabag, and even considering watching Greys Anatomy, a low point, you had finally decided to come back to see if there was any sunshine left for you.

It’s important to point out that you had been broken-hearted and almost crazy when the breakup had happened. Very… delusional. You were not proud of the way you’d reacted. Although you wouldn’t have reacted any other way.

The city had been quiet, the red lights seemed to last longer, and the crowds would often swallow you. The city you once loved was now an open book of a relationship that seemed real, should’ve known it was all fiction.

In your dreams they’d be bright, colorful. The village is aglow. Cold days with warm hearts. Like his.

You’d been cold ever since.

“Ah, yeah, the haircut. Got it today. Lula’s idea” The haircut had come as the solution to a problem that would never be solved. As if cutting your hair meant there was something you had the power on. You didn’t.

How stupid was it? You couldn’t control your life.

“It suits her well, doesn’t it?” Lula admitted proudly.

You still had his picture engraved in your heart. You still dreamed he would come back and say it was all a nightmare.

“It’s nice, I’m glad to have you back,” Jules commented. Julia had probably been the most surprised with the news of the breakup, she had almost gone and killed Tom when he had….unimportant. She hadn’t, though, and she had yet to tell you the reason why. Julia had been mysterious since.

“I’m glad to be back,” you confirmed. You’d ordered a beer, and maybe you shouldn’t have. Stella Artois, his one favorite. You pocketed the beer cap. “Though I was not gone.”

Matt watched you, him and Julia had recently started dating. Best friends since kids who just recently confessed their feelings for each other, took them long enough. “How back are you, though?”

“Meaning?” You asked, taking a sip.

Matt shrugged, “I could introduce you to some friends from work, there’s this hot guy—“

“No,” you interrupted him, leaving the bottle down as you had almost choked. “No, no. Not in the dating area yet. Won’t be in a long time. Still healing.”

Lula still had her eyes glued elsewhere. “Healing from a bullet hole, y/n, whatever you’re doing isn’t working, and band aids won’t fix it—Jules it is, I swear to god it’s him.”

“It’s not him,” Julia rolled her eyes.

“Ay, que sí!” [he is]

“Who?” You asked.

Julia took your hands, “you know Lula,” she rolled her eyes. “I love that you ordered a beer.”

“Yeah,” you gulped. “Beer is universal language for men as in: ‘don’t get close to me.’” A lesson someone dear had taught you once.

Matt tilted his head in agreement, “Yeah.”

“Really?” Lula frowned, “should’ve ordered one. Next time I’ll ask for my drink but instead of a glass I’ll ask them to put it in a beer bottle.”

“Wouldn't it be easier to order a beer?” Matt suggested.

“But then I’d break our tradition.”

Matt watched her, “you really are something.”

You chuckled.

“Why is beer seen as not—feminine?” Matt questioned.

Julia shrugged. “It’s beyond me, really. It’s a drink.”

“Like does my drink make me less of a man?” Matt watched his glass, another Long Island Tea. A stupid inside joke you all had.

“No,” you admitted. “But you know how society is. Since it’s sweet, it’s got to be—“

“Oh, no, no, I love you, y/n, but tonight I don’t want you lecturing us on it, no, tonight we are having fun, ok?” Lula reminded you. “We will not talk about femininity or lack of a beer—or whatever your agenda is up to these days, which, hey! Why does y/n get to break the rule?” Lula questioned. “No Long Island Tea?

Julia glared at her, “Because she can do whatever she wants tonight,” she hissed and then turned to you. “But how are you feeling? It’s your first time going out in months, is it as fun?” Julia was the one to try to cheer you up the most.

No, it wasn’t fun.

“I—feel good!” You lied. Although you were not. But you guessed that’s the response they wanted after seeing you laying down on the ground and crying yourself to sleep. Staring at windows and walking down in the rain. They wanted you to feel better.

Your body was covered in scars.Though, they were from adventures.

“Bullshit,” Lula intruded. “You seem sad. Maybe I’ll get some shots,” she announced before going to get some.

“Well,” you chuckled. “My first time going out and you bring me back to the place where it all started?” You answered cynically but then shrugged. “I’m—I…no. I just—It’s weird. I still see him everywhere, and as I’m here it’s like watching a movie of our greatest moments,” you admitted. “Like hey, look over there, it’s Tom and Y/N’s greatest moments,” you stated, Lula got back. “Let’s start memory lane…”and you sighed and continued with the best presenter voice you had. “Here you’ll wonder how the hell did it go so wrong since they were so perfect, what the hell went wrong, when did it turn into some sad stupid love affair. You’ll be asking yourself hey, they seemed in love, over there, they danced! Over there… they sang a song together! See over there? There was a fucking jukebox in which they have memories! Oh they have memories there too! And you’ll ask yourself, he made it seem real, what the hell happened?” You sighed exhaustedly. “What happened? What the fuck happened? How was I so stupid?” You ran your hands through your face.

Your friends only watched you, with pity, sadness. Even Lula had turned her gaze guilty.

You cleared your throat, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Lula sighed, “it’s our fault for bringing you here. We’re fucking idiots. Besides he is—Julia I swear to god, he is there.” Lula raised her hand and Julia quickly pulled it down.

Julia bit her lip, “I—hadn’t realized how much Tom there is here.”

“Yeah.”

“He called me—“Matt had started.

“No, no, we can’t talk about him, baby,” Julia reminded him. Matt widened his eyes and nodded.

You blinked, “no, it’s—He called you? Tom?” Why had Tom called Matty? What for?

“Yeah, had a missed call,” Matt explained, ignoring his girlfriend. “I—it was this morning.”

You felt your chest twist. “Yeah, I get a lot of those too.”

Perhaps he wanted to talk to you and thought Matty was dumb enough to give you the phone.

Julia glared at Matt. “We promised not to—“

“No, hey,” you stopped her. “I—sorry, I brought him up.”

“But we shouldn’t talk about him,” Julia insisted. “Tonight is all about having fun,” she stated as she handed everyone their shots.

“No, it’s alright,” you said. “I’m fine talking about it.”

Lula turned her gaze to you. “Shouldn’t you hate him?”

Were you supposed to hate someone who gave you something so beautiful? Just because it’s over doesn’t mean you have to look back and hate it.

“No,” you answered simply.

Matt watched you. “Wait, really?”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m—I decided I’m thankful for everything. He really… I… I mean I knew from the start he was trouble. But he got me to get rid of Will. So I’m thankful for Tom. He showed me some beautiful things about him, about myself and… I’m thankful. Even the part when he broke my heart.”

It was a lie. Partly. You had been so full of doubts that you only tried wondering why it had gone so wrong. Or course, the lie was there. His lies. But how could any of it be a lie?

Julia smiled gently, “You’re really a grown up.”

“Or very stupid.” Lula commented.

“Thanks, Lula, I appreciate it,” you rolled your eyes. “I… well, I’ve gotta admit I was pretty stupid.”

Lula shrugged, “Hey, I don’t blame you, boy came in with an accent, he had a cute smile, he was hot, I must admit, and he wasn’t one of those Brooklyn fuckboys that take you to the rooftop and offer you a whiteclaw to watch the sunrise together,” Lula gave in.

“Oh, and they take candid pictures, and they say that their phone camera isn’t as good as their polaroid,” Julia laughed, “But hey, you’re lucky they took you to the rooftop, they never take anyone there, they took you there just because you’re…”

“Different,” Julia, Lula and you chanted.

Matt laughed, “You guys are the worst.”

“Anyway,” Lula said. “We should drink these,” she pointed at the shot glasses as she raised her own. “I came here to get drunk. So, to Y/N being thankful Tom was a piece of shit even when the boy had a dreamy accent?”

You closed your eyes, and let out a defeated dry chuckle. “Yes, to that.”

“To the piece of shit, then!” Lula grinned as the shots clinked and were downed. You instantly regretted drinking it.

Lula scowled as she had her eyes glued back at the bar, “It’s him, Julia, it’s him! What is he doing here? Pendejo, I swear to god I’ll go kill him.” She was furious, and you tried once again following her gaze.

The bar was crowded, red lights crossed around the place, with girls walking with tall heels, trying to smile and nod at guys who were talking to them but clearly were not of interest to them. Friends laughing, people flirting. You didn’t know who your friends were watching.

But the bar seemed to be enough of a reminder of him. How he had made you feel like crowds were never there, and how whenever you had been with him everything disappeared just to be with him.

“Who are we killing?” You questioned.

“Is new y/n a murderer?” Asked Matt. Matt and Julia were your oldest friends. The three of you grew up in Staten Island, and now moved to the crowded places.

Lula coughed. “Hope she is.” Lula, on the other hand, you’ve met in college, she was a very defined addition to the friend group. With more personality. A strong one. Lula, Julia and you shared a small apartment.

Julia cleared her throat.

“The fucking scarf,” Lula scowled.

“What scarf?” Matt asked. And you had the same question.

Julia whispered to her boyfriend’s ear who had turned cold. He lifted his head.

“But it’s not.”

“It is him,” Matt confirmed to Lula. “Jules, it is.”

And now your three friends were acting strange. Usually they did but this was strang-er. They all shared looks, Julia struggled with her hands.

They were watching you with pity but you’d gotten used to that. After the breakup they had been extra careful around you, kinder, you guessed.

Fools they were to believe that by not mentioning him you wouldn’t think of him. He was a memory that would haunt you for the rest of the days.

“So, y/n,” Julia was clearly hiding whatever Lula was seeing.

“Wasn’t he in London? What in this fucking world is he doing here?” Lula continued.

“Shut up!” Julia ordered.

“London?” You asked and you lifted your head, and any noise that was bustling before had stopped.

Tom.

Tom was there.

Thomas.

Tom who had broken your heart. In every possible way that he could’ve. Like he had planned it. Like he was aware.

He was there, on a stool with a beer in his hand and wearing a red scarf. The red scarf. As if he was mocking you.

Tom.

Did he pride on hurting you?

He had always said you were invincible. That you were unrivaled in matters of the heart. Was he proud he had beaten the unbeaten?

You’d always thought he would.

When we love deeply, getting hurt comes as a given. But when we love deeply, we are never expecting it to come. And when it does come the skies cannot turn grayer. Funny thing, you were a fan of the rain but when the rain doesn’t cease, the hope doesn’t perdure.

But he was back in your life. Or at least he had been in the same room as you after months.

What was he doing back in New York with your scarf?

You turned back to your own table, breathing in quickly, bringing your hand to your chest in an attempt to calm yourself down.

You saw your friends speaking but you couldn’t make a word of what they’re saying. Your heart was rushing. Thomas was there. Tom. Your Tom. And there was a part of you that had completely forgotten over the heartbreak and wanted to run to him.

Kiss him, try to fix it. Try to bring back the beautiful thing you both had. Because it was. And it hurt looking back.

You were having trouble breathing now, the heartbreak had come.

That’s the worst thing about heartbreak. You never saw it coming, though you should’ve. Though it was beautiful you’d known from the start you’d end up hurt. But when a lie is crafted so beautifully, how could you?

“It’s him.” The words had come in whispers.

You barely remembered what had happened next. You had only stood up, decisive to leave, you’d seen him try to walk his way to you. You’d heard him call your name, but you hadn’t turned back, you had seen Matty stop him from running to you.

It was blurry. You didn’t know how you got home. Desperately trying to understand why he was there and how the night had turned too badly.

Lula and Matt had come back later to find Julia trying to comfort you, hugging a pillow that you were sure he had slept on. Breathless.

But it was in the past now, you were there again. Same bar, both in stools far away.

You were almost sure he’d gone to that bar in hopes of finding you again.

Just like you’d gone again.

His eyes the night before were guilty. You only took a deep breath, you remembered trying to avoid his glance at any chance as you had walked out.

Why were you there again?

That feeling in your chest growing, like there was something heavy expanding. Yet your stomach falling smaller. The pain was but a shield, as if it was creating a special protection around your heart, and though it hurt it was enough for it to make your heart strong to leave the place.

You didn’t want to see Tom. You hadn’t talked to him since. Even when he’d tried to call. Even when you’d tried calling.

Not when you had replayed the breakup over and over and over again since he was gone.

Everyone deals with breakups in different ways. Yours, specifically, was avoiding it. Everything and everyone. Especially Tom.

It was hard when he was everywhere. In that tattoo he’d convinced you to get, in that ring he’d left, in that cereal box that you still hadn’t finished. Whenever you listened to a song he’d recommended. Whenever you’d open Netflix and that series you had started watching together was still recommended to you even when you’d deleted it.

Everywhere.

You couldn’t use your favorite colors because you could hear it, in the back of your head “I love how it looks on you.” “You should wear more blue, it suits you.”

Even your stupid laugh remind you of him. “Your laugh is the most wonderful thing I’ve heard, even if it’s so ugly.”

You missed the person you were when he was with you. How everything was happy. Who was that y/n? Who didn’t mind if she was slightly late to a place because he’d come with you? Who didn’t feel alone at parties when she knew nobody because you knew him?

A y/n that existed only for a short period of time when he’d been around and that he’d shattered like glass when he had the chance.

You missed that y/n.

The y/n that would sometimes lose her breath and catch it back when he walked into the room. A y/n that sang along to her favorite songs all day. The one that would give her heart in a rush to him. The one that watched movies no matter if they were good or not.

Life had colors back then.

Now you were full of regrets and of doubts. Wondering what you had done wrong? Where did it lead you?

You looked up at him then. He was staring down at his glass.

There was a slight trace of him still there, the Tom you once loved. The one with the silly smile and the gentle chuckle, the one with the jokes about everything.

You wondered how much of that y/n he saw too.

You were the same two people, in essence. But how different you were now.

The Tom you knew before finding out it was a lie.

There was still a hint. You knew. But there was so much of him in you that it was hard to see if you still were there. Or the Tom you thought you knew. Not the one with the lie. Or maybe this was the truest Tom he could ever be.

He had to move on, rather quickly, you recalled. If he ever did.

There was a stupid reminder of you in his hand, that red scarf from the very first day.

You still remembered how it all started, a stupid red scarf. He kept it, then, and he wore it.

You had ordered a beer, too. You pocketed the cap again.

But there was an image in your mind, maybe he had gone back and probably had his arm around her and he laughed at a joke she made. Maybe she was funnier than you. Definitely prettier, with her hair falling down all the way to her waist, her clothing accentuating everything you didn’t have.

You recalled having to leave the room when you found out. You had been a mess.

Leaning against a wall as you caught your breath before the tears came down, as if he had pierced right through it. A pain chest that had expanded all the way on your body, not sure how you were able to keep walking back to your place. Falling down to your knees when you did.

