#btw this is not a post about any one 'fix-it fic'
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hi op feel free to ignore everything under - all you need to know is i love your writing *shakes head vigorously*
there are several things i think were immaculately done, but that'd require me to churn out an entire research paper, which i don't have the brain cells for anymore post-finals. so here are some scattered thoughts yep and yap
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i don't gravitate towards mysterious or reserved characters because my personality simply doesn't mesh well with them. in fact, when i was watching wbk, i was always so wary of suo, and felt lowkey a lil uncomfortable with him LMFAO
but strangely enough, i think this discomfort became a very integral and driving force throughout my reading experience. of course, this was already the case due to the violent and dark nature of yakuzas, underground sex work, etc., but emphasizing suo's yandere-ness and how he doesn't shy away from it really completed the tone of the story. also, i feel like i came to terms with suo's character, which i rarely ever experience in general. really, this is all to say that it makes total logical sense in my brain to imagine a route where suo evolves into a yandere, and part of me strongly believes his real background in the wbk manga/anime won't be too happy-go-lucky either (otherwise the alternative would be like him wearing an eyepatch for the shtick bc he's a chuuni??? idrk????).
anyway, the reoccurring theme of redirection in suo's tactics really sealed the deal for me, and i think it was a good way to tie in references to his relationship to his master, the martial arts that we know he's especially good at, and how all of these things he's kinda exploited and sullied to "become a worse person for you." suo being very knowing and intentional is so snakey and creepy but also, i get a lil fucked up when it comes to men who are obsessed, so also incredibly erotic LMFAO i also just want someone to buy me a luxury penthouse out of concern for my safety *sad fist bump*
one thing i did find unexpected is suo's leadership within the yakuza. yes, necessary for the plot, otherwise he wouldn't be able to pull any strings. but because source material heavily emphasizes leaders as individuals like umemiya or sakura or even hiiragi, it's interesting to place suo in juxtaposition with them. not sure if it's bc i don't find suo particularly reliable in general, but i think this fic made me realize that he's still wise beyond his years and very, very ruthless. it's def very telling that, throughout the story, suo resorts to fear to assert power. anyway, i j think it was a particularly interesting detail to add in his role in the succession conflict.
btw, i do like how suo's change and transition isn't fully told or revealed. it's not a story meant for us, as it's a truth really for suo and reader. but even reader can't really keep up with him at times, and i find that dynamic really charming, as sadistic as that sounds. i like that reader is so vulnerable. i like that reader is not afraid to be vulnerable around him in the ways that matter, even when she's aware that he's fucking insane. and i really like that reader is aware of how much it takes to be vulnerable, so she doesn't push him. i think reader restrains herself (un)knowingly, and that's her way of loving him. obv less romantic in real life lol (don't try to fix anyone, been there, done that, lost myself, and still finding myself), but i do like how reader is suo's salvation :,,, even if she doesn't think she's particularly patient, she really is - like girl, Fuck Him Already!!!!!!
(could go on and on about how juicy the friction and tension is between suo and reader but that's for pt 2 hehehe)
this is kinda my half-assed transition into talking about reader, and honestly, my thoughts from earlier encapsulate the general thesis i have about her: she's really a lot like suo, way more than she thinks. i think she operates in very similar ways, just goes about it differently.
i think reader is way more reckless. she's very self-sacrificing. she's very good at putting up a front, even when she's internally low in confidence and self-respect. i think she just wants to be happy with suo, and hopefully, with their other friends as well.
and truly, i think suo has very similar end goals. i just think, with how things turned out, suo made the very calculated yet risky (also aggressive?) decision to do the things that he did. making their underlying principals and values and reactions so oddly similar, from my perspective, is sooooo neat, and it adds more depth to why they go so well together.
also, reader is so brilliantly the comedic relief in this whole thing. usually, in storytelling, it's someone else and is used as fodder. i really like how reader is a lil awkward and bad with timing and everything else, cause it makes the reading experience flow so much better. really helped with the pacing of the story, gave it the character + breathing space needed to process everything. i also just like my readers a little fucking hilarious.
anyway, op, so beautifully written - see you in pt 2 gg
TOKYO VICE | part 1
You knew that if you agreed to move in with Suo, you'd be setting yourself up for a life without autonomy. You also knew that these alarming behaviours were all signs that he desperately needed therapy to process his master’s untimely death. Living with a man in constant grief, who refused to talk about his trauma unless he was making up a lie related to the nation of China, was probably not a good decision. Doubly so when this man was clearly paranoid about losing you, and triply so when he was a high-ranking member of a violent syndicate. Unfortunately for you, you rarely made good decisions. (Or: After joining the yakuza, Suo develops the concerning habit of controlling every facet of your life. This is somehow less worrying to you than your uncontrollable lust around him.)
8.7k words. suo x fem reader. deeply unserious yakuza au. yandere suo (not abusive and reader is into it), dark comedy, a little angst, smut. warnings: borderline sex work, off-screen criminal violence. nsft – no actual smut in this chapter, but there are still graphic discussions of sex. mdni. thank you to @sleepyqinfei for beta reading and to @/cafekitsune for the banner!
sequel to sincerity and this sakura/reader wip
part 2 here
You’re not exactly sure why you and Suo have never fucked.
It’s certainly strange, given that you're pretty sure that Suo has expressed at least passing interest in you over the years, and you have felt a lot of interest in him. (By ‘interest’, you mean that you feel an insatiable lust around him that you fight to ignore on a daily basis.) You can't exactly pinpoint why nothing has ever happened despite this mutual attraction, especially given your profession and indifferent feelings toward casual sex.
You can think of a number of probable reasons, which are separate from those you classify as stupid reasons. The latter class comprises silly concerns like a fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, fear of not being pretty enough, fear of not being good enough, et cetera. All very juvenile feelings—insecurities that you had in your teenage years, the days in which Suo ran around Makochi as a delinquent while you worked an honest job at a bar. (It was a girls’ bar in the red light district, but that's neither here nor there.) Your circumstances have since changed, and those anxieties have since faded. None of them have any material consequence for your current life, so you don't see any point in thinking about them.
The stupid reasons, then, definitely don't have anything to do with why you've never fucked Suo. But you can think of a few, more concrete reasons that may explain it. For one, Suo has been your friend since childhood and it’s generally a bad idea to have sex with your long-time friends. He was also your roommate for a while and it’s an even messier idea to have sex with your roommates. And now, in your adulthood, he’s your landlord in addition to being your boss, which makes him the worst possible person you could have sex with. You could lose both your home and your livelihood if things go south—both severe, material consequences that should theoretically keep your lust at bay.
Also, he's also a member of the yakuza.
Now, strictly speaking—you're not really opposed to having sex with violent criminals. It’s definitely not a good idea, but you don't usually have good ideas anyway. But for the past several years, you’ve been pissed at Suo for joining the yakuza in the first place, which actually does keep your blatant attraction to him in check. You simply dry up when you think too hard about all the feelings of betrayal.
When Suo was on the cusp of graduating from Furin and thinking about his future, you’d grabbed him by the collar and made him promise not to join the yakuza. They constantly tried to recruit from Bofurin, and they especially wanted Sakura, Suo, and Sugishita. You were adamant about chasing them off from Suo and Sakura whenever they approached—you had no need to worry about Sugishita, as Umemiya had already said he shouldn't talk to them, so there was no chance he was going to—and you begged Suo over and over not to join. Delinquency was fine, but a crime syndicate was something else altogether.
Suo seemed serious about it when he said he'd listen to you. He even applied to colleges, talked about maybe becoming a teacher and eventually supporting you so you could stop working in the mizu shobai industry. Back then, he often teased you by saying that you should marry him and be his housewife (or he could be your trophy husband, if you so wished). You thought he was joking, but with the way he always talked about his life after his degree, you wondered if he would seriously suggest it.
Of course, it was most likely just teasing, and you were fine with that. You were simply excited that he'd found a career that would make him happy. Nirei had also been accepted to university at that point, and even Sakura had an honest job lined up on Keisei Street. The future had looked bright for everyone.
Then Suo’s master died, and he lost his fucking mind.
The two of you buried Suo’s master in a Chinese funeral. He had never had children of his own, having satisfied his paternal instincts by picking up strays, and he didn't have much in the way of family in Japan either, so you and Suo performed the shou ling yourselves. One person kept a constant vigil over his body while the other searched on Google for what arrangements should be made next. After all, while Suo’s master had immersed his foremost disciple in his culture, he had never taught Suo any funerary customs. He hadn't thought there would be a need.
Suo didn't cry nearly as much as you, but he was probably in more pain. Your master had trained you a little bit when you were a kid, and he'd taken you in for a while after your parents kicked you out, so of course you were gutted. But he had practically raised Suo, so it was naturally worse for him. More shattering.
You often think about the first night you decided you'd sleep with him in the same futon because he was crying so much. He insisted he was fine, but he didn't complain when you got under the sheets with him and started thumbing away his tears. When you took off his eyepatch, you found, to your astonishment, that he was crying from his missing eye as well. Both of you thought the tear ducts had been destroyed in either the accident or the enucleation, but it appeared that not even that prior trauma could mask his grief over this one.
Nevertheless, by the time of the funeral procession, Suo had stopped crying.
“Master supported us and taught us to stand on our own two feet,” he said as the joss paper burned. He took your hand in his and smiled. “So it'll be fine. We’ll be okay on our own. I'll make sure of it.”
At the time, you had found this very comforting. You didn’t think too much of it, as you had a bad habit of relying on Suo for your emotional stability. His master had raised him to be an emotionally intelligent person, so it had been fine, even though you had a track record of reckless decisions. He’d still exercised endless patience with you. He never once got angry with you, nor did he ever force you to do what he felt was the right thing. Instead, he gently redirected your self-damaging behaviours—not so different from the martial art that he practised.
He disapproved of the run-down and lonely conditions of your apartment, so he spent a great deal of time there and helped make it into a proper home. He didn't like how dangerous your job at the girls’ bar was, so he walked you to and from work every night until you never left without him. He worried when you started having sex with your customers, especially when you began having nervous breakdowns over it (you were, after all, still a teenager and really only interested in having romantic vanilla sex with Suo), so he staged an intervention with Nirei and Sakura. In this way, Suo convinced you that you were loved and protected and didn't need to do something you hated so much. They would get you out if you felt trapped. And you didn't feel trapped, per se, so you left on your own—but it was still only because of them. You promised them afterwards that you'd never do it again.
This was Suo’s brand of kindness as a teenager. He always taught people, guided them away from harm rather than steering them—a behaviour he’d mimicked from your master. Your master, in general, had defined all of Suo’s values and his way of living, which was honest and gentle and conscientious. It was one where he used his abilities to protect the weak and care for his friends. He even kept his spiteful and alarmingly violent tendencies under control, though sometimes he slipped when fighting genuine assholes. But he still tried. He tried because he strived to be as kind as his master—who represented everything that Suo wanted to be in his adult life.
Thus, the death of Suo’s master meant the death of his principles. It changed the kind of man that Suo wanted to be. You don't want to say that he became a worse person, but he absolutely became a worse person.
He especially became a worse person with you.
As it turned out, Suo’s idea of making sure that the two of you would be fine on your own was, well, not really fine. It wasn’t that he became cruel to you, per se. It was more that whenever he saw a problem with your behaviour, his approaches to redirecting it became—put as nicely as possible—heavy-handed.
After your master’s death, you got a job at a high end, yakuza-owned club. Two weeks later, Suo broke his promise to you and joined the yakuza. So I can stay close to you, he explained gently, wiping away your tears as you cried hysterically, but you're convinced to this day that he did it partly out of spite. So a few years later, when you started having sex with your customers again and he tried to stop you, you decided to spite him back. I need to stay on top of the rankings, you'd explained dispassionately. The mamasan said it's fine, and the manager doesn't care. He even thinks it's good for business.
Suo’s response was to simply become the owner of your club.
This move was very extreme, but also very effective. Any customer who so much as brushed against you on the premises was instantly thrown out, and the mamasan started watching you like a hawk to make sure you weren’t going to any love hotels after work. Douhan were off-limits. For the first time since your teens, you became completely celibate—not only because of your new workplace circumstances, but because you simply didn't want to find out what Suo would do if you got together with a man he despised (and he despised every man you dated).
His most absurd play was when he became concerned about your living conditions again. Your latest apartment was too plain, too small, and the area was too dangerous. It didn't even have a shower, and the other tenants behaved concerningly toward you when you went to the bathhouse at night. But the rent was cheap, and it was still an upgrade from your last place, so you shrugged it off when Suo suggested that you move. Even when someone tried to accost you at night, you were nonchalant about it. You kicked the shit out of them in a fight and continued your routine unbothered.
The next month, Suo bought a luxury penthouse and suggested you move in with him.
His offer (command) came with conditions. One of the bigger ones was that you'd let him accompany you out at night if you ever needed to run errands in dangerous places. Or—nevermind, actually. He should really just accompany you everywhere at night. Maybe during the day too. And—ah, there was no way you'd be going to work alone, nor coming back by yourself—you were now always to be driven by someone in his organisation, if he wasn't available himself. Rent was a point of contention, when you asked about it: you wanted to pay at market rate, and he insisted that there was no need to pay at all. He ended up proposing a highly discounted price, which would give you ample financial freedom, but questionable financial independence.
These were insane terms. You knew that if you agreed, you'd be setting yourself up for a life without autonomy. You also knew that these behaviours were all signs that Suo desperately needed therapy to process his master’s untimely death. Living with a man in constant grief, who refused to talk about his trauma unless he was making up a lie related to the nation of China, was probably not a good idea. Doubly so when this man was clearly paranoid about losing you, and triply so when he was a high-ranking member of a violent syndicate. Case in point—he was likely connected to the brutal accident that later befell the man who tried to assault you.
“I'm not sure what you're implying, but at least he didn't die,” Suo said cheerfully when you confronted him about it. Which really meant: At least I decided not to kill him. This was a flag bigger and redder than any other you've ever known, and you consider yourself an expert in red flags. You knew you should run in the other direction.
So naturally, you put your arms around him, tenderly said, I'm sorry I've been worrying you, and then you moved in the next day.
While Suo treats you with endless patience, you have personal limits to the patience that you exercise with him. Specifically, your patience with how he treats you.
You don't mind the lack of social freedom, nor the lack of personal freedom, nor the lack of freedom of movement. You also don't mind living with a man full of intractable trauma surrounding the death of every parental figure in his life; in fact, you'd rather be by his side than not, if he needs to cope with something so painful. And anyway, your friendship is otherwise unchanged if you ignore the heavy restrictions he's imposed on every facet of your life. So that's all fine.
But the celibate lifestyle that he's cornered you into? You simply aren't built for it. Holy shit, do you need to get laid.
Nearly two years without sex has brought you close to another nervous breakdown (there have been few better sources of entertainment or validation in your life), and worst of all, it has made your profound lust for Suo incredibly hard to ignore. Waking up every morning to him in a towel, his hair still wet from the shower and his broad silhouette exposed, tests the absolute limits of your self-control. The contours of his lean and muscled form are distracting enough; coupled with the vivid colours and lines of his irezumi, the sight of him becomes maddening. It is a horrible thing to be exposed to when you haven't gotten any dick nor strap in over a year. It gives you thoughts about him that are overtly sexual, which is bad, as you have materially consequential reasons for not wanting to fuck Suo.
Things with him must absolutely stay platonic. But with sexual frustration like yours, being platonic with him means that you need to get erotic with someone else. A boyfriend or girlfriend is out of the question; you don't want to be responsible for yet another brutal accident. So you instead decide to quit your job at his club and start working on Keisei Street. At least this way, you can start fucking your customers again.
It’s a perfect plan. Suo’s oyabun is very indulgent toward him, and everyone else in the family respects him too. He consequently has a tight grip on his organisation and the territory they control, despite his relatively young age. Not a single person is ever to touch Keisei Street—largely because Sakura is part of Roppo-Ichiza, and Suo is nearly as weird about Sakura as he is about you. Plus, many of his other fellow Furin alumni are in the gang as well. If Suo’s men ever started fucking with people on Keisei Street, it would not only have grave implications for gang relations—it would be personally upsetting for Suo. This means you can fuck all the Keisei Street customers you want, and not get a single one of them threatened or killed.
A pretty brilliant idea, if you do say so yourself.
Suo’s expression doesn't change when you break the news to him. He delicately places his teacup—custom-made from Yixing, just like the matching clay teapot—down on the mahogany tabletop, and he looks at you with a calm smile.
“Come again?”
“I'm quitting my job at Red Dragon,” you repeat. “I already gave the mamasan my resignation.”
“And she accepted it?” Suo asks, in a tone that is so carefully nonchalant that you know it means he is actually furious with her. “How interesting,” he muses. “What brought this on?”
“I've found a better paying opportunity on Keisei Street.”
“I'll give you a raise,” he says easily.
“A raise?” You cock a brow. “The pay is mostly commission-based at Red Dragon. You know that.”
“Then it would be unwise to leave. You have a loyal customer base at Red Dragon. All very rich, and”—his smile grows sharp—“very polite.”
Polite. An interesting word. It actually means: None of them will ever proposition or harass you because they know they'll be maimed if they do. An easy thought to use to your advantage.
“It's loyal but it's small. Everyone who's anyone in this part of town thinks that we’re married. Do you know how hard it is to pull new customers in when they're scared shitless of my yakuza husband? And anyway”—you frown, trying to look as pathetic as possible—“I'm lonely.”
Suo stares. He looks surprised, possibly because you absorb every minute of his free time with silly conversation, new restaurants, and skiing trips. (He likes snow, so you ask for these trips more for him to relax than anything else.) You also text him frequently on days he's working, and he very diligently replies, even if he's in the middle of something like a raid or a hit or brokering a massive deal. Suo still very strictly keeps to his rule of never touching his phone when in conversation with other people—unless he needs to text you.
So his suspicion is fair. Suo is very attentive and doesn't allow you much opportunity for loneliness. In turn, you’ve always been very happy spending time with him, even when it's only him.
“Lonely?” he repeats. “Are you, now?”
“Yes. You work so much,” you complain, which is not a lie, “and I don't have any friends to spend time with when you're gone.”
“You have friends from work.”
“No, I have competition at work. The hostesses are so cutthroat about rankings, they hate me. And each other.”
“You like Shuuhei and Hanzo,” he points out, referring to his men who most frequently chauffeur you.
“Yeah, they're friendly, and they're very funny. I like them, but I can't be their friend.” Suo stares at you, nonplussed, so you spell it out: “They're too scared of you to get close to me. What if it looks like they're trying to fuck the boss’ wife?”
“Hm…” Suo studies you, looking thoughtful. Perhaps for the first time, he's contemplating the consequences of restricting your freedoms and marking you as his. That is to say—maybe he's finally realising that you have no friends and no life.
The beads of his earrings glimmer as he tilts his head at you and frowns. Suo almost looks innocent with that confused face of his. “And how would working on Keisei Street help?” he asks.
“Because all our old friends are there!” you exclaim. “Sakura’s in Roppo-Ichiza now so he’ll definitely be coming by all the clubs. Tsubaki too. And Nirei and Kiryu visit them quite often—and even Tsugeura does sometimes, even though clubbing isn't one of his virtues.” You grab onto his arm, pull yourself close, and give him your most disarming, pleading expression. “Please, Suo?”
“Hm.” He strokes your cheek and looks at you fondly, in the way that one would do with an adorable and slightly annoying kitten. “I don’t think so. It’s not very safe there.”
He isn't wrong. Not only are you untouchable on his turf because of your association to him, Suo has also just crushed all the han-gure and petty criminals in his territory with brutal efficiency. His part of the red light district is, quite ironically, one of the safest places in the city, and certainly safer than Keisei Street.
But undeterred, you point out, “Shuuhei and Hanzo can still drive me there and back if you want. But I don't think it's necessary. Do you really think Sakura would let anything happen to me?”
This is the true brilliance of your plan: capitalising on the fact that Suo is as nearly as weird about Sakura as he is about you. He pauses as soon as you bring up the point, and you can practically see the gears turning. “Well, if it's him…”
“I even texted him about it. Look—here!” You whip out your phone, receipts ready. The corner of Suo's mouth lifts at your obviously rehearsed pitch. “He says he'd make sure I'm taken care of. And he says it'd be nice because he misses seeing us. Can you believe it—Sakura actually admitted that he misses us! Typed it with his own two hands and pressed send! I bet he was super embarrassed about it.”
“Huh. He even used a sticker. I've never seen him do that.” Suo smiles as he reads through the chat. He looks like his old self. You suddenly feel a little wistful, and also a lot bad. This started as a ploy to get laid, but it’s made you realise that you really do miss your friends—and Suo probably does too.
“If I worked on Keisei Street, then you would have plenty of reason to visit,” you point out, feeling somewhat tender.
“I guess that's true,” Suo says. Your heart aches a little bit at the look he gives you. It's a platonic ache, of course. Or at the very least, it isn't an erotic one. It doesn't really make you want to have sex with him anyway. But if you could lean forward and press your lips to his—platonically—then you definitely would.
Suo's civilian friendships are complicated by his double life. Quite unusually for yakuza, Suo’s syndicate insists on using pseudonyms and false histories to avoid anti-yakuza laws, on the off-chance that the police decide to do their jobs and actually enforce those laws someday. Lying for comedy is one of Suo’s greatest passions, so he was happy to manufacture an absurd backstory: his name is Yanzhao, and he learned kung fu in a Shaolin Temple before moving to Hong Kong and working for the triads. He wears the eyepatch because he lost his eye in an altercation with the cops, which he won. By the way, you're his criminally beautiful wife who he met in Macau. The two of you had to leave for Japan since he killed a police officer and now he's wanted by the governments of both China and Hong Kong. Also, he's a very devoted husband, so if anyone lays a hand on you, he’ll kill them too.
Somehow, everyone has bought into this story. Every criminal organisation in the red light district now fears a high-ranking yakuza known as Yanzhao, who is easily recognizable by his eyepatch and tassel earrings, and who is also homicidally obsessed with his beautiful wife.
In some ways, his infamy is convenient. No one wants to fuck with Suo, or with you by extension. But it also poses some issues: Suo has to keep a low profile in areas controlled by rival organisations, or else he might be ambushed. It also means he cannot easily go out and see his old friends. Even though he always masquerades as a civvie when he does, wearing stud earrings and a glass eye, it's still a little risky—especially since he likes to visit the strongest member of Roppo-Ichiza. While Roppo-Ichiza aren’t yakuza, they're still han-gure, so some of its more criminally entangled members might recognize him anyway.
But Sakura himself, bless him, has not put two and two together and figured out that Suo Hayato and Gui Yanzhao are the same person. This is partly because Suo lies very convincingly about his fictional career in the tea industry, but you think it's also because Sakura is so gullible it's endearing.
I use the glass eye now because it's better for networking, Suo had explained before Sakura could interrogate him too much, his voice too smooth and too quick for the other man to get in a word edgewise. My business partners find the eyepatch too silly. The tassel earrings too. By the way, would you like some Baimudan tea? I thought of you when I smelled it—I know you like fragrant things—so I picked some up for you on my last visit to China. I was there for business a couple of weeks ago.
He, of course, neglected to mention that said business involved meeting with the 14K triad.
Despite the enormity of Suo's omission (lie), Sakura is none the wiser whenever he meets with you. He thinks you're just a regular hostess who has freedom of movement and various other human rights, and that Suo’s just a regular guy who isn’t homicidally obsessed with you (a detail of Suo's fabricated life story that is unfortunately grounded in reality). All this to say, Sakura doesn't think twice about mentioning the fact that you have a routine of going to love hotels after work.
Suo, as always, remains calm in the face of unsettling information. He sets down his tea (just tea, without shochu), and politely says, “Pardon?” He's once again using the nonchalant kind of tone that suggests mortal danger.
“She's always going to love hotels after her shifts.” Sakura is frowning at you, pink but scowling. “I thought you said you were done with that stuff. You promised us you wouldn't do it anymore. Suo—are you really okay with this?”
On the one hand, you find it exceptionally sweet that Sakura, after all this time, remembers your promise and wishes to hold you to it. He was so worried about you when you started having those nervous breakdowns as a teenager, and he probably still is. On the other hand, you're shitting bricks at the fact that Suo is now aware of your activities. Because sure, he likely won't fuck with Keisei Street—but you realise, as he stares at you, that you can't be certain of this. After all, your fake yakuza husband has very real homicidal urges.
“Um,” you say. “It's just business.”
