#but this song has been stuck in my head for two days now its so sweet!

[lyculuscaelus]

Answers

(My EtM secret Santa gift for @betterbekind ! Merry Christmas!)

Sometimes, he would dream of the bright sun, the fleeting cloud, and the forested mountain that lay above the waves.

Sometimes, he would dream of a verdant branch of olive, casting a shade on him, blessing him with a sense of safety.

Sometimes, he would dream of a large fleet, radiant with high spirits of its crew, launching into the rosy-fingered dawn with many oars ploughing a salted field that was the wine-dark sea itself.

And sometimes, he would smell the fresh scent of soils, blinking his eyes bright with innocence, wondering why the donkey had suddenly halted by his side.

And sometimes, he would feel the warmth of the cradle, hearing his own name in his sleep, when a tender voice whispered gently, “…then I shall keep you far from war…”

And sometimes, he would notice the song of winds, wordless, like the sobbing of two parents.

But sometimes he would dream of those suitors. They always came in groups, playing, yelling, cramming his father’s palace with their filthy forms and noises of revelry.

And sometimes he would dream of their words—haunting, like the neighing sea.

For they said, “fight, little wolf; entertain us like you always do.”

For they said, “cry, little wolf; only your misery will comfort you.”

For they said, “die, little wolf; your incompetence will be the end of you.”

And he would think of those times when he failed to punish the suitors; and he would mourn the old days when seas and forests were all he could dream of; and he would grieve for the journeys he failed to start—the journey to prove himself worthy. Worthy, as the son whose blood echoed the name of a great hero.

But he never felt like it.

Odysseus would’ve killed them all so long ago, the moment they revealed their intent to woo my mother; Odysseus would’ve taken the crown and reigned over this kingdom already, instead of sitting in the courtroom mourning for a king forgotten, a father lost; Odysseus would’ve done so many feats before he even found himself stuck in a bedroom, dreaming of all the things he could never do.

And he would scream silently, in a dream that felt like reality.

Or was it the other way around? He didn’t know that anymore. Days were only pretenses of joy, while nights…

Well, only nights knew his silent tears, when he mourned for his father…when he mourned for himself.

I am no legacy of my father. When he thinks of me, I will only be known as a failure.

Because that’s what I am—a failure. Someone who doesn’t deserve to be the son of Odysseus.

Please. Just tell me I’m wrong—tell me, before it becomes all I can remember, all I can believe…

Please. Somebody…anybody…

And it was always silence that answered him.

Silence. Just another name for loneliness.

And sometimes, it was the very silence that shall wake him from his dreams.

Tonight was no different.

Telemachus opened his eyes to stare into the dark ceiling.

The dream still felt vivid. It was just like every other nightmare of his—full of taunts, full of grief. He was almost used to them at this point. They’re just dreams. They can’t hurt me.

No. Not on the outside, of course; but Telemachus couldn’t face what lay within. At least, not now, when the suitors were still—

Wait. No. He corrected himself quickly. The suitors are dead already. Killed by the very man I wish to meet for the first time in twenty years, only two days ago.

Telemachus shook his head with a bitter smile. It’s almost as if nothing has changed. I know my life is different now, but somehow it still feels the same—as if the suitors have never truly gone; as if my father has never really come back; as if there hasn’t actually been any victory.

Hard to believe, isn’t it? 

He let out a heavy sigh.

Guess I’m just not used to happiness like this.

Climbing out of the bed, putting on a chiton quickly, he walked to the door before realizing it was only in the middle of the night.

Doesn’t matter. As if I’m not used to waking up at this hour already…

He pushed open the door to welcome a silent hall, where only darkness would be his company. Sometimes breezes too, if the gods were keen enough to send those.

If only…so that he’d make it home so much earlier. So that we’d need to face no sorrow like this for years.

He paced quietly in the halls empty of the living.

If I start humming, will it startle anyone from their sleep?

He wasn’t sure. But a tune had already flown out from his mouth, dissipating into the air. It was a song Phemius used to sing.

It was about the Nostoi—the return of heroes. There were all the Achaean kings—Diomedes, Nestor, Idomeneus, Agamemnon…and eventually, Menelaus, when he became the last Achaean hero to make it home—

Before my father did, that is. He mustered a smile. But surprisingly, there isn’t any song for him…yet.

Telemachus was musing when he came across a huge pillar.

Maybe there will be. In days to come, perhaps, when people weave their memories into songs, songs into epics…

“Can’t sleep?” a new voice came suddenly, startling the young man. Telemachus almost raised his fists before realizing who it could only belong to.

It was the voice of a fresh old man, a bit hoarse due to years of seafaring; but there was a commanding tone lying underneath, for it probably wasn’t a stranger to war-cries and orations. There was only one man who could wield a voice like this, Telemachus knew.

Even though it wasn’t a voice he was used to hearing.

“Father?” he called softly, trying to locate the source with no success.

“The moon is still young,” he heard his father murmuring. “There’s nothing to see but the stars. Stars who relate their stories, who keep the night sky from loneliness, who are keen enough to guide the sailors home, if the sailors are still keeping their eyes open to all this.”

“Where are you, father?” Telemachus prompted with a question.

“Somewhere, in the dark, where my rest lies alongside my vigilance.”

That’s not a helpful answer… Telemachus thought to himself. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping too, father?” he asked.

“Ah, yes, sleep. Last time I fell asleep letting go of all my worries, it ended with…well.” that was all his father replied.

Telemachus waited for a moment, but his father didn’t continue. So Telemachus spoke out again. “But you were in your bedroom—with mom,” he said, walking a few more paces to the direction where he heard his father answering. “Why did you come out here?”

He heard a heavy sigh, then came a sound almost like sobbing. Telemachus almost found his way there before hearing his father’s reply.

“I…I was afraid. Afraid of hurting your mother by accident,” the great-hearted man muttered.

Afraid of hurting mom? Telemachus remarked in shock. What could it possibly be—a nightmare? Just like one of mine?

No. Maybe father’s was way more eventful. But still…

“What were you trying to do, father?” he asked again.

“Hiding,” there came the reply—Telemachus was almost certain it’s the right spot— “No. But that wouldn’t be necessary…she’s not here—she can’t lay her hands on you anymore, Odysseus,” the sacker of cities was whispering to himself. “No, you’re safe now. That’s Penelope by your side—yes, Penelope. The one who loves you. The one you love. You’re home now, Odysseus. It’s your own son you’re talking to. It’s alright. It’ll all be fine…”

The next step brought Telemachus to a turn where he felt someone suddenly approaching—

—and ran into a fierce embrace, as his father held him so tightly that he couldn’t even stretch out his arms to return a hug.

“It’s alright now…” he could still hear his father murmuring. “You’re safe now. You’re safe at last.”

“Father?” Telemachus could only muster the strength to ask. The hug felt even heavier than the first one they ever had, only a few days ago. But his father was so aware of himself then, not like…this.

What could have happened to the man of twists and turns in his days of missing?

It was after a moment that lasted like years that Odysseus decided to let loose the embrace, finally facing his son in the darkness, still putting both hands on his shoulders, now speaking in a tone so much softer. “I’m sorry, Telemachus…I shouldn’t have let you see me like this. This isn’t what a father should act like…I’m so sorry…”

“Father, don’t be,” Telemachus reached over to hold his father’s hand. “Just tell me what happened, maybe? If you wish to, that is.”

His father sighed. “Nothing…just some bad memories. Something that haunts me in my sleep—picked some of them up in these years of wandering.”

Telemachus lowered his head and mused. Just like those dreams of mine…

Then he felt a touch on his face. Telemachus raised his head to meet his father’s gaze in the darkness, as Odysseus continued slowly. “But I might tell you all my stories…maybe some other time, when our hearts aren’t so laid down by the weariness of sleep. It’s nothing I haven’t endured before, really. But what about you, Telemachus? You did not go through a long trek with all the hardships—what could’ve woken you in the middle of the night?”

This time it was Telemachus who heaved a sigh. “It’s…nothing. Just bad memories.” Something that haunts me, too, in my sleep. Something I picked up in these years of waiting, wondering, dreaming.

“Of those suitors, I presume?” Odysseus prompted.

“Yeah,” Telemachus replied with a nod. “Maybe more. But for the suitors I dreamt of their faces, smirking in mockery; I dreamt of their words, saying nothing but taunts…”

“What did they say?” he could tell his father’s eyebrows were creasing when saying this.

“Father…” Telemachus didn’t expect this. Should I tell him or should I not? Only the night keeps my secrets—should I let father know this, too? “It’s pretty much just nonsense, really. It’s not like they can hurt me—”

“But can they?” 

Well…yes. A lot, actually. 

But it’s just something I don’t want to admit.

“Father, trust me—I can tackle them, all of them—I mean, most of—some of them…I guess.”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring,” his father only responded.

I know…but I just don’t want to bother you with this…

Telemachus lowered his head.

“Father, there are enough matters kept in your mind now. I just don’t want to trouble you with yet another problem…a problem I’m supposed to overcome on my own. But instead I just keep failing…”

“In that case,” Odysseus was saying. “Why not share the burden with me? Share it with your dear father who’s been waiting for ages, to help you out in your time of need—something I failed to do for so long…but no longer. Share it with me—let us carry your load together. What better thing is there to do as father and son?”

A smile was playing on Telemachus’s trembling lips. A smile that tasted bitter, like the sadness of tears.

Yes, he’s here now, Telemachus—your father is here at last, after all the years of hoping—hoping he’d hearken to your distress, wishing he’d give you his counsel, dreaming he’d comfort you with a smile…he’s here now, ready to help, as a father he always wanted to be, reaching out to the son who lives beyond his memory.

And how can I reject something so beautiful, like this?

“Thank you, father, thank you so much…” Telemachus could only mutter. “It’s something I never thought I’d need…”

His father only replied with a gentle pat on his shoulder. It felt warm, like the heart of a hearth, where home lies.

So Telemachus took a deep breath, facing his father at last.

“But I just want to know…do you think I’m a failure, father?” he finally mustered the courage to ask.

Odysseus’s expression was almost unreadable in the darkness. But Telemachus could tell he was apparently surprised. “A failure? Who has been keeping your mom safe while I was making my way home? Who has been my aid when we slaughtered suitors? If anyone dares to call you that, Telemachus, I swear I’d—”

“Father? It’s me,” he cut in before Odysseus even finished that curse. “I call myself a failure, in my dreams.”

“Telemachus…”

“I know I might’ve proven my strength, my courage, when days ago we slaughtered those suitors. But I couldn’t help but think back to those times when I failed,” his voice was cracking a little when he answered. “And I know that all this happened because of me: it’s my fault that I failed to dissuade all those suitors to leave with my speech; it’s my fault that I couldn’t keep them from wasting our wealth, our livestock; it’s my fault that I didn’t take vengeance upon those suitors, something I could’ve planned out already…”

“You did what you had to do as a host,” Odysseus answered calmly. “You gave them Xenia like any noble man would do. It’s never your fault that they overstayed your welcome—you rewarded them with death, something they deserved from the start—you did well, Telemachus, son of mine.”

Telemachus blinked his eyes in surprise. But is it…true?

“Do you…really mean it?” Telemachus almost broke into tears. “But I failed to live up to your name—gods, I failed so miserably. I didn’t carry the crown young, something you have done so long ago. Do you content yourself with stories only? No, you’ve sought out adventures, winning so much glory…”

“Telemachus,” his father cut in, murmuring in a voice so weary. “You know I mean it with all my sincerity. You know I’m proud of you as who you are—not who you want to be. Have I ever spoken of the weight of the crown? It has deprived me of the joy of childhood—does that sound familiar to you? And have I ever told you how I left our homeland against my will, forced on a path to seek glory in war, to add weight to my name with all my sufferings? I do not ask for any of these—but they come to me. They always find me when I do not wish for their presence. They haunt me just as your nightmares. Do you think I can hide my tears behind a strong heart? No, I weep even more than you ever could. What you just saw that happened to me…it’s only an echo of what haunts me from within, of all the things I’ve seen and gone through—something I pray that should never happen to you.”

Telemachus listened quietly, his head dizzy. If only I knew…if only I knew all this so long ago.

“Father,” he replied softly, a moment later. “Father, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be, son,” he felt the caress on his face, as his father reached out again, sharing the warmth of a weary palm. “Know that I’m right here with you—that would be enough.”

Telemachus smiled—just a little.

“But…there’s something else,” he could feel his heart aching as he said this. “This might sound ridiculous…but deep down I dwell on it, a lot. I know how everyone tells me how I resemble you in form—something I have no way of knowing…until now. But do I ever have your strength in me? They said that I have your eyes—but do yours blink with naïveté? They could hear you in my voice—but does it ever echo your authority? They saw your shadow in me—but isn’t that all there is? Just a shadow, living in the light of your glory…”

“And does that make you any less the son of mine?” his father responded gently. “You don’t have to be me—you don’t need to be like me to be known as a hero. A hero that you already are. Don’t you see? I don’t wish for you to lead a path like the one I treaded, with so much sorrow and pain. I don’t want you to end up like me, suffering too much for something so easily achieved for others. No, you deserve a life so much better than the one I left you with. And you know what, Telemachus? We’ll make it a reality—just you and I, your mother too—this is something only meant for you.”

This brought a gasp from Telemachus. How do I only get to feel the comfort of family so late in my life?

“I couldn’t take from you all the sorrows you’ve been through,” his father continued. “But I can make sure the same thing never happens to you, ever again. Know that I’ll find every opportunity to give you happiness—you deserve it, Telemachus, and now I finally have the chance to give it to you, after all the years of my absence from your life. On this I give you my promise—know that nothing will stop us. Know that all your waiting wasn’t fruitless, after all. And know that I’d trade the world, Telemachus, just for you.”

Telemachus finally gave in to his sobbing—was it joy? Was it sadness? Telemachus didn’t know, but it was the best feeling he could ever have asked for, really. It was the realization of the fact that his family was actually complete, at last. It was the hope that nothing grievous would’ve happened to them, ever again. It was the knowledge that he had found the reassurance from his father—the acceptance he most needed, coming from the sacker of cities, the great honor of Achaeans, the hero he most admired—his very own father.

And wouldn’t that be the best kind of relief, after all?

So he buried his face in his father’s embrace, putting his head against that sturdy chest, feeling the shelter of those gentle arms. Tears streamed down his cheek like plowing, laying down two trails of solace. In his laxness he noticed his father joining him too, as his own hair felt the tender touch of teardrops, drenched in happiness, at last.

And he was joyful, for it was no longer nothingness that answered him.

And he was grateful, for silence could no longer haunt him, in his dreams, in his reality.

And he immersed himself in that embrace, rejoicing in the very answer from his father, after all the years of questioning.

Maybe tonight was different, after all.

[finleyforevermore]

she candy hearts on my paper flowers till i know that we're gonna be okay no matter what. /ref

[iid-smile]

its fun to stay at the yyyyyy m c a 😎

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ here’s to hoping (cause i can’t stop calling) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.1k

summary: gojo calls, and you spend it half-wishing you weren’t broken up. 

contains: gn!reader, exes to ???, alcohol, mentions of going to the club, gojo is bad at being an ex, complicated feelings, ambiguous ending, kind of hurt/comfort. 

a/n: writing this as my copium, i haven’t written gojo outside of col in so long so this was challenging, but equally as exciting! some songs that inspired this are: better than this - lauv & oh, gemini - role model.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: calling your ex drunk at two a.m. with feelings still stuck in your throat

“Well, well, well… miss me already?”

