#despite the fact that i KNOW i will be happy just to be there seeing them live again

[amfstargirl]

Details of half return

The narrative starts with y/n going back to their old house, where they start with reminiscing about memories from their old home. They admire every mark they left in their home when they were a kid not knowing that was the last time they were gonna live and make memories there. It's also a perfect situation where you can relate to Adrianne Lenker's lyrics, specifically in which she says, “standing in the yard, dressed like a kid,” which indicates a moment of nostalgia. To me, this song is highly associated with missing the innocence, youth, childhood, or simply who you were in the past.

 If you're wondering why the reader goes to their old house, it's because it's a way of letting go for them. As they have said in the story that it was a way of letting go and mourning that version of them. Because you can never really let go if you're not mourning/did not mourn even the slightest.They saw it as a necessary step in the process of growing and becoming a new person.

In the old house scene, you can see the memory of the reader, where they see the life they want in the lives of others, making them yearn for that. The space between two windows, reader and their neighbor, indicates or symbolizes their current life (reader's window), while the other mirrors the life they long for (neighbor's window), like a window to their desired reality. So watching the Barbie movies/shows through their neighbor was them actually watching the life they wish for. 

Also, the puppy she found on a random day while she was alone. The puppy is a symbolic object of the reader. As you saw in the first scene where they both first met, it was said that the puppy was just crying for its mother and father, hoping, waiting. (That's eerily familiar, don't you think?) And! The reader named the puppy “Amara,” which, if I'm not mistaken, means forever loved, which she is. Amara was a mirror of y/n's soul. And y/n treated them the way they have always wanted to be treated. 

But Amara is not a mirror to the current reader's soul. Do you get it? Because Amara was the symbol of the past version of them, which means they were the beacon of youth Y/N once had. Amara staying and waiting within the walls of where they both grew up just connects to y/n’s journey of letting go. That is why when the reader saw her, whispered gently to her and reassured her that it was okay, that she could rest now. representing readers' way of saying goodbye to the old y/n and letting them rest. The scarred innocent of their younger self is now free from the heavy pain of the things they went through. 

The scene where the reader “made up” with their mother and the fact that their mother admitted she never hated them that much but couldn't confirm that she didn't entirely hate them is SO important. It was a moment where their mother finally acknowledged her faults and apologized bitterly but with sincerity. She was very honest in that scene, as she knew that was what you needed and wanted. No sugar-coated words, only the truth. Also the fact that they made up, but it was also going to be the last time they would see each other!! Because the reader cut them off on good terms, and that was the final step in making peace with everything that was part of their past. 

Also, if yall were wondering how the reader “moved on” with the Bat family, it was actually the first ever step they took in making peace with their past. As their way of doing it was just accepting. Accepting that they will never see them as family, and they will never be interested in them in any way. (Guess who got clowned.)

And Alfred, who was driven by his own selfish desires. Now we all know that it was Alfred who took care of the reader the moment they got to the manor, so naturally it would be Alfred who first spiraled into yanderism. I like the idea of Alfred; despite wanting what's best for the reader and what makes her happy, he is still a yandere. And that means he still has traits of a yandere, which is what made him come up with a heavily detailed plan. 

[just-wrting]

Think I Like You

Title: Think I Like You

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Half Mink!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Master List

Summary: You try to figure out why Zoro won’t take you seriously even if the answer isn’t what you expect.

A/N: I’m not dead! I’m just all over the place with a lot of stuff. I sleep a lot which I can’t tell if it’s a sleep issue or a depression issue, but I’m always tired. I still work full time but also do school part time now. Plus I’ve still got a boyfriend! But he wanted to end this weekend on 1062 which means Zoro brainrot for me.

You stretch and roll over, burying your face into your pillow. Ever since you changed where you nap, you've started sleeping so much better. Something about being more comfortable or something like that. The actual reason doesn't really matter. You're just happy you're sleeping better.

"You owe me for this."

"I don't owe you shit. Not my fault you nap in my spot." You reach up and pat his cheek. "What do I need to do for you to be quiet?"

"I already told you, you owe me."

You open your eyes just a little. "What could I possibly owe you? I don't like to drink, I don't keep money, not to mention I can't even tell if you're the type of man to be swayed by physical charms. What could I possibly offer you, Roronoa?"

"For starters, you can start referring to me by my name like everyone else does." He looks pissed. "You should fight me."

"You didn't take me seriously last time, Moss Head. Why would I bother trying again?"

He pulls on your ear. "I said like everyone else, not like how that idiot says my name."

You ignore him and bury your nose in his stomach. Dinner has been started, and if you don't ignore it you'll end up going to the kitchen early. It's less that Sanji minds seeing you, it's more of the fact that you struggle to suppress the urge to knock shit off the counter and dip your fingers in the sauces. Such is the life of someone like you.

You let yourself doze a little. You can still hear what's going on, but just like every common house cat, you ignore it. What you can't ignore is the gentle scratching behind your ears. As far as you remember, no one has done this since you were a kid. You don't hate the feeling, but you start to feel flustered over it. Ever since you left home, you've made sure affection comes at your own terms so you haven't had this in years.

There's no point in asking him to stop. You're clearly fond enough of him to nap on him, what's the big deal about getting ear scratches? Besides, he's the type to get embarrassed and loud if you point out you're awake. That's not something you feel like dealing with right now. You're too touch starved to complain.

Despite the comfortable conditions, you don't actually fall asleep. You spend the next forty-ish minutes pretending to sleep, waiting for dinner to be done. The time passes by relatively quickly, though you're sore afterwards. You couldn't bring yourself to even twitch, worried that he'd stop.

The dinner call goes off, and you pretend to wake up. You have no clue why you're acting, but it was too late to stop twenty minutes ago. Standing up, you stretch halfheartedly. At first, he doesn't say anything. It's only once he catches up to you that he starts asking questions.

"What's the deal with the noise you make?"

Raising an eyebrow, you look at him. "I don't snore, so I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm not stupid, I can tell you aren't snoring. The other noise, the one that's relaxing. I can usually feel it when you're laying directly on me."

"What do you mean? The other noise?" You pause to think it over before it clicks. "We aren't talking about that."

You know what he's referring to. It's not like it's something you can control, but it's still embarrassing. Of all people to be you around, it's been Zoro. No one on the crew has judged you for being what you are, it's just embarrassing to be a mix. Your mother's human, and your dad's a mink. You look decently human, just with a few quirks.

"What do you mean, we aren't talking about it? We're talking about it right now."

Your face starts to heat up. "I mean I don't want to tell you."

His eyes narrow in suspicion. "Why not? Is it supposed to be embarrassing or something?"

"If I say yes, will you drop it?"

"Yeah, sure."

His face instantly relaxes. If you could smack him, you would. The last time you tried, it hurt. So you put your hand on his shoulder and give him a push. The only thing it does is cause his other shoulder to hit the doorframe, but you use it to march past him.

You take your seat, leaning back against the armrest of the booth seat. Kicking your feet up on the space next to you, you watch the crew carefully. Everyone is smiling and in a good mood, so you don't have anything to worry about. You don't ever admit it, but you care about them even if it's difficult to show.

Zoro picks up your legs and lays them in his lap. Since it doesn't seem to bother him, you're tempted to just sit normally. You have no idea what's going on in that head of his, and you doubt he does either. However, you actually do enjoy touching him, so you'll stay like this for now.

There's more commotion as Sanji brings out the plates. The one you're most interested in is a large tuna fillet that gets set in the middle of the table. You can't stop staring at it, the tender flesh a beautiful golden color. It's hard to tell if it smells better than it looks or looks better than it smells. Sanji has never failed to impress you with his dishes, so you can't wait to sink your teeth in.

Before you can even start to load your plate, Sanji sets a small plate in front it you. It contains a disk of packed rice, some avocado slices, and chunks of fish. You're assuming it's more of the tuna. Whatever it is, it was made specifically for you.

You don't mind the special dishes. You'll try almost everything, and unlike Luffy, you'll eat it slow enough to give a review. Everything tastes good so you don't get the point, but it probably makes Sanji feel better to have honest reviews and not just someone who loves food fawning over his cooking. Though if you're not careful, you worry that he'll start having write an essay about it.

"And for you, a special tune tartare! If you like it, I'll make it again for everyone some time."

You nod. "Yeah, I'll let you know. I always do. Not that you've ever made a bad dish."

You can't stop the tip of your tail from flicking back and forth in mild annoyance. By the time you get halfway through the tartare, all of the fillet is gone. It's not like it's the biggest deal, you just wish you could've had some of that too. It's not fair that since you got a special tuna dish, that you don't get the other one.

"If you tell me what that noise was, I'll share," Zoro teases while pointing at you with a bite of tuna. "I bet you can't resist answering now."

"I'm a cat. I was making a normal noise that cats make. Consider it a compliment."

You lean forward and take the bite of tuna. It's flakey and melts on your tongue with a slightly sticky glaze that has hints of honey and garlic. You lick your lips savoring the balance of flavors. None of them are overwhelming, but it's hard to gauge in just one bite what you think about it.

"You can't just," Zoro stutters. "You can't just take the food off of my chopsticks. Get your own!"

You grab his wrist and lick the glaze off of the chopsticks. It feels like there's another flavor there that you can't quite tell what it is. It's some sort of herby flavor, that while you enjoy, you can't pin down.

"Here!" Zoro doesn't look at you as he shoves his plate towards you. "Just take it since I don't want your germs."

You want to tease him, but you'll leave him alone. It's better to leave it in front of other people since Robin's insinuations are becoming too much. For now you'll just eat the food. Later, you'll tease him.

—-

"You're still not taking me seriously, Roronoa. Why did you want to fight if you won't take me seriously?"

You lunge, hand reaching for his throat. He blocks it with his arm, causing your claws to dig into his skin. Using his arm as leverage, you pull yourself closer to him, swinging your sword at his side. His parry is effortless, and he looks bored. It's so aggravating that he won't take you seriously in a simple sparring match. Perhaps he'd take you more seriously if you actually tried to kill him.

