#but that's because of all the outside stuff going on at the time

[webism]

You make a spur-of-the-moment detour to your exes house on his birthday.

ex!Toji Fushiguro x afab reader. 4.2k. read on ao3

cw: a little bit o' angst, some drinking, oral (reader receiving), unprotected sex, toji doesnt wash his sheets i know it.

One dark night cursed with rain is all it takes to bring you back to Toji’s front door. Knuckles rapping on wood despite your own mind— it’s the warmest night of the week, humidity seeps into your bones. 

Toji opens his door and greets you with silence. You stand, a vision of something desperate. The man who had once loved you so tenderly watches you with stale eyes. You feel sick for remembering it’s his birthday. You also feel sick knowing he’s spent it in this damn house.

Not a word is shared, sweet nor acidic. Oh your Toji, stoic and silent. Not a thing has changed. 

He steps to the side, offering you refuge from the dreary weather. His eyes are on his driveway, left empty: you walked here. It’s apparent in the way your hair shines wet with rain. 

He used to lecture you for having wet hair in late hours like this, even when it’s warm. His mother used to tell him, hand gentle on the side of his face, ‘Toji, you’ll get a cold.’ 

He’s silent still as you walk past him, and cross the threshold into the house you used to waste away in. You don’t bother to take your shoes off: maybe in an attempt to convince yourself not to stay long. Though you do feel hauntingly warm trapped within such cold walls. 

The door clicks shut. Twelve seconds of silence ensue— you count. 

His first word, “Wine?” 

You ponder the butterfly effect. What total disaster will occur as a result of playing into this fever you’ve been having? How many casualties will you be accountable for? Will blood stain your hands? An ugly pit settles in your stomach. 

You nod regardless, there’s nothing in this house that can’t be nursed with a drink. Toji nods and god have you missed those eyes that soften just a little at the corners when he looks at you.

He only has the cheap stuff, and he has to shuffle through a few empty bottles to find it. Red. It pours smooth, Toji’s hands tight on the neck of the bottle as he bleeds it for you. The rain outside gets heavier: you think of it as a sign you left at the right time. Though, if you hadn’t left at all you’d still be dry. 

It’s been months since your last drink. You down the glass in two sips, you hate the taste but accept when Toji offers you another. What’s a night like this without relapse?

A step forward. 

“This place hasn’t changed,” you note, watching as Toji walks from kitchen to living room, steps heavy and haunting. He stands a few feet from you, back pressed against the wall. “You should move into something more comfortable.”

“A townhouse?” He teases you.

Yes. A townhouse like you. Yours, maybe— or the one across the road that’s just gone up for sale. It has a privacy screen you know he’d love and no broken tiles and no bad memories. You could walk the hot pavement to ask for some sugar when you’re out, and he could tell you he doesn’t have any, because why would he have sugar? And when you would go home deflated, he would run out to buy a bag of sugar, two— one white and one brown because you never specified— and leave them at your front door. Yes. A townhouse. 

“No,” you look down. “You’re not a townhouse type of man.”

Toji exhales. He asks you, in a tone laced with something dark, what type of man he is. 

You gesture around you, the wallpaper is beginning to peel. He’s this type of man.

Toji looks at you, and he asks ‘why are you here? it’s been a year and your life is finally stable again,’ but he asks with his eyes, because those words would never leave his lips. You hate that you can still read him. You wonder if you’ll speak his language forever. 

“Happy birthday,” you say. “I didn’t get you anything.”

Silence, and then– “good.”

You could have emptied your wallet for him with ease. You know he needs things: new socks, a watch that isn't broken, a new beginning. Toji has never taken anything from you though, not gifts or favours or cuddles after sex. You hate that about him: always a provider, never being cared for. Such a shell of a happy man, you count yourself special for having seen him smile. Such gifts have always been your favourite.

“How's…” he trails off, a frail attempt at not suffocating you in the silence he knows you hate. The words don't meet his lips, though: how's your new life? Finally on a comfortable wage? And how are the neighbours? Are they noisy like mine are? Do you stay up laughing at their awkward sex noises like we did? Do you fuck a warm body to drown them out just like us? Do you live trying to recreate domestic life with me? Do you miss the filth? The broken sleep? Were you ever happy? Why are you here?

Toji  bites his tongue. “More wine?”

“No, thanks.”

The rain continues. Despite the roof over your head, you feel heavy with water: something uneasy settles inside of you, and Toji steps closer. He’s wearing black, as usual, and his sleeves are short so you're able to notice he’s added onto his tattoos. Your initial still sits untouched just by his elbow, he’s held onto at least some of you.

Maybe words don’t need to be shared. You step forward. He follows suit.

Before you can stop yourself, you are standing toe-to-toe with Toji Fushiguro. You can watch his shoulders raise with each deep breath he takes, and as you lift your gaze, you look death in the eyes. Sorcerer killer. As beautiful as ever. 

You feel small and powerless, without purpose or justification. Must you always think for yourself? You’re tired of wrestling with that mind of yours. In the cold house you once shared with him, you suddenly forget how to make good decisions. You raise your hands, and touch his lip with your fingertips. He has a new scar, one that runs from the corner of his mouth downwards. You want to kiss it away. You wonder if he pays it much attention in the mirror, is the memory of getting it as bad as the memory of you?

“You shouldn't be here,” Toji slips his large hands to your waist. You feel at home. “Left for a better life.”

“Yeah.”

“I can walk you home.”

“Shut up, Toji. It’s your birthday.”

Relapse: god it tastes good. Toji kisses you like it’s his first and last taste of you. It's deep and yearning and laced with lust and anger and an awful fear of loss. But at the same time, he kisses you like it’s a tuesday evening, and he's just now home from work and you’ve been busy all day with the house, which is quaint and clean and not run-down like his. Maybe a townhouse.

His tongue slips into your mouth, and he kisses you like he had once planned to on your wedding night: your back hits the wall, but his hand is behind your head to cushion it. A tear slips down your face, overwhelmed by the presence of who has haunted so many of your dreams. You want more of him, you want to indulge yourself on the forbidden: what a taboo his touch has become.

“Please,” you speak against his lips. 

“On the bed.”

Toji steps away from you, and nods down the hall. You know your way, you know this house like it's built from your own bones. Memories flash through your mind with each step you take towards his bedroom, the one that used to be yours, too. You let yourself smile, remembering being carried to bed after a drink too many, or spending hours curled up under the sheets waiting for your love to return home. Eating breakfast in bed together, the sex that would follow.

His footsteps are heavy against the wood behind you, he shadows you as you walk into his room, once yours too. The bed has moved, it’s pushed against the wall now— you suppose there isn’t need for someone else to have room to get in on the other side. You wonder how many people he’s fucked to forget about you in the sheets that used to smell like you. 

You can only worry so much, jealousy doesn’t do one well when it’s barely justified. You sit on the edge of the mattress, running your fingers along the soft covers and try not to think of all the times you've been here before. You used to sit and watch him get dressed, the troublesome time it would take to get his clothes on worth the sight of his bare skin covered to remain for your eyes alone. You’d daydream sometimes of watching him dress for different circumstances; maybe in another life you’d sit in the master bedroom of a townhouse and watch your Toji dress for the picket-fence desk job dream rather than for murder.

And yet, the bed seems to swallow you whole. This room, even after you left, remains half yours. A cursory glance to the wardrobe shows it still half empty, dust laden over the dresser your perfumes once sat atop. The curtains covering his window are the same ones you had picked out on sale in the spirit of making a house a home. You still linger. 

Toji leans against the wall by the window, his toned arms crossed over his chest as he watches you look around. His lips part slowly, but he closes his mouth and clears his throat when you lean back on your elbows. You stare ahead at nothing in particular, thinking of all those nights where you laid awake, watching him in his sleep, worrying about whether he’d come home in a box the following week. You never stopped worrying, really.

With every passing second you feel more and more guilty. Selfish for imposing on Toji's life without you, estranged for leaving a townhouse nine blocks over to return to the home you had left so long ago.

“I miss you,” you say softly.

Toji doesn’t move, doesn’t speak— you can hear the rain worsen outside. You think you’ve fucked things up—ruined the relapse—when Toji pushes himself off the wall and reaches you in two long steps. He looks down at you, large frame towering over your body in a way that makes you feel both small and seen at the same time. You sit in his shadow, under his punitive gaze, looking up at the man you had once promised a forever to. 

Toji leans down, meets you in height and kisses you once again. This time, the kiss is slow, languid and gentle in a way you remember once hating. You’d always yearn for the rough, mean side of Toji that could make you see stars in seconds. You used to want the Zenin to come out and settle your hunger. But now, with the gentle way in which Toji takes your lips between his, you couldn’t imagine wanting anyone but him.

He kisses you like a man home from war which, in a way, he always will be. When his hands come to rest on your waist, you’re confronted by the memories of his touch: soft on your skin, tender and caring despite the roughness of his very being. When he draws your thighs apart and kneels between them, you hate yourself for ever leaving. How cruel you were. 

Toji sets his fingers under the waistband of your pants and pulls them down, panties too, in one swift movement aided only by the raising of your hips. He looks at you, bare and desperate, and his throat goes dry. He tries desperately to clear his mind of all the memories that start like this, with you spread out and laid back in wait of him. He pressed a gentle his to your thigh, then sinks his teeth into your flesh—anything to leave a mark on you again.

“Ow,” you whine, buck your hips up a little in hopes of pleasure to chase the pain. Toji doesn’t relent, he bites your thigh again, this time a little higher. “Toji.”

“Don’t say my name like that,” he growls, catches your skin between his teeth and moves upwards. “Like you’re still used to this. Like we’re fucking for the third time this week. That’s gone.”

You take a breath in and close your eyes. You can feel yourself deflate a little, his words are sharp and poking but his lips are gentle as they kiss over the indentations left by his teeth. Another kiss, even higher, and he’s soon pressing his lips to your clit in something you can only describe as reunion.

It can’t all be gone, because he darts his tongue out to circle around your clit in a way he’s done so much before it’s now muscle memory. As is the way your hips buck upwards just to be caught and pinned by his strong hands. You’re held down and ravaged by your Toji, who dips his tongue down through your folds before latching onto your clit like he’s trying to find comfort in your taste. Maybe he finds it, because he lets out a sigh and presses his forehead to your pelvis as he takes a breath.

“You taste the same,” he mumbles, dipping forward again to practically make out with your cunt. He’s always been messy—hungry. You can feel his scar against you, it’s new and not something you attach to him just yet, but maybe that's a good thing. Your fingers curl into the silk sheets you brought on sale two years ago. 

“Your tongues the same, always fucking teasing.”

“Deal with it.”

You try again to buck your hips up in protest, but his grip on your waist is too wrought. He’s mean, holding you down and denying you the chance to chase pleasure, but he’s always been this way—Toji will do anything to hold control. He returns his attention to your needy clit and eats you out at a pace you can only call familiar: too fucking slow. You want to protest, to whine and beg for more in the hopes his ego will take the buff and make you cum on his tongue, but before you can even part your lips to speak, he’s mumbling against your pussy.

“Just let me savour this.”

Oh and who are you to deny him after so long, after the withdrawals of losing his tongue you’re eager to end it so soon? No, you’re driven by lust and not giving your heart a moment to voice whims. You tighten your grip on the sheets, feel the slow coil in your stomach pull further, and let out a breath. You feel him wholly, each flick of his tongue over your sensitive achey clit, the dig of his thick fingers into your waist, his breath against your skin as he moans into his ministries. 

You’re close before you can start entirely savouring it. “Toji,” you try—but he knows you, he feels it already.

“I know, ma, you can take some more. Know you can, always been a fuckin’ slut for my mouth”

You can’t—you both know it. Toji wants to feel you unravel against his lips and give himself reason to punish you for it. He pushes two fingers into your fluttering cunt and curls them upwards just to torture you further. You’d chide him if you weren’t choking on your moans already, practically begging him with your sweet noises for that oh-so-wanted relief.

And he obliges, of course, because your orgasm is a rarity he used to taste daily. Something he missed, the taste of your relief, the way you’d shake under his touch and let him kiss you better afterwards. He doesn’t deserve you, but he’s been good enough of a man to deserve this, at least once more. 

Your orgasm wracks through you like a wave would a desolate beach in a storm. Emotional. Restorative in a way. Sobering. You half expect your eyes to open and find yourself back at home in the comforts of your new bed with your hand down your pants and your fingers soaked at the thought of your Toji, as so many nights go. But no: he’s here and lapping up your release like a starving man would. 

He stills by your pussy for a few moments, and you know he’s trying to will his erection down even just a little bit. His pants are strained and even friction against the mattress doesn’t do much for him—still, he doesn’t know if you want to take all of him again. He’d be okay with just your taste, but every second that passes without him being inside of you feels somewhat torturous–debilitating. You pick up on his struggles and tug at the strands of black hair you used to shampoo each evening.

“Toji,” you hum. “Want you inside of me. Need to feel it again.”

Your ex lover, though calling him such leaves a horrid taste in your mouth, climbs over you and takes both of your wrists to pin the above your head with one hand. He looks down at you with something in his gaze that you can’t quite pinpoint: anger? Hurt? Heat?

Regardless, he used his free hand to line up with your sopping entrance and push forward. Catching your lips between his in a kiss as he does so, Toji moans into the gasp you let out as he stretches you open. This is hauntingly familiar, the burn of his first thrust—so big that you can’t  completely get used to him no matter how often he’s working you open on his cock. You love it, you’d call yourself an addict if it were appropriate. 

He bottoms out, buries himself to the hilt inside of you and rests his forehead against yours. You half expect him to be mean. He used to fuck you rough when you were together and he was particularly stressed: he’s wrap a strong hand around your throat or push your face into the pillows and fuck you so hard he had to carry you to the shower to clean off. 

But Toji isn’t rough, even with his cock splitting you open and the anger of your leaving, he isn’t rough. He lets your wrists go and moves his hand to cup your face and just stare for a moment. You know the look in his eyes too well, something overwhelming washes over him, and you swear you can see a slight tremble to his lips. He’s beyond beautiful, eyes darting all over your face in hopes of memorising your every feature—as if you’re not already burnt into his mind. Like you’re not what he sees whenever he closes his eyes. 

“Too much?” you ask, feeling the tremor in his hands. 

Toji looks down at you and, with a dry mouth, manages a small “yeah.”

Your hand finds his face, thumb tracing over the scar on his lip in gentle strokes. Something soothing, you hope, for a man far from finding comfort. “You wanna stop?”

“God no,” Toji shakes his head. “Do you want to, uh—”

“Flip us over, Fushiguro.”

With his length still hidden inside of you, Toji swiftly flips the both of you over so that his back hits the mattress and you’re sat on his cock and staring down at him for once. His hands find your hips, still with a slight tremor to his grip but a little more comfort than before. Gravity helps you take Toji a little deeper than you had, so you lean forward a little and rest your hands on his chest. His heart thrums beneath your touch, not quite pounding but fast enough to make you smile.

“Let me take care of you,” you roll your hips a little. “It’s your birthday, after all.”

Toji looks almost like he’s going to protest, but ultimately takes his bottom lip between his teeth and nods; letting you slide up on his cock just to drop yourself back down. “Fuck, I–” 

He trails off, eyes screwed chut, and you lean forward to kiss the subtle curve of his nose. “You what?”

“I missed you,” his eyes are glossed when he opens them again to meet yours. You only get a glimpse of them before you’re pressing your lips to his in lieu of a million things you want to say to him. “Fucking missed you.”

Pulling away, you lift your hips up, feel the drag of his cock leaving you empty before you drop back down again and make the both of you moan in tandem with each other. Your eyes lock, his start to pool with tears. You can’t tell if he’s overwhelmed or upset or starting to be fucked so dumb he’s gone soft on you—but regardless, it’s a sight that tightens your beating heart.