The clock on your kitchen wall reads some time between 2:05 and 2:10. Even when you squint, the little lines remain a drunken blur. 

You blame it on the alcohol. 

“Don’t be shy now.” the voice on your phone continues, shaking you out of focus. 

Had you been any more sober, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. 

Had you been any more sober, the throbbing in your head wouldn’t have persisted from the sound of—

“Gojo–” you sigh. 

“Satoru.” he interrupts, a full pause before he continues, softer, “It’s Satoru, remember?” 

Had you been any more sober, you wouldn’t have even answered his call. 

You haul your bag up sluggishly, the chains of the strap clacking against your countertop. Patience is a ticking time bomb when you’re this inebriated, the heavy bass from earlier tonight still thumping its way within your brain. 

You can’t think straight. 

“Satoru,” a name now foreign but still so close to home; it burns on your tongue, trickles bittersweet down your throat, “you called. What do you need?” 

It’s stupid of you to ask, you know, because Gojo’s been calling you like this since the day you broke up months ago. You’d picked up the first few times, but quickly realized that it wasn’t good for the both of you—you’d never move on, and Gojo would never let you go. 

Except—

“You picked up.” 

—liquor makes for poor company when it only serves to soften the anger you’ve built up as protection. It really is all the alcohol’s fault. 

Your eyes burn as you squeeze them shut, sighing, a twisted exhale, “You have to stop, Satoru.” 

“Stop what?” he feigns, the lilt at the end a sure sign of the most insufferable smirk. 

The thought of it makes you sick, makes you ache with memories of pinching his nose at the sight of it. He used to giggle then; now, he chuckles on the other end. 

That’s the question, isn’t it? Stop what?

Since the break-up, Gojo’s been acting like nothing’s changed. He still calls you just as much, still texts you with undertones that tread the fine line between flirty and ‘just Gojo’. Your toiletries are still at his apartment, and his clothes are still in your closet. 

You’d find humor in it if not for the fact that all of it has been so goddamn confusing.

He started it; he broke up with you. 

Shouldn’t he be pushing you away? 

To this day, you have no full closure, no other reason other than an ‘it’s better this way’ followed by a continuous stream of mixed signals because how he treats you is still the same. 

“Stop calling,” a lump forms in your throat, an admission you’ve had to remind yourself again and again, “we’re not together anymore.”

“I can’t call a friend?” 

You snort, fiddling with the metal links of your bag strap, “Is that what we are?” 

A pause. Slippers shifting on floorboards. They sound just like the sleepless nights he’d shuffle out of bed. 

You can picture him on the other end, head tilted and leant back on the plush leather of his couch. He hums but doesn’t answer you—he never does when it can mean something. 

“You still sound the same.” 

And you don’t expect it at this moment, to get so choked up over how he sounds over radio waves, but he says the words a little too fondly for you not to notice. Gojo’s always teased that he can pinpoint your voice from the moment you speak the first word.

You don’t mean to give him any more authority over your feelings than he already has, but the words slip out before you can catch yourself, “You’re being unfair.”  

Another hum. His tone shifts to something lighter, more teasing, “Like you aren’t. Always typing, never sending…”

The huff that punctuates his sentences paints itself vividly with a small pout. 

“Stop staring at my chat box then.” is all you can muster, the ache spreading throughout your chest. 

“Afraid I can’t.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“You’re impossible.” your eyes begin to feel wet, your sniffle concealing itself as you clear your throat. 

The silence that follows is uncharacteristic of your relationship with Gojo, even more of the man you know, but you find it filled to the brim with all the possibilities of what went wrong—of things you know he’ll never say out loud.

You know Gojo has issues; they presented themselves well enough in the year you were together. Being with him is accepting that you’ll be reading between the lines your entire life. 

He is simultaneously touchy but distant, vocal but elusive in his affections; he drapes himself over you every chance he gets, but when you touch him in places no one else has, you think a storm swirls cyan in his irises. Gojo gives compliments like candies on Halloween, but he keeps his feelings close to his chest, locked away like presents tightly wrapped under a Christmas tree. 

This is why you never saw it coming. 

This is why there was no hint, no sign of him ever wanting to break things off when he did.

‘Let’s stop dating’ with no warning. 

“Had fun tonight?” he asks so casually, like it doesn’t tell you a million things—how he still has your location on his phone, how he’s still checking on you, Six Eyes or not. 

Tonight was okay, all things considered. You don’t go to clubs often, but your friends kept you company; the music boomed just a tad bit louder than you’re used to, and the drinks were good, but—

“You would have hated it.” 

If Gojo were there, you would have stayed 10 minutes tops. He’d whine about being bored but you’d be able to tell, from the slight furrow of his brows and the clenching of his jaw that it’s because one of his migraines is forming. 

“Good thing I’d have you, then.” 

There are half-truths in jokes like this, a dangerous thing to say when you both know he could still have you if he wanted.

“Stop flirting, it’s annoying.” you try to steel your voice, pushing down the false hope rising in your chest. 

“You love it, though.”

The pain sears you, hurts when he says the word so lightly, as if he isn’t aware that you know love is the reason he had to break things off prematurely. As if he doesn’t know that you’re still in love with him, that you’re still putting faith in a tragedy. 

“Do you even know what loving something feels like?” 

The line remains silent, save for the softest sound of his breath hitching. 

You must have hit a nerve. 

He hums, an expected answer, but then he mumbles, words spoken so faintly, so quietly, you’re surprised they even came through. 

“Yeah, I do.”

a/n: wanted to use this as dialogue practice because i think gojo’s dialogue is one of the trickiest to nail! i also found it so fun exploring this kind of dynamic with him!! i subtly hint on some of gojo’s personal issues but don’t explicitly state it to leave room for interpretation! the ending is ambiguous for that same reason.

thank you notes: @stellamancer for helping me out so much with this 🥺 practically beta-ing it, really 🥺 ily niku 🥺 in my head, gojo does not exist without you 🥺 & @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @scarabrat @soumies for being my lil cheerleaders always 🥺 ily all 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[amoressb]

𐙚 old love

pairings : ex bf!riki x reader ; exs to lovers

synopsis : it has been almost a year since y/n and riki have broken up, though the reason behind it is quite silly. simply stating that you both were on different paths. while on your “different” paths, you both reminisce the times you have spent together, the special moments now turned into memories, but what if your paths werent so different at all? especially since both paths lead you to the same tree where you two shared your first kiss together under the enchanting moonlight.

*w.c - 1.6k

*inspired by my favorite song old love by yuji & putri dahlia !!

* this is a long one so i hope you all enjoy till the very end !!

waking up you already knew it would be a particularly sadder day than the rest, as with each day it draws closer to the day you and your ex boyfriend, nishimura riki, broke up. which would now complete a year. a year without, who you consider, your special someone. a year without your best friend. just a year without him.

this is what you both were afraid of when you both started dating. you both were afraid of that one dreaded day where you two would split, but you guys never thought it would happen. that night you both lost the most important thing in your lives.

in the beginning of the break up it was of course very hard to deal with. yes it was a mutual agreement but you both couldn’t help but feel that it was a mistake. both were too afraid to speak up about how they truly feel after they had already agreed to split and that right there was their true problem. communication. you both became very closed off when it came to communicating youre feelings. you both would simply ask each other what was wrong and if neither said anything, it simply gets brushed off.

throughout the rest of the day it was quite noticeable that your mood was down. your friends came up to you, called and even messaged you asking if you were doing okay, but of course you simply said you were fine. it had been like this ever since the beginning of this month. wake up sadder than yesterday and have people ask you if you were feeling okay and you saying you were fine.

you missed riki very badly as did he. it’s unbelievable how you two have gone this far without getting back in contact. the only thing you can think of is going on a late night walk so you grabbed your jacket and headed out.

since it was quite late, the streets were quiet with the occasional cars passing by and the whistle of the wind. while on the walk you started to remember some memories you had with riki, but there was one memory that you will forever cherish. the day you and riki shared your first kiss.

ʚɞ

you and riki have been dating for 3 months and you guys couldnt be happier. since today marks the third month, riki wanted to take you on a sweet date. he surprised you by taking you to a place where you can paint your own pottery. oh how cute this date was. you both decided to make a matching set together.

“so what should we paint my love?” said riki while looking at you with excitement. “ooo do you wanna make a matching set? i think that would be cute!” you said grabbing onto his hand almost jumping in your seat from excitement. “yeah sure but what?” he scooted his chair closer to yours still holding your hand since he felt so far from you even though he was just inches away. “i found this cute design but lets add something to the bottom so its more personalized!” you show him the image of what you wanted to do.

rikis heart melted looking at the image. “lets add i love you at the bottom but yours will say riki mines will say y/n” he gives his idea hoping youd take it. “aww that so cute yes lets do it!” you give him a quick kiss on the cheek and started to get you guys stuff ready. rikis was still stuck on the kiss he received on the cheek. even though youve done it a million times, your lips on him would always spread such warmth through him. he couldnt get enough of you truly.

riki had already finished his cup but you were still at it. this gave riki time to really take in your presence and beauty. he adored the face you make when youre concentrated, getting all serious making sure your details came out perfectly. the way some strands of you hair tends to slowly fall in front of you which allows him to draw himself closer to you and brush it away to see more of your beauty. what he loved most was your eyes. the way your eyes always had this beautiful shine to them no matter what. he fell in love with how your eyes shine brighter than before whenever you look at him because thats the exact way he looks at you, with such love and adoration.

you both completed your art and left with your new mugs. the rest of the day was spent going into some stores buying some cute matching things then ultimately a little cafe. after the cafe it was already dark so to end off the night, you and riki decided to go on a simple walk in the park talking about how your day went.

"i really enjoyed our date kiki, i cant wait to use my mug and all these cute new matching stuff we have now!" you say with a little giggle. oh how he loved your little giggle and your laugh all around. simply just you in general is what he loved so much. "me too and i cant wait to go on many more with you my love" he smiles softly at you.

coming up under a tree, you stare at the moon in awe, “its so beautiful kiki” you continue to look up unaware of rikis gaze on you. “yeah it really is beautiful” he says while you turn to catch his enchanted gaze at you. “y/n..i love you more than anything in this world. youre so beautiful and you always know how to light up someones day even with just that pretty smile of yours and you truly mean the world to me.” as riki says this you cant help but only be able to utter the words “i love you-” before you can finish, you feel his soft lips on yours. it felt like fireworks went off as soon as it happened. you never wanted this moment to end and neither did he. as you two pulled apart you two simply giggle sweetly and rest your foreheads against each others staring at each other with nothing but love.

ʚɞ

its almost like you and riki were still connected somehow because he too was also doing the exact same thing as you. he too was feeling the same as you, sadder than before thinking about how hes been away from you for almost a year. he too decided to take a late night walk and started to reminisce all the times hes been with you, the memories he holds so dear to his heart. especially that one.

i also say you two are still connected because those oh so “different paths” unconsciously lead you both to the exact same place you shared that special moment. you both look up at each other, stunned youre both here right now. slowly you two inched your way closer to each other, now standing right in the same special spot.

you both say hi at the same time which makes you two let out a small chuckle. “so..how have you been?” you asked and right there riki broke. he had to tell you how he was truly feeling, the feeling of utter loneliness. the feeling of that there was something missing from his life and it was you. you were everything he needed and he wanted no he needed you back. “can i be honest with you?” he asked sincerely. “yeah you know you can always be honest with me kiki.” oh that sweet nickname you gave him always made him feel so warm inside. it made him feel so special since it was only you who called him that and he loved it so much.

“well then in all honesty i havent been feeling good recently as it draws closer to one year of us being apart. i dont know how or why i havent reached out to you, i miss you so much. i feel as a whole part of me is missing. youre my missing piece y/n. on the walk here you were all i thought of, all those beautiful memories we have had. heck i still use our matching mug that we made and have all our matching things with me always” he states as he brings up his shirt a bit to reveal his keys attached to his pants with the matching keychains you bought as well as the matching ring you two had bought on his finger. seeing that you brought out your keychain and showed your ring too. you two never did let go of each other.

at the sight of this, you and riki both started to tear up. “please baby, i dont want to be away from you anymore” riki stated as a tear started to fall. you got closer and reached your hand up to his cheek to wipe away his tear smiling softly. “me neither kiki” and with that you slowly leaned in to give him a soft yet passionate kiss to his lips and with a quick yet gentle motion he wraps his hands around your waist to pull you in closer to him. oh how he missed you being this close. eventually you pull away much to you and rikis dismay, “will you be mine again? forever this time?” riki asks with a smile, bringing up one hand to softly stroke your cheek. “yes of course. i love you so much kiki” she smiles. “i love you so much more” he says leaning in for another sweet kiss.

even on “different paths” you and riki found a way back into each others arms and what better place to find each other again than where it all truly began.

* if you made it to the end thank you and i hope you liked it ilya !!

[seoulmatez]

— 𝓅𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ౨ৎ

scaramouche x reader. 1.4k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ orchestra au ﾉ violinist!scaramouche ﾉ pianist!reader

“you’re late.” scaramouche’s voice echoes throughout the theater, reaching you even at the far door you just entered. despite the annoyance in his tone, he doesn’t bother to look up from the sheet music set up in front of him. it somehow makes you feel even worse for being tardy. 

“i’m sorry!” you apologize, rushing across the stage to meet him under the lights. each of your steps is squeaky and that seems to be enough to earn you an irritated glance from your companion. you never quite know what to say when he levels you with that look but taking it silently will certainly make you want to shrivel up here and now—which is why your lips start moving before you’ve even thought about what to say. “my bus was running late and then we got stuck in the snow. i tried to get here as quickly as i could.”

not that he ever pegged you as a liar, but everything about your demeanor screams that you’re telling the truth. you clearly rushed here—your hair has been swept every which way by the wind, though, you smoothed a hand over it in an to attempt not look too unruly. the flats you slipped on were surely on oversight on your end—the bottoms of your tights are darkened with moisture, no doubt from the snow you trudged through to get here. still, scaramouche thinks an apology and explanation are meaningless at this point. “no need for excuses. you’re here now, so let’s begin.”

“yes! of course!” you hurry to take a seat on the piano bench, hastily pulling your music out from its designated folder and situating it on the music desk. it’s the first of a select few rehearsals the two of you are allowed on the stage before the big performance and you’ve already wasted enough time as it is. you straighten up and lightly clear your throat before turning to face scaramouche. he’s already looking at you. you grin sheepishly, the sole subject of his gaze. “ready?”

his violin and bow hanging at his sides in a protective hold, the man hums. “whenever you are.”

a few beats of silence pass as you ready your fingers on the keys. they’re cool beneath your skin. the sensation and a deep breath you inhale through your nose settle your frazzled nerves and urge you to start playing. 

scaramouche watches as you begin. the way your fingers move across the keys is effortless and he wonders why you even bothered bringing your sheet music to begin with—your eyes haven’t wandered up to study it at all. the juxtaposition between you now and couple of minutes ago is almost entertaining. it’s nearly enough to make scaramouche curious as to how easily you’re able to flip that switch—the one from being a jumbled mess to strictly professional.

he shakes the lingering thoughts of you from his head as he adjusts his violin at his chin. the stage lights are bright against even his closed eyelids but he can’t go on playing while looking at you—not if he wants to focus on the arrangement. 

you have the strange, unexplainable ability to steal his attention in the way a mere accompanist shouldn’t be able to. as he lifts his bow in preparation to join you, he thinks a simple thought to himself: he only has to deal with you and this unfamiliar effect you have on him for a few more days. maybe then this weird feeling in his chest will go away.

the two of you play through the song together a few times before deciding to call it a night.

you grab your coat and bag from your locker while scaramouche packs up his violin. you didn’t get the chance to tell him so while you were both still on stage but you don’t want to let your next words go unsaid. “nice job today! well, you play exceptionally every day but, you know…”

“yeah, thanks.” he grabs the coat that he stored in his own locker before letting the metal door swing shut. you’re about to do the same when the small, red gift bag that you tucked away catches your eye.