You disengage before leaping over him. This time, you swing your sword at his neck as he turn around. It's once more blocked, and he smirks. You're just barely faster than him as he takes a halfhearted swing at your sword arm with his other arm. You catch the flat of the blade with your knuckles, steeling your arm against the shock wave of the blow.

Kicking your leg out in front of you, you aim for his knees, intending to bring him down. Despite the grip on his sword, he catches your ankle in his hand and pulls your leg to the side. You let your body pivot with the movement, twisting until your leg is behind you. You yank your foot forward as hard as you can, pulling him into your back.

He's quick to let your ankle go and grab your shoulder to steady himself. In a fluid motion, you swing your arm and grab your dagger. You flick it in your fingers and thrust towards his ribs. His hand trails down your arm to your wrist and pins it behind your back. He gives it a squeeze trying to get you to drop the dagger.

"Are you actually trying to kill him?" Nami tells from the side. "Are you stupid?"

You roll your eyes, sweeping your leg behind you and hooking Zoro's. Despite your efforts, you can't get him off balance, only causing him to take a step back. By now you're getting pissed off. You aren't a bad swordsman, it's just that this jerk is ridiculously smart in battle. This is probably the only time he'll use his brain all day.

You jerk your head back, hitting his jaw. The sound of the impact makes you regret it, knowing you'll feel like shit later. You manage to free yourself as he loosens his grip, and you elbow him as you twist back around. The only reason you're still going is because he won't take it seriously. It's like he finds it funny that he's able to fend you off so easily.

You rush towards him, tossing your weapons to the ground. Digging your claws into his shoulders, you use your momentum to knock him over. It only works because he's too busy rubbing his jaw to notice you in time. The two of you tumble to the deck, and you lean in as close as you can.

"Why won't you take me seriously? Is this just a game?"

Faster than you can blink, he's able to flip and pin you under him. He's even more smug than the last time you sparred, and you can't tell if you want to smack him or if you should kiss him. Not that you could smack him, he's got your hands above your head. While kissing him would let you win, you're not willing to fight that dirty in a friendly match.

"You're a brute, Zoro. You can't just manhandle the other crewmates just because you feel like it." Sanji pulls him off you. "If you were in the mood to fight I would've taken the offer."

You tune out their fight as Chopper checks your head and shoulder. You're a bit sore now, but you'll be fine in a few hours. Nothing keeps you down for long, even if it's usually just you going against the doctor's orders. The only thing actually bothering you is the fact that for a moment you thought he was going to answer your question. Though the fact you thought about kissing him is also an issue.

It's not difficult to figure out why you thought that way. Your parents made sure that you knew to find someone strong enough to protect you in case of something happening, even if you knew how to take care of yourself. That, and he's easy on the eyes. Even if he's an idiot half of the time, that doesn't matter. Your parents never said to find a smart man, just a strong one. Everything else was your choice.

Chopper hands you a damp towel, and you use to clean under your claws. Tiny spots of blood rest under them, probably from when you grabbed Zoro. If the pinprick wounds bothered him, he doesn't show it. He's too busy trying to shove Sanji off the boat. As long as you stay dry, it doesn't matter if they end up overboard. They can both swim.

After a few minutes, Nami separates them. You watch her glare at the men before you stalk off to take another nap. The sun is just starting to dip below the water, so finding a nice patch of sun to lick your figurative wounds isn't possible. You'll have to settle for sulking in some weird spot. Perhaps it's time to torment the fish in the tank once more.

Lounging on the sofa is probably the second best place to nap. The sound of the tank constantly humming while you watch the fish swim in tempting circles puts you at ease. You stretch out fully, let your arm and tail hang off the edge. The tip of your tails twitches slightly as you trace the movement of a particularly large bass. That should be tomorrow's lunch, perhaps in a stew. Even though it hasn't been long since you had food, your mouth starts to water at the idea of seafood stew.

"He really doesn't take you seriously, does he?"

You recognize Robin before she even speaks. Her stride is longer than Nami's with her steps being lighter than everyone else's. Not to mention she smells floral. It's never overpowering, but it allows you to pick her out from the crew.

"I guess not. Maybe I should've gone for his other eye."

She laughs, sitting down next to you. You aren't opposed to the company, especially if it's Robin. There something about her that puts you at ease.

"I don't think he'd like that," she muses. "What did he say to you?"

You scoff. "He didn't say anything. Bet he's too proud to take me seriously, like the jerk he is."

Robin smiles knowingly. "I'm sure he has his reasons. Maybe you should talk to him, just the two of you. I'm sure he'd tell you when no one else is around."

You frown. "What is he? A shy school boy? There's only one reason for not taking me seriously in a fight, and it would be him not thinking I'm even worth it. No point in having him tell me that in private, he can just keep it to himself."

She reaches out her hand, gently brushing your hair from your eyes. "Then what do you think about him?"

"I think he's an idiot who swapped out his brain for more muscles."

"Let me rephrase that. What feelings do you have about him?" There's a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "At least figure that out."

You shift so you can place your head in her lap. "I guess he's fine most of the time. I don't know why I enjoy his company, I just do. He's never really pushed me on anything, just sort of letting me do my own thing. Not to mention he's comfortable. As much as I hate admitting it, I suppose I like being around him."

She continues to brush your hair with her fingers silently. It's one of those tactics of hers. She'll stay quiet until you keep talking.

"What do you want me to say? He's nice enough to me, I can respect him as vice-captain, and he's decent looking. Everything else I think about him is my little secret." You're starting to get irritated talking about him. "Actually, I think I'll go talk to him now. I'll drag that answer out of him if I have to."

Robin looks at you with worry as you sit up. "Perhaps this is just a misunderstanding. What are you going to do if his answer isn't what you expect?"

"I'll deal with it when it happens," you say with a shrug. "It's not like it'll be anything surprising."

You take your time wandering around the ship. It's not hard to tell where he is, you'd rather put it off for a little bit longer. This weird feeling in your chest has been bothering you a lot lately. It can't be ignored anymore, but that doesn't mean you're one hundred percent ready to admit it.

Thankfully, he's exactly where you knew he was. You won't tell him that you enjoy finding him when he's working out. Something about him being shirtless is nice. Not that he usually bothers with wearing a shirt, so you can usually just stare whenever you want. Maybe he just likes the attention, and you'll gladly give it to him.

As soon as he leans back on the bench, you sit on his lap and stretch out over his torso. You rest your chin on your hand, pressing your palm on his chest. Watching as he sets the barbell back on the stand, you wait for him to start talking. It would be fine with you if he kept working out, but he seems opposed to the idea.

"Is bothering me amusing to you?"

You tilt your head slightly. "You're not cute when you're mad, so no. I was just hoping we could talk."

"You don't have to sit on me to talk."

"That's just personal preference. Besides, you tend to avoid talking about certain things and this keeps you from leaving." you say with a Cheshire grin. "I enjoy your touch, so this is ideal for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zoro looks away from you. “You keep saying weird stuff.”

You don’t even blink as you respond, “I enjoy your touch. That’s what that means. I’ll even be nice and tell you the answer to your question from earlier. As a cat, I sometimes purr when I feel comfortable and content. Though some cats purr when scared.”

“So you’re scared of me? Is that what that means?”

“No. The only thing particularly scary about you is the fact that you’re an idiot.” Your ears twitch. “But since I answered your questions, you can answer mine. Why don’t you fight me seriously?”

He looks at you for just a moment, before looking at the ceiling. It’s like he’s embarrassed by the answer and is hoping you’ll forget about it. However, you’ve already made up your mind about what you want. You’re just waiting to see what he’ll do.

“I-,” Zoro cuts himself off to hide behind his hand. “I could hurt you really bad. That would be bad.”

Your tail swishes on the ground in mild irritation. “So you think I’m incapable of defending myself. That would explain the times you’ve interrupted my fights.”

“It’s not that!” He sits up, wrapping an arm around your waist to make sure you don’t tumble to the ground. “I don’t want you to get hurt if I’m around. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe.”

You’re nose to nose with him now. Even at this distance, he can’t seem to make eye contact. You can smell the liquor from dinner on his breath. It would be so easy to close the gap and kiss him, but for some reason the thought makes you nervous. You’re usually close to him, so why is this time different?

“Why should you keep me safe?” you mumble. “Do you save me out of obligation for the crew? If so, aren’t there better people on the crew to swoop in and save?”

“Does it matter why?” The way that his lips almost touch yours as he speaks makes you flustered.

You close your eyes. “Yes. I don’t want to get my hopes up if you think of me as nothing more than a burden of a crew-mate. Just be honest with me for once, Zoro.”

You don’t regret the soft begging tone as you say his name. You regret not saying his name in that almost pathetic tone sooner. The way that he kisses you makes your head spin. Even though he’s holding you close, you have to wrap your arms around his neck to make yourself feel more steady.

Zoro kisses you like he’s been wanting to for months. His hold on your waist makes it impossible to move, and the way that his hand grips yours hair makes you moan. You can barely breathe as his tongue explores your mouth, your grip on reality slipping as his fingers dig into thigh.

Even when he pulls away to let you breathe, you find yourself lost in the way he touches you. Sloppy kisses trail down your jaw and neck, coming to an end with his teeth on your collarbone. The way that his fingernails scrape gently against your scalp as he tugs lightly on your hair causes you to expose more of your chest to him as you lean into his palm.

You’ve never felt like this before. Hot, heavy, and breathless all while being lightheaded. You wouldn’t have it in you to resist him if he wanted more. In fact, the pathetic words of begging him to ravish you weigh heavy on your tongue. Yet he just continues to press kisses along every inch of skin exposed to him, ignoring how hard you’re panting as little moans escape you. He’s oblivious to everything but the act of kissing you.

Zoro only pauses after you tug his hair harshly. You didn’t mean to, you couldn’t help the reaction to him biting down on the side of your neck. You couldn’t even help the strangled groan that leaves you as he leaves a mark. For some reason, your body is shaking like you have some sort of withdrawal.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough and low.