You quicken your pace, revel in the way he fills you up: how he completes you. Your knees dig into the spring-loaded mattress as you ride his cock like you used to all that time ago. Every squeeze of your cunt around him makes the poor man choke a little on his breath, though you don’t slow down, not even when the tears start to fall. His cheekbones are painted glossy with his tears and, in favour of wiping them away, you dip down and lick a long strip up his cheek to taste the salt of his emotions on his tongue. It’s only fair, your taste still lingers on his. 

“I don’t like seeing you cry,” you whisper, kissing gently at his wet lashline. He grounds himself with his hands on your hips and takes a shaky breath in at the kisses you press across his tear-streaked face. He doesn’t try to hide his vulnerability—he knows there’s no point around you. Not when you’ve seen every broken part of him and still kissed him with a gentleness that stung more than any injury could.

“Can’t help it,” he murmurs as you ride him. “You do this to me.”

You slow your movements just enough to offer a reprieve, the steady roll of your hips becoming languid, deliberate. “I don’t mean to,” you reply softly, your lips brushing against his as you speak. 

Toji huffs out something between a laugh and a sob. “Liar. You always know what you’re doing.”

You let out a small breathy laugh and lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth. You start your pace up again, even faster than before: your thighs burn with the effort, but it’s worth it to see him unravel beneath you.

His head falls back against the pillow, exposing the column of his neck, and a low, desperate moan slips past his lips. He grips your thighs, but there’s no force behind his touch—only a trembling need as he lets you take control.

“You’re so good like this, letting me take care of you.”

His breath hitches, and his hands tighten on your thighs. “I—fuck, I can’t—” He’s rambling now, his words slurring as his breath becomes laboured and his hips start to thrust skywards into you. “Please—don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“Shh,” you soothe, your hands sliding down to lace your fingers with his, pinning them to the mattress on either side of his head. “I’ve got you. Just let go, Toji.”

Wholly at your mercy, Toji screws his beautiful eyes shut and nods. Each heave from his chest stokes the flames that coil in your stomach  in desperate hopes of a release. He’s first to teeter over the edge of pleasure, with a wild thrust up into you and a very raw moan, or sob, that rips straight from his throat, he cums. He fills you up and, for only a moment, you’re thrown back a year into the past and this is any other night spent together. The heat of him, the sheer force of his climax, pushes you to your own precipice.

You follow him into oblivion soon after, your back arching and your head falling back as your orgasm crashes through you. The muscles of your core tighten around him, drawing out his pleasure even as yours consumes you in wave after wave of white-hot ecstasy. You milk him for all he has, every last drop of release that you’re greedy enough to take within you.

When the storm passes, you collapse onto his chest. The both of you are sheened with sweat and the cum that leaks from your cunt around his cock and it’s messy and sticky and domestic in a way you can’t explain. The rain outside starts to taper off, but you’ll use the weather as an excuse to stay the night regardless. You doubt Toji would let you leave even if you tried. 

“I love you,” he says. 

“I love you.” you reply. 

You don’t know what will happen come morning. The two of you are from two very different worlds now, but Toji’s hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. You can feel his heart beat, you can hear each intake of breath, you’re connected to him physically and, in a way, spiritually as well. 

You’re in his bed, the one that was once also yours. You’re safe, feeling nostalgic, and Toji Fushiguro is warm. Much warmer than any insulated townhouse.

taglist: @jadeis0nline @feelingfaye @sooouth @lavenderdaydream97 @kyiyoko

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[hanakogames]

confusing question because the PRIMARY factor is "what fandom / what ship"

why yes i have read every single fic published in my current fandom why do you ask.

But let's say I'm in the mood to read fic for a big, old, established fandom, one that I could not possibly read every entry for. Well, then, the first and most important factors in my decision are "When was it published?" (because I might just click on the fandom and see what's new) and "How long is it?" Because, outside of special circumstances, I have zero interest in short fic.

(Special circumstances include 'I am so invested in this fandom/pairing that I will read literally anything' and 'It's Yuletide, I'm happy to go around and sample a bunch of random cookies.')

So yeah the last time I had a vague desire to read some Garak/Bashir stuff I went into the category and whacked up the minimum length to 'hefty novella' and then looked at what came up by date. The title/tags/summary are all vaguely relevant at that point but I can't call them "most influential", they're just a final check before proceeding to be sure that this story doesn't look wildly outside of my taste.

Once in a while I will go into a fandom/pairing and sort by kudos out of curiosity to see what's popular. But this is definitely not my primary method of finding stories, and I don't care at all how many kudos a story has if it looks interesting.

By this I mean, what is the most influential on your decision? E.g., for me it is the summary because I rarely pay attention to the title or stats, and only read the tags after I've liked the summary enough to want to give the fic a go.

[hersfable]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐮𝐩 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝.

first level

start with the basics. eat healthier, exercise daily (this can be a 10 minute walk or an hour work out, doesn't matter; just do something) sleep 7-9 hours, shower every other day, and clean your space.

second level

journal daily. start simple with talking about your day or writing about your favourite things.

listen to subliminals at night. spotify has a lot of playlists.

meditate with affirmations daily. i listen to thewizardliz's affirmation video while focusing on my breathing and relaxing my body.

speak kind to yourself and others. don't talk down on yourself, try not to judge, remind yourself that it's okay to make mistakes...

read books instead of doomscrolling. replace your social media screentime with reading a book.

make time for the people and things you love. even though you might be really busy with school or work, don't forget to be present. plan trips with your friends, eat dinner with your family, play that instrument that you liked so much, participate in team sports, be creative, etc.

third level

invest in a good skincare & oral care routine. this does not have to be expensive at all. i use the cerave cleanser and moisurizer and exfoliate 2 times a week. if you need to, use more but be careful it aligns with your skintype! brush your teeth two to three times a day, use a tongue scraper, chew gum, go to the dentist/orthodontist, whiten your teeths.

experiment with personal style. this includes hair, fashion, makeup, accessorizing, music, etc... don't follow trends if it's not what you actually like. have fun with it (for example, go shopping with your friends and try on stuff you would never glance at!)

shave your body. i personally use an epilator on my legs and a shaver under my arms. my mama advices me to not shave my arms or on my tummy, but honestly do what you think is best here.

pluck your eyebrows. i only pluck hairs that is going "outside" the shape of my eyebrows and just keep them looking mantained.

keep your nails clean. don't bite and don't get dirt underneath them. you can also polish them but you obviously don't have to.

these things are usually more expensive

get your nails done. in my experience it is around the €40-€80 to get them done in a salon. at home it's way less expensive because you only have to buy the equipment once and can use it for more than one time. i prefer doing them at home!

get an eyelash lift. i have gotten an lift for €35 but i've also seen people paint and lift them for more. it basically just lifts up your eyelashes and makes it look like your wearing mascara 24/7.

fake tan your body. i honestly have never done this, but after research, i found out it isn't damaging to your skin at all. you can buy self tanner at your local drugstore and at tanning salons.

[exocaliii]

❦︎ And You Look Half Dead Half The Time

(pt. 1) (pt. 2)

| Kang No-eul / Guard 011 x fem!reader |

side! | Se-mi / Played 380 x fem!reader |

Summary: For six years, you've watched your best friend and only companion mourn a child she barely got to know. Now, you're given a chance that might finally rid her of this lifelong guilt.

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: death, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, making-out, fingering + cunnilingus (r! receiving), bathroom sex, one use of Y/N even though I tried my best to avoid it lol, extreme jealousy/possessiveness, no-eul is not playing about her girl in this one LOL

A/N: finally reached the romance stuff in this one but there's still some build-up of course, hope you all enjoy and as always, i appreciate any type of feedback or comments, they make the writing worth it!! :D this is so self indulgent omg

—

When the platform begins to spin, you feel a firm grip on your hand, looking up to find Se-mi already staring at you with a calm expression on her face.

“Stick with me.” 

You nod, and before you’re able to check on Min-su, you’re nearly thrown off your feet by the sudden stop of the surface you’re on. 

“10 players.” 

The boom of the announcer clears your senses, and as Thanos and Nam-gyu laugh and spin, you see another group of five waving their hands for more people. You shout at the loudest volume you’ve used since arriving here for them to come over, and with a tight grip on Se-mi’s hand, you drag her to the open room right across the arena. Thanos, Nam-gyu, and Min-su (who you can now see was hiding behind Se-mi) follow right along, and, thank goodness, the other team of 5 do the same. 

“Are you okay?” You don’t respond to Se-mi's question because the answer should be obvious with the way you’re trembling, but she only nods in understanding. “Just stay calm, it’ll be fine.” You want to believe her, you truly do, but you see Min-su’s fear, and in that moment, you accept that this may be the game that kills you. 

The lock clicks open.

Your group of ten steps out, stepping over the blood of those who lost the last round.

You want to retch, but you stay focused and get back on the platform. 

With your hand in Se-mi’s, you block out the happy singing of Thanos and Nam-gyu, opting instead to pat Min-su’s back when you see him basically shaking like a leaf. He jumps, but turns to you with a grateful look in his eye. You pray that he lives, because someone like him should not die in a cold place like this.

“4 players.”

Your heart drops. Thanos glances back and forth between the three of you as Nam-gyu stands at his side. Your heart feels heavy in your chest, and your legs are stiff, ready to run. His eyes stop on Min-su, and you know what’s about to happen.

“You-”

“I’ll go.” 

Se-mi barely has a chance to react before you rip your hand from hers and run to find another group. Somewhere in the bustle of the crowd, you swear you hear her call your name, but you’re too locked onto three men in the distance. They’re already in the room, but they’re calling for a fourth person. Fear threatens to strangle you as you run over, the countdown playing loud in the overhead speaker. Their eyes are desperate, arms open to beckon you over to save both your life and theirs.

 

At the last second, you basically ram into one of the men as you barrel into the room, one of them slamming it shut behind you not even a second before the lock clicks. No one speaks as shots ring out from outside the room, and you begin to come to terms with your act of sacrifice for someone you had just met yesterday. 

Fuck, what were you thinking? Are you in this to win or not?

The lock clicks open, and you all step outside. There’s even more fresh blood on the ground, blood that you ignore as your eyes search the arena for your old group. 

“Y/N!”

You spin fast enough to snap your neck at the sound of her voice, and Se-mi runs over to you followed by the rest of the group. You think she’s about to hug you but she stops just short of it, arms lowering back to her side awkwardly before she resigns to grabbing you by the shoulders instead. For a second, you stare at each other in silence, neither knowing what to say.

“Oh shit, that was too cool girl.” Thano’s voice ruins the moment, but before you all begin heading back to the platform, you hear a soft voice from behind Se-mi.

“Thank you.” 

Min-su meekly looks at you with obvious guilt, and Se-mi drops her hands from your shoulders to take your hand as you all walk back towards the center. It’s comforting to have her hand in yours again (especially after you almost died letting go of it).

“It’s fine, I already saw the other group before leaving.” Obvious lie, but he didn’t need to know that. 

As you all begin to spin again, Se-mi gives your hand a short squeeze before looking down at you with a gentle smile that, as always, almost looks like a smirk.

“I was right about you.” You chuckle at this and turn away to hide your reddened face, but of course, the moment doesn’t last very long. 

“3 players.”

The three of you barely spare a glance at Thanos and Nam-gyu before you grab each other’s hands and run off, hearing the rapper scream a curse at your betrayal. You almost want to laugh, but you’re too focused on holding onto Se-mi and Min-su’s hands for dear life as you run towards one of the few open rooms still available. 

They’re filling up too quickly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see two other groups scrambling towards the one room you have your sights set on. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you come to the horrifying realization that groups of three might be too small to fit everyone that was still alive, even if they were all paired up. The thought makes your legs move that much faster, but just as you’re about to reach your safe haven, a body collides with yours and sends you flying towards the floor. 

10 seconds left.

“Min-su?!” He was on your left, but where is he?

7 seconds left.

“Get up, get inside the room!” Se-mi. You’re pretty sure it’s her rough hands that grab your sweater and pull you up.

5 seconds left.

“Where is he?! Min-su!” You stumble over your feet, your mind reeling as you’re bouncing back and forth between trying to find him and trying to follow Se-mi into the room.

3 seconds left.

“Wait! Wait, please help me!” He’s half on the ground, half fighting against a man trying to get up in front of him to enter a room to your right. You’re already in yours, and an arm wrapped tight around your waist prevents you from running out to save his life once again. 

1 second left.

“Let go! Min-su!” 

The buzzer sounds right as the door slams shut in your face.

The lock clicks shut.

Somewhere outside, you hear gunfire and the desperate cries of men and women who failed. 

For a second, you think you can hear him begging for his life, but then a single shot rings out and his fate is sealed.

—

Somewhere in the haze of emotions, you continue to grasp onto her arm like a lifeline. Your head rings, and you don’t even hear the announcer’s call for each of the next two rounds. It’s Se-mi who makes sure you’re right next to her the entire time, no matter which group you join or which room you scramble into. She doesn’t bother to ask if you’re okay (because it is extremely obvious this time, with tear tracks on your cheeks and shallow eyes staring into the distance), but her firm hold on you still shows her underlying care. That, and the slight shake of her body reminds you that despite her previous bravado and confidence, she’s still human just like you. 

When the game ends, you step over the blood of the losers to make it back to the main room (you wonder if you had stepped on Min-su’s as well - the thought of it makes you sick to your stomach). 

Thanos greets the two of you with excitement even after you left him and Nam-gyu in the dust, but you don’t even have it in you to entertain his antics now. Your head was pounding, and the only thing keeping you from curling up into a ball on the spot was Se-mi’s arm around your shoulders; she was holding onto you like you would curl up and die if she let go, which you might. 

When you both settle into her bed, you really begin to feel the weight of his absence. 

“I’m sorry for grabbing you like that,” she says, her voice quiet as if you were a deer about to sprint away. “...You wouldn’t have made it in time-”

“I know.” You’re curt, almost rude, and you feel bad immediately for your outburst. It wasn’t her fault, you reminded yourself. It wasn’t her fault that your first selfless moment in this hellhole means nothing now. “I… I’m sorry. You saved my life. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” Her hand caresses yours, soothing you into finally allowing your tense body to relax.

Something about her gentle demeanor coaxes out a more peaceful side in you, and you lean your head on her shoulder. You’re pleasantly surprised at her lack of resistance, and something in your gut burns when she leans her head right back on yours. 

For a second, you think about No-eul and feel a strange amount of guilt creeping up on you, but Se-mi changes her grip on your hand slightly to interlace your fingers and it all goes away. You owe nothing to her. Companionship isn’t something she should bar you from looking for when you face death at her hands everyday now. 

What’s so wrong with finding your own comfort in the beautiful, kind, and unexpectedly soft woman sitting next to you? 

—

350 million won. 

It’s enough for those smugglers, enough for her, and so, it’s enough for you to change your vote. 

When red LEDs light up your face and you begin exchanging your blue patch for a red one, you feel the weight of the entire situation crashing down on you. 

You chose life this time. From now on, if you die, it won’t be of your own volition anymore. This fact disturbs you greatly, so you’re quick in pushing through the crowd to get right back to Se-mi’s side. You’re glad she chose to live too. If you made it out of here, you wouldn’t want to lose contact with her. Trauma bonds are pretty strong apparently. 

—

When two groups of men start walking out of the bathrooms covered in blood and money begins to fill the pig again, you shuffle a bit closer to Se-mi, and her grip on your hand tightens. 

Supposedly it was a brawl, and from the frantic head counts of both sides, the O’s had lost one extra man. The sight of a bloody Nam-gyu shuffling onto Thano’s bed, shaking from the drugs with a frantic, bloodthirsty look in his eyes made your stomach drop. Now, there was no idiotic rapper to take hold of his leash, and you were sure he would want to kill you two after you turned your backs on him twice. 

The cold steel of the fork you took from dinner provided a comforting weight inside your pocket. 