“Business,” Suo repeats.
“You don't have to do that stuff to keep good business,” Sakura grouses, unaware of Suo’s carefully suppressed rage. “You're real popular already.”
“Are you?” Suo asks, looking right at you.
“I mean—I told you the pay would be better, right?” you reply, voice oddly high and nervous, and this is when Sakura notices that something is wrong.
“Oh,” Sakura says, looking between the two of you. “Suo, you didn't know?”
“I didn't,” he says. “Actually, she told me specifically that she wasn't going to do that if she worked here.” He turns to you, still smiling. “That's the only reason why I allowed this at all, remember?”
A chill travels down your spine. You did, in fact, commit to a perpetually sexless lifestyle in order to be granted some semblance of freedom: Of course I won't sleep with any customers, you'd said. You know I don't really like doing that anyway. I promise I'll behave! I’ll be out of the clubs and right back home. Sakura said he’d make sure I’ll get to a cab safely after the bar closes and everything!
“Um,” you say again, but this time you have no follow-up.
“Wait,” Sakura demands, “what do you mean by ‘allowed her’? What, do you need to give her permission to work now or something?”
Suo smiles disarmingly at Sakura. Without missing a beat, he says, “Generally no. But we’re dating now, which complicates what she’s allowed to do with other men at her job.”
Sakura spits out his drink. You choke on your spit.
“I… um?!” Sakura’s staring at you, so you quickly recover. This is a mortifying lie, but it's better than Sakura finding out just how batshit Suo has become since his school days. “I thought we were going to keep that a secret, dear?”
“Ah, you're right. Sorry, I got too excited.” Suo gives you an endeared look before turning to Sakura. “We were going to keep it to ourselves unless we got serious about it. But we've been talking about marriage lately, so I thought it was fine to mention.”
“...”
You’re going to have an aneurysm. Why does every cover that Suo comes up with involve a marital relationship between the two of you?!
“Oh… holy shit.” Sakura’s expression is complicated—somehow, more complicated than yours, even though you’re the one getting cornered into a fake engagement. It's unbelievable how shy he still is about this kind of thing. Maybe it’s just particularly embarrassing since he's known you two for so long, you reason. Regardless, he remembers his social cues enough to say, “Congrats, guys. That's great. That's really great.”
Suo gazes fondly at you across the table. “We were thinking you could be our best man,” he adds, and you consider violently kicking his leg.
“O-oh. Uh, yeah! Sure! But what about Nirei?”
“Rather than having a maid of honour,” you say reflexively, used to lying through your teeth for Suo, “we’d like him to be our best man as well.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” Thrown off guard, Sakura completely forgets about the love hotel business. He whips out his phone. “When were you thinking of having your wedding? I'll put it in my calendar.”
“I’m not sure.” Suo turns to you. “What were we thinking again, dear?”
You're going to die. You're going to die and it's a good thing because if you survive this embarrassment, your future will be bleak. As soon as Nirei finds out about this, he’ll want to start helping you with wedding planning, and then it would just be too awkward to cancel things. You’ll have to enter a fake marriage with Suo, which will be completely sexless, because even with a vow of everlasting love, there are still too many concrete and materially consequential reasons for not sleeping with him.
Condemning yourself to a lifetime of sexual frustration, you reply, “I think we were talking about a summer wedding.”
The drive home is awkward.
Hanzo and Shuuhei pick the two of you up. Suo mentioned that he wanted to talk to you and you alone, so they bring the Rolls Royce with the privacy suite. The two of them are entirely cut off from you thanks to the soundproofing, which traps you with Suo, who’s drinking a bottle of oolong tea as the two of you sit in complete silence. You think he's waiting for you to squirm—which you do.
You stay like that for five, agonising minutes before Suo finally says, “So you're sleeping with your customers.”
You swallow. “Yes.”
“For business?”
“Yes.”
“How much do you make?”
You blink. “Huh?”
“How much do you get paid for a single night of work, including gifts that your customers give you in exchange for sleeping with them?”
You're halfway through citing your earnings when you realise where he's going with this.
“So you make less than you did at Red Dragon,” Suo concludes, “and you're very smart with your money, so I know you know that, and you probably went into this knowing that you'd end up at a net loss.” He turns to you, gives you a look so sharp that it almost scares you. All made worse by his civilian disguise, which makes him feel unfamiliar. His glass eye shines strangely in the light, and his scar tissue is hidden by the makeup you helped apply. You wish he'd taken it all off before having this conversation.
“So,” he says, “what’s the real reason you changed jobs?”
Already knowing that he’ll figure you out sooner or later, you admit, “I just wanted to start having sex again.”
Suo blinks. “You… what?”
“I wanted to have sex with people,” you repeat. “I hadn't been touched for nearly two years, okay? I needed to get laid or else I'd go insane.” You cross your arms and look away, suddenly feeling petulant. “I'm sure you've noticed that our arrangement makes it impossible for me to see people.”
He doesn't answer, because of course he's noticed. He’d designed his house rules with precisely this intent. If he accompanies you everywhere you go, then you can't exactly go on dates, and you definitely can't meet people for sex. Not unless you feel like having Suo watch as some anonymous guy fucks you, and you don't. As hot as the idea is, it’s definitely not platonic behaviour, and it would probably trigger the whole homicidal obsession thing.
“Do you like it?” Suo asks, startling you. You look at him, confused.
“What?”
“Do you enjoy having sex with your customers?” he asks. His voice and gaze are even. Unrelenting. “Does it make you happy?”
You stare at him, a deer caught in headlights. You didn't expect Suo to actually care about whether you enjoyed it or not, and you didn't really expect to care yourself either. But truthfully, you hated it. You simply weren't feeling it with most of your customers and avoided intercourse with all but one. Then in that one case you let someone earnestly fuck you, it was a complete letdown. Possibly the worst sex you'd ever had. You spent the whole time watching the clock, wondering how long it would take, and it turned out that your hookup had remarkable stamina but absolutely no technique. To pass the time, and in an attempt to feel something, you tried to imagine it was someone else who was inside you. You cycled through a whole list of people, including all of your exes, a few of your past customers, every single member of BTS, and then—finally, inevitably—your long-time friend, roommate, and landlord.
To your complete horror, when you imagined that it was Suo who had you folded in half, his cock so deep inside you that you could feel it in your throat, you came so hard that you drenched the sheets.
You lay there afterward as your customer showered, alone in the bed. Normally you'd be getting dressed at that point, but you were too distracted. You kept thinking about what it would feel like to be held by Suo after having your guts rearranged by him—embraced tenderly like you know he would do with you, kissing him platonically like you've always wanted to do with him—and you realised that you didn’t actually want to have sex with anyone else. Despite all your life experience, sexual experience, and job experience—in that moment, you felt like a lonely nineteen year old girl who wanted nothing more than to have romantic, vanilla sex with her best friend, but who was instead having impersonal, disappointing sex with various salarymen.
This was a feeling so disgusting that you’ve decided to never tell anyone at any cost.
“Yeah, it's fine. I guess I like it.” You pretend to study your nails. “Sometimes I cum, which is all I really want.”
Suo keeps staring at you. “That’s it?” he asks, voice measured and careful. You raise a brow, playing dumb.
“What do you mean?”
“That's all you want? Just to get off?”
You gaze out the window, trying not to look at his lips.
“Yes, that's all.”
No matter how batshit Suo gets, he always maintains a certain kindness and maturity in how he handles conflict with you. It's a lesson that he learned from his master, which has perhaps been distorted over time, but remains important to him nevertheless.
If you do something upsetting, Suo is never forceful about getting you to act differently. Sure, he has fucked up ways of either getting you to behave or making you understand the consequences of your actions, and perhaps he has his manipulative moments. It was probably not a good thing that he coaxed you into indefinite house arrest, for instance. But he never threatens you, and he never hits you, and he never disrespects you. In fact, more than anything, he makes it a point to never let you feel like you aren't loved.
So when Suo abandons you after that conversation in the Rolls Royce, you lose your fucking mind.
Suo doesn’t come home in the days following that evening, without any note nor explanation. For the first time in years, he stops replying to your texts. Your immediate thought is that he's been gravely injured or perhaps even killed, which sends you into a panicked spiral. But every one of his men who's come by to check on you has implied otherwise—but I'm not allowed to tell you anything else, anesan, I’m sorry, they all say. And when you realise that Suo is actually fine and he's just playing a fucked up mind game with you, one that makes you feel distinctly unloved, you feel simultaneously heartbroken and apoplectic. The man is not allowed to corner you into de facto imprisonment and then just fucking leave. In fact, if he tries, you might imprison him.
You spend a few days sitting at home and crying over this, as well as torturing yourself by thinking about useless things (fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, et cetera). But eventually, you get tired of wallowing in self-inflicted misery, and you decide to just track your fake husband down. His men have been adamant about not letting you out of their sight—presumably so you don’t fuck any more of your customers, because Suo can be spiteful like that—so you have to be strategic about your plan to find him.
You decide to do it during work. You tap out in the middle of a shift, feigning illness, so nobody bats an eye when you put on the most shapeless hoodie you own and throw on a face mask. Your chauffeurs (handlers) don't notice as you sneak off—and for the first time in years, you walk through the red light district all alone.
It feels strange not to be protected, and even stranger not to be surveilled. You marvel at the unfamiliar experience of complete freedom, and at the possibility of being able to run off and disappear if you so wished. But you don't, of course. Not only do you care too deeply for Suo to abandon him, you're also pretty sure he has your driver’s licence and ID card locked up somewhere. At least you haven't been able to find them, and Suo was oddly evasive about it when you asked. (I haven't seen them, he'd said, but I don't think you’d need either of those things immediately, anyway, do you? And you nodded in response, because it was true that you liked being his passenger princess too much to care about your licence.)
So rather than bolting for the subway, you head straight to your old workplace. The gleaming doors of Red Dragon welcome you as you cross its threshold, and you're greeted immediately by the scent of luxury colognes and expensive cigars—both evoking a strange nostalgia in you. Even the click of your heels against the marble floor feels familiar. You realise that you've missed the place despite its cutthroat culture and its owner’s authoritarian control over you, which you suppose isn't surprising. This club was more or less your home for years and, thanks to said owner, was the safest place you've ever worked.
And being that you feel you've returned to your very safe home, you don't expect it when you're abruptly stopped by the bouncer.
“Can I help you?” he asks, his arm in your way. You don't recognize him, but you see the edges of his irezumi peeking out from the rolled-up cuffs of his shirt.
“Yeah, actually,” you say. “I'm looking for Gui Yanzhao. Is he here right now?”
The bouncer—or chinpira, you guess—bristles.
“You're looking for who?”
“Yanzhao?” you say impatiently. “Eyepatch, tassel earrings? Owner of the club? Probably your boss?”
The bouncer steps forward and reaches for something in his pocket, which makes you suddenly nervous, and also makes you realise that in a hoodie and a face mask, you ordinarily wouldn't be allowed in this club, let alone into the room of its yakuza owner. You're so used to VIP treatment here that you simply forgot.
You take a step back. “Um. I think there's been a misunderstanding.” You lower your face mask, which doesn't help as you've never met this man, and he must be new. You’ll need to complain to Suo about his onboarding process later, if you aren't killed before you can find him.
It turns out that this yakuza rookie has a knife in his pocket, which is not the worst thing he could have been carrying, but is also not the best. You're getting ready to run in the other direction when a more senior member of the gang comes by. He gives you a startled look, which then turns alarmed when he sees his younger brother’s knife.
“Anesan!” he yells hurriedly, and he snatches the chinpira’s knife straight from his hand. His lunge for the weapon turns into a hurried bow. He pulls his colleague—whose face has turned very white in a very short amount of time—into an even deeper one. They look on the verge of prostrating.
“Oh, Yamashita. Hi! Is this guy new?”
“Yes! My sincerest apologies for my younger brother’s idiocy, and his insolence in raising a weapon at you.” There's a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. “If you would like him to atone, then he would be more than happy to—”
“No, that's fine. I'd really like him to keep all his fingers.” If you have to see a rookie cut off his pinkie today, you think you might actually change your mind on running away. Fuck your documents—Suo can keep them. Surely life without proof of identity can't be that hard. “By the way,” you say, trying to change the topic before Yamashita can suggest alternative acts of atonement, “have you seen my husband?”
Yamashita hesitates at your question, looks conflicted. You feel a little bad for him, and for every other gang member who needs to worry about accidentally offending Suo. You watch him sweat for a full ten seconds before he says, “You can follow me. But anesan, you might find it unpleasant upstairs. I can find someone to drive you home instead, if you'd like.”
You give him a funny look. This was your workplace for a very long time—you can’t think of many things that would happen here that might seriously upset you. “What, is he cheating on me?” you guess.
“What? No! Aniki would never!” Yamashita seems genuinely shocked at the suggestion. “He's crazy about you!”
“Then I'm sure he’ll be happy to see me,” you say, although given that he's ignored your texts for four days straight, you aren't so sure. Regardless, this seems to be good enough reasoning for Yamashita, and you’re taken to the top floor of Red Dragon. You ponder the whole time, on the elevator ride up, just what exactly Suo’s been up to that's made Yamashita this nervous about letting you see him.
Then the door opens, and you’re given your answer in the form of several body bags—all cleanly zipped up and conscientiously laid out in front of the elevators in a single, neat row. A sight that is significantly worse than a rookie cutting off his pinkie finger.
“Oh,” you say faintly. You try not to throw up. “So this is why he hasn't been home.”
“Exactly!” Yamashita replies, beaming. “See, anesan, I told you. He'd never cheat on you!”
Suo is in the lounge of the top floor, which has been cleared of both civilians and corpses for the night. He's sitting on one of the couches, leaning back with his one eye closed, as if asleep. The golden tassels of his earrings are draped over the expensive leather of his seat, intertwined with his dark hair. A cup of tea sits in front of him, steaming. Even this far away, you recognize it by the scent alone: jasmine, probably from Longjing. One of the most expensive blends he has, and that which he saves for days he’s stressed, though he never admits it when he is.
The sight of him would almost look tranquil, except for all the blood on his knuckles and his cuffs.
Off to the side, two of his younger brothers are chatting away. One is pouring cups of some doubtlessly expensive liquor, and the other is smoking a cigar. There's karaage on the table too. You recognize all of this as part of a ritual that some of the guys like to do after a hit or a shootout, not dissimilar to getting ramen or McDonald’s after going to a club.
You catch a bit of their conversation as you approach. One of them holds up the liquor bottle (Isojiman sake, you now recognise from your girls’ bar days, one of the rarer bottles costing around nine million yen) and asks Suo if he wants to join. “No thanks,” he says predictably, “I'm on a diet.” Then he turns and looks right at you—startling you, because you had thought you were being fairly quiet—and gives you a smile so genuine that it reminds you of his Furin days. “Would my beautiful wife like to drink for me, though?”
“No thanks,” you reply, “but your beautiful wife would like to talk to you.”
The two guys clear out to give you some privacy. You’re left alone with Suo, feeling awkward after several days of resenting him for no reason. (You’d rather die than go to therapy, but the whole fear of abandonment thing is probably something you should start addressing.) You don't even know where you want to sit. Eventually, you settle for placing yourself next to him, which is a decision that Suo quickly overturns by pulling you into his lap.
A flutter erupts in your stomach as he settles you on top of him. This physiological reaction is absurd, as not even ten minutes ago, you were trying not to throw up at the line of corpses in front of the elevator. It should also scare you somewhat that Suo’s hands—delicately adjusting your body—are still covered in blood. But truthfully, you can't help but be happy when he makes you feel so loved.
You take one of the napkins on the table and start wiping at his knuckles. Tenderly, in case they're bruised or skinned.
“You didn't call or come home,” you start.
“I thought it would be too dangerous.”
You frown, thinking of all the bodies outside. “Was this a rival organisation?”
“No. They were ours.” He sighs. “A succession conflict. There are a few people who don't like how I'll run things if I take over.”
You nod. Suo is very old-fashioned in his ideals about the yakuza, which you think is an imprint of his master’s influence, and something that appeals to his current ‘father’. He values chivalry. He likes protecting the weak. His filial devotion to his deceased master has now extended to every member of his yakuza family, especially his oyassan. He’s almost certainly the top candidate for taking over after the oyabun dies, but being that part of his old-fashioned principles excludes lucrative projects such as sex trafficking, you suppose it’s natural that some people in his organisation would prefer him dead rather than in charge.
“You’ve never ghosted me during violent conflicts before though,” you say. “I was worried that something happened to you. Or that you were upset with me.”
Suo’s hand drops to your waist, pulling you a little closer.
“They knew where we live. They tried to get to you, you know.” Your eyes widen in alarm, so he cups your face with a palm. His thumb glides along your cheek, and your response is almost Pavlovian: your heart rate immediately slows at the comfort of his touch. “It’s fine. They won't bother you ever again.” The cheerful smile returns. “And if anyone else ever does, I'll handle them too.”
Your heart swells. Enthusiastic pledges of murder are not a healthy sign of affection, but after so much loneliness—whether from the past several days, or the years before that, you aren't sure—you can't find it in yourself to be disturbed. You feel and sound painfully fond when you reply, “I know.”
Suo’s expression dims a little then. “I thought you'd like the space anyway.”
“What?” You give him a confused look. You have never once given him any indication that you want even an inch of space from him. You'd crawl into his ribcage if you could. “Why would you think that?”
“I thought you felt suffocated. You left my club just so you could have sex with other people.” You blink, lingering on his wording. Other people. He continues before you can ask about it, sighing, “You didn't even ask me who I'd give permission to touch you. You just went ahead and decided on your own.”
“...”
You try not to look disturbed. Suo’s apparent wish to control your sexual decisions is news to you, and somehow more alarming than the murder pledge. And even worse—you immediately clench in response to his words. The thought of Suo dictating who does and doesn't get to touch your cunt is… well, your mind is heading in a distinctly non-platonic direction.
Trying to ignore the heat in between your thighs (but at the same time encouraging it), you ask: “Who would you have been, um, okay with touching me?”
“Sakura or Nirei,” he says immediately. “Though only Sakura would be interested.”
“What.” You gape at him, all arousal forgotten. “Bullshit. He would never.”
“Yes, he would.” Suo tilts his head. “Haven't you noticed?”
“I don't think there's anything to notice? And also—he’s so shy, I don't think he'd ever agree even if he were interested!” You give him a bewildered look. “He couldn't even look at us when we said we were getting married, he was so embarrassed!”
“Embarrassed?” Suo stares at you, an amused glint in his eye. “Is that what you thought was going on?”
“Was there anything else?”
He studies you for a moment, clearly entertained but not explaining why. “Well—it’s fine,” he says. “It doesn't matter for now. Especially since he's helping us plan a wedding and all.”
You make a face. “I still can't believe that's the cover you went for.”
“Are you upset with it?” he asks smoothly, and you huff and say yes, but from his sly look, you think he knows it's a lie.
Naturally, you deflect before he can further interrogate you. “So, given that you are now my fiancé, am I no longer allowed to work on Keisei Street and see customers after my shifts?”
You don’t expect it when Suo says, “No, you can.”
You stare. “What?”
“You can keep seeing customers if you'd like. You said it makes you happy, so why would I stop you?” Suo’s brow furrows, his usual calm replaced with concern. “Do you really think I do the things I do to make you miserable?”
Guilt gnaws at your heart. He looks so disappointed. “No,” you tell him. “I just thought it'd make you miserable that I was sleeping with people without your permission.” It is partly why you hid it from him in the first place, after all. You don't like to see him sad—you’re still haunted by the deep grief he was in, after your master died—and also, his misery tends to bring bodily harm to other people these days.
Cognizant of both concerns, you ask, “You’re really okay with me sleeping with my customers? I can stop, if you want.”
“No, it’s fine. I still don't like it, but you can continue for now if you want.”
Suo’s mouth curls—not in a gentle way, as has been his expression since seeing you walk in, but in a way that sets off your flight or fight response.
“I'm sure we’ll reach a mutual understanding soon enough.”
END PART 1
thank you genuinely if you read all that because this is a deranged au and I still can't believe I wrote it sldfkjsldfkj. please do let me know if you enjoyed my yandere suo delusions. sorry there was no smut in this chapter. I promise there is a ton in the next one (probably too much... lol. it's a 10k chapter and literally half of those words are about orgasm denial sldfkjalskdjdf). it's completely written and I hope to edit and have it up by next week!
also here is glossary of terms and world building notes if you are interested!
tagging @kweenkatsuki-fics !! <3
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I've got my own problem with Fix-It Fics in general, but the people who rant and rave about how awful or arrogant they are need to take a chill pill.
Like bro some people are gonna think they can write better than the rwby writers, that's not a big deal. And you know what? Some people can write better than the rwby writers, that's just a fact of life. Folks actually will get angry because people they don't know think they can improve upon the work of other people they don't know. Sorry not everyone thinks that the rwby writers are an unachievable standard of skill and their work can never be improved upon? I guess?
Imagine doing this with any other show. XD Like imagine I told someone I wanted to write a Sherlock fix-it fic and they freaked out on me for the arrogance of daring to think I could improve upon work made by the great Steven Moffat. Imagine I was like "I'm making a Pirates of the Caribbean 5 fix-it fic" and someone started ranting about how stuck-up I must be for thinking I could improve upon someone else's work. Imagine someone made a non-glitchy 'fix-it' remake of Sonic the Hedgehog 2006 where Princess Elise wasn't so bad, and then got hated on for daring to think they could do things better than the original makers of the game. It's ridiculous.
Not everyone thinks the rwby writers' work can't be improved, and not everyone feels the need to stop themselves from trying to improve it, and not everyone will think they're worse than the rwby writers. That's fine. Fix-it fics are normal, this fandom is just incredibly sensitive and insecure as a general rule.
#rwde#btw this is not a post about any one 'fix-it fic'#I don't really read much rwby fanfiction myself#this is more a response to the general 'don't call it a fix-it fic' mentality I've seen#like bro why not lol#fix-it fics are literally part of every fandom
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲'𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. | Sully Family
𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 : "You taught me that love doesn't make us weak, it makes us stronger." Sully! Reader to Sully! Parents? Just a fluffy family fic please
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : sully!family x sully!daughter
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : becoming one with the metkayina's has not been an easy task. as everyone continues to settle in their own ways, your family begins to grow more worried about your well-being. this isn't the sully they know. you're withdrawn, and quiet. what better way to fix that than to seek you out when you least expect it?
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : hi if you're confused so am i! there were issues when i first posted this so i am reposting it again. thank you for the love on the previous one though! // trust me this is fluffy 😭 just have to go through a lil angst to get to that part <33 this is purely a self-indulgent hurt/comfort fic! didn't fully proofread this btw! pls feel free to reblog and leave your thoughts in the comments.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : bullying, discrimination, angst but fluff at the end, descriptions of loneliness, hurt/comfort, you're gonna wish even more that u were a sully after reading this.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3.2k words
𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 : hiiiiii my luvs you can read part 2: here !🙏🏼
The ocean was not your friend, you could only look at the endless channel of water in disdain. This was far too daunting for you, you liked the little rivers or ponds back at home. The sealife while beautiful, petrified you.
You missed the lush greens and the smell of the dew from the occasional rain back in the jungle. It was easy to forget your responsibilities, not that you had as many as your other siblings. Being the second youngest Sully had its perks. Not older than Lo'ak, and not younger than Tuk.
The "expeditions" you went on now made you look like a fool. You didn't know the terrain here, how to navigate fluidly through the water like Tsireya, Ao'nung, or Roxto.
Each passing day your siblings got better at managing to hold their breath, and riding their Ilu's. But you were still stuck in the past.
It felt reality kept kicking you in the face. Your stubborn self was annoyed as well. Holding a grudge against your family. It seemed like no one missed home. You understood why your parents made the decision they did, but it didn't make the act of doing so hurt any less.
At least you had these quiet moments before your thoughts ran rampant to practice your breathing.
You were suddenly interrupted from your twisting thoughts when a nudge was directed at your head.
It was Ao'nung and his crew.
"Leave me alone." You hissed at them, not wanting to deal with their bullshit today.
"Leave me alone." Ao'nung mocked you as he tugged on your tail.
You quickly stood up, looking to see if any of your family were close by. They weren't. You were supposed to be back in the Mauri but once again, you lost track of time.
"No one is here to help you, Y/n."
They grabbed your hand, poking insults at you and your family. You knew better than to talk back, especially if no one was here to help you out. It was 4 against 1. So instead you bit your lip and kept your mouth shut.