You kiss him again, desperate to get as close as you can. Desperation courses through your body as you realize just how badly you’ve waited for this. You’ve spent months being almost attached to him so it makes sense, you just can’t figure out how you missed it. The long nights spent curled up in his lap, face buried in his neck has left you craving him so much.

You whine as he pulls away, unwilling to let this stop. It doesn’t even matter anymore how prideful you’ve been up until this. It’s so obvious how much you want him. Nothing could hide it anymore.

“Zoro.” You don’t even open your eyes. “Please.”

He gives your thigh a tight squeeze as you whimper. You can tell that what little restraint he has is fading with each whine of his name. Yet he’s able to pause and hold you close, breathing heavily into your ear. Eventually, he covers your mouth with his hand, stifling your words.

“Not like this,” Zoro says, his tone meaning he’s serious. “If you really want it, I want to make it special.”

“S-special?” You don’t know what that means. When was the last time someone told you that you were special? “How?”

“Just better than in the exercise room on the Sunny. You deserve to be treated better than that.”

You nod, and he lets his grip loosen. Despite the fact that nothing much happened, you feel drained. Maybe it’s because you really enjoy naps, but the exhaustion is hitting you hard. You don’t hide it, letting yourself go limp as Zoro picks you up.

“You can sleep in my bunk tonight. Not that it matters if I say you can as you usually show up anyway.”

You caress him jaw before giving his cheek a kiss. “Thank you, Zoro.”

The flush on his cheeks goes unnoticed by all beside you. Not that it matters, you don’t want to hide your feelings for him any longer. If he agrees to it, you’ll parade your feelings for the world to see.

[abiatackerman]

Having Levi as your lover would be an incredibly wholesome and peaceful experience. Beyond his overprotectiveness when it comes to your safety, he is a genuinely comforting presence. He may not be the most expressive person, but his quiet devotion speaks louder than words.

As much as it pains me to admit, Levi doesn't have a high opinion of himself. The manga has shown just how insecure he is, and that extends to his feelings for you as well. He would never make the first move because, deep down, he doesn't believe he's good enough for you.

However, that doesn't mean he would glare at you every time you smile at another man. In fact, he'd be the total opposite. As long as you're happy, he won't complain. Your happiness is all that matters to him, even if it means you end up with someone else. Still, he'll always remain by your side, ensuring you're safe and well, even if he never voices his feelings.

That being said, Levi will step in if he thinks you're doing something risky or harmful to yourself. At that point, he won't hesitate to barge into your life, even if it annoys you. Having lost almost everyone he has ever cared about, he refuses to lose you too. He will issue silent but firm warnings to anyone who dares to hurt you and will always do his best to protect you. And at that moment, you might start to realize just how deep his feelings are, for you.

If you tell him you don't share his feelings and ask him not to interfere in your life, he will respect your wishes. He'll be hurt, but he'll never let you see it. Even from afar, he will continue to watch over you, making sure you're safe and happy. If you find someone else who treats you well, Levi won't act rudely toward them. Instead, he'll give them a simple, stoic warning: Take care of her.

But if you confess your feelings to him, choosing to make him a permanent part of your life, he will be secretly overjoyed. Because of his insecurities, he would never expect you to love him back, so when you take that first step without letting pride hold you back, you'll thank yourself forever because you'll realise that you have found one of the most non-toxic men to love.

Why do I call him non-toxic? Because Levi would be the most understanding lover. He would listen to all your complaints and genuinely try to change for you. If he knows that his cursing or blunt words hurt you, he will make an effort to be more mindful. No matter what it takes, he will try to make you happy, because despite his dark past, you have chosen to love him—and he will do everything in his power to be the man you deserve.

🩷If you wanna be tagged let me know🩷

Masterlist

Tags: @theremainsof @spouseofleviackerman @levisbrat25 @anti-cupid @meowmewow7 @mikabella7 @satorella @sugacor3 @darkstarlight82 @derealizationns

[chisubi]

safe in your skin — s. haruchiyo

content. fem!reader, timeline 0 spoilers, unhealthy relationships, suicidal ideation, implied／references to substance abuse, unhealthy coping habits, mild sexual content, unreliable narrators

word count. 12.3k

note. the original timeline has been stuck in my head for a long time, ever since it was first mentioned. . i think it is the saddest timeline :c

despite the tags, i think this piece is quite gentle ? sanzu is very soft in this, but in his own way !!

Here lies his grave. Soon, Haruchiyo will make this his home.

The metal bar is uncomfortably hot against Haruchiyo’s hand, the feeling of blood dripping down from the way his fingernails dig more and more into his reddened palms, the moisture makes his hold on the rail loosen.

If he falls from here, he would probably die, he hopes.

Just like Shinichiro-kun, he prays.

It has been five years since Manjiro and Shinichiro have passed. Their deaths — since those cold funerals. A lump forms in his throat as the tightness in his chest refuses to loosen. The realisation that they’ll never come back to him hits him once again. It comes as a surprise to him that he’s still alive, without them — if he can even call this being alive.

If he were to let go right now, he’d die, or he’d survive and be in a coma if he’s (un)lucky. Society has no use for a useless person like him — an unwanted boy, he has been reminded of this many times before. He has no family, he’s been in and out of juvie twice already, and he has never had a legal job (no place would willingly hire someone like him, at least for legal purposes). Nobody willingly wants to be around a teenage dirtbag with an ongoing criminal record. He keeps his hands dirty just to keep surviving — for what, though? He would be doing society a nice favour if he were to remove himself from it.

Haruchiyo only wants to see the two of them again, to see the rising sun, the only remedy to relieve him of this emptiness—

“Oi, don’t even think of fuckin’ letting go.”

Oh, Baji. . .

(His prayers are not met, forever denied, just like they always have been.)

Haruchiyo lifts up his head, throwing Keisuke a spare glance. Sharp eyes noting that he doesn’t look or sound too happy. It’s obvious in the way Keisuke’s dark brows appear frowned more than usual, lips pursed with rough hands curled up into tight fists. There’s fresh blood smeared on Keisuke’s knuckles, he is bleeding, too. He must’ve gotten into a fight earlier, Haruchiyo thinks, he is quick to assume. Keisuke is always like that, he has always been.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You never showed up to the cemetery.” Keisuke’s words are sharp, like they always have been. His tongue has never once not been sharp — cutting into places Haruchiyo doesn’t want to feel. There is a lot wrong with him, Haruchiyo knows he has problems that he doesn’t want to acknowledge or accept, but he also knows that Keisuke didn’t mean it in a literal sense (not this time at least). “I waited an hour for ya.”

“I messaged you earlier, said I was gonna be late.”

“I don’t like using my phone, you know this. You should’ve called instead. I thought you were at home shooting it up or somethin’.”

“Was that supposed to be a joke? It sucked.”

“No,” Keisuke replies. “It wasn’t one.”

It’s hard for Haruchiyo not to roll his eyes at the assumption — the accusation. Keisuke acts faster than he thinks, harshly grabbing Haruchiyo’s forearm, and he winces at the sudden movement. It will leave a bruise on his pale skin; he’s always easily bruised. He sighs, grip tightening against the bar as he hops back over — back to Keisuke's side, to the side of the living. Reaching into his sweater pockets, he notices that his handkerchief is missing.

(This fact makes him notice that the cuts from his nails sting a lot — they don’t hurt as much as the wounds he receives from street brawls, or the sparring lessons he once took as a kid, back at the Sano house, but he’s still hurting. Hopefully these light cuts don’t get infected by the rusted rails.)

“Well, that was one time,” he snaps back defensively, pulling away from Keisuke’s grip when the boy doesn’t show any sign of letting go. “Move it.” He barks.

“That’s what they all say before they get addicted and shit.”

Haruchiyo sneers, “I didn’t even do the shit you’re saying. Learn to mind your own business, Baji.” It really was the only time that he had been caught, opting to do things in the comfort of his own room, Keisuke appearing that night was unexpected.

Keisuke is too dramatic for many reasons, always feeling and acting intensely, which Haruchiyo knows is steamed from genuine worries and his gold heart, though that seems to annoy Haruchiyo even more. He has never once asked Keisuke to care about him. It’s bothersome. Gross. His stomach turns and twists in ways that make him feel physically ill. Keisuke has always been like that. (He always will, deep down, in the walls Haruchiyo doesn’t want to unlock and see, he knows this.)

Silence rains over them as the two boys stare down at the water. It’s not a pretty view. It’s murky and dark gray and dead fishes can be seen floating on top. Nothing worth stopping to see. People barely come over here now, rumours of the dead haunting this bridge scares keeps everyone away. Haruchiyo’s hand twitches as he starts to fiddle with his fingers. It’s hard for him to stay still, especially with all these thoughts running through his mind. Too many thoughts that he can’t fully process, each one comes crashing before the last could settle — most being ones he doesn’t want to hear or remember, and he only knows one way to block them out.

Keisuke stands too closely beside him, his body heat seeps through his clothing and Haruchiyo feels uncomfortable with his close presence. He kicks Haruchiyo’s loafers with his leather boots, his heart tightens and sours knowing Keisuke is reading him — his hidden and jumbled thoughts, temporarily knocking them out of his head. Keisuke reaches into his loose pockets, taking out a pack of cigarettes. It's a brand new pack — the Seven Stars brand Shinichiro would always have on hand. His favourite. Haruchiyo’s first cigarette was that brand, stealing a cigarette from a pack that Takeomi had forgotten at home, choking on the deep bittersweet smoke.

From his peripheral vision, Haruchiyo watches as Keisuke opens the package to take out a fresh cigarette and jams it in between the cracks on the ground (Keisuke thought about giving Shinichiro the entire pack, but someone would definitely steal it — cigarettes are getting more expensive these days. He still despises smoking, he really, really does. It’s disgusting and Keisuke can’t stand the taste of them, but the smell of seta makes him so nostalgic of a time that will never come again. He is a hypocrite for sneering at how Haruchiyo drowns himself in substances, when he searches for the familiar taste of Seven Stars from time to time), he lights it for him, too.

This is a tribute to their late brother.