Pain. Words failed to describe such a deep sentiment.

But it was gone now. Not entirely but at least you could hold your breath fine when he was just across the room.

What went wrong?

You could ask him. He was right there.

Maybe even tell him how you had lost sight. He hadn’t walked up to you. He was nervous, but he seemed calm enough to see you were there. You were still unsure why you had gone there.

Maybe all the good things were enough to bring you there, maybe the fact that you still didn’t believe it was a lie brought you there. Maybe the fact that one of those pictures from that photobooth was still in a locket. So stupid.

He fiddled with the glass.

You waited and waited but he didn’t approach you. He took out a paper out of his pocket as he stared at it.

You wouldn’t approach him. No matter how happy he had made you once, you wouldn’t walk to him. No matter how beautiful it was. No matter if you were lonely and that when you dared to sleep he’d be haunting your dreams.

It was a tragedy now. What you both were, and not even worth enough to try and save it. You knew you were haunting him too. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

He was shakin, as he stared at you, nervous. He downed his drink, you guessed it was for some liquid courage and stood up, with the note in one hand and your red scarf in the other.

Your own courage for coming here was gone, as you saw his intentions, the urge to run you had the night before was becoming you. But he couldn’t walk. He had to sit down again, rubbing his face.

The courage that had come when choosing what Lula called the ‘revenge black dress’ was nowhere in sight. You were cold and regretting putting it on.

“I can’t do this,” you said to yourself and quickly let out some dollars to pay for your drink before picking up your stuff to leave.

You saw he panicked when he saw you leaving, he quickly called the bartender to pay for his drink.

You closed your coat as you were shaking yourself, punishing yourself for going there. Why had you gone there? The man had broken your heart? Were you really there to see him?

Was your heart foolish enough to ignore the warnings in your mind once again?

You walked your way to get to the subway station, how irrelevant you were through the crowds. You hadn’t felt this way for a while, caring for the crowds. But you had to get through them. There was a part of you that wished Tom was following you after. But the crowds didn’t let you see if he was.

Besides, you shouldn’t want that.

You finally managed to get to the station, you clung to your purse as you stared at the tracks, waiting for the next train to come. Peaceful it seemed, the station. As peaceful as New York could be. You guessed if you cried nobody would care.

“y/n!” You heard your name in the distance and you couldn’t handle it.

You took a deep breath and shook your head, angrily. Why had you gone? You could’ve easily kept ignoring his calls. You could’ve stayed in your apartment, crying as you watched SNL videos on youtube, or rewatching a cartoon for the hundredth time, letting your own sadness and self pity swallow you.

But you had gone to him. This was your fault. You should’ve taken a cab, instead, he would know you’d get at this station and he for sure would know what train you’d take.

“y/n, y/n!” He kept calling as he finally arrived next to you. “Sorry I would’ve gotten here faster but the damn MetroCard-”

“I’m not doing this, Tom,” you stated before he could go on rambling like the idiot he was. You couldn’t do it. “Not here, not anywhere. I don’t know what you’re doing here.”

“I…” His face was kind, and he seemed to be nervous. You could tell he hadn’t been sleeping, probably the jet lag.

You took a moment to look at him, he didn’t look as victorious as you had thought he was. His hair was messy, and his cheeks flushed, the buttons on his shirt were not buttoned right.

Seeing him again, with that signature look he had made you want to go down to your knees.

“Aren’t you supposed to be back in London?” You snapped. “With that pretty girl-”

“No, no, I’m-I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” Tom stuttered. “I was an idiot.”

You stared into his eyes, you were not ready for this. You were not ready to look into his stupid eyes. You looked away. “That’s all you have to say?” You tried walking away from him..

He shook his head. “No, no, no, no, I… No, I actually… I had this… I wrote down my apology,” Tom confessed. He showed you a sad, handwritten paper, now slightly teared up with the ink running. “I… I had….”

You looked down at it, his messy handwriting, crinkled with words scratched down. “You wrote it down?”

You didn’t know why you felt your heart warm. This kind of stuff was why you couldn’t understand what had happened. Someone like him, who writes his apologies down. Someone who stutters when he’s speaking.

“Yeah, I… but I spilled my drink on it after seeing you fled,” He explained, swallowing hard. “I… I… I had written it down so I wouldn’t forget it but now I realize how stupid that is… I’m… I’m really sorry, y/n.” .

You could hear the train coming. You were seeing him again. It hit you right there. And this was not the reaction you thought. You had said you would be delusional, crying and fighting and questioning him why the fuck he had done that.

Yet you weren’t. You were only watching him, eyes full of tears wanting to slide down but unable to. But there was that pain still in your chest.

How could he ever dare to hurt you that way? “I don’t want to talk to you,” you said. And meant it. “Please leave me alone.” You said before walking into the train.

“Y/N, please, no, please, please, listen to me,” He followed you in, the scarf still in his hand.

You tried sitting as far away as you could. Arms and legs crossed as you tried breathing in.

He sat beside you and you changed seats. He sighed but followed you again. “Please, I need to talk to you. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well you did,” you snapped. “You did, and now you come here a month later with a handwritten note apology thinking I will be fine with it?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I had to solve-Please, would you listen?” Tom asked, knowing damn well he had to ask, and not just straight up blurt it out.

“Why would I, Tom?” You turned to him, with a tear traveling down your cheek. You were incredulous. “You’re kidding me, right? I… You… You think that just because you show up with that stupid face of yours and my scarf I’ll want to listen to you? You’re an idiot.”

He sighed and reached to give you the scarf. You ignored it.You were furious now.

The other people on the train were certainly getting a show. A guy with a backpack was trying to pretend he wasn’t listening but his reactions were giving it away. Another woman pretended to keep reading her book but she hadn’t turned any pages.

Tom took the scarf back staring at it. “I need to explain everything to you.”

“What if I don’t want an explanation?” You snapped. Though you did. You had been waiting for one, you wanted one. You would beg for it. But your pride was taking the wheel of the conversation. “Don’t you think it’s fucking late for it?”

“Is it?” Tom turned back to you.

“Yes!” You couldn’t believe him. But this seemed a bit too familiar of a conversation. “And beside no explanation would make me forgive you!” You stated, whispering, not wanting any of the attention you were receiving.

“I’m not… I… If you just listen to me,” Tom said.

You glared, “I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Then why did you come to the bar?” He asked.

He fucking asked.

Your eyes widened. He had gone there. He knew. He fucking knew you’d gone back because you wanted an explanation. Or so he thought. No, you’d gone back because… Yes, because you wanted an explanation. Because everything he’d done had been beautiful. Until the heartbreak. He had crafted and vexed his way into your cold stupid heart and then he had gone and pierced right through it, crushed it.

You wanted to ask why. Why did he do it so vehemently?

You didn’t answer, instead you moved one seat away. He kept his eyes on you.

“You wouldn’t have gone if you didn’t want an explanation,” he said. “Or to see me, at least. I know I did, I needed to see you.”

You saw the guy with the backpack purse his lips, knowing that Tom had got you. There was little context for them. The girl with the book directed a glance to you, trying to read your emotions.

If they knew, they’d be on your side and yelling at him as well.

He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face.

“I didn’t, it was a coincidence,” you answered coldly.

“No, it bloody wasn’t,” Tom scoffed and then sat up. “No, I’m… No, but you know, you went to the bar for a reason.”

“And I left for a million more,” you frowned.

Tom pursed his lips and took out the paper again, trying to make out whatever he’d written before. “I’m really sorry.” His eyes traced through the note.

“Are you genuinely trying to read it? Don’t you know what you’re supposed to apologize for?”

Tom looked up, “So you do want me to apologize?”

The guy with the backpack squeezed his eyes shut, knowing Tom had fucked up.

“You’re kidding, right? Yes, you have to apologize, what you did is really, really shitty!” You pointed out.

“But you won’t forgive me, then?” Tom watched you.

“I don’t know,” you said and he looked up, a beaming gaze. “No, I won’t.”

He wrinkled his eyes, “I… I know I’m supposed to apologize, not to expect you to forgive. I'm just…”

He gulped, and then sat back, staring at the dirty walls and lights. He had dressed up. Badly, but he had tried looking good, you could tell. You could smell his lotion, too.

He was fiddling with the paper, crumpling up and then it fell to the floor. You looked at it and somehow related to it, not sure how.

You took a deep breath so you wouldn’t kill him and turned to him. “I have questions for you, if you answer them I might consider listening to you.”

Tom’s eyes brightened up. “Yes, yes, anything.”

You eyed him up and down as he watched you with begging eyes. You avoided his gaze. Tom followed your gaze as you tried to figure out what was the first thing you could ask him. Why had he hurt you?

Why did he not stop and think before making you fall in love with him?

Why did he not stop and tell you the truth?

“Where are you staying?” You asked,

Tom blinked. “Is that… is that the question?”

“No, but I know you don’t know how to fucking get anywhere,” you said.

Tom gulped, “I… uh, again with Harrison,” he explained.

You sighed. You remembered Harrison alright. And though there was a petty part inside you, you would help him out. Knowing he’d always get lost in the city. Though you could let him get lost, so you’d have to go after him and spend a bit more time. With an excuse, because you didn’t seem to have any excuse to be with him.

It hurt. What hurt the most was trying not to look back at the incredible moments you had because none of them were true.

You sighed. “Okay, when we get down you’ll take the F train—“

Tom stopped you, taking your hand. “No, wait, I don’t care if I get lost, okay, I… I just.”

You snatched your hand away from his cold hands he had. You darkened your gaze at him.

“Please, Y/n, I just need a chance. If you don’t want to listen… maybe I’ll just…” He handed you the note.

You crossed your arms, and tapped your foot, trying to decide whether or not to give it to him. “Fine,” you took the note.

You've gotten to your stop. So you stood up.

The girl with the book and the guy with the backpack watched you both as you walked out, pitying they couldn’t follow the drama.

Tom followed after you, he licked his lips. “You… you had questions, right?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, taking yet another heavy breath. You turned on your feet to look at him “One, did you lie to me?”

Tom was taken back by this, his eyes, consternated, only watched you. He gulped. “What?”

“Did you lie to me?

“I… well.”

You were getting desperate. “Did you ?”

“I didn’t lie about how I felt,” he said. You knew he wasn’t lying about it. He couldn’t. He couldn’t have ever lied about how he felt because you knew he had felt it too, a bit, at least,

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“I mean it, I…” Tom gulped. “I really liked you.”

“Yeah, I know, you liked me yadda, yadda,” you started. Liked not loved. “Cut the bullshit for once, did you or did you not lie to me?”

Tom took a deep breath. “Yes. But I had feelings for you.”

You bit your inner cheeks. “Uh-huh, yes, okay, good, yes, you acknowledge it. So, we have two statements here, Tom. You say you had feelings yet you lied to me,” you squinted. “Sounds-”

Tom gulped and avoided your gaze. “I know yes,” he looked down. “But, if you give me-”

“Ah, buh-buh, nope, I’m just gathering my thoughts here,” you coughed. “I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me what you felt.”

Tom shook his head in confusion. “I—I’m”

“Go on,” you motioned your hand.

“Y/N,” he said. And the way he dared to say your name was like having a knife right through you. “I had—I have feelings for you,” he said looking right into your eyes.

He didn’t say what feelings.

You were not sure where you wanted to go with this. “Fine, my next question…” you really didn’t know where this was going. “So, alright, you…” You couldn’t even phrase it. “You… made me fall in love with you knowing….Well, we both know what you did. What you hid from me. You’re a liar who made me—“

Tom took a deep breath. “Yes, but I didn’t… plan that.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, so it’s my fault?” You stepped back. “Sorry for developing feelings for you. Sorry for ruining your life—“

Tom closed his eyes, “No, no, look, I… wasn’t. I didn’t come here expecting to meet you, I didn’t want… It just happened, okay, I never thought—You're making it sound like it’s some big master plan. I—I never planned—I never would’ve ever planned on hurting you.”

You watched him, incredulous. “Thomas you do realize what you did to me?”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t! You’re trying to make me seem like I’m crazy for not even wanting to talk to you!” You called him out.

“I’m not, I’m just saying that if you’re here—you must miss it too, you know it was too real, and you want it back, possibly—M-maybe not, but if you came to the bar tonight it was in hopes of finding me again because you knew I’d be there, and you want to feel how you felt before, and i just… you know I miss it and that you knew I didn’t lie—“

You glared at him. “You did lie!”

“Okay—yes, yes I did—But not entirely, I just happened to omit one truth—“

“One very important truth,” you snarked.

“Fine but—please listen,” he tried to convince you. “and I’m sorry, okay? I—I didn’t want to hurt you. But I never planned this. It just happened. I didn’t come here expecting to fall in love with anyone, I didn’t come here trying to date, and I never expected it to be someone as complex—“

“Complex?”

“Yes, I never came to New York trying to find the most mental relationship I’ve ever had—“

“Mental?” You snapped.

“Yes! I love you but you’re fucking crazy! And I am too! I’m fucking crazy and mental but I—I—I loved being crazy and mental with you! We are fucking mental! Driving to nowhere? Breaking into places? Getting a jukebox on the subway? That’s mental! But—but I love that about you, alright? Don’t you get it? I could’ve stayed in London, I could've been the asshole who just ditched you and lied to you—“

You scoffed. “Well that’s comforting!”

“But I’m—I’m here, ain’t I? And I know I fucked up, I know, I accept that, I’m the asshole here, and I know you’ll never—I hid it from you because I didn’t know what was going on, I didn’t even get it myself. I’m here to give you my version of it. I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you…I am…,I am in love with you, and I never planned that, I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with someone else, it just happened. I may have thought it was just—Some fling, initially.”

You laughed cynically. “A fling.”

He gulped. “And the moment I realized what was really going on—”

“You left, that’s what you fucking did, when you realized it was way too real for you, you destroyed the one real thing you’ve ever known,” you barked, he stepped back. “I fell in love with you, I—I—and then you ditched me, and I thought that was the worst thing you could ever do to me but then I realized that it wasn’t real! I—you were never mine, Tom! I simply was—a break you needed or—a fling.”

“It wasn’t that—“

You watched him. Looking so innocent, kind eyes and tender lips. You would’ve believed him had he come before.

“You used me!” You snapped, the words that had wanted to come for a while just blurted out. “I just can’t believe you,” you said. “You don’t feel sorry.” You shook your head, your voice was cracking. “You're not sorry because you don’t understand. You don’t know what I went through, and if you had come earlier, if you hadn’t left me, I probably would have believed you. But—No! No!” You stepped back. “No!”