“oh!” you reach for the ribbon handles and pull the present you prepared out. scaramouche looks like he’s two seconds away from taking his leave so you rush to explain your mini outburst. “before you go, i got you something.”

you hold out the gift between the two of you. his periwinkle irises examine the bag warily before meeting your expectant gaze. “why?”

“for letting me play with you.” his hesitancy to accept the gift doesn’t go unnoticed but you didn’t bring it all this way just for him to not take it. you stretch out your arms even more, so much so that the little present is nearly touching his chest. instinctively, his hands come up to take the bag. “you could have picked anyone, so i'm glad to have gotten the opportunity.”

scaramouche doesn’t consider that an occasion for gifting someone anything but it seems as though you won’t be leaving (or letting him leave) until he makes an effort to accept. he fights the urge to roll his eyes at just how hopeful—excited—you look, opting for an exasperated sigh instead. the task of opening the gift proves to be a bit difficult with his violin case still in hand but he’s able to remove the sparkly tissue paper and fish the object out of the bag,

he looks down at his palm where your present sits. it’s a violin ornament. it looks like a mini replica of his own—cherry brown finish and all. 

despite how small it is, the ornament feels heavy in his hand. his fingers twitch uncomfortably beneath it. “i don’t want this.”

“oh.” you couldn’t hide the dejected tone from your voice even if you tried but you keep the smile you wore while he opened the gift plastered to your face. “you don’t like it? or—maybe you don’t celebrate christmas?”

“it’s not that,” he tells you, finally dragging his eyes up to meet yours. any relief you have from his response is short-lived when you take in his solemn expression. “i didn’t get you anything.”

you stare at him quietly for a moment, his unsmiling countenance not once faltering. you can’t go a second longer without laughing.

“of course you didn’t! gifts aren’t conditional.” scaramouche looks almost offended that you’re quite clearly finding humor in his entirely genuine reasoning, so you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from giggling. “i got it for you because i wanted to—not because i expected anything in return.”

that weird feeling in his chest is back—the one he can only describe as his heart trying to escape his body by way of his throat. he doesn’t know whether it’s your smile or your laugh or the fact that you went out of your way to buy him something, no strings attached, but something about this exchange has made him uncomfortably warm. there’s a heat crawling up his neck that reaches his cheeks and even the tips of his ears—it feels like he’s on fire.

his silence is beginning to make you think that scaramouche is still unwilling to accept your gift. of course, you prepared yourself for that possibility—in fact, in your eyes, this outcome was the most likely to unfold. nevertheless, you find yourself hoping that he’ll take it.

scaramouche drops the ornament back into the little red bag and for a second, you’re sure that he’s going to shove it back into your hands. though, his next move comes as a surprise.

“i’ll keep it.” the three simple words make your heart jump and a smile spread across your lips. but before you know it, scaramouche is turning on his heel and making his way toward the exit. he doesn’t bother to turn around when he addresses you but he speaks loud enough for you to hear. “see you tomorrow—and don’t be late.”

“bye!” you wave happily at his retreating back.

even when scaramouche pushes past the doors and is met with the bitter winter air, the warmth beneath his skin isn’t chased away. a puff of air escapes his mouth as he lets out a shaky breath. “what the hell are you doing to me?”

thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, please consider reblogging or commenting ❤︎

[astrologysaysno]

You know what would be really fun to do, an AU where for some reason the PIDW world is randomly breaking into song and everyone is conscious of that fact but no one knows how it started or how to stop it.

Like, it's just been a thing in this world. Everyone is just in this state of living through a self-aware version of Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist.

I think what would make it even funnier is that when Shang Qinghua arrived at CQMS, the music suddenly switched up on everyone in the sect.

For like, centuries, the music people sang were of traditional tales and epics likening their plight to them, they would take poems and proses and accompany them to a backing that would usually materialize for the occasion.

Now suddenly there's like this great expansion of musical styles and genres and it has people in a buzz, wondering if this this was a natural evolution of the strange music mandate overarching the world or was this the fault of some great manipulator pulling the shots and deciding to add new material because they got bored listening to people sing the same epic tale for the millionth time.

(The true origin of this is that Airplane in his last life had a personal playlist made that he listens to whenever he wanted to write PIDW and now it has come back to haunt him cause HE RECOGNIZES THESE SONGS)

One of these instances first occurred with Shen Qingqiu (Jiu) and Luo Qingge, with Shang Qinghua as an unfortunate witness as it began a while after that awful mission that expanded the rift of misunderstanding.

Instead of some traditional oration of a story about rivalry, something new began to emerge.

It only takes the first few lines before SQH almost has his eyes pop out in shock when he realizes what was happening

... IS THIS WICKED?!?!

Shang Qinghua watches as the two perform a duet, the younger disciples of Bai Zhan acting as an ensemble as everything played out. LQG and SJ sang as they ran into the mess hall, everyone in perfect harmony raising eyebrows to every witness who hadn't been dragged into the number as an ensemble voice.

The moment the song ended, the two are immediately called by the Peak Lords of the Previous generation, dragging along Qinghua as they are interrogated about this new change in the musical paradigm.

The new mixes in with the old. Though the usual forms of song still occur, every once in a while, the new music appears to change the pace, attracting people with its unusual and exotic melodies.

Qinghua isn't immune to this phenomena.

Throughout his days when he became head disciple and then Peak Lord, he had never broken into song once, something that very much confused his fellows peers, who have at some point in their life belted a number or two. Shen Jiu and Liu Qingge had already over a dozen of solos each.

Shang Qinghua chalked it up to the fact that the universe probably decided he wasn't worth wasting a beat on and lived in second-hand embarrassment watching his fellow peak Lords air out their feelings in song.

But the day finally came when a song spewed forth from his lips...

...running away from Mobei-Jun

After the ceremony and the fight with Linguang-Jun, Mobei thought to leave a trap to his uncle, setting something on the steps to slow his uncle down.

Unfortunately for Airplane, he gets stuck on the trap as he runs away, Mobei-jun on his heels as the last of his strength is used to chase Qinghua.

The moment Qinghua turned around, time froze. Mobei-jun finds himself immobilised as Qinghua began to sing, his body frozen in time as his advisor belted and fluttered his voice, singing about choices.

The song ends, Mobei-Jun finally giving out as Qinghua runs away. Mobei-jun doesn't forget the song, and he understands what he must do.

[I have had "What is this Feeling" from Wicked and "On the Steps of the Palace" from Into The Woods on loop in my phone going platinum in my bedroom.

I made this entire thing from my delusions so uh, bon appetit I guess?]

[tiiraameesu]

The One That Got Away Pt.4

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

Synopsisજ⁀➴ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojo’s aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotions—unsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojo’s side, or if it’s time to move on.

tagsજ⁀➴ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual friends to lovers (maybe), gojo is dumb af, you might dislike gojo in this im sorry, very very mild geto x reader

NOTESજ⁀➴ hope y'all enjoy the new chapter! appreciate all the comments and messages I've gotten so far for my last few chapters! makes me soooo excited to post even more and more! so sorry for the late upload though, school has been CRAZY and i was lowkey spiraling because of this new guy i was talking to but yeah ENJOYYY ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

wcજ⁀➴ 7.5k

taglineજ⁀➴ @kaemaybae @laviefantasie @higuchislut @domilovestoru @aishies-stuff @genxnarumi @username23345 PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

Two weeks had passed, and Gojo Satoru was a ghost in your life. Not literally, of course—his presence was hard to miss, especially since you still caught glimpses of him with Mina—but the days when he’d linger outside your band practice or wait for you by the bleachers during his hockey drills were long gone.

Instead, his world seemed to orbit around Mina now. He was always meeting her, whether before or after his own practice. The few times you had decided to sit in the bleachers and watch him, hoping he’d wave you over for a laugh or even just a chat, he’d merely sent a casual wave in your direction before rushing to Mina.

By the third time, you decided he wouldn’t miss your absence. Mina was there to take your place.

Now, here you were, stuck in the middle of band practice. The studio walls felt too tight today, and even though the air was filled with the rhythmic clash of drums, the heavy hum of the bass, and the soaring melody of your guitar, the energy in your chest was mismatched.

Your phone sat on the edge of the amp, its screen glaring at you with an all-too-familiar sight: an unread message to Gojo. Delivered. Not even read.

It stung more than you cared to admit, but you knew better than to let it show. You didn’t own him. He didn’t owe you anything.

You shook the thought from your head as the band kicked into another song. This time, you focused.

The song flowed easily under your fingers, each note falling into place with effortless precision. Your hands moved like they had a mind of their own, strumming, pressing, and pulling out the right chords without a second thought.

You hit every note perfectly, the rhythm steady, the melody crisp—technically flawless. But something was off. The music, despite its perfection, felt wrong.

Instead of the light, airy feel the song was meant to have, each strum was laced with tension, harsh and biting, like a storm trapped in a song meant for sunshine. The melody should have danced, should have lifted the mood, but instead, it thundered through the room, loud and jagged. Every note you played was sharp, angry, as though you were trying to fight something—only it wasn’t the song you were supposed to be playing anymore.

The guitar hummed with your frustration, but it wasn’t the kind of emotion the song was supposed to evoke. It was heavy. It was out of place. It was angry. And as you continued, the gap between the song and your soul seemed to widen.

“You’re playing too hard,” Choso called over the final note, his drumsticks resting on the snare. His voice cut through the distorted noise of your thoughts, pulling you back to reality, but only slightly.

You lowered your guitar, chest rising and falling with the weight of the tension still clinging to you. His words didn’t quite register at first—until you looked up, meeting his steady gaze. His brow furrowed, and for the briefest second, you could have sworn he saw right through you, saw past the perfect notes and into the tangled mess inside.

“I hit all the notes, didn’t I?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended. You didn’t want to look weak, but you couldn’t help it. The question hung in the air, a challenge disguised as doubt. Your fingers still tingled from the aggressive strumming, the burn of the misplaced energy lingering.

“You did,” Yu chimed in from the keyboard. “But it’s not… you. It’s like…” He hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Like you’re following a script,” Choso finished, his dark eyes steady on you. “Instead of playing from the heart.”

Their words hit harder than you expected, stirring a frustration you weren’t ready to face. Before you could snap back, your hand slipped during the next strum. The string bit into your finger, sharp and unforgiving.

“Ah, shit,” you muttered, pulling back as blood welled up on your finger.

Iori, who had been watching from her spot near the mic, immediately stepped away, her voice cutting through the tension. “Break time,” she called, her tone more serious than usual. The mic stand clinked softly as she set it down and moved toward you.

You blinked, still reeling from the sting in your finger. The blood dripped slowly, mixing with the burn of your frustration. Iori was already moving toward the back of the room, opening a cabinet for the first aid kit.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice softer now, but still carrying that steady assurance.

You didn’t answer right away, just watched as she grabbed the kit and walked back over. The room felt strangely quiet without the hum of the music, the weight of their words still hanging in the air. Your hand felt heavy, the cut sharp but not unbearable.

Iori knelt in front of you, gently taking your hand in hers. “Let me see.” Her fingers brushed lightly against your skin as she cleaned the wound. It wasn’t painful, but the act was grounding, calming, almost too much after the storm inside you. You had to look away, feeling the sharp edges of your emotions settle, just for a second.

“You really gotta stop playing so hard,” Iori murmured, her gaze flickering up to meet yours. There was a faint smirk on her face, but there was something else too—understanding, maybe. She didn’t press the issue, though. Instead, she simply wrapped the cut with care, her voice softening. “You’re not gonna get anything out of this if you keep forcing it.”

Her words stuck with you, hanging in the air even as she finished tending to your finger. The sharpness of the cut seemed to mirror the tension inside you, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of understanding in the quiet aftermath. You weren’t just playing with your fingers; you were playing with your heart, and it had all gotten twisted up somewhere along the way.

Iori finished wrapping your finger, her hands gentle as she tended to the cut, but you didn’t feel the same sense of calm you usually did when she was around. Everything felt off, jagged, like even the simplest act was just another reminder of how out of sync you were with yourself. She stepped back, giving you some space, but the words she’d said lingered in the air.

The moment stretched, but you barely noticed it, too lost in your own head. Then, from the corner of your eye, you saw Naoya walking over with a drink in hand. He didn’t say anything at first, just tossed you the can like it was a casual gesture, but you could feel his eyes on you—assessing, calculating.

You caught it without looking, but your fingers felt sluggish, the weight of the can nothing compared to the weight you were carrying. You cracked it open slowly, the fizz rising and popping in the quiet. But it didn’t help.

Naoya sat down next to you, his posture as rigid and sharp as always, but his gaze never left you. There was an uncomfortable intensity in the way he studied you, the usual mockery and sharp edges of his smirk replaced by something a little less abrasive.

He leaned back, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if searching for something deeper than the surface.

“What’s bothering you now?” he asked, the words more direct than you expected, his voice stripped of any sarcasm or playfulness. “Last time you were like this was two weeks ago, remember? And I don’t think I need to tell you that you don’t exactly have a good track record when you start shutting down.”

His words hit like a cold splash of water, a reminder of the pattern you were stuck in. You had been here before, trapped inside your head, not sure how to get out. It didn’t matter that this time it felt different—like the frustration wasn’t just with the music anymore, but with everything around you, everything inside you. Naoya knew better than to let you avoid the question.

You didn’t answer right away, running your thumb along the lip of the can absentmindedly. The bubbles inside hissed in your ears, but the sound only reminded you of the noise in your own head.

Then, as the silence stretched, Nanami spoke up from his spot across the room, his usual calm voice cutting through the stillness.

“You know, ignoring it won’t help,” he said, his tone more matter-of-fact than anything else. “Whatever this is, bottling it up just makes it worse. You’re not exactly subtle when something’s eating at you.”

You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t look up, too tangled in the mess of your thoughts. Your mind raced, too much noise in your head to form a solid answer.

“I… I don’t really know,” you said finally, the words slipping out more honestly than you intended. You shook your head, frustration leaking through your voice.

You sat there in silence, the words hanging in the air. The frustration still churned inside you, a gnawing feeling that didn’t seem to go away no matter how many times you tried to shake it off. It wasn’t just the music. It wasn’t just the cut on your finger. It was everything that had been building up inside you, everything that you hadn’t been able to say or figure out.

Gojo. That name echoed in your mind, but even thinking it made your chest tighten, a knot forming deep in your stomach. It was him—his presence, his expectations, the weight of his shadow that seemed to be clouding everything. You couldn’t put it into words, not here, not now. Not in front of them. But damn, you just wished you could hear his voice. Maybe then, things would feel a little clearer. Maybe just hearing him tell you it was going to be okay would make the world feel less heavy.

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, until you felt a gentle touch on your shoulder. You looked up, surprised to find Iori watching you, her eyes softer than usual, like she could sense the wall you were putting up.

Without a word, she clasped her hands together and stood up, her movements calm and purposeful. “You know what? Let’s call it a night. Why don’t we order some food and just chill? No pressure, no rehearsing. Just take it easy this time around.”