They watch the setting sun, waiting for his cigarette to fully burn out.

—

You move away from your childhood home into a small, cheap studio in Tokyo. It is smaller than you are used to, but just enough for one person. It feels more spacious than you’ve ever known. You’ve waited a long time for this.

To escape that house and everything that suffocated you.

You take a deep breath; here you are free.

While walking up the steps carrying stacked boxes, you run into something – or rather, someone – causing one of the boxes to drop, you wince hearing something shatter inside. You pray it’s nothing of importance.

“I am so sorry—” you exclaim as you look up, freezing at the close proximity. You’re met with piercing blue eyes; eyes so void of emotion, similar to when winter arrives and frosts over the neverending sea, he keeps a locked gaze, and you almost find yourself captivated within. Almost. “Um, uh, sorry. Are you okay?” you stammer over your words, internally cringing at how lame you sound.

“No, it’s fine,” his voice is light and cold, it suits his appearance — his eyes. However, his hair reminds you of the cherry blossoms that are about to bloom this spring. “Nobody is helping you?”

“No, it’s just these boxes left. . . Oh—”

The boy bends down to pick up the box that had fallen, looking up the steps. “Which way—? Ah, you’re the one who moved in next door, right?”

You nod your head, and without any other words he brings the box and sets it down in the apartment for you. Not only is he pretty, he is also kind for helping you (—which is something most people probably would’ve done, this is nothing special). He leaves before you get the chance to thank him and you feel bad about it. You didn’t get the chance to catch his name, either. You can’t help, but feel disappointed.

You check your phone, flipping it open to see no new messages or calls, your email is empty, too. You almost sigh, it’s not like you expected your mother to call — this isn’t anything new. Your phone sits heavy in your hand.

—

You never see your neighbour around again. The door to his apartment is always opening and closing. You can hear him coming home late at night, around three or four in the morning, sometimes slamming shut which wakes you up from your needed sleep, and you can’t help but wonder what someone is doing out so late — working, perhaps, that is the most logical and obvious answer.

It’s a few days later when you bump into him on your way to your afternoon classes, or so, you think it’s him. The moment you look up it’s someone completely different.

A boy who vastly contrasts him in appearance.

With long black hair, and sharp eyes that shine gold underneath the morning sun. They’re very beautiful, warmth radiates down onto you just from looking into them. Yet something swirling in those eyes that you cannot quite pinpoint. A white bandage sits on his cheek, light bruises littered across his face that add to his intense appearance.

He says his name is Keisuke and he lives here with his friend. You assume his friend is the pretty boy from the other day.

The two of you walk down the apartment together and he talks to you the entire time before parting ways, his speech is rather brash compared to most people you know, however he seemed quite nice. There’s an air to him that feels warm and comforting. You know better than to harshly judge someone based on first appearance. And you can’t seem to forget his boyish smile that he flashed at you before walking away. It suits him and his shining golden eyes very much; he looks like the sun.

Everything gold radiates off of him.

—

Keisuke’s lip is busted once again. A matching black eye to go with. Blood runs down his temple and connects to the stream running down his mouth. However, he wins in the end, like he always does. Out of all his matches, he’s only ever lost three times.

Betting on Keisuke always means receiving extra cash, however, if he loses, they lose a lot.

Haruchiyo watches as a crowd of junkies immediately swarm Keisuke, and he sighs as he takes a swing of his drink. This always happens, and it’s a good thing because they all get hyped up to the max, and sometimes, some guys are willing to pay for dinner. He and Keisuke never say no to that.

He catches sight of someone similar amongst that crowd, and once they catch his stare within seconds, she’s pushing away from Keisuke.

You look familiar, very familiar, and Haruchiyo doesn’t understand why someone who looks so pure like you is here in this sketchy place. An underground bar where delinquents and nobodies hang out, sell drugs, and fight for quick cash. Someone like you doesn’t belong in such a dirty place. Well, Haruchiyo learned from a young age, even the most angelic of faces can appear sinister when you are no longer needed.

“Hi!” Your sudden appearance and cheerful greeting comes unexpected.

“Hi. . .?” Your smile drops almost immediately, and Sanzu doesn’t mean to look or sound unfriendly, but he doesn’t understand why you would come up to him. He hates talking to strangers.

“Oh, do you not remember me? I moved into the apartment next—”

Ah, right. “I remember you.”

A smile automatically falls back on your face. “Oh, okay. That’s good.”

He shrugs, looking around the room at nothing interesting. Where did Keisuke go? “I guess so.”

You stand next to him, taking the empty spot next to him, without a word.

When you attempt to make small talk, he lets you, barely answering, but enough to seem polite. You don’t seem to mind, continuing on speaking to him. And before he knows, he gets lost in the conversation with you, pulled down, you’re magnetic.

It all comes too unexpectedly. Haruchiyo doesn’t remember what happened.

Really, he doesn’t. And a kiss is all it takes, before everything begins to spiral, it’s a whirlwind.

Haruchiyo doesn’t know how it happened. He’s never done this before — always withering at the contact of others, never liking the way cold hands touch his skin. His lips slam against yours, it’s more of a punch than a kiss, and a small noise escapes you — something Haruchiyo recognises as not out of pleasure. He knows.

“Be—be more gentle,” you tell him when he pushes you against the cold, restroom wall.

“My bad,” he mumbles back. He, more gently, grips your forearm as another form of apology.

He can’t understand why he’s doing this, especially with someone he doesn’t know. Your hands are under his shirt, running over his stomach and his heart races. Your hands are smaller than his, softer, warmer, too. And he thinks it’s the liquor running through his veins — your veins, he can taste it when your pretty lips meet his.

He doesn’t know you. He knows you live next door and you did mention something earlier. Something about you being one of his dealers’ friend’s younger cousin. He thinks it’s something like that (and he doesn’t actually care).

Hissing at the sudden contact, biting down on his bottom lip to hold back a groan. Your hand is wrapped around him, moving up and down too slowly for his liking, so he ruts up into your hand before coming undone far too quickly, and his initial embarrassment is forgotten when you don’t say anything, you only giggle while tilting your head up to kiss him.

Shock runs through him, chills run down his spine, yet something feels too warm inside — it’s recognition, almost like it is something familiar that he’s known and lost so long ago.

It’s not long after when he has you bent over the counter, dress scrunched up to your waist, your pretty panties pushed to the side as he pushes himself into you. His movements are nearly robotic and awkward, you don’t say anything about it though, only thrusting back on him. He watches the foreign scene unfold from the mirror, his ocean eyes capturing your blissed out expression in the mirror, and his stomach flips. You feel so soft. So, so soft against him, he grips your hips harder, feeling as if his legs might give out, he leans his body over your back, pressing an awkward peck on your lips when you look up at him, lasting less than a second before he pulls his lips from your soft ones. Kissing feels awkward. It is far too intimate and you seem to crave it. Haruchiyo hates the feeling. He thrusts into you faster, chasing after his own high. It feels euphoric.

Losing his virginity in a grimy washroom – one of the last places he’s ever wanted to step foot in – is the last thing he’s expected. But now he’s here with you, a girl he only knows the name of. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him these days. Perhaps, he’s just desperate to feel something. Forever chasing the high to feel alive once again.

—

Somehow, you are almost all he thinks about lately. Usually in the morning or late nights. He hasn’t seen you since then. Nor does he really want to. Haruchiyo doesn’t think he is the sentimental type — he’s never had anything of his own to feel sentimental about.

“Oh, you missed again, Sanzu. That little pink head of yours is in the clouds tonight, hm?” Ran Haitani is smiling to himself after witnessing his poor play. His fingers are busy chalking up his cue stick and the sound of his brother snickering makes Haruchiyo roll his eyes.

That detached and arrogant look in his eyes reminds Haruchiyo of him. Those eyes that have always looked down at him — Ran has the same look in his eyes and a matching [irritating] lazy smirk that Haruchiyo wishes to smack off of his face with the cue stick in his hand. The scene flashes dark red, beautiful and bright.

“I guess it’s our win again. As expected, right, brother?” The younger Haitani chimes in with a similar grin — one more boyish and wide. He shows more teeth than his brother, but carries the same arrogance. Sometimes, Rindō is cool to hang out with (which seems as a given from how the two of them hang out alone from time to time), but Haruchiyo usually finds him infuriating.

“That’s right, Rindō.”

“Fuck off, Haitani.”

“Hey, don’t get mad at us for your shitty plays,” Ran says as he leans against the table, still chalking his cue stick — he does this after every single shot: always making a show out of it when it’s not needed at all. “Ever heard of hating the game, not the player?”

Haruchiyo rolls his eyes for the nth time tonight, “You always have some stupid shit to say.”

“Huh?” Ran looks at him in disbelief before laughing, “don’t be a sore loser, Sanzu. I was only teasing. Loosen up.”

“That’s what I mean by stupid shit. Whatever, man.”

“Mhm, whatever you say. Let’s play another round before heading out.”

Rindō perks up, “The loser has to pay for our drinks later.”

He hates being around these two pretentious assholes, but one of his acquaintances introduced him to them. They sell good shit and give him a good deal every time so it’s hard for Haruchiyo to find another dealer as good as them. He got trapped in their web. The Haitani brothers continue to make jabs at him throughout the night whenever they catch him staring off into space. Rindō remarks it’s probably because of a girl, and despite denying it, Ran teases him about it. Whatever.

Losing his virginity to you isn’t why Haruchiyo thinks about you, it’s that he can’t get the image of you taking him so well out of his head (and the way you smiled so sweetly at him afterwards, you were kind.) The sensation he felt had his mind dizzy, a new high he’s become addicted to. It’s an obsession at this point, not with you, he clarifies to himself every time, just sex. His hand cannot replicate the hot and tight feeling of being inside of you, and that’s how he finds himself coming back to you, knocking on the door of your apartment, instead of going out to a club with the Haitani brothers.

(“You owe us, asshole.”

“I will later,” he simply says. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

Ran smirks as he elbows his brother. “Stuff,” repeats Ran as Rindō lets out a long, mocking, ‘Ah’, at the indication.