“I did call! You never picked up the phone! I tried—“Tom started.

“Was I really expected to pick it up? Let’s get back to it. Shall we? The facts. Did you or did you not date me? And made me fall in love with you?”

Tom sighed. “I—yes.”

“Did you lie?”

“…yes.”

You nodded. “Was I the other one?”

Tom squinted his eyes. “No… yes, no.”

You took a deep breath. “Did you leave me without an explanation?”

Tom looked down. “I did.”

“Did you ditch me?”

Tom looked everywhere and nowhere. “Yes,” he answered, defeated.

“Now, do you think I can ever forgive you?”

Tom didn’t answer.

You reached for your purse, for the locket that dug deep inside. “I don’t know you,” you stated giving him the locket, the stupid locket you’d bought as a joke when making fun of other couples and now laughed in your face. “Whatever happened means nothing. Because that’s the thing Tom. Everything we lived was a lie, those two people in the locket are not us, because you weren’t who you said you were, no matter how much I loved it, it’s not true and though it was too many emotions all at once I’m—It’s not real, not for you. I spent this whole time thinking I wanted you to apologize but I don’t want it. That charming guy wasn’t truly you because you omitted one very important thing. You—What were you thinking? Were you planning to never say it? Or did you plan it like that? Just ditching me, hoping I wouldn’t find out—“

Tom took a deep breath. “No—No, I didn’t. I just—-I didn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you and I should’ve fixed it before—-“

“No, no you didn’t because it wasn’t enough for you.”

Tom gulped, “It was, it was—-the best thing I’ve ever had.”

“And you ruined it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“How little words mean when you’re a little too late, huh?” And that was the cue you needed to walk away. He silently watched you as you tried not to cry.

“I’m really sorry.” He said.

Was he?

“What if I try to prove it to you?” He asked as you were steps away from him.

You didn’t stop.

“If we go over this, you’ll see I never lied about it.” He continued.

“I already went over it, I remember everything, Tom, and maybe that’s why I don't want to talk to you.”

Tom walked behind, slowly. “I just happened to be very unlucky when it came to my own circumstances,” he reached over. “And I wish the timing had been better. But you’re right, it’s the one real thing I’ve ever had and I lost it because I hid something in fear of losing you. I lied because it was too good to be true. And I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me but I think you deserve to know why. But you went to the bar for a reason, and you had the locket for another.”

You stopped this time. Looking down at the floor and then at his hand, holding your stupid scarf. You shook your head, you really didn’t want to go through it all over again.

“I know you won’t forgive me,” he stated. “But I can’t let you go. You’re everywhere. And I miss the person I was when you were around, and I won’t stop fighting because you’re everywhere. Dreams, nightmares.”

Funny. You were his demons too.

“Am I haunting your nightmares?” You asked. Tom only watched you.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, I just need—I really need you to listen to my version.”

“Fine then, let’s go down this sad, beautiful tragic love affair.”

-

next chapter

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[thekillingmoonmoon]

LOVE SONG

Part One | Masterlist

Pairing: Toji x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, fingering (f receiving), discussion of violence, alcohol, swearing, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Synopsis: After a mission gone back, you and Toji finally cross the line.

Length: 6k

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“Hey, pest, I’m gonna go,” Toji started, the clink of his glass on the bar top crashing you back into reality. “Oh sure,” you swung your head up to look at him, “travel safe.” You tried to turn back to your drink, only Toji’s hand caged your chin into place. “Are you crying?” his top lip lifted from his teeth, narrow brows brought down into a low frown over his eyes. You blinked, and touched your face. “Oh. I must be,” you wiped at your eyes, and squinted at the smudged black of your makeup on your hands. “Hmm,” Toji settled himself back down beside you, “where you heading after this?” You took a long sip of your own drink, barely wincing at the gasoline burn down your throat. You rested your head in your hand and thought, bouncing your crossed legs against Toji’s calf.

“Fuck me if I know, old man. Not home,” you sighed deeply, before looking down at your outfit, “might as well go out, make the most of the dress before Boss wants it back,” you ran a finger along the hem of the little black number, its skirt clinging to the top of your thighs in a series of silken bands that wrapped themselves up your body, not leaving a single curve or dip untouched. Toji crinkled his nose at you, confused. You gave your partner what you hoped to be a cheeky smirk, despite the roaring pain in your chest, “It means that I’m gonna wear the dress out, purely to get someone to undress me, yeah?” Toji quirked an eyebrow up at you, the ends of his mouth settling downward, “Oh, gotcha,” he threw his standard response at you, and continued, “but I don’t think you’re gonna win tonight, pest.” You frowned at him, “Don’t be mean, Fushiguro. I might not be your type, but I am some drunk idiot’s lucky day,” you threw back the last of your drink and made to leave. You weren’t strong enough for this. For his teasing. Not after today. Now, all you wanted was a passable fuck with a complete stranger, and the slight chance that it would wipe today clean from your memories. It was really a pity you couldn’t get drunk, or high. Your metabolism was too strong. So, your only solution for oblivion was sex. So sex you would get.

“Hold on, hold on, woman,” Toji wrapped a wide hand over your shoulder and pushed you back onto your stool, “you’re really gonna go out like that?” “Jesus, old man, the dress isn’t too short – most wear even less out. Now, are you gonna let me go and get laid, or are you gonna stop me? Cos you better have a damn good reason for getting between me and forgetting this fucking day,” you huffed, and froze when Toji reached out to wipe his thumb over your cheek. “Cos you’re still crying, dumbass. I dunno about other guys, but the only time I like to see a girl cry during sex is when she’s begging for my dick, and that definitely isn’t what’s got you sobbing like a kid. Come on. Flat’s close, and I got a bottle of decent drink.” Toji peeled a couple of notes from his pocket and slid it under your glass, effectively paying for both of your drinks then standing up to leave.

He held out a hand, giving you a hard stare when you hesitated to take it. Finally, you slipped your palm into his, accepting his offer and getting off your stool. Toji saluted to the barkeep, who seemed to know him. Strange. You hadn’t been here with him. But then again, the pair of you often went drinking in the same neighbourhood as your flat, the night ending with Toji taking over the couch and you crashing into bed. Not drunk. Never drunk. Just tired. Of fighting. Of jujutsu. Of the world in general.

Tonight you were more than tired with the world. You were the closest you’d been to heartbreak since your dad had passed, the terrified eyes of those kids flickering behind your eyes every time you closed them. You paused at the narrow entrance to the bar, stretching out your arms and ribcage as you drank in the night air. You breathed deeply, and the confines of your dress refused to help fill your lungs with the stench of beer and piss, the stink of motorbike fumes and cigarette smoke. A weight blanketed your shoulders. His jacket. You fingered the worn denim of the old jacket, asking Toji what his game was out the corner of your eyes. He shrugged and you wrapped the jacket around yourself. You couldn’t even see the end of your dress, the hem creeping up the curve of your ass as you walked. You were glad you’d chosen low heels for the mission, else by now you’d be asking Toji to carry you. You weren’t in the mood for that kind of teasing tonight. You weren’t in the mood for anything.

The pair of you walked in time down the main street of Toji’s district, the world between you silent except for the hum of the city around you. Until, “You know the code, pest.” “You only save when it pays. I know your code, Fushiguro,” you grumped. Toji clicked his tongue at you, “It’s code cos it works. You can’t get attached to the job. No feelings, no screwups.” “No morals,” you hissed below your breath. Your back stopped mere millimetres from the brick wall beside you, strong hands gripping your shoulders and Toji’s face just a breath away from yours. Green eyes glared you down, Toji’s massive frame dwarfing you in his anger. “Listen, pest. You chose the job, you chose this life. The blood, the killing, all of it. Or did you think it was just exorcisms and sniper-hits, nobody’s life in those bloody little hands of yours?” Toji growled, teeth clenched. His knuckles were white with how tightly he held you. You shook your head, “Fuck off, old man. You know that I’m as serious as you are. Forgive me for actually being fucking human for once,” you spat back, face crumpled. You could actually feel your tears flow now, hot and heavy down your cheeks, dragging your mascara down in black streaks, your lips twisted, “I’m just grateful I still have fucking emotions, unlike you.” The words felt like pure poison, darts lodging themselves deep into Fushiguro’s skin. “What did you say, woman? You think I don’t have emotions?” “Well besides rage, you’re pretty fucking heartless, Fushiguro. How many people did we see die today? A hundred? Two hundred? All of them below twenty-five, they were just fucking kids, and we just let it happen, and you pull the code on me?!” You almost breathed fire at this point, your lip curled in an ugly sneer as you yelled through your tears. Toji’s chest rose and fell in heavy gasps, and you watched his face tighten as you spoke. “Heartless? Fucking heartless? Then what do you call this, sweetheart?” he grabbed your hand and placed it palm down on his chest, over his heart. Your fingers tremored at the thud of blood pulsing through the organ, his heartbeat hard and fast and frantic, “I use the code because what else can I do, huh? Fuck,” he stepped away from you and pinched the bridge of his nose, “most of those kids were your age, and yeah, we had to fucking walk away. The job wasn’t to save them, but don’t think it wasn’t one of the worst seconds of my life when I had to choose – our lives, or theirs.” He walked a few paces down, watching as you crouched around yourself. “Thank you,” you mumbled, half to the sidewalk. Toji flinched, “Hah?” You laid your head on your knees and looked at him, “I said ‘thank you.’ You saved us back then. I owe you my life, again.” You blew at a stray piece of hair. “Yeah, yeah. Now we’re even from that fuck-up in Kyoto,” Toji tucked his hands into his pockets before scowling at you, “But that isn’t the point, sweetheart. The point is today was a goddamn disaster. Nearly Plasma fucking Star level disaster. And it’s okay to get angry. Hell, I think it’s better. But you aren’t angry, are you?” he leaned against a sputtering streetlamp, an Adonis in the buttery light, the sharp planes of his cheekbones, jaw and collarbones catching the glow. You shook your head, eyes glued to the concrete. “Yeah, you don’t cry like that when you’re mad. You get all hissy, like a pissed off street cat.” You snapped your gaze upwards, glaring at Toji as he smirked at you, his scar quirked upwards with the curl of his lips. Sometimes you hated how well he knew you.

“And what am I supposed to do when one of us is down, huh? I can’t run like I used to, I gotta stick around, make sure you don’t end up sobbing in a bar like a suit going through his second divorce,” he teased, but you tilted your head and squinted at him. “Sure you can, Fushiguro. Nothing’s stopping you from finding a lay for the night, or some poor sucker to scam. You don’t need to worry about me,” you waved your hand at him, as if shooing him off, “I’m a big girl. Let me cry into my cups and then go get my insides rearranged, thanks.” “I’m stopping myself, pest, cos I gotta stop you from making the same shitty mistakes I made.” “I’m on the pill and carry condoms, Fushiguro, so the only mistakes I can make are accounted for.” You rose to your feet, thoroughly ready to end the conversation, throw Toji’s jacket at him and get the hell out of there. God, you were tired. And sad. And growing steadily more and more irritated with the man standing between you and a decent fuck. “And what about the sex, sweetheart?” That caught you off guard. You peered at Toji, “Eh? What about it?” “Chances are, you aren’t gonna get a decent fuck tonight, doll,” Toji shrugged, pushing himself off the streetlight, the pole groaning in relief. You squinted at him, and he continued, counting on those long, thick fingers of his, “one, it’s a weeknight, so your crowd’s already thin. Two, it’s only, what? Nine? Most people aren’t even out yet, and if they are, they’ve been drinking since lunch – unless you like them that wasted?” he raised an eyebrow at you and you gave him a withering stare, “three, you can never guarantee that a stranger is gonna be a good lay,” he held his hands out, his case closed. You huffed. “So? Maybe I don’t get a good fuck, it isn’t your problem, or your business,” you began to shrug his jacket from your shoulders, only for Toji to cage you between the wall and fortress of his torso, one arm barring your way as he leaned over you. You were about to quip about Toji being too old for kabedon to work, but something in his heavy-lidded eyes kept you silent, heartrate increasing,

“Well, sweetheart, I’m making it my business. And therefore, you getting a good fuck is my problem,” he hissed, the scar on his lip was drawn tight by the pressed line of his lips, you could feel the blood rush to your cheeks. You’d once joked that Toji had cursed energy, but only to make women crazy for him, and your claim wasn’t unfounded. This close, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath on your cheekbones, taste the scent of whiskey and cheap deodorant and the musk of his sweat, could see each long, dark lash as he lazily blinked over burning eyes, this was too close. You lifted your hands to hold between the two of you, and ended up with your palms on his chest. His heart beat against your hand, hard and steady. Nothing like the heavy rush of blood in your ears that filled your head as you stared at him.

You took pride in being the only one who could read him, who knew what each iteration of his scowl meant, what a twitch of his scar meant, what that deadly smirk of his meant. His smirk was that of a predator who’d found his prey, and although you’d seen it too many times to count, you had never been its subject. His prey. Until now. Backlit by the streetlamp, Toji bore a saint’s halo, but his eyes were that of a much darker beast. You sucked in a breath, brain fuzzy and vision blinded.

“Then solve my problem, old man,” you murmured, throwing out your challenge with your inhibitions. This would be a problem for later, not now, not when Toji’s presence surrounded you in a haze, not when those deeply buried desires had erupted into your stomach in a flood of heat and gooseflesh. Toji raised a brow, smirk widening to a smile that flashed his teeth in the dark. His body was tense beneath your palm, hesitant as he inched his face closer to yours. His eyes never left yours, even as his tongue ran over his lips. He was stalling, giving you a chance to run, to leave him, to retreat to your home for the night and pretend that he’d never offered to fuck you into oblivion.

You kissed him. A soft brush of your lips against his, your eyes half-closed as you watched his reaction. Your back collided into the wall behind you, arching away from the cold and into the warmth of his chest as his hand dropped to your hip. He devoured you with one kiss, his lips pressed hard and hot on yours, a low rumble dying in his throat. Toji took control of your mouth, messily kissing you with a languid flow to his lips. You couldn’t help the small whine from spilling between your lips, and you slid your hands up Toji’s chest to grip onto the hair at the back of his neck.