"Roxto, are you there?" His mother called from around the corner, startling the goonies.
"You're in luck, scram!" Ao'nung hissed at you.
Eyes widening, you stumbled as you rushed back to your Mauri. You didn't dare look back at your tormentors.
Once you were a few steps away, you slowed your pace. Catching your breath, before making your way inside.
The worried chatter of your family halted when you made your presence.
Neytiri stopped pacing, moving over to you and grabbing your face in her hands.
"Ewya help me before I lose it. Where have you been? You're 15 minutes late! I was about to send your brothers out to look for you."
Had it really been that long?
"I'm sorry." You looked down in shame. It's weird being on the brunt end of the stick. Even your parents have grown more accustomed to having to tell you off rather than Lo'ak. It was definitely odd.
"You didn't answer your mother's question, where have you been?" Jake didn't like being stern with you, but you being late to dinner had been happening more regularly.
You used to be a stickler for these dinners, being the one to push for them. How everyone had to be in attendance, and on time. It was family bonding time, moments to catch up on what everyone had done that day.
"Just around, I was with my Ilu - I'm sorry." You looked down to the Mauri's floor, unable to meet your father's eyes. It was hard lying to him.
Neteyams eyebrows arched in confusion, he had just been with his Ilu. You were nowhere in sight. He decided to let it slide this time, but he couldn't help but wonder where you snuck off too.
"Alright well, you really got to keep track of time yeah. You used to love these dinners!"
"Yes, and I still do!" You answered too quickly, not missing a beat.
If Jake wasn't suspicious before, he certainly was now. But like Neteyam, he decided to let it slide. Your brothers had told him and Neytiri how you've been struggling to catch up and learn everything in the lessons.
That was partially it, but if only he was aware of the bigger picture.
Jake nodded, looking to Neytiri. She also held a look of concern, but Jake made a silent signal that basically stated:
"We shouldn't push it, not now."
"Well, let's eat before the food gets even colder." Neytiri ushered her kids over, keeping a close eye on you.
Your family gathers around the food that was already set, and start eating. As all your siblings chatted excitedly about the activities they've done throughout the day. You didn't say a thing, not even piping in.
Neytiri and Jake once again met gazes, thinking the same thing.
Something's wrong with our daughter.
Soon dinner was over and it was time to rest, as your family rested together you couldn't help yourself as you removed Tuk's arm that clung to your shoulder.
Maneuvering your way outside, you jumped into the water. Why sleep when you can practice again?
Before Eclipse ended you made sure to squeeze the excess water out of your hair and made yourself comfortable alongside your family. Your body ached and could no longer fight off your sleep deprivation. But it was worth it, you could hold your breath a lot longer now under water.
From then on, it gradually got worse. Even your siblings would struggle to find you throughout the day. You'd take longer naps through the day, and Lo'ak knew you were sneaking out at night. Your essence seemed to further rid itself from you, and all that was left was a hollow shell of yourself.
They too, shared similar thoughts with their parents. No longer could they see you dwindle away. It didn't sit right with them, you're a Sully through and through. Sully's stick together.
So they did what they know best and was most accessible to them, track.
Instead this time they weren't on a hunt, or looking for what was to be a good meal for their clan. They were following the steps of their baby sister.
If you stepped out of your brain for a moment, you would have immediately clocked them. But once again, Y/n was shut in her own bubble.
"Bro, don't you find it weird that she hasn't realised we are here?" Lo'ak whispered as he looked at you behind the leaves keeping them hidden.
"Shut up, Lo'ak" Neteyam grumbled. He didn't want to agree even if his words held some truth.
"Hey, I have to agree with him. We shouldn't have been able to get this far. She's usually far too hyperaware of her surroundings." Kiri observed you, stunned and clueless.
They'd never been to this part of Awa'atlu before. They'd been so fixated on the ocean. They had yet to really explore the area that surrounded their new home. It oddly felt like they were waltzing through their past.
At last, you came upon your tree. You liked it because it had a specific branch that you could curve into. Blend in, and be one with your surroundings. Like you had used to do before in the jungle. This was now your next best option.
Your siblings looked in confusion at one another, not understanding how this could be the reason you've been periodically gone. Did you spend all your time here?
But then it came.
It was barely there, and you were struggling to catch your breath. The cries.
It strikes through the serene sounds of the waves crashing against the shore, and the nearby insects chirping.
Your sibling's ears flattened as they looked at each other in sheer worry. You were a spitfire, but you had always been calm and collected. The physical embodiment of the word warm. Happiness was always with you. So where did it all go wrong?
"Great mother, I fear that I am not good enough. I thought consistency was key, I've been trying to practice anytime I can. But I'm so tired. I've never felt this weak and useless?" You mumbled to yourself, looking up into the sky.
Groaning in frustration, you continued. "Maybe Ao'nung was right. I will never be one of the people. I will always be too alien. I will never be able to live up to my family."
Lo'ak enraged by the doubts you had voiced stepped out from their cover.
Your ears tuned into the noise, you finally tuned into your senses and became more alert. As you hopped off the branch, hastily wiping your tears.
"Brother." You choked out, lips trembling.
He took slow steps towards you, trying to soothe you as he brought you into a hug.
"Baby sister," he said so quietly, solemnly.
You couldn't remember the last time he hugged you, and neither he could he. It wore his heart down, seeing you in such a vulnerable state.
Soon the presence of more arms wrapped around you both, clinging onto you - securing you in their grasps. For the first time in a long time, tenderness surged through you.
"We've got you, Y/n. You're going to be alright. Let it all out now." Neteyam who was at your right side gave you a gentle kiss on your forehead, muttering to himself - "Oh my baby sister."
Kiri had never felt such pain from you, it came off in waves. And it almost debilitated her. In that moment, it was the most protective she had felt for you. It synced through all of them, a fire had awaken in the pit of their souls - so fierce that even Toruk Makto would flinch from it.
Slowly your breaths began to ease, and your tense shoulders slumped down. It was emotionally taxing having had all these emotions balled up inside you. Now it was unraveling, and it felt all too bittersweet.
Your siblings sensing this, mellowed out on their group hug they were giving you. Moving over, you all settled down against the tree you've been confiding in moments before.
Tuk grabbed your hand while Kiri tucked your intricate braids behind your ears. You mouthed a "thank you", leaning your head on her shoulder.
All it took was Neteyam to ask a very simple question, "What's been going on, baby sister?"
And once your mouth opened, you decided - why not just let them in on everything? So you did.
You told them about how ashamed and humiliated you had felt when you started lagging behind. How Ao'nung and his friends would tease you whenever they had the chance to do. (It was always away from prying eyes). Due to that, it only made the feelings of hatred you harbored for yourself - increase a tenth-fold.
A deliberately belligerent cycle was born. Self-doubt equated to "I will push myself to the brink of exhaustion". You'd seek out your family thinking they'd have noticed. But they were too caught up in their own commitments to realise your intentions.
All you wanted was for any of them to see the hard work you had been pouring in to adapting here. But how could they when you always lingered on the outskirts?
Late to dinner, late to the lessons, never seen. They couldn't appreciate what was in front of them because they hadn't witnessed it themselves. How utterly ironic.
"I see why you didn't, but I wish you had told us, Y/n. We could have helped you." Kiri insisted as she patted your head.
"I know." You grumbled, but you were grateful for how attentive they are to you.
"Ao'nung will pay." Lo'ak seethed, completely shifting the topic of conversation.
Neteyam rolled his eyes and interjected. "He will, but not in the way you are seeing it in your mind right now. We have to go to dad and mum about this."
Your irritated eyes widened, leaping up from where your back had laid against the tree. Y/n scowled at Neteyam, her tail flicking in anguish. No, not her parents.
"Absolutely not, 'Teyam. They mustn't know anything of this." You countered him, disbelief flooding your features. Your parents would only perceive you as a failure, and that was the last thing you could stomach right now.
Neteyam stood up by you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. He shook his head at you and gave you one of his brotherly grins.
"Baby sister, they are just as worried as we are." He looked behind you, and urged you to turn around.
Oh great mother, that could only mean one thing.
Ember crashed on ember, one filled with panic, and two filled with distraught. The tension was taut, but all your parents wanted to do was cradle you in their arms like they had in your first few months of life.
"Kids, back to the Mauri." Jake ordered them, pointing back to where it was.
"But dad-" Lo'ak butted in, worriedly looking at you.
"It's okay. Thank you, Lo'ak." You coaxed him to join your siblings who were also hesitating a little.
They disappeared amongst nature, and their footsteps grew fainter and fainter. Until all that was left was your heartbeat pounding in your ears. It felt oddly comforting being in their company even though doubt was eating you up from the inside.
It's been a while.
Neytiri was the first to approach you, her hands shook as she cradled your face. She took you in for the first time in weeks, and this time she was able to do it properly. Lately, she'd only been able to admire you whilst you sleep, or during meals.
In the morning you'd be gone in a blink of an eye. Throwing a haphazard, "I'll see you later", over your shoulder.
She missed you profoundly, so much that it physically pained her sometimes. Neytiri treasured you deeply, to put it bluntly - her heart felt like it'd been slashed by a Thanotor ever since you started pushing yourself away.
Jake followed in his mate's footsteps. His eye's tearing into your soul and trying to catch if there had been any distinct changes that have occurred to you.
"You don't look like yourself." Jake stumbled on his words.
Neytiri hissed, smacking your dad on the back of his head. A slight giggle escaped you that made both of their hearts sing. "Ma jake."
"Sorry." He mumbled, giving you a cheeky grin.
Y/n's doubts were already melting away before she herself could even acknowledge it. She grabbed both her parent's hands, leading them over to her tree not too far away from where they had been standing.
Mimicking how she and her siblings were just before. She settled against the tree again, bringing her parents down with her.
The trio admired their surroundings, taking in the wonders of Pandora. Especially Jake, and Neytiri. This is the closest they've felt to something akin to the jungle they'd once inhabited.
"I'm sure you heard everything, and it is true. I am sorry if I've disappointed you guys. I thought I could manage it all on my own."
Neytiri played with your hair and could only chastise your words. "You did not disappoint us, if anything - you infuriated us. We were just worried about you, our dear daughter."
Jake nodded in agreement. "We love you, and we want to be there for you. We will if you allow us. That's what we are here for. You don't need to fight these battles alone. Remember what I told you, baby girl?"
You rolled your eyes and pushed your dad away from you jokingly.
"It's us against the world." You mumbled.
Jake teasingly put a hand to his ear. "I'm sorry? What was that? I couldn't hear you."
Neytiri let out a soft laugh at you two's antics, watching with endearment sparkling in her eyes.
Clearing your throat, you reiterated your words. "It's us against the world."
Jake did extravagant hand motions, "More enthusiasm please!"
You were beaming, yelling out, "It's us against the world!"
"That's right baby, it is." Jake wrapped an arm around your shoulders bringing you to his side. Neytiri instinctively leaned against you both.
Y/n couldn't help but admire her parents. They were her foundation, her protectors. She couldn't believe that she used to be ashamed of being a Sully. It was her legacy, one she is only beginning to pave. She wasn't about to let Na'vi who didn't truly know her, dictate her life any longer.
"You taught me that love doesn't make us weak, it makes us stronger." You started, staring at your parents.
"I just - I couldn't catch up. There are so many other bigger things to worry about, and I thought.. I don't know. That I'd overcome this. I tried to love the ocean and the people. But I miss home. I miss everything that was green, now it's just all blue! That's actually why I like this place so much." You rambled, arms waving erratically. It felt gratifying to get it off your chest, especially to the two people you have wanted to tell from the get-go.
Your parents nodded, taking all your words in. But they were still conflicted. Their daughter had a competitive nature like no other, every time the world pushed her down - she always got back up. If you were lagging behind so much, you would have just pushed yourself more. Work extra hard, and seek help from your family.
But you haven't done any of that this time. All the means necessary she could have used as a stepping stone were left out of this equation. Instead, you had suffered in silence.
"You know, Y/n. It's not your fault for feeling like you don't belong. But you are one of us. You are Sully, you are the embodiment of strong heart. It does not matter what others say to you when no one else is there. It does not matter that you have 5 fingers." Neytiri protested, sighing.
She made sure you were looking at her, hearing her.
"What matters is how you control how it affects you. You are still growing, baby. This is a lesson you will remember for a lifetime and the next." Neytiri advised you, squeezing your hand.
"Your mother is right. At the end of the day, the power is in your hands. So use it, sweetheart. Follow your heart, and let us know next time if it gets a little too much. Alright?" Jake expanded on what Neytiri had told you.
You looked down at their hands holding yours. Yeah, Sully's really do stick together. And you wouldn't trade that for anything else in this world and all the other's orbiting you.
"Alright." Y/n restated, tugging both of her parents up with her. They stared at their child with confusion.
"Let's go back home." This time what you threw over your shoulder to them was a sweet smile, dimples and all.
Neytiri and Jake spoke with only their eyes as they let Y/n guide them back to their Mauri.
Our daughter is going to be just fine.
࿐ ࿔*:・゚˳೫˚
bonus:
Y/n's laughter could be heard inside the Mauri as she played in the water with Tuk just in front of their home.
Jake turned to Lo'ak and Neteyam who were doing some chores.
He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck.
"I'll turn a blind eye if you decide to give Ao'nung a beating or two. Just for today." Jake mentioned, before going back to cleaning his gun.
Lo'ak had a devious grin, rubbing his knuckles together, "Yes Sir."
𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ━━━ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑
⤷ feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated ! feel free to ask through my inbox if you would like to join my taglist. ♡
#junie's library 📚✧.*#atwow#neteyam sully x reader#avatar the way of water#avatar x reader#jake sully x daughter!reader#atwow spoilers#neytiri x daughter!reader#neteyam x reader#avatar#avatar 2#sully family x reader#sully family#kiri x reader#lo'ak x reader#avatar imagine#neytiri x reader#jake sully x reader
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whoops my hand slipped and I banged out 1800 words of fix-it fic in like an hour. btw i think the Abby connection is dumb but I'm making it work.
Three years after reconciling with Buck, newly engaged to him, Tommy gets a phone call from a certain former dispatcher...who's just seen some interesting news via a Facebook Relationship Status post.
*****
(also on AO3)
To say that the phone call blindsided him would have been the understatement of the century.
He was just sitting at home watching the game, having a beer, minding his own business. Evan was on shift — must be a busy one, he’d only gotten two text messages all evening, one bitching about not having had time to eat dinner and the other about idiots who texted while driving.
His phone rang. Unknown number. Normally he wouldn’t have picked up, but with all the wedding preparations, a lot of vendors were calling. It was a little late to be making business calls, just after 8 pm, but he’d quickly learned that business norms meant little in the wedding planning business. “Hello?”
“Tommy?”
“Yes?” A woman’s voice. Familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
Pause “You’re marrying Buck??” A slightly hysterical note of disbelief entered the woman’s voice as she said the name.
And all at once, he knew who it was. Shit fuck motherfucker why didn’t we get ahead of this one.
“Abby. Um…”
“Evan Buckley? My ex-fiancé and my ex-boyfriend are marrying each other?”
“Small world, huh?” he said, going for levity.
“Buck’s not even gay!”
“No, he’s not. He’s bisexual.”
“I’m…okay. I’m sorry, it’s just…this is a lot of information to get all at once.”
“How did you even find out? Don’t you live in Phoenix?”
“Buck posted one of those relationship status things on Facebook.”
“Oh. I barely use Facebook.”
“Me either, but Buck does, and I hadn’t been on there in awhile, but I logged on and that was like the third post I saw!”
Tommy remembered the day Buck had made the post. They hadn’t really put their relationship on social media much - Buck posted photos of them on Instagram sometimes - and he hadn’t done one of those stupid relationship status things for them until they got engaged. They’d trawled their phones for the right pic, eventually settling on one taken at a 118 barbecue of them together, smiling, arms slung around waists. He hadn’t said so, but he’d gotten a little emotional over what Evan wrote on the post:
Evan Buckley is engaged to Tommy Kinard.
“It’s been a long road, but we made it. Can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with this man. He’s the best person I’ve ever known. I love you!”
“Well…I’m sorry that was an unpleasant surprise for you,” Tommy said, carefully.
She sighed. “I don’t know that it was…unpleasant. But a surprise, for sure. How do you even know Buck? How did you meet?”
“We’re both firefighters, it’s not that surprising that we could have met, is it?”
“No, I guess not.”
“And he was at my old firehouse. The one you refused to ever come to. But I guess you went when you were with him, didn’t you?”
“You never wanted me to meet your friends. I guess I found out why when you broke off our engagement.”
“I’m sorry, Abby. I know I said it then, but I’ll say it again now. I lied to myself, I lied to a lot of people. It took me almost trapping you in my lie, when you did not deserve that, to break me out of it.”
“I forgave you ages ago. We don’t have to go over all that again.”
“I met Evan…I guess it’s four years ago? We started dating not long after. I, um…was the first man he dated. I guess I made him realize some things about himself.”
“Just transforming lives everywhere you go, huh?” she said, a teasing note entering her voice. Tommy was happy to hear it.
“Yeah, well, I almost screwed it up. I broke up with him six months later. He was diving in headfirst, too fast, just all in and wanting to move in with me.”
“That sounds just like Buck.”
“I panicked and ended it before I could get in any deeper with him.”
“It was too late, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. I was already in love with him.”
“He’s easy to love. Too easy,” she said, quietly. “But you got back together, obviously.”
“Took a little while. Almost a year. I dated a few guys, he dated a few people, but nothing stuck for either of us - I know now it’s because we were still hung up on each other. We have a friend in common and we’d hear about each other through him…but I didn’t really see him until we ended up on a major incident call together. I sustained a minor injury - just a scrape, really - and Hen from his house patched me up. I was sitting there on the ambulance deck, more or less left to myself, and he came waltzing up with that eyebrow raised like he knew all my secrets.” Abby chuckled, like she knew the exact expression he was describing. “He just said, are you done being fucking stupid yet?”
“And you were.”
“Yep. I was. He took me home that night and we’ve barely been apart since. Got engaged a year later.”
“You sound happy.”
“I am. I’m ecstatic. I can’t believe I got a second chance with him. I kicked myself for ending it like that, I don’t know what came over me.”
“I do. You thought you weren’t enough for him to want to keep you.”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“That’s dumb.”
“That’s what he says.”
They sat there not speaking for what felt like a long time.
“Well…” Abby said. “I feel like I just unloaded on you out of the blue.”
“You kinda did,” he said, smiling.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have called.”
“I’m glad you did. You know…Evan and I didn’t realize we had you in common until our six month anniversary dinner. In fact, it was that revelation that sort of started us on the way to breaking up for awhile. But that’s been so long now and it hasn’t come up in a few years. I almost forgot about it.”
“Gee, thanks,” she said, her grin audible. “I’m glad you’re both happy. I have a lot of regret over Buck, how I left things with him. I assume he’s told you.”
“He has. If it helps, he doesn’t have any bad feelings towards you.”
“It does help. Thank you for that.” She sighed. “I’ll let you go. I just saw that Facebook post and spiralled a little bit.”
“Understandable.”
“Please tell Buck I say hello. And I wish you both so much happiness, Tommy.”
“Thank you. And I will.”
She hung up. Tommy stared at the phone for a moment, then opened his text message thread with Evan.
You’re not gonna believe what just happened.
*****
When Evan got home at 7 am, they had their usual two hours to share breakfast and maybe a quick fuck before Tommy had to be on shift himself. They tried to sync their schedules so their off days coincided, but it didn’t always work.
“Holy shit, why didn’t we get ahead of that one?” Evan said as he burst in the door, not even bothering with “hello.” His shoes and duffel went flying and he bustled into the kitchen where Tommy was mixing the pancake batter.
“Yeah, I had the same thought,” he said, leaning over to kiss him hello.
Evan went to the coffee pot. “I didn’t even think about it, that she might see.”
“Neither did I.”
“How’d she sound?”
“Really surprised at first. Incredulous, even? Like in the what-are-the-odds way.”
“Kinda like when I found out we’d both dated her.”
“Yeah, but you’re my himbo now,” Tommy said, smirking. “No, she was just shocked. I gave her the quick rundown, and she ended up congratulating us.”
“Did you tell her it’s her fault we broke up for a year?” Evan said, popping a strawberry into his mouth.
“I think the proper person to bear the fault is me.”
“And also me. Who asks someone to move in after six months? Before even saying ‘I love you?’ And when you had a house!”
“I say we blame Josh. He got you all juiced up with that damn Glee speech.” After they’d reconciled, Evan had given him chapter and verse on his mind-boggling thought processes on that last fateful day.
“He got me feeling guilty, is what he did. That I judged you for lying to Abby. Overcorrecting is one of my special gifts.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, while I’m overcorrecting…why don’t we invite her?”
Tommy looked up. “To our wedding?”
“Sure, why not? She can flip a coin whose side she sits on,” Evan said, grinning like the mischievous imp that he was.
“Evan, darling, love of my life, we are not inviting our ex to our wedding.”
He scrunched up his face. “Ew. ‘Our’ ex? Makes it sound like we were in a throuple.”
“Ew, indeed.”
He cocked his head. “I dunno, though. The thought’s kinda sexy.”
“Not to me! No vaginas anywhere near my bedroom. Kinsey 6, remember?”
“Of course, my apologies.”
Tommy looked at his innocent wide-eyed face for a few beats. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”
“Can I help it if the thought of two people I have found intensely attractive doing sexy things is appealing?”
“Can I help it if the thought of Chris Hemsworth going down on you has gotten me through some lonely nights?”
“Okay, I get the point. Shutting up now.”
Tommy put a plate of pancakes in front of him. “Your shift okay?”
“Fine. Busy. I’m a bit wired. Do we have time for me to bounce on your dick for a bit before you have to head out?”
“For that, I’ll make time.” He sat down at the table at Evan’s side with his own pancakes. Evan slid a hand over and squeezed his thigh.
“Missed you, though,” he said, chewing.
“I always miss you when you’re on shift,” Tommy said.
Evan looked up at that, meeting his eyes. “Tommy, sometimes I miss you when you get up to get a beer.”
The simplicity, the sincerity of it made his chest tighten a little. He leaned forward, put his fingers under Evan’s chin and pulled him into a soft kiss, just like the first time. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too.”
“And we are not inviting my ex-fiancee who is also your ex-girlfriend to our wedding.”
Evan grinned. “Deal.”
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if you feel like falling (catch me on the way down) | TWO
ᝰ.ᐟ after getting your heart broken by professional soccer player, rin itoshi, all because he loved the game more than you, you officially swear off all men — especially athletes. your publicist doesn’t get that memo, though, and you find yourself roped into a fake relationship with yoichi isagi, who isn’t just a pro soccer player, but also your ex’s rival. things could get messy. ( fem!reader )
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pairing yoichi isagi x reader (endgame), past! rin itoshi x reader word count 5.9k chapter synopsis the busier your schedule, the less time you can spend thinking about rin. the only problem is, you see something you can't unsee. nothing a bottle of tequila can't fix, right? (spoiler: tequila isn't fixing a broken heart) chapter contains partying and drinking to cope, diet culture author’s notes i have nothing to insightful to add rn, but send me any asks discussing this fic and i will have a lot to say LOL
From: [email protected] To: [USER EMAIL HIDDEN] Cc: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected] + 3 others Subject: 6/19 — [NAME] [SURNAME] AGENDA Attachments: 📎 [6.19 AGENDA.pdf]
All —
Attached is the PDF copy of [Name]’s itinerary for today. Reminder that these times are STRICT. Stay on schedule.
Fumiko Gima
Get Outlook for IOS
Your first alarm goes off at 4:50 AM to what you assume is the noise they play on repeat in hell (By the Seaside, an Apple classic). After waking up, you roll over in your king size bed (the problem with always choosing to go big instead of just going home is the fact that when you’re all alone, the luxury of extra space just becomes empty space) to promptly hit the snooze button. You’ll allow yourself five more minutes of sleep (as a treat). When the second alarm you set up goes off at 4:53 AM (By the Seaside, once again), you scream into your pillow, and shut it off for real this time. You knew you weren’t going to give yourself the full five minutes, but it felt really good to trick yourself into believing that you would. You always start the day with this tiny disappointment; that way, no one has the privilege of being the first person to piss you off.