Haruchiyo doesn’t say anything anymore. This is why he never talks to them about anything personal. They’re just a bunch of annoying pricks.)

The sky is pitch black, and doe-eyes stare up at him. Stars shining within. He takes in your sleepy form, hair a mess and pajamas that don’t match. He almost smiles, he wants to.

You wait, before deciding to say, “Hi, Sanzu. . . Um, is there something you need?”

“I just, uh, I came to say hi,” he lamely makes up an excuse that neither of you buy.

“At two in the morning?” you ask teasingly, opening the door a little wider, inviting him inside. You look a little sleepy, hooded-eyes and a pretty smile looking up at him. He recognises this look (just barely) from the night before. You want to kiss him.

“Oh, yeah. . .” he dumbly replies. “Yeah, I was out, and yeah.”

He sounds stupid, he knows. You know, but you continue to smile.

You offer, “Wanna come in?”

Your hand reaches out to him — you don’t touch him, your fingers fiddle with the hem of his shirt, lightly tugging him towards you. Barely. You wait for him to move. And so, he gives you what you want. His hand falls to your waist as he stumbles inside, lips locked, kicking the door shut behind him.

—

Haruchiyo comes knocking more and more. He stays overnight, and he sits at your place without the intention of sex. He doesn’t get mad when you decide you aren’t in the mood for it, either.

You do most of the talking, he listens, and you come to learn that Haruchiyo talks a lot at times.

You think he is cute, really cute. You really like him.

—

Nothing good comes from being with a guy like Haruchiyo, you know this, you really do. You’ve met many boys like him before. Troubled, reckless, and cruel. Cold, scarred, and lonely. He is not a good guy, and the crowd he hangs around is no better. But somehow, you can’t stay away, like a moth to a flame, you are always drawn to things you shouldn’t be.

Beneath it all, he is a sweet guy. He treats you well, you think, better than most of the people you’ve met in your life. Always following you around when you go out, saying it’s dangerous for a girl to walk alone. You think he is a little overprotective, but you also know he is only looking out for you. You think Haruchiyo is sweet, really sweet.

The layout in their apartment is the same as yours. It’s a lot cleaner than you imagined for two young men living together — a recipe for disaster. However, surprisingly, it is almost spotless, despite the few pieces of clothing laying on the floor or hanging on the couch (ones you believe to belong to Keisuke).

Haruchiyo’s room is spotless, not a speck of dust in sight. You eye the old nametag on the uniform on the wall, ‘Akashi Haruchiyo’. Akashi. Sanzu. Haruchiyo. (Sanzu, Sanzu, Sanzu.) You don’t mention it, you sweep those questions away into the back of your mind, it has nothing to do with you.

A pack of cigarettes that always seems to sit on the counter, new and never used, carefully cared for as no spec of dust is seen, you can’t help but wonder why, yet you never find yourself asking. It’s a strange feeling, when you know you’re not supposed to ask or do something without being told, the boundary you cannot cross.

“When will Keisuke be home?” you ask while clicking the start button on the rice cooker.

His silence draws out longer than you are comfortable with, your lips are pursed, wondering if you had said or done something wrong. There is no way you did. You know this, however, your nerves slowly eat away at you the longer the silence draws on. You can’t stand silence like this, the only thing you can hear is his breath mixed with yours and your rapid heart. “He will be home later. Baji usually comes home late, so he won’t be here to eat with us.”

A silent breath of relief escapes you, that anxious tension vanishing from your stomach. “Oh, okay. Then, I’ll pack up the leftovers after and leave it for him to eat once he gets home.” Now that you think about it, Keisuke really is always out and about. He is definitely more outgoing than both you and Haruchiyo combined.

“Sanzu—”

“Haruchiyo,” he interrupts. “Call me Haruchiyo.”

“Okay, Haruchiyo,” you test out his name with a roll of your tongue, and he hums to himself, quite pleased with how his name spills so naturally from your lips, and you bite back a smile when you notice the expression on his face. Your face feels warm. “Where are the rest of your pots? Is this all? I think it might be too small for all three of us. . .”

“Yeah, I think that’s it. Nobody ever really uses the kitchen much. We just eat out most of the time.”

“Oh, well, let me go grab one of the pots from my apartment. Gimme a second,” you say before going to your apartment to look for a bigger pot.

Haruchiyo just watches you cook, or so you think he is, because sometimes, it looks as if he’s lost in his thoughts, even with his eyes on you.

You end up spilling personal things with him, something you have never done with anyone before. You don’t know why. Haruchiyo just listens to you in ways nobody ever has. “My dad never treated me right as a kid. I can barely remember what he looked like, not angry, sober.” He hums. “My mom, well, she is probably doing better now since we’re both gone. . .”

He asks, “Do you miss them?”

“No,” you reply a little too fast. “No, not really. Sometimes, I do think about them, though.”

It’s too complicated, you think. Your feelings get so jumbled up, and you don’t understand them most of the time.

“So, what about you, Haruchiyo?”

“What about me?”

“You know. . .” you trail off, hoping he understands what you are trying to ask (you know he knows), but he doesn’t say anything. “What is your family like? I would like to know more about you, um, if that’s alright with you.”

“There isn’t anything to know,” his curt reply is enough for you to know that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and your heart sinks in disappointment. Maybe it shows on your face, Haruchiyo is silent for a few seconds before adding, “I don’t have any family, so there’s nothing for me to tell you.”

“Oh, sorry for asking. . . I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. Don’t feel bad about it, pretty. You were just curious about me, right?” he asks this plainly, yet there’s a tug on the corner of his lips that lets you know he is happy that you want to know more about him. You nod your head and his smile becomes more prominent, he looks so innocent when he smiles. “I am curious about you, too.”

“I know.”

“Oh, you know?”

“Mhm, I know,” you cheekily reply and even the sound of his chuckle is enough to cause your heart to race. You can’t help that you are so simple, so easy, Haruchiyo makes you so nervous, yet so seen and comfortable. “And when you ask me, I tell you.”

Haruchiyo smiles. “I know you do.”

You believe it to be inevitable, the way you often find yourself pinned underneath him. Something about him is so addicting, you keep wanting more and more. The sound of moaning and skin slapping echoes within the room, it’s obscene, and adds to the erotic scene. He’s unable to contain himself, taking you on his couch the very chance he gets to, and you just let him. You love how he makes you feel, he has you seeing stars — chasing one after another.

He stills his movements for a moment, curious eyes staring down at you; those empty eyes of his are lust-filled and all you can see in them is you. He wants you and only you. You are eager to give yourself to him, to let yourself fall into his arms, completely letting yourself be swept away. You want him, too. He definitely knows this.

“You said he treated you like shit, right?” he says this, and you stop your movements, too. “If I were—were around then, I could’ve taken care of him for you.” The implication of it has your blood turning cold and your fingers wrap around his shoulders as you push him away a little, so you can look at him more clearly.

Those words are spilled so sweetly, like the way he kisses you before he leaves your apartment, or when you wake up beside him during the late mornings to find him still there, gazing at you as if you hung the stars. His words sound so sweet, just like when he tells you about how good you make him feel, they sound so sweet, and it’s not.

You think Haruchiyo likes you. You know he does.

“Th–that’s not as romantic as you think,” you say, voice breathless as you try to steady your breathing. And he’s already dead, you don’t say it, you don’t need to.

“No?”

You shake your head.

“Haru, move. . . Please.”

Haruchiyo hums, and you demand this time, nicely, of course.

“Yeah? Fine. You are so spoiled.” Haruchiyo is quick to give into you if you beg sweetly enough — if you say you need him, and only he can make you feel this way. But he always gives in. He moves, just like you asked — he moves in and out of you painfully slowly, it’s taunting. You whine at how it misses that one spot you desperately need it, yet the pleasure he brings is still, strangely, enough all at the same time. All you can think and see is blue and white swirls, and Haruchiyo, Haruchiyo, Haruchiyo.

“Think you like that idea though, tightening ‘round me like this. Oh, shit—” he chokes on a moan, then heavily sighs.

“So perfect for me, you’re mine. Say it for me.” Strands of his light pink hair falling onto your face, it tickles from the way it brushes against your cheeks with every move. Soft like cherry blossoms. His hand slides up your wrist, placing his hand over yours, your fingers tightly interlocked. “Please, baby. Y’know I would do anything for you, right?” You nod, even though his words are barely registering through, your head feels fuzzy.

He starts slamming his hips into you, you moan loudly as he repeats it again and again, his movements becoming sloppy. You’re too sensitive, overstimulated, it’s almost painful the way he keeps himself in you — it hurts, yet a familiar pleasure builds in you all over again. “Tell me you’re mine. Mine. My girl.”

“I am yours, Haru. All yours. Want nobody, but you. . .”

The moment those words spill from your lips, Haruchiyo immediately cums between choked moans and curses, and warmth spreads inside of you. He clumsily thrusts a few more times, leaning down to close the small gap and kisses you. He smiles down at you so innocently, cheeks red, bruised lips. He asks if you are okay, and you nod, pulling him closer.

Your fingers trace over the scar above his eye, faded yet deep. He leans into your touch. You find it ridiculous how pretty Haruchiyo is. His eyelashes are thicker and longer than yours, you find it unfair. He is so beautiful, you’ve never seen someone as pretty as him before.

“Did it hurt?”

“It used to, but not anymore,” he softly sighs, “feels good when you touch me. You’re so soft and warm, it makes me feel at ease with you around.”

“Me too,” you breathe out.

You know you are falling in love with him. Even if it is something like whim, because he is the only one who listens, understands, and hasn’t abandoned you. You like Haruchiyo. You are falling deep for his pretty blue eyes and the sadness that consumes him like cocaine.

Your beautiful boy.

(He whispers that you are like an angel as you drift off to sleep.)

—

You wonder if it would be presumptuous of you to assume that you are Haruchiyo’s girlfriend. Because technically, you are. Without words exchanged, things have turned out that way, and you think it must’ve been inevitable (Keisuke always refers to you as Haruchiyo’s girl, and Haruchiyo never says anything about it). You are Haruchiyo’s. You feel like Haruchiyo is yours, too.