The hand at your hip shifted to the small of your back, his warm palm spread wide and his thick fingers splayed over your dress, under his jacket. With a grunt, Toji pulled your body flush to his, and with your gasp, pushed his tongue past your lips. Fuck, he tasted good. You had expected cheap whisky and nicotine, but something about him, about the way his tongue moved against yours, licking and sucking, had you moaning softly into his kiss. Shivers rippled down your spine and Toji bit your lower lip gently. You tightened your hold on his hair and pushed your lips firmly against him, giving him a bite yourself, harder and faster than he had so delicately treated you. Giving him permission to give you more, asking for more. His other hand cradled your head as Toji shoved you roughly into the wall, his muscled body pinning you to the wall as he leaned himself fully into you. His kisses grew harsh, all teeth and tongue, causing your lips to swell and little whimpers and curses to fall from your mouth.

Now you knew why all those women kept crawling back to him. Even his kisses were addictive, pure sin in sloppy licks and open-mouthed bites. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning around his tongue and your hips pushed against him. Toji pulled back then, smirk still plastered across his face, but you could see how wide his pupils had blown, could feel how his breathing had grown shallow. Toji shoved his knee between your legs and lowered the hand at your back to your ass. He began to lay hot, wet kisses along your jaw, and you tilted your head to give him better access to the soft, unclaimed skin of your neck. He grabbed at your ass, fingers digging into the flesh and causing your hips to rock against the thigh between your legs.

“Fuck,” you breathed as the friction sent flares blazing in your abdomen. Toji bit your neck then, sucking the skin dark before sliding his thigh between your legs again, chuckling darkly as the denim of his jeans caught your clit in a burst of tingling heat. You threw your head back, gasping. “Desperate little whore, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Toji hummed into your skin, “So needy, to think you’d fuck yourself on my leg like a bitch in heat.” You coloured, and forced your body still. Only to jump when Toji’s palm slapped across your ass, “I don’t remember telling you to stop, sweetheart,” his hand clamped your hip, and dragged your heat down his leg. The sound that left you was primal, from deep in your chest, a desperate keening as your thin underwear became soaked. “That’s it, pretty thing, fuck yourself on me. Hump me like a good little slut,” Toji commanded, guiding you to rock yourself against him once more. He released you, and you kept at it, your eyes rolling back as you ground your needy cunt onto the thick muscle of Toji’s thigh. He smirked and returned to your neck, sucking and biting your sensitive skin until you were covered in a constellation of darkened marks. You lost yourself to the feeling of his body against you, of the burning in your core, of his hungry lips of your skin.

The hand at your ass slid down your leg, and Toji lifted your thigh to hitch it on his lips. He ground his pelvis against your core, and you moaned at the rub of his clothed cock over your drenched cunt. Toji swallowed down your sounds, lowering his mouth back on yours, smiling against your lips when you whimpered. Calloused fingers trickled along your inner thigh, occasionally pinching and kneading the meat of your leg, all while your pussy clenched in anticipation. You screwed your eyes shut, breath heaving from your lungs. Your heart stopped when he brushed his knuckles over your clothed cunt. “Fuck, doll, so wet from a little tongue action? How long has it been since someone touched you?” Toji tilted his head, grinning, teasing. You balked, blinking rapidly as last week’s piss-poor hook-up flashing across your vision. Toji caught your hesitance, “Scratch that, how long has it been since someone touched you properly?” “Two,” you mumbled, looking away. “Two what? Days? Weeks? Months?” you kept quiet, Toji’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his fringe, “Years?” You nodded. “Jesus, woman. No wonder you’re so fucking tense all the time.” With that, Toji shifted his grip to hold your leg higher and tighter against him and slipped a finger under the hem of your underwear. “Holy shit, old man! What are you doing?” You yelped, just as he ran his finger through your soaked folds. Toji hissed at your warmth, at the wet heat that covered his digit in pure arousal. “I’m touching you properly, pest, and you better believe I’m gonna fuck you properly too,” he kissed you and pushed his finger into your pussy. He groaned at the tight hold of your velvet cunt, at the arousal that dribbled down his finger and onto his hand. “But-!” he shoved the fingers of his other hand into your mouth. “Ssh, doll. Don’t want anyone to hear you, do we? Don’t want people to see you fucking my hand like a needy whore, do you?” you nodded, mouth full, “good, then suck my fingers, slut.”

Toji slowly pumped his finger deeper into your cunt and you whined around his fingers. God, you knew it had been long, but with just a finger, Toji had your core tightening and head spinning. He picked up the pace, and with each plunge he reached deep into your pussy, feeling for the spot that would have you collapsing around him. He knew he’d found it when you choked on his digits and your knee buckled, swaying your body into him and his finger deeper into your cunt. “Good girl, that’s the spot, hmm? That feel good, sweetheart?” you nodded desperately, spit dribbling from your lips as Toji’s thick fingers filled your mouth. He pulled his finger from your pussy, and the muffled whine you let out had tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Toji chuckled, “Relax, babygirl, I’ve got you,” he took his fingers out your mouth, and closed it with a tap to your chin and an index finger perpendicular to the seam of your lips to shush you. Gently, he ran his hands along your thighs and beneath the hem of your dress, rucking up the fabric up until your soaked underwear was exposed to the world. Toji paused for a second, thumbs tracing the fragile lace hugging your hips.

Then he ripped off your panties. With a tear to each seam at your hips, the lacy garment stuck to your pussy from your arousal alone. Toji peeled it from your cunt, rolled it up and shoved the small lace scrap into the back pocket of his jeans. He winked at you, and plunged two fingers into your pussy. The sound alone made his cock twitch, the thick squelch of your arousal filling the silence of the night, the wet of your cunt covering his hand in shimmering slick as he noisily fucked you with his fingers. Your moans became muffled as you bit down on the sleeve of his jacket, eyes teary and face flushed. God, what he would do to capture this moment. You, drowning in his jacket, your little hand desperately attempting to hold back the needy sounds you were making. Your tight, wet cunt, bare and glistening in the night, barely taking two of his fingers. Your eyes were glassy, focus skyward as you avoided looking down at the sight of you fucking Toji’s hand. “Look at you, fucking my fingers in public like a whore. Tell me, doll, do you flash your pretty little cunt at anyone, or am I the first to make you this needy?” Toji teased into your neck, circling your clit with his thumb and grinning when he felt your hips buck into his hand. You shook your head, eyes scrunched shut. “Hah? Use your words, babygirl? Have you done this shit in public before, or just with me?” Toji pressed deep into your pussy, pushing hard on your clit at the same time. You moaned, rolling your hips onto his fingers, chasing your high, but Toji began to retract when you didn’t answer. “No – hah – just you, Fushiguro – just you,” you babbled through the hand over your mouth, and Toji’s smile grew sly. “Really?” you nodded, rutting yourself onto him, “well then, I guess I gotta reward you for being such a brave little slut, for exposing your pretty pussy for me where anybody could see you,” Toji increased his speed, the flick of his wrist purposeful as he crooked his fingers into your spot each time he pumped into your cunt, his thumb rubbing quick circles over your clit. You began to tremble, the building tension in your core finally reaching its limit and pushing beyond it. Electric shocks ran through your body, your skin shivering into gooseflesh and the moans from your mouth loud and unfiltered.

“Come now, sweetheart, cum for me.” You snapped, your head rocking back against the cold wall behind you as galaxies burst behind your eyes. You gushed onto Toji’s hand, your cunt clamping his fingers deep in your fluttering heat. He pulled you to collapse against him, holding you up as your legs gave way and your arms fell limp around him. “Holy shit,” you panted, gasping for air whilst your body tremored. Toji slowly pulled his fingers from you with a wet schlock, and naturally, you opened your mouth to lick yourself off him. However, Toji sucked your cum from his hand, maintaining eye-contact with your fucked-out gaze as he licked each long digit. As he finished, his eyes fluttered closed, and you felt a groan build deep in his chest. You still leaned heavily against his broad chest, but tentatively put your weight back onto your feet. Your legs wobbled, but you stayed upright, and you quickly pulled you dress down to cover yourself, cheeks burning. You stepped back out of Toji’s hold, one hand on the wall as you regained balance.

“What’re you doing?” Toji grabbed your arm and spun you back so that his chest was at your back. His breath was hot on your ear. “Cleaning up?” you looked over your shoulder at him. “Why bother, I’m just gonna make a bigger mess of you at the flat,” Toji hummed and you humphed, “Well we’re not at the flat yet, are we?” Toji gripped your hand in his, nearly toppling you over as he tugged you along the street, “Good point. Don’t want anyone else to see you when you cum on my cock. Move it, pest.”

…

Toji’s keys were left hanging in the locked door as the pair of you fumbled into the flat, your back once again flush against the wall, dominated by Toji’s large hands and intoxicating tongue. He pinched your nipples through the fabric of your dress, jaw dropping from your kiss as you finally released the sounds you’d stifled back in the alley. “Holy shit, doll. You really are a needy little thing, aren’t you?” he smirked, leaning back as his hips pinned you to the wall. His rough fingertips ran over the skin just above the neckline of your dress, thumbs pressing into the fresh marks he’d made on your flesh. You hissed out in a series of small whines at the pain, your hips rolling against him, your cunt desperate and empty. Toji watched you react to his touch through half-closed eyes, his tongue running along his lips. His fingers whispered beneath the straps of your dress, pulling them over your shoulders. You looked up at him, all wet eyes and flushed cheeks, your lips slightly parted and gasping.

Toji pulled the front of your dress down, freeing your breasts and immediately grabbing your wrists as you moved to cover yourself. He paused, releasing your hands, then reached out to brush a calloused thumb over your pebbling nipple. You whimpered, and arched into the cup of his palm as he held you. “Fuck, sweetheart. Such pretty tits, hmm? You been hiding these from me,” He leaned down and rasped into your ear, “is your pussy just as pretty? You the whole deal?” He wrapped his hands around the back of your thighs and you jumped up to wrap your legs around him. Immediately, his mouth was over your tit, his tongue swirling circles around your nipple, his teeth grazing over its peak. You pressed your chest to his face, and laced your fingers through his inky hair. Toji made eye contact as he released your tit with a wet pop, his green eyes never leaving yours as he kissed across your sternum to your other breast. He bit down into the flesh, his own groan vibrating through you as you moaned and bucked your hips against him.

“Fushiguro, please,” you whined, “just fuck me already!” He paused, looking up at you, the glint in his eyes enough to send a shiver through your body. Devouring. Hungry. He slid his hands below your suspended ass, mouth releasing your tit with a string of saliva that he licked up into your neck. You held yourself up with your thighs and your arms slung around his neck, heart rate gearing up to a terrifying speed as you waited with bated breath. Toji made quick work of his belt and the zip of his jeans, letting them fall to his knees as he freed his cock from his briefs. With one hand to guide him and the other steadying you against the wall, he ran his cockhead through your sopping folds.

He paused then, his tip twitching against your clit, appraising you from beneath long lashes and lowered brows. He gave your cunt a preliminary thrust with two fingers, scissoring your tight pussy open, but not far enough. You began to writhe against him, empty cunt desperate for him, for the fullness you knew he would bring. “Please, Fushiguro,” you breathed, small tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. You’d never been so needy in your whole life. Every fibre, every nerve, every muscle, all of it craved him, craved his touch, his kiss, his cock. “Alright, alright, relax, sweetheart,” he muttered, guiding his cock to your entrance, “I’ve got you,” he reassured, slowly lowering your hips over his cockhead.

The stretch was unbelievable, your cunt already straining to take his girth and head as you threw your head back, eyes rolling. You cursed, dragging out the profanity in a howl, and your cunt clenched around his tip. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop his hips snapping up into your heat, couldn’t help bottoming out in one thrust to your velvet wetness. The noise you made fell out in a choked cry, your thighs already twitching in their hold around his torso. “Fu-uck,” Toji groaned, the loudest noise you’d heard him make the whole night. His teeth hissed across your collarbones, nipping and licking as you adjusted to the stretch of your pussy around his length.

But you didn’t want to wait, or adjust. You pulled your hips from him, and rolled your stinging cunt back over his cock. “Damn, you really want to be fucked like a whore, hah? Wanna ride my cock like my little toy, hmm, babygirl?” he rumbled, securing his grip on your hips before giving you a hard pump. “Yes – fuck – please – Fushi-guro,” you sputtered out, your back jolting into the wall with each driving thrust, too drunk on the burning in your core to care about the pain. “It’s Toji, sweetheart – Hah – don’t try be professional when I’ve got my cock this deep in your cunt – Fuck!” Toji grumbled, keeping as steady a rhythm as he could, the muscles of his back and arms rippling in waves as he moved into you. You nodded weakly, too deep in the haze of your pleasure, each thrust hitting your centre, your walls stuffed to a fullness so good you could cry. Or cry more than you already were, sloppy sobs bubbling from your lips as Toji fucked you, an incoherent babble of his name, curses, and moans.

Eventually Toji pulled you off the wall, your hands scrambling to get a steady purchase on his shoulders, your fingers wound into the tight fabric of his Henley. Leaning back, knees bent, Toji lifted and dropped you onto his cock, plunging in even deeper as he pistonned into you. His hips increased speed, until you were bouncing on him, your head lolling back as your body became jelly. Your tits smacked onto your chest, and the sound of your gushing cunt nearly overpowered your whines and cries. Toji glanced down, nearly cumming at the sight of his cock splitting your pussy, your entrance straining to take him, yet your walls so desperate to keep him. He looked up, to your teary, glossy eyes, open mouth, your dishevelled hair. You were the whole deal. His whole deal.

Before he could lose himself in the consequences of his current actions, your cunt clamped down on him and your body began to shake. “Need to, gonna, cum,” you panted, “Toji, need to cum!” He sped up further, thrusting harder and deeper into your spasming cunt until you came with a cry. Your eyes rolled back, Toji’s name dribbling from your lips as electricity buzzed through your core. You went limp, your forehead dropping to his shoulder, still clutching onto him. “Good girl,” Toji gravelled, slipping from you, still hard. You whimpered at the loss of him, your empty pussy dripping onto his hips and thighs. Toji lowered you to a threadbare couch, before stepping out of his jeans and underwear. He pulled his shirt over his head as he approached you, tossing the dark garment onto the cushions behind you before gathering you in his arms and walking through his tiny flat.

He kissed you roughly and threw you onto his unmade bed, surrounding you in the scent of him, his musk. He clambered over you, his hands running over your body as he looked for the zipper to your dress. You lifted an arm, trembling fingers useless as you tried to undo it. Toji smacked your hands away, leaned in and gave the zip a tug. It broke halfway, and with several muttered curses, Toji manhandled you out of the piece of clothing. You became splayed out on your back, bare to him, flushed and panting. He paused, as if committing the image to memory.