At 4:54 AM, you slide your feet into your Ugg slippers, readjust the loose straps of your silk camisole, and shuffle into your marble-floored bathroom. You rub the sleep from your eyes, brush your teeth with your pink electric toothbrush, and wash your face. By the time you’re done with your morning skincare, it’s 5:06 AM. You honestly can’t remember the last time you did your own makeup, but you bring your makeup bag with you anyway. If there’s downtime between shoots, you’ll post a faux-GRWM TikTok where you apply three miniscule dots of concealer on your seemingly already flawless skin and add a fresh layer of the brand new, limited edition Rhode peptide lip treatment that Hailey Bieber’s team gifted you. They also gave you twenty grand to do so, with a personal “hey girlie, would love to catch up with you one of these days!! life has been so hectic, sorry for not keeping in touch x btw, i just came out with a new shade of my…” text from Hailey herself. (You replied back with a “yessss, we need to meet up soon!! Also, LOVE LOVE LOVE the new shade omg 😍” — neither of you have any intention for planning a meet-up, and you don’t “LOVE LOVE LOVE” the new shade as much as you “LOVE LOVE LOVE” to deposit a fat check.)
You’re sliding into the backseat of the glossy black SUV parked in front of your driveway at 5:14 AM. Your chauffeur, Benji, holds open the door for you.
“Good morning, Ms. [Surname],” Benji never drops the formalities with you, except for when he’s lecturing you. Thank God he doesn’t own a smartphone; if he saw half the things Daily Mail wrote about you, his voice would be gone from scolding you so much. Even if he’s technically on your parents’ payroll and is paid to make sure you get to and from places safely, it still feels nice to have someone who cares about you enough to call you out on your shit.
The first stop is an exclusive, members-only pilates studio. If you’re home, you have to work out in the morning, no matter what. You like your routine. Out of all the things online magazines put out about you, it’s kind of embarrassing how the most accurate one is revealing how you stay “fit ‘n flawless even after going out every night.” Most people didn’t believe it. Rin got it, though. Rin would actually work out with you, when the two of your schedules aligned, and— Time to start your workout early! Nothing takes your mind off of matters more than focusing on the burn of your core and arms.
By the time you finish your private session, you’re walking out the studio with your puffy tote bag slung over your shoulders. Your body is still a bit damp from taking a quick shower but not drying off properly, and Benji drops you off at your first business stop of the day — ELLE Japan.
You smile brightly as the team of makeup artists surrounding you shower you with compliments. One of the girls brushing on your foundation tells you that you have really nice skin. When she goes in for a second layer, you almost consider rescinding the thanks you gave her.
The set is hectic, as expected. No matter how long these people have been in the industry, no matter how big the host is, something always seems to be going wrong. Apparently, there’s been a mishap over in wardrobe, and ELLE’s people are not very happy with how this is going to delay everything. With your hair and makeup done, there’s nothing for you to do besides sit down, be quiet, and look pretty.
Downtime is the last thing you want. You’re used to a busy schedule, but you convinced Fumiko to accept as many projects as possible. If you have to rank at the top of the list for celebrities who emit the most CO2, then so be it. You’ll pollute the whole damn planet if it means you won’t have a single second to be alone with your thoughts.
At 9:00 AM sharp, you go on your phone to inform your manager that the agenda is fucked. ELLE Japan is definitely going to push back this session with you for at least a good hour, which means Fumiko is going to have to explain to Your Style (the YouTube channel name for a famous fashion commentator who’s amassed nearly twenty million subscribers) why you’re going to be late for the Zoom debrief on what you two are going to talk about in an upcoming video. At 9:02 AM, you receive a text.
juli ᡣ𐭩: u know i love u
It’s two in the morning in Paris. When Juliette said she was going to visit her father, she said it was going to be a much-needed vacation — just something chill and lowkey, like going to all the designer stores and eating croissants on a balcony. Those were her exact words.
juli ᡣ𐭩: [photo attachment]
Somehow, from the neon strobe lights, bodies pressed against one another’s, and the way the image is blurry because she couldn’t get her phone to focus, it feels like Juliette’s “something chill and lowkey” morphed into club-hopping all over France. You roll your eyes with affection. You should’ve known her vacation was going to turn into this; as if Juliette would eat bread for pleasure — she’s been quoted for claiming that carbs are a necessary evil. She probably hasn’t even touched a croissant for the past week she’s been there.
juli ᡣ𐭩: showing u before TMZ posts it juli ᡣ𐭩: [video attachment] juli ᡣ𐭩: do not freak out. not worth it. juli ᡣ𐭩: ugh i knew this club sucked ass for a reason
You wait for the video to load. It’s almost as blurry and unfocused as the original image she sent, but you can tell she had to zoom in pretty hard to capture what she wanted. It’s two figures with a minimal amount of space between them. One of them is definitely a girl; she has the build of the usual French models. A thin, leggy brunette who has mastered the intricate art of Just Had Sex hair. Perfectly messy, but could never be considered sloppy. She’s wearing a sparkly, tight minidress. The fabric shimmers when the strobe lights pass by her body. The person she’s practically pressed up against is a man. Tall, lean. He’s leaning down, presumably so he can hear her better. When the video clip ends abruptly (someone bumped into Juliette, and the video ends with shaky footage and a loud “putain!”), you replay it. And replay it. And then you play it again, just for good measure.
Each time you watch the stupid video, you find something new to notice. Her red lips brushing against his ear. The way his hand hovers near her hip. The way you’re certain she’s smiling when she speaks, like the smirk of a victor. The exact same self-satisfied, smug grin you sport whenever you get a guy right where you want him. Upon every rewatch, though, one thing remains the same: you’re constantly fixated on him.
Right now, it’s two in the morning in Paris. You know that when you weren’t in this fucked up headspace you’re in right now, you’d be in bed, snuggled underneath your blankets, by 11:30 PM. You know that when you felt your best, you could be in bed, whispering in the dark to the person you felt safest with, at 10:00 PM (at the latest, because you both would have a busy day ahead and needed the rest). He likes sleeping early because he likes being well-rested.
So why the hell is Rin Itoshi at a club right now?
At 9:39 AM, ELLE Japan gets right back on track. Before your editorial shoot for a special anniversary edition of the magazine, they get you to sit down to do a video interview that they plan on posting all over their social media.
“This is a very special edition that will be coming out, and you are not only having the biggest spread dedicated to you, but you’re also going to be on the cover. Knowing this, how are you feeling right now, [Name]? This might be the most high-profile photoshoot you’ve done so far in your career, and that’s saying something. You have quite the impressive resume.”
The ring lights are shining directly in your eye. The stool they have you sitting on for this interview is uncomfortable, and you have to focus on remaining balanced. Your back is perfectly straight, and your hands are folded in your lap. You blink, and you see the video playing in your mind. You have God knows how much makeup caked on right now, and you still have a long day ahead of you. Rin is at a club right now. Rin is at a club right now, with a girl. Rin is at a club right now, with a girl, and they’re basically grinding against each other, and he might just have forgotten all about you.
You smile brightly. At 9:40 AM in Japan, you let everyone know,
“I honestly think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been before in my life! This is a great way to establish a sort of, I guess, new era of my life and my career.”
You turn to face the camera directly, giving them a dazzling view of your pearly whites. “Not trying to rush the process or anything, but I am definitely looking forward to seeing how this will all play out in the future.”
You’re operating on autopilot for the rest of the day. The ELLE shoot wraps up close to noon. You forgo lunch, but knowing you and your tendency to skip meals, Benji refuses to start the car until you eat the lunch his wife packed for you. It’s light and refreshing — they want you to eat well, but they’re not cruel. Even if they want to bring you a feast of a nice, hot, home cooked meal, you’ll eat it out of obligation and then suffer the consequences on set when everyone asks why you’re so bloated. You don’t even taste what you’re consuming.
At 12:30 PM, you hop on the Zoom call and pretend to care about discussing matters such as the lack of personal style affecting the younger generations. Every topic is a trivial topic to you. The only thing worth dissecting is that damn video. You should’ve asked those twenty million subscribers to help you analyze that, instead of nodding along when the YouTuber starts going on a rant about how Shein and other fast fashion brands are ruining everything.
Late in the afternoon, you get another text.
kenyu: So the team wants to host a belated birthday party for me lmao. Team’s planning on having it at 10 tonight kenyu: Sending you the address right now
A party is exactly what you need right now. Endless drinks, no need for rational thinking, and you’ll be (mostly) surrounded by people who think models are all vain and vapid. No one there is going to expect a decent conversation from you, and with the state you’re in, it’s a wonder how all your sentences are even making sense.
You give Kenyu’s next message a like in response. You were expecting a club, but when you click on the address, Maps reveals that it’s residential. Rin is gallivanting around European nightclubs, and meanwhile, the best you can do are house parties. This is how the future is playing out?
At least even at your worst, people still think you’re on top of the world.
Maybe life without a man dragging you down and invading your space is for the best. After all, once you got done with all your professional obligations, it’s only eight at night. You’re used to going out with whatever makeup they did for you on set at your last shoot of the day, which is a shame. You have shelves full of makeup that’s been sent to you by different brands, and one of these nights, you plan on just messing around at your vanity.
You like living alone, you decide. You can leave all the lights on if you want, and no one complains about it hurting their eyes. You have full control of the thermostat. You don’t have to fight for counter space in the bathroom. Plus, no one can see how you’re living.
At 9:13 PM, you’re sprawled on the cool marble floor of your bathroom (squeaky clean thanks to the housekeeper you have come once a week), and instead of rewatching that dreadful video and subsequently crying, you had a quick retail therapy session. Your new Prada heels should be coming within the next two days.
You don’t get Benji to drive you. Nobody bats an eye at a rich girl having a driver, but it does seem kind of weird to have him drop you off at a party as if you're a tween girl getting taken to the mall. If the house is owned by one of Yukimiya’s teammates, surely it won’t be too awkward if you had to leave it there because you got too drunk to drive yourself back home?
Because — no offense to Yuki, you’re happy he’s getting another birthday celebration — the whole point of even going to this party is to get fucked up. You already know that Juliette had a point — if not TMZ, then at least Daily Mail will be all over Rin and that girl in the club. If that gets leaked, then you might as well have your own headline to combat his. Sure, lately you’ve been out partying, but that was with other models so it doesn’t raise too many eyebrows. Rin being caught at a club is basically him hard launching the breakup. You need to raise some speculation on your side of things, too.
you: can you get someone to pick up my car from this address tomorrow morning? you: please :)
When you see three dots appear, you smile for real. You can practically hear her sigh and see the shake of her head.
Fumiko Gima: Yes. Fumiko Gima: Be safe.
Aw, maybe your manager does have a heart. Right before you can send her a heart, she adds:
Fumiko Gima: Don’t stay out too late. You have your first shoot at 8 AM.
This is the message you give a heart reaction to. Maybe everything really is just business with her.
You suppose you can’t fault Fumiko for always seeming cold. She’s your manager, not your best friend.
In this industry, her honesty is refreshing. You normally find this to be the case, but you really feel it now when you step into the mansion and hear a cacophony of laughter swarming you from all sides. At every turn, there’s a celebrity with a drink in hand. Everyone’s leaning towards each other, as if they’re so captivated with the other’s words.
You see an actor leading a stumbling model up the spiral staircase. To your side, you see a baseball player chatting up the daughter of one of the baseball league’s board members. Upstairs, someone’s probably snorting a line off Yukimiya’s teammate’s bathroom counter. There are only three reasons why people in your social circle attend these parties: to get fucked, to get fucked up, or to make business deals. Considering the fact that you’ve been here for nearly five minutes and have yet to see a birthday cake — or the belated birthday boy himself — you’re pretty sure everyone here has lot the damn plot for the original celebration.
When you venture some more, you end up in the massive backyard. Some people are drunkenly making out in the pool, some people are watching them, and in a table in the corner, you spot a group of girls giggling and cheering as they all do shots. Perfect. This is exactly where you need to be.
One’s a model; you’ve seen her on a couple pages you flipped through in Harper’s Bazaar. You go up to the table and give her a bright smile.
“Hey, girl! Or should I say Miss Bazaar?” You greet her like how you think people would tease a friend. She’s not your friend; you don’t even know her name. You know she knows your name — everyone here does. And it’s because of the fact that everyone knows you that she lights up when she realizes you’re speaking to her.
A photo op with you guarantees that even if the headline coming out tomorrow is centered on you, she’ll still be in the frame. Daily Mail will add a caption naming everybody from left to right, and she’s planning on being the one captured right next to you.
“[Name]!” She squeals, giving you a quick side hug. “How have you been?”
All your friends, the grand total of exactly two people, know how you’ve been. You grin, pointing to the bottle of tequila they have on their table.
“After how this day has been, I honestly just need a shot.” You play it off like a joke, and as someone pours you one, you add, “Or maybe like five.” They all giggle before throwing back the tequila straight. They might think you’re joking, but this table full of strangers are the first people you’ve been honest with all day.
At 12:15 AM, they aren’t strangers anymore. In fact, you think they might be your best friends in the whole world. You don’t know the lyrics to the rap song blaring through the bass boosted speakers, but you’re laughing as you take another shot. The Harper’s Bazaar girl is doing another shot with you, but she has her phone in her other hand. She makes sure that the both of you are in the frame together, and a second later, she’s tagging you in an Instagram story you don’t bother to view. You’re not even following her.
“Okay, so out of all the guys here, who looks the most fuckable?” One of the girls leans on the table for support as she asks this question. You can’t help but notice how glittery her lipgloss is. Wow, even after all the shots she’s taken, there’s no transfer. Impressive. “I say Theo Sachs.”
“Who the fuck is Theo Sachs?” Harper’s Bazaar asks, and the whole entire table giggles. Honestly, at parties like these, laughing comes easy. In fact, you’re giggling right with them, even though you also have no fucking clue who Theo is. There’s just something so freeing in tequila-induced joy.
“Um, the host of this party?” Glittery Lipgloss says. “Oh my God, girl, he’s like, one of the players for Bastard.”
“The fuck is Bastard?” Another girl asks, adjusting her blue minidress.
“The soccer team!” Glittery Lipgloss is too drunk to be fed up, but you’re sure she would be rolling her eyes if she could.
“I didn’t know we had soccer players here. I only saw baseball players.” Blue Minidress frowns, before adding, “I would totally fuck one of the baseball boys, though. No preference whatsoever. Matter of fact, I could take the whole team.”
Harper’s Bazaar laughs. “What about you, [Name]? Who are you taking home tonight?”
Before you can think of something to say, Glittery Lipgloss groans. “Oh my God, she has a boyfriend.” She looks at you for confirmation. You don’t give her any, but thankfully Blue Minidress has her own insight to add to this conversation.
“So what the fuck does that have to do with her question? [Name], who are you taking home tonight?”
Nobody. Out of every party you’ve gone to this past month, you went back home, completely and utterly alone each and every time. It’s not even because nobody offered — they have — but because no matter how lonely you may get or feel, you don’t like strangers in your space. It took you three months of dating Rin to let him into the penthouse you were originally staying in, and that was with you being in love with him.
Once again, you’re saved from answering when someone behind you goes, “[Name]?”
You turn around, only to come face to face with Yoichi Isagi. On second thought, maybe this isn’t the rescue you thought it was. Drunk You can’t hold back your frown when you see him. He’s wearing a dark blue polo shirt and chinos. He looks perfectly business casual and could pass off as an off-the-clock investment banker instead of the world class athlete you’ve heard he is. Then you let out a little snort of laughter, which only makes him look more confused. You don’t want to tell him that it’s kind of funny how normal he looks.
Not in a bad way. You’re surrounded by models for practically the whole day. Looking unattainably hot or having ethereal beauty is the one non-negotiable job requirement. Even Rin, with his stupidly long lower lashes and impossibly high cheekbones and his pretty boy resting sulking face, is serving standards some male models can’t achieve. Isagi looks like the type of guy you would have a crush on if the two of you were completely normal and attended regular high school together.
But that’s not the reality you’re living in. Right now, you’re getting drunk with girls you don’t know, and every night, you’re making headlines. He’s a professional athlete that everyone at this table would gladly fuck just for a chance to be declared social media’s favorite WAG of the Week. The both of you could have your pick of anyone at this party, but you refuse to let anyone in, and you think Isagi might be one of those intense athletes who only care about their sport.
If that’s the case, he’s doing every girl a favor by not pretending he can commit to anything but soccer. You know someone who could use a few pointers.
“Hi,” you mumble, and then you want to slap yourself because why the fuck are you acting like you’re nervous? But for some reason, you feel like you're a kid caught with their grimy hand in the cookie jar, like you’re doing something wrong.
“I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Well, it’s Kenny’s birthday party. Of course, I’d be here.” You cross your arms against your chest, feeling like you have something to prove. Before Yukimiya became his teammate, Kenyu was your friend first. Like, real friend, not just someone you leave supportive comments on their Instagram post type of friend.
Isagi actually smiles when he hears that. “Funny. I think everyone but Yukimiya actually wants to be here.”
You sober up a bit when you hear that. “Yeah, I couldn’t find him anywhere.” Not that you looked very hard. The minute you found this table of girls, you didn’t bother exploring the rest of the mansion.
“He was upstairs with some of the guys. You know that he, uh, doesn’t really like these types of parties.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
“You don’t seem like the type to like these parties either.” If he was anyone else, you’d be saying this to flirt. You’re honestly not sure what your intention behind this comment was, either. You’re too drunk to decide if you wanted it to be an insult (some way to defend Yukimiya’s behavior?) or just you trying to make conversation for once (you’re not normally one for small talk).
“Caught me.” Isagi smiles easily. From now and thinking back to Yukimiya’s birthday lunch, Isagi is rarely not smiling. You wonder if he means it. Surrounded by people who only let you drink with them because being seen with you elevates their own status, you decide that the answer to that is a probably not. “I was about to head out before I thought I saw you, and I wanted to come by and…” For a second, he pauses to choose the right words to say. “Just wanted to see if it really was you.”
“Well, you saw me. Guess your business is done here.” Then you swiftly turn your back to him, as if to abruptly end the conversation. Instead, you’re drunker than you realize, and your heel ends up being wedged deeper into the grass than you expected, and you lose your balance. You think you might fall, which would be so embarrassing, but maybe not as embarrassing as what actually ends up happening.
What actually ends up happening is that Isagi is quick to wrap his arm around your abdomen, pulling you close to him as he attempts to keep you steady and upright. The girls looked shocked, but then they burst into another round of giggles, and since you’re not joining in the laughter, all you can think about is how annoying they are. You squirm around in his grasp, ignoring the whiff of fresh laundry you get from being all up in his personal space (not by choice!!!; he’s the one that pulled you in, after all!), and he releases you.
“Are you feeling okay?” He asks you. It’s hard to glare at him when he looks so genuinely concerned.
“Never better.”
“Do you have a ride home?”
What does it matter to you? Is what you want to say.
“I’ll call an Uber.” You lie, hoping that this will end the conversation once and for all. Seriously, Isagi just killed the whole vibe of the party for you. You want to go back to drinking.
“But I thought you didn’t do Ubers.” When Isagi calls you out on your bullshit, you soften momentarily. You almost forgot that he heard about your weird thing of having strangers know your home address. Then, you go back to giving him the cold shoulder. Sometimes, it’s a warm and gooey feeling to be known. Right now, you want to drown your sorrows in tequila and be showered with fake affection by girls who probably don’t even like you sober. You didn’t come to this party to be known. You came here for revenge.
(You’re not going to acknowledge how drinking your sadness away isn’t necessarily showing up Rin, but for nearly an hour straight, you hadn’t thought about him, and that’s good enough.)
When you have no response to that (wit doesn’t come easy when you’re in the condition you’re in right now), Isagi looks at you imploringly.
“Let me take you home.”
You shake your head childishly, almost saying nuh-uh. “Just because you don’t like this party doesn’t mean I don’t like it. I’m staying right here.”
He finally frowns. “Fine. I’ll wait for you to finish up here, then I’ll take you home.”
“I’m with my friends right now. Leave me alone.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Really? Which friend is going to make sure you get home safely? Yukimiya already left early.” Despite the two of you not knowing what the other is thinking, you both give wry smiles about that statement for the same reason. The party is still going on strong, despite the guest of honor not wanting to show his face and leaving early.
“These are my best friends.” You gesture to the trio of girls you know nothing about, besides the fact that they can keep up with your drinking habits. They all smile at Isagi, who waves back before turning his attention back to you.
“Really?” He asks. “What’re their names again?”
No one has anything to say to that, especially you. When the silence gets too awkward, Isagi clears his throat and also puts his foot down.
“I’m taking you home, [Name].”
You look at the trio of strangers you just spent hours with. Harper’s Bazaar shrugs, and the other two look away. The sting of not knowing who they are, despite them obviously having enough notoriety to be invited, makes your “best friends” not your friends anymore. Whatever.
“Fine.” You grumble, following Isagi to his car.
“Did you have fun tonight?” Is what he asks you as he signals to make a turn. The clicking of the turn signal is the only thing that fills the silence in the car.
No.
Sometimes, it’s fun in the moment, but that’s only when you’re drunk enough to trick yourself into thinking you’re having a good time. You’re more like Yukimiya (and — gross — Isagi) than they know; the whole “It Girl dominates the party scene” vibe you’ve got going on… It’s just bullshit that your PR team mixes together to get people talking. The high of being adored by everyone in a room vanishes almost immediately the minute you go home and wash off your makeup. In the bright lights of your bathroom, you stare at the sad, lonely girl in the mirror. It’s too dark outside for you to see anything out the window, but you lean your head against the cool glass, and before you know it, you’re waking up…
To Isagi groping you?
You’re groggy and confused and trying to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes, but Yoichi Isagi is definitely all up on you. You’re shocked, honestly. He looks like such a sweet guy! No wonder he was so pushy in getting you home.
He’s holding you in some awkward side hug, and he’s patting down your waist, trying to slip his fingers through the fabric of your dress, and finally, because he must be a novice-level pervert who doesn’t know the first thing about female anatomy, you speak up.
“Gross! You can’t even feel up a girl properly! No wonder you take advantage of drunk, vulnerable girls!”
“Ah!” He jerks back, shocked that you’re awake. Serves the pervert right. He should be backing up. You took a month of kickboxing classes (your modeling agency thought it would be the next big thing, since all the Victoria Secret models kickbox — they were wrong). “I-I wasn’t feeling you up!”
“Then why were your hands all over me?”
“I was looking for your key! You were asleep, and you looked like you needed it, so I just carried you to your door, but it’s locked.”
Oh. Likely story. You’re not letting him off the hook just yet.
“Obviously my front door would be locked, dumbass. Who doesn’t lock their house?” You point to the perfectly trimmed hedges by your door. “Key’s in the bushes.”
Since you’re making no moves to get down on your knees and rifle through the bushes, Isagi sighs and does it himself. When he holds up the key, you nod in thanks, take it, and then proceed to unlock the door using your fingerprint.
He blinks. “What?”
“What?” You repeat back, innocently.
“You didn’t even need the key to unlock the door!”
“Yes, Isagi. Modern technology is something, isn’t it?” And because you feel kind of bad, you offer him the chance to wash up before driving back.
“You’re really something, you know that?” Isagi says from the kitchen sink. You’re sitting on a stool by the counter.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s nothing bad.” He clarifies. “It’s just… Rin’s a pretty private person. We always wondered what his girlfriend must be like. Sorry.” He shuts off the faucet, dries his hands. “Ex-girlfriend, I guess.”
“How do you know that?” You’ve been racking your brain, wondering if Yuki spilled your secret accidentally. Or — even worse — Rin himself confirmed it. Rin never even told anyone explicitly that the two of you were dating, so it’s not plausible that he would go blab about the breakup.
“Well, I didn’t really know for sure until I drove you home that first time.” He admits. “I just thought you made a weird face when I mentioned Rin during lunch, and then you started acting funny afterwards. Just had a hunch, that’s all.”
Great. So, Isagi, who’s basically a stranger to you, could read you to filth. Is there anyone else that you haven’t been fooling? How embarrassing. Being perceived sucks.
You don’t say anything else. You can hear Isagi mumbling about something, and you make a half-hearted noise in reply, but you’re sleepy and drunk and coming to the realization that you can’t keep fooling everyone around for long. There’s no point in dancing around the topic of your breakup. It’s getting tiring, anyway.
It is pretty exhausting to be pining after someone who’s not coming back.
Because that’s why you’re trying so hard to keep the breakup a secret. Partly for pride, but mostly because… You’re hoping that after learning everything there is to know about you, Rin Itoshi wouldn’t go so far to cut you so deeply by leaving you. Right? He understood your level of loneliness like no one else, and he related to it. For the first time in both of your lives, the two of you suddenly found the right person to fill in all the empty spaces.