“Are you two fuckin’ stupid? You’re just asking to get pregnant,” Keisuke huffs while rolling his eyes.

“Keisuke!” you exclaim, hitting your hand over his mouth with a glare. “Shush, lower your voice, please,” you lower your voice, glancing around in hopes nobody had heard him. A few judgmental glances are thrown your way, and you groan, wishing to shrink away. “We’re in public. . .”

Keisuke grabs your wrist, pulling your hand off his mouth as he stares at you. His face isn’t littered with bruises and cuts these days. No white bandage to stop you from seeing everything on his face. He looks a little exhausted these days — you assume from lack of sleep.

“Sorry,” he says, immediately lowering his tone into a low whisper like you had warned him to. “Are you that stupid?” he repeats and you loudly scoff.

“That’s why I just bought the pill.”

“You also bought a pregnancy test a few weeks ago,” he retorts, and you bite your bottom lip at a loss for a comeback. You didn’t actually think you were pregnant, you were only making sure. “I am just saying, keep letting him do it raw and knock you up. Can’t even take care of yourself, so how—”

“I can,” you interrupt, “I can take care of myself.”

“Right, barely. Haruchiyo is fucked up in the head, how could you even take care of a kid?”

You glare at Keisuke. “Hey, don’t talk about Haru like that. He’s your friend.”

“Like I said, I am just trying to look out for you two. Don’t be so mad.”

Does he actually see you as someone so incapable?

Obviously, his words make you mad when you originally weren’t, he can’t keep his mouth shut sometimes, and he makes it up by buying yakisoba for you.

The three of you are barely getting by. Birds of a feather, they say. It’s a shitty life, you all know, but some moments are worth living for.

It’s not so bad when you aren’t alone.

—

“I saw Senju earlier.”

“And?”

“Nothin’. She says hi, though, asking if you’re good and stuff. She probably misses you. You should reach out to her or something.”

Haruchiyo sneers at the idiotic thought. There’s no way in hell he will ever talk to any of them again. Over his dead body — he’d rather die a million times. In the corner, he sees your head perk up at an unfamiliar name, sending the two of them a curious look.

He hopes you won’t ask, he knows you ask anyway.

“Who’s Senju? An old girlfriend?” The moment those words leave your mouth, Keisuke is making gagging noises, your eyebrows pull together as you turn your head towards him. “What’s so funny?”

“Younger sister,” Haruchiyo corrects your assumption.

“Hey, you told me you’re an only child,” you reply with a frown — a small pout to your lips. You look so adorable like this.

“That’s because she isn’t family to me.” He can feel bronze eyes burning into him. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing important.”

You slowly hum, not saying anything else, but Haruchiyo knows you understand him. Not wanting to step into a dark space that he doesn’t want you to know. He wonders why you’re so accepting of this – of him – even after catching him in a lie. He can tell you’re somewhat upset, too. But he knows you won’t mention it and he finds relief in that fact. Keisuke remains silent, too. His understanding is different, it’s familiar, rooted deep into their souls.

“Where did you go today, Kei?” You’re quick to change the topic and that’s one of the reasons why Haruchiyo likes being around you so much.

“I was just out with some friends,” he replies. “We went bowling, then took a ride around town.”

“Aw, bowling sounds fun.”

“You should join us next time.”

“To go bowling? I am not so good, it’s been a while since I’ve last been. Plus, I am not sure if Haru would want to go. . .”

Keisuke smugly grins, gold eyes flickering from you to him. “Yeah, but he would go anywhere you wanna go.”

“Is that true, Haru?” You turn your attention to him, and Haruchiyo shrugs.

“Maybe, it depends,” he replies, though the obvious and right answer is yes. He would do anything for you. Diving deeply into the depths of heaven and hell — wherever you want to take him. You and Keisuke both know this, because you both glance at each other and laugh, already discussing a date to go bowling.

Haruchiyo doesn’t join in on the conversation anymore, he grabs the remote in front of him and mindlessly flips through the television channels.

Keisuke has been distant lately. He is trying to change. He says he always remembers his mother crying in front of him for the first time, something he never wants to see again. Haruchiyo could never relate to this feeling, he doesn’t know what it means. He is trying to get an actual job — a normal job, like what normal people do. As if they weren’t both raised in the same shithole. Keisuke and Manjirō were the lucky ones — they always have been chosen by the stars above.

Keisuke fights in underground clubs every Friday for money, and Haruchiyo — he sells cheap cigarettes and substances to messed up kids like them. They’ve been doing this shit since they were in middle school. That has never changed for him. Haruchiyo knows he’s being left behind once again. By everyone he has ever known. Even Keisuke is moving on, to a life with people he doesn’t know and to a future he cannot see. It’s only a matter of time before you leave him, too. You are too bright, too lovely. No matter how much he digs his claws in you, it won’t be enough to keep you in place.

Even the ghost of Shinichiro doesn’t visit him anymore, and he’s left alone back at the doghouse once again.

—

Lately, he returns home to the same scene: just you and Haruchiyo cuddling up together. Stuck together like super glue.

Haruchiyo’s eyes are always a little clearer when you are around, awake, gazing at you with honey dripping from them. He’s seen that look in those sappy romance films his mom used to watch.

The image of you is captured so clearly within those crystallized eyes, trapped within. Keisuke isn’t stupid enough to not notice that Haruchiyo’s feelings for you are not normal. Society’s version of normal, anyway. Haruchiyo has always been weirdly obsessive and desperate at times; he’s seen so, with Shinichiro, Mikey, and now, you. It’s not normal, but is it so bad? Haruchiyo is beginning to breathe again in the form of you; light glimmering in his lifeless eyes when you say his name, you cover his wounds with your warmth, and love has always been a complicated thing.

Later that night, he and Haruchiyo make a run to the convenience store, and along the way home, they stop by an abandoned park and smoke a joint together — nobody ever stops by here, so there’s no worries in their hazy minds.

“I think I am in love,” Haruchiyo admits as he sucks on a strawberry popsicle. His favourites haven’t changed since they were seven.

Keisuke takes the last hit of the joint before dragging it out on the concrete. “Yeah, no shit, dude,” he replies, “everyone can see it.”

Haruchiyo grins, all teeth and wide, his eyes closed. “No, like I am fucked. So fucked, Baji.”

When he asks why, Haruchiyo is zoning out — Keisuke is buzzed as well, so it’s not like he cares. Haruchiyo is lying on the ground, head in his new leather jacket, staring long and hard at the night sky above, he isn’t here right now. He is a thousand miles away.

After, what seems like a long time (in reality, 20 minutes), he asks again. “No, but like why?”

“If she ever leaves me, I’ll kill myself.”

He says it so casually, then laughs so loudly, it sounds like he’s crying, and Keisuke ends up laughing, too. They laugh, and laugh, and laugh like it’s funny — like it’s nothing.

“No kidding. You’re fuckin’ insane.”

Settling down with deep breaths, he just confirms with a vague, “Yeah.” Pauses, then adds, “She makes me feel alive.”

Keisuke doesn’t doubt it one bit. Haruchiyo is crazy, and obsessed with you. Like a stray dog finding shelter again — you’re his sanctuary in this corner of the world. But is it so bad? Keisuke has never been one for relationships, it’s too complicated and time-consuming, but that is what love is. It’s everything worth the trouble.

Love is so strange, and it keeps them alive.

—

It’s happening again.

He’s stuck there again with no way out.

Mud is caving in on him, he’s choking, and can’t breathe or see anything. His body thrashes around, searching, searching, searching for another body. His hand reaches another — mummified. A black void consumes his entire being.

(He thinks he can hear a calling of his name — it sounds so familiar, like the warmth of his blanket from his childhood.)

When he awakens, he’s drenched in his own sweat, head pounding, electrified down to the rough pads of his fingers.

Haruchiyo downs a couple of pills.

—

You get a call from your mother. It comes unexpectedly, and you almost let it ring until the end, stunned.

Of course, you scramble to answer her call. “Hello? Mom?”

The line is staticky for a moment, and you wince. “Hi,” her voice sounds breathless. “I, um, I did not expect you to pick up.”

“Oh, yeah. . .” You don’t know what to say, but your heart is racing unbelievably fast. You have so much to say, but you can’t form any of them into words.

It is awkward, painfully so. It is the entire call, but you both try to talk, stumbling over each other when silence hits for a little too long.

She is doing well, much better than when you left, and you are glad. You think you are doing better than before, too. She mentions that she met a new man — one kind, one who treats her well, and works at a bank. Her last man was a piece of shit, somehow as bad as the first, he made your miserable lives even worse, and was in it for far too long.

She says she would like it if she could see you, and maybe you can meet him, and you choke. Getting introduced to someone new is too sudden, seeing her again is too soon, and what if she didn’t love him? Or if he doesn’t love her. He could be like the last one. A phony. She doesn’t know, you wouldn’t know. You think you are overreacting, you know you are, but you aren’t sure how you’re supposed to feel.

“No,” your voice is too quiet as you try to control the shakiness of your voice. “Not yet, but soon.”

“Okay. I do not want to force you, nor does he. Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you.”

“This isn’t something you need to thank me for.”

You almost cry for some reason.

Before the call ends, she tells you she would like to call you again; you say okay.

—

Sometimes, Haruchiyo doesn’t like to see you. You understand, and try to respect his space.

Every time he needs his space, he comes back seemingly happier, and he always takes you out despite hating being outdoors around strangers for so long. You learn he is very good at bowling, the two of you beat Keisuke and his other friends quite easily, despite the blond one mentioning he was a professional bowler earlier on (Haruchiyo whispered in your ear that he was definitely lying).

At the arcade, he wins you a giant plushie from an old cartoon, and he tells the others to win their own when they start asking him for one. With his remaining tickets, he trades them in for a ring pop – strawberry, your favourite – and slides it onto your ring finger with a cheeky smile, there’s red coating his cheeks. You mirror his smile, and drag him into a dark empty corner to kiss him. His hand is immediately sliding underneath your shirt.