You were flipped onto your stomach, and you immediately pulled your wobbly legs up, arching your back perfectly, dazed eyes watching as Toji lined himself up behind you. His grunts and muffled groans were indecipherable as he re-entered you, your cunt still tight around him, walls still struggling to adjust to his thickness. You moaned, mouth muffled by your shoulder. He slapped your ass cheek, sending stinging heat and pain down your spine. “Eyes forward, doll,” he drove into you, nearly knocking you from your forearms, the smack of his balls against your clit creating ripples of static in your core. He wrapped his palms around your hips, his fingers deep in your flesh. You could feel the tissue bruise, and arched into it, revelling in the harsh way he pulled you back onto him, the way he slammed his pelvis into you.

Your head dropped forward, hands knotted in his sheets, letting him use your body, letting your mind drift into a haze of heat. Suddenly, you were yanked upward by your hair, thick fingers wrapped into the strands as Toji pulled you into his chest. You began to shudder, his cock hitting your centre, stars bursting behind your eyelids. Toji must have felt the convulsions of your cunt, as he drove into you harder, the hand in your hair winding down to pinch and twist at your clit. “You gonna cum again, hah? Gonna cum like a good little whore?” he hissed through clenched teeth. And with a deep thrust and harsh pinch of your clit you came, your body tensing and releasing in a shivering wave of heat and pleasure, your voice ringing out Toji’s name. He shoved you forward onto the mattress, his own pace quickening as he fucked you through your high, your face buried in the bed as he thrust into you. He came with a loud grunt in your ear, his arm wrapped warmly across your chest as he pumped his hot cum inside your clenching cunt.

“There’s a good girl, take it all,” he grabbed your face and pulled you into a messy kiss, his cock still twitching in your heat. Then he was gone, pulling out from you and letting you fall into the mattress. He rolled you onto your back, laying one final deep kiss across your lips before leaving the room. You fell back to earth with a thud, legs still echoing from your orgasms, Toji’s cum from your cunt onto the sheets, your eyes glued to the ceiling.

You’d just let Fushiguro Toji fuck you. Your partner. The man you’d sworn to die beside. The one man you should never have touched. The one line you should never have crossed.

[kokiseiko]

Fleeting Touches and Unbreakable Bonds

Shouta Aizawa x Reader; Hizashi Yamada x Reader

Song Recommendation: All I Ask - Adele

(Y/N) – Your Name

(L/N) – Last Name

Word Count: 1.8k +

Fandom: My Hero Academia | Boku no Hero Academia

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x Pro-Hero!Reader; Hizashi Yamada x Pro-Hero!Reader

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Angst, Bittersweet

Summary: Is it possible to love someone so much that you can’t let go even after death?

Note: This is a special request made by my lovely fellow Aizawa simp: @nire-chann​.

Thank you for beta-reading this for me Ate Selene @yourgoddessselene​ | @saudade-mayari​

The events that had happened at the start of this fic are a few months after Aizawa became a teacher at UA.

A rush of sudden adrenaline that wracks your body, heart pounding, ears ringing, your entire system shaking with emotions you can’t even pinpoint. Walking towards the white-lined road of the city, the rays of the noon sun spilling all over the bent light posts, the once smooth grey cement on the sidewalks now cracked, malfunctioning traffic lights blinking and crackling, the aftermath: debris of the earlier commotion.

It was an explosion, a burst of dust-filled smoke that pained the eyes of individuals who unfortunately had it opened, then a sickening crash of building facades, window splinters raining throughout the area, injuring civilians from which you’ve catered immediately. Quickly healing wounds and giving directions for immediate evacuation.

You were Frantic. Desperate. Searching throughout the wreckage even when your quirk wasn’t for such. Continuing to move through the rubbles of building you spot the shine of the once yellow gear now cracked, broken into three, not far from it was a mass of black, crimson spilling underneath him, a shine of a bloodied band adorning his right hand.

You knew that it was near impossible even with your quirk to stabilize him, yet you continue, hands glowing in hues of emerald as you move his blood-soaked charcoal locks.

---

He feels lighter every passing second, but your presence grounds him. There’s so much more to say, to feel, to do. He sighs internally, he looks at you with such intent, he wants to let you know, to speak to you, but how can he, when his throat feels restricted. Even lifting his hand to touch your tear-stained cheeks to help ease the furrow in your brows had him use too much energy.

There was so much more, but having to look at you with all the emotions he could muster in his two light-grey orbs are what he could only communicate with. He can’t speak anymore, but he wants to at least taste your lips one last time.

To at least feel your heat and the cool contrast of your wet cheeks.

He’s barely noticing the tingle of nerves, that strange warm sensation he used to feel whenever you used to tend to his wounds, his injuries. His eyes wrinkle slightly when he remembers your pout during a rant a few days ago, your plump lips moving and going on about him being reckless.

He’s doing it again, but it has been too long since he had let himself fall through a never-ending well of questions, of replays, flashbacks, images, doubts, concerns. This may be the last time he’ll ever let himself tumble throughout the dark abyss of just him and his thoughts.

Was he content? He doesn’t know.

He just simply wants to remember your smile, your tears. You.

You were his anchor back then. Back when he was crumbling into a mess of a wanna-be hero who had his friend die during Hero-Work Studies.

You pulled him up when he was too tired to even recognize and register the warmth feeling in his chest that was being overpowered with guilt, regret, and frustration.

He never really accommodated these positive feelings, thinking that they would just be swept away with a whoosh of wind, only to return with a hard blow of hatred, anger, and pain.

He doesn’t want to experience that again, to go through that momentary shock and be hit with the sad consciousness of reality.

His throaty whisper was heard above the ringing in your ears: “Thank you…” for loving me, he wants to add, for being with me… I’ve loved you, tears cascading his cheeks

“I’m sorry…” for not acknowledging these wonderful feelings, for taking so long to let you know that, looking to your also wet cheeks, eyes pooling with tears from frustration? Sadness? Pain? Maybe a mix of three he guessed, “… I love you.”

He feels the gradual easing of his muscles all throughout his body. The blood rushing throughout his veins were subliminally slowing. The wet pelts of your tears dropping down his features would be a mere afterthought if he wasn’t focusing so much on you, but alas, his own mind was keeping him from doing so.

Even within his last seconds, his mind kept him prisoner.

His mind where everything was being played. His head spinning with the rapid successions of memories he subconsciously held dear. The majority of the replays containing you, your comforting touch when he needed an anchor, your soft kisses during those casual dates back in his favorite café, the hitch of your breath when you momentarily stopped the cute cooing noises you made whenever you petted the cats as you trailed your eyes on his kneeling form, your whispered ‘yes’ when he finally popped the question “Marry me?”, your wobbly smile when you walked down the red-carpeted aisle, the crack of your voice as your eyes that were holding nothing but love and adoration staring right at him as you began to state your vows began to pool.

Smiling.

He never thought that in his last moments he would be smiling. You’ve made him do things he thought he’d never do in this short life of his. And for that, he’s thankful.

You are truly something else.

***

Breathing was hard. His every inhale didn’t even feel like air, it’s akin to something much more condense. Black was all that surrounds him: a pool of nothing but midnight skies. A weird sensation constantly falling down to a never-ending night is what grounds him to- what exactly.

Though his throat was constricted, a single sound not able to flutter out his lips, his thoughts seemed loud on this vast plain of nothingness.

Where was he?

How can he even breathe?

“You’re still bound.”

What?

“You need to let go.”

Looking around him to at least locate the voice’s body was futile. Was this in his head?

“No. You’re in the middle. Stuck.”

Middle?

“Your time’s done, but you’re still tied down… by your bonds. Let go.”

Realizing what this meant he answered the disembodied voice in his head, I can’t.

A chilling gust of an unknown wind made its way throughout his existence.

***

It can’t be. He knows it can’t happen. He died. How can he still be standing- oh.

He doesn’t know whatever the wind did to him, but he at least deduced that it returned him to you.

You who was now kneeling in the mix of wet gravel and grass whilst staring into the distance with streams still flowing down your puffed eyes, cheeks streaked with layers of endless tears that managed to drip down your wobbling chin, your neck covered in his scarf that had splats of dried hazel-vermillion.

How long was he falling back there?

Two new sounds of weeping.

He sees that the usual gravity-defying golden hair was now instead streaking down the shoulders of a black leather jacket-clad voice hero. Mic. A figure kneeling down beside your form, hugging your side, whose body shook with great intensity together with yours. Midnight.

He aches. Thorns felt like they were encasing him within.

For a moment he wants to hold you, to comfort you, placing his hand to your other shoulder, placing the loose strand of hair behind your ear, but you don’t seem to sense him.

***

It’s been a long month of just watching, of just seeing but not being able to do anything. He hates the unfairness of it all.

He tries. Convincing himself that his touches were felt, that his hugs were warming your numbness, that his kisses were making the sting dwindle little by little, that him laying by the other side of your bed while you sleep with a pillow covered in his old shirt lets you know that he’s still there, that he still loves you, that he still can’t won’t let go.

His touches on your shoulder, which were supposed to reassure you just in turn made you shiver and look confused, bewildered even.

He wants to be heard, to be felt, to exist, but his traces no longer lingered, only a mere susurrate, a short-lived touch in your still graying ambience.

He wants to hold you while you cry and let all of the frustrations out of that head of yours, where he knows that like him you’re stuck, in your own scribbles of granite thoughts, that you too were deprived of the other’s warmth, that you too felt like a shell stuck with all of this sand you called your chaos, your blurring mix of feelings.

And as weeks turns into fleeting months. Months of winter blooming into a spring of years, left on autumn, in auto-pilot, watching, always nearby to see you recover. Recover from the debris and aching splinters that his existence left behind, while he still remains crumbling, pieces of him falling.

“Thank you Hizashi… you grounded me when it all felt like a dream.”

He should’ve been the one doing what Hizashi is now. It should’ve been black instead of gold that you were nuzzling into. It should’ve been his deep baritone rather than the smooth and gentle voice Hizashi uses whenever he encourages, supports, and anchors you.

He should’ve been the one holding your hand whenever you sit in a creaky wooden bench in a nearby park to admire the sunset.

“I know that it’s impossible to reciprocate what I’m about to say, but I at least wanted to let you know-”

“I like you too, Zashi’.”

He should’ve been the one you’re tending, taking care of. Your tears of frustration and aura of concern that was once reserved for him was now for another blond.

“Zashi’ you should start being much more careful you know?”

“I promise I will- ow!”, your smiles at his friend’s idiotic antics just adds jealousy to his mix of resentment and longing.

He should’ve been the only one who sees your gaze of fondness swirling in your beautiful solemn orbs.

But he can’t. He can’t anymore.

And to that he goes back to that midnight swirl, that feeling of falling, to that voice inside his head that was constantly questioning him, encouraging him to release the rope that was still bruising his slowly crumbling heart that he’s put at the back of his mind, not yet wanting to face the reality of the other side, a world without your soft hands holding his cheeks, an existence without your love.

“Surrender Shouta…”

It all felt like déjà vu. Your pretty face blurred with the sheer veil. Soft smiles and salty droplets of tears. The gold-lined red carpet. The people present. It was all like back then, but instead of that classic black tuxedo and a black bow tie, it was a white suit and a navy blue tie.

You’re smiling… at him. Looking directly at him.

It was a whisper, a message just for him; words that helped him to finally let go, to accept, and to be patient.

“Shouta… I hope that you still remember that you will forever be a part of me. Until the next life Shouta Aizawa. Wait for me, we’ll start again; continue what we can’t finish.”

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I hope you all liked this piece. My requests are (finally) open.

[ficforce]

Scared

Shinmon Benimaru x F!Reader

SFW

No set timeline

Established relationship

Benimaru had been really off with her lately.

It wasn’t anything obvious, just small subtle changes in the way he looked at her or spoke to her, sometimes he would look like he wanted to say something and then wouldn’t. Usually, if he wanted to tell her something he would just come out and say it.

Y/N brought her chopsticks to her mouth and as she chewed she placed them back to her rice bowl, poking at the contents like she didn’t want to take another bite. Feeling eyes on her, she looked up to across the table where her gaze met Benimaru’s, his eyes were narrowed very slightly as he regarded her. Y/N nearly spoke up but the twins chose that moment to start a small fight to her left over the only piece of meat left - she heard Konro sigh on her right and the man leaned in to cut the piece in half for the girls. It was a typical morning for them… one she didn’t want to ruin.

“Y/N, you’re not eating.”

“Does your tummy still hurt?”

Turning her head with a quiet hum, Y/N smiled as two pairs of amber eyes looked up at her in a mixture of curiosity and concern, “I’m a little tired,” she reached over to adjust the yellow band in Hinata’s hair, she then leaned further and did the same for Hikage whilst brushing the rice from around their mouths. “I had two drunken idiots wake me up at three in the morning.”

Konro choked a little on his tea, having the decency to at least look embarrassed, “I wasn’t that bad, Y/N…”

“Konro,” the woman started and pointed her chopsticks at him, “You spent the good part of an hour trying to find the cat… a cat that we don’t even have.” Hearing an amused snort from Benimaru she then looked at him with an exasperated glare, “You climbed onto a set of drawers, giggling like a schoolgirl and meowing when he wasn’t looking.”

It would have been hilarious if she hadn’t been feeling like hell already, she had coaxed them into drinking water and then sent them to bed, which meant helping Benimaru get undressed and to sleep.

“Again?” He didn’t use a tone that was disbelieving but there was some sort of accusation that she couldn’t quite place. Benimaru’s eyes narrowed again, scanning her as if that would answer all of his questions and Y/N made herself busy with tidying the table, “You keep saying you feel sick - did you see the doctor like I said to?”

“You were supposed to come with us.” The Captain murmured into his cup, his head was still aching and the corner of his lips occasionally crept up into a smile; the sake still affecting him. “You were talking about it all week.”

And there it was.

Y/N had been waiting for him to pout about her ditching them last minute. They had planned a night out for weeks, it had taken some effort to convince Konro to let loose too and then a few hours before they were going to leave - she pulled out. “I already told you, I felt like I was going to puke.”

“I went last week…” Y/N said without looking at him, “They said I should just take it easy until it passes.” That wasn’t strictly true and it was why Y/N couldn’t look him in the eye. The news from the doctor had been a shock and she had walked out of the appointment in a daze, barely taking notice of anything - to the point she nearly walked into several people. It was going to change everything, it would ruin their family dynamic. She couldn’t imagine telling them that these breakfasts would never be the same again… that Benimaru would have to get used to going out without her.