And then he left, and the emptiness just continues to grow in infinite amounts.
You groan as you move around, only to find that you’re moving on top of your bed. You’re tucked into your sheets, and your hair is splayed across your pillow. You turn your head and see a shadowy figure exiting out your bedroom door.
“You’re leaving, too?”
Your throat is dry, and the words come out small. You hate this feeling of hopelessness and vulnerability, and the figure pauses in his steps.
He hushes you gently. “You should go to sleep. You’ve had a long night.”
“Fine. Don’t stay. I don’t care.” You burrow yourself further into your blankets.
“Do you really want me to stay?”
At one in the morning, covered in the darkness of your bedroom, you turn every shadow into Rin Itoshi. You don’t know what you mumble in response, but you know that whatever you said, it’s directed towards him.
#yoichi isagi x reader#yoichi isagi x you#isagi x reader#one shot#fluff#blue lock x reader#bllk x reader#rin itoshi x reader#smau#series: if you feel like falling
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I saw the post you made about punk-flower and the patch sharing jacket and I just wanted to ask if you have anything specific that you would like to expand on as I plan to write a fic for it!
I’ve been in a writing slump for months now and you’re post just inspired me again finally so I just wanted to see if there were any more headcannons you had for this idea
This is the post I’m referencing btw!
Ignore the terrible crop job lol
Oooooh thats so cool! Sure!! Go for it!!
There's really not much for me to add other than ✨️vibes✨️and like a general direction/idea. But i do have a few so here's what i got so far:
I imagine that Miles was the first one to ask bring up the patched jackets (i don't really know what they're called) thing for like just a conversation starter at first but ended up getting geniunely interested as Hobie rants explains the whole thing. From its history where its originally a practical way of mending clothes but now means more to the punk culture, to how to stitch it in, picking the right jacket for it, etc.
He would explain each patch in his vest, what they represent, and how he got it. (Or Miles would ask abt it idk)
I like to hc hobie as decent enough at sewing to make shody patches with his own design. Its not good good but he's proud of them enough to show it off
Miles couldn't get his mind off Hobie's rant and some of the shoddy patches that looks so rough and like a snap away from leaving Hobie's vest and he can't get his mind off the fact that Hobie made some of his own patches which made him curious enough to make his own designs.
At first it was just drawings and doodles but then he got curious enough to try embriodery stuff. How hard could it be, right? He was wrong. Embroidery is very hard. (This coming from me who does embroidery for fun) But the learning process was fun enough that he continued on.
Rio absolutely caught him more than once, brings out her sewing kit, and gives him tips and advices like different kinds of stitches and how to fix holes on clothes, happy to have something they can bond over. (Would love to have more Rio content. She deserves the world.)
With his newly aqcuired sewing skills, he offers to fix Hobie's patch that was loose.
Then he showed Hobie the very first patch he made which was a very simple sunflower (or something else if you want) and
Hobie was very normal about that and trying to be casual like: "Can I keep it?" And it flusters Miles like "Uh, yeah, sure. I guess. I mean if you want it—"
Hobie then decided that Miles is his new go-to patch repair guy just so he can spend more time with him
Miles uses a really old jacket from either his dad or his uncle Aaron or heck even from his mom or maybe even from his grandparents. (your pick) Because he knows that you just dont do that on a new jacket! That goes against its whole purpose!!
When he shows Hobie the jacket he intends to patch up, Hobie got so exited that he rips off a patch from his vest and gifts it to Miles to "start him with" or something.
They gift each other patches that reminds them of the other
And yeah. That's it. Thats all I've got haha. Link me up on the fic when (? Or after? Srry idk grammar haha) you get to write it. Really very excited to read how you write my current favorite blorbos!! 💕
#someone finally came to feed us more punkflower content!!#LOVE that for us#would love to see how it turns out#literally vibrating with excitement#curious about how the other spiderpeople + jeff and rio reacts to the whole thing tho#hope you get to explore that side too but only if you want#✨️sending positive vibes your way✨️#punkflower#headcanons#hobie brown x miles morales#hobie brown#spider punk#miles morales#spiderman#across the spiderverse#spiderverse#ATSV#hand embroidery is very hard but also very fun to do
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Can you write some fluff/comfort xisuma? Been wanting some more cute and cosy fics for him but so few write them <3 love your writing btw! Long time lurker<3
Sorry it took a little while anon, but the fic is now here. Enjoy!
Business Man
Oneshot Contains: nothing but Fluff -----------------
You wander into the trophy shop, hoping to find Xisuma. You're behind on three trophies now, and it's not because you haven't sent in your diamonds.
In fact, turns out your mail was getting lost, to and from your home. Etho and Tango will be out to fix it soon, but it depends when they have the time. Thankfully Etho had dropped off all the lost mail at the Post Office, where Pearl had sorted it out and called you to pick it all up. The unfortunate thing was that the lost mail included the multiple parcels sent to Xisuma that didn't arrive.
So here you are, in his shop, hoping he is too. "X?" You call out, but there is no response. The trophies sit on their display pedestals, almost mocking you. Or at least they could be in a different world, but they're only trophies and that was a silly thought.
"X?" You call again, this time hearing a soft thud come from the wall. You take a few more steps into the room and look at some of the bigger trophies.
"This feels like a scam now that I think about it." You stare at the trophies and they stare back. It's definitely mocking. Trophies you earn diamonds to get.. and spend diamonds to get. "I can assure you it isn't." You turn quickly at the sound of Xisuma's voice, and sure enough there he stands. He's just barely in the room, coming from some hidden door.
"Oh, I didn't.. you know, mean it like that. I just meant that you're, well, a" the words are already barely pieced together but finding the end of the sentence is not easy. "I'm an entrepreneur. A business man, if you will." You see the gleam in his eyes through his visor. "Yes.. that." You reply, "a business man. A man of business. Xisuma." You're feeling even more flustered by the minute, the fact he's closing in on you only increasing that feeling.
"I heard you had some mail that got lost, did you come to deliver it personally?" His voice is so smooth and confident you find yourself completely at a loss for words. So you just nod, pulling the envelopes from your inventory. He holds out his hand, leaning just a little closer as he does. You swallow hard as you place the mail in his possession, at this point just trying to have the moment over and done with.
"Let me go sort this out for you, won't be a second." With that he's gone. You can breathe again. You look around the room, the trophies sparkling under their lights, the product of a business man. A man who has somehow taken your diamonds and apparently your heart.
Now your reaction seems silly, and you hope he didn't notice.
Soon enough he reappears, box in hand. "I've got your trophy, you'll have to be careful with this box though. Don't do anything too adventurous as this ones quite fragile." He places the box on the floor next to you. "Don't worry, I didn't make any plans because I knew it would be." Xisuma moves to lean against the pedestal opposite you, silence settling in.
Then he speaks up. "Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to do something? You don't have to, I just thought maybe you and I could go for a walk.. or visit the zoo or maybe something else?" Any smoothness or confidence he had earlier? Gone. Yet he remains just as charming. "Like a date?" The words just come out of your mouth before you have time to stop them.
"Yeah, well no. Unless you want it to be?" You think about it for a second. Is this actually happening? You were not expecting to be asked on a date. "I wouldn't mind a date." Is all you manage to say.
Xisuma steps forward, offering his arm to you. You take it, heart pounding in your chest. This is both exciting and terrifying. "Let's go then." You can hear his smile, the two of you leaving the shop immediately.
You walk down to the river with very little said between you, just enjoying the moment. As much as you can anyway, it's not like your nerves are in shreds or anything. Xisuma doesn't seem to mind the lack of conversation though, or at least if he does mind he says nothing.
The two of you walk for what seems like forever, even though it can't have been more than an hour. Almost a full lap of the shopping district has been done, but you both find a well needed place to sit down and rest. Conveniently for the two of you Keralis' Lake not only has seats, but a nice view and some shade.
You both settle on a bench, Xisuma leaning into you a little when you put your arm around him. "This has been nice." He mumbles. "It has. And I've not been robbed blind by your devious business tactics." You joke, earning a small laugh from Xisuma.
"Just because you kept your diamonds doesn't mean I haven't gained something of value." You can't help but smile, knowing he's speaking about the time spent with you.
The sunlight dances on the waters surface, which does remind you of your trophy. Your trophy which you left in Xisuma's shop. It's not a big deal, it gives you another excuse to see him now. Perhaps that was his plan the whole time, you'll never know. Or maybe you will if he tell you.
Regardless, Xisuma is right. The time you've spent with him has been wonderful, even if most of it has been spent in silence. All you wanted was to bring in your lost mail, but you've come out with a nice date. That's a win in your eyes.
Xisuma reaches over and takes your free hand in his, sighing softly as he gets comfortable being held. Between the cuddle, the sound of the birds and the lake, it's truly peaceful. "I'd like to do this again sometime." He says. "I'll do it again under one condition." You reply quietly, "I'll do it again if you'll be mine?"
Xisuma lets out a breath of relief, "I was worried you'd ask for a discount, but that's a much better deal in my professional opinion." The two of you giggle before settling back down, to spend some more of your day cuddled up by the lake.
#xisuma x reader#hermitcraft x reader#xisumavoid x reader#mcyt x reader#xisuma#xisumavoid#hermitcraft#hermitblr#mcyt#mcytblr#fanfiction#fluff#comfort?#cuddles#first date
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Love your art, any Toge/Yuuta fanfic recommendations? Thanks so much!!
hi!! thank you so much...🥺🩷🩷 and i am SO glad you asked this. i have so many!! here are the ones i read/reread more recently along with some of the tags. tried to make every rec here different from each other hehe have fun reading!!! can't help it (if you look like an angel) by glimmiks (12.4k)
tags: college au, friends to lovers, mutual pining, IKEA
THIS WAS SO FUN TO READ PLEASEEEE i absolutely love college aus so much. and you just know the 2nd years would be the most fun and chaotic as college students. their dynamic is just chefs KISS, and it's written so well here. the mutual pining in here is truly a 10-course meal and i always go back for another round.
i'm alright if you're alright by anonymous (14.2k)
tags: spoilers up to ch146, fluff, hurt/comfort, injury recovery, fix-it, love confessions, pining
post-shibuya fic excellence. i always have such a great time reading this like inuokkos really do eat so well in this fandom. yuta pining is always so great to read like he is Longingly thinking about toge at all times im cry
Magnificently Cursed by diggingupthegrave (91.2k)
tags: dark academia, magic au, magic school au, slow burn, angst, mutual pining
i will always always recommend diggingupthegrave fics. they are easily my favorite inuokko writer pls you have to read all their inuokko fics...i saved this particular one of theirs to read for much later bc i knew it was going to change my life (7 chapters ok) and boy did it do exactly that. the way they implemented canon elements into a magic setting was so so brillaint and i savored every bit of it.
Beat the Turtle Drum by CasuallyScreaming (7.4k) tags: major character death, post-shibuya incident arc, angst, minimal comfort, no shibuya spoilers read this before sleeping the other night and honestly how i managed to still fall asleep after was my body trying to protect me from full out bawling and having a mental breakdown...i don't think i've read a lot of MCD inuokko but god this one shook me to my core. almost like the feeling of loss and grief were bleeding through my phone screen. so well written and while it's definitely mostly painful, the ending....well you'll find out :')
a special occasion by Cheshire (2.5k) tags: idiots in love, established relationship, first dates this was so so cute...!!!!!!! panda: but aren't you two already dating? yuta: well yes! no. sorta, kinda. super cozy and fluffy read!!
is this how every day begins? by mitgi (5.4k) tags: roommates, living together, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst i will always love me a roommate au. this fic was such a lovely read and i'm actually going to reread this right after i finish writing this! there's so much to explore in inuokko's relationship and also when it's in different settings. every time i think about how the actual source material are literal crumbs, i'm just even more amazed by how writers are able to draw out the most of what info we have and write their mannerisms so well. it all feels right and so WARM UOGHHHHH
haunted by sieling_fan (3.3k)
tags: pining, hurt/comfort, canon typical angst, character study
😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
you showed up just in time by diggingupthegrave (14.6k)
tags: time travel, friends to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, slight age gap
another diggingupthegrave fic that had me crying screaming shaking throwing up because god. this was so so good. the build up had me at the edge of my seat bc like oh my god what happened? what's happening?? why is this like that? @#$%^&*()_!!!!!!!!!!!!! and when it's all pieced together? oh it ended me. read this again and again for DAYS you would think i was researching it for a thesis or something. take your time reading this btw like im so serious.
okie that's all for me from now, i have so many more to rec honestly....sending out 100000000000 hearts to inuokko writers you are my roman empire....
#inuokko#ottoge#inumaki#yuuta#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#fic rec#inumaki toge#okkotsu yuuta#okkotsu yuta#asks
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PeepHole Ch.1: Moving Day
Masterpost Ch.1 - Ch.2 Pairing: Dylan Matthews x Fem Oc
Rating: 18+ (mdni)
Genre: Neighbors/Strangers to Lovers, Smut, Angst, Fluff, Slow-burn
Summary: Moving isn't as exciting as Amoya thought, plus she may have pissed off her new neighbor.
Words: 3.2k
Warnings: (This story takes place in 2024) Mental illness (anxiety, ocd), Violent intrusive thoughts, Language, Age gap (5years), Using phone while driving
Status: Unedited
Author note: This is the first fic that I've ever posted, I've written before but I've never finished anything and published it so don't tear me to shreds, please. I chose to make an oc instead of just writing as a reader mainly because I made a whole character in my head before I wrote this so I decided to just make her an oc, if you would like a post going more into this oc of mine feel free to ask (I might post it anyway because I like her), there is no smut in this chapter btw. Please give me feedback and suggestions, constructive criticism, etc. Don't be a bitch about it though...please. I'm thinking of making this a series POSSIBLY, but I procrastinate a lot so that may never happen. To my fellow troublemakers hopefully, I do Dylan justice and my writing is at least a little bit accurate to his personality. Still, to be fair I'm a fairly new troublemaker having only found out about this man a few weeks ago, so if something isn't accurate please correct me...politely. He's become my new hyper fixation so when I saw there aren't really any fics about him I decided I should make my own so here we are. Anyway with that being said Enjoy <3. Update: Dylan is barely in this chapter
Monday, February 26, 2024 Time: 8:30AM Moving out was less relieving than you thought it would be. Having been by your mother's side for almost all your life, you'd gotten comfortable always having someone around.
'You can't live with your parents forever'
People would remind you whenever the topic of anyone's living situation would be brought up. Being twenty-seven and still living with your mother wasn't something you wanted to keep telling people, no one would take you seriously. Though your mother never pushed for you to move out, never mentioned it actually. You think you know why. You never say anything though, so you deal with the slight embarrassment, and ignore the judgmental stares you get whenever someone brings it up.
'They don't know our relationship'
More excuses you make up to justify your obstinance; and to mask the anxiety you're feeling as finish up packing your U-Haul. You had finished packing your stuff from your shared apartment and were now finishing the few boxes you had in storage. Now in the elevator mustering up the strength to carry the last two boxes back down to the truck. Grabbing the lock you had left on the floor, you place it on top of one of the boxes and stack the box onto the second one, bending down and lifting with a soft grunt. Long strides carrying you to the elevator, you push the down button with your foot. The doors open soon after, you step inside setting the boxes down as you push the bottom floor and wait. Pushing off the wall as the doors open you pick up the boxes once again, you quickly load them up into the U-Haul before grabbing the padlock from on top of the box, and then heading to the front desk of the storage building.
"Here, the unit is clean and empty." You smile at the woman as she takes the lock and keys with a thank you.
Turning on your heels you walk back to your U-Haul giving everything a once-over before locking it all up, now turning your attention to the hitch attached to the back of the Truck where your precious car is hitched too. It was a black and cherry red 1993 Nissan 240SX with a red interior, you had seen it while driving with your mom past a repair shop when you were 25, back then it had no windshield or wheels. You won't lie and say you fixed it yourself but you did invest all the money you had at that time to fix it up and color it how you wanted; you still would say it was worth it. Checking the hitch and chains attached to the bottom of the car making sure everything was set and ready.
"Everything looks good?" Your mother said making you jump
"Yah! A warning ma, please! And yes everything looks good, I packed up the last two boxes and returned the keys and lock to the front desk while you were in the bathroom." You let out a breath calming your heart from the scare you just had, your mom snickering next to you. You turn to her rolling your eyes playfully as you walk to the front of the truck, your mom following behind you.
"Good, let's get on the road." Your mom hops into the passenger seat and rolls down the window. "I wanna get home by Wednesday."
You climb into the driver's seat, buckling your seatbelt then checking your mirrors. You two had agreed on driving to your new apartment, taking turns every 5 hours, once you got there she'd help you unload and unpack on Tuesday, and your mom would then fly back to New Orleans on Wednesday. The more you think about it the more you feel yourself panic a bit.
"Okay."
Time: 9:00AM Starting the car, you let out a breath putting the car in drive and pulling out of the parking lot of the storage building. You could tell your mom was trying to keep herself calm by the way she would rub her right thigh with her right hand, it was a nervous tick she passed down to you. Unfortunately, you were just as nervous, so you decided to turn on the playlist you and your mom made while eating the night before, mixes of all kinds of genres put into one playlist to keep you both entertained during the drive. Pulling off the main road and merging onto the freeway, you glance over to your mom to see her smiling wide looking back at you. She has that look in her eyes, you know it well.
"Its happening ma." You smile back at your mom then look back to the road
Your mother places her hand on your thigh, letting out a long sigh and a soft squeeze before returning it back to her own lap. You see her wipe a single tear from your peripheral; you don't acknowledge it. She'll start bawling the second you tell her not to cry. So you pretend not to see it and start singing along to Erykah Badu, your mom turns the music up a bit and starts singing along too. You smile to yourself as you glance out your side window, watching as familiar buildings pass by in a blur, You think you'll miss this place. No, you know you will, but a part of you is kinda excited, relieved almost. You've silently always longed to live on your own, but another part of you calls you selfish for even wanting that until now
'How could want to leave your mother'
You know it's normal to want to move out of your parent's home, every grown adult has to move out at some point, and twenty-seven is a perfectly normal age to do so, You wanted to move when you were twenty-four. Hell, some people live with their parents till they are far in their thirties.
'But you know your mother may need you right'
All your brothers have moved out, they are doing good on their own, and you're the only one left. It was only a matter of time; you tell yourself. Your mom will be fine, she's dating a new man who treats her great and takes care of her. Hell he tried to hire a moving crew to move all your stuff, but you wanted to do it yourself and your mom wasn't going to let you drive almost halfway across the country by yourself.
'you could've found a place closer to her you know'
Phoenix, Arizona. You chose Phenix simply because it was affordable for you and close to LA, your mom agreed it was a good choice. There is work in LA, California is just so expensive, so you chose the next best thing. The apartment is nice from what you saw as well, one bedroom, two baths with a study. It was perfect for you.
Time: 11:23AM The drive was going well so far, your mother eating a bag of chips she packed along with all the other snacks and drinks. You were eating a Honeybun, one of your favorite snacks, and drinking water. Your mom had turned off the music and started watching YouTube with mostly commentary so you could listen and drive, Right now a video was playing talking about some ice cream drama in North Dakota. Author note: if you watched this video featuring Dylan is in Trouble, I know it's technically in the future but I don't care, this is all fake anyway. You found it interesting and kinda funny, laughing every now and then when your mom would pause to add her opinion. About two-thirds of the way into the video you glance down at the screen, there are two guys now instead of one, and one of them is wearing glasses, you glance back down looking at the title of the video 'Insane Local Ice Cream Shop Drama (w/ Dylan Is In Trouble)' You made a mental note of the second guy's name for later, his voice was nice you told yourself, he was also fine as fuck. You leaned your seat back as far as it would go, which wasn't very far, getting comfortable. You still have two more hours left to drive.
Time: 12:35PM Your mom had fallen asleep about ten minutes ago, YouTube was still playing, The next video had been the same guy as before. You looked down for a second, looking at the title of the video that had been playing for about fifteen minutes. 'Guessing Finales After ONE Episode (ft. Dylan Is In Trouble)' You smile to yourself a bit recognizing the name at the end of the title, you let the video play just listening to the guy talk for ten more minutes. You caught yourself smiling again when you recognized the second guy's voice as he joined in for the rest of the video, you took a sip of your water glancing down at the video, seeing him pop on screen whenever he had something to say
"he's funny." You mutter to yourself quietly, thinking out loud.
The video had ended and your lips fell back into their original position, as an ad played before the next queued-up video, you looked down at your GPS. 1322 miles to go; you let out a sigh.
'200 miles closer to leaving you mom'
She was helping you unpack, so you technically wouldn't be leaving her really. If anything she was leaving you since she had to fly back home. You prop your left elbow on the open window, your left hand holding the steering wheel, and your right hand comes down to your thigh, rubbing small circles back and forth.
'What happens if Devon goes back home'
Your oldest brother Devon was working at a mental facility. He was on his medication and was doing good, he managed to get a job there and has been making decent money. He was doing fine, He is doing fine.
'What if he stops taking his medication again.'
They will keep tabs on him, they know his habits, his symptoms, He is fine.
'Has another episode and gets out'
That wouldn't happen. He's fine
'He'll be there when mom gets back'
No.
"Hes gonna ki-'
-beep! beep! beep!-
Time: 2:00PM Your mom's alarm goes off, making you jump a bit. Reaching over to turn it off, your mom moans a bit as she wakes up from her short nap, stretching her arms a bit as she yawns.
"Jeste li spremni za promjenu." she yawns out, going for a sip of her water ( translation: Are you ready to switch)
Your mother's Croatian tends to slip when she's just woken up, or delirious. You nod your head looking at the next exit sign to find a gas station, spotting a Love's off the side of the freeway. Slipping off the freeway you pull up to the gas station before parking next to a pump.
"Bathroom?" You look over at your mom, she nods, unbuckling her seatbelt and hopping out of the truck, you do the same.
You both enter opposing stalls to relieve yourselves of all the water you had been drinking, washing your hands after. Your mother heads back to the truck to pump the gas as you browse the aisles for any extra snacks, spotting a honeybun you instinctively grab one, then two, and head to the cashier. You place your honeybuns on the counter and then look up at the cashier who seems to be invested in something on her phone, she wasn't wearing headphones phone volume at maybe thirty percent, you could hear what she was watching. You recognize the voice, the cashier finally looks up from her phone quickly apologizing for not paying attention.
"Oh I'm so sorry, will this be all" She quickly rings up the two honeybuns.
"No you're fine, that'll be it actually." You dismissively wave your hand pulling out your wallet to pay.
Looking down you notice her phone, she had put it on the counter, and the video on it had been paused but on the screen was that guy again, though it seemed to be a video of his own this time. You pull out some cash and hand it to the young woman behind the counter, she takes the cash, counts it, and then goes to get your change.
"No, it's fine, keep the change" Flashing a smile then grabbing your honeybuns you take another glance at the women's screen before it turns off from being left alone for too long.
Opening the passenger seat door, you climb into the seat buckling yourself in. Pulling out of the gas station your mom pulls off back onto the freeway continuing your journey. You pull out the bag you had brought for little activities, pulling out your book of choice. You had splurged at a Barnes and Noble a few weeks before you began packing, picking up a bunch of books you had either heard good things about or had been wanting to read. Red Rising was one of the books, it was also the one you were currently holding.
"I'm gonna put my headphones on, so you can listen to whatever you want." You tell your mom as you put your headphones on and pull out your phone.
You had gotten the book on Audible a while back and wanted to read and listen at the same time. Pressing play you turn to the first chapter and begin reading as the narrator spoke. Your mom seemed to have put music on, you could feel the bass as she turned up the volume and began singing along.
Time: 10:56PM Hours had passed, it was your turn now with two hours left till your next switch. Your mother was knocked out, lightly snoring as you drove in silence, you had stopped reading once you had switched. You also decide to put off reading it until you were moved in, the book had grabbed your attention, so much so, that you wanted to be able to focus on it solely; so you chose to wait. You had a couple hundred miles left to go and things were sinking in more as you drove silently. Your mind doing its usual thing, making you worry about things that most likely won't happen, even if it did, you know it wouldn't be your fault. You couldn't help but think maybe it would be though, it was a dumb thought but you couldn't help it
'What was that guys name again'
Your brain blanked for a second, random but ok, your brain goes back to the YouTube video your mom had been watching, that cashier was watching him as well. Dylan is in Trouble, you wonder what kind of videos he makes, most likely commentary. You pull your phone out glancing down and go to YouTube, you use the voice to text and hold your phone up to your mouth.