“Haru, we’re in public,” you warn him as you break the kiss to lightly glare at him to behave.

“It’s fine, it’s only a kiss,” he replies, pulling you back in to deepen it. You melt into it.

Sometimes, Haruchiyo doesn’t like to see you. Especially, when he is high, he doesn’t like when you’re around.

One time, he’s collapsed onto his bed, he mumbles that he wants to see you, despite you being right there.

You can’t help, but worry.

Sometimes, Haruchiyo doesn’t like to see you. He gets so busy with things, and Keisuke says he doesn’t know — but you both know what he is up to. Sometimes, he doesn’t talk to anyone for two days. He stays trapped in the walls of his bedroom, or in places nobody knows of. This behaviour grows more and more frequent as the weeks go by.

Haruchiyo comes to see you, he always comes back to you. He says he wants to rent out a dvd to watch with you, and you bury your head into his chest, and cry.

He frantically asks what’s wrong, ever so weak to your tears. His hand rubs gentle circles on your back as he cradles you closely. “Talk to me, baby,” he coos.

(It’s hypocritical, you think.)

“I miss you,” you tell him.

He chuckles. “But I am here with you.” For now.

For now, for now, for how long?

—

Haruchiyo is falling.

He’s slowly falling down, down, down.

You force your eyes open every time you watch as he is drowning down those little white pills a little too fast, crushing them into powdered stardust, chasing after a star that has been long gone — he will never reach it. Not now, not in another lifetime.

You wish you knew what it was; the very thing Haruchiyo desperately needs to see — that very thing he can’t think of long enough before he drowns himself into something (anything) once again. In a strange way, you think you know. It comes in the form of the cigarette pack that sits awkwardly on the corner of the coffee table, unused and gathering dust (you’ve seen Haruchiyo smoke the same brand during the late nights when he thinks you are asleep, bitterness as he awakens with dread, and a similar scent lingers on Keisuke’s collar, too), to the unspoken sadness that chains them together, that same distant look that is reflected in their eyes from time to time.

It’s too much, too fast, Haruchiyo will slip through the gaps of your fingers if he doesn’t slow down.

You watch as he spills and arranges the substance into a straight, thin line. Your presence gone unnoticed, except for the intensity of your stare, which he finally (finally, finally, finally) notices you and his open door that he rarely ever forgets to close.

“Leave me alone for a moment.” He nods his head toward the door, yet you don’t move.

“Haru, you already did it earlier, isn’t this too much in one day?”

“It’s not—baby, just leave me alone for a minute. Please.”

You know how Haruchiyo is. He doesn’t like anyone seeing him like this, before, during, or afterwards — his one minute means four hours.

When you call his name, he snaps. That wild dog from the apartment above begins to bark, vibrating through the thin walls of the apartment. The owner screaming for it to shut up. He lets out a slow exhale, standing up, “God, why is it always the same thing with you these days? I ask you nicely and—and you don’t listen to me.”

“Same thing with me? I am just checking up on you because I care—”

“I never asked you for that. I didn’t. . . I’ve told you before not to act like that.” What makes it hurt is how Haruchiyo tries to keep his voice light and soft like he always does with you. His jaw is clenched, and pauses every few seconds to take a breath. He gets agitated far too fast. He cares too much about treating you gently, but he doesn’t even realise he’s being mean; uncaring about what you have to say, uncaring of your feelings, he doesn’t care that you just care about him.

Your eyes are stinging. You bite down on your bottom lip, harshly, trying to keep your tears at bay. “You’re being mean. You don’t have to say it like that, I mean well.”

“I wouldn’t if you just minded your own business.”

You don’t think you will ever get through to him. Even if you kneeled down, and begged him like a dog to stop, he wouldn’t understand. You sniffle, body betraying you as tears are edging to fall, you don’t want him to see you like this — you don’t want to see him like this.

Haruchiyo deeply sighs, stepping closer to you, he gently grabs your forearm. You think it would be a comforting gesture, if it weren’t for the fact that he deliberately steps into your space to make you step back, one step closer to being out the door. He wants you gone. “It’s nothing new. Gimme a moment to myself.”

“You want me to leave.”

“Yes.” He doesn’t look at you when he says this. That stupid little white baggie has his attention — his complete attention the moment he gets you out of here. Not living, not dead, no interest in his life.

You taste iron in your mouth. “You want me to leave,” you repeat, exaggerating every word with a crack of your voice.

Haruchiyo yells this time, his patience has always run thin. “Yes! That’s what I keep fucking telling you.” He quickly shuts his mouth and runs his hand over it, swallowing his regret. A tear rolling down your face is enough for him to sigh, he hates when you cry (not when it’s not out of pleasure), he hates arguing with you, and he mutters that he’s done.

He doesn’t push you out. He doesn’t comfort you. He doesn’t close the fucking door.

He walks back to his table, sitting down, rearranging the powder — he doesn’t care. He wants you to watch.

You bitterly tell him you’re done with this, screaming that you don’t care anymore, you’re done, done, done. You don’t even look to see if he lifted his head to look at you when you shouted those words, or if his nose was glued to the table instead. You rush out without closing his bedroom door; you slam their front door shut, it echoes in the apartment’s empty hallway.

A sob echoes with it.

Haruchiyo doesn’t come knocking on your door after. You don’t seek him out, either. A fight between the two of you has never occurred before, not like this, only annoyed remarks exchanged that were resolved by sweets and kisses. Days pass without any contact, you leave your apartment at different times, and you wonder if it is over now — all over a stupid, little fight.

—

With midterms rolling around, you don’t have time to focus on Haruchiyo, your relationship — the remaining ashes of it. You don’t know, you don’t want to know, you’re afraid to know. Your grades have gone down, and you need to focus on getting them back up. On some days, Keisuke attempts to mention Haruchiyo; sometimes, you get mad, sometimes, you grow silent and shake your head, and on other days, you’ll cry at the mere mention of him.

Haruchiyo’s birthday passes without you ever knowing. You hear it from Keisuke when he lets you ride behind him on his motorcycle to your part-time job at an old dvd rental from the 80’s. These past few days, he has been picking you up once you’re done, too. He is kind, so sweet, but you know Keisuke is mostly doing this because he cares too much (and he is worried about Haruchiyo more so than you).

You lie, and say you don’t care that Haruchiyo’s birthday passed, who cares about his stupid birthday? And there’s a shock that runs through you when you realise that you never even knew his birthday — he couldn’t even tell you a simple, little detail like that. Either way, you refuse to swallow down your pride, not this time. If Haruchiyo cared about you, even a smidge, he would’ve come knocking on your door after you left or called. But he hasn’t done that, he’s done nothing for weeks. Keisuke laughs, louder than his roaring engine, and tells you it’s fine, because Haruchiyo has never once celebrated his birthday since way back then, he doesn’t believe or see joy in such things anymore. Your heart aches, and suddenly, for a split moment, your resolve vanishes.

(Always too weak when it comes to him. . . your poor, beautiful boy.)

He drops you off in front of the store — looking ever-so empty inside, nothing new. His heavy hand ruffles your hair, you glare at him, swatting his hand away. “Stop, you are going to ruin my hair,” you complain with a pout.

“Don’t think so much about it. It’ll be fine.”

(It’s fine, it’s fine, everything will be okay.)

Before he drives off, he says, “I’ll pick you up later. See you.”

Your co-worker comes up to you during your shift. He’s a sloppy guy around your age that you’ve spoken less than ten words to. You glance down to his nametag, Takemichi, then to his unkempt black hair, and faded acne scars adorning his cheek. The smile he gives you is both awkward, yet strangely warm. When he asks if you are alright, you just stare at him in confusion.

“Oh, sorry—I, uh,” he begins fumbling over his words, and you sort of feel bad at how put off you are. “You don’t look too well, so I thought, uh, that you are sick or something. . .”

You force a smile, trying to ease his nerves. “I just haven’t been getting much sleep.” It is not a lie, so you don’t feel guilty. “Sorry for worrying you.”

He apologises, too.

So, apologises come easy for some guys. All the ones you’ve known never do.

You wonder if your sorrow is that noticeable — if you are someone so pitiful. It feels worse knowing that it is apparent to people who don’t even know you, and you feel more pathetic than usual.

Life goes on, as it always does. Painfully slow. Days turning into weeks. The seemingly never-ending gray skies, and smoke clouds greet your every wake.

—

Your mother calls again this evening. She calls more often now, and these calls last longer every time you talk, despite the awkwardness that still surrounds the phone calls. The familiarity of her voice is enough to ease you, it’s almost comforting, being forced back to a time when it was only the two of you at home. Just you and her, forcing laughter and smiles, but you were truly happy during those moments, until the familiar creaking of the old wooden stairs and heavy footsteps shattered the rosy glass once again.

The screams take over.

Your mother is a curious woman, very curious. She remembers everything you mentioned, even briefly, even things from when you were only five. She asks you about the boy you told her about before (all shy and giggly), and your nails dig into your palms, eyes darting around your bedroom. From the floor, to the pile of worn clothes in the corner, and an old music box your father had gifted you on your fourth birthday — music doesn’t play from it anymore. The pink ballerina had broken off when you had dropped it, and you super-glued together again. It doesn’t play music anymore, you don’t know why you kept it. It doesn’t play music anymore, you don’t know why you keep it on the nightstand next to your bed.

You tell her you aren’t so sure anymore.

(Your head is spinning.)

“I am sorry, dear. Boys come and go. It is always like that while growing up, but one day, the right one will be there for you,” she says gently, so softly, cradling your wounds. Yet, you wonder why you don’t feel comforted at all. “You are still young and beautiful. Don’t you worry so much.”

You simply agree, “Yeah, I guess that is true.”

When the call ends, you wind up the music box for the first time in years. No sound comes through for a second, and then the first few notes play before going silent — she dances in silence, spinning around and around and around. You watch her dance in the silent echo of your room for a long time, rewinding her before she completely comes to a stop every time.