Her words were simple, but the way she said them felt like a release, like an invitation to let go of the tension that had been creeping up in the room.

You felt the weight of your own silence, the words swirling in your chest that you couldn’t quite voice. Maybe you were being unfair, maybe you were letting everything pile up inside you when they didn’t deserve it. The guilt hit you like a wave, and before you could stop it, you found yourself speaking.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what’s been going on with me lately. I’ve been... off, I guess.” The words came out clumsy, but they felt necessary. Like if you could just say them, it might ease the tension that had been building inside you for so long.

The room felt quieter as you looked around, but instead of a wave of understanding or sympathy, Choso’s voice cut through, calm and unfazed.

“Don’t sweat it,” he said with his usual nonchalance, leaning back in his seat. His eyes flickered toward you, but there wasn’t any judgment in them, just an effortless coolness. “Everyone has their moments. No big deal.”

He shrugged, looking more like he couldn’t care less, but the ease in his tone made the guilt inside you settle just a little.

“You’re still here, right? That’s what matters.” His words were blunt, but they had a way of hitting exactly where they needed to. No overthinking, no grand speeches. Just... simple reassurance.

You let out a small breath, realizing that maybe it wasn’t so terrible to be like this every once in a while. You weren’t perfect, and neither were they. And that, for some reason, made it all feel a little more manageable.

“Thanks,” you said, the words lighter now, like a burden had shifted off your shoulders.

Iori gave a small, approving nod as you finally relaxed, her smile soft but reassuring. “So, what are we having?”

────────────────────────────────────────────────────

After the food had been devoured, the room was filled with the casual noise of packing up and cleaning up the last bits of the mess. The rest of the crew had already begun to pack up, their laughter and chatter a distant hum as they gathered their things and said their goodbyes. The studio, once filled with the warmth of conversation and the sound of instruments, now felt quieter. The clock on the wall showed that it was nearing midnight, and everyone was ready to call it a night.

You waved them off, telling them you’d close up the studio. The others didn’t seem to mind, already heading out the door with tired smiles and promises to meet at the next session. As the last of them disappeared down the hallway, you stood there in the silence, the door clicking shut behind them.

The studio was empty now, save for the soft hum of the lights above. You set your bag down on the couch, the familiar weight of it suddenly feeling too much. But instead of heading home like you probably should have, you took a deep breath and made your way over to your instrument.

The band had been more than patient with you, more than understanding as you struggled through each practice, trying and failing to get things right. The pressure had been mounting—the gig was right around the corner, and you still hadn’t found your rhythm. But every time you messed up, they were there with encouraging words, with reassurances that you’d get it, that they knew you could.

A wave of gratitude washed over you as you stood there in the quiet studio, staring at your instrument. They could’ve been frustrated with you. They had every right to be. But instead, they were kind, patient, and supportive, letting you take your time. You couldn’t help but feel guilty for not being better, for not meeting their expectations, for not being as good as they believed you were capable of being.

You let the thoughts settle in your mind, but then, as quickly as they came, you shook them away. There was no point in dwelling on what you couldn’t change right now. What mattered was what came next.

You couldn’t take their patience for granted. You couldn’t let them down again. The gig was coming, and you had to be better.

With a steadying breath, you picked up your instrument. The room seemed to fade around you as you closed your eyes, tuning out everything except the steady pulse of your heartbeat and the strings beneath your fingers.

You began to play, your fingers moving over the strings with a gentler touch than before. The aggression was gone, replaced by a quieter intensity. It felt better, more in tune with the mood you wanted to create, but something was still missing. There was a void, a note that you couldn’t reach, a spark that wouldn’t ignite no matter how many times you strummed. The frustration lingered, swirling inside you, gnawing at your concentration.

And just as the frustration began to settle into something heavier, your phone vibrated sharply against the floor where you had tossed it earlier. Startled, you paused mid-strum and glanced over. The name on the screen caught you off guard.

Gojo.

You stared at the caller ID for a moment, your heart doing an unexpected flutter in your chest. What was he calling for? Was it... was it really him? You hesitated, fingers still lingering on the strings, unsure of whether to pick up or let it go to voicemail.

It had been so long since you’d heard his voice, but you didn’t know if you were ready to face it yet. You knew you couldn’t keep running from this, but... this? Right now?

The phone vibrated again in your hand, urging you to decide.

You took a deep breath and answered, your voice shaky as you pressed the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Gojo’s voice came through, smoother than usual, but there was something about it that felt more serious this time. “I’m downstairs. I’ve been waiting for you.”

You froze, eyes darting to the door like you could somehow see him on the other side. Downstairs? You weren’t sure you’d heard him right.

“Wait... what?” you said, your voice wavering slightly. “You’re downstairs?”

“Yeah,” Gojo responded, his tone firmer now, like he wasn’t messing around. “Come down. I’ll be waiting.”

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected him to show up out of the blue like this. You looked at your phone, still processing the strange urgency in his voice.

“Uh, alright,” you said, suddenly feeling a rush of nerves. “I’ll be there in a second.”

You hung up quickly, set your guitar down, and grabbed your things, moving with more haste than you had anticipated. The tension in the pit of your stomach only grew as you locked up the practice room and made your way down the hall. Something in his tone had shifted, and it made the usual teasing Gojo feel distant—more... serious.

You rushed down the stairs, the echo of your footsteps against the walls reminding you how quickly everything had shifted. When you finally rounded the corner, you saw him standing by the door, his posture straighter than usual. The smirk was gone, replaced by a focused intensity in his eyes that you rarely saw.

He didn’t greet you with his usual grin or playful jab. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze unwavering. “Took you long enough,” he said, his voice almost too calm. “Let’s go.”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like you were in way over your head. But there was no turning back now.

The walk was quiet, but the silence felt different this time. Gojo’s usual cocky confidence was replaced with an almost tangible tension in his posture. He walked with purpose, his strides long and quick, but there was a tightness in the way he carried himself that you hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t like him to be this... off. He always wore that smug grin, that careless energy that made everything feel like a joke. But now? He looked like he was carrying something heavy, something too complicated to shake off.

You wanted to ask him what was going on, but you knew better. If Gojo didn’t bring it up, he wasn’t going to. You could tell that much, even with the unease simmering beneath his usually cool exterior.

You both reached the convenience store, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft whoosh as you entered. The familiar hum of the coolers and the bright fluorescent lights did little to ease the tension hanging between you. You found a seat near the back, not really feeling hungry or in the mood to browse, so you just sat there, hands folded in your lap, eyes following Gojo as he wandered over to the drinks section.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, expecting him to grab his usual—his go-to strawberry iced tea, the one he always joked about being his secret weapon—but to your surprise, his hand reached for something different. He grabbed a can of beer, the silver can catching the dim light as he turned towards the cashier.

Your brows furrowed slightly, not because you had a problem with it, but because it was so out of character for him. Gojo, the always-lighthearted, playful figure, wasn’t someone you expected to be reaching for alcohol, especially not when the atmosphere had been so... different tonight.

He returned to the seat next to you after quickly paying for the drink, the cool can in his hand now making a soft, faintly metallic sound as he cracked it open. The hiss of the carbonation was the only sound between you two for a few moments as he took a long drink, the beer slipping past his lips without the usual playful smirk that usually accompanied any of his actions.

You hesitated, the air thick with unspoken words. You weren’t sure if you should say something or just let him be, but you could feel that something was wrong—something deeper than whatever lighthearted banter he would usually throw your way. You’d known him long enough to see when something was off. Tonight, it was impossible to ignore.

Finally, after a few more moments of silence, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You turned toward him, your voice quiet but laced with concern. “What’s going on with you, Satoru?”

He didn’t immediately respond, the can still in his hand as he stared straight ahead, his expression unreadable. His lips pressed together in a thin line as if he was weighing his words. The silence stretched on, heavy and thick with anticipation. Then, as though he couldn’t keep it inside any longer, he muttered just one word:

"Mina."

It was soft, almost lost in the distance of the moment. But hearing it—the way it left his lips so raw, so fragmented—sent a jolt through you. This wasn’t the playful Gojo you knew. This was someone who was struggling, someone who didn’t have all the answers.

You blinked, the name hanging in the air like a strange weight. Mina. You’d thought the two of them were the perfect couple. They had that effortless chemistry, the kind of bond that seemed unshakable. Gojo and Mina—it just made sense. They were the kind of pair people would look at and say, "That’s it. They’re meant to be." And yet, hearing Gojo say that name now, in the quiet of this moment, felt like a crack in a carefully built illusion.

You hadn’t expected this. The way he said it, though... so quiet, so far removed from his usual confident, teasing tone, made you pause. You’d never once imagined that Gojo—someone so composed, so unflappable—could be this thrown off by a relationship. It was unsettling to think that things might not be as perfect as they appeared.

Before you could gather your thoughts to ask what had happened, Gojo let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as if he was already exhausted by the very thought of explaining. “It’s complicated,” he said, cutting off any further questions you might have had.

You could tell from the way he said it, with that tired edge in his voice, that this wasn’t something simple. It wasn’t just an argument or a misunderstanding. There was more beneath the surface—something tangled up in emotions and expectations that Gojo clearly didn’t know how to untangle.

He took another sip from the can, his fingers tight around it once more, like he was trying to hold onto something before it slipped away.

"Tell me,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the tension creeping up your spine. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me."

He looked at the can in his hands for a long moment, his fingers white-knuckled around it. The weight of silence hung heavy in the air before he finally spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

“It’s not that she’s done anything wrong,” he muttered, as if trying to convince himself. “She’s... a good girlfriend. She hasn’t done anything bad, nothing’s wrong with her.”

He let out a frustrated breath, eyes narrowing as he traced the rim of the can with his thumb. “But... it’s like something’s missing. Like, when I first met her, I thought I saw something, you know? There was this... feeling, like we clicked or something. But now, every time I’m with her, it feels... off. It’s not her fault, she’s not doing anything different, it’s just—” He trailed off, searching for the words, but they just wouldn’t come.

He let out a quiet laugh, self-deprecating and bitter. “Maybe I built some kind of... fantasy around her, and now that I’m seeing who she really is, it doesn’t line up. I thought it was something real, but now... I’m not sure.”

You could see it, the confusion in his eyes. He wasn’t blaming her—he wasn’t even sure what was wrong, but the discomfort was there, thick and undeniable. It wasn’t that Mina had changed, but that Gojo’s perception of her had cracked, leaving him to figure out if there was anything left of what he thought was there.

You took a slow breath, trying to find the right words as you watched him wrestle with himself. You could tell this was weighing heavily on him, and it wasn’t just about Mina—it was about Gojo grappling with something deeper, something he wasn’t sure how to explain even to himself.

You leaned back slightly, your voice soft but steady. “I get it,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “When you first meet someone, it’s easy to get swept up in the feeling of it all—the excitement, the newness. And maybe... maybe you started seeing things in her that you wanted to see, or that felt right in the moment.”

You paused, allowing him to process, before continuing. “But just because you’re feeling like things aren’t clicking now, doesn’t mean it’s a lost cause. Sometimes, when we’re with someone, we get so focused on the idea of them that we forget to focus on who they really are. And maybe that's what’s throwing you off—you’re seeing the real her now, and it’s different from the image you had in your head.”

You could see the tension in his face, but you pressed on, keeping your tone gentle. “It’s not a bad thing, Gojo. People aren’t perfect, and relationships are never just about the spark you feel at the beginning. The real connection, the deep stuff, that comes over time. Maybe it’s just a matter of slowing down and letting things evolve naturally, instead of forcing them into some mold you’ve created.”

You shifted slightly, choosing to be honest with him. “It sounds like you’re scared of being disappointed or realizing that it’s not what you thought, but maybe you just need time to figure out who she really is, and who you are with her. You might not have all the answers right now, and that’s okay.”

You gave him a small, understanding smile. “Just don’t give up too soon because of some uncomfortable feelings. If you’re both willing to figure it out, it doesn’t have to be the end of something good. Sometimes it takes work to get through the doubts and see what’s really there.”

Gojo leaned back, his gaze drifting once more as if the answer was just beyond his reach. His hands rested loosely on his knees, the can in his hand now forgotten. His tone was quiet, almost tentative, as he finally spoke.

Gojo sat in silence for a moment, his eyes fixed on the floor as he processed your words. The usual intensity in his expression was softened, like he was turning over each of your points in his mind, carefully weighing them. His hands, once tense around the can, were now resting in his lap, fingers loosely intertwined as if the weight had lifted, even just slightly.

You could feel the shift, the way his posture had changed. He was listening—not just hearing—but truly taking in what you were saying. He took a deep breath, his shoulders easing as he finally looked up, meeting your gaze. There was a flicker of clarity in his eyes, though the storm wasn’t fully gone yet.

“I get it,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I understand where you're coming from. You're right. Maybe I’ve been too focused on this idea I had about her, this... perfect picture I painted in my head. And now that it’s not lining up, it’s throwing me off. I’m just... I guess I was expecting things to be a certain way, and now it feels like I’m not even sure where I stand anymore.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze drifted down again, looking almost lost in thought. “I know you’re right. I can’t expect everything to be perfect, and I shouldn’t be so quick to judge her for not matching whatever image I had. But—” He paused, the hesitation creeping back into his voice.

"But..." you prompted gently, knowing there was more he was holding back.

Gojo’s eyes flicked to you, a mixture of frustration and uncertainty crossing his features. “But… I’m just not sure if she’s the one,” he said, his voice trailing off like he was unsure even about admitting it to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you for a moment, as if the words felt too heavy.

“It’s not like I don’t care about her. I do. And she’s a good person. She’s been nothing but kind to me, and we get along well enough. But... I don’t know. It’s just this nagging feeling I can’t shake. Like, maybe we’re not as compatible as I thought we were. Like, something’s missing.” He let out a frustrated sigh, staring at the ground for a long moment.

He looked up at you then, his expression conflicted. “I don’t want to keep second-guessing myself, but at the same time... I don’t want to lead her on if I’m not sure. I don’t want to be the guy who’s just going through the motions, thinking it’ll work out, when deep down I’m not sure if we’re actually right for each other. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

He glanced at you with a bit of vulnerability in his eyes, a rare sight for Gojo. “I mean, I don’t want to keep dragging her into something if I’m not sure I can give her what she needs. And I can’t help but wonder if... if I’m just waiting for something that isn’t there.”

He let the silence linger for a beat before he shook his head, running a hand over his face. “It’s not that I don’t like her. It’s just... am I really feeling what I thought I was? Or was it just... a good idea in my head?”

You hesitated, unsure of the right thing to say, because this wasn’t exactly the kind of situation you were used to dealing with. Gojo was always so confident, so sure of himself, and now, seeing him so lost—it felt unfamiliar and honestly, a little overwhelming.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure how to ease his tension. You knew that you couldn’t just throw out words of wisdom like it was all simple, because it wasn’t. It wasn’t simple for him, and you didn’t want to make it worse by trying to give advice that sounded too rehearsed.

After a long pause, you spoke, trying to find a balance between understanding and honesty. “I mean, I can’t tell you what to do. It’s not like I have the answers for this kind of stuff.” You let out a soft, nervous laugh, realizing that you weren’t exactly the expert here.

“But...” You trailed off, trying to gather your thoughts. “You’re not alone in feeling confused about this. Relationships are messy, and sometimes, it’s hard to know what the right thing is. What you’re feeling—doubt, uncertainty—it’s not abnormal. It’s just... part of figuring things out.”