"Dylan is in trouble"
You press search, going back and forth between looking at your phone and watching the road. You look down to find his channel, press his icon, and scroll through some of his videos. Movie commentary is what you mostly see, occasionally you'd spot something different, you decided you'd dive into his channel later when you weren't driving.
Time: 5:00AM You were in the driver's seat, you had let your mom sleep more after she had been driving for about three hours. She was up now though, you could tell things were starting to catch up to her again. She was fidgeting a lot more now, well so were you, she looked very tense. She helped you find this apartment, but you assume she wants to see the neighborhood for herself, in person, wants to see how good the security is and what the neighbors are like. It's only natural, she's a mother and her only daughter is moving twenty hours away from her. You look down at your phone, your GPS says you are pulling up now, you look around the area, it was very nice, wasn't too far from the city. You spot the complex to the left, it was pretty big with multiple sections with apartments, you were building three, kind of in the middle of everything. You pull into the complex parking in front of the leasing office to speak to your landlord and to get your keys, your mom comes with you of course, sizing everything up.
"Hi welcome to Arts District Apartments, it's Amaya correct, my name is George?" An old-looking man stands from his desk, his hand reaching out to shake yours
"Thank you, George, it's Amoya actually" You reach out and shake his hand with a smile.
You two talk a bit about the complex and its rules etc. Your mom chimed in every now and then to ask her questions. Before you know it you're unloading the truck into your new apartment, you're realizing now that you didn't have as much stuff as you thought. The last thing you had left was your bed, you and your mom had been doing well with just the two of you, but after you two had gotten the mattress inside your mother's back began to bother her. Now you had your bed frame, you told your mom to relax for now and that you could get the frame up yourself. Partial lie, you previously took apart the bed frame and so there were mainly long pieces that weren't too heavy except the backboard, that thing was heavy as fuck, luckily you had a dolly at the storage building to help you carry it out, but now you have to carry it to the elevator and down the hall. You managed to get it down from the truck, and from there you lifted it and sped walked to the elevator, almost dropping the bed frame on your foot as you set it down to push the button. The doors had closed on you twice as you tried to pick the frame back up and lift it into the elevator, but alas you made it, now on the third floor and outside the elevator. You took pride in your body, you considered yourself strong, regularly went to the gym, and you would say your legs were the strongest part of your body, with that being said, you tried to make as little noise as possible since it was still early in the morning, you lost your footing. You were almost there, your door being right in front of you; but you fell. Landing on the door behind you hitting your head with a very loud thud.
"Bumbo." You whisper yelled at yourself in Jamaican as you set the frame down and leaned off of the door. (translation: Fuck)
Holding the frame upright you walk around it reaching for your door, the frame slipping from your fingers and falling against your neighbor's door again. You prayed that your new neighbor was either a very deep sleeper or wasn't home right now, though maybe you didn't pray hard enough. You lift the bed frame from your neighbor's door, getting your phone to get your mom to hold the door open for you so you can slide it the rest of the way inside. Stopping, you hear the door behind you click open. Your bed frame blocked your view of whoever had stepped out, but you could hear him.
Ch.1 - Ch.2
Updated Author note: Hopefully this was an enjoyable first chapter or part. The apartment is just a random apartment complex I saw on Zillow, everything in this is all fictional besides the YouTube videos and things that are obviously real. Anyway, I have decided to make this a series, I've gone into too much detail on little things like Amoya's intrusive thoughts and all that, and it'd be a waste to shorten and delete half of what I put and speed through everything, Amoya's intrusive thoughts and anxiety is a trait I added from myself, so you'll notice a lot of internal thinking and scenarios she makes up in her head. Hopefully, the idea is as cool as what I thought of in my head. If this does well, I will upload the other chapters one after the other, If it does bad I'll just delete everything, but please be patient I procrastinate a lot and I want the writing to be good. Please be honest and let me know how you all feel about this, if you like the writing, the main character, the pacing, the storyline, length, anything, and everything, I need criticism but don't be a bitch about it.
#Dylan is in trouble#dylan matthews#Dylan is in trouble fanfic#Dylan Matthews fanfic#fluff#angst#neighbors au#slow burn
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do you have any good fic recs? i've just finished reading all of your fics (AMAZING btw i LOVE competent jason and you write him sooo well) and obviously you have good taste so i thought i might as well ask (i will say that i don't really do ship fics tho)
thank you! looking forward to what you have in store for jason and the batfam next!
First, thank you for the ask! And I’m so glad you’ve been enjoying my fics!! 😊 I’m on vacation this week and finally writing again (had a bit of a rough writer’s block patch). So hopefully I’ll be posting more content in the next couple of weeks.
Fic recs - boy do I ever. I will say, I have super varied tastes in fics, I’ll read just about anything Gen that’s Jason-centric, plus a few Jason ships (although I’m pretty picky about what actually makes it into my bookmarks). All of the fics I’m rec’ing below are Gen, although some might have flavors of a relationship (likely JayRoy since that’s my preferred pairing). I tried to pick a selection of different styles and tropes, so hopefully you find something you like. Almost all these authors have multiple fics I’ve loved, so look at their other works on ao3 for more great reading (you may need to be logged into ao3 to see some of them). Enjoy!
Fic recs
Glow in the Dark Stars by essspressso (stylesmakethefight)
This is a time travel fic that made me bawl ugly tears, like seriously bawl. Read if in need of a good cry.
The Cold Like Coming Home by cabezas_de_vaca
An interesting one-shot of Jason and Bruce finding their way back to each other.
More Chances Than Deserved 'Verse by Skalidra @skalidra
A series that starts out post batarang, Jason does not rejoin the family.
Gotham CPS by ebjameston
Not sure how to even describe this one, it’s pure hilarity told by an outsider POV.
Nests and Cages by LanternWisp, Lysical @lanternwisp
A series detailing Jason’s journey back to the family. The last installment of the series has probably the best reconciliation discussion between Jason and Bruce re: Bruce taking on another Robin that I’ve ever read.
Buy One Get One Free by Here_we_go
A series that starts with catatonic Jason. I love how Jason is written in this one so so much (especially the main first part), and there’s a short segment later in the series with Talia that’s lovely.
fever by r_astra @heyy-its-skip
One-shot. Quality batdad in the context of a sick fic
nightmares and daydreams by r_astra @heyy-its-skip
One-shot. Beware, there’s some heavy duty torture in this one. Jason & Tim isn’t usually my thing, but I really like their brief interaction in this one.
all the small weights by sparkycap
One-shot. More quality batdad, this time in the context of fear toxin
a (cat)astrophe in the making by mikkal
Part of a loosely connected series, if I’m remembering correctly. I’m a firm believer that Jason Todd needs a cat.
Red Hood by envysparkler @envysparkler
An amazing Jason rejoins the family, classic fix it, set early in Lost Days continuity. Envysparkler’s works are pretty much solely responsible for getting me into the Batfam. This fic in particular motivated me to start writing TPWC.
Overcoming Our Antecedents by Batbirdies @batbirdies
De-aging fic, this isn’t my favorite trope, but of what’s out there, I like the dynamics in this one.
Things We Only Talk About After Dark by BabblingBookends
One-shot. More good batdad, but not fluffy like the other two above. I really like how Bruce is written in this one, how he struggles with the unknown.
Kidnapped! by Cerusee @cerusee
One-shot set in Jason’s Robin days. One of my favorites for father and son feels.
A MOMENT THAT'S HELD IN YOUR ARMS. by orpheusaki
More baby Robin Jay and good dad Bruce.
White Lighters / Afterglow by lurkinglurkerwholurks @lurkinglurkerwholurks
One-shot. Another one that legitimately made me cry.
Druthers by d_aia @e-alexandrescu
A really creative, not-your-typical-take on Jason rejoining the family. Sniper Jason is so frelling cool.
I linked the tumblr’s for the authors I know of. If you have any to add, leave them in the comments and I’ll update!
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idk if you even read fanfiction lol but do you have any recs from the cats fandom, i love your headcanons so i trust your judgement lol
originally I had two paragraphs ranting about how mad I was at my past self for not bookmarking some of the fics I wanted to recommend, and how categorically worse than useless google is in times of crises, but I'm happy to report that I did manage to trundle through enough digital ether to eventually find the elusive yarns. I did it for you, anon.
so yes btw needless to say I do occasionally partake.
anyway, I have extremely unregulateable, tunnel-visioned interests, so these are all at least somewhat mistoffelees or tuggoffelees centric.
after deliberation I have decided to confine this list to longform bc I am too indecisive to cherrypick which oneshots/shortforms to include and tumblr simply does not have the character capacity for me to log them all. might just have to make a whole separate ass post for that.
this list is incomprehensive and in no particular order. fuck it we ball?
I think all my ducks are in a row but if one of the links turns out to be wrong or smth pls lmk, I will fix it and then call the police on myself
I Call Out Your Name, But You Don't Call Back by Anonymous - COMPLETE / 43.8k words
Misto wakes up thinking he was kidnapped by Macavity. Luckily Tugger is there to assure him it was just a nightmare.
a good long look at some quite literal psychic damage wrought by Macavity. really delves into how his sith mid tricks fuck with Mistoffelees, who struggles to discern what's real and what's not. I love how this fic focuses on the depths of Macavity's ostensible hypnotic powers and how well it grapples with psychological fuckery via the pov in a literary sense. and also it has tugger being devoted and comforting. I could hardly ask for more. (also it includes cool art).
Curiosity Killed the Cat by StarFar - INCOMPLETE / 222k words
Munkustrap and Tugger's relationship had never run smooth, mostly thanks to their very different personalities, but when Tugger takes an interest in the newly arrived nephew of the esteemed Bustopher Jones things get complicated. Quaxo himself has little interest in making friends. All he wants to do is to look after his twin sister and keep his magic hidden, he didn't think that was too much to ask. But things get even more complicated when even more new arrivals show up, this time with links to the long banished Macavity. Despite this the Rum Tum Tugger is a curious cat who just can't help but get involved, and it turns out Munkustrap isn't so different to him after all. And we all know what they say about cats and curiosity.
first of all, yes it's incomplete, BUT I honestly think it leaves off in a satisfying place. as you can see by the word count it is VERY! long, so it's hard to describe it succinctly, but I will try lol. it's dark, it's dynamic, and it expands extensively on two relationships that I hold dear: tugger+mistoffelees, and macavity+mistoffelees. and it also runs a wider gamut of varying, fully-realized relationships(i.e., Mistoffelees and Bombalurina having an intriguing, and sometimes funny, friendship). this fic deals a lot with an abusive false imprisonment and shows a lot of self-sacrificiality on Mistoffelees's part, as well as his attempts to both endure, and outsmart, Macavity. and in that vein, it explores moral ambiguity and the Batman/Joker trappings of the infinitely juicy Live Long Enough To See Yourself Become The Villain web of drama. amidst which is a lot of focus on the specificity of Mistoffelees's powers, his limitations, and shows how he evolves with (mostly coerced) practice and training. also it contains some of the most extensive and unapologetic whump and angst I have seen in any CATS fanfiction, and a luxuriously long recovery section. the fic is not without levity however (the BEEF between bustopher and skimble is so fucking funny to me)...suffice to say it contains multitudes lol. starfar...you have done the lords work.
A Different Kind by TheGirlWithBrightEyes - COMPLETE / 52.2k words
Quaxo is a cat with powers - and a lot of problems. When he escapes from his new owner's house in an act of desperation, he finds himself brought into a tribe of mostly stray cats and has to come to terms with his new life and the loss of his family. At the same time, Quaxo's powers that were not under his control from the start are quickly spiralling out of control making him a danger to the others. He needs to gain control fast before anyone gets hurt - including himself.
A really heartwarming "origin story" with an ADORABLE explanation for how Quaxo came to adopt the name "Mr. Mistoffelees." including a wide variety of soft, fluffy friendships and an intriguing interpretation of the difficult journey Mistoffelees had to take in order to ingratiate into the junkyard and get his powers under control. incidentally contains really cute friendship moments between Mistoffelees and Alonzo, which is a pairing I wish to see more often. and the most hilarious and believable depiction of Tugger I think I've ever read lmao
Kidnapped by the Fire by Anubis44 / INCOMPLETE / 39.6k words
"They all stood there. Dead silent. Nobody was moving a muscle. Only thing heard was a faint growl. The unconscious body of Mister Mistoffelees was hovering just above the ground right next to The Hidden Paw himself." Macavity desides to torment the Jellicle Tribe (and his brothers) as revenge for the Jellicle Ball and leaves everyone hurt in one way or another.
evidently never going to be finished, but what's left to us is marvelous. unambiguously Evil Macavity and lots of whump to go around if you're into that lmao. pretty much everybody amply suffers, as promised in the author's summary.
Gold Rush by millenari / COMPLETE / 174.7k words
In the aftermath of his bout of heroics at the Jellicle Ball, Misto finds himself with a newfound -and unwanted- popularity brought on by his and Tugger's performance. After one too many incidents from which Misto escapes his new fans by the skin of his teeth, Tugger informs him that he needs to change things up. The plan they end up hatching in order to do so is unconventional to say the least. But brought to the end of his rope by his new admirers, dreading the approach of the yearly heat season, and busy tending to his sister in the aftermath of her own abrupt transition into adulthood, Misto figures that pretending to be mates with his best friend since kittenhood couldn't possibly make his life any more harrowing. And it's not like such a small lie is going to actually hurt anyone. Right?
my fav. slice of life! expansive glimpses into the banalities of Jellicle culture! angst! levity! contains some of my favorite descriptions of Mistoffelees struggling to understand and wield his own magic. and what if I told you that the most relatable, accurate, meticulous, sensitive, and believable depiction in writing of neurodivergence and social anxiety I've ever encountered can be found in a longform tuggoffelees fanfiction? what then??
Catalyst by FlyingFritz / COMPLETE / 47k words
There's a shift in the air. Quaxo can feel it. A strange, alluring presence taunts him in his dreams despite his attempts to ignore it. The more he tries to push it down, the more insistent it becomes, leading to explosive, dangerous results. Meanwhile, Tugger tries to puzzle out the enigma that is Quaxo and learns that there is more to this cat than meets the eye. Misto/Tugger
first of all this took me HOURS to find. ig it's not on ao3 or if it is I can't find it on there. but anyway! this was one of the first CATS ffs I read and it has a really neat take on the quaxo-eventually-embodies-and/or-becomes-Mistoffelees pipeline. ik there's a handful of fics out there that grapple with the concept, but I particularly enjoy how this one interprets the separation (or lack thereof) between the two personas. I want to get it into it further but am gallantly restraining myself to avoid spoilers. also: tugger kind of bumbling through the entire convoluted series of events is funny and cute. AND you get a lot of good pounce and tumble.
He's Always Wide Awake! by Maliex / COMPLETE / 14.7k words
The Jellicle Cats are settling down again after the intense Ball where Grizabella went to the Heaviside Layer. Important conversations are had, and Mistoffelees adjusts to his new power levels and position in the Clan. But he knows - a storm is brewing on the horizon, one that he will have to be in the middle of.
again!! I searched for HOURS!!! I was so mad at my past self for not having bookmarked this fic for whatever god foresaken reason. hopefully my devotion to hunting it down is a sufficient indication of the impression it left upon me lmao. before I continue, it's worth noting that this is a part of a series, but this is the only installment of the series that I've read. so I can't speak to its predecessors or how worthwhile it is to read the entire trilogy in succession. idk do w that information what you will.
anyway, this fic has one of my fav interpretations of magic and the ways in which Mistoffelees and Macavity differ regarding their relationships with it. the author also has an infinitely interesting and juicy take on Macavity's backstory and why he is the way he is...and the ways the characters and their interpersonal dynamics evolve are riveting. also this version of Mistoffelees is really curt and just like...Done With All Bullshit Ever and I think it's funny lmao. btw if you're into Deut Family Dynamics (tm)...plenty here!
okay that's enough *for now* ig. shout out to fanfiction authors...yall are really out here providing hours of entertainment for FREE?!! all of you are amazing.
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II. RIDING HIGH IN APRIL ・゚ FRANCIS MOSSES
"Your usual, Mr Francis Mosses?” you repeat with the same inflection. It has to stay the same. A name to a star will not make it any more personal – it’ll remain the same cold distance away, stay the same burning core of amorphous light, in a fixed set of constellations. It has to. But you’ve overlooked the most salient point. Humans are not stars. There's a reason you stuck with this shitty diner job: routine. So, why the hell does that keep changing for you? warnings + general: amab!reader, nsfw, depression, smoking + unhealthy habits, diner au, trauma, military background (made up unit for doppelgangers) so canon divergence, obsession lowkey BTW this is also posted on ao3 so if there are any doubts about me being the author just comment on any of my fics and I assure you I'll reply on there! (but thank you to those who expressed concern it means a lot)
MISC. MASTERLIST
THAT'S LIFE MASTERLIST
MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION
PREVIOUS PART ゜・NEXT PART
‘That’s life (that’s life) I tell you, I can’t deny it.’
It’s a different type of blue hour when it’s thirty minutes before dawn – cleaner than your smoke-filled evenings: filled with hope and a promise of sunlight, rather than a vow of everlasting sin.
Your lungs burn with the cold air. It seems like you’re drowning, but it’s not the same sensation as three years back. This time, all your cells are clamouring for oxygen; scrambling and twisting, unlike the freezing resignation beneath the rain and viscera.
You’re dressed casually: sweats and a shirt that’s tighter than your clinical kitchen jacket. Like a never ending hug, it tightly clasps the muscle forced upon you by the Execution programme. You should feel cold. You are cold, but the surge and flush in adrenaline is something that melts your stone heart and body. In your haste to leave at your colleague’s proclamation of an emergency, it seems you forgot your jacket.
Fatigue eludes you – your breathing is controlled as ever.
Let’s face it – if it weren’t for your shifting galaxy, you would’ve stayed in bed this morning.
This is all his fault.
You’re not sure what you’re doing here, having jogged to the diner getting heckled via landline by your coworker. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t have deigned to answer. After all, the day management of the place is left to your colleague, not you.
“He’s asked for you specifically.”
You can hear the satisfied grin through the landline. When you press her for more details, she hangs up on you, and you’re left seething with an almost broken cord clenched tight in your fist.
Who the hell is she talking about?
As far as you knew, the boss had gone and fucked off to somewhere in Scandinavia two years ago. Unless he’s hauled his geriatric ass back here, you sincerely doubt he’s the one requesting your presence.
But if you’re being honest, you don’t mind this sudden disruption to your schedule.
Like molasses, sleep would’ve pulled you under – sticky and sweet – for the rest of the day to escape your thoughts. That’s your daily routine: an endless struggle with your mind.
With this, at least the war in your brain has stilled. It’s a dangerous calm, one that threatens to flow out of control at the slightest ripple. The waters are growing agitated – it’s only a matter of time before you’re pulled under.
Make no mistake, you will be dragged to the depths eventually. That’s not something you, nor anyone, can prevent. Sleep cannot hope to fight it. You cannot hope to ever escape it.
Your head aches.
It’s freezing. You’re slowly becoming more frigid, and your hands are beginning to shake. It was a mistake, coming out here. You don’t know what’s caused the change.
No, you do know. You just can’t bear to keep acknowledging the catalyst behind it.
It’s not the run that’s winded you – your breath stops ragged as you fumble in your pockets for the Old Gold that should be there. That small, plastic-wrapped carton should be there, but your pockets are sorely empty.
Shit, shit.
Your ears are ringing. Just like the death knell ringing for your friends and subordinates, it keeps ringing and ringing and tolling and tolling. Those reverberations permeated through sinew, through flesh and vessel – only contributing to the staggering tremors attacking your palms.
That alizarin blue is fading from your vision, and there’s nothing you can do.
Numbness spreads awful quick through your extremities after all; it hurtles whip-fast through your spine, pressing you against icy, rough brick.
“Ha,” your breath comes in the form of hoarse, faint heaving.
You’re not sure what comes next. Once the star begins exploding, it’s eventually reduced to nothingness. It’s theorised that even its very atoms disintegrate eventually.
What’s going on?
Why aren’t you disappearing like those husks of particles?
You– you’re an empty shell.
What’s that infernal fire spreading through your arms?
“I’m sorry,” you whisper with the finality of resignation. You’re not falling anymore. You give up.
“Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”
He was nowhere mere moments ago – there was nothing but empty void on all sides. Not a star, not even a singular atom to initiate collision and the chain of energy. He’d been nowhere, but now he’s everywhere.
That hushed cadence. Those warm palms. That tired look in his eyes, softening as you met his gaze.
“You okay there?”
Mr Francis Mosses is closer to you than he’d ever been. Each callous on his hands you can feel pressed through your thin shirt, they burn against the permafrost of your skin.
You’re too close. Those soot-black eyelashes – you can count them individually at this proximity. This distance is infinitesimal; faint traces of his cologne invade your senses, lingering beneath that milky, powdery smell. You shouldn’t notice this. You shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn’t be feeling that feeling in your stomach.
This is dangerous.
“Yeah,” you manage to form a coherent syllable. A nuclear fission chain begins in your throat. “I’m alright.”
“Mm,” he acknowledges. His hands are still supporting you, and he’s not letting go. You can distinctly hear each pulse as it sounds out in his ribcage, while simultaneously hearing each breath as it hitches and tumbles in his lungs. At your sides, curled into tight spirals are your fists.
You’re tense. Anyone can see it – the spring making up your flesh and bones is about to reach its plastic limit. You won’t be able to come back from this.
The centripetal force making up your galaxy – your routine – is dissipating.
He’s the cause of it.
His arms wobble when you go limp, and suddenly you’re in his space – face pressed right into his trapezius, breathing in the temperature of his skin and the woody scent of aftershave.
That’s new.
He wraps around you, and you clutch the back of his shirt with enough force to crush a skull. He’s alive, pulse wildly careening through his flesh and sinew like a hummingbird. Furiously, he’s alive. His touch is searing as you press impossibly closer and closer.
That gravitational pull can’t be from a mere supermassive black hole.
He’s the origin – the very centre of the universe. All matter wants to be part of it; your cells tear into his, your heart sings out its mournful song, just to be a part of him.
“Hey,” his breath is scorching across your ear. “You’re here, you’re alright.”
The murmurs are clumsy, tripping themselves up in a rush to escape his torrid lips.
I’m here.
I’m alright.
It may just be true. Where your hands connect to his latissimus dorsi through his crisp white shirt, they’ve stopped shaking.
And you don’t know it, perhaps you never will, but that small, plastic-wrapped carton of gaseous aurum has been stored neatly away in the back of your mind for the past few minutes now.
A throat clears.
Your colleague’s face sports an amused expression, while your eyes convey a well-timed fuck you, as the rest of your face is buried in his shirt.
When you pull back slightly, with her hand now on your back as well, you swear you feel Mr Francis Mosses clamp around your biceps like a vice. Resisting. An unstoppable force. His expression is worried, but when his exquisite brown eyes slide from you to your coworker, you think you can see the hint of a glare in them. You can’t be too sure.
In the ultramarine light, there might be a hint of red on his face. You can’t be too sure of that either.
“Sorry, I wouldn’t have called you in if he said he didn’t know you,” she explains sheepishly, but your ears are too full of a roaring heartbeat and your focus is entirely elsewhere. “We’ve been having issues with our milk provider, so we’ve switched to his company. It wouldn’t have been such an issue if our menu wasn’t half milkshakes.”
Her eyes are full of apology, despite her grumbling. She’s known you since your Execution Squad days, operating the calls and speaking to victims. She knows exactly how it feels – the panic, the suffocation, the lingering taste of tobacco that you can never really escape.
But you can’t focus on that either.
His thumbs are rubbing tiny, fiery circles onto your flesh – unconsciously, you think, as your eyes observe the slight anger in his face.
No, wait. You blink in surprise. Since when are you able to discern that face?
“I’ll wait inside so you can help me with the contract,” she scratches the back of her head, nonplussed when you don’t reply. “Take your time.”
She leaves, and you feel the origin of the universe relax. The molten, rigid singularity sighs – the heavens shift in response.
“Sorry for taking up so much of your time.” He’s working, yet you’ve taken that away by giving in to your weakness. Shame bubbles in your throat, and you wish you could repeat this morning all over again and do it right just so you could avoid inconveniencing him.