The memories go round and round.

—

Keisuke basically forces himself into your apartment without an invite, and says, “Wow. You look like shit—I mean, bad. You don’t look good.”

He doesn’t mean it in a bad way, he is just honest with his friends. You don’t look so hot, and he has to let you know.

“Gee, thanks,” you sarcastically reply as you force your head into your textbooks.

So, you ignore him when he speaks sometimes. Keisuke has learned not to mention Haruchiyo to you, especially to how badly you reacted last time, even now the words are threatening to spill from the tip of his tongue. He tries his best not to. (God, you both are so difficult. He thinks he is going insane.)

After a while of making himself at home, he asks, “Wanna go out somewhere with me?”

You glance up from your textbook, asking, “Where to?”

“Come, I’ll show you.”

And without hesitation, you follow him out the house.

So, maybe setting cars on fire and smashing windows with brinks would be a little too much for you. He assumes you wouldn’t want to run from the cops, even if that is a part of the fun. Luckily, his buddy, Kazutora, showed him a spot where they can legally smash things to pieces — not exactly the same thrill, but it’s probably fun, and surely, you would enjoy it.

And you do. You smash everything in that little room and almost trip over yourself a few times while at it.

Keisuke finds it pretty fun, too.

—

After many rejections, it’s considered a miracle when Keisuke gets accepted and passes an interview. It’s been. . . a long time since he got fired from his first actual [legal] job. Honestly, Keisuke still believes he wasn’t at any fault, because what asshole throws a cigarette out at a gas station, right beside the gasoline tanks? That asshole was asking for a beating, and Keisuke only hit the man once. He saved the place from blowing up, if anything, he deserved some reward money. Instead, he gets fired by the lousy, old, ugly manager who sneered that it was only natural that a kid like him couldn’t handle a job.

He said he was lucky the cops weren’t called.

He was the lucky one considering how Keisuke didn’t sock his crooked teeth right out of his mouth right then and there.

(That old prick will get what’s coming for him, Keisuke hasn’t once forgotten his face.)

He knows he needs to start doing something with himself, because once he does, he’s going to make things right with his mom again. Though, it might end up ending the same way as they have been for the past few years. They’re closer compared to most single moms and their sons, Keisuke thinks, and he knows it’s hard raising him — it’s never been easy, because he doesn’t listen. He picks fights, he stopped attending school when he was fourteen, he stays out until the sun comes out, but he tries, he really does. Over the years, her disappointment and frustration builds on her face and it’s enough to make him burn and scream, leaving the room so he can no longer see that look on her face.

He vividly remembers that night, all too well, when he came home to apologise for his behaviour with his mother’s favourite flowers – marigolds like her eyes – and her favourite dumplings that he heard his pops’ used to buy for her when they were younger. Yet before he could say anything, he hears her sobbing through the door, and Keisuke makes a run down the stairs of the apartment complex. He runs, runs, and runs until he’s out of breath.

(Haruchiyo opens the door for him. He’s done so every single time without question, but those eyes of his never leave him — eyes are cold as they silently interrogate him, leaving his insides bare, chills run over him.)

He’ll make things right with her again. She’s his only mom, and he misses her.

Lately, he comes home to Haruchiyo looking like this. Fucked up with dilated eyes, winter freezes over him, hazy and lost like Janurary’s storm. Killing his own mind – himself – for even a few hours with a sense of peace. It’s all pure white laced with a gold rush; a feeling so divine that Keisuke knows he can’t save him.

Haruchiyo is drowning.

But that doesn’t mean he won’t try. Who else would if he doesn’t? (His mind drifts back to you.)

Keisuke takes a deep breath as he marches over to his limp figure on the couch. “Again. You are like this again, Haruchiyo. You need to slow the fuck down.” His words sound too familiar. (“Keisuke, I’ve told you this how many times now?”) Grabbing him by his shoulders, he shakes him, “Oi, Sanzu, wake up.”

He shakes him again. Roughly.

Haruchiyo groans slowly. “I hear you, Shin—” His heart drops at the name, at the ugly and pitiful sight of Haruchiyo. “—Keisuke, very, very clearly. . .” His words are spoken slowly and slurred, and his eyes are wide open, yet unfocused on anything. Ugly and pitiful, his dear friend.

“I am being serious, Haruchiyo. Listen up.” Keisuke inhales sharply, attempting to ease his nerves. He counts to three in his head, twice — something he had learned from a doctor when he broke his arm as a kid. One, two, three. In and out. “What about your girl?” This catches Haruchiyo’s attention, so Keisuke continues speaking, “You know she doesn’t like this right? She just can’t say it ‘cause. . . Like, you heard about her old man right? He fucked up and then. . .” And he can tell his words are falling on deaf ears, it’s pointless, yet he continues to try to reach out to him.

Truthfully, Keisuke would rather be talking to you about this. But every time he mentions Haruchiyo’s name, you get mad at him like he was the one who did something to you. He doesn’t know the exact details of what went down between the two of you; neither of you wanting to say anything, not even blaming each other, just saying vague words. It just adds to his annoyance, because it was obviously some dumb mistake, and if you two were normal and knew how to talk, it would all be good again.

“Say something.” Silence. “Haruchiyo.” More silence. Keisuke grits his teeth, the tip of his fang scrapes against his bottom lip. “Why are you like this? We’re just worried about you,” his voice comes out quieter this time, choking on tenderness, and he hates how he sounds at the moment.

“I know,” says Haruchiyo eventually. “I fucked up. ‘m fucked up. . . And I—I just don’t know how to make it go away.”

“Just cut out the bullshit,” Keisuke replies. He expects Haruchiyo to punch or kick him, to push him away and to fuck off — to call him a busybody, a good-for-nothing loser who failed junior high, a screw up who is just like him — he usually does in moments like these. However, he doesn’t.

“. . . I know.”

“Do something about this. Talk to her.”

“I know, Baji.”

“Okay.”

Keisuke frowns. He can't even laugh or snort or joke about how pathetic this is. His heart is aching at Haruchiyo’s vulnerability — a side he’s only seen when they were little kids, back when they lost Mikey and Shinichiro. Something about it is different this time, and he can’t pinpoint the reason. He just settles on awkwardly wrapping an arm around the taller, yet thinner and frail body beside him, and attempts to keep him grounded as his mind floats far, far away.

There has never been any use in catching him; he’s always known how to run and slip away.

He says, “It’ll be fine. Trust me. We’ll be fine, just like we always are.”

He whispers those words again for good measure, unsure if those words were meant for Haruchiyo or himself. Keisuke almost promises, and Haruchiyo doesn’t respond for another two hours.

—

A constant banging wakes you from your afternoon nap on your only day off from both work and university (you finished all your assignments early, too), and you angrily drag yourself out of bed, still half-asleep. Opening the door, you answer, “What—” and all that annoyance vanishes once your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness and see who it is. “Oh.”

You almost bitterly spit out, “Why are you here?”, but your heart betrays you, racing at Haruchiyo’s sudden appearance, then slows to a pace that aches your very core. All at the mere sight of him.

Before you can slam the door shut, he sticks out his foot and jams it in between, forcing the door to stay open. “Stop—don’t, don’t do that, alright? Don’t be like that, and let me in,” Haruchiyo says, his voice rough and tired. “Let me inside, please, baby. You need to listen to me, please.”

You bite your bottom lip at his pleading and keep yourself pushed up against the door, not looking into the large gap, you can’t meet his eyes or face or him. You end up asking, “Why are you here?” Your voice comes out small, you’re tired, so damn tired — body no longer pushing against the door, and Haruchiyo is swift when taking that moment of hesitation to let himself inside before you had the chance to change your mind.

He takes a step towards you, and you don’t move. He gets close to the point the skin of his hand brushes against you. His body’s cold. “I just wanted to apologise,” he tells you. “I didn’t mean it, any of it. I just—sometimes, I lose control over myself and do dumb shit.”

When you don't reply, he repeats, “I said I was sorry—still am. I didn’t mean any of it that day.”

You breathe out, “I know, I heard you. . . Your apology sucked, it was really, really bad.” Haruchiyo nibbles on his bottom lip, teeth running over dry, peeling, red skin; blue eyes wavering, yet never leaving your face (you still won’t meet his anxious gaze). “But I know you mean it. . . That doesn’t mean I am still not upset or hurt by what you said.”

He visibly eases, shoulders dropping with a silent breath of relief, and he apologises once more.

“I am scared to lose you, Haruchiyo,” you admit, it’s nothing new, but you have to tell him. “I keep thinking, what if something happens, and—like what would I do if you. . .” your words trail off shakily and you swallow the lump growing in your throat. You don’t want to curse the thought to life. Haruchiyo sneers, loudly and sharply, at your unsaid words, they don’t pass him by.

“It doesn’t matter,” it sounds too rough, too soulless, too regardless when he says this. “I mean, it won’t happen.”

You firmly argue, “But it could, Haru.”

“But it won’t. Believe me.” He grabs your hand and places it in his as he gives it a firm squeeze. “I, uh,” he sucks in a shaky breath before speaking, “I want to be better for you. You’d be happy, right? Like we could. . . Yeah, I could try for you.”

He would like to, he means. And you know he would, all to keep you happy. But you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. However, you and Haruchiyo are barely nineteen, barely adults, bad with words and love, but the feelings you have for each other are real, and so overwhelming. If you both try, everything will be alright — Haruchiyo believes this, and you do, too.

“How you live is up to you, but we can figure things out together,” you say to him. His thumb brushes over the skin on your hand. “Please, just let me be here for you. I care about you so, so, so much, Haru. Don’t push me away. I don’t want to leave you.”

“I won’t.” As you smile, he does, too. “I care about you, too, y’know? It drives me insane.”

You know, and he knows that you know.

You pull him towards the couch to sit down and talk, the atmosphere much more relaxing now. “You never called me.”

“I wanted to,” he admits, his hand falling onto your knee as he rubs it unconsciously. “But I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me.”

You shake your head, placing your hand on top of his. “No, I was waiting for you.”

He smiles, a little