You fidgeted a little, glancing down at your hands. “I guess what I’m trying to say is... it’s okay not to have all the answers. I think you just need to give yourself permission to take a step back. Maybe let it go a bit slower, without all the pressure to know if it's ‘the one’ right away. And if something’s still unclear, then... you can figure it out. It doesn’t have to be right or wrong all at once.”

You looked up at him again, your voice softer. “It’s just, don’t feel like you have to have it all figured out right now. I’m not sure if that helps or anything, but... that’s the best I got.”

Gojo was quiet for a moment, taking everything in, and you couldn’t help but wonder if your words had actually made any impact. But then he turned to you, a small smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t his usual teasing grin, but something softer, almost relieved.

“Man, look at you getting all deep and philosophical. Didn’t know you had it in you,” he teased, his voice light and playful.

You blinked, feeling a rush of heat to your face. “Shut up,” you muttered, trying to act like you weren’t completely embarrassed by the whole thing. “I’m just trying to help, okay?”

Gojo chuckled, clearly enjoying the way you reacted. “I know, I know. But seriously, I didn’t think you were the ‘advice-giving’ type. I’ll be honest, that was a little... sappy.”

You huffed, crossing your arms and glaring at him, though you could feel the warmth on your cheeks. “Well, maybe you need it. You act like you have everything figured out, but look at you now—getting all lost in your own head.”

He held his hands up in mock surrender, still grinning. “Okay, okay, I get it. Sappy, but helpful. Can’t deny that. But don’t let it go to your head.”

You looked at him, now slightly less flustered, and offered a small smile. “Yeah, well, I’m just saying... Sometimes things aren’t as simple as we want them to be. It’s okay not to have everything figured out right away. Relationships take time.”

Gojo met your eyes, his expression more thoughtful now, and he let out a long breath. “Yeah... I guess I’ve been putting too much pressure on myself to have it all figured out. Thanks for the reminder.” His smile came back, softer this time. “You’ve got a point. Maybe I do need to take a step back and just see where it goes.”

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease now. “It’s not a race, ‘Toru. Don’t rush it. Just let things happen as they do.”

There was a comfortable silence between you for a moment, before Gojo broke it, his tone still teasing but less guarded.

“Alright, alright. I’ll try to take it slow, philosopher,” he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, but the tension had definitely eased. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t get all sappy on me again.”

Gojo grinned, clearly in a better place than before. “I’ll try to spare you from that. But hey, next time you drop some deep wisdom on me, I’ll be ready.”

You flushed a little again but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Don’t push it, Gojo.”

────────────────────────────────��────────────────────

As the two of you walked back home, the air between you had shifted. The tension that had lingered for so long was finally gone, replaced by a quiet comfort that settled over both of you. You found yourself walking in step with Gojo, the rhythm of your footsteps syncing naturally as you let the silence between you stretch, not feeling the need to fill it with words.

Now that the weight of the conversation had lifted, you allowed your gaze to wander to him, something you hadn’t done too openly before.

There was something almost disarming about Gojo when the playful edge in his voice softened, when he wasn’t in “Gojo mode.” His features, though still sharp and striking, held a kind of warmth that you hadn’t expected to see, a rawness that only revealed itself in moments like this—when he was being real with you.

His eyes, usually full of that mischievous glint, looked calmer now, more reflective, and as the light from the streetlamps caught his hair, it almost seemed to glow with an ethereal quality. The way he carried himself, effortlessly cool yet undeniably human, made you pause and just take him in, appreciating him for a moment. His presence felt different now—less overwhelming and more... grounding.

And then, as if on cue, you caught yourself smiling, soft and almost wistful. It was strange, the way just being near him—hearing his voice, feeling the quiet ease that had settled between you—seemed to heal something inside you, something you hadn’t even realized was aching until it started to fade away.

It was like the weight of the world didn’t seem so heavy anymore. Like, somehow, everything felt a little more manageable in the moment.

You allowed yourself to enjoy the moment a little longer, the quiet warmth between you two still lingering as you walked the rest of the way home. But even as you let yourself bask in the calm, a part of you couldn't fully relax. Deep down, you knew this wasn't something that would last long. Gojo had been here tonight because of his issue with Mina, and once that was sorted out, you figured things would go back to how they were before—back to the teasing, playful banter and the walls he'd built up around himself.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy this version of him, the one that was more genuine, more grounded—it was just that you knew the reality. Once he figured things out with Mina, he’d go back to being the Gojo everyone knew. And you’d go back to being just... you.

You reached the front door of your apartment, the familiar hum of the city in the background, and paused. Turning to face Gojo, you smiled, though the weight of your thoughts lingered in the back of your mind.

"Thanks for walking me home," you said, keeping your voice light, though there was a little more softness to it than usual.

Gojo looked at you, his usual playful grin starting to creep back, but there was something different in his eyes. A flicker of sincerity from earlier still hung there. "Of course," he said with a casual shrug. "What would I do if you got caught up in some crazy situation without me? You know I can’t let that happen."

His voice was light, but the way he said it carried an undercurrent of care, something unspoken that made the words feel warmer than they usually would.

You raised an eyebrow, unable to help a small laugh. “I’m pretty sure I could manage, but I’ll take it as a compliment.”

He shot you that signature grin, the one that could charm just about anyone, but there was still a softness to it now—an openness that didn’t quite match his usual carefree demeanor.

"Hey, I’m just saying," he said with a smirk, "if you ever need a bodyguard, you know where to find me."

Despite the playfulness in his tone, you could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on both of you. The reality of the situation, of his relationship with Mina, still lingered in the air, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment—this brief, real side of Gojo—might slip away once everything was sorted out.

You pushed the thought down and smiled, trying to keep the mood light. "I’ll keep that in mind," you replied, though part of you wasn’t sure you’d ever need him that way.

There was a brief pause, and then you cleared your throat, pulling yourself back into the present. "I really do hope things work out with Mina, Satoru," you said, your voice sincere. "You deserve to get everything figured out."

Gojo’s smile faltered slightly at the mention of Mina. It wasn’t the usual teasing grin anymore, but something softer, more thoughtful, as though the thought of her pulled him out of the moment for a second.

He reached up, almost absentmindedly, to ruffle your hair, a subtle attempt to lighten the mood. “You worry too much,” he said, his voice a little quieter, his fingers running through your hair in a playful but gentle motion.

You flinched, swatting his hand away lightly. “Satoru, come on, you’re messing it up.”

Gojo chuckled softly at your reaction, but instead of pulling his hand away, he kept it there, his fingers still resting on your head. He gave you a gentle pat this time, his touch light but lingering, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment just yet.

He was staring at you, his expression unreadable, as if there was something in his gaze that wasn’t quite matching his usual carefree attitude. For a split second, the usual playful energy around him seemed to dissipate, replaced by something softer. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Despite how many times Gojo had been touchy with you before, this time was different. His gaze felt heavier, more intense, and it made you feel uncomfortably aware of the way his hand rested on you. A soft heat spread through you, and before you knew it, your cheeks were flushing, the warmth creeping up your neck.

Then, almost absentmindedly, Gojo’s hand dropped from your hair to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft skin beneath your eye. You froze at the touch, your breath catching in your throat as the tender motion sent a shiver down your spine.

His touch was so gentle, so unexpectedly intimate, that it left you momentarily speechless. Gojo’s thumb continued its slow, soothing stroke over your cheek, his eyes still locked onto yours, watching the way your expression shifted.

For a moment, everything else seemed to fade away—the night, the world around you, even the uncertainty that had been lingering in the air. It was just him, just you, and the quiet tension that seemed to wrap itself around the both of you, neither of you daring to move or speak.

You couldn’t help but feel your heart race, unsure of what this moment meant or how to react to it. You’d never felt quite so exposed in front of him, as if his touch and gaze were pulling something out of you that you didn’t know was there.

Gojo’s smile was still soft, his eyes not leaving yours, but there was something about the way he looked at you—something different than before. A strange vulnerability, maybe, or perhaps just a shared moment of silence that neither of you had the words to explain.

And for a heartbeat, everything felt... unsettled, as though the line between what was familiar and what was new had blurred just enough to make you question whether you were still in control of the situation.

You broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper, but it cut through the stillness like a soft breeze. “Satoru?”

The sound of your voice seemed to snap Gojo out of whatever trance he had been in. His eyes blinked rapidly, as though he were shaking himself back to reality, and the softness that had filled the air between you suddenly wavered.

Gojo blinked rapidly, his eyes shifting as if he were suddenly realizing what had just occurred. His hand pulled away from your cheek like it was almost burning, and he stepped back, an almost startled expression crossing his face. The teasing, playful demeanor faltered for a second, and you could see the surprise flicker in his eyes—not just from you, but perhaps from the moment itself.

"Ah... sorry," he muttered quickly, running a hand through his hair in an awkward gesture that didn’t quite match his usual calm. “Didn’t mean to... uh... get so close.”

He cleared his throat, visibly trying to regain his usual composure. With a shaky smile, he waved his hand as if brushing it off. "Anyway, I should get going."

You nodded, a strange tightness in your chest. He was already backing away, his voice lighter than before but with a hint of haste in it. "Take care, alright?" His tone was almost clipped, a sharp contrast to the softness that had lingered moments before.

You wanted to say something, to stop him, but the words got stuck in your throat. You simply watched as Gojo, with one last glance over his shoulder, turned and started walking down the hallway.

He didn't look back this time, his figure disappearing into the distance and then into the lift, the doors sliding shut behind him with a soft, almost final sound.

The quietness that followed felt almost suffocating, the cool night air filling the space where he had stood. You stood there, staring at the spot where he had just been, unsure of what to make of everything. Your heart was still racing, the lingering touch on your cheek echoing in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, but you couldn't quite put your finger on what it was.

As the sound of the elevator faded away, all you were left with was the lingering memory of him, his touch, his gaze—and the sudden weight of everything unsaid.

[mooooonnnzz]

The Lamp Is Low // Neteyam x gn!reader

💙 You and Neteyam’s relationship headcannons 

the title has no correlation to the story 

had nothing else to call it so i named it after a song i was listening to while making this LMFAO

reader is gender neutral AS ALWAYYSS

neteyam is addicted to readers kisses fr

did not proofread I APOLOGIZE FOR MISTAKES

1k words

ALSO MY REQUESTS R OPEN RN SEND REQUEST (would love to see sum neteyam requests and some for lo’ak AND KIRI TOO NEED MORE KIRI CONTENT)

you kiss neteyam way too much

at least thats what lo’ak says, but how could you not?? 

neteyam had such a kissable face, how could you resist?

neteyam loves it though. 

the feeling of your feathery kisses littering his face made his heart full. he literally begs u for more kisses, like he can’t get enough 

♡ Your soft lips pressed against his forehead then his cheeks. “Be safe, Neteyam.” You placed one last kiss on his lips, a parting gift to take with him as he trains with his father. Neteyam’s tail wagged happily behind him, smiling brightly at you. “One more?” He asked. You shook your head affectionately and kissed his lips once more. “One more and I’ll go.” Neteyam said, closing his eyes and leaning closer to your face. “Neteyam.” You scolded playfully. You couldn’t ignore his request so you did as told, you gave Neteyam the kiss he was practically begging for. You patted his chest with your hand, pushing him away from you. “Okay, now go!” Neteyam stayed rooted in his place, a bashful smile on his face. “One more kiss?” 

my man is always deprived of your kisses he needs ur lips constantly on his face or he dies 

he has told u this once, like he was so fr he was like

♡ “You have to give me another kiss or I die.” He said randomly after you gave him a kiss on his lips. You furrowed your brows in confusion. “You are going to die?” You repeat slowly, watching how Neteyam nods his head vigorously, like if he nodded any slower he was going to be knocked out dead. You weren’t going to give in and give him that kiss. He’s had enough of them, any more you’re sure your lips would fall off. “You don’t have enough time Neteyam, you must go.” You say. Neteyam looks at you then suddenly gasps dramatically, his hand slapping against his chest. “I think I’m dying!” He rasped out, flopping his body against yours. You just stared at him, looking at him unamused. He opened one eye and then the other, huffing out, he whispered. “You are supposed to kiss me to bring me back to life.” You puckered out your lips, eyes narrowing as you pretended to think about what Neteyam just said. “I don’t think I will.” You said. Now this time, Neteyam’s gasp was real. He shot up and he genuinely looked so hurt.  “What? How could y–” You shut him with a kiss. You separated and you pushed him away. “You better not come back!” You say. “I make no promises!” 

you patch neteyam up whenever he comes back injured from whatever he was doing 

he sometimes gets hurt on purpose so he could feel your fingers graze his skin 

lo’ak had witnessed neteyam “accidently trip” on the roots of the trees just so he could have a scraped knee

its actually so embarrassing 

♡ “Bro, you are not fooling anyone.” Lo’ak said, crossing his arms over his chest. Neteyam got up from the floor, brushing the dirt and grime that stuck to his legs. “I’m fooling y/n, though.” 

is he though?? 

♡ “For Ewya’s sake, do you fight with your eyes closed?!” You gently pat down one of Neteyam’s gashes on his back dry. “How do you manage to come home everyday with a new injury?” Dipping your two fingers in the healing paste you cultivated earlier while the boys were out, you delicately glided the ointment along Neteyam’s wounds. His ears flickered, a hiss left his lips. “That hurts!” He said through clenched teeth. “Oh, so now you are complaining about the pain?” 

okay at first, he did fool you but after a few times of him coming back with a bleeding leg or arm, you figured he was doing it on purpose 

whenever Neteyam has a rough day or has been chewed out by his dad, he always comes to you to be at peace

you tend to rebraid his hair while adding more beads to his collection

he has said that it helps calm him down 

you also message his head he absolutely LOVES IT

♡ Your fingers intricately worked with each strand of Neteyam’s hair. Crossing the strands over each other, you woven each strand into a braid. Digging your fingers into the bowl full of beads, you plucked a few out, ornamenting each braid with a bead of their own. “How have you been?” You ask, fingers gliding down his newly done braid. A satisfied smile was pulled onto your lips, fingers rolling the stray bead that you had found on the grassy floor. “The best I can be.” Neteyam vaguely responded. You knew he wasn’t telling you the truth, he wasn’t the best at lying. You dropped the bead back into the bowl with a sigh. Throughout the whole time you have been braiding his hair, Neteyam has been cold and quiet. Only uttering a few words to you when needed. A stark contrast from how he usually acts. You threaded your fingers through his hair. “How was the hunt with your father?” You watch as Neteyam’s body physically tenses at the mention of his hunt. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” He lies straight through his teeth, his fingers anxiously wrapping themselves around the grass. “Neteyam.” You sternly said. You got up and moved around him, sitting right in front of him. “I know when you lie.” You tell him, narrowing your eyes at him. He shrinks under your intimidating gaze, his tail flicking nervously behind him. Neteyam sighed out and finally allowed himself to open himself up. He began to explain how his father blew up on him during a hunt, how he yelled at him for not getting his aim right after various corrections from his father. After he ended his rant, you offered him a piece of your advice and what you thought about the situation. You helped him regulate his emotions and calm down. Neteyam had visibly relaxed and his mood perked up after you and him talked about it. He laid his head down on your lap. Wordlessly, you tangled your fingers in his hair and pressed the tips of them on his skull. You slowly messaged his head, fingers skillfully moving from the next point onto the next. Neteyam sighed, closing his eyes. With you by his side, he could overcome anything. 

if you wanna be in my taglist comment or dm me! <3 + my requests are open!