“Se-mi.” She turns towards you.

“Yeah?”

“Sleep on this side tonight, okay?” Your grip on her arm is tight and you know you must look completely shaken by now, but she still gives her signature confident smirk.

“Sure, but you better make it worth my while.”

Your face goes red and you scoff, making her chuckle. God, you’re glad you have someone like this by your side.

—

When the screams begin, you immediately dig into your pocket and pull out your makeshift weapon. You want to call out for her, but you’re terrified that if you make a single noise, you and her will be swarmed by the wolves tearing apart the people all around you. 

Where the fuck are the guards?! No, who are you kidding, of course they would sit by and let you kill each other. Probably the highlight of their night. Under the fear, you feel so much anger and pain at the situation that you can barely focus.  

No-eul’s face flashes in your mind once again but now, you’re beginning to struggle to differentiate her from the other murderers all around you. 

No, no, no. You can’t think that way. She’s not like any of them.

“You traitor bitch!” You turn your head down to look for the familiar voice, and to your utter horror, Nam-gyu is standing right below you. Across from him (and cornered against the wall) is Se-mi. Even with the strobing lights, you can see the intense fear under her angry expression. “I’m gonna fucking gut you!”

When he charges at her, you make one of the easiest choices of your entire life and roll off the side of the bunk. 

You nearly miss your landing, but your fork doesn’t and his scream of pain reveals that instantly. You take both him and yourself to the ground, but your heart is racing and you can still feel him bucking from beneath you, so you don’t get a chance to breathe before yanking the fork out of his shoulder and slamming it back down into the side of his neck. The feeling of it sinking it and spraying your hand with hot blood is sickening beyond belief, but you block out everything except the feeling of his squirming beneath you and raise the metal above your head again. 

You aren’t sure how many times you bring it down on him, but a body colliding into yours knocks you out of your spiral.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Se-mi’s voice barely comprehends in your ears, but you can feel her arms around you clearly. “He’s dead, it’s okay, we’re okay.” Her hand rubs your back soothingly, and only then do you realize there are tears pouring down your cheeks.

Your chest heaves as you openly sob, clinging to her like a lifeline and unintentionally smearing the back of her sweater with Nam-gyu’s blood. You shut out everything but her voice, and even when the guards enter and fire into the air, you don’t find yourself flinching once, simply dropping to the floor still in her arms.

—

When some of the players gun down all the guards in the room, you hide in the corner with Se-mi (who was still whispering comforting words into your ears). You watch as players 120 and 456 take center stage in the room, shutting down the last bits of the riot and forcing the one square-mask guard onto his knees. They call for others to join them, others with military experience or even those with the faintest idea of how to use a gun. 

Of course, you had military experience right alongside No-eul, but the ache in your body and the tight grip Se-mi has on you keeps you from getting up. Your head pounds and spins as your eyes begin trailing around the slaughterhouse of a room. 

Dead people in green, dead people in pink. Your eyes linger on the guards and their triangle-masks, immediately recalling the shape No-eul had on hers. 

What if…

No.

The moment the team of rebels leaves, you go to get up but a tight grip on your forearm drags you right back down. 

“Hey, hey, where are you going?” Her eyes are confused but her voice is just as gentle as it’s been the entire time she sat there combing her fingers through your hair and whispering about how brave you were and how thankful she was. “Talk to me please, what’s wrong?”

“I just need to check something, that’s all.” She doesn’t look satisfied, but Se-mi lets you get up after you give her a brisk hug and a strained smile. 

With a shaky breath, you begin to make your rounds. You can feel the eyes on you as you walk up the first guard and pull off their mask, letting out a quiet sigh of relief at the lack of familiarity in their dead eyes. 

With each one, you grow more and more tense, steeling yourself for the possibility of seeing No-eul’s empty, dead eyes staring back at you. 

It would be the thing that kills you. The loss of your reason to fight in the first place. 

Kneeling down next to the final guard, you can barely breathe as your fingers brush against the edge of their mask. Your hands are shaking so bad and you curse yourself for your sudden lack of strength. You would die if it was her. You would pull that fork out of Nam-gyu’s neck and jam it in your own if it was her. 

Shutting your eyes tightly, you tug it off and let it clatter to the side. Your breathing slows when you peek and immediately recognize the face as belonging to a younger man’s, not your No-eul. 

Please God, give me this one thing and let her live. Let us leave with my blood money and never come back.

—

You can’t even feel joy or disappointment when the rebellion inevitably ends in a whimper. 

456 is dragged in and from a quick glance around the room, you see that 001 and 390 are missing as well. 120 and 388 sit dejectedly not too far away from you, and you can’t help but feel for them; they were people, far stronger than you, that failed to be the heroes. You can’t judge them, you never even considered fighting alongside these brave people in the first place. 

Now that everything has calmed down again and lights-out happens like every other night and not the bloodbath that ensued earlier, you’re far more aware of the sticky feeling of blood on your skin. Your sweater even feels slightly heavier, the entire front of it stained with deep red fluid.

“I-I need to wash this off.” Se-mi, who was almost drifting off next to you, shoots awake and gets up right behind you.

“I’ll come with you.” It’s an unspoken fact that she definitely would, but you’re still happy at the confirmation. 

In the haze of everything that’s occurred, you completely forget that No-eul has been the only reason you’ve been able to get into the bathroom these days, and the only reason she lets you in is because you’re you. So, when you call out and the door opens as usual, you’re confused at her stiff posture. However, after a weird awkward silence, she steps aside to let both you and Se-mi in, almost slamming the door behind you two. 

—

No-eul’s eyes trail you two as you enter the bathroom together, and she can barely control herself from charging in there and kicking 380 out altogether; she had warned you about people like her, so what were you still doing clinging to her side like that? Moreover, seeing the blood practically covering your entire front was like a gut punch. 

She should’ve been there. She should’ve blown the heads off of whoever did that to you. She’s been careless, and she understands that now.

The worst she felt was during the Mingle game. Each time she had been sent in, her breath would hitch and she would hesitate for a few seconds at the entrance, eyes scanning the wide open area for any signs of you. Every single time she failed to spot the number 037 on the clothes of those she shot, a weight would be lifted off of her shoulders. 

After the final round, the room doors had opened just before she was able to leave through the soldier’s door. She takes the chance to search for your kind face, and instead is faced with the sight of you practically hanging off of 380, a lost, soulless look in your eyes. Pain for your sadness mixes with some other ugly emotion, and for a second, she lets herself imagine how your expression would change if she sent a bullet through 380’s heart. 

Would you cry out for that woman, or would you call No-eul’s name out of instinct, like a lost animal begging for comfort?

In the end, she simply leaves with her fellow soldiers, silently cursing herself for such a violent thought. 

—

As you scrub the blood off your face, neck, and hands, you do your best to not let your gaze drift back over to Se-mi. She finishes cleaning up long before you, and you can feel her eyes on you as you scrub away. But no matter how hard you seem to scratch at your hands, the faint red tint just won’t come out. Your breathing grows heavy, and you begin to rub at it harder with the soap. 

Your hands are still red.

The blood from his neck covers your hands, the sounds, the sounds-

“That’s good enough,” a soft voice sounds from beside you, gently taking your hands in hers as you shake.

“No, no, there’s still blood, I-, there’s still…” You turn your hands this way and that, examining them and the red tint you can’t seem to get rid of.

“It’s not blood, you’ve just been rubbing too hard…” She shushes you gently and her thumbs begin tracing circles on your raw palms. “I’m sorry you had to do that, I really am.”

You can only shake your head and press your face in the crook of her neck. It’s a familiar position, one you were in only last night but with a completely different woman. She’s just as soft as No-eul, but she doesn’t wrap her arms around your body and pull you close. Instead, her fingers find the zipper of your bloodied sweater and gently begin to pull it down. The motion makes you back away a little, and she lets your sweater fall to the ground after tugging it off you. 

It’s freeing without the weight of all that blood on you, and your heart swells when she takes off her own jacket to put it on you. This is the kind of care you rarely find yourself receiving, and whenever you did, it was usually by the hand of only one other person. You would have never expected the cocky, confident girl you met two days ago would become this important to you. 

You were right about her. Se-mi was the ever genuine, ever caring woman you hoped she was after your first real conversation together, and you wonder if the world finally decided to go easy on you for once by sending you a beacon of strength in the middle of this hellhole. 

“Thank you, Se-mi,” you breathe out, the feeling of her fingertips grazing the skin of your arms still present long after her hands have dropped back to her side.

She doesn’t respond. Her gaze is still heavy on you, but this time, you hold eye contact and let yourself drown in her eyes. For a split second, you’re sure you see them dart down to your lips, and you think she might just eat you alive with the way she’s examining you.

In an act that surprises even yourself, it’s you who leans forward and presses your lips against hers. Cliche fireworks don’t go off, but the second she reciprocates by grabbing the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, you feel the tension between you two finally reach a high point, and it’s euphoric.

You hold each other with pure, unadulterated desire as one of her hands travel down to your waist, pulling you in. The kiss deepens and somewhere in the back of your mind, you think of No-eul. She was right outside that door, what if you were caught?

What the hell are you thinking about right now?

“You’re beautiful, so perfect,” she whispers, and her words make your heart beat that much faster. “My brave girl.” Se-mi breaks the kiss to press her lips against your neck now instead, drawing a moan from deep in your throat. She’s still holding onto you like her life depends on it. 

Unfortunately, your mind is still whirling and you have to remind yourself once again that you owe No-eul absolutely nothing. She shouldn’t and wouldn’t be angry over you finding someone to love, who loved you in a place like this. Is it wrong to search for comfort when you’re so sure you might die tomorrow? Especially from someone like Se-mi, who has done nothing but protect you and care for you.

Your hands tangle in her hair as she slides a hand beneath your shirt-

“Player 380.”

You spin around as the door slams open, a gruff voice making you jump apart from Se-mi. You shouldn’t feel ashamed, but you do, especially when you can feel No-eul’s eyes trailing up and down your disheveled form, and you know she knows exactly what happened here.

“Get back to the room.” You look down to see her revolver gripped tightly in her hand, as if she’s fighting the urge to lift it.

“Just give us a couple more-”

“Now.” She practically growls out that last word, and you can hear a click in the silent bathroom as she loads her revolver at her side. 

Se-mi is brave, but she’s still smart enough to realize that she’s being threatened and would not win a fight against the taller woman with a loaded gun. WIth her head held high, she takes your hand and begins walking around the guard, but No-eul steps in her way and shakes her head.

“037 stays.” You all pause, and Se-mi grips your hand tighter.

“What? What the fuck are you on about? Just let us go back to the room-”

“She stays. Now get out before I make you.” No-eul takes a step forward, hand raising to point the barrel of the gun in Se-mi’s face. 

It’s difficult to hold herself back when she’s this close to doing what she wants with this random woman who’s begun impeaching on her world. The barrier holding you and No-eul together, apart from everyone else, has been disrupted, and she begins to wonder if you’ll actually hate her if she pulls the trigger now. She wants to, especially hearing you fucking moan for this woman.

Where else has she touched you? 

Her trigger finger twitches. 

“It’s okay, Se-mi,” you whisper, breaking your gaze from No-eul to look over at her. 

First name basis? You really want her to kill this woman.

“Just go, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Se-mi looks at you, confusion apparent in her features, but your face is perfectly calm and even though that disturbs her a little, she accepts it. She’ll trust you to stay alive with this psycho.

“Okay, just call out for me if you need anything.” No-eul scoffs at this, earning a glare from Se-mi before she walks out the bathroom. She spares you one final glance over her shoulder, and with a nod from you, she exits.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?!” You’re practically burning with anger at her behavior, but No-eul ignores your outburst and walks over to the door, turning the latch to lock it before turning back around to look at you. “You think ‘cause you have that mask on you can just go around pointing your gun at everyone?!”

“And what the hell were you doing?” She pulls her mask off, throwing it to the floor before pulling down her face covering. Now, you can actually see the anger simmering beneath her eyes, an accusatory look on her face as she steps closer. “Were you planning on having sex with her or something? This stranger you just met?”

Your face begins to burn for a different reason now.

“That’s… that’s none of your business. I’m a grown woman, I can decide what I want to do or not do.” Your voice is far too unsure and she laughs sarcastically. Running a hand through her sweaty hair, she approaches to stand right in front of you. Your breathing slows as her eyes trail down your face, locking onto the number 380 right above your heart. Her lips curl into a frown and she grabs Se-mi’s sweater, looking like she wanted to burn a hole through the number on your chest. 

To her, it’s a reminder of her failure to protect you as she swore she always would, and now, in the wake of this failure, another person has come along and threatened to take her place - a place in your life she would kill anyone to keep. 

“Take this off,” she breathes out. The air is tense, and you almost want to deny her just to see what she would do, but fuck, she almost looks genuinely hurt and you can’t say no now. 

With your eyes still locked onto hers, you slowly pull the sweater off and let it drop to the ground at your feet. Her eyes are still pinned to your chest, but now you’re so close that you can feel her soft breathing on your face. You swallow harshly and press your face against her shoulder, bunching up her pink tracksuit in your hands as you pull her closer. The feeling of her so close again kills all the tension in your shoulders. This is the safest you’ve felt in 24 hours, and it’s in the arms of a woman who’s been killing people like you the entire time. 

You’re almost a bit ashamed, but what’s wrong with being a bit selfish for once?

You’re shaking in her arms when she pulls back slightly to cup your wet cheeks in her hands. You hadn’t even realized you had started crying again, but now, she’s looking down at your glassy eyes and swollen lips with so much intensity that you forget why you were crying in the first place. Her thumb swipes a tear off your cheek before she leans down, lips brushing against yours. 

“My beautiful girl.”

Finally, nine years after the day you met, she presses her lips against yours and claims you as hers. Faintly, you feel your back collide with the wall behind you as her tongue slips in your mouth. You’re holding onto her suit for dear life as she practically devours you, and you wonder how you were ever angry at this woman. It’s far more intense than the softness you experienced earlier with Se-mi, and you’re beginning to feel the effects of being pent up for so long. 

It’s not like you’ve never had sex with her before (to be fair, it’s only happened once), but this was far too emotional to be compared to the drunken haze you were both in when she fucked you over the seat of her van. There were no kisses shared then, no gentle caress of your face before she took you for herself. 

You’re dragged from your own thoughts when you feel a hand slide under your shirt and bra, gasping into her mouth as a cold hand cups your breast, roughly pinching your nipple between two fingers. You whimper right into her ear as her lips move down to your neck, sucking and biting as you openly pant. She’s practically surrounded you by now, but it’s not enough. 

With trembling hands, you grab the zipper of her pink suit and yank it down to reveal her slender body underneath. Your fingers scratch down her toned torso and you drink in the wonderful groan that leaves her mouth. As you’re preoccupied, she tugs on the hem of your sweatpants, pulling them down right along with your panties in one pull. 

Faintly, as her hands grip the plush of your thighs, you try to determine if you’ve ever felt such strong feelings of desire, of love, of anything with anybody. 

No, you’re sure you’ve felt this before. 

Your eyes shoot open as she calls your name. Somewhere in the haze, No-eul has dropped to her knees in front of you, and now, she’s looking at you like you hold the world in your hands.

“Do you still love me?” A pause, and her fingers press harder into your thigh, cold leather gloves long forgotten on the floor. “Can you still accept me?”

Every moment that you remember being so close to that overwhelming emotion, No-eul is right there next to you. 

“I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

A tear falls from her pained eyes, but you aren’t given the opportunity to wipe it away before she leans forward and presses her open mouth against your core. A gasp leaves your mouth and you immediately tangle your fingers in her short hair. It’s a bit too much to take in all at once - the woman you’ve loved for years is fucking you, and this time, you think she might actually love you back.

No, who are you kidding, you know she loves you. Maybe not as much as you love her, but she has to love you if she’s on her knees like this for you.