“Don’t apologise for that,” his voice is low, strung through with a hoarse fatigue. There’s something else clouding it, though, a sort of tightness that reminds you of anger. But he’s not angry, not anymore, you don’t think.
What is it?
He pulls you back into him, clutching at you as though you’re the lifeline instead of him being yours.
What is it?
“Mr Francis Mosses,” you breathe, but your arms wrap around him tightly once more.
What is it?
“I’d give up all my days to help you like this.”
The words are hushed, too hushed. They’re not meant to be for your ears, but your senses have been honed to a razor-sharp edge and your hearing is the sharpest blade of them all.
You’ve identified that strain of his voice, so parallel to anger.
Worry.
He’s worried.
That realisation burns you more fiercely than anything you’ve ever felt before.
You give in to the torturous exhilaration.
You lose yourself in the warmth.
Just for a bit.
‘I thought of quitting, baby, but my heart just ain’t gonna buy it.’
When he comes in those blue evenings, he brings the stardust that you can never spot in the sky. There’s no sun. There’s no moon, either. There are only the thick clouds that only let the most precocious blue through, and the power lines that cut straight through them.
Over these three years, the only stars that you’ve seen are the twinkling remnants left in high-rise office buildings in the far city. You’ve seen the glimmers in diamond-encrusted watches, seen the shine on the record-player knobs you polish, seen the glitter in the dirty cents handed over the counter. These are not real stars, however.
He brings the excruciating stardust, all bottled up in flesh and woven through in his capillaries.
Today is no different.
You don’t need the stars that are light-years away. Proxima Centauri, I don’t care about you. Tens of thousands of Kelvin – but they might as well be as freezing as the vacuum they orbit in. They’re cold points to you, dots of light that you can only see in encyclopaedias and the thick books customers bring in on occasion. These celestial bodies aren’t meant to be in a greasy diner – even mere phantoms of them are rare to spot.
He’s warmer than any star. He’s closer than any star. He’s comprised of the universe itself.
“What would you like today, Mr Francis Mosses?”
Your very own galaxy. It appears nightly, much better than those lousy light shows that never appear in the thick fog of this polluted city.
The panic of this morning has been long-forgotten. All gone, when you look in his mellow eyes. All gone.
“Your recommendation,” he requests. He’s derailed your routine once more. “And double that.”
For the first time, you’re late in lighting a smoke. That’s not your fault, of course. It’s not. It really isn’t, not when he pulls your arm to sit you opposite him, nor when you let him, nor when you miss the warmth of his hand as he retracts it.
The steaming food lies as the Rubicon between you. Who will cross it first?
You wait, tongue poised between your teeth.
His hair is as messy as ever. Briefly, you wonder how it would feel beneath your calloused fingertips.
There’s no response yet. You watch a little longer: a slight tremor as his throat bobs, lips pulled in nervousness, and eyes that dart to you, to the food, to the wall and everywhere in between.
You lied about that last bit, by the way. Those tired, glassy eyes are focused solely on you at the moment. His darting eyes are actually your own: focused on him, his tapping fingers on the black reflective table, the steam particles between the two of you.
“Are you feeling better?” It’s a simple question, devoid of any exhausted hum. It takes everything out of him, as though he’s practised a million ways of saying it and he’s still messed it up. His next breath is deep.
“Yes?” You don’t mean it as a question, but the rising of the syllable from your larynx belies your confusion. Of course you’re all right – and you don’t mean this in a patronising manner. Of course you’re alright, when the building suffocation was replaced with a suffocation of another kind.
A balmy, soothing sort. The previous drowning was a struggle; you gave into it fighting, with a snarl on your lips and a shattering spirit. But who wouldn’t ease into the other asphyxiation? In that honey-sweet warmth, you’d readily renounce your soul.
“Yes,” you quickly repeat. This is a first: considering a customer’s feelings as you attempt to avoid a misunderstanding. “Much better, Mr Mosses.”
You don’t know why you avoid his first name.
It seems he doesn’t know either; those tranquil brows furrow momentarily, before he gestures to the second portion of food.
“Will you eat with me?”
You give in too easily to the deception, especially when he adds your name onto the end of his question. It’s like a challenge, almost.
“I thought about asking you directly,” he bites into the sandwich. Chews. Swallows. You’re slightly entranced by the movement of his throat. Human windpipes are so fragile, after all, in comparison to the imitation. “Mm, then I got nervous.”
If he was nervous, what were you?
“Don’t worry,” you say blithely, but that’s not your intention at all. You don’t want to be callous, and that surprises you once more.
He always seems to coax a novel reaction from you.
“Don’t worry – I wouldn’t refuse you,” you repeat. It’s a little quieter, a little more honest about how your heart sways. You don’t think you’ve ever sounded so heartfelt.
“You mean that?”
His tone shifts; a note lower, a pitch you wouldn’t have detected if you hadn’t specifically trained for this. You didn’t think of your response as particularly special, but it seemed he’d taken it as an invitation.
You don’t mind that. Then again, you don’t mind his actions that should annoy you, had they been done by anybody else.
“Yes. I’ll eat with you anytime.”
When you take a bite of the sandwich, you finally cross the Rubicon.
You don’t know anything anymore. The routine, the precious universes you shaped – they’ve all been scattered by the two warm palms of a single man. The object of your rage is sitting in front of you, yet there’s no actual fury filling in the preconceived compartment.
There’s amiability in one neat box. In the next, curiosity overflows and spills everywhere. Weaving through them all, however, is a strange substance you can’t identify. It’s warm.
It’s warm, where there had previously only been ice.
The strawberry taste lingering on your tongue is exquisite.
It’s odd. Only after the dishes are soaking in the sink do you remember the pack in your apron pocket. Only when you turn around do you realise he’s still in the booth. Only when you spot his face do you notice you’re no longer feeling the same surge of adrenaline right before you smoke.
You light the stick on the stovetop dispassionately.
When the crisp blue air greets you, he’s in your shadow. How bizarre.
It’s even more strange when he doesn’t leave to go to his small, compact van. He… remains.
No, he does go back to his van. You watch him, sweet plumes hazing from your lips and fingertips. You can see the contraction of his tendons, each muscle moving seamlessly. No, not seamlessly. There’s a bit of a wobble – from fatigue, perhaps. No, that’s not right either.
Have you always made so many mistakes when reading someone?
There’s a lack of drag that you’d expect. He’s always tired, so the slight pause in his gait is something natural to him. Instead, his feet are hesitant, as though he’s jittery.
This time, he comes back.
Your mouth opens slightly.
He’s never done this before.
That coat from before, he wraps it snugly around you. You didn’t even know you were shivering. He’s meeting your gaze, but his brows are furrowed and he wears a weak smile with it.
“Ah,” he mumbles slightly as your cigarette falls to the gravel between the two of you. It’s fine – it’s almost been burnt to a stub regardless. You step on it – thus bridging the chasm between you two. At this distance, he’s shorter than you are. You’ve been aware of it, but this is the first time you’ve truly felt it.
He’s fastening his coat around you, but you can feel the trembling of his hands.
“You looked cold.”
He’s so considerate, you realise. Even this morning, he went out of his way to help you. Even now, when he’s uncomfortable, he’s thinking of you.
“What about you?” you breathe out. Your breath condenses in white plumes, and you think it’s a prettier sight than smoke. “Aren’t you cold, Mr Francis Mosses?”
Those warm eyes soften into liquid. There’s a slight crimson in his ears, a tiny hitch in his breath, and a shake in his shoulders.
“No,” he answers honestly. It must be honest, for though his voice is clear, he looks away bashfully. He’s bared his heart, while yours is still locked away in its box. “I don’t get cold when I’m with you.”
What a coincidence, you want to say.
Neither do I.
But you’re not him. You don’t get to run words parallel to that beating organ’s desires.
You look away.
You shouldn’t be allowed to say that either, you also want to add.
Inexplicably, your heart is beating far too fast for it to be considered healthy. In fact, it might even be arrhythmia. That’s serious.
“I–” You begin your sentence, but you hadn’t planned to actually open your mouth. This is new, too.
“You should take better care of yourself.” The words stumble clumsily from your lips. Not everyone can have that buttery smoothness like he has. This is the universal truth – you’ve always avoided prolonged conversations for that reason precisely. So, why? Why now? Why does your pulse push these syllables from your careless vocal strings?
“I will.”
The weakness in his smile is gone. It’s fond, and you can’t bear it.
“You’ll catch a cold,” you warn.
And you won’t be at the diner if that happens.
That’s strange. Why are you thinking that way?
Right. It’s him. He’s the catalyst.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” His teeth are so bright. When he smiles, he’s got the jewels of the sea in his mouth. Bright pearls – and here you thought he’d only have mastery over the stars.
“I’m serious.” You let yourself indulge in the smell of him on the coat. Your eyes are closed. You don’t think you could bear seeing his face more. “Don’t get sick.”
“Don’t worry so much,” he exhales – the trip and jump in the sound turns it into suppressed laughter.
You can’t get sick. You want to say that. You’d shout it for the world to hear, but that would be too troublesome – and like you mentioned previously, you’re not like him. Your heart is small and cold and closed off in a tight box.
Please, you can’t get sick.
But for him, you’d do it.
‘And if I didn’t think it was worth one single try, I’d jump right on a big bird and then I’d fly.’
He’s tricked you.
Each time you think you’ve fit Mr Francis Mosses into a neat routine with clear expectations and a place in the galaxy, he evades that and tricks you. Then, he tricks you for a second and a third time, for good measure.
Otherwise, why would you be counting down the hours until he gets here?
When you’re ringing up Miss Mia Stone’s order at half-past twelve, you’re thinking of him and his soft hair. When you’re taking Mr Henryk Jamesons’ money at quarter to five, you’re picturing those molten brown eyes. And when you’re separating the food into two compact takeout boxes for Mr Stephen Rudboys, you’re imagining those soft lips, poised to say the most unexpected things.
That’s also new. Since when did you focus on his lips?
“Thanks, have a great day,” Mr Rudboys waves at you mechanically, and you almost unconsciously reply with ‘don’t get sick’. You feel like an idiot.
You feel swindled.
You feel tricked, and it’s all his fault. He evidently has no respect for the labours of a diner worker, if he’s entering your mind while you’re serving other clients.
Why does everything have to boil down to him?
It always comes back to Mr Francis Mosses. You think it was a wise decision to be wary of his gravitational pull. If you’re not careful, he might just cause a wormhole and shoot right through you.
With others, you’re thinking of him.
Even when you’re alone, you swear you can smell that powdery, milky smell lingering.
It’s not fair.
Does he think of you too? When he’s under blue, fog-filled skies like these, does he think of the smoke you exhale? When he’s with others, can he recall your awkward attempts at conversation? When he’s alone, does he imagine you there with him?
Do I occupy your thoughts like you occupy mine?
It’s ridiculous. Really, it’s laughable. You’re a speck on this planet, while he’s the centre of everything.
That would be your usual train of thought.
Humans are not stars.
But you don’t get to think even that, because you can hear the familiar hum of an engine and you know it could only be him that’s here.
And you’re laughing – laughing at yourself, laughing at your foolishness, laughing at just how ludicrous you’re being. To think, he’d made himself so at home in the ordered compartments of your mind that your very capillaries are magnetised to him.
You’re attuned to him – compass pointing straight. Not north – you couldn’t care less about the ridiculous iron centre of Earth. The arrow points at him.
For the first time, you’re inside the diner when he comes through – still beaming, hand pressed to your miserable face and wretched laughter ringing flush against the mellow tones of Frank Sinatra.
He pauses in the doorway. Though you hear him – how could you not – the sounds that bubble up from your diaphragm refuse to cease.
It’s only when you notice that gaze in his eyes that you stop – warmer, more liquid than anything you’ve ever seen. Those irises are darker, too – impossibly dilated.
“Mr Francis Mosses,” you greet him. There’s a smile on your lips. You don’t think he’s ever seen you smile like that. “What will it be today?”
Dazed. You can read his face clear as day – and somehow, somehow, that makes you incredibly conscious of yourself, of him and of every minute action between the two of you.
“I’ll take anything you give me,” he murmurs. His voice is hoarse, and not in the fatigued way, but in the ‘I’m losing my composure’ way. Carmine bleeds into his skin – you can feel the same carmine thrumming ceaselessly through your veins.
Fuck.
This man, is he your Achilles’ heel? Your hamartia, your flaw above anything.
No, it can’t be. You’re full of flaws – he’s the only good thing about you. If anything, you’re the person who’s sure to drag him down.
“Right.”
He sits at the counter today, perched on the cerise-red stools and propped up on an exhausted elbow. Yet, his eyes are clearer – sharper – than your usual expectation. They’re honed on you: your movements, your actions, you. He’s watching you, and nobody else.
“Did someone make you laugh?”
His tone is different from his usual one; it lacks its usual enervation, and there’s a rougher burr to it that you can’t quite place. When you look up from where you’re assembling his wrap, there’s a shadow in his eyes.
“Yes.” You did. For the first time in years, you laughed. All thanks to your azure singularity – him .
There’s more he wants to say. Those lips of his part minutely, but you’ll never know what he wanted to say.
“Hm?” And for the first time, you really want to know the potential: his thoughts before they leave his lips.
“Forget it,” he exhales, looking anywhere but you. You slide his food over the counter; there’s a tinge of disappointment in your action. Disappointment, huh…
You wonder if you’ll have enough boxes to sort out these different feelings.
He doesn’t speak as he eats. It’s only when you slide onto a neighbouring stool with a milkshake for yourself that he looks up in surprise.
“You…” he murmurs – there’s an eternal question concealed in that singular word.
“You feeling alright?” you ask in mild concern.
“What would you do if I said I wasn’t?” he breathes, and you look at him. You study his expression: his wide, sleepless eyes, his tousled hair, his lips pressed together. There’s a faint trembling in his hands. That won’t do.
“I’d ask about it further, Mr Francis Mosses,” you reply seriously. “If it’s an emotional issue, I’ve been told I’m a very good sandbag. I can listen and take beatings simultaneously.”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” his raised eyebrows suggest he’s mildly taken aback, but he presses on. “But there’s one thing you could do for me.”
“Which is?” you prompt.
He takes a deep breath.
“Call me Francis.”
Oh.
He always exceeds my expectations.
“Please,” he almost begs. Who are you to say no to the one who decimated your universe?
“I think I’ll go crazy if you don’t.”
You don’t think you’re meant to hear that last bit – it’s muttered so softly that you think he’s unaware that these are his words.
There’s a maddening rhythm to your heartbeat. You don’t want it to ever end.
“Francis.” Those two syllables creep out carefully. This is a first – you don’t remember the last time a name wasn’t carefully framed by honorifics and made impersonal. Francis.
“Yes?” he replies breathlessly. It’s so fucking intimate: his pupils are blown out, bottom lip wobbling with a slight sheen on them, hands shaking around a cheap napkin. All because of you. It’s his name you’re saying, but it’s your lips it’s falling from. Yours.
You want to turn his thoughts on their head – just like he’s flipped your world upside down.
“Francis.” It’s almost a whisper – not quite. There’s laughter seeping into the name; rich amusement drips from it. You’re delighted.
How can one man make you feel so much?
At the sound of your joy, his scarlet flush bleeds into his neck. Before, he’d met your gaze so boldly each time – irises honed right on you. But this – his face is exquisite right now. Those glazed-over eyes evade your stare. He’s looking anywhere but you: breathing spiralling out of control, teeth clamping desperately over those soft lips.
And you’re grinning, teeth flashing neon and that blue taste on your tongue.
Have you ever felt so light?
There’s laughter spilling over, and his eyes snap back to yours.
“Francis,” you rasp. “Don’t ever change.”
Keep surprising me.
Stay right here.
When he takes your hand and holds it in both of his, it feels like a promise. It lasts only a moment – but you swear you experience several lives within that singular gesture.
There’s that blazing flush on his face.
You hope he’s feeling as warm as you are.
“I won’t,” he says, and the heavens align themselves once more.
‘I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king.’
Anticipation makes way to expectation.
Francis.
Each muscle, every organ, all of the cells in your body – they’re all waiting. Sure, you’ve waited before. You’ve waited for the next mission, you’ve waited for your paycheck, you’ve waited for your new gun to be issued.
You’ve waited to tear down doppelgängers.
You’ve waited a long time for revenge.
But that burning feeling doesn’t feel like the balmy heat that traipses carefreely within your vessels. It’s a dancing, delicate thing.
You’ve seen the ballet, once. There was a doppelgänger amongst the dancers – movements bolder than any of the others, freer and more unrestrained. Wilder. You almost felt bad about putting a bullet through its eye, but duty called and you weren’t about to abandon the fury within your heart for something as mundane as admiration.
You don’t know why you’re thinking about it.
You don’t know why your heartbeat is behaving so intrepidly, but you suppose you’ve lost enough humanity for your body to develop such characteristics.
It’s strange. Really, it’s so strange you might end up laughing again.
Francis.
He’s got you so easily in his palm. If he asked you for it, you think you’d take the fist-sized organ from its receptacle nestled between your lungs and present it to him on a silver platter. You’d wipe away the congealed blood on his hands with a rough thumb and kiss them better with your poisonous mouth.
You aren’t a poet.
You’ve been a soldier and a pawn, so all you know and all you may ever know is the metallic, coppery stench of carmine – it follows in your shadow and stains your footsteps. Your hands are covered in it, and will be forever. It doesn’t matter – you’d give your body over and over and over and over. Parallel universes will have the same outcome for you. There’s no changing that.
You’re a soldier, so you’re not allowed to wax poetic about him – any letters you write, any flowery prose will be obscured by the heavy darkness you drag within you.
But for once, you’d like to try your hand at words. And if your hand is still too stained with that bleeding arterial red, you’ll write it with your body.
Just once, you’d like your limbs in this universe to be used for something more pretty than killing. Even though it’s an imitation, red is still red and blood is still blood.
You aren’t a poet, so the most you’ll get is this expectation. You’re a simple creature. Words elude you, but your emotions are too fleeting to be caged in by prose and logic.
It’s so ordinary.
It’s all you ever wanted.
But he doesn’t come tonight.
Tonight, you’re left with that awful blue fog as your paramour and Sinatra as your entertainment.
It was foolish, holding on to this expectation. Did you forget already?
He is one to go beyond them.
This is one of the few times you’ve ached so sharply. It’s a clean slice through your heart – not like the blunt bang of a pistol, but a masterful cut that draws out the pain better than a bullet ever could.
It hurts. It really does, and it’s all your fault for feeling hopeful.
You changed your mindset, and it only came back to pay you in tears.
But you don’t cry.
It hurts, but the plumes of smoke you exhale taste better than the salt.
If anything, you’re cherishing the white-hot pain. Maybe you haven't completely lost your humanity.
It’s long laid dormant, but this agony is sweeter than honey.
Still, you wish for everything to just disappear. If only for a moment.
It hurts. Go away, please. Go away.
You’re an idiot, and when you bury your face in your hands, you barely feel the burn from the cigarette.
‘I’ve been up and down and over and out and I know one thing.’
You’re unusually sullen the next day. There’s the biting pressure you feel from yesterday, but that’s ridiculous. Francis has no obligation to visit you daily, and your disappointment is your own fault.
It’s alright.
You can’t bring yourself to blame him.
You feel so stupid, though.
Never have you felt so small. With revenge, the burning consumes you and you don’t feel hopeless. There’s a goal to strive for, after all. But with this, there’s nothing you can do.
“What will it be, Francis?”
Your words come out tired. They match the fatigue in his eyes; something you’d normally be noting with wonderment. Today, the excitement doesn’t come.
No, to be more precise, you tamp down on it harshly before it can come up to the surface.
“Mm.” He acknowledges your question, but he’s staring you down dazedly and you can’t help but feel slightly wobbly inside. “Something light. I haven’t been feeling well lately.”
Right. You tap the pager unconsciously – it seems him staying away yesterday wasn’t out of his own volition. You don’t know what you would’ve done if it had been otherwise; but then again, you’ve forced those feelings back into a little box, locked tight thrice. Inescapable. Impenetrable.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” You give him a weak smile, and the awkward fumbling of well wishes seems to have done the trick – his soft smile back washes the insecurity away without a trace.
It’s when you’re cooking that it happens. While your hands drip red from strawberries, you hear footsteps. His footsteps – the ones you memorised. There’s that same gait, that same tired drag of his sole.
And you force down your smile.
He’s never done this either.
You’d think he was just walking around the diner to pass the time, but his footsteps get closer and closer, until–
His arms wrap around you from the back.
You freeze.
Out of all the things you thought he’d do, this isn’t one of them. His face presses into the juncture of your neck, and he’s breathing you in. He’s warm, so warm, and your heart finally begins its fervent race once more.
If he squeezed you any tighter, you would’ve thought he was going for a suplex.
His fingers trace from your hips, up your abdominal muscles, before settling on your solar plexus – each digit splayed out as though his palms were the sun and his fingers the rays. How fitting.
You should push him off. You should, but there’s something about him you can’t resist.
“Francis,” you whisper, and it’s like that final barrier in the dam finally breaks. You give in to the raging tide of emotions. Let yourself be swept up in this turbulent river. Don’t worry about a thing.
“Mm,” he hums, lips just brushing against the stiff fabric of your clinical jacket. And you can feel their reverberations echoing to your very bone marrow – you don’t think you’ve ever heard your pulse so cleanly, so clearly. “I missed you.”
The admission takes all the strength out of you.
I missed you too.
I missed you, so much I couldn’t bear it.
Perhaps that’s the reason. Perhaps that’s why you could never push him away.
Fuck.
You really are a fool.
So, why doesn’t that upset me?
‘Each time I find myself flat on my face, I pick myself up and get back in the race.’
It’s a sleepless night. Just when you think those sweet molasses are going to drag you under, they slip from your fingers and leave you tossing and turning.
“I missed you.”
You can still feel his fingers on your body.
When you close your eyes, you can feel him, pressing his lips against your neck and holding you close to him.
Back then as a Captain, there were people who needed you. Of course there were – you were a pawn, a soldier, someone who had a duty and kept to it. You were a resource: easily replaceable. In fact, it was a miracle you’d lasted the year.
But him.
You bury your face in your pillow. There’s a furious beat to your pulse. You can feel it everywhere: your head, your legs and even your stomach.
There’s no doubt about it.
You like Francis.
You like him, so much so that you’re running out of boxes to put your emotions in.
It doesn’t come as a surprise when you’re haggard at work, even more so than yesterday. The day is both sluggish and hare-like, racing away from you yet constantly disturbing you with its slow crawl. It’s the adrenaline and dopamine; they’re clashing and twisting and dancing against themselves. You honestly don’t know how your hypothalamus manages to outshine itself every time.
The familiar hum of the engine comes when the fog up in the sky is still white. It’s earlier than usual, but Francis has never been one to stick within the lines you’ve put him in.
“Francis.”
The shadows under his eyes are darker than before.
“I’m not here for food today,” he exhales. “Just let me spend time with you here.”
That’s a first.
You’re a little lost. When the boss trained you on how to deal with customers, he never mentioned the tricky ones like these.
“Ah,” you mumble. “Sure.”
“I also brought you something.” He’s smiling with his eyelids lowering – it’s not an expression you’ve ever seen him make. Fuck. You can’t resist him.
He’s already taken up too much space in your universe.
There’s a small plastic bag he takes out of his coat pocket. It crackles lightly against the glass of a milk bottle. “Strawberry cookies. Made them myself.”
You don’t think you’ve ever received such a heartfelt gift.
When he places them in your outstretched palm, all you can think about is the roaring heat of his hand.
There’s a few flecks of sanguine on his crisp white shirt. When he notices you looking, he laughs awkwardly.
“I cut myself at work,” he explains, adjusting the hazy buttons. That’s a new habit; of course he’s filled with mysteries. Since he’s Francis.
Gently, you take his wrist and press your lips to the fabric concealing it.
“What–” he chokes. “–what are you doing?”
“I’m kissing it better,” you reply. There’s something different about you tonight as well. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, but it seems you’ve become more bold in the time you’ve met with him. “Do you want me to stop?”
It seems you’ve been intoxicated by him.
“No,” he stammers. “Please don’t.”
Perhaps he’s been intoxicated by you too.
It’s only when you’ve placed your lips on the tips of his fingers that you finally pull back and study his face. He’s completely flushed now, with his hair messed up and eyes wide.
You take a bite out of the biscuit. There’s strawberries on your tongue: sweet, tangy, perfectly suited to the buttery crumble. It’s warm, as if it’s been held close to his heart. The thought makes you smile.