Feeling her stomach twist a little she got up with the dishes and headed out before they could notice her eyes starting to water.

Just how was her lover going to take the news?

He already had so much going on; he protected the town, he put their Infernals to rest, he spoke with the families that had lost their loved one, he helped put back together the things he broke and Captained the Hikeshi. It had only been recently that he got the confidence to make more decisions without going to Konro first.

She didn’t want to burden him further.

There was already something bothering him too. Sometimes when they were together he would become stiff, his hand wouldn’t hold hers as tightly and several times he had ditched her. He’d say he had to run an errand that she knew he didn’t have and then leave - specifically telling her to stay behind.

It had gotten worse since she had started to throw up a few weeks prior.

At first, he had looked after her, rubbing her back and bringing her plenty to drink afterwards. The man acted aloof most of the time but she knew he had been worried… Maybe he knew. Maybe he was distancing himself so that he wouldn’t get hurt?

The rest of that morning Y/N went about her few tasks, fighting down nausea and worrying about her relationship. The twins had run out of the guardhouse to play once Y/N had checked they’d brushed their teeth and Konro had come to tell her that Shinra from Company 8 was coming for training. That would certainly keep Benimaru busy and she had no doubt he was thinking of ways to put Shinra on edge.

If Shinra was going then she’d need to get more food from the market, for him and Benimaru, they were going to use up plenty of their energy, physically and pyro-kinetically. Whilst going through a mental shopping list Y/N rounded the corned just as someone else did.

The tension was back in his body, she could feel it in the way his arms stiffened around her; there was a palpable feeling of trepidation rolling off of him, “Beni…?”

Trying to stop suddenly and move, Y/N tripped over her own feet and had to grab the wall to stay upright; Benimaru was a little more aware and twisted himself out of the way elegantly. “Since when were you that clumsy?”

“Shut up, Beni,” she huffed and then smirked at him, “The wall was going to attack you - I saved your life.” He rolled his eyes and barely a moment later his hands were at her lower back and hip, steadying her on her feet but lingering after he was sure she wouldn’t fall over. Benimaru was staring at her again, scanning, searching for something so intensely it made her cheeks feel warm and Y/N looked away.

“Hey,” the Captain brushed his hand over her the top of her head until he could pull her head forward to meet his. With their foreheads pressed together, she could feel her heart beating faster and she gently hooked her fingers into his belt, “You feel warm.” Benimaru worried she was hiding something from him, if she was still sick then all she had to do was tell him and he’d get her medicine… or was it worse than that? It was hard to tell if she was too warm because of his own, naturally higher, temperature.

Still, it was nice being close to Y/N and he felt now was probably the best time to talk to her about their relationship - the way things were drifting and changing.

Winding his arms around the base of her back he brought her closer to him, “You need to start being straight with me, I know something’s going on with you and I think maybe you’ve figured out why I’ve been wandering off so often?” She’d be stupid not to realise his attempt to speak with her and his sudden need to do something, anything, to be away from her. “We’ve been together for a while, even as kids we always hung out, it’s getting a little old…”

Opening her eyes, that she hadn’t realised she’d even closed, Y/N met his mismatched eyes, the circle and cross stark over the ruby of his iris’. He looked too serious and if she was honest it was kind of frightening - Did he know?

“I don’t wanna be your boyfri-”

“Captain Shinmon!” Whatever Benimaru had been about to say was drowned out by Shinra rounding the corner and giving one of his ridiculous, formal salutes, “I’m ready for…uh… I… can come back?” The young man looked at the embracing couple and a small blush came to his cheeks, he had disturbed something quite intimate, hadn’t he?

Y/N forced a smile onto her lips and stepped out of Benimaru’s arms, her hands smoothing down her clothes, “Why come back when Beni can beat you to a pulp now?”

“Y/N! It’s training! I’m here for training!” He didn’t always get beaten up, and sure, the woman often patched him up but that didn’t mean he’d gotten beat up.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s Beni handing your ass to you. I’m sure one day you might graze our God of Destruction here!” Her fingers carded into Shinra’s hair and gave it a ruffle as she made to pass him, “Do your best. I’m going to go buy dinner.” Y/N pat him once more and headed further into the guardhouse.

Shinra blinked as he watched after her, he knew fake smiles when he saw one and that had definitely been one. What was going on? Why was she acting that way? He turned to ask the Captain if Y/N was okay but his eyes widened and he froze. The lack of natural light in the hallway made the glowing eyes of the Captain all the more obvious and there was an air of menace about him, all Shinra could do was grin nervously and let out a pathetic, “Sorry?”

x - -

Konro could feel her hands shaking as she treated the back of his left shoulder, the area was one of his worst for pain and sensitivity, he knew she was being as gentle as she could be but as he took a sharp breath in Y/N placed her hand on his bicep and apologised. She hated making this worse for him and Konro was too stubborn to admit it hurt… or rather, too much of a gentleman to tell her. When she had come into his room to replace his bandages he had noticed she had looked ready to burst into tears.

She was never really one to cry for no real reason, he had known her since she was a little kid and regarded her as something of a little sister - so he was more than concerned at how quiet she was, how upset she seemed to be.

Maybe she was still feeling sick?

A small sniff came from behind him and he finally caved, “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing…” She placed one of the patches from Haijima over the scorched skin of his shoulder blade and taped it carefully in place. A moment of silence later and she tried to tell him in a calm, grown-up way but instead blurted out, “B-Beni’s dumping me!”

He heard a muffled sob and Konro turned around so that he could face her, he placed his hand on her head and pet it gently whilst she cried into her hands, hiding her face from him. There was no way that could be true, absolutely no chance of it, “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, no, he… he-” The words wouldn’t come out.

“Y/N. Take a breath.” Konro was firm with her, his hand now giving her shoulder a little shake, “What happened?”

He glared at the wall at the far end of the training yard for a long moment before sighing loudly, visibly deflating, “And what’s with her napping in the middle of the day and picking at her food and being so sensitive?”

He handed her a clean piece of bandage so that she could wipe her eyes and running nose before waiting patiently for her. “We nearly bumped into each other in the hall and we got to talking… he… he’s been off with me lately, staring at me, running off, trying to say something but then cutting himself off.” It seemed like petty little things but they all added up, “He said… he said, ‘I don’t wanna be your boyfriend’…” Y/N began to cry harder than before, hunching in on herself as she tried to vanish into thin air. “It’s all my fault!” she sobbed, “I’m going to ruin everything! After what the doctor said - I - I’m scared, Konro!” She felt arms around her and went to the man easily, hugging him tight as he tried to calm her. “I’m scared…”

The Lieutenant sometimes forgot that Benimaru and Y/N were still so young, barely out into their twenties. They were both tough, shouldering a lot of responsibility that they shouldn’t have to… Maybe if he’d been stronger they could have relaxed more. “Why are you scared, Y/N? What did the doctor say?” He pulled her away so that he could see her face clearly, “Are you sick?”

x - -

Ruby eyes widened and he nearly spat out his water as Konro told Benimaru about Y/N’s earlier breakdown. The Captain had been taking a break with Shinra when Konro brought them some food and water before telling him about Y/N. “She thinks I’m trying to leave her?!” Benimaru was incredulous at the suggestion, “Are you serious? Is she an idiot?!” How could she think he would even be able to get up in the morning without knowing she was beside him? If anything ever happened to her he would burn the entire Tokyo Empire down if he had to. “Where is she now?”

“She’s sleeping. We kept her up and she’s… she’s got a reason to be exhausted.” Unconsciously he stepped in front of the entrance to prevent Benimaru rushing in to find Y/N. “Look, I know you’re nervous about telling her what you wanna say but you’re freaking her out, Beni.”

“How do I just propose out of the blue? How do I word that shit, Konro?” He blurted out angrily and raked his fingers through his hair, “Stupid Shinra interrupted and she ran off!” Benimaru threw his hand out to point at Shinra who was sat with his mouth open and ramen hanging limply from his chopsticks, feeling overly awkward witnessing the conversation and being blamed. “I’ve been trying for weeks! Every time I open my mouth to ask her I get tense, then I just don’t…”

Konro put his hands on his hips and glanced at Shinra who was trying to pretend he wasn’t there. He knew the answer to Benimaru’s question but it wasn’t for him to say - he had promised to keep it quiet until Y/N was ready. After she had calmed down and finished treating him Konro had told her to go to bed. She was too exhausted and upset to get much done and he was worried about her health too. “You should ask her yourself… sooner rather than later.”

Benimaru’s eyebrows furrowed at the comment, “Oi, Shinra,” he saw the boy jump out of the corner of his eyes, “Finish that up and then I got some errands for you.”

“That’s not training!” He complained loudly

x - -

“Beni…” she could feel her eyes begin to burn with tears and tried harder to pull out of his grasp, “I can’t do this right now, Benimaru. Let go, I need to go!” She felt nauseous, her head was spinning and her stomach was churned as bile started to claw its way up her throat.

Two days passed and nothing had really changed.

Benimaru was still torturing Shinra whilst trying to get a moment alone with Y/N. The woman had been tired lately and by the time he got to bed she was fast asleep, first thing in the morning he would wake up to her throwing up in the adjoining bathroom; it was the first times he was grateful for the perk of not having to share with the whole building.

It was hard to propose to someone who was sleeping, sick or actively avoiding you.

After finishing up a little training with Shinra he headed toward the markets, Benimaru figured she’d be shopping for lunch and catching up with the residents. His eyes swept left to right, searching for her through the busy crowd, “Y/N!” He spotted her at the end of the street heading back towards the Guardhouse, “Oi, I gotta talk to you!” Benimaru shoved past some of the scaffolders fixing another building as he tried to keep an eye on her - he caught up with her and grabbed her wrist, “Didn’t you hear me?” He knew she had and figured she’d been trying to run away from him again.

“Beni,” Y/N tried to pull her hand back, “Let go.”

He refused, “This is important - I’m not putting it off anymore!” He was going to come straight out and say it this time; if anyone interrupted he was going to kill them. “I didn’t wanna do this in the middle of the street but we need to talk.”

“No.” The Captain kept a tight hold and stepped closer, “Y/N, I can’t take it anymore… I wanna- !!” He hadn’t expected her to double over and throw up over his boots; had it been anyone else he would have been angry and shoved them away. Instead, he caught Y/N around the waist as she nearly fell onto her knees. Using one hand to rub her back and moving his body to block her from prying eyes, Benimaru realised she wasn’t running away from him after all. “Sorry…” Benimaru murmured, “I didn’t realise, come on, I’ll take you home.”

When he returned to their room he found her on their futon with the covers over her crossed legs, “Here, it tastes like crap but I hope it helps.”

He left his boots at the door and took her straight to their room, quietly and gently he helped her remove her yukata that she had soiled trying to cover her mouth earlier. He wasn’t put off in the slightest and Benimaru helped clean her up a little before he got her fresh clothes, “Go rinse your mouth and I’ll get you something to help your stomach.”

Guilt gnawed away at him after he had left her to boil the kettle - she must have been so embarrassed to be sick in the street. He hadn’t meant to do that to her…

“Thanks…” They sat in silence, heavy and dense, whilst Y/N took a few sips and mulled over how to tell him - should she tell him? It felt suffocating and then all of a sudden they both looked at each other and spoke.

Another moment of quiet.

“Beni, I’m pregnant.”

“Y/N, marry me.”

“You’re not breaking up with me?”

“A baby?”

“You’ll get what you’re given, Beni.”

Benimaru put his hand over her mouth, “I love you, I’d never break up with you.”

She moved his hand from her mouth with a small frown, “Are you only asking me because you figured out I was pregnant? I don’t want that, I don’t want to hold you back and force you into some dumb honour marriage!”

“I didn’t figure out shit. I just thought you had a bug or something.” Benimaru was a little annoyed with what she was saying but now wasn’t the time for an argument, “I was trying to tell you the other day, this relationship is kinda old now, I’m done with just being your boyfriend and I wanna be your husband. I wanna have the old biddies asking me how my wife is doing… Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

This was a little too much to take in at once and she felt her body getting hot; she was so tired of too many emotions attacking her at once. He loved her and he wanted to be her husband, to stay with her forever and as she looked at him looking at her she felt tears in her eyes threatening to spill over. “I thought you had figured it out… I thought… I thought you wouldn’t want a baby, you already have so much to do and I didn’t want to burden you and - I… I was scared, Beni, I don’t know anything about bab-”

“You’re not a burden.” He cut her off and pulled her onto his lap as he saw her burst into tears, “You say I have too much to do already but you’re the one keeping us all fed and watered. You look after the twins better than anyone and you’re great with kids. You keep me in line, you help Konro… I was hoping we could try for kids in a few years or something but you always were impatient…” The man felt Y/N grumble into his shoulder, wiping her face on his coat, but she sounded better than a moment ago, “I want a girl.”

“Isn’t a wife supposed to be obedient?”

She jabbed him in the ribs and wriggled back a little to half glare at him, “I haven’t agreed to marry you yet.”

This was better, he stroked her cheek with his fingers and smiled as she nuzzled into it, “As if you’d say no - who else you gonna marry here?”

Y/N shrugged and pretended to give it a little thought, “Shinra’s kind of sweet.”

A smirk flashed across Benimaru’s face and he hugged her close again, “Can’t marry him if he’s dead.”

“Can’t marry him if he’s dead.”

It was still a frightening thing, she was having a baby and now she was getting married. Everything was changing and for the first time, Y/N realised it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Then a different thought struck her, “Beni… where is Shinra?”

[junicai]

drop offs.

| summary | During filming ‘Highway To Heaven’, there is a small altercation between the heel of Aria’s boot, a loose rock, and the edge of a cliff.

| word count | 3.2k

| warnings | near death experiences (only sort of), swearing

| era | circa. 2019

20. “Put your arm around my - or just fall on me, that works too.”

58. “Don’t tell me to calm down!”

The hot desert air blew roughly against the thin cotton of Aria’s shirt - fluttering the material and tugging it against the single button that was holding the fabric closed. The atmosphere was dry and dusty, hence the steadily growing pile of empty water bottles that was building up in the back seat of one of the staff vans that had driven the members to their filming location in the Mojave Desert.

Fanning herself, Aria knelt down to pull on the zipper of her boot, checking that it was still properly closed. Black heeled boots were, realistically, not the most suitable footwear for traversing the desert terrain, but the extra inches of height put her closer to Taeil in stature so she wasn’t going to complain.

However, the last thing she needed to happen was to stumble over a rock and twist her ankle in the middle of filming.