Taglist: @writingsbybirdie @tzurue @lokisblueskin @slaypussypop-21​

[fandomfucker]

Hey can you please write a story for me about the reader wanting to please her self well Rhea was on the plane coming home from a show. But when Rhea comes home she finds you breaking one of the rules and intense to push you.

Bonus: could the reader give Rhea some Messy oral. 

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT!! (oral, bondage, handcuffs, usage of strap-on, dildo, slight praise and degradation)

Word Count: 2,427

Reader's POV

It had been a long day, with a lot of pent-up stress and frustration. Not to mention, I had been sexually frustrated for the whole two weeks my girlfriend has been away now.

Rhea had a rule though, I could touch myself, but under no circumstances was I allowed to fill myself with anything. That was for her and her only. As far as rules go it was a pretty mild one.

I generally didn't do much of anything without her anyway and she knew that so the rules were pretty lax, but tonight just seemed like it would be one of those nights.

Getting home from work, I immediately threw my shoes towards the closet, too tired to even bother throwing them inside. My purse was placed on the counter as I happily greeted the dogs.

Having made sure that the pups were happily fed I then walked towards the master bath, deciding that a nice hot bath would do wonders.

Smelling salts, bubbles, music, and candles set the mood for me as I settled in. Closing my eyes I hummed along to the lyrics of whatever Motionless in White song was quietly playing as I thought of my girlfriend.

She was supposed to be back earlier this afternoon but had gotten held up with some work thing and now wasn't supposed to be home until tomorrow or possibly the day after and I was tired of waiting.

Sliding a hand up my stomach and over the mound of my breast I gently toyed with a nipple. My other hand roamed over my thigh, drawing circles on the inside with my thumb just like Rhea would normally do.

My core began to ache and I craved my toys, which were only second best but better than nothing.

Hastily climbing out of the tub and pulling the plug for the water to drain, I dried myself off (taking care to blow out the candles) before making my way to my and Rhea's shared bedroom.

I walked over to the giant dresser, squatting down to open up the bottom drawer filled with toys.

Eventually, I landed on 'fuck the rule' and picked out a medium-sized purple dildo. It wasn't my favorite, but it would have to do until Rhea came back with her strap-on and fingers.

Feeling a little bit adventurous now, I walked over to the big mirror hanging on the wall in front of the throne in our bedroom.

Getting down on my knees, I used the suction cup on the bottom of the dildo and stuck it to the mirror.

I began to gently stroke the purple dildo before taking it into my mouth, coating it in my own saliva. I pulled back, spitting on it before massaging the spit around its girth.

Reaching down between my legs, I traced the lips of my pussy before moving inwards and beginning to rub my clit.

I thought of Rhea and how she would look between my legs, watching me get wetter and wetter for her as I got off to her. How her lips would feel on the inside of my thigh, coating me in black lipstick after winning a match.

Beginning to feel my wetness drip down my leg I turned myself away from the mirror and backed up into it, looking back just long enough to direct the dildo's tip to my entrance. I rocked back on my knees and seated myself on it.

I had now officially broken Rhea's rule but it felt so good that I couldn't just stop now.

I fucked myself on the mirror as I switched between massaging my clit and my nipples. I was beginning to feel the familiar tightening in my gut. I was so close. I kept my eyes on the carpet below me as I began to pant slightly, a light sheen coating my skin.

Suddenly my head was jerked backward, towards the sky, by the roots of my hair. My eyes watered from the slight burning pain. But there, in all her glory, stood my pissed-off girlfriend.

Immediately I stopped in my tracks, my face dropped and lost all its color. I was so fucked, and not in a good way.

"H-hey, babe." I smiled nervously up at her. She wasn't supposed to be there for at least another few hours.

"What are you doing?" She asked me rhetorically, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

"Nothing." I tried nonchalantly. Much to my dismay, as I said that a large droplet of my secretion slid down around the dildo, which was still fake balls deep inside of me, and hit the floor.

Unfortunately, because of just how smart I am having chosen a mirror, Rhea managed to get both a front and back row seat to just how wet I was.

Squatting down to be eye level with me, Rhea dropped the handful of hair she had fisted, now opting to grab my chin instead.

"I thought we'd talked about this." She chided disapprovingly.

I pretended to think about it for a second before innocently responding, "You know, we might've. Probably just slipped my mind."

Not liking this answer, she gripped my shoulders and pulled me away from the mirror, dislodging the dildo from my pussy where it had so graciously set up camp while I talked with Rhea.

I moaned as it slid out, slapping against the mirror wetly as it dripped with my lube. Missing its warmth I looked up at Rhea, pleading with my eyes.

"Nuh-uh." She tutted me. "You know the rules."

Sliding her hand up the back of my neck, she grabbed a fistful of hair at the roots and dragged me towards her, forcing me to stand up.

Now standing on my feet, my legs were shaking terribly. To the point where it was extremely noticeable and drew Rhea's attention.

Looking down at my trembling limbs, a small smirk grew on her face. She gently kicked one of my feet, telling me to spread my legs apart.

I did as she told me and spread my legs. I could feel my secretion, (only made worse by Rhea) as it slid between the folds of my pussy, dripping down onto the floor.

"You're such a slut. Now, is that for Mami? Or is it for that filthy cock?" Rhea growled at me, tugging my head back to look her in the eye.

I whimpered quietly in pain before answering her, "For you, Mami. Only and always you."

Rhea grinned at me and slid her hand from the roots of my hair to my neck, gripping it like a vice. Guiding me by my neck, she turned us around and walked me backward towards the bed.

The backs of my legs hit the bedframe, stopping me in my tracks as I slightly bent backward as Rhea kept coming closer.

Looking me up and down, Rhea reached her other hand up and placed it just below my belly button. Taking her time, she slid her hand further up my stomach, stopping just below my ribs before pushing me down to lay on my back on the bed.

She then tapped my knee, motioning that she wanted me further up on the bed. I followed suit, scooting up towards the top of the bed, and laying my head at the bottom of the pillows.

Rhea began to undress, never breaking her eye contact with me as she did so. She slipped off her shirt and shorts before dropping her panties, leaving her lacy black bra on.

Getting up onto the bed on her knees, she crawled forward so that she was above me. Her hands lay just above my shoulders holding her up as my hips lay between her knees.

"Since you're just so eager to please yourself, you're going to have to wait now. I'm going first." Rhea spoke lowly.

I nodded hungrily as I tried my best to maintain eye contact and keep my hands to myself.

The only thing I liked more than my own orgasms were hers, and I'd do anything to be the one giving them to her.

"Please Mami, let me pleasure you," I begged, just wanting to taste her.

Rhea ran her tongue along the edges of her teeth in thought before patting my cheek in approval.

Grabbing the pillow that was just above my head, she threw it to the floor so that there wouldn't be as many obstacles before crawling up the bed, her wet pussy now just inches from my face as she held herself above me.

"And what do you do if you need to breathe?" Rhea asked me, demanding that I answer before we keep going. She could be cruel sometimes but safety was important to her.

"Tap twice."

"Good girl," she purred, her knees sliding apart as she dropped down onto my face. My hands immediately came up to grip her tatted thighs, holding on like they were my lifeline as hers went into my hair.

I breathed in her scent as I immediately stuck my tongue out, lapping at her wetness. My nose rubbed up against her clit, causing her to moan and grip my hair harder, only encouraging me.

Wanting to please her, I stuck my tongue into her pussy and began thrusting in and out, faster and harder each time. My left hand gripped her thigh for leverage as I brought my right hand to her clit, switching between gentle and rough.

I was starting to run out of air but I'd rather die than be pulled away from her. Luckily, I could tell she was close and thrust my tongue even faster, adding in two fingers as my thumb continued to massage her clit.

Hitting her climax, Rhea exploded all over my face, her legs shaking and tightening around my head as I continued to gently lap at her, helping her ride it out.

She laid back on my stomach, her head on my thighs as I continued cleaning her up. She spread her legs further apart to give me some room to finally breathe as she caught her own breath.

I could both see and feel the strings of her cum as she was pulled away from my lips. Her having left my face a sticky mess of pleasure.

Deciding that she was clean enough, Rhea rolled off of me to sit on her knees next to my stomach.

A look of contemplation came over her face before she got up and walked over to the drawer of toys.

I lifted my head to see what she was grabbing but she was intentionally blocking my view to prevent me from doing just that.

I laid my head back down and waited for her to come back. And when she did, she held a pair of purple fuzzy handcuffs.

Smiling devilishly, she secured each of my hands into a cuff above my head before tying each of my feet to the end pillars of the bed frame using the rope that was permanently situated there.

As much as I was growing nervous as she continued tying me up, I grew excited too.

I was already so close to orgasming that just a single sensual touch from her would send me over at this point.

Hell, just having her come multiple times on or by me would make me come myself, no touches required.

Finally securing the ropes to where she wanted them, Rhea looked up at me, grinning as she saw the growing discomfort on my face.

"Use your words, Princess." She teased as she trailed the tips of her fingernails across the inside of my thigh, tracing circles as she went higher.

"Mami, please. Please, fuck me Mami." I pleaded hungrily.

I made grabby hands from where my wrists were cuffed above my head, motioning to her that I wanted her bra off.

She chuckled lowly before reaching back and unclasping it, sensually slipping it over her breasts and down her stomach before tossing it over her shoulder to the floor.

"Mami, you're teasing." I groaned in impatience and wiggled around for just the slightest bit of friction at this point.

She gripped my hip, hard, to stop me from moving, her other hand taking hold of my throat.

"No, I'm not." She stated gruffly as she harshly inserted her ring and middle finger into me with the hand that was previously holding my hip.

I gasped as her fingers entered me and immediately began pumping at a quickened pace.

Her fingers mercilessly pounded in and out of me, my gasping and whimpering only encouraging Rhea to add another finger, going even harder and faster.

She never failed to make me a writhing, moaning mess. And I was so close. "Mami, please. I'm almost there." I moaned, begging her.

Suddenly, Rhea fully stopped everything she was doing and pulled her fingers out of me. I whined at the loss of contact after being so fucking close to coming and looked at her in confusion and desperation.

"What? You didn't really think you'd get away that easy did you?" She questioned me. "Close your eyes."

Begrudgingly, I did as she said and closed my eyes. Not two minutes later I felt her hoist up my legs by the back of my thighs, along with her using her fingers to slightly stretch my opening again. 

My eyes flew open as I felt something much bigger than her fingers be inserted into me. I looked to where Rhea was and my mouth watered as I saw her kneeling in front of me, my legs propped around her hips, on the bed, wearing her strap-on. I threw my head back, closing my eyes in ecstasy as she tore into me, fucking me hard and fast with her strap. 

"Mami, I'm close," I whined. I always had to have her permission to come and I was ready and wanting.

Rhea smirked at me as she picked up the pace, bringing one of her hands up to massage my clit. "Go ahead, Sweetheart." With the added stimulation on my clit I came almost immediately after being given permission. My legs shook violently as Rhea slowed down a bit, helping me ride it out. I gasped for air as my orgasm ripped it out of my lungs.

She began to untie my legs before climbing on top of me to undo the handcuffs.

I stared up at her in awe as she did so, still trying to catch my breath.

She noticed my staring and got off me, opting to sit next to me instead. Brushing a piece of hair off my sticky forehead she leaned down, mere centimeters from my lips. "If you're going to pleasure yourself when I'm not home, at least next time facetime me. Yeah?"

I nodded my head at her, agreeing to anything and everything she could ever say, relishing in the sweet kiss she gave me in response. Maybe I should break the rules more often.

[sturniolo04]

I Don't Know Why I'm Crying C.S.

Bf!Chris x Gf!Fem!Reader

A/N: If you don't like the preadded name in my stories, you can either add your own name or not read it; it's up to you :)

Having a youtuber boyfriend and bestfriends definitely had its pros and cons. You and Chris had been dating for a little over a year, which was the part of the relationship where you two have become very comfortable with pranking each other on a daily basis which has opted you both into the ongoing prank war you were currently in. Which leads you to now, sitting in front of your boyfriends desk whispering into the vlog camera, you asked nick for telling him you were pranking Chris today.

"ignore the singing in the back but-"

you trail off whispering into the camera as you fall silent in your thought hearing the shower and Chris singing along to whatever song he had playing in there with him.

"anyway so i am going to be pranking chris today by randomly crying and getting randomly sad about literally anything-"

you state into the camera in front of you making frequent shifting eye contact with the bathroom door to make sure Chris doesn't catch you in your sneaky act.

"and we have a busy day today too so this should be good but we are getting ready to meet up with Tara and film with her and then probably go to lunch before heading over to their parents house to hang out with them and Nate maybe-"

you state simply closing out your introduction to the video which ironically was going to be uploaded on the Triplets channel on Friday

A few minutes passed and by this time both and and you chris made your way upstairs to be greeted by Matt on the couch and Nick in the kitchen, both on their phones.

"good morning weirdos"

Nick greets you two panning the vlog camera that was already recording seeing that you guys were the last ones to get ready for the day given really Chris' late sleeping schedule.

"i think you mean good afternoon condsidering it is-"

Matt corrects Nick flipping his phone to the pair displaying his cute lockscreen with his girlfriend on their 5 month anniversary, making you smile a little because she was you best friend and how you two ended up dating a pair of brothers was beyond you guys.

"2:15pm in the afternoon"

matt states finishing his statement and point he was making resulting in an eyeroll from chris

"shut the fuck up dude like-"

chris replies to his brother turning on his heels making his way downstairs to the car.

We finally made it to Tara's house, all hoping in her new car her ex-boyfriend got her a few days ago, getting ready to film a video for her channel.

"hello guys welcome back to my channel today we are stuck in a car with-"

she trails off as you all scream in unison announcing your presence.

"oh my god it's the triplets and my bestie"

she exclaims reaching back and linking you guys hands.

As you all got into the main parts about Tara's video you were helping her film you decided to create the first incident which was going to essentially be the start of the random crying outbursts for the day. You allow yourself to zone out of the conversation thinking of the most tragic and sad thing you could think of to put yourself into a fit of tears.

"hey you okay"

chris whispers to you noticing how you fell super silent as he turned his head acknowledging your emotion shift, which resulting in you just nodding you head. Chris was most often times the one who always knew not only when you were upset but also would be able to acknowledge when he did something to make you upset so this was definitely going to throw him off when it is just random.

" hey what do you think about this"

Nick questions you as everyone's attention turns to you. You continuing to let yourself fall down the rabbit hole of the sad thoughts that you were making up In your mind to get you to the point of crying.

"um-"

you trail off sniffling a little feeling like the tears could start flowing at any second, running a shaky hand through the ends of your hair seeing you had already styled it for the day and god forbid you mess it up already with this prank, falling silent again.

"are you okay love"

tara finally asks as everyone's eyes remain fixated on you.

"im sorry i just"

you finally get out as the tears start rolling down your cheeks as you open the car door hopping out, walking to the nearest curb to sit on In the empty parking lot you guys were parked in, leaving everyone worried.

"what was the about"

matt asks looking a chris as if to ask if her and him got into a disagreement earlier which resulting in this mood, which resulted him in shrugging his shoulder with him honestly not knowing whats up.

"is she okay i feel bad"

tara states honestly looking out the side window to see you with your hands on your face 'sobbing' your heart out.

"chris go check on her for real"

nick states as he looks over tara's shoulder seeing you still in a fit of tears. Chris climbs out of the car making his way over to his girlfriend.

"hey my love whats going on"

he asks kneeling in front of her placing his hands comfortably on her calves.

"im fine chris"

you reply agressively wiping your tears to act like nothing is wrong, which in reality nothing is wrong.