With the comfort of this knowledge, you lean your head back and lose yourself in the feeling of her tongue deep inside you, strong hands holding you still against the wall even if your legs feel like giving out. As your moans and pants fill the room, you beg internally that Se-mi isn’t waiting right outside the door to walk you back (or at least let the sound-proofing be decent). 

Unsurprisingly, after a couple years without any genuine intimacy with anyone (you couldn’t bear to let anyone fuck you after No-eul did), you reach your peak quickly. It doesn’t feel like some triumphant moment; your legs shake as the tight coil in your stomach unwinds and it’s satisfying to some extent, but you can’t stop the sudden rush of tears that follow. 

Why did your acceptance of your feelings for her have to come in a place like this - covered in the blood of someone you killed with your own two hands? 

Your legs finally give out in your grief, but she’s quick to catch you, leaning back to properly sit down on the floor as she carefully guides you onto her lap. For a moment, you just tuck your head in her neck and cry as a hand gently rubs your back. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” No-eul whispers, caught up in her own guilt for leading you down the same hateful path she accepted long ago. Why did you have to love her? Why did you have to follow her road towards self-destruction, the one she vowed to shield you from?

You want to tell her that she has nothing to be sorry about because you chose all of this on your own, but you can’t bring yourself to speak. You’re worried that if you open your mouth now, all you’ll do is start spouting nonsense about how much you love her and how much of your humanity you would forsake to protect her dream. 

Instead of further exposing yourself, you gently take the hand she’s kept on your waist and guide it down lower once again. To her credit, she understands right away and you’re given no time to prepare for the two long, slender fingers she pushes inside you. The sound of your sharp inhale right next to her ear must’ve been enough confirmation that you were okay, because she immediately starts moving them up and down inside you, rubbing gently against your still sensitive walls. 

Your hands wrap around her back and grip her shoulders as your hips begin to move in tandem with her hands, your heavy breathing a stark contrast against her soft one. The hand she had on your back is still there, soothing you until your tears turn from ones of sadness to ones of pleasure. 

As the high you’re chasing starts to get closer, you tear your nails down her back. Even though she’s still the same person as she was minutes ago, something feels different this time.

“Please don’t stop, please-”

“I won’t, I swear.” The hand on your back flies down to grip your hips to hold you steady as your movements grow more frantic. “I’ll never let you go, not for anything.”

You almost fall forward when she suddenly leans back, but you catch yourself on her shoulders once again. This time, she looks you square in the eyes as she pushes you over the edge, her gaze filled with an emotion you know too well.

“I love you,” she breathes out, and this is all you need to fall apart in her hands. “I’m in love with you, I can’t let you go, I won’t.”

In the afterglow of the moment, she wraps her arms around your waist and pulls you right up against her body.

“Even if you can’t love me anymore, I’ll continue holding onto you for the rest of my life.”

You smile at her words. You feel more content than you ever have before.

It wouldn’t be so bad to die in this place now.

—

A/N: my bad min-su fans and nam-guy fans, its for the plot y'all😭😭also if im being completely honest, I started writing writing this longass story just for smut with no-eul but it got so unexpectedly deep cuz I couldn't handle writing it with no build-up or emotional tension or ANYTHING

hope y'all enjoyed and LOL to the fellow FREAKS out there I hope the smut was alright cuz that was the most difficult part for me... LMK WHAT U THINK!! pt. 3 is coming in SEVEN MONTHS LMFAO😭😭😭SEASON 3 SAVE ME... SAVE ME SEASON 3

also if u request feel free to add details and stuff I might be able to build it into a longass story like this (but WOW this took too long) also I LOVE TO WRITE SAD SHT!!! SEND ME SAD SHT ILL LOVE IT!!

Taglist: @asvterias

[mikuluvu]

can you do Janitor!Jimmy and Nurse!Reader like they're both bullied by Anya Daisuke and Curly most of the time and they comfort eachother by midnight talks and tending eachothers wounds

A/n: This is the second time... Whats with the bullying stuff guys 😭 but I'll do these just to make you guys full and happy , mouthwash rlly did a great job 😦 but srsly i hope ur ok -

Janitor!Jimmy x Nurse!Reader

The Tulpar was always quiet at midnight.

Jimmy leaned against the rusted railing outside the medbay, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. His jumpsuit was stained with grease and blood—some his, some not. He’d learned to stop distinguishing between the two.

“You shouldn’t be smoking in here,” you said softly as you stepped out, clutching a first aid kit. Your uniform was crumpled, a dark stain smearing the corner of your sleeve where someone had grabbed you too hard earlier.

Jimmy exhaled a thin stream of smoke, his tired eyes flicking to you. “Don’t worry, Pretty sure a second-hand smoke’s the least of our problems.”

You sighed and set the kit down on a crate beside him. “Let me see.”

“See what?”

“The cut on your cheek. I noticed it earlier when Curly shoved you out of the cockpit.”

Jimmy flinched at the memory, his jaw tightening. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “Please.”

After a long silence, Jimmy flicked the cigarette away and tilted his head slightly, letting you inspect the angry red gash on his cheekbone. Your touch was gentle, your hands steady even though your sleeves still trembled with exhaustion.

“Rough day?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You gave him a weak smile. “They cornered me again during lunch. Anya said I’m ‘useless dead weight.’ Daisuke laughed. Curly... just watched.”

Jimmy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “They’re all bastards.”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that—him leaning against the railing, you carefully dabbing antiseptic onto his wound. It stung, but Jimmy didn’t flinch.

“Why do you think they do it?” you asked quietly.

Jimmy let out a breathless laugh, dry and bitter. “Because they’re scared. Weak people hurt others so they don’t feel weak themselves. It’s pathetic.”

You nodded, your fingers lingering against his skin before pulling back. “All done.”

Jimmy studied you, his tired eyes softer now. “You should get some sleep.”

You gave a faint shake of your head. “Could say the same to you"

His lips twitched into a ghost of a smile.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing the first aid kit and motioning with your head. “Let’s go to the storage bay. There’s an old blanket and a broken radio. Better than sitting out here.”

Jimmy hesitated before falling into step beside you. The Tulpar was dark as you walked together, your footsteps echoing through empty corridors.

The storage bay was cluttered with crates and dimly lit by a single flickering lightbulb. You dropped the first aid kit onto an overturned box and sat down on an old blanket spread over cold metal. Jimmy lowered himself beside you with a heavy sigh.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You just sat there, side by side, sharing the same fragile silence.

“You ever think about leaving?” Jimmy asked suddenly, his voice low.

“Leaving the Tulpar?” you asked.

“Yeah. Getting away from all this. Away from them.”

You thought about it—the idea of escaping, of breathing fresh air, of seeing sunlight instead of flickering LEDs. “Sometimes. But where would we go?”

“Anywhere but here,” Jimmy said, his voice cracking slightly.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, your exhaustion outweighing your hesitation. “If we ever get out of this... we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Jimmy froze for a moment before relaxing under your touch. His voice was barely above a whisper when he replied, “Yeah... together.”

Outside the storage bay, Curly barked orders while Anya and Daisuke laughed at someone else’s expense. But in this small corner of the ship, beneath the flickering light, you both just sat there together...

THNKS FOR READING!! REBLOGS W/COMMENTS IS APPRECIATED !! YOU CAN SUPPORT ME THROUGH MY KO-FI

[earlgreytea68]

And the thing is, I don't even care if you demonstrate you understand the material. Like, it doesn't make my life better if you can write an essay on x, y, or z. I want you to learn because I want you to learn. Writing an essay is often part of the learning, because part of learning can be communicating, but really, truly, learning is the point. And not learning how to prompt a robot to do the thinking for you, and not even learning so you know how to do whatever career capitalism decides you have to do, just learning because what have we been doing in our species's long quest that has ruined so very much if we also give up ever using these brains we've evolved?

We do things backward in so many ways, but one of the ways is cabining "school" into this limited portion of the very beginning of your life and so many people I talk to are just trying to get it over with so "real life" can begin, as if learning things is a huge waste of time we make everyone go through before the real stuff happens. I wish learning was not seen as a means to an end but as the end itself. I wish we took all these robots we made and used them to free all of us up to just sit around and learn about stuff. I think it would be so cool if we thought of ourselves as beings who learn rather than just...Idk, beings who buy stuff? Idk how we think of ourselves now lol. Anyway. Idk. Learn things. It's cool, in and of itself.

(This, btw, isn't about education itself. Schools have issues, I'm not trying to solve them or address them here. I'm just saying learning is cool. And also, I think learning many things you wouldn't ordinarily do just for yourself is cool. Like, being forced to read and think about things you wouldn't do yourself is a good thing sometimes. Being forced to get outside of your comfort zone of subject areas is a good thing. If we weren't always so stressed about our grading ourselves, I sometimes feel like this would be more evident to us and we'd do it more often, instead of being conditioned to avoid things we can't get an A+ in. I include myself in this.)

[topazy]

Teen spirit

Pairing: Carl Grimes × reader

Warnings: Swearing, minor violence

Chapter: 7.02

“Do you need any help?”

“No,” your voice cracks. “I’m fine... but thank you.”

Michonne clears her throat. “Rosita is just down the hall if you need anything. I’m going to go get some clean bandages.”

You nod.

Michonne stares at you for a moment, a sympathetic look on her face, before hesitantly closing the bathroom door. Unlike the house you lived in that only had showers, this one has a bathtub with a shower head attached to the wall. You turn the tap, switching it on; you step back, giving the water a chance to heat up.

You catch your reflection in the mirror; the sight of tangled strands of hair stuck together with blood causes you to almost throw up.

Feeling completely defeated, you step into the bath, wincing because of the pulling sensation on your stitches, then slowly sit down in the tub. Your clothes stick to your body as the warm water sprays over you, and you watch in silence as the foul-colored water, which is darkened by blood and dirt, starts to disappear down the drain.

You're unsure how much time has passed when the door opens. There’s a brief pause before then you hear Carl’s trembling voice, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

He places folded-up towels on the closed toilet lid and sits on the floor beside the tub. You feel Carl grab your hand, and immediately you feel tears well up in your eyes as you think about what Negan tried to do to him, what he tried to make Rick do to his son.

“I should have gone with Maggie,” you eventually say. “I should have stayed with my sister.”

“Selfishly, I’m glad you didn’t; I don’t want to feel alone.”

—

You watch from Carl’s bedroom as the saviors carry chairs, mattresses, food, and weapons to their vans. What the hell did they need all that stuff for? To refurbish their den. You shake your head in disgust watching as Father Gabriel approaches Negan.

“That asshole said we had a week.”

Carl gently pulls you away from the window so you are out of sight. Only a few days have passed since Glenn and Abraham were killed, their blood no doubt still a stain where they died, and Negan was already at the gates of your home looking for half of—well, everything.

“I know you’re beyond pissed, but someone needs to stay with Judith. She’s starting to fuss, and he doesn’t know about her yet. He can’t know.”

You swallow down all the curse words that come to mind. The saviors were getting more rowdy as they stole more belongings and scared more people. “Okay, uh, I’ll take Judith into the attic, and if they ask about the baby stuff, just say we collected it for Maggie.”

“That’s a good idea… I’m sure Maggie and the baby are okay.”

You had gone to great lengths to avoid speaking about your sister at all costs because every time you spoke about her, you broke down in tears. You were desperate to see her, but you completely understood why, at the time, Michonne thought it was best for you to return to Alexandria with them instead. Maggie needed to focus on herself without worrying about you.

“That’s a good idea; I’ll go get her.”

Carl goes to leave, but you catch his hand and lean forward; your lips meet in a kiss. “I’ll stay hidden until you come and find me.”

—

Once the saviors start to drive away, Carl lets you know the coast is clear, and you finally join the rest of your community outside. You weren’t sure of everything that had happened, but Carl told you his dad had to rummage through Spencer’s home to find the guns he was hiding.

While he continues to talk, all you can think about is the anger pulsing through your body. Did Spencer not understand how dangerous these people are? It was surprising Negan didn’t kill anyone else.

Rick notices you holding Judith and waves you over; his daughter was really becoming the light to everyone’s darkness. With so much death, it was easy to want to give up, but her cute little face was a constant reminder to keep going, that there were things worth fighting for.

Noticing Spencer lingering behind him, you narrow your eyes. You don’t hear the full conversation, just the end of it, when you hand Judith over to her father.

“You got lucky with the wall; you got lucky with us.” Rick holds his daughter with one arm and slings the other over your shoulder while walking slowly in the opposite direction. “How are you holding up? Carl told me about your plan. I’m thankful, but you're supposed to be taking it easy—”

“We should have made a deal with them when we could’ve.” Not getting a reaction, Spencer waits until Rick’s further away and shouts, “Oh yeah, we got so lucky. You’ve led us all to the promised land! Isn’t that right, Rick? Here we are! I guess Glenn and Abraham were lucky, too?”

Oh hell no.

You spin fast on your heels and storm towards him. “What was that?”

If it weren’t for Rick, you doubted most of you would still be alive. And for Spencer to bring Glenn and Abraham into his petty argument was bullshit.

Spencer rolls his eyes. “Come on—”

In that moment you want him to feel the same type of hurt everyone else was, but you doubt he is capable of it and jab Spencer on the nose before he can finish his sentence. Rosita jumps out of the car and steps between the two of you. “Y/N, go back inside now. Inside, go.”

—

“You have a good right hook on you.”

“I’m not apologizing. Spencer was being an asshole.”

Carl holds his hands up defensively before coming to join you on the floor. The saviors had taken all the mattresses from his house, so you’d be sleeping on the remaining blankets and pillows, which couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient time. Your actions earlier had come back and bitten you in the ass, and your side was now in agonizing pain again.

You hold eye contact while searching Carl’s face for any sign of what he’s feeling. “What’s going on?”

He chews on his bottom lip for a few moments before answering. “I overheard my dad and Michonne talking. Judith is Shane’s.”

Not knowing what to say, you rest your head on his shoulder. Everything was a mess. You had heard whispers while living on the farm and at the prison, but once Lori died, they stopped. “He loves her as much as he loves you.”

“My dad was shot in the line of duty, then a few days later the outbreak happened. I was devastated; I thought I’d lost my dad and my mom… my mom. Shane was his best friend.”

You sit in silence for some time while Carl processes this new information; his hands are trembling. Your eyes are closed until you feel soft lips pressing against the crown of your head. “I thought it was pretty badass when you punched Spencer.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure anyone else thought that.” You look up at all the small holes in the door where Carl has been throwing darts; since his vision was compromised, he was missing the board and hitting the door. You link your fingers with his, “I want to see Maggie. I need to know how she is, how the baby is.”

Carl looks deep in thought; eventually, he scoffs. “If it wasn’t for Negan, you could be with her… I know how to put things right.”

[possibilistfanfiction]

i really enjoyed the back and forth that cait and vi had where she asks her whether she’s been to university. i think they’re two people that match each other’s energy so well and truly understand each other even when they were just getting to know each other.

so maybe a prompt where they have their first big fight that they haven’t been able to work through like they usually do and jinx is the bridge that connects them both and helps them see where the other is coming from? i love reading about jinx’s relationship with the two of them and how she still struggles with thoughts of letting vi go to be loved by cait too.

[jinx the mvp, 10/10 little sister. lots of u wanted some more jinx interacting with cait / vi + cait which like same! additionally, p obviously hints at autistic cait bc 10/10 also. their argument is truly so dumb but hard relate lol]

//

tense is an understatement, but, you swear, it's totally not your fault.

or, at least, you're mostly sure: you had a full day of classes, and then your lab work study, and you made out a little and then napped in ekko's dorm. you didn't sleep over because vi had told you that caitlyn was going to come over tonight, and, despite her being annoying and prissy and the two of them sometimes having sex loud enough you could hear it through the wall, she does always bring you the best takeout from all of your favorite restaurants, orders way more than you could afford. it was, definitely, a necessary bribe the first few times, but it's been almost half a year of cait and vi, so you've accepted your fate now; she doesn't need to know that, though, because it's fucking boiling outside and you can't wait for the fancy greek salad and fresh squeezed lemonade you know will be sitting in the fridge for you.

you expect to walk in to the two of them canoodling on the couch or some other gay activity like scrabble (vi is a horrible speller, so it's kind of pathetic, in your opinion, that she lets caitlyn suggest it and agrees every time) or watching killing eve for the bazillionth time (less pathetic, and much hotter, but still) or carefully compiling all of the gear you need for your climbing trip over the weekend (the best overall option, because, obviously, but it's still too devoted for your liking).

instead, when you open the door and go through your daily routine of flinging all of your stuff all over the entryway that vi insistently keeps spotless, just like the rest of the apartment other than your room, and yell honey, i'm home!, you're met with stony silence, and then a stressed, 'hey,' from vi, slumped over at the kitchen island, glumly sitting on a bar stool with her chin in her hand.

'uh, hello.' you rummage around in the fridge and easily find, just like you dreamed, your salad and lemonade, and there's even some baklava left out on the counter — more than one portion, and you kind of know, already, that things had really nosedived. you sit down next to vi. 'sooooooo... where's our esteemed dr. kiramman?'

vi sighs, totally put out. '"taking a walk,"' complete with air quotes.

you hmm around a bite of mostly feta, perfect in your book. 'first fight?'

vi pinches the bridge of her nose; her shoulders and jaw are set in a way that you recognize from your entire life watching her try not to cry.

'okay, well, what did you do that was wrong, and what did she do that was wrong?' vi turns to you, all of the anger seeping out of her glare when you hold up your hands in defeat. 'i mean, it's usually a two way street, right?'

'you've gone to way too much therapy.'

you laugh, and it gets vi to crack a smile. the reality is that you're going to be on a bunch of medications and in psychiatric care, hopefully outpatient, for the rest of your life, but, honestly, you're basically killing it: you're hot, brilliant, and haven't had any delusions or psychotic episodes in well over a year — total triple threat.

you nudge vi in the shoulder. 'so what happened?'

'i don't even know,' she laments, genuinely dramatic. 'we were having dinner, and things were fine, i was telling her about one of the calls i went on today, and then she just, i don't know. started acting really short with me, and irritated for no reason, and it just... spiraled, i guess. we were both frustrated, and i was unkind, and she cried, and then she said she needed to take a walk.'

you finish chewing your bite. 'well, that doesn't sound, like, horrible. and, no offense, i'm sure she had a reason.'

vi picks at the mostly-healed scab on one of her knuckles. 'i have so many shortcomings, compared to her.'

you roll your eyes. 'you're the best person i know. i will deny it until the day i die, but you are, vi.' sometimes, you still want to keep vi all to yourself, but she's been happier these past six months than you've ever seen her. 'you know that's not what i meant.'

'whatever.'

'look, i'm sure it's more than just you.' caitlyn is, overall, a fairly patient person, and she's been gentle to your sister in the most important ways.

'you just said it was because of me.'

you groan. 'this is why you got in a fight. did you have a bad day too?'

the scab on her knuckle comes off and the cut underneath starts to bleed; vi presses her thumb into it. you hand her a napkin instead, waiting patiently until she takes it. maybe your petulance was an inherited trait, you think. 'i couldn't get someone's pet out in time. a cat; i just couldn't find it, and, i don't know. it's my job, and i did all i could, and i got yelled at for staying inside too long, and i'm just —' tears well at her eyes, and she's always been so soft — 'i'm so tired. i didn't want to have a fight.'

shushing her with platitudes would never go well, but you've grown to understand that vi missed five years of gentle touch, probably when she needed it the most. it's not often you get to take care of her, but you're thankful you can help now, at least a little. she leans into your hug and cries into your shoulder, and you just let her. 'you gotta stop staying in burning buildings too long, you know. scares the shit out of me.'

'i know,' vi mumbles into your shoulder. 'i don't — i don't mean to. scare you, at least.'

'well, maybe cait was scared. maybe, she didn't express it well.'

'that... could be part of it,' vi admits, perking up a little: that's not insurmountable.

'it's good, you know, that she took a walk. great coping skill, grounding through bilateral movement.' vi stares at you blankly, although it's just an act because she's been to years of your therapy with you and knows exactly what to do when you're having a hard time. you personally haven't talked to caitlyn outright about details, either, but you're sure vi has and you're definitely not unaware: caitlyn stims, like, all the time, in subtle ways but ones you recognize, and she hates eggs because of their texture, and you've watched her have little mini meltdowns over crags being crowded, or traffic being worse than it showed on the map; just last week when vi got her annual "summer haircut" without telling caitlyn first she'd excused herself for a moment to, you're pretty sure, cry in the bathroom — nothing to do with control, only needing more processing time and space to adjust to change. 'i'm sure her brain gets overwhelmed sometimes, too. big emotions, and being tired, and eating noises? nightmare blunt rotation, for me at least.'

vi thinks about it for a moment, and then she, thankfully, laughs. 'you wouldn't last a day in prison.'

'so true,' you say, and you don't let the grief eat at you, not right now. 'but you did, and you should eat your baklava before she comes back.'

vi looks at the dessert, a little stressed, but you just shrug and offer her a small fork from the drawer.

'i'm going to my room to eavesdrop.' you grin and put your share on a small plate. 'if you need me to cause a commotion, we can have a code word. i have plenty of things going on that would explode safely.'

'not too words that i feel confident in as a pairing.'

'thinking of the security deposit. very wise.'

it has its intended effect: vi snorts a laugh and takes a small bite, pleased at the honey and pasty and pistachio.

you squeeze her shoulder. 'love you, sis.'

she puts her hand on top of yours: always bigger, always stronger and steadier, always gentler. 'love you too.'

//

you do listen to them, whatever, once cait comes back. she apologizes, and then vi apologizes, and you live text the entire thing to ekko because otherwise it'd probably be too sappy to endure. they get at the heart of it pretty quick, mostly thanks to your advice to vi, thank you very much. apparently, caitlyn felt overstimulated from a few long work days with way too much masking, and the heatwave, and not enough sleep, and, unsurprisingly, you were right that she was frustrated with vi putting herself in danger and also chewing her gyro too loudly. vi had gotten frustrated because she was confused what she'd done wrong, and why caitlyn was upset, and she was really hungry because she'd skipped lunch so she already didn't want to have a long conversation while they ate, and, bigger than all of that, she always worries that she's not good enough, that she can't save everyone. her voice breaks a little when she explains.

'oh, darling,' caitlyn says, which, in ekko's words when you text him, barf, 'you can't save everyone.'

'yeah,' she croaks in a reluctant agreement.

'but you've done so well by your family, and those who love you. we don't need saving, we just need you.'

when vi starts to really cry at that, like, maybe you shed a tear or two as well, because caitlyn is an outsider. she hasn't know you your whole life, and she didn't know you when you had no idea what was real or not, when you thought vi — visiting you in that cold, damp tent, patiently, not forcing you to leave, for weeks on end — was some sort of ghost, when you spent days unable to fully wake up or stop moving, some horrible purgatory, when you were hospitalized and in withdrawal and the doctors hadn't figured out the right dosage of the right meds yet. even though you know vi has explained the basics, there's no way for caitlyn to fully understand that you did need saving — and vi did save you when no one else could.

but maybe she's right, at least now. you have a home and you know what's real, and vi isn't counting the endless, violent days of incarceration on her wall, tally marks stained in blood, and no one has done any big thing wrong; no one, really, is hurt.

ekko had dragged you into taking some queer poetics seminar, mostly because he wanted to and the idea of him pressing flowers into books and then reading you poems was not wholly unappealing, and you remember a fragment: i am not someone who likes to wound.

it's quiet, for a while, between the two of them, and then vi apologizes for causing even more sensory input by getting her tears on cait's shirt, and cait laughs, and you know vi is smiling, relieved.

'you can come out now, jinx,' vi calls, and you roll your eyes but you do go out to the living room to find them curled on the couch together before caitlyn gets up and pours herself a glass of wine and opens a beer for vi. you can't ever have alcohol, not on the long list of meds you have to take, but vi had gotten you a bunch of non-alcoholic beer to try: you don't have to say it, not anymore, but sometimes you still just really want to be like your big sister. ekko's gotten really into mocktail mixology for parties, and cait has brought over non-alcoholic wine too, a bottle every now and then. love shows up in all forms, so often.

you sit in your favorite reading chair, fluffy and overstuffed, while they get situated back on the couch, and accept the glass — the beer perfectly poured, annoying — from cait before she settles in.

'all good?'

vi hums and looks at caitlyn adoringly, and caitlyn runs her thumb over the tattoo on vi's cheek.

'ooookay, i'll take that as a yes. are you sure you don't want time for some more... intimate reconciliation? i can go to ekko's or hang out on vander's patio.'

'that's okay,' caitlyn says, and vi squeezes her hand. you get it: sometimes you don't really like touch, not like vi literally always does, especially when the world already feels too close and loud and sharp. but vi is kind, and she does her best to understand, and so they sit a little ways apart, just holding hands; you turn on housewives, because you and vi had succeeded in getting caitlyn invested and you were supposed to watch the new episode tonight anyway.

they both fall asleep on the couch later, vi's head in caitlyn's lap while she runs her fingers up and down the grain of vi's soft hair, nodding off eventually. you take a picture and send it to ekko before you get up to go try to wind down to sleep.

disgusting, he texts back. love them tbh

ugh. same

[unknownperson246]

a/n: Hiii! I really enjoyed I need you! Could you write a part 2 of that story and maybe the reader gets in trouble with Duff and he grounds her so she can't see Izzy but then she sneaks out and goes to Izzy's house and they get a little freaky? I don't know, you can take it however you want! No rush at all! 🫶

Hiiii Here is Part 1

Modern Izzy Stradlin: I Need You Part 2

Words: 986

warnings: *smut* *p in v* *daddy kink* *dirty talk*

✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:*

Your dad came barging into your room yelling about Izzy. Your mom came home that night seeing Duff in a really bad mood. She tried to comfort Duff but she did not interfere with the situation. 

“What the hell was that Y/N. I thought I trusted you but I guess not. You slept with Izzy.” Duff said, pissed off.

“Well duh. He was sexy.” You said smirking while putting your shoes on.

“Where are you going?” Duff asked, still annoyed by what you did. 

“I’m going to see Izzy.” You said.

“No, you're not. Do you know why? Because you're grounded” Duff said while he was rummaging through your room to find anything he could take away from you as a punishment. 

He found your iPad and your computer and decided to take those away. 

“You only have your phone. I’m not taking that in case there is an emergency. Oh, and I’ll be checking your messages while you're grounded.” Duff said looking for other stuff that was important to you.

Duff took the keys to your car.

“But I’m 18. Don’t you think that’s a bit too much?” You asked Duff.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit too much that you slept with Izzy?” Duff asked. 

You scoffed in annoyance.

“Excuse me. Did I hear attitude come out of your mouth?” Duff was angry. 

“No,” you said and Duff left your room glaring at you.

You knew you had to do something. You weren’t gonna sit still and be a good little girl for dad. You were going to go and rebel. You were tired of your dad not acknowledging you as a responsible adult. You could do whatever you wanted now but Duff did not want to let his little girl go. You climbed down your window. Last time Izzy visited he put his address on a note and slipped it under your pillow. 

You had found it the next morning when you were setting your bed that was still fresh with his musky cologne. You grabbed your spare car keys that were hidden under your bed. You got in your car being careful of your surroundings making sure Duff wasn’t watching you. You drove to the address that was written in his perfectly sloppy handwriting. You waited in your car for a bit to collect yourself.

His house was small. You knew that he wasn’t really satisfied with the lavish lifestyle. All he cared about was his guitar and how he could do whatever he wanted with his life. You went to knock on his door. After a few moments, he opened it. 

“Y/N?” He was surprised.

“Hi, come in. It must be freezing outside and you don’t have a jacket.” He said pulling you into his warm environment. 

“Your house. It’s nice.” You said smiling.

He pulled you towards his couch. 

“You look cold,” Izzy said.

“Are you here for me to warm you up?” Izzy smirked.

“Well maybe.” You got on his lap. 

“I had an idea I couldn’t share last time because we were in a rush.” You said.

“I want to ride you.” You whispered in his ear.

“Wow you dirty little thing,” Izzy said before starting to unclothe you. 

You could feel the bulge underneath his pants starting to grow. You wanted him so badly and Izzy could see it.

“Where’s my surprise?” Izzy asked you remembering from last time.

“I said next time you visit me I will surprise you. So I guess you're just going to have to sneak into my room and I’ll give it to you honey.” You bit his earlobe after explaining.

“Fuck.” He chuckled.

“Well, at least I tried.” He smiled.

He immediately started to kiss you and you both made out. You took his shirt off that fit so perfectly on his body. You took the back of his neck and made his head move closer to you. Izzy kept complimenting your body.

“You're so perfect.” He panted while he was stuffed inside of your quivering cunt. 

“I can feel how wet you are for me.” Izzy laughed.

You shoved his hard member inside of your pussy and started to ride him. His hands were on your hip and you felt the buzz. You were getting needy and desperate for him so you started to go faster. 

You felt his huge cock grinding against the walls of your wet pussy. You felt his tip hitting your cervix each time you bounced. You were afraid your cervix was going to bruise.  

“You make me go crazy.” You said to Izzy as you forced yourself to bounce up and down on his hard cock. 

You once again started to kiss his neck and his bare chest. 

“I love it when you do all the work and I get to sit here and watch you while you please me,” Izzy said, patting your hair.  

“Almost there, Izzy.” You said before you started to squirt.

“Fuck” you gasped as you squirt all over Izzy’s lap. 

“Did that feel good sweetheart?” He questioned you. 

“Yeah it did Daddy” you whispered in his ear.

“You like calling me that? Do you call me that when I’m not around?” Izzy smirked as he asked you. 

“Certainly” You kissed his lips to stop him from talking anymore.

Your eyes locked with his and you came. You had several orgasms while you had your encounter with Izzy. You both finally were pleased with the amount of activity you both did today and you fell asleep in his arms knowing you were safe from any danger. 

Izzy carried you to your car and drove you home. You woke up in bed wondering if going to Izzy’s place was just a dream. You felt something in your bra. It was another note. You pulled it out and recognized it. 

“Had fun today.” It was written sloppily above his perfect signature. 

[slurmpinheimer]

from @cyber-harpie !! spit that shit homie!! I thought this deserved to be seen because it brings up a lot interesting points—and I do agree with this, though it got me thinking again. I would like to add a few things to my initial statement because analysis and talking about Kim is fun;

(WARNING: MAJOR KIM-RELATED YAPPAGE BELOW)

I’ve watched several play throughs where (especially at the beginning of the game/if they have low psyche) people aren’t sure of Kim, or even go so far as to call him annoying, a buzzkill, or an asshole. At first I found myself getting really defensive about this. Obviously not to the point that I made any hate comments or anything, that would be silly— But just in my head, automatically dismissing it because I love him and didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t imagine anyone disliking him, instead of thinking deeper and considering *why* people might come to these conclusions.

I believe the bits we get from Esprit and Empathy support my initial point that Harry is the perfect narrative device to meet Kim through. If I remember correctly, Kim was written specifically to find Harry funny, and Harry’s skills let us see that. and that’s IF you succeed the checks, or if you’re dedicated enough to save scum to see other possibilities/go through Fayde to see what other options might have held.

Like, before I learned about the end of the Homosexual Underground thought line, I certainly had my suspicions. I definitely thought Kim was at least queer-coded and headcanoned him as gay, but that thought trail is behind a legendary Composure check that I spent like 10 full minutes save-scumming. I had low motorics on my first run, and I only tried so hard because I had been spoiled and knew that it gave a thought called “Homosexual Underground” and needed to see where that led with my own eyes.