In an ideal world, she’d have perfect balance, even when teetering around on the four-inch, wide-based heel, (or just be four inches taller naturally), but with the wind as a major factor; Aria was stuck playing a balancing act with her body.

They’d been filming for the best part of the day, having arrived in the early morning to scout out the final locations and prep some of the equipment. The journey up in the van was tedious, and over two hours long, but Aria had made herself comfortable on Donghyuck’s shoulder twenty minutes after leaving their hotel, and promptly crashed out a few minutes after that.

Johnny had been the one to gently shake her shoulder, trying to wake her up without startling her while Donghyuck was attempting - and failing - to wriggle his way out from underneath her without jostling her too much. She’d crawled out of the car with a red mark imprinted on her cheek, that she rubbed at harshly when it was pointed out with a giggle by Jungwoo.

The crew had covered the solo shots first - using the time in between each shot to touch up make-up and hair, or in some of the members’ cases, explore the desert and chase unsuspecting lizards through the undergrowth.

Aria had squeaked when a flash of muddy green had darted past her foot, jumping back an inch and then another foot when a sprinting Taeil brushed past in hot pursuit.

She turned back to look at Taeyong who was watching from afar with a huffy look on his face, throwing up his hands when Taeil finally stopped running and turned around defeated.

“Hyung! It keeps going towards you but you’re not catching it!” The leader complained, walking towards him.

Aria raised her eyebrows in disbelief, moving away from the duo that seemed dead set on bothering the unknown creature to stand beside Mark at the edge of the road. “What exactly are they chasing?”

“Lizards.”

“Lizards?”

He nodded.  

Humming softly, Aria shook her head and knelt down again to tug at the zipper on her boot. After a careful yank, she stood back up, having been satisfied that it was still tightly closed.

“Is that hurting you or something?” Mark questioned, looking over at her.

“Oh no,” Aria waved him off. “I don’t know, I’m just paranoid that it’s going to come undone. Bad feeling about it or whatever.” She shrugged. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“It’s not pinching you or anything? Because I’m pretty sure there’s band-aids in the back, I can grab you one if you need it?” Mark pressed on.

“No I’m alright. If it bothers me later on, I’ll get one myself okay?”

Mark frowned, still not satisfied.

Aria stood up on her tippy-toes to reach around Mark’s neck, swinging her arm around it. “Markie~ I’m okay! See?” She jumped lightly, hopping on one foot and then the other.

Conceding, he smiled at her, poking her stomach. “Race me.”

Aria hardly blinked. “You’re on.”

“I’m coming!” Donghyuck screamed from the other side of the road, pausing momentarily to check that there were no cars coming up on the otherwise deserted road, before crossing and moving to stand in between the other two maknaes. “Ready?”

“Always.”

“On your marks!”

“Get set!”

“Go!”

The trio set off at a run, dust flying up behind their shoes.

At an immediate disadvantage because of her designated footwear, Aria began to slow almost immediately, the other two boys racing ahead. She cupped her mouth in her hands, starting to call out to them to slow down, they were cheating, but was halted by another voice calling for her from across the other side of the road.

The race was halted as Aria was called for her own solo shots. She pouted at the boys, but claimed that because it was interrupted, then there could be no winner called, and they’d have to do it again later on.

Donghyuck and Mark readily agreed, and Aria left towards her specific filming location with a flutter of her fingers towards the pair.

Now, don’t get her wrong. Aria loved filming their music videos. Watching a creative idea and physical representation of their songs come to life firsthand was incredible, and the costuming, the hair design, the make-up, was all mind-blowing to her. Her hair roots were always crying at the end of a promotional period, but she genuinely thinks she’s never looked as good as she did with the soft, bubble-gum pink hair they’d bleached the strands to dye for this promotional set.

The bright lights and the group shots, dancing a new routine together for the first time in a professional setting that wasn’t the practice room - it was exhilarating.

What was not exhilarating, was the occasionally precarious filming locations that the directors decided fit the theme so well that it would be idiotic to pass up on.

That lead to situations like the current: Aria, Jaehyun, Doyoung, Johnny and Taeil all clustered together at the edge of a rather substantial cliff edge, leaning out over the ledge to see the camera that was filming them.

Aria had a firm grip on the back of Johnny’s shirt, trying to find a groove that she could wedge her heel into to prevent herself from falling should the rocks move from underneath her feet.

The ground was dry, and there was little to no purchase offered from the dust that coated the rolling pebbles. Additionally, the lack of grip on the bottom of her black boots wasn’t helpful, and Aria found herself scrabbling for even a semblance of grip.

“Aria!” A voice called out from the bottom of the cliff.

She leaned over to catch the eye of the cameraman. “We can’t see your face, you’re too far back. Can you shuffle forward a bit?”

Teeth pinching her bottom lip, Aria nodded hesitantly, sliding a hand up Jaehyun’s arm in a silent request for help as he was the one sitting closest to the edge of the cliff.

He took her hand in one of his own, the other moving to grab her elbow as she slowly stepped forward and out onto the front area of the protruding cliff. Here, Aria could feel the complete lack of substance beneath her feet, and although she knew it wasn’t true, it felt like the rock she was standing on was paper thin.

Her weight wobbled to-and-fro for a moment, and Jaehyun gripped her arm tightly.

“Careful.” He warned.

Aria let out a shaky exhale, peering down over the cliff edge. “Is this okay?” She called down.

A hum. “Maybe a little bit more? You’re slightly blocking Taeil at the moment. Just be careful, the rocks mightn’t be stable enough out there to support you, so go slowly.”

Aria didn’t think the rocks were stable enough to support her where she was standing currently, let alone another few inches out, but she began to tentatively step out regardless. Her hand clenched around Jaehyun’s.

Slowly, she moved out further, stepping out onto the edge of the cliff with one eye half closed, expecting the ground to shift but feeling nothing. Blinking in surprise, she then felt confident to transfer her entire weight forward, which was a mistake.

A small circular rock shifted beneath her heel, and Aria’s support crumpled out from beneath her.

She let out a shrill shriek, hands grasping at air behind her. She pushed herself against the falling ground, hoping for the cliff edge.

“Shit!” A strong hand tangled in the material of her shirt, pulling her back none-to-gently into a hard back, arms immediately coming to wrap around her waist and hold her there; steady.

Aria’s breath came in hard pants.

She was shaking rapidly, hands quaking as she tucked them underneath her own arms, eyes fixated on the ground where the rocks she had been stood on had crumbled. They had collected in a neat pile at the foot of the cliff - only a three metre or so drop, but substantial enough that one of the larger rocks had split into half, and the other rocks had cracks lining their sides.

God.

That was an awfully long way down.

Is that what she was standing over?

It was like she was removed from the situation. Aria was looking out over the cliff edge - but it wasn’t her viewpoint. Like a film camera, being watched on a small silver screen.

Where was the film crew?

Had they moved the equipment out of the way in the rocks in time?

Was there a camera buried beneath the pile of rocks?

“-ia, Aria- Riri!” A shout in her left ear, pulling her attention away from the swirling thoughts of oh god oh shit oh god oh s-

“Hey.” Jaehyun had spun her in his arms, dragging her eyes away from the cliff edge and catching her face in his hands, making her face him. “Hey. You’re okay. You’re okay, you’re safe. You’re okay.” His voice had a quiver to it, and his hands had yet to release their painfully tight grip on her arms.

She barely even registered it.

Aria’s voice broke out in a whimper, and as her eyes widened to slowly begin filling with tears, Jaehyun pulled her back into his chest, letting his hand come up to rub soothingly along her back. “It’s okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you baby, you’re okay.” He soothed.

Her heart was ricocheting around her chest like a boomerang.

At some point, she had sunk to her knees and Jaehyun had followed her down, having pulled her away from the edge of the cliff immediately. She knelt slightly, before sinking bodily into his arms, and Jaehyun continued to murmur comfort into her ear as she buried her face in the loose material of his white shirt.

Her head pounded like a rushing river, too many thoughts too make a lot of sense of any singular one. Behind her eyes, the image of the rocks kept flashing, the feeling of the ground collapsing from beneath her feet, falling, the wind rushing through her ears, falling, a hand grasping the back of her shirt but the grip slipping through loose fingertips, falling, falling falling.  

The pair stayed like that for a while - how long, Aria really wasn’t sure, she was more focused on trying to get herself to stop shaking like a caffeine addict going through withdrawals.

The rocks beneath her knees bit into the skin, but she welcomed the grounding feeling - a small bite of pain nipping through the overwhelming rush of emotions threatening to overtake her and swallow her whole.

Slowly though, her breath came back in measured breaths, calming from the harsh panting that was previously pulling at her lungs.

Taking stock of where she was, Aria began to register the other bodies around her. In the time it had taken for her to re-gather herself, Doyoung had settled behind her, hands hovering like he was afraid to startle her with a touch. Taeil was nowhere to be found, but upon a questioning look from Aria, Doyoung was quick to explain in a soft voice that he had followed Johnny down to get the back of the van set up for her - pulling out an ice-pack from the trailer and gathering the blankets from the other vans.

That had Aria moving to push herself to her feet, shaking her head. “No, no, I’m okay. We still have the group shots to film, I can do it. It’s fine.” She argued weakly.

Jaehyun pulled her back down into her lap with a firm grip. “No, it’s not fine. If it were fine, then you wouldn’t still be shaking like a goddamn leaf.”

Aria consciously clenched her muscles to stop the tremors running through her arms like shockwaves. “M’not.”

Doyoung sighed, raising a hand to run it over Aria’s mildly disheveled hair. It would have to be restyled later on, but the windswept look was something that they were aiming for, so he didn’t think it was too bad, all things considered.

“Baby, it’s okay to be scared after that. No one’s expecting you to do anything more today.”

“But it’s fine-”

“You could have died, Akari!” Jaehyun was shaking as well, something that Aria had just noticed. He dropped his head to rest on her shoulder. “You could have gotten seriously hurt. So please. Just, sit down in the van right now, okay?”

“Jae, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, hyung!”

Aria took in a stuttered breath. “B-but I’m ok-ay-” Her voice cracked slightly, tremors returning full-force.

The two boys returned their focus to the girl in between them, exchanging a meaningful glance that meant nothing to Aria. Doyoung wrapped his arms around her as well, and soon she was caught in a hug between them, finally letting the tears pool up in her eyes.

“I-I’m o-kay,” She stuttered out, fists gripping someone’s shirt - she didn’t care too much who it was at the time.

“Yeah,” Doyoung pressed a kiss to the top of her head, tightening his arms briefly. “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay.”

It wasn’t until sometime after, once Aria had managed to pull back the tears and had calmed the shaking to some degree, that Jaehyun gave her a soft prompt to stand up. Her legs were like a newborn foal beneath her, knees shifting and she leant out to grip at Doyoung’s arm again as he moved away.

“Here, here.” Jaehyun pulled her towards him. “Put your arm around my - or just fall on me. That works too.” His concerned tone was undercut by a ribbon of teasing, although it did little to mask how reluctant he was to let go of the young girl, even for a moment.

“Shush.” Aria straightened up herself from where she had face planted into his chest again, her knees having betrayed her to gravity, but this time made no complaint when Jaehyun’s arm retook its spot around her waist.

Together, with the aid of Doyoung, Aria made her way down the dusty cliffside, moving over to the van with an open door, and some of the members waiting around it anxiously.

Yuta was the first to break away from the group, making his way over to hoist Aria into his arms - paying no mind to her stuttered exclaim of hey! His arms slipped beneath her knees, and he lifted her gently, taking the weight off of Jaehyun’s staggering frame.

Upon reaching the van, it was like telepathy. Yuta turned to let Jaehyun take the weight of Aria from his arms - he already knew that the younger boy was shook up, and wouldn’t be comfortable unless he was physically touching Aria in some shape or form for the next few hours - while Taeyong was patting Mark on the back and alerting him to Aria’s arrival.

Jaehyun slid in first, before Aria was placed gently onto the blankets, Mark piling in behind her and proceeding to wrap her in another hug. This time though, it wasn’t her that was shaking, and she could feel the soft quiver of Mark’s hands as they pulled loosely at the bottom of her shirt.

Together, the two boys replicated the hug that Jaehyun and Doyoung had wrapped her in a few minutes ago.

“M’okay.” She whispered.

“You almost weren’t.” Came his huffed response.

“But I am.”

Mark gave no reply.

“God-” Jaehyun choked out a laugh, running a hand though his hair. “Never - and I mean never - do that again.”

She looked down. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Mark’s head had snapped up from where he had buried it in her shoulder. “For causing a cliff-collapse? Because I’m pretty sure there’s someone who needs to apologize for that and it’s not you its the director.”

Aria winced. She had watched through the sliver of the car door that was still open as Taeyong had cast a cold look over to Yuta and Johnny, the three men exchanging a nod before moving away from the vehicle and over to where the staff were finishing up with Donghyuck’s solo shots. The second youngest member had been a few minutes walk away when it had all happened, so he hadn’t been privy to the theatrics of it all; something that Aria was ultimately grateful for.

She wasn’t sure if she’d have been able to breath ever again if Donghyuck had been one of the men wrapped around her right then.

Either way, the three men had made their way out of view of the car, and Aria didn’t envy anyone who was on the other end of their glares. Taeyong had looked pissed, and honestly Aria was growing too tired to care.

After the shaking had died down, it was like her muscles had atrophied in under a minute, and suddenly she was left weakened and with the want to curl up in a ball to sleep.

It seemed, however, that Jaehyun had already prepared for this, and was moving Mark and himself around to allow Aria to curl up comfortably in the back of the van - her head in his lap and her feet in Mark’s.

“M’sorry.” She whispered again, just about to fall off into sleep.

“You’re okay, baby. It’s not your fault. We’re all just happy you’re okay.” Jaehyun murmured, petting her hair lightly.

“Thank you,” Aria turned her head to breath the words into Jaehyun’s stomach, hand coming to squeeze his arm. “Thank you for catching me.” Her voice broke slightly.

“I’m not about to let you down on my watch. And that includes falling to a potential death.” The weak attempt at a joke brought a watery laugh from Aria’s lips nonetheless.

“Can I say I saw the highway to heaven now?”

A soft chuckle, and another pet through her hair. “Sure, baby.”

With Jaehyun’s hand running soothing circuits through her hair, and Mark having worked off her boots - tutting lightly at the red marks that they had left - Aria drifted.

head full of cliff edges and falling.