It’s perfect.
This man…
When you stand from the stool to brush the crumbs from your fingers, he stands with you.
When you head into the kitchen area, he follows you.
When you attempt to move past him after washing your hands at the sink, he stops you by holding onto your wrist. You could break free if you tried, but you won’t. Because it’s him.
“Francis…” you trail off. There’s a certain look in his eyes – it’s impossibly tender.
“Tell me you’re feeling the same as me,” he pleads, pressing your palm flat against his heart. His pulse is wild, spinning out of control like that dancer you saw all those years ago.
Your own heartbeat roars its own feral beat; it’s a careful syncopation with his.
You didn’t know his human heart could feel that way.
It’s not supposed to, not like yours does.
That heaviness – you don’t hear it with humanity.
Your thumb brushes over those soft lips; that look in his eyes speaks of immeasurable hunger.
“Please,” he whines, and you surge.
Your mouth is on his, and he tastes like the strawberries you’ve just eaten. Heady. Sweet. He may have cornered you between him and the sink, but you’re in control – the two of you know it.
Perhaps that’s why his lips part so easily.
He’s warm – so warm. You eagerly devour him, pressing a hand to his nape and another to his waist while you take his small hisses in stride. He’s forced to tilt his head up; hands scramble for purchase in the dips of your back, seeking refuge as you roughly press into him.
He’s intoxicating. Even when the metallic taste enters your mouth, he’s intoxicating.
Even when you can no longer smell that milky, powdery smell on him. There’s no woody aftershave either.
Even when you hear the sound of a familiar hum.
He stands, frozen in the doorway.
Your lips are on someone who looks like him.
And you’re looking directly at him.
Why does he look like that?
His hands are shaking, and he just looks so lost. He’s panting, as though he’s just run here – and his face is covered with small scrapes that can’t just have been from work.
And why are you feeling this bitter pain?
You knew you could never have Francis – his world was far too removed from yours, and staying with you is dangerous. You’re cursed, doomed to stay in this intransient state.
“No–” he chokes out. ���Get away from that thing!”
Why does it hurt so much?
You thought you’d be alright giving up on him.
He can’t enter your blood-soaked world.
He can’t.
It hurts. It hurts so much.
Your heart’s breaking into pieces, but you’re still holding onto his doppelgänger and that creature’s lips are still on yours.
Francis…
It was nice. This little dream was nice.
It was nice, but there are tears in your eyes and a wry smile on your lips.
It’s ending. That fake, brief happiness is crumbling away.
“Get away!”
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The doppelgänger’s voice finally drops to its natural pitch – low, a harsh hum reverberating through your sternum. “You caught on now?”
No. You hadn’t caught on just now.
You had a feeling from the very beginning.
‘That’s life (that’s life) that’s life and I can’t deny it.’
All the celestial bodies will go cold one day. It is simply a matter of waiting for the universe to turn into a graveyard of giants, undisturbed for the rest of eternity.
There’s a gun in the cabinet behind you. If one examines it closely, you can see distinct initials that match someone working at the diner. But, surely not, right? None of your customers have suspected a thing.
Faintly, you hear your name being called from somewhere along the periphery.
“You need to get back, he’s dangerous!”
You pull out your gun, unlocking the mechanism with a swift click. It’s a standard-issue, given to the lieutenant-class and above – a heavy thing, unauthorised to be carried by any civilian. The bullets inside are deadlier than any ammunition used in human warfare.
You didn’t think you’d ever use it again.
But today, Francis will be joining the graveyard of celestial bodies. There, he’ll eventually disintegrate – not an atom will remain.
“Francis, stay right there.” Your words are cold. Don’t you see? This is my world, Francis.
This is my danger.
This is what follows in my shadow.
Don’t come near me.
“Oh? I didn’t think you were ex-military,” the doppelgänger’s voice rumbles in its chest. “Give up. You’re no match for me. We’ve evolved past puny human capabilities.”
You didn’t think you’d ever do this again.
Not again.
Tears blur your vision, but you don’t need to rely on your eyes to kill.
You need to shoot him. You need to shoot him because you love him, because he’s still alive and this thing is trying to replace him. You need to pull the trigger.
Francis.
I love you.
This pain – it’s too much to bear.
When you squeeze the trigger, you repeat it like a mantra.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry.”
And there’s a smile on the doppelgänger’s lips as you shoot him, like he’s won.
There’s blood everywhere. Splashed on the pans, coating the griddle, sliding and congealing on the bright neon signs that light up the diner in fluorescent red. Brain matter is cleaved in thousands of pieces, and you resist the urge to throw up.
Red is still red, and blood is still blood.
When the doppelgänger’s body begins to bubble, you move without a trace of hesitation – sliding across the counter with the agility of an athlete. You’re crying – crying as you take Francis out into the pouring rain. You’re crying, as you’re covering his body with yours – behind you, the doppelgänger’s body finally blows up and shards of the diner stick to you and maul your back. But it’s fine – he’s still alive. Your universe is living – breathing beneath you. He's warm – a human warmth, with a human pulse and a human smell.
“You–” he murmurs, drenched in rainwater and the blood covering you. His eyes are widened, but he doesn’t look scared. He’s not scared of you.
And you’re high, high on adrenaline and the sight of him.
He’s alive.
He’s not dead.
You protected him.
‘Many times I thought of cutting out, but my heart just won’t buy it.’
The D.D.D will get here eventually. That’s something you’ve come to accept as truth, which is why you don’t care about phoning them when the smoke rising from the place will alert them regardless.
You pull him into an alleyway near your apartment. There’s a howling storm and a torrential downpour, but you don’t care about any of that.
He’s warm. He’s warm, and he’s alive.
“You’re real, right?” you murmur. Your drenched palms press into his face. He’s staring at you, tears gathering on his lash line and a shake in his bottom lip. “Francis.”
“I’m real,” he breathes, and it’s like nothing else exists in the universe. Nothing but him and you in suspended animation, within all the space-time. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I’m not going anywhere.
Has anyone said something like that to you before?
There’s no fear in his eyes.
What a foolish promise.
But maybe you’re the fool for feeling the way you do about that vow.
You’re covered in blood, but he’s looking right past that.
“Did you know–” he chokes out, looking away. “–that he was a doppelgänger?”
Yes. I knew, and I kissed him despite knowing that.
Francis, I can’t be with you.
Those words race through your head, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. You can’t bring yourself to lie, either. Instead, you nod – and you can’t meet his eyes when you do so.
“Why were you with him like that, then?” His thumb traces your jaw, mirroring the actions of your hands just moments prior. He sounds heartbroken, and you can feel tears blurring your vision once more. “Don’t tell me he’s better than me.”
“Francis,” you plead against the storm, against the deafening wind that presses against your words. “I can’t be with you.”
There’s a pause. Water soaks the two of you, but neither moves.
“Who decided that?” He steps closer, and you swallow. His arms wrap tightly around you, and his head’s buried against your chest. He’s angry, you realise. He’s angry, because he knows exactly why you decided on that dream.
He’s pressed skin-to-skin against you – fabric drenched through and ice-cold – and there’s a searing heat that threatens to envelope you whole. Let it, you think. I’ll give in for you.
“Who decided that?” he repeats, mouth moving against your collarbone. If you weren’t against a wall, you think you might’ve collapsed by now.
“Francis,” you falter. More. “Don’t you see how dangerous it is with me?” Say no. Be with me despite that.
You’ve become selfish.
“I don’t care,” he whispers against your flesh. “You like me, don’t you?”
I adore you.
Don’t leave me.
You don’t say anything, but he can hear your answer in the wild drum of your pulse.
“You’ll protect me.”
I’d give my life to serve that purpose.
“Francis,” you rasp. There’s something coiling within you, burning up hotter and brighter than anything you’ve felt before. It sets your veins and capillaries alight, altering everything within.
There’s a frigid downpour that freezes flesh and sinew, but you’re sweltering with him pressed against you.
Stardust coats your fingertips when you slide them beneath his chin. Beneath the rain, everything sluices away – the pain, the blood, the worry, and the hesitation.
“Use me to forget,” he breathes. “I’ll be yours.”
Fuck.
Gently, you slot your lips against his, and his eyes flutter closed. He’s hesitant – you can tell from how his hands curl open and closed against your chest. He’s hesitant, yet he presses himself against you like you’re going to disappear any minute.
It’s funny.
You’re thinking the exact same thing about him.
Your fingers dig into his hips – you don’t think you’ll ever let him go.
His lips are warm – humanly warm – and he tastes explosive, like neutron stars merging. He’s divine.
“More,” he whines into your mouth. “Please.”
With such soft lips parting just for you, who are you to refuse?
“Mm,” he gasps as you deepen the kiss, pressing your tongue into his spit-slicked mouth. Each pretty noise that escapes him snaps one more string of self-restraint of yours, until it’s all gone. You flip him, so his back’s pressed against the cold, drenched wall and your body moves against his front.
And his hands – they’re clawing at your back and dragging against its valleys. You can feel each nail as you go rougher – eliciting more pain for you, but you couldn’t care less about that . Not when you’ve got him melting like putty as he clumsily moves his lips against yours, not when he’s desperately trying to come closer and closer and closer.
There’s salt on your lips and copper on your tongue. Tears and blood. You can’t tell who cries.
“More,” he pulls back from your mouth panting, choking for breath. “Please, I need more.”
Fuck. It’s getting addicting.
“You sure?”
Give in. You can’t help wanting to lose yourself in that heady sensation.
“Please,” he begs.
You crumble so easily.
‘But if there’s nothing shaking, come this here July, I’m gonna roll myself up in a big ball and die.’
#francis mosses x reader#masterlist#navigation#res ・゚ writing#x reader#francis mosses#that's not my neighbor#x male reader#amab reader#slowd1ving#that's not my neighbour x reader
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I have been losing my shit over this damn panel for the past THREE DAYS (more or less) and I need to yell somewhere so it's gonna go here.
It all began when I was writing my fic (I think this was for My Immortal), and I needed to recap significant hakukai moments. And I remembered "hey, I should include this one thing saguru said during sunset manor that was stupidly super gay for no fucking reason" bc like, yea hakukai not canon, but if canon was gonna give me a whole ass confession then I might as well use it. So, like always, I head to mangadex to look for this panel... Except... It's not there... The line... The line's not there... But I remember... I remember something about "the only one to disrupt/disturb my thinking/mind"... Where... I didn't imagine that right? I mean I read a lot of google translated Chinese fanfics but... I REMEMBERED reading that line... In a manga... In English... ON mangadex...
This is where I should mentioned, that if you weren't around for the Great Collapse of Mangadex. Then... Well, so there was this period of time where mangadex just DIDNT EXIST. Bc there was some cyber?? Attack??? On the site??? I can't fully remember. But it like wiped out most of the site. The mangas r just, gone. So mangadex fixed it. It took a while bc they figured "might as well revamp our site and system". And they did. And it's great. And it looks beautiful now, even more than before.
But see. The line I remembered? Yea... Yea that was from before The Collapse. And mangadex let multiple translation groups submit their translations. So u can read diff translations of diff group, see how things are interpreted differently... And... I remembered this one, that I posted here up top, but I remembered there was another. One that had The Line.
And it was driving crazy so, like usual, I asked my cn friend. But my cn friend (why am I still saying that, it's @beingvv , that's the friend) has A Life, and isn't always online, and we love that for ppl. So. I'm still crazy. I can't trust my own damn mind and memory bc why tf do I remember something that isn't there (happened before btw, but that has nothing to do with this).
Luckily, I have a friend who knows jp. UNLUCKILY, I don't have the jp raws and it's from chapter 300 and we are in the thousands. So, I went back to losing my mind. Until I found it again, and realized. Heyyyyyyy there's a whole ass ANIME. So like the baggage my dear friend had the misfortune to be saddled with, I went to find the ep, timestamped it, yelled begged them for help.
This is where I lose my damn mind the first time in the recent weeks.
(thank you my dear piglet, u don't even go here but u tolerate my insanity)
THIS. THIS WAS THE LINE. THATS WHAT I REMEMBERED.
So, I feel a little more sane (bc my mind didn't fabricate a memory again) and also A LOT more insane bc WHY WOULD U SAY THAT, HAKUBA SAGURU 😭😭😭 WHY WOULD U SAY IT LIKE THAT 😭😭😭
In any case I feel validated. Told beingvv about my discoveries (for whenever they come back) not that they need it cn fandom already got the correct translation. And finished writing my fic.
And then Saguru's comeback was announced.
So I've been losing my shit for 3 days on twitter, looking at all my fave KR and JP accounts and the things they say.
And then someone dug up and old tweet thread that talked about this panel. Specifically, op talked about the nuance in the word choice used.
Here's the og thread if anyone wants to read or Google translate it urself.
(mkppyong my love, bless you)
Bc mkppyong talked to a jp acquaintance about ??? Uh I dunno just language I guess. POINT IS. They pointed out that gosho used specific words/phrases that really wasn't needed if all he wanted to say was "the only one who drives me crazy/mad." But he did used them. It's specifically "his thoughts/mind" that's being driven crazy. And that if he wants to just talk about Saguru's mind being disrupted/confused, then there's rly no need to use the words "go crazy"
And then they wrote out a whole symbolism about clocks and saguru and being broken down/disrupted and I lost my shit over the clock symbolism, sue me 😭😭😭
I don't think I'm making sense anymore bUT WAIT, THERES MORE, THE FINAL BLOW
THE THAI TRANSLATION
This is where I expose myself more than I ever want to, but here's a fact. I'm thai
Here's a second fact. I'm SHIT at Thai. I've been bad at this language before I got good at English. My Thais as good as an elementary student. Every time I understand difficult words I get confused bc where did I know THAT from???
In any case, point is, I saw that tweet, read the text, immediately understood it and began losing my shit all over again... And then I doubted... Bc like, I'm not good with this lang anymore... Maybe im understanding it wrong? So I look up Google.
Google: คลุ้มคลั่ง just means go crazy
So I was like, damn guess I'm wrong, read too much into this. BUT SEE BC I LIVE HERE I HAVE FRIENDS WHO ARENT A DISGRACE. And so my friend said:
SO WELCOME TO MY THIRD ROUND OF INSANITY.
HAKUBA SAGURU WHY WOULD U SAY THIS SHIT IN FRONT OF LIKE NINE OTHER PPL 😭😭😭😭😭 BOY WHY R U TELLING THEM UR OBSESSED 😭😭😭 youre driving ME crazy 😭😭😭
So. Here we are. At the end. I have no idea how tf I'm supposed to end this post. I'VE been obsessed for 3 days straight. I don't have a lot of braincell left in me (there weren't any to begin with). I don't have a statement to wrap this post up in a nice little bow. Go make ur own conclusion I dunno.
But I would not have been losing my shit over this stupid panel for a month if it wasn't for the fact that eng translation was missing a pretty crutial thing in what Saguru said. I don't know if this was a mistranslation or a misunderstanding or something, but the English translation was lacking. And I love and have always been thankful and grateful to the ppl who worked hard to translate mangas in their free time, and do it all for free, bc I haven't had any real way to rent/borrow mangas from renting shops/libraries in years. So this was one of the only ways I can read mangas. But, even as I checked the raw panel with Google lens just now, even google translate it as "the only one to make my thoughts go round." No where was there any mention of "case" and "solving." So that's just, multiple accounts of ppl who knows jp, including native jp speakers, all saying that this panel is Saguru saying "the only one to drive me crazy". And man I rly hope this doesn't make me come off as ungrateful or like shitting on the translation team, I'm rly not. But yea. Uh. The translation was wrong. And I remembered that there used to be a diff eng translation. And it led me to go to all this trouble and journey to find out what was actually said. And here we are, at the end.
The only one who could disrupt Saguru's thinking.
The only one who could disturb Saguru's mind.
The one whose sole existence drives him mad.
The only one to make his mind obsess over till he's driven to madness.
Or to use the symbolism mkppyong wrote: the only one to break down the clock, the precise and accurate mechanism, that is Hakuba Saguru.
#hakuba saguru#hakukai#magic kaito#dcmk#sagukai#ramblings#oh god this is long#lost in translation#tbh it's also FOUND in translation#long ass fucking post holy shit#im sabotaging my own fics by tagging this with thr ship tags tbh#now my fic posts are completely buried#edit: not me noticing several typos months later
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Psst, you!
Hey, hey you! Yeah, you! I've got a question for ya. Do you feel normal about SCC (Sweet Cap'n Cakes)?
-> Yes -> No
[❤️Yes] [Ohhhh, I see. You're in denial, aren't you? ;)]
[❤️No] [Aha! Just as I projected- I mean suspected! Suspected. Yeah.]
Well, I've got some GREAT news for you! Have you ever felt saddened by the lack of SCC-centric fanfiction? Specifically the kind that depicts them as brothers instead of bandmates or partners (no shade to those depictions btw)?
No? Shut up yes you have /j
Yes? Fantastic! Well, no, sorry that you're sad :/ BUT! Be sad no longer! For I've come to save the day!
In the form of my newfound SCC hyperfixation!!!
That's right!! I've been going crazy about The Guys™️ for the past week or so, but to my absolute SHOCK, there are hardly ANY fanfics for them!!! And almost all them revolve around them as a SHIP! And no offense, but I just don't like reading about ships all that much, sorry!!! :(
SO!!! How am I going to fix this dilemma, I wondered? But THEN! I remembered something!! Something very, VERY important:
'Oh yeah I'm a fanfic author.'
Is this me implying that I'm now writing a bunch of SCC fanfiction in a very roundabout way? YES YES IT IS! :D
In fact, I've already posted one on Ao3 and have turned it into a 'series'! By that I just mean that the 'series' is really just a place for me to dump all of my SCC-centric fics. I'll link the series here, BUT I'll also be cross-posting most, if not all, of those fics from Ao3 to here on Tumblr!
Oh also link btw:
But why am I talking about it like this on Tumblr, you ask? Introducing it in such a way when I could have just started posting SCC content? For two reasons!
One: Idk I just felt like it
Two: Because!! It has come to my attention that hardly anybody on Ao3 even reads SCC fanfiction.
And no, this isn't me begging for like... kudos or subscriptions (or followers, I guess it is on Tumblr? Idk I don't use it much) or anything like that. What I AM asking for is for people to read it. Not because I want to get popular, but because...
I am very self-conscious about the way I write SCC.
Well, to be honest I'm just self-conscious about the way I write any fictional character. It's actually the thing I worry about the most when it comes to fanfiction; whether or not I'm getting the personalities right. And I'm aware that it's more about how you perceive the characters, and that headcanons are a thing (I have plenty of them myself), but in my opinion, there's a line between having a headcanon and writing something ooc. Headcanons are fine, yes, and I use them a lot (especially when it comes to Undertale and Deltarune characters), but I feel like it can get to the point where it's so ooc that it doesn't even feel like the same character. And that's something I definitely don't want to happen when I write about my three favorite guys EVER. So basically, I'm asking people to read my fics specifically so I can get feedback on how to write the characters.
Why didn't I ask my friends? Bold of you to assume I have any /hj
But no fr, none of my friends play Deltarune, and I'm not even sure if any of them have heard of it. My sister has played before, but she never really got into it, and it's been so long that I doubt she would even remember who SCC are if I asked.
So, I've taken it to random strangers on Tumblr!
There's only one work in the series right now, but I'm currently working on another and have many more ideas sitting in a doc, waiting to be written! I'll also take requests if anyone has any (which I doubt will happen but anything's possible I guess), but before I post any more, I'd really like to get some feedback from... someone, I guess. I dunno I just really want to do them justice 😭
Anyways, that's all! Sorry that this was so long and probably annoying to read, I just thought it'd be funny but now I don't even know aldkdsfljk- but I'm leaving it like this because why not I guess
#deltarune#deltarune fanfiction#scc#deltarune scc#sweet cap'n cakes#sweet cap'n k k#i love them so much#super nervous abt posting this but yolo ig sdklfcx#i really do have a bunch more ideas for them tho#i'm not even kidding i have like ten more sitting in a spinner wheel to be written at random#OH ALSO the first fic is kinda purposely ooc because it's a crack fic#a lot of them are actually but not all of them#anyways bye
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do you have any one piece oc fic recs ?
I had to think about this. My tendency to never bookmark shit I love because I’m usually crying too hard by the end has stopped me from giving you the most 😔
Anyways here’s a few (all on AO3 btw)
Spin A Yarn
Absolutely wonderful series. Zolu time travel fix-it with quite literally all the feels. Completed
This Bites!
Always God Tier. Took me 32 glorious days to binge. Pre timeskip is completed, post timeskip is on hold until the authors know more abt the OP ending (I think?)
We Set Our Wishes Upon Her Waters
Super cool series with a super cool premise. As always I’m here for the Sea Lore™. Incomplete and hasn’t been updated for like a year :(.
Dive|rgence
Another isekai with my heart. HAS PLATONIC ROMANCE YEEAAAHHHH! Incomplete but updating. Bonus it has really long chapters.
Koby’s Awful No-Good Very Confusing Day
Kobylu and fucking hilarious. Bitches love time travel fix-it’s. By the lovely @okiedoketm here on Tumblr go bug her about how good it is. Updates regularly (like literally today).
Losing Time (You Can’t Go Home Again)
I’m a slut for Law angst always and this has unironically made me cry before. Incomplete.
Worse Than Nicotine
Zosan modern AU thing- it’s real fuckin good and makes me feel things. Incomplete and currently updating.
That’s a couple, keep yourself busy ✌️
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As I post about rereading SVSSS for lore and characterization, and about sometimes ignoring canonical details for the sake of whatever story I want to tell / explore in fanfiction for fun, I want to make it clear that I don't make these changes because I think it makes a "better story" or that I can write a "better story". I don't even like using the term "fix-it" for my canon divergence AUs that avert some in-universe tragedy, even if it is the "correct" fandom term in some cases, because I don't think that SVSSS is a story that needs to be "fixed".
(Honestly, a lot of my minor alterations to canon's details are because I can't remember what exactly canon is and can't always be bothered to hunt for one sentence (which I may or may not remember existing at all) across multiple volumes, especially when I don't always think strict faithfulness to canon is that crucial to the main concept of what I'm doing. I wrote PINTWILF and several other fics before the official English translations were fully released, when checking minor details was an even greater pain in the ass. Sometimes, I'm cooking without the recipe in front of me because I just want to eat.)
Like, I have criticisms of SVSSS, definitely. When I first started writing SVSSS fic, I was more frank about this (fond but less fond of the characters and world than I am now), and I've talked about things I wished the story expanded on more. I think it has flaws. I know those flaws are a dealbreaker for many people. But it's not my story. I can't tell MXTX's story better, because I believe that every author's story belongs to them and only they know what they're trying to achieve, even when I may personally think that the story might have been stronger if it had done something differently or I'm ignoring some minor detail specifically because I don't really like it.
It's awkward, sometimes, occasionally being told by someone that they enjoyed my fic more than the original story. It's very flattering (I can't pretend I don't have an ego) and I don't think anyone means any harm by this, people enjoy stories or don't for many different reasons (enjoyment is not necessarily an indication of quality and I think engaging with fandom can often be more fun than just reading a story on its own by yourself), but it is a little awkward, especially when SVSSS is not an English / western story. I have an advantage appealing to western readers. Reading a translation of the original story, I know there are details of SVSSS going over my heard, references I'm missing, nuances I don't recognize, even as I endeavor to keep learning. I personally enjoy some of my fics more than SVSSS itself because I associate them with good experiences and a lot of them appeal to me personally in some way or another (all of my favorite tropes! we all have favorite tropes!), but they are built on the back of someone else's original work on the other side of the world, and I want to be respectful of that.
I don't want to compete or fix. I'm not trying to compete or fix, I think I would fuck it up if anyone seriously set that task on me, and I don't think that's a good way to view anything. I want to explore and appreciate. I'll type up a lengthy post at some point as to why I'm generally not interested in concrit on my fics (honestly, mostly it's because I'm not interested in being told that a reader hates the present tense and wishes I would rewrite the entire story, which has happened to me before), but I hope that doesn't come off as disinterest in the original story or its cultural context, or as me thinking even a little bit that any of my stories are flawless and/or better than the original.
I want to make a "why would you put two bad bitches (compliment) against each other like this?" joke here, but I also want to be clear: I think MXTX is by far the badder bitch (compliment) in this situation.
(Turning off reblogs, btw, because this post skews more on the personal side.)
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