That’s just one example too—There’s several times that Kim Lore is behind hard checks (Ace’s High/Low, that tidbit about him smoking weed lol) or things he just refuses to elaborate on without specific circumstances. Plus there’s all the stuff that you can learn when you play a different quest line. I’ve had several people tell me that going through a fascist ends up with Kim actually being pretty open about things you don’t learn about in other questlines. I don’t even know all the details of that yet because I’ve been so busy doing the other quests and achievements that I haven’t finished a fascist run yet.

My thought process with all this is that without seeing Kim through the lens Harry, who works with him almost constantly for a week straight in a situation where deep and meaningful conversation is not just encouraged but *needed* to build a repertoire and ultimately solve the case—Not to mention the patience and care Kim treats Harry’s situation with—I can see how someone would look at Kim from the outside and find him to be… (anguish at typing out this word) …mid.

So yeah. On the surface level; Kim is a cop. He can be condescending and uptight, sometimes leading into lecturing people (something he himself admits). He plays his cards close to his chest, with both his moralist beliefs and even more so his sympathies for the rebellion—Which can make him look a bit like a fence sitter. He can be emotionally unavailable towards himself and others, making him hard to read and sometimes appear cold.

But past that, he is a beautifully crafted, deep character, and the perfect foil to the chaos that is Harry. He is the man that reaches out to shake your hand even though you ghosted him two days prior. He will pat you and give you a handkerchief when you throw up. He can be the man that sticks up for you time and time again, not just because he needs to in order to solve the case, but because if you really try, he believes you’re a good detective at heart. Past suicidal rants and nervous breakdowns, he encourages you to keep going.

He has been beaten down, ground and polished to a smooth finish by mutiple facets of oppression—from his glasses, to his race, his sexuality, all fundamental parts of himself that he cannot change. From years of working in a high-pressure, volatile work environment with low pay and little benefits other than the small satisfaction of completing a case, only to dive headfirst into the next one.

He pushed aside his lofty dreams of the skies to be down with the rest of us in the dirt and mud, trudging, struggling through life until we all inevitably burn away the fuel reserves and are nothing but smoke, a memory in the mind of fire.

Beyond that carefully constructed exterior, past his wall of professionalism (and habit of using his notebook as a shield) hides a goofy nerd, a lover of crosswords and cars, of silly radio stations, and a deep appreciation for beautifully bearded muscular men. He is an expert user of sarcasm and master of cryptic jokes, some even philosophical or political in nature. At his core, he wants to make things better for the people around him. He wants to believe he can make a difference, no matter how long it takes or how small the change is. Even if working for the RCM destroys him before he can see it come to fruition.

He is wonderful. He is amazing. He’s probably my favorite character all of fiction, and I don’t think there will ever be a day in my life that I stop loving him. That’s pookie you’re talking about. I’ll always have space in my heart for him.

He will live on as long as we do, as real as The Man From Hjemdall is to Roy because Disco Elysium *made* him real, handcrafting him, giving him life between margins and pixels. And that is worth everything.

Kim Kitsuragi is a fascinating character because there's not that much fun or interesting or compelling about him. And yet somehow over the course of playing Disco Elysium the game rewires your fucking brain around him. He's the middest man you've ever seen in both appearance and personality but at some point he says something kind to you or something critical of you and you feel like you just got hit by a truck and you need his approval like you need oxygen and like how tf did this happen. what are you

[aishangotome]

Azel Radwan: Romantic Ending Ch. 25 His Side Story

Chapter 25

Thank you @shatcey for providing the video for this chapter!

♡———♡

I had a bad feeling about this.

Kamal: Hey, shouldn't you tell Miss Emma the truth?

Kamal: If she knew you were alive, I think she'd be happy.

Azel: Even if that's true, absolutely don't tell her.

Kamal: Why?

Azel: ...Just because.

Kamal: That's not a reason. You're the one who wants to see her so badly.

Azel: Would you please not fabricate people's feelings?

(A dead god can't freely walk around outside.)

(...What am I going to do, tying down that woman who's continuing her journey as a book merchant?)

(In the first place, I don't want to see her, nor do I want her to be by my side.)

(When I let my guard down, I do remember her, but that's all.)

(Even for me, that woman will eventually become a dream.)

Kamal: I'm not fabricating anything. Because, Azel, you're clearly depressed.

Azel: Huh?

Kamal: You're absent-minded. You might as well admit it.

Kamal: That you've fallen in love with her.

Azel: Don't say such disgusting things, that's absolutely not true.

(Everyone's saying whatever they want.)

(There's no such thing.)

-

(...There isn't, but...)

The regular meeting of the triple alliance was held in secret.

The complacency that no outsider would come led to this current tragedy.

Emma: You definitely love me, Prince Azel.

The woman, whom I thought I would never see again, said it shamelessly and boldly.

Azel: ...........................

Emma: It's no use sulking.

Azel: I'm not.

Azel: No matter what you say, I don't love you.

Azel: ...Go back. Pretend you didn't see me.

Azel: I'll strangle Kamal when I get back. I told him at least a thousand times not to tell you.

Emma: Unfortunately, I can't just obediently go back.

(Go back...)

(...Please.)

Even though I denied it with my words, my heart was strangely restless.

The longer this conversation dragged on, the more likely I was to reach out to her.

Whether aware of my inner struggle or not, the woman casually took off her bag and took out paper, a quill, and ink from it.

(What is she doing?)

I peered at her hand, and a bad feeling swelled up as I saw the letters being written.

Azel: ...An invoice?

Emma: Yes. First, the expenses for Kamal's request... and the mental anguish I suffered...

(What do you mean, "expenses for Kamal's request"? I haven't heard anything about this...)

Emma: The reward for the success of that day's plan, plus compensation for various damages...

Azel: What are these "various damages"?

Emma: ...K-Kisses, hugs, and all that stuff!

Azel: Huh?

Emma: Subtracting my debt from this and calculating...

Emma: I think it comes to about this much!

The invoice thrust in front of me listed a theoretically impossible amount to repay, filled with zeros.

Azel: You... can you even read these digits?

Emma: No, I can't.

Azel: Don't say it so proudly.

Emma: But I won't let you say you can't pay.

Emma: ...My heart is expensive.

Azel: ......

I could sense her desperation, as if she was about to cry.

Perhaps the woman was just imitating the god who once bound her with debt.

(...Something worth a fortune...)

(If you put a price on it, maybe this is indeed the theoretical value.)

Azel: ...A dead god can't appear on the public stage again.

Azel: Unlike you, I'll be living in the shadows from now on.

(What is she talking about?)

(I should just throw the invoice back at her, saying it's ridiculous...)

(...This makes it seem like I'm the one clinging to her.)

(Even though that's not my intention.)

Emma: Then all the more reason why it's worth paying me.

Azel: Specifically?

Emma: I'll run a lot of errands in place of Prince Azel, who can't move freely.

Azel: That's fine, there are other people.

Emma: I'll even make delicious food.

Azel: ...I won't have any trouble with food even without you.

Emma: More than anything...

Emma: I'll teach you what true love is.

Emma: I'll correct your distorted perception of love and make you say, "My life was happy"!

Azel: .....

Azel: ...............

Azel: ..........................

(Damn it...)

(...You understand why I'm pushing you away, don't you?)

(Love is a curse.)

(It's something that makes people unhappy.)

(I've never seen proper love.)

(...Certainly, this "true love" you're talking about is different from what I know...)

(...Maybe I'm just ignorant...)

The woman—Emma is waiting for an answer.

Her gaze was so sincere and genuine that it took my breath away.

She seems to truly believe that she can teach me about "true love," and my heart wavers with an unfamiliar curiosity.

(...I don't like you... I shouldn't...)

Against my will, my hand snatched the invoice.

Azel: ...I'm just reluctantly accepting you to repay my debt.

Azel: Don't misunderstand.

(I've done it now.)

Regret immediately washed over me, but Emma's satisfied smile blew it all away.

Azel: Oh dear... With this much debt, I'll be broke for life.

Emma: Poor you.

Emma: Ow... ow!

Azel: ––...Don't run away until I've paid it all off.

(It's fine. I'll get over it.)

(...I know it's unreasonable.)

Emma: Do you know what that's called in the world?

Emma: It's called "adorable."

Azel: .............

Azel: ...I know that much.

(I don't want to admit it...)

(Even now, I honestly wish this was all a mistake...)

Against my will, I embraced her.

Azel: I've been cursed. By you, of all people...

Azel: I hate emotions that can't be explained with logic.

Azel: But I love you. Damn it...

-

I remember a dream I once had.

Azel: As for me, I'd rather not have anything to do with love.

Azel: ––Because I'm a god who doesn't love people.

(How did it come to this?)

Emma's dream, which I occasionally wander into, had undergone a noticeable change.

The immature space that only had buds was now surrounded by a multitude of roses, and the night sky had transformed into a clear blue one.

The sweet scent of roses tickled my nose, and I couldn't help but frown.

(...Dreams are a mirror that reflects a person's heart...)

Emma: Burn this into your eyes.

Emma: Because this entire space is probably my heart, which loves Prince Azel so much that it can't help itself.

Azel: ...Please stop.

Emma: And look at this.

Emma grabbed my arm and dragged me to the oak table.

There wasn't an unfinished book there, but a rose encased in a glass dome.

The fresh rose was partially crystallized, sparkling in the sunlight.

Emma: It's the most beautiful rose in the dream world.

Azel: ...Is that so?

Emma: I wonder what it means.

Azel: Don't ask me. This is your dream.

(...There's no need to guess anymore.)

Emma: This must also be my love.

Azel: ......

Emma: Don't I love Prince Azel too much?

Azel: Don't say it yourself.

(I never thought I'd experience such torture in someone else's dream.)

In this unbearably sweet space, Emma was smiling the whole time.

I couldn't take my eyes off her face for some reason.

(No... I know the reason why.)

(Once you're cursed, it's no use, it's too late.)

(...She's so adorable.)

(...)

Azel: ...Ah.

Suddenly, I noticed my face reflected in the glass dome.

It was a horrifying face, the likes of which I had never seen before in my life.

(Who is that... Is that me?)

(...What a nightmare.)

When I looked down, Emma, who had been looking at the rose all this time, was trembling.

Emma: It's alright, I already noticed.

Azel: ...What's alright about it, damn it.

(It's no use denying it with words anymore.)

Azel: ...Sigh.

Emma: Why are you sighing?

Azel: I'm just disgusted with myself.

(I'm getting tired of desperately denying it.)

(This is a dream... I can admit it a little in a dream.)

(...You're not the only one who loves too much...)

(...What's worth a fortune to me is right here...)

Azel: When and where did I go wrong? I wasn't supposed to love you, not one bit...

I couldn't help but look up at the clear sky.

The soft light pouring down from the moonless sky was pleasant.

Azel: I strayed from the path, this is the worst.

Azel: ...The fact that I don't hate it, that's the worst part.

.

.

.

Romantic Ending Epilogue

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to leave me a tip or buy me a coffee through the "Leave a Tip" button on my navigation bar!

[cadencelistic]

erm perhaps mouthwashing characters + younger sibling!reader??maybe angst like dying in their arms perchance,,thx!!!

You're getting somewhere......

Not proofread, obviously.

Curly was so happy when you came on the Tulpar, whether you're an intern or a new worker, he's suppopeperrr duppoerrr happy about it. He's kinda protective, he'll monitor you a lil more than the other crew members. They're all his responsibility though, so he won't go overboard. He needs to make sure the others are alright as well, ykkk??? Since i see no other way of you dying before he gets crashed, let's sayyyy...... The ship does crash like ingame, but you followed him like the STUPID LITTLE SHIT EVER. You're right outside the cockpit, and just before they hit the meteorite, Curly sees yo ass and tries to get you away, but fucks up and throws you into the fire. He pretty much goes fucking insane and tries to save you and gets himself burnt a little. Now you're a quarter bit more of a corpse and he's fucking bawling. You won't die yet, but you'll be soosososooooo happy when you do.

I don't think Jimmy is that happy that you're working together. Nah, he probably fuckin hates it. Now, people always assume that siblings will fight no matter what, that's a bit of an advantage for him he can say whatever shit he wants, and people will just be like "Oh, that's just how siblings are". A lot more meaner to you than he is to everybody else and sometimes forcibly shows you how to do your job right. He's probably the one killing you, and he'll barely feel any remorse. If not him, he still won't really care that much, “I told you so" that's him. If he cared...... It'd only be because he doesn't want to damage his reputation......

It's hard for me to think of Swansea having a younger sibling. I guess his parents fucked again when he was like 20-40 whatever you want and have a child that is raised better than he was. He'll still treat you like Daisuke, but you're family, so he's nicer. Holds nothing against you despite being the child that y'alls parents tried harder and better on. Acts like he has something to teach you, and does kind of teach you. I imagine that your parents didn't really like when you were with him during his drunk years, so you never really had time to spend together. If you died, he lowk wouldn't show how it affects him, but he becomes more irritable. Lashing out at people. Thinks it's his fault for you dying because he couldn't be a better brother. Thinks y'alls parents would fucking hate him for letting you die, might as well kill himself/hj.

Now, Daisuke. He's ecstatic!!! His little sibling with him? (You're in an intern here, idgaf) He's so happy that mom didn't send him alone. At least there's someone there that understands him. You and Daisuke are basically the children the others babysit. When you die, he just kind like.... Ykykykyk breaks down. Fuckung sobs himself on you, and he's scared that y'alls parents will get mad and hate him for not protecting you and he also thinks its his fault. Now he feels like the loneliest person ever, and he'll just be in a constant grieving state. All that standard stuff until he dies. Letss says that Jimmy was the one that killleed you. Daisuke would stay far away from him, and be all awkward whene he tries to talk with him

I feel like the person who'd take it the hardest is Anya, it just feels right to say that. You die a slow death, not slow and painful like Curly, but still dying slowly in pain. She'll try to treat you, but struggle lots because she just can't bear the sight of you in pain. Ultimately, she'll feel guilty when you die and blame herself for not being able to take care of you like a proper nurse should. This is really short and i hate that.

[httpvomitello]

aah, haiii!! i saw ur reqs was open for tmnt mutant mayhem (MY GOODNESS ITS SO HARD FINDING OTHER MUTANT MAYHEM WRITERS IN THE TAG WHEN ITS DEAD) so i thought i might request!! :)

could i req a few drabbles n hcs of mikey with a female kpop (doesnt have to be kpop specifically) idol reader?? like yk the basic stuff, globally popular and well liked model?? it’s alr if you cant do it!!

have fun, take care of yourself and drink and eat and rest!!

Hello my beautiful person! So, I'm not writing for TMNT anymore(on hiatus for a while). But! I know how hard it is to find something from a fandom that's practically gone, so I decided to accept your request. Hope you like it ~ ♡♡♡♡

DON'T FORGET TO DRINK PLENTY OF WATER AND EAT TOO! I'm serious, I'll be keeping an eye on each and every one of you...

Fanboy Mikey *⁠.⁠✧

tmnt mm mikey x f!idol

Mikey is your #1 fan.

Like, he was a fan before you two even met. Posters on his wall, saved dance covers on his phone, and an embarrassing number of your songs on his playlist. The moment he found out you were real and actually into him? Mind blown.

He brags about you ALL THE TIME. You’re a global superstar, and he is so in love with you. His brothers get tired of hearing, “Did you see what Y/N posted today? Bro, she’s so talented,” at least five times a day.

Super supportive boyfriend vibes.

Whether it’s sending you good luck texts before a performance or watching every live stream you do (even if it’s at 3 AM), he’s always cheering you on.

Fanboy over you even in private.

You could literally be eating cereal in his hoodie, hair a mess, and he’d still be like, “Omg, my girlfriend is so stunning. The world doesn’t deserve her.”

Learns your choreography.

He already dances, so if you’re a performer, expect him to master your choreo just to show off. If you ever do a TikTok dance trend together? It will break the internet.

Lowkey insecure sometimes.

Like, you’re famous famous. Paparazzi, fans screaming your name, sold-out stadiums—the whole thing. He worries that maybe he’s not good enough, but you always reassure him with forehead kisses and cuddles.

Loves it when you sing to him.

No matter what, if you hum a song while lying on his chest, he’s melting. Absolute puddle.

Tries to go incognito at your concerts.

He wears the biggest hoodie and sunglasses combo and still gets recognized. Your fans think it’s adorable how supportive he is.

Secretly loves it when you style him.

He’s got his own fashion sense, sure, but if you ever put him in a cute outfit or match with him? He’s posing for the ‘gram immediately.

Paparazzi Problems

Mikey wasn’t used to this. The flashing cameras, the crowd of people calling your name, the chaos of it all. He squeezed your hand a little tighter as you smiled and waved at the fans gathered outside the restaurant.

“You okay?” you murmured, tilting your head to check on him.

Mikey blinked, suddenly realizing he’d been staring. “Oh, yeah! Totally! Just, uh… wow. This is normal for you?”

You chuckled, tugging him a little closer as security guided you both to the car. “Pretty much.”

Once inside, away from the noise, he let out a dramatic exhale. “Babe, I love you, but man, I dunno how you do that every day.”

Sometimes he even forgets that because he is a mutant turtle, he also ends up attracting a lot of attention.

You giggled, reaching over to ruffle his hoodie-covered curls. “That’s why I like being with you. You make me feel normal.”

Mikey’s heart did a little flip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Now, let’s go home and watch cartoons.”

Mikey beamed. “Best. Girlfriend. *Ever.*”

TikTok Shenanigans

“Mikey, keep your arms still—”

“I’m trying! But this move is impossible, babe.”

You sighed dramatically, stepping back and crossing your arms. “You literally learned a triple backflip off a skyscraper, and you can’t do a simple eight count?”

Mikey pouted. “That was different! This is, like… so precise. I don’t wanna mess it up.”

You softened, reaching for his hands. “You’re not gonna mess up. Just follow me, okay?”

He nodded, cheeks dusted pink. “Okay.”

By the time you finally nailed the routine and posted the video, the internet was losing it.

@fanaccount: MICHELANGELO LEARNED THE WHOLE CHOREO FOR HIS GIRLFRIEND I CAN’T—

@anotherfanofYN: They’re literally the cutest couple ever wtf

@iloveYN: The way he looks at her omg, we lost him to love y’all

Mikey, reading the comments “Babe… am I a boyfriend goal now?”

You smirked. “You always have been.”

[uncle-fruity]

I love the new year! It's my favorite holiday, and people who say that nothing changes or resolutions don't work or that everything is bad so there's no point in celebrating miss the point, imo. It's about getting through another year! It's about progressing and surviving and setting intentions for the new year. But too many people think of resolutions and new beginnings as things that have to be Big and Challenging for them to be meaningful, but that's really not how change works.

For the last several years, I've done what I call Resolution Bingo. I think of 24 things that range from Easily Doable to A Challenge and write them out on a bingo sheet. (Free space is always just Stay Alive.) The idea isn't to do all 24, but rather to try to get one or more bingos throughout the year.

I have never actually gotten a bingo (though I've come very close) but it doesn't matter. The point of Resolution Bingo is to put intention out there for the new year. I think of things I want to do or learn or get back into and I put them on my bingo sheet. Because of Resolution Bingo, I've gone to see more live shows than I used to. I've done more art projects & followed through with them. I've visited new places & had new adventures. I've learned new skills in cooking, needlework, and many other areas of interest. I have made both big and small positive steps for my life because of the resolutions I set at the beginning of the year.

So my advice is to think of resolutions as less of a major life change that you want to dive into -- take the stress off. You can make smaller resolutions that help with your bigger goals. I always tell people who decide they also want to do Resolution Bingo that they shouldn't put anything like, "Run daily/weekly," because as soon as you miss a day, it can demotivate you into stopping all together. Or, if you keep it going, you might feel guilty about marking it off on your bingo sheet at the end of the year, even if you still did a lot of work towards the goal. So, usually, I recommend setting realistic goals that get you going. Stuff like "run a 5k" or "run 3 different running trails" or you know... whatever is reasonable for you and has a tangible beginning & end. If you start working towards something fun or rewarding, you will still be doing the running you set out to do. Going for a daily run is good and all, but it's a slog if you don't know what you're working towards or if you don't allow yourself to rest on days that you really need rest.

My resolutions this year include things like getting a piercing, reading 50 academic papers, visiting all the libraries in my city, learning to place all the countries on a world map from memory, learning 3 new recipes, go somewhere new, complete 1 sewing project... Stuff that will take time and energy, but which will improve my life in ways I want to see it improve. If I don't set some goals -- even fun ones like going to a new museum -- I will just forget to do anything exciting or new & get lost in the depressing Grind of Life. And if you're lost in the depressing Grind of Life, remember to get outside and so anything at all that sounds appealing or productive or fun. It really helps to connect with the good things in life; makes you stronger and more stable in the long run.

I'm coming out as a new year's enjoyer. "Oh you will never stick to these goals" "nothing is really different between one day and the next" "why celebrate the bad years" because I want to!!! Because I love endings and beginnings and making lists!! I love the concept of starting the year by partying I love the drama of kissing someone at midnight I love the one time of the year when it is cold I love starting a new calendar and I love cheering for no reason

[yayadrawsthingz]

Oh Hey look it's Ch 2 of this thing I made for @keferon 's Mecha au. More Texaid because I can not, not love them. This paring has done stuff to me, so I am making all of this, you're problem. Have fun reading.

tw for mild gore

----------------------

All was black, that’s all that Vortex could see as he pushed against the restraints of Shockwave’s weird mind control thing. “Come on. Just. Let. Me. THROUGH!” Vortex pushed and pushed, until he was falling. Down and down, faster and faster until he hit the ground hard. Or was it really the ground, considering that this was Felix’s mind.

Getting up was disorienting, Felix’s mind was a rush of multiple things happening at the same time and truthfully, it sometimes made Vortex’s head hurt by how overcomplicated Felix made unnecessary things. No matter what, he is in the depth of his mind. The only problem now, finding Felix alive. 

The Problem was how? How can you find someone that’s trapped in their own mind, and how does he know he’s not talking to a memory? Uhhg Think Vortex Think, there has to be a- 

Laughter filled the area and a tiny figure ran past him. The darkness was no longer darkness, instead, a fuzzy memory of outside. Looking down at the kid-First aid;Felix as a kid, he was holding something in his hands, running closer to other kids. Looking closer he could see that what little Aid was holding was the shedding of a garter snake. Kid happily presented it like a trophy only to be screamed out that he was disgusting, before they ran away from him. Lil Felix looked down at the snake with a pout. “What’s wrong with the snakie pajama?” Before any more words were said, the world changed around the two of them, well mostly Vortex as now he was standing in a classroom with a teenager Felix cutting open a frog. He was the only one enjoying it, as the others around him were gagging at the smell, or were refusing to dissect it. He heard whispers around them from the ‘popular’ girls. “Eww is he really enjoying that?” “What a freak, like dissecting animals.” “You think he killed animals when he was younger.” “He should be put in the loony bin.” Vortex growled at those words, how dare they say such mean things about Felix. Ya He may be a freak, but he’s not a psychopath. If only he can give them a piece of his mind, but he can’t, as it was just a fucking memory. 

Just like the last one, The memory was changing into a courthouse. Felix was in prison cloths, and it seemed like he was being sentenced when- 

Shockwave walked in, asking the judge if he could take the organ stealer off his servos, and put him to good use of community service as a medic in his company. The Judge thought about it, before giving him his sentence that he would be put into community service by Senator Shockwave’s Mecha program. 

The memory changed once again. He was standing in front of himself- His Mecha. Glowing red visor as it displayed “Get inside” only this time it was different, instead of letting him in all the way, no the visor closed shut, blood everywhere, as Felix gasped for air, screaming his lungs out, trying to push open the hydraulics of the visor. But it was fruitless, He would die here, another victim of the cursed Mecha. 

But unlike all of the other times, Felix’s eyes snapped directly onto his, a hand outstretched as he weakly called out.

“V-Vortex.” 

That got the ghost into action, rushing to his side, pulling him up and off of his mech's closed visor, blood following as his legs were left outside. He placed two hands on his cheeks. “Felix, First aid, Listen to me, it’s all going to be ok, you need to fight him. You need to fight Shockwave off. None of this is real. You are not hurt. I will never harm you like this. This is all him trying to scare you into giving up. So please. Felix. Don’t give up on yourself… Don’t give up on me.”

A hand was placed on his own cheeks, the smell of blood was strong, as Felix smiled. “You came.” “I,, Of course I came, I’m not an idiot, the only one who’s allowed to control you is me. Got it. No one is taking that away from me!”

Felix laughed weekly, hoisting himself up so he could wrap his arms around Vortex’s neck. “Got any ideas on how to leave the deep corners of my mind?” 

“I may know a way, so hang on tight baby.” He grinned, sharp fangs showing. Then they were taking off, out of the fake memories. Felix gained his legs back, and the blood disappearing the moment they came back to the darkness. 

Then they were being thrown back into real life. Vortex knew it was real mostly because he felt cold, ghostly, and not solid like he had been in Felix’s mind. The man in question gasped loudly, throwing his head forward, saliva dripping from his mouth. The mech paused, it had been moving before but now it was stopped with no one playing with the controls. 

Felix immediately took his hands off, realizing that he had just touched the one thing that had killed off multiple other pilots. Vortex just grinned at Felix’s worry, it was so cute, he really wanted to chomp down on him, perhaps find a way to make him a ghost piloting this mech alongside him. 

But no, they had bigger issues to attend too. There was electricity that flowed through the helmet into Felix, making him scream again. Damn it, Shcokwave was not going to let up was he. He will have to break his own rule. 

“Felix Pilot me.” “W-what, Pilot- I’m not going to- AHK”

“You can and you will, I am ordering you to pilot me, While I take on Shockwave. Don’t disappoint me, Aiddy.” His Grin was back to being sharp and full of venom, disappearing into the mecha itself, He was ready to defend Felix with his life. Not to let a single code from Shockwave get anywhere near Felix. 

He trusted the man not to fuck him up. Because it was no longer just him on the line, it was both of them. With a yell from the both of them, One piloting the mech like second nature while the other took on the waves of code.

They will stop Shockwave, once and for all.

-----------

This will possibly be the last chapter. But If I think of more, I'll just make a third chapter, hope you all liked it.

[27spoons]

CRUSH | ACT ONE: DO I WANNA KNOW?

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: You're studying on a Friday. Natalie doesn't like that.

wc: 4200 (blaze it) (im not funny)

warnings: none. I think.

a/n: happy birthday 2 me. here is another chapter. lowkey i wasnt planning on have two chapters in a row with a ? in them but oh well yolo and all that fun stuff. anyways this chapter is basically just two losers yapping (next one will b longer promise)

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT ONE: HOW CAN I MAKE IT OK?

NEXT - ACT TWO: (idk yet titles are hard) (WIP)

The thing about Natalie Scatorccio is that she always seems to find you when you least expect it. It’s like she has a sixth sense, some radar that tells her exactly when you’re trying not to think about her—and then she shows up, smirking like she knows all your secrets. 

Today is no different. You’re sitting on the steps outside the library, flipping halfheartedly through a history textbook, when her shadow falls over you.

"Studying on a Friday, Princess?" She lets out a low whistle, "Now, that's tragic."

You roll your eyes and let a scoff fall from your lips, "Listen, not everyone can afford to just… throw caution to the wind or whatever. Some of us actually need to study."

Nat snorts as she fishes a cigarette out of her pocket, bringing it to her lips and lighting it, "I do study, just not on Fridays, like a nerd." She gives you a pointed glare, but it lacks any actual heat.

Without giving you a chance to object, she throws her duffle bag down on the steps next to you and sits down with a grunt. "Seriously, though." She ashes her cigarette, "Why're you sittin' alone out here, head in your…" She glances at the cover of your textbook, "history book when you could be doin' anything else?"

You shrug and close your textbook with a sigh, "I dunno. I guess it's just… the way things are, or whatever. Never really been the type of person who goes out on Fridays." Nat nods in understanding as she takes a slow drag from her cigarette, "Yeah, I get that. Nothin' wrong with that. But it gets boring after a while, yeah? Doin' the same thing every week, set in some constant routine?"

"I guess," You sigh and move to put your textbook into your backpack, "But don't you have routines? I mean, soccer and all that?"

"Yeah, I got some routine. Some days, I get up earlier than others to make it to practice. Some days, I spend some time after school kicking around a ball in the field. But that's not my point." Another drag of her smoke, "My point is that you can have some routine, but life is so fucking boring if that's all your life is." She rolls the end of the cigarette between her thumb and pointer finger for a few seconds before looking at you, squinting against the harsh light of the sun that beats down from behind you. "You gotta have something to shake it up every now and then, yeah? You don't gotta go to a party every week, but what's stoppin' you from goin' to one now and then?"

"It's just never been my scene, I guess. My friends and I don't really… do parties, you know? Like, we have small get-togethers or whatever, but we don't party. Never really seen myself as a party person, either." You shrug, zipping up your bag and moving it to rest on the step in front of you, "I dunno. I guess the…" You wave your hands around as you think of the proper words to use, "loud music and annoying people isn't exactly what I consider fun." A fond shake of your head and a gentle laugh, "But, hey, all the power to you if that's what you do find fun."

"You ever been invited to a party?" Nat chimes in after considering your statement for a few seconds.

You have to think about that question for a few seconds. "Yes." You finally manage, which earns you a skeptical look from the woman sitting next to you.

"Then why'd you have to think about it?" 

"Oh my God." You roll your eyes, "Because it's been a while since I got invited to one, alright? Like I said, I don't hang out with the type of people that go to parties. So…"

Nat hums at that, seemingly accepting the answer you've given her. "Alright. So what do you do on Fridays? Or the weekend? Or whenever you aren't with your nose in some book." She gestures to your backpack and the textbook inside of it by extension. "Nothin' wrong with it, but you gotta do something else, yeah?"

A huff leaves your mouth before you can stop it, "Well, you've caught me sketching once or twice, yeah? I'm a pretty big fan of that. Uhhh…" You think for a few seconds, feeling like this is an awkward first date where the person is asking, "What do you do for fun?" and it takes everything in you not to give out the most generic answers possible. "I think I mentioned meteor showers to you before? I, uh, I like stargazing. And I guess I kinda play games sometimes? Although it's usually just… simulation games or whatever. The mindless stuff."

"Right." The girl smirks to herself as she muddles over your hobbies in her head. "Drawing, stargazing, and simulation games. Yeah, you, my friend, are a walking funfest, you know that?" One last drag from her cigarette before snuffing it out on the step, "That stuff is fun and all, but you need some more excitement in your life."

"What? Like… stealing BuzzBalls from corner stores?" A faint smirk tugs at your lips, "Or taking joyrides in stolen Maseratis?" 

"First of all," Nat cuts you off before you can continue, "It was a Mazda. There's a huge difference. Second of all…" She hums and leans back, resting her elbows on the next step up. 

She looks over you in a curious sort of way, appraising your form and being. "You could skate. Could convince Kev to teach you a thing or two at the skatepark, as long as you aren't gonna cry if you fall. If you play simulation games, you might not be half-bad at pool or darts. Hell, even thrifting or something. Refresh your wardrobe. I swear, every time I see you, you're basically wearing the same thing, just in different variants." Then, a sly grin. "But the fun stuff? Bet I could teach you to tag stuff without getting caught. You're already an artist; you should leave your mark on some places, yeah?" Her grin widens, "Maybe I could even convince you to bust into an old factory with me." A beat, "Unless… you're afraid of ghosts?" Then, she's laughing to herself.

You try to fight the grin on your face, but it's hard when you find her smile to be one of the most contagious things you've ever seen. "I'm not afraid of ghosts, thank you." A dramatic roll of your eyes earns another laugh from Nat, her smile wide and plastered on her face like she's having the time of her life. "But, also… I dunno. Maybe I could be convinced to try something new." "Maybe?" Nat parrots, still half-laughing. "Nah. I will convince you to "try something new"; you just haven't seen how convincing I can be yet." A self-satisfied grin replaces the smile she was wearing, and she leans in slightly, lowering her voice. "And I can be real convincing, Princess."

And… yep. You're blushing again. Nat, of course, notices this. Her grin gets ten times toothier, clearly satisfied with herself, and she leans back again. "But," She shrugs—as if she didn't just fluster the shit out of you with a single sentence. "That's for a later date."

Before you get a chance to respond to that, you catch sight of two girls wearing practice uniforms approaching—a simple grey shirt with the mascot's name on it and some shorts. You've seen them around before; it's a small town, after all. 

Jackie Taylor—homecoming queen and captain of the girl's soccer team. Beside her, Shauna Shipman—who you… honestly don't know much about. You're pretty sure the two of them are best friends despite the fact that they seem like polar opposites. 

Something something opposites attract, or whatever.

"Nat." Jackie stops in front of the two of you, regarding you with a half-assed smile for a fraction of a second before turning back to Nat, "You will be at practice today, right? You aren't gonna ditch again to do—"

"Yes, Jackie. I will fucking be at practice, alright?" Nat cuts her off with a scowl and a roll of her eyes. You swear she's gonna add something else but opts against it.

"Well… good." Jackie nods, then glances at you for much longer than she did initially, a curious expression on her face. 

You don't have to guess why the expression is there, either. You aren't that dumb. You don't really look like the type of person Natalie Scatorccio hangs out with—not with your textbooks, sketchbooks, and meekness. No, you've seen the people she hangs out with. Misfits, mostly. There's that one goth kid, that guy with curly hair, and the redhead chick—who also plays on the soccer team with Nat. Then there are the… less than savoury characters. The people who she isn't seen around as much, but everyone knows she is around. Not hardened criminals per se, but people who are very, very rough around the edges. People who have longer rap sheets and far more "experience" being criminals than Natalie does.

Either way, Jackie doesn't comment on the stark difference between Natalie's usual crowd and you.

You give the team captain a tense smile as she looks at you, which she quickly returns before looking back at the girl sitting next to you, "We start in thirty."

"Yeah, I know, Princess." Natalie rolls her eyes, "I'm well aware what time practice starts, thank you."

"I was just trying to—" Jackie huffs and crosses her arms, "Whatever. Be there." Then she walks off, seemingly pouting, and Shauna gives Nat a shrug in apology before following.

Once the pair are out of earshot, Nat groans and pushes a hand through her bleached hair, "See, that's someone I call a princess in a derogatory manner."

You snort, "But it's not derogatory with me?"

"Nah." She shakes her head, "With you? It just… feels right. Dunno. Like that one chick we called "Crystal the Pistol" a few times. It's an affectionate nickname, or whatever." She waves a hand dismissively, "Not my point. Point is, when I say it to you, it's…" A beat of hesitation as she tries to find the right words, "Ugh. I don't know. I'm not good with words. Just know it's a good nickname, not a bad one."

"Right." Your eyes narrow slightly at that, but you don't push the topic further.

Which Nat seems grateful for, anyway. "Anyways. What the hell were we talking about?"

"Uhhhhh… hobbies, and how mine are, apparently, drastically boring?"

"Oh. Right." She nods, thinking about the previous conversation for a minute, then she gives a fond roll of her eyes and turns to you with a soft grin, "I mean… you said it. Not me. I just said you need some excitement. I'm not the one that goes stargazing for fun."

"Right. And most of your suggestions were…" You hum in mock thought, "Illegal, no?"

"'s only illegal if you get caught, actually." Nat shoots back, "And where's your sense of adventure, huh?" She nudges you with her elbow, "Gotta live a little, Princess. I know that BuzzBall was probably the first time you've ever… partaken in something illegal."

You roll your eyes and lean your back against the railing as you turn at the waist to face her, "Sorry, I don't willingly rob stores for fun in my free time. My bad."

You think you see Nat's jaw twitch at the comment, making you think you said the wrong thing, but before you can dwell on it too long or too hard, she lets out a hollow laugh. "Yeah, well, certified adrenaline junkie and all that. What can I say? Robbing stores gives me a rush." But the words come out slightly strained—like she's not telling you the whole story.

She clears her throat, clearly eager to move on from that particular line of conversation. "Whatever. Still. Like I said, I can… get Kev to teach you how to skate. Or… hell, you ever kicked a soccer ball around before?"

"In PE, yeah. But that's about it."

"Hmm." The blonde considers this, "You any good at it?" You snort, "Hardly varsity material, but I'm not, like, terrible at it or anything."

"Yeah? Well, maybe I can show you how to be junior varsity material. Shouldn't be that hard to play better than a few freshies, yeah? Maybe I'll even teach you some soccer tricks." She grins to herself, "Teach you the basics of freestyling soccer balls."

"Mm, promising a lot here, Nat. First, you're saying that you'll teach me to play good enough to beat some "freshies" in soccer, then telling me you'll teach me tricks?" You click your tongue, "How do I know you aren't gonna completely bail on me?" "Oh, make no mistake, I don't go back on my word. If I say I'm gonna do something, then you can bet your sweet ass I'm gonna do it, yeah?" A toothy grin, "And that's the Scatorccio guarantee."

You snort, "Yeah, you say that like your last name holds a lot of value when it comes to trust—" 

The words are meant to be teasing, they come out in a teasing tone, but you still feel like a piece of shit the second they leave your mouth.

"I… I didn't mean it like that. Sorry. I wasn't thinking—"

"Nah, no," Nat shakes her head and waves her hands, "no. Don't worry about it. I'm not mad at you or anything." A grin, likely to ease your nerves, "You're not exactly wrong either. But I'm giving you my word anyway. Which… you should take." 

"Hm." You take some mock consideration to that, "I will take it for now. But I make no promises for whether I keep it or not."

"Won't regret it." Her grin becomes slightly more genuine, "Promise."

You spend the next… ten, fifteen minutes? talking to Nat on the steps of the library, actually getting to know each other, rather than those single-minded adventures that the two of you have been on the past little while.

You trade off on the typical "first date" questions: Favourite food (Hers is apparently pizza, which you said was boring, then she rolled her eyes and dropped "Ribollita" and refused to actually tell you what that means.), fast food (Said "Taco Bell" immediately.) music (Matches her. Veruca Salt, Blondie, Nirvana, The Pixies… you get the idea. You asked her if she played the music on tape decks. She said yes. You don't know if she's joking or not.), books (She called you a nerd. Then proceeded to say, "The Anarchist Cookbook".), least favourite teacher (Mr. Miller, who teaches Auto Shop and keeps telling her repair work is sloppy.), and most importantly: the meaning of life ("ask me after I've had a tab or two"??).

After spending the past three minutes trying to convince her you don't get straight A's in every class, you decide just to show her your most recent in Physics and you… realise you left your binder in your locker.

"Crap." You sigh as you peer into your backpack, "I think I left my Science binder in my locker."

Nat snorts, "Didn't you open your bag earlier to put away your textbook? How didn't you notice it then?" "Because I wasn't thinking about it then." You sigh and close your bag, "I need to grab it from my locker. I don't—" "I'll come with you. Need to head to the locker room and change into practice gear." She cuts you off, pushes herself off the stairs, and, much to your surprise, actually waits for you before she starts walking. You try not to act surprised by this as you grab your backpack and throw it over your shoulders. When she does catch you acting surprised, because of course she does, she grins and rolls her eyes. "I said I was coming with you. Which means I am following you, and you aren't following me. Therefore, I have to wait for you. I still don't wait for people to follow me, Princess."

You can't fight the way your eyes roll and lips purse at that comment, "Right." Once you're standing, the pair of you head off in the direction of your locker.

"Dude, your locker is all the way in the old science hall? Who the fuck goes here anymore? There are zero classes near this place anymore. It must take five minutes to walk from class-to-fucking-class." She mutters, more to herself than you, and shakes her head as you two reach your destination. "Yeah, if I could have chosen my locker, it would be in the English hall. Right in the center of all my classes. I'm also pretty sure I'm the only person who has their locker in this hall." You sigh as you start to fiddle with the lock, "I've basically only seen the janitor up here. I don't know what I did to piss off whoever assigned lockers, but here I am." A sigh leaves your lips as the lock clicks open, "Admin won't even let me move lockers." Nat snorts and leans on the locker adjacent yours, "Yeah, sounds about right. They don't actually give a shit about the students here. I mean, for all the money going into athletics, you'd think they'd give us uniforms that don't chafe." An exasperated roll of her eyes, "So stupid."

"Sounds about right. Didn't the money go to the boy's baseball team or something?" She seems slightly surprised you know that but gives a nod of her head. "Uh, yeah. That's right. Which makes no sense considering we won states last year, and this year we actually have a good chance of—"

Her eyes zero in on the binder you're grabbing. "Holy shit. Is that colour-coded?" Her jaw drops in awe (or shock?), and she takes it from your hands, flipping it open. "H-o-l-y s-h-i-t. It is."

"I like having things organized by unit, whether it's a worksheet or notes!" You defend yourself, grabbing the binder back from her with a huff, "Sue me, okay!"

"Shit, I should." She lets out a low whistle, "Damn. All this for a…" She peers at the test you were going to show her, "B? Damn, Princess. That's unfortunate."

"You're making fun of me." You murmur petulantly, slamming the binder shut and shoving it into your backpack, "What's your GPA then, huh?"

Nat hums as she considers that answer, "Three point three."

"Wait." You turn to look at her, "Seriously?"

She laughs, "Yeah, seriously. I can't play soccer if I'm failing all my classes. Just because I don't show up to class doesn't mean I don't do the work for them." A roll of her eyes, like it was an obvious answer. 

"Mm. And do you do the work for them, or do you pay some unsuspecting nerd—"

"What makes you think I have the money to pay anyone to do anything?" The girl cuts you off with a snort and crosses her arms, "Trust me, I do all my work myself."

"Hey, who said anything about money?" You grin at her, "You have… dubious tendencies. For all I know, you're paying them some other way." You offer a teasing shrug, "Like stolen BuzzBalls or…" A faux gasp, "Oh my God. Am I the unsuspecting nerd?" Nat scoffs once and looks away, "Yeah, right." Another scoff. Then another.

…wait. Is she blushing? Did you just fluster Natalie Scatorccio? On accident? 

Between the way she won't meet your eyes, fiddles with the hem of her shirt, her usually pale cheeks now with the faintest hint of colour in them, and she swallows nervously? Wow. You think you did. How the tables…

You don't get too long to reflect on that before she's seemingly recovered and trying to act unaffected. "What if I am, nerd?" She leans into your personal space, "Maybe I'm looking for an unsuspecting nerd to do more than just my homework."

Now you're the flustered one. Again. "Uh—"

"I mean, think about it." She licks her lips, "The unsuspecting nerd and the resident burnout. Talk about opposites attracting. I could show you so much shit." A feral grin crosses her features, and your entire body heats up without your consent, "I could make you feel real—"

You take a step back, putting up both a metaphorical and physical space between you two. "Natalie. I don't—"

"Don't what? Oh, come on, Princess. Don't act like you haven't been thinking about it. I'm not dumb. I've seen the way you've been looking at me. Don't act like—"

You look visibly uncomfortable. Flustered, yes, but also uncomfortable. You're wringing your hands together in a subconscious act of anxiety, and whether that's because of her proximity or the situation, you aren't quite sure. Either way, Nat notices this.

You swear you see something like guilt flash behind her eyes once she realises she made you uncomfortable, but no outward attempt at an apology is made.

Natalie clears her throat and takes a small step back, the bravado dropping in an instant. "Whatever." She crosses her arms again, "Whatever. Let's just…" Her jaw tenses, and she shakes her head. "Nevermind." 

There's some very tense air that passes between the both of you as you awkwardly close and lock your locker, neither of you bothering to glance at the other, letting the awkwardness fester.

It probably would have kept festering, too, had the sound of Natalie's phone vibrating not broken the silence.

"Goddammit, I swear to God if Jackie is—" Her mouth snaps shut as she looks down at her phone, and a slow grin finds its way onto her mouth. "Ooooh, fuck yes." She looks up at you, "Say, Princess, you doing anything tonight?"

"Uhhhh…" You shake your head, "No? I was just planning on staying at home and…" You shrug, "I dunno. Relaxing, or whatever."

"Mm. I have a better idea. You should come to a party tonight."

"Oh." 

"Oh? That's it?" Nat rolls her eyes, "Come on. What was it I said about needing to get out of your comfort zone? A party is the perfect time and place to do it!" She shakes her head (and hands), "Look, it's a bonfire. If things go poorly, you can just… sit and stare at the fire and ignore everyone."

An unsure breath leaves your lips as you consider all the possibilities in your head. Of course, your mind heads to the worst-case scenario first, like a completely normal person would.

"Dude, seriously." She says, softer this time. "No pressure. It's just… a bonfire party… no, get-together, with some friends. That's it, yeah? Not like the entire town is gonna be there." She reiterates, throwing some emphasis on the fact it's "just a bonfire get-together," as if that will soothe all your nerves.

More hesitation on your part, but you can't deny the curiosity that seeds its way into your mind at the idea of seeing Nat in her element for once. "I… I don't know, Nat. It really isn't my scene—"

"It doesn't have to be your scene. It's just gonna be the place you spend a single Friday night. That's it. Don't ever gotta come to one again if you decide you hate it. Won't even bring it up again. Promise."

Even more hesitation. Even more curiosity you can't shove down and hide, for better or worse.

You don’t belong in the scene she frequents. Not really. But the way she grinned—like you were some project she couldn’t wait to take on—made you want to, even if it was just for one night.

"Come on. Drinks are free. Maybe they'll have more coolers you can try. Really dip your toes into the world of alcoholic beverages." She snickers.

Man, peer pressure does work, doesn't it?

You’re not a party person. But then again, Natalie Scatorccio isn’t just a person—she’s the reason you’re even considering it.

"I can't believe I'm gonna say this…" You shake your head and sigh, "But… fine. Fine. I'll… I'll go to this stupid party."

A wide grin crosses her face. Wide and very pleased with herself. "Perfect. Good choice. Best choice, really. Won't regret it, promise." She pushes herself off the locker beside yours, "I gotta get to practice. But I will… see you tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah. Yes." You sigh reluctantly, "I will… see you tonight, Nat."

"Hell yeah, you will. Maybe I'll even convince you to crack a beer or two. Smoke a cigarette. Real delinquent shit." She laughs at that as she begins walking off toward the gym, "See you tonight, Princess!" Nat calls from over her shoulder, "I'll text you the address!"

You watch her leave, blinking a few times in shock that she was able to convince you to go to a high school party so quickly.

"Well." You mumble to yourself, "Guess senior year isn't the worst time to go to your first party." You rub your forehead, mildly frustrated with yourself and your ability to say no, "Goddammit."

Well. Guess you have a party to prepare for, huh?

a/n: can i be so real with yall for a sec

every time i type in "natalie scatorccio" on pinterest i start feeling weird after the first few minutes cus I'm like "damn I'm fr just staring at photos of sophie thatcher rn" but I suppose it could be worse. could be staring at photos of (insert ugly celebrity name here)