[ganseybois]

Hello! I have read all of your Peaky Blinders fic in one fell swoop, just loving it. If you’re still open to Tommy/Alfie prompts, I have one? Tommy getting headaches/dizziness/blurred vision after his head injury. Rather than admit weakness, he tries to goad Alfie into a fight when he feels an episode coming on. And it works — right up until he basically passes out, and Alfie figure out what’s going on. Exasperated h/c ensues.

here you go :) i hope you like it!

Tommy was a man who was usually too smart to pick a fight. But he was in a particularly bad mood today, and was feeling just as bad physically. His head was making it hard to be alive, he felt nauseous, and it was begging him to pass out, to give in to the pain. But he did not want to. He did not want to succumb to such a weakness.

It's what led him to Alfie's house, here, in his living room, picking a fucking fight. He blamed it on his head. He had a stupid hope that Alfie would knock him out cold, allowing Tommy to give in to the feeling in his head without actually doing it himself.

He knew it was stupid. But he was so fucking tired.

"Mate," Alfie breathed out hard through his nose. "If you shove me one more fucking time..."

"What are you going to do Alfie?" Tommy goaded, the pressure in his head reaching an astounding pain. "Hm? You never fucking do anything, do you? You're all fucking talk in the end."

"All fucking talk." Alfie snorted. "Tommy, let me fucking remind you that if not for me, we wouldn't even be in a fucking relationship, would we? Christ in hell. And now here you are picking a fight over something so fucking stupid."

"So now business is stupid."

"Yeah mate it fucking is right now." He shook his head. "Thought you were smarter than that Tommy, but apparently I was wrong!"

"You're wrong about a lot of things Alfie." he snapped, attempting at pushing him, but ended up simply grabbing onto him roughly.

Alfie frowned and wrapped his hand around Tommy's wrist. "Mate, don't you fucking-"

"Come on Alfie." Tommy snarled. "Fucking do it. Want to hit me?"

"What are you fucking on about?" Alfie sighed, undoing Tommy's grip on him.

Anger overwhelmed Tommy like fire--since when was Alfie so fucking level-headed? Since when was it Alfie who did not want to solve something with violence? Tommy let out a frustrated sigh and pushed at Alfie again, hard, and through reflex alone did Alfie push back. Tommy was so weak from his head that he fell back on the floor easily. It had not knocked him out (and thankfully he did not hit his head on the floor) but he was finally happy to be getting somewhere.

Or at least, that's what he thought.

Alfie did move over him, his face hard and stern, and grabbed his wrists, pinning him against the floor.

Tommy swallowed. "Do it."

"Do what?" Alfie hissed. "What is it that you're trying to do here?"

Tommy sighed angrily, raising his head so he could slam it back down on the floor, but Alfie caught that too. His hand had moved swiftly to cradle the back of Tommy's head, making sure that it would not find any harm.

"Tom, mate, come on." Alfie murmured lightly, brushing his bands back. " Talk to me, hm?"

Tommy wanted to scream. Or cry. He wanted to act so outside of himself that it could do nothing but shock Alfie. But instead, a small whimper escaped him. "I'm sorry." he shook his head. His eyes filled with heavy tears but he blinked until they disappeared.

Alfie moved to the side and made Tommy sit up, rubbing his hand along Tommy's back. He felt like a fucking idiot. Alfie was being so kind, so understanding, he didn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry." Tommy whimpered again, putting his head in his hands. The darkness was comforting, and allowed him momentary peace. "Ever since my injury, there are some days that my head is just..."

"What? Too heavy? And so you thought that me knocking your fucking lights out would somehow make it better?"

"At the very least I thought it would put me to sleep for a bit." he admitted, raising his head. "I'm sorry Alfie."

Alfie pursed his lips before moving forward and kissing Tommy lightly between his eyebrows. "Mate, use your words next time, yeah? Way better at that." he hoisted Tommy up from the floor and wrapped one arm around him, holding him close. "Why don't we go to bed, hm? Take a fucking nap. Close your eyes, and turn off your brain."

Tommy gave a hopeless chuckle. "Don't you know by now that my brain never shuts off?"

"Yeah, boy, I fucking know. But you're gonna let me hold you like a fucking child and I will rock you to sleep if I have to."

Tommy grinned at him. "I get a punch in and you punish me by-"

Alfie interrupted him smoothly, his voice calm but firm. "Mate, that's your fucking problem yeah? You're always waiting to be punished, always waiting for something bad to happen. You might be new to healthy relationships, right, but I'm not here to fucking punish you. I'm here to help you."

Stunned, Tommy cleared his throat in embarrassment, just to give him something to do. "Thank you Alfie."

"Yeah, yeah, all right." he shrugged it off, kissing Tommy's cheek. "Let's go, silly boy."

[sunjaesol]

we’re dancing under the rain

canon compliant juke | fluff! | inspiration: rain // ben platt

Julie wondered if one day, she could stop loving. Because damn - it hurt. It hurt to love so much and continuously have her heart be broken. Love and heartache cycled through her life like a never ending train and the girl was in a constant battle of wanting to shut down or give it another chance. 

She always chose the latter, obviously, but that hurt too. The price she needed to pay to have such meaningful friendships. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have become a family with a trio of ghosts and an adjacent skater ghost. The problem of caring so much was when the heart got involved, when that heart beat a second too fast, too willingly, too adoringly. 

It made her vulnerable, her heart jumping out of her chest to sync with the other person and then getting crushed instead. This time, it cut her particulary deep. 

Nick broke up with her. 

A puffy-eyed Julie sat huddled in the studio under a blanket. He did it during lunch. All of a sudden, he pulled her aside into the hallway, told her they didn’t quite fit together and that it was better if they broke up. He pretended like she had a say in it, though it was clear he already made up his mind. Which was even worse, Julie found. Nick had thought about it before, probably more than once. His words made her feel like a fool. There she was, thinking their relationship was going smooth, getting squashed a minute after that: no, actually, it’s not going smoothly and you’re probably in denial so let’s end it now.

Later, she’d probably thank him for ripping the band-aid. She was now allowed to be heartbroken.    

Outside, rain was slamming against the pavement. That was the only good thing about the situation; the weather deciding to match her mood and mourn with her.

Luke poofed in with his signature grin, lips shaping to blurt out a story and then crashing into a frown when he saw the state she was in. 

“Jules?”

Wordlessly, she covered her tear-stained cheeks with the blanket. She hated it when people - especially Luke - caught her at her lowest. The boys were dead, she couldn't really complain about minor inconveniences when the only reason they were breathing was out of habit. 

The couch dipped at her feet. A careful hand patted her calf. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled. 

“Yes, cause that’s what I do when nothing’s wrong.” His voice was light, though a keen ear like hers could sense the hint of concern. “I cry.”

Julie huffed, pulling the blanket back to scowl at him. “Nick broke up with me. But it’s whatever because it clearly wasn’t as big of a deal to him as it was to me, so-” Shrugging, she sat upright and wiped her runny nose with the sleeve of her sweater. “It is nothing.”

Her fingers combed through her hair, trying to relieve the heat bugging her skin. God, she just wanted this day to be over with. She didn’t want to rehearse and do homework and eat dinner and pretend everything was dandy. She just wanted to cry and sleep and not have Luke’s stupidly green eyes drown in pity. 

“That sucks though,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Her lips rolled inwards, a smile forming despite her mood. “Not your fault.” Their gazes met. It felt new, somehow. “My heart is just… too open, I guess.”

Luke tapped her calf again, mirth lilting his tone. “Still not a bad thing. It was cool in the 90s and it’s cool now. He’s an idiot for not going crazy over it.”

“My open heart?”, she chuckled. 

“Yeah.” A beat. His eyes haven’t wavered. “Or you. In general.”

The smile bloomed to a full grin, a sliver of levity easing the ache in her chest. Why did he always know what to say? Granted, he used to be horrible at cheering her up, when she was fifteen and sadness lingered in her every move, but he got the hang of it after two years. A reassuring kiss on her temple before a stressful gig, a particularly uplifting speech during band circle, a new tune he came up with when he knew she didn’t feel like talking. Her teenage girl melodrama unfazed him. 

Luke met her halfway for a tight hug. It was the most comfortable place to be; her cheek on his shoulder and his arms holding her so securely and how, after all they’ve been through, his 90s cologne smelled like home. 

“Thank you,” she mumbled. “Some ghost girl is going to be so happy you’ve had practise dealing with me.”

He snorted. “Ah, yes. My harem of ghost girls. The, uh, market is really big for me.”

It wasn’t something they often discussed. It became clear that the boys weren’t going to cross over any time soon (if crossing over was even a thing, or the thing they thought it would be) and had time to settle into a long afterlife. Willie had been wandering around since the seventies and only now found Alex, so who knew how long Luke and Reggie would have to wait until they met their ghost-mate. It was a sad thought, but at least they had each other and music and the band. 

There was also the minor problem that Luke sometimes had this look on his face, usually fixed on her, that left little to the interpretation. It hasn’t happened in a while, but every so often…

It kind of made her breathless. Whatever. It was dumb. Those feelings have long been buried. The point was that he should look at ghost girls like that - not her.   

(A month after The Orpheum, they sat side by side behind the grand piano as they belted out a new song they’ve been working on, her fingers expertly gliding across the keys and slamming on those that needed that extra power. Julie was fully entranced, head thrown back and smiling through the lyrics as their voices reached a beautiful harmony no one could compete with. The last note drifted across the studio. When she turned to look at him, she expected to see the same grin. Instead, Luke gave her such a tender look, close, and let his doe eyes wander past her nose. Had Reggie not poofed in, she didn’t know if she would’ve had the restraint to not give in. To not be selfish. It was years ago, but she thought about it each time he joined her at the piano. It was the price for friendship, Julie often reminded herself. For an eternal bond.) 

Rain kept drumming into the ground. It sounded like a million ping pong balls fell onto the roof at an incredible speed. 

Luke pulled away and shot a look outside. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” Julie nodded. “I made a deal with God today. If I cry, the world does too.”

He rolled his eyes. “Dramatic.”

The smile stuck to her cheeks. Luke only needed a few minutes to lift her spirits. Tears didn’t even well up anymore. Was that bad? That one the same day, just in the afternoon, she already felt a bit better? She decided to not mull on the why.

“Wanna dance in the rain?”

She blinked. “What?”

He matched her smile, throwing his thumb at the doors. “Do you wanna dance in the rain?”

It was as if her brain wasn’t processing his words. “What? Why?”

“Why not?”, he shrugged. “You feel like shit, it never rains in LA and it’s fun.”

Quiet excitement coursed through her veins, the thrill pushing energy back in her bloodstream. Why not? The expectant twinkle in his eye brought colour to her face, jumping off the couch pulling him up with her. His whooping got her to laugh. It almost surprised her; she hasn’t properly laughed at all today. 

They each pulled one sliding door open, their ears instantly bombarded with noise. It was the hardest downpour of the year! 

“No running for cover!”, he yelled above the loud rushing of rain.     

She stuck her pinky out. “Only if you won’t!”  

And then they stepped in the rain. They were drenched straight away, a squeal erupting from her lips as the coldness crept between her clothes. He laughed, raking his hair back and leaping into a puddle. Water splashed around him. 

His voice bellowed through the sound. “C’mon!”

It spurred her into action, his laugh replaying in her head over and over again, as her head lolled back and began to twirl in circles. Faster and faster, giggles tumbling out as felt herself becoming one with the rain. This was exactly what she needed. A moment of silliness and unconditional joy! 

Luke was dancing like a maniac next to her, feet kicking and arms outstretched. She found herself staring at his profile, how bliss broke the lines in his face and caused a crescendo of glee to overcome him. It was mesmerising. Julie found herself slowing down, taken aback by the hope rising in her chest at the mere sight of him. 

What she hoped for, she didn’t know. (She did. She just couldn’t admit it just yet.) 

As if sensing her thoughts, Luke caught her eye with and yanked her into the dance without a second of hesitation. They spun around, hands intertwined and arms outstretched, daring to see how long they could keep going before one dropped from dizziness. Julie wasn’t afraid though. Luke would never let her fall. 

They let go just as they were losing balance, snickering like fools and trying to find footing again. Julie jumped onto his back, him instantly jostling her around until she got chucked off like a sack of potatoes. Each grin and laugh and crack of thunder mended her heart, slipping the pieces back together and allowing it to bloom once more. Keep on breaking, keep on loving, keep on hoping, keep on hoping for-

Luke locked his hands around the small of her back. “Ready?!”

He didn’t have to ask twice, their steps speeding up as she threw her arms beside her and then, at their fastest, pulled one leg up to swing in his hold. How she didn’t slip on the soaking wet ground was a miracle. 

Julie’s smile rivalled his, grabbing onto the lapels of his shacket to get him closer. He had something else in mind, hands slipping to her waist and launching her in the sky in one fluid motion. It took her breath away, quickly grabbing onto his shoulders and yelling her lungs out. It was just like in her dreams. Was it selfish of her to have yearned for this? 

(She felt it. The way her heart washed away all the troubles, how the numbing cold shrivelled to make place for someone else.)   

They shouted exclaims and curses into the rain. About Nick, about music, about each other, about how fucking unfair life could be, but damn - moments like these were worth the pain.  

Her drenched curls tickled his face, causing him to sputter and attract her focus. Julie looked down at him and didn’t stop the heartstopping smile growing on her face. Oh. 

Her fingers swiped against the planes of his cheeks, his grin beaming up at her and letting the dormant wildfire (snug between her ribs, among the flowers and the lyrics) come alive again. For so long, she hasn’t allowed herself to feel it. But how could she not when Luke propelled her into the storm itself, unify them like the whirlwind of passion they authentically were? 

They were the thunder and the lightning, the silver lining and the punch line - the dancers in the rain. 

He gently set her down, feet splashing. She didn’t let him pull away, instantly wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his wet shirt. They smelled like wet dogs and it was better than any perfume she’s ever had. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

His head settled on top of hers, cool breath fanning her skin. “I can’t have you down in the gutter, Jules. Ever.”

I love you. “Ever?”

She felt him move, her eyes tilting to meet his. That expression she cherished deeply returned tenfold. His tender smile, the green hooded by shy eyes, an incredulous hitch of the breath. 

Luke nodded, flitting gaze as if he didn’t quite know what to focus on, and carefully brushed a droplet from her cheek. “Ever.” 

(Julie got a cold the next day. It didn’t matter - she had the boy of her dreams to keep her company.) 

Breathe deep, let it wash over you We're slowly becoming lovers I promise you we won't be like the others We won't go running for cover

@blush-and-books​ @bluefirewrites​ @willexx​ @unsaid-emily​ @ourstarscollided​ @sophiphi​ @unsaidjulie​