'you dont look fine"

chris responds his pale blue orbs gazing up at your face, seeing the denial written all over your face, slowly running his palms up and down on your bare calves seeing you were wearing a sports skirt today the skirt he absolutely adored on you, which also happened to be in his favorite color, orange.

"I am it was nothing i dont know why I started crying it was so stupid"

you mumble out picking at freshly manicured nails letting out a deep sigh.

" you know you can tell me"

he replys to you maintaining his concerned/worried gaze towards you.

" i know im fine it's nothing"

you sigh out seeing you stopped the tears.

"promise"

he questions as you simply nod your head in response. You and Chris finally head back into Tara's car.

" you okay babes"

Tara asks as everyone shifts their focus back to you once you two got back in the car.

"yeah sorry it was stupid im fine we can finish filming"

you reply back as Nick makes subtle eye contact with Chris to see if he really believes everything is okay knowing how he is.

it has know been an hour or so and by this time you all had finished filming with Tara and headed to go and get lunch. You guys had ordered you food and deciding ultimately you guys wanted to eat in the van in a random parking lot. You had ordered something simple and normally when you order food it almost never comes back incorrect in quality but today your order was definitely 'incorrect' which gave you another opportunity to have another crying fit for no apparent reason to confuse your boyfriend and his brothers even more.

You let out a huge exasperated sigh, definitely catching everyone's attention.

"you okay, whats wrong"

matts asks looking at you through the rearview mirror

"nothing"

you huff out clearly still emotionally about something.

"you sure"

nick questions you noticing you simply playing with your food rather than eating it.

" did they fuck up your order"

he states asking the different question considered he noticed your simple act with your food.

"GOD yes"

you exclaim dragging the 's' out beginning to let the tears fall.

"that like never happens"

you continue to exclaim placing your head in your hands continuing to cry.

"hey its okay we can ask to get it fixed"

matt reassures you, turning in his seat as nick does the same as everyone fixates their focus on you.

"hey you dont have to cry about it whats going on with you? you have been crying pretty much all day randomly"

nick states honestly looking a Chris.

"yeah whats going on did chris do something?"

matt follows up.

"baby is it that time like you don't cry this much ever"

chris mumbles fixing his gaze on you seated next to him.

"CHRIS"

nick exclaims shcoked that was even a question that came out of his mouth exchanging a shocked looks with Matt in the front.

"what the fuck chris no"

you exclaim responding to your boyfriend almost wanting to giggle and end the prank there but continuing with the act.

"what sorry but its not like you to cry ever hour like"

chris defends running a hand through your messy hair seeing you took it down from the half up half down style you had it in earlier.

"i know"

you state simply letting a out a sigh leaning into Chris' touch.

"so do you want to get your food fixed"

nick questions you again resulting in you shaking you head 'no'.

'okay then are we ready to head over to mom and dads then"

matt asks everyone as he begins to start the car to head in that direction as everyone simultaneously agrees.

You guys finally made it to their parents house which was only about 15 minutes away from where we were earlier, standing at door waiting for someone to answer.

"you want take a nap after we say hi to everyone"

chris whispers to you resting his forehead on your temple after placing a kiss to it. You just simply nod agreeing to his ask.

"oh my goodness hi"

matt's girlfriend screams greeting them immediately jumping up in his arms, him catching her with his hands landing on her ass.

"oh my goodness hi"

he exclaims mocking her.

'i missed you"

she breathes out as she leans her forehead on his, resulting in Nick clearing his throat.

"hey there hate to break up the love fest but can yall like move out of the door way so we can come in, well so I can go see mom and dad"

nick states with a eye roll as matt's girlfriend giggles.

"nick fuck off"

matt huffs out frustrated with the simple request, resulting in his girlfriend gasping at his response to his brother, smakcing him softly on the shoulder.

"be nice and move"

she replies as matt rolls his eyes complying, proceeding to make his way into the house with his girlfriend still in his grasp into the kitchen.

"hey you guys"

marylou greets as you all entered the kitchen giving nick a hug first and continuing on with chris and you.

"hi mom"

chris mumbles out into the hug they were sharing.

"are you not going to give me a hug or just continue to hug you girlfriend"

marylou giggles out to her middle child. Matt chuckles out letting his girlfriend drop to her feet, hugging his mom.

"howdy mama"

matt finally chuckles out.

'your dad is in the living room If you guys want to go see him"

she states out simply as the boys start heading in that direction.

"hey girly pop how are you"

matts girlfriend greets you hugging you. You need to tell someone you have been pranking chris all day and not being able to tell some one was killing you.

"um so i have been pranking chris all day"

"what how so"

she exclaims quietly so they dont hear her.

" i have been crying randomly"

you giggle out.

"does not know yet when are you going to tell him"

she asks

"i am soon i think i am going to have another random burst of tears and then yeah"

you reply simply.

You guys have all made your to a quiet comfortable vibe in the living room watching some random movie Im pretty sure nick chose. Matt and his girlfriend were cuddled up on the far end of the couch while nick was sat in a chair with men and chris sharing the other end of the couch. I wasn't really interested in the movie which resulted in me being on my phone, trying to figure out when to start my next random crying outburst.

A few minutes pass from me scrolling on my phone and both Marylou and Jimmy found comfort as well in the living room. You begin to let out subtle sniffles. Chris gazes up at you seeing hie was resting his head in your lap.

"baby"

he exclaims dragging out the 'y' sitting up and catching everyone's attention as you being sobbing more uncontrollably.

"oh my goodness whats wrong sweetie"

marylou exclaims coming over sitting next to you on the couch running the palm of her hand up and down your arm as you continue to sob.

"whats wrong"

jimmy asks looking at the boys as matts girlfriend stays quiet knowing what really going on.

"i dont know she has been acting like this all day"

Chris states simply

"Nick go get her some water please"

marylou asks a he gets up pausing the movie heading into the kitchen

"breathe sweetie okay talk to me"

marylou says comforting you as you placing you head in you hands resting them on top of your knees as nick returns with your water.

"baby are you sure your not"

chris asks the same question he asked earlier as his face morphs into a confused one as you start giggling out of no where.

"what is happening"

matt asks confused.

"it was a prank you guys"

you giggle out

"what are you kidding"

nick exclaims as you look over to chris as his face drops in relief.

"we were really worried about you"

chris sighs out.

"im sorry and im sorry marylou and jimmy as well"

you giggle out as they simply chuckle along with you.

"dude i thought it was your time of month from how random you were crying"

chris chuckles out scratching the back of his head, as marylou gasps reaching over and playfully smacks the back of her youngest's head.

"chris you never ask a girl that"

his dad states chuckling.

"i know i just didnt know why she was acting like that; dad she literally cried because her food was messed up"

chris defends.

"yeahh but in all seriousness on that note I have been PMSing all day so I might start it tomorrow"

you mumble out as chris chuckles.

"see i know my girlfriend guys"

he exclaims grabbing you and resting her head on his lap with you giggling at his response.

Taglist

@mintsturniolo @dirtylittleheart333 @wh0resstuff @spicymuffins03

@aaliyahsturn @stayingstromboli

[emeraldenha]

MIXTAPES.

pairing: idol bf!taesan x gn!reader | genre: idol au, established relationship, fluff, slight angst | w/c: +1k words | warnings: overworking, reader is a college student

You always wished the two of your schedules would align better than this.

Not that you weren’t well aware of the hardships of dating an idol. It wasn’t designed to be easy. Rather, it was anything but easy.

Just when your boyfriend, Taesan, got the day off, it happened to be the day in which you were bombarded with due dates from all your college courses.

So here you were, slouched across your desk, fingers glued to your keyboard, while Taesan was sitting on the edge of your bed offhandedly brainstorming lyrics onto his notes app. You felt guilty for boring him and making him wait, but he insisted that anything was fine as long as the both of you were together. Even if that only entailed being in the same room.

“When do you think you’ll be done?”

It isn’t until then that you notice he’s no longer positioned by your bed and is instead standing directly behind you, hunching to the point where his chin ghosts over the top of your head.

“I’ll be done soon enough! I just have to power through it,” you promise.

Taesan rests his hands on the back of your chair and observes you for a moment as you continue working, gradually losing focus of the words jumbled on the screen before staring off into space.

“Hey, I love you and everything but I get a little self conscious when you’re peering over my shoulder like that. It makes it a little hard to concentrate,” you hesitantly comment, lips curled up slightly to signal that you weren’t really mad or annoyed. You just needed to get things turned in so you could spend actual quality time with your boyfriend.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. He shuffles his feet until he’s leaning against the open door frame. “Do you need anything? Snacks, water…?”

“I’m okay,” you reply dismissively, already back to being immersed in your studies.

Taesan leaves your bedroom to find where he left his bag in your apartment. Spotting it on the couch, he searches through the front compartment until he pulls out what he’s been meaning to give you for weeks now. Headphones, check. Cassette player, check. Mixtape #1, check. Carefully taking the mixtape out of its case and plopping it into the player, Taesan’s face heats up by the sheer embarrassment of gifting this to you. However, he knows that whatever he can do to make you happy will squander his embarrassment any day.

Getting caught up in his busy lifestyle, sometimes it takes him a bit longer to realize just how hard you have it too. You work yourself to the bone yet are so patient and understanding when it comes to him. He wants to be there for you, much more than he physically can be.

When he reenters the room, he sees your lips pursed, eyebrows stitched together by a needle of stress. It’s the kind of expression you make when you’re stuck.

Taesan isn’t sure if he should bother you again but decides that it’s a risk he’s willing to take.

Pressing play and setting the device aside, he tucks your hair behind your ears before placing the headphones right over them. His hands then linger to brush through the strands of your hair, as if your inability to hear has somehow obstructed your other senses too. You let him off the hook this time. The gesture is thankfully more calming than distracting.

“Ah, Oasis, right?” You instantly recognize the voice and melody of the song despite not being able to put your finger on it. “Which album is this again?”

Taesan loves sharing music with you, and it’s a passion of his that you’re glad he’s introduced you to, because it consumes such a big part of his life that you like being a part of as well. Though despite having his favorite songs and artists, he rarely ever shows you the same song twice. It’s always something new.

You also never miss out on supporting his own group’s releases, spending time on the phone just to let him point out the lyrics he wrote or any other insider facts from song to choreography to music video shooting. It’s like a whole other world from how he describes it.

But when he admittedly gets sick of hearing the same songs over and over again in the practice room, he’s listening to the thousands of other songs on his playlist for hours before he goes to sleep. He makes sure to send you one by the end of the night, and he plays it as soon as you’ve seen the text so it’s like you’re there listening to it with him. He also has a collection of vinyls—vinyls that’d be all worn out if he didn’t keep them in such pristine condition—stacked away in his dorm, and even a small bundle of slightly lesser used cassettes, which you’re assuming is what he brought for you today in his portable, faded blue cassette player.

“Oh, it’s not an album actually,” he answers, nervously blurting out the words before he can stumble over them. “It’s a mixtape.”

“For me?” You point to yourself, eyes wide in surprise.

He gives you a shy nod. “It’s nothing, really. Just some songs that remind me of you.”

Songs that remind him of you.

Trying not to reveal how flustered you are by the statement, you swivel your chair away from him and face down at the desk. “Thank you.”

He hums, even though he knows you can’t hear him over the blaring drums and guitars kicking in.

But despite that, you can still sense his gaze on you, so looking over your shoulder, you give him a soft smile and say, “I love you.”

As you turn back around, Taesan is finally able to take his eyes off you, letting himself lie back all the way on your bed with a peaceful sigh.

“Love you,” he whispers to the ceiling, because although you still can’t hear him, the words will always reach you anyway. Whether said or unsaid or sung in song, his love will always reach you.

main masterlist

[agentnico]

Agatha All Along - season 1 (2024) review

Down down, down the road, down the Witches Road…

Plot: A spell-bound Agatha Harkness regains freedom thanks to a teen's help. Intrigued by his plea, she embarks on the Witches' Road trials to reclaim her powers and discover the teen's motivations.

I’m not going to waffle about my complaints with the current state of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. I’ve already rambled on a substantial amount in my previous reviews regarding this subject matter, so let’s leave it at the fact that my opinion and thoughts have not changed. That being said, WandaVision was one of the few enjoyable projects in the post-Endgame MCU era, as it had that original and unique flavour with messing with different television formats, and additionally was interesting in how that show explored the effects of trauma and grief. Naturally due to its success, Disney being Disney and Marvel being Marvel meant a sequel or a spin-off was inevitable. In this case it’s Agatha Harkness, who was played with a lot of funky energy by Kathryn Hahn in WandaVision. As enjoyable as she was, I never considered her to need her own show. I guess really anyone can get their own Disney+ series these days!

Kathryn Hahn is the primary reason to watch Agatha All Along. She’s as enjoyable as ever, cackling and wincing her way through each episode, and it was entertaining to constantly question her moral code, if she’s a villain or if she was turning to the good side. Hahn is great, and I am so glad she’s getting the recognition snd good roles now. As for other cast members, they are okay. Joe Locke as the teen came off a little pretentious, and Patti LuPone was the only witch I actually cared about. Aubrey Plaza as the mysterious Rio ends up being exactly what you expect her to be, and though Plaza nails the sarcasm, it’s nothing you haven’t seen her do before.

In regard to the series’ style, it’s really campy. The trailers in my opinion promised more horror aspects which were not present in the final product, but my main complaint is with the show’s look. It feels cheap. From the costumes to the sets, the whole thing is reminiscent of a CW or SyFy show, and you can tell Disney is probably tightening their budgets following the backlash of recent releases. But with something like Marvel you still expect to see something of visually interesting style, especially as they are sourcing a lot of narratives from comics and graphic novels, which one would assume would inspire more colourful and memorable set pieces. Unfortunately this show doesn’t offer any of that. The best you get is some rip-off witch costumes from other Disney projects, which I felt was more so for Disney to show-off how much Hollywood they own.

As for the narrative, for the most part this show is dull. It’s a very repetitive concept where in every episode our witches take on yet another trial, and though some trials do stand out more than others (episode 7 where a character time-jumps using tarot cards was particularly memorable) as a combined package it meant that catching up every week with a new episode was at times a chore. The other infuriating factor was the endless foreshadowing. This show consistently would bash you over the head with clues of what’s to come, but the clues were so predictable that when the reveals finally did pay-off they were not surprising even remotely. Reminded me a little of that Walk Hard segment where the kid says “ain’t nothing bad gonna happen today” only for him to get spliced in two 5 minutes later.

Superhero fatigue is real everyone! It’s happening! I’m kidding of course, I’m still holding out hope that Marvel and DC will get back to their former glory, but evidently there is still a long ways to go. Agatha All Along didn’t do it for me, however I do admit that Witches Road song is a banger and has been stuck in my head ever since!

Overall score: 4/10

[shortnotsweet]

APPLES IN THE SKY (excerpt from THE THRILLING AND NOT AT ALL REPETITIVE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN MAN AND KID DANGER: “A CHRONOLOGY OF ENTIRELY TRUE AND HEROIC EVENTS COINCIDING WITH THE END OF HISTORY”) [1] [2] [3] [4]

[ Henry’s face is unreadable. In the background, desert mountains and vegetation rush past. Smoke rises in the distance, backlighting ambiguous red shapes that could be plant life, flaming crosses, or even ominous figures. The camera cuts to the back of the car with the invalid license plate reading “HERO”, speeding towards a red horizon. Ray twists back in his seat with a smile, reflected in the lens of Henry’s sunglasses. In the review mirror, Henry’s expression is contemplative. The shot pans to a bird’s eye view of the car eating up highway miles. ]

Charli XCX’s “Apple” from BRAT (2024): “I guess the apple could turn yellow or green. I know there's lots of different nuances to you and to me—I wanna grow the apple, keep all the seeds, but I can't help but get so angry you don't listen to me. To the airport—the airport.”

PANEL NOTES:

The smoke is an implication of wildfires in the surrounding area, which Henry and Ray simply drive past because there’s nothing else to do. Maybe those days are behind them. Maybe they’re just not adept in the art of firefighting, and the bigness of a wildfire is too rural or too raw for them to even adress. I think there’s a sort of irony to it, and it’s either heroes ignoring a disaster past their prime or simple not caring; they’re speeding off into an undefined future and therefore no longer grappling with apathy, but sliding into it. Thus, the road is interpreted as a junction between natural conflict running its course and urban obligation.

This was vaguely inspired, albeit not lifted directly, from my millionth or so reread of “Cuticle Tear” by atbash on AO3. Granted, it takes place in a broken-down truck and is not needlessly melodramatic, but AO3 user atbash does more with obligatory dialogue and omitted assumptions than I could do in 20 panels or so.

Specifically, the lyric “‘cause I’ve been looking at you so long now I only see me. I wanna throw the apple into the sky, feels like you never understand me, so I just wanna drive…” struck me as somewhat in line with the feeling—and example—I got from the fic.

Of course, neither yellow or green are used in the actual color palette, but the song carries themes of intertwined identity and generational effects passed down. I think Ray has imparted a lot of the best and worst things about himself to Henry, through the means of their friendship, professional, and mentor relationship. He’s not his dad. It’s worse, almost, that he’s not, because then it would at least be hereditary.

“Apple” is my favorite BRAT (2024) song right now, so of course it’s stuck in my head; I think there’s a flippant, escapist quality to it and can imagine two friends listening to it on the highway, checking out, but also—there’s not quite a realization, more like an unspoken feeling that what you are is a product. And it’s someone else’s fault. And when you look at each other, you’re seeing something else, or maybe you’re trying to. There’s something distantly escapist and obviously upbeat about the song, but there’s a disdain there, too.

It’s hardly visible, but the license plate on the car reads “HERO” singular, which is invalid but implies they have either a fake plate or Swellview is just so strange that their town itself has exceptions as to how they’re issued, again violating the laws and conventional physics of surrounding territory. They’re a weird exception, as always, and they’re getting away with it.

Their identities are so intertwined at this point that theyre conflated, so there’s an obligatory ego flattening going on as well as an erasure of both or one of them—most likely Henry’s—to accommodate. You might call it being a teammate, although how Henry feels about it after all this time is unsure.

Ray did this to him, the good and the bad doesn’t matter; it’s the fact that he did it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Between the Lines 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, Lee is rude, customer service triggers. and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Lee Bodecker

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

‘So no one told you life was gonna be this way…’

You nearly clap to the theme song stuck in your head. You resist and continue your patrol of the aisle. The lyrics are oddly poignant as you traverse the bookstore. Two degrees and this is what you’re left with. This is far from what you expected.

You don’t hate the job, only the customers. Sometimes. You love books and when you got the call, you were all too happy to trade in your Starbucks apron for collared shirts and dark slacks. As much as you miss the free drinks, you’re more confident around literature.

You come down the main aisle of the store, around the tables in the middle with stacks of best-sellers and promotions, as a woman enters. She’s striking in her pencil skirt and sleek cinched trench coat. Her hair is immaculately highlighted blonde and gold and highlights her beauty. She doesn’t see you in her hurry, surpassing you for the Biography section.

Another customer follows her in the door. He looks after her as he stops just inside. Your curiosity stitches in your forehead. He’s rather intent on trailing her. His jacket has a star pinned on its chest; a cop.

Oh, shoot. Not another thief. You go to greet the officer, “hello, sir, can I help you?”

“Nah, thanks,” he waves you off, his knuckles nearly hit you in the cheek.

You back up and let him pass. You could be wrong but you can’t risk shrink on your shift. Not again. You casually head in the same direction, pretending to fix some book spines as you peer down the aisle where the woman looks back and forth elusively. Hmmm.

You stride towards her and put on your best smile, “hello, miss, is there something I can help you with?”

She looks at you, almost breathless, “um, do you have a bathroom?”

She cranes to peek over her shoulder again. She shudders as if disgusted. You hear the cop down the next row, slowly pacing. You point her towards the back. You don’t see how she could be hiding anything, her jacket is open and her purse isn’t that big.

She hurries off, heels tapping, as she escapes towards the bathrooms. You shrug and continue on, rounding the end and continuing towards the officer. He sees you and frowns, turning his interest to the graphic novels. Your favourite.

“Anything I can help you find?” You ask in your most chipper tone.

“No,” he grumbles, glancing over the shelves towards the fading click of the woman’s heels.

“Um, is something wrong?” You wonder.

“Can you mind your business?” He asks as he turns on you, “I’m a man of the law, I don’t needa explain myself to you.”

“Of course, sir,” you swallow, taken aback by his tone, “I didn’t mean too. I just thought… if you need help. I’m sorry. I’ll be around if you change your mind.”

You show your palms, meekly excusing yourself as you back away. You turn and take a step, skin blazing in embarrassment. You feel as if you’ve been slapped across the face.

“Now, wait a minute, sweetheart,” the officer calls after you, “I should be sayin’ sorry. I wasn’t meanin’ to be so rude. I’m just… long day, ya know?”

You stop and slowly face him. You do your best to shake away the tension. It’s work and it’s not often you get an apology from a customer.

“Yeah, I know,” you give a rocky half-chuckle, “um, so… what did you come in for?”

“Ah, you know, lookin’ around, uh, these comic books,” he points beside him, “they got lots of pictures?”

“Uh, yeah,” you answer as you face the shelf, “do you have a specific genre in mind? Superheroes? Apocalyptic? Mystery? Anime?”

“Well, I got this nephew, he’s real into this stuff. Nerd type things,” he scoffs, “that Batman guy and his car.”

“Oh, looking for a gift? Birthday?” You prompt.

“I ain’t seen my sister in some years and she asked me over. Long story, don’t matter, but I don’t wanna show up empty handed.”

“That’s sweet. A family reunion,” you turn and peruse the shelf, “well, you could get a couple of issues, we’re having buy two get the third free, but an anthology would go a lot further. A bit pricier though.”

“Hmm,” he peruses thoughtfully as he leans in, “you probably don’t know too much either, being a lady and all. But you could help me with my sister. I heard about some writer, Hooter or something?”

“Colleen Hoover? Uh, sure, most people like those and they’re an easy read,” you explain, “but if you’re looking for comics about Batman, I have many suggestions. The Dark Knight is a good read, way better than the movie–”

“I got it figured,” he reaches to slide out Batman: Year One. Not a bad choice, actually. “Now you show me this Hoover whatever. Sounds like a dang vacuum.”

He’s demanding but you’ve dealt with worse. Besides, it’s easier at least when they know what they want. You take him around to the table of popular authors.

“A lot of people like It Ends With Us,” you point to the pink cover, “Maybe Someday also tends to be a hit.”

“You talk a lot, don’t ya?” He grumbles as he puts his hand on his hip, his stomach straining inside his jacket.

“Oh, I’m s-sorry, sir,” you take a breath, neck prickling as you feel your nerves spike, “I’m only doing my job. If you don’t need my help–”

“Did I say that? You ever let a man sit in silence?”

You blink at him and your smile evaporates. What a jackass. You could blame it on the badge but you suspect he’s just a completely intolerable person. No wonder his sister didn’t talk to him for so long.

“Sir, you can pay at the front counter. You can also ask any questions you have up there.” You lean back on your heel, “I have stocking to do.”

“Now, don’t you give me that look. Customer’s always right, ain’t they?” You press your lips in a firm line. You glare at him as he snickers, “you got no respect. Ladies these days seem to forget what that means.” He grabs a book from the table without checking the cover, “I’ll be certain to tell the manager how helpful you were, sweetheart.”

He nears and you stand your ground, taking measured breaths as your wits threaten to crack. He looks you up and down and snorts. He winks as he cradles the books in one arm, reaching to boop your nose with his index. You pull away as your chagrin ripples across your face.

“Some ladies just needa learn their place,” he drops his hand and continues on, swaggering in his victory. Pathetic, it’s not that hard to demean someone who can’t talk back.

[gladumfdoodles]

Hellooooooo 71 for the spotify wrapped asks? :3

so this one got very out of hand very quickly

number 71 is cotard's solution by will wood!

this song feels like an identity crisis sort of song, which then in turn reminded me of this little au that i've had brewing for a while <3

to the anon who submitted an ask like two or three months ago about grian and scar being both heroes and villains, i love you and this has been infesting my mind for a long time

anyway, because this turned into a full oneshot, i'll post a snippet of it here and then redirect you all to ao3, where i've already posted it! please go check it out, i spent way too much time on it considering how many asks are in my inbox aoifnewoianfwo

word count (of snippet): 1507

Slam!

Grian bit back a cry of pain as he was thrown into one of the metal boxes on the roof, the sharp vents cutting into his skin. He scrambled to his feet just in time to avoid a crushing sweep of King's axe, ducking beneath it and rolling to the side. He only had a second to react before Spark was charging him, his speed too much for Grian to counter. He barely managed to beat his wings hard enough to skip over him, watching as he skidded to a halt and turned to face him again.

Grian flinched as he landed hard on his feet, lacking any sort of power to lighten the blow. He was so stupid, why couldn't he have stolen a useful power like teleportation? Instead he was stuck with shapeshifting, which would normally be very handy but provided him no help when he was already engaged in combat.

"Mimic, stand down." Spark said calmly, but Grian could see his hand tightening on the scythe in his hand.

"You're going to kill me." He replied, voice shifted away from its normal tone. He couldn't let them hear what his voice normally sounded like. Not if he wanted to keep his day job.

"Not if you stand down." King said from behind him and he cursed. He was blocked in now. Blocked in and injured.

Grian let out a bark of laughter. "Right. Because you're going to be so kind to me when you arrest me."

He heard a whoosh from behind him, barely giving him enough time to drop to the ground as King's axe passed over his head. Spark darted forward, and for a moment Grian thought that was it. But he wasn't about to go down that easily. He hurled himself to the side again, Spark's scythe grazing his shins, and then immediately crashed into a third hero that he hadn't seen. They must have only just arrived.

It was Chromia, Grian recognized him as he jumped away, nimbly skipping across the ground. Of course it was Chromia. The heroes either wanted him dead or incapacitated, Chromia had the potions to do it. He didn't have time to dwell on that though as King barreled into him, knocking him to the ground. He failed to hold back the pained oof that left him as the wind was knocked out of him, and as King pinned him to the ground, he struggled to regain his breath, sucking in shallow inhales.

"Good job." Chromia hummed, crouching down next to them. "I told you surrounding them would work."

"Yeah, yeah, you were right." King drawled. "Come on, give them the potion so we can drag them to the Tower."

Grian increased in his struggling, desperately trying to work his way out of King's grasp. He couldn't go back to the Tower, he couldn't, he wouldn't let them take him back. He hissed as the slices in his back twisted with his thrashing, then yelped as King laid a flat hand on his spine, pressing him down.

"Are they hurt?" Spark asked as Grian felt a hand grab for his chin. He snapped his teeth at it and it only just managed to pull back in time to avoid his abnormally sharp canines.

"Probably, they took a good few hits back there." King answered.

A hand forced Grian's head up by his hair, tangling in the locks that he had purposefully made dark instead of his normal shade. Something pressed to his lips, something cool and smooth, and Grian immediately clamped his mouth as tightly shut as he could.

"Bottom's up." Chromia instructed, and a hand pinched his nose shut, keeping him from breathing. Grian quickly forced a pair of gills to form on his neck, silently praising his stolen shapeshifting ability now. Quickly, he composed an escape plan in the few extra seconds he had as the gills did their best to breathe even though they weren't underwater. Then he opened his mouth and let the potion slide down his throat.

"There we go." Chromia released his nose and the bottle was removed from his lips. He had only taken in a sip, but already he could feel a weight settling over his mind, slowing his thoughts and movements. Nausea curled in his stomach and he shivered as chills ran up and down his spine. He didn't have much time to act.

"Hard part's over now." Spark declared, and Grian stumbled as he was hauled to his feet. The world felt like it was spinning around him, making him far dizzier than he should be. "Now we just need to get them back to the Tower."

"Just to be safe, we should slap a suppressor on them. It'll also keep them from changing their face on us." King suggested. A moment later, something clamped around his wrist and Grian took a shaking breath as he felt his power drain from him. But what it also did was lessen the effect of the potion for a brief few seconds.

He snapped his wings open, knocking the heroes off of him, then ran blindly to the edge of the building. By the time Spark reacted, he had already flung himself off of the roof. Spark managed to grab his ankle, holding him fixed in one place for only a moment before Grian managed to break free and rocket off into the sky. He was only in the air for a few seconds before the haze settled back over his mind, but it was long enough for him to slip into the density of the city, sliding through the alleyways and narrow streets and descending deeper and deeper through the layers stacked atop each other.

As he stumbled along the ground deep within the city, he could feel the shapeshifting melting out of his hair and wings and face, and he was so grateful that he had thought of the mask concealing his eyes and nose. He would need to invest in something covering his mouth so that he wouldn't drink any more of Chromia's disgusting potions. Pain radiated through him as the potion targeted his wounds, shutting down his functions more and more as he tried to keep moving.

He didn't know where to go. His apartment was too far away, he would never make it. He didn't have any friends who knew about his villainy, no family he could crash. He was alone.

Unless….

No. He had said no. Convex was too unstable, too much of a gamble. He couldn't risk it. Sure, they protected villains and vigilantes, and sure, they said they wouldn't charge them or expect anything from them in return, but he couldn't trust them. Evoker was a threat, Warden was a threat, and their little organization was definitely a threat.

Although, that was mostly the hero side of his brain talking, still in high alert from the last time he had taken on Evoker while wearing the title Cuteguy. Evoker had always been friendly to him when he was Mimic. Maybe he would be fine?

He didn't really have a choice in this anymore. He could feel Chromia's potion beginning to overpower him. He probably only had about five minutes left of consciousness, which would probably be enough to get him to one of Convex's many outposts. It would be better than passing out in one of the alleyways for anyone to find him.

He let out a low groan, then limped forward in the direction of one of the outposts he had seen when patrolling as Mimic earlier in the day. It didn't take him long to reach it, the faint blue symbol painted lightly on the side of the door of a small, rundown looking home. He shoved the door open, stumbling inside, then closed the door behind him. Once he was inside, he staggered to the living room, where a small, ancient looking TV sat on the floor with a cracked screen. He knelt in front of it, switching it on with a shaking finger, and after second, a quiet voice recording emerged from the speakers.

"Your distress signal has been received. Someone will be there shortly to assist you."

Grian let out a sigh of relief, then collapsed fully onto the floor. He didn't have the strength to keep himself up anymore. He hoped whoever came for him didn't unmask him. Evoker had sworn up and down that privacy was of the upmost importance to Convex and that if he ever needed them, his identity would remain secure, but Evoker was also a villain, and while villains tended to have a little bit more morality than even the heroes, Grian still couldn't help but feel uneasy.

Oh well. It was too late now. He was out of time. Chromia's potion had taken its full toll on him, and he couldn't stay awake any longer. He passed out on the floor in front of the TV, praying to the void that he wasn't making a huge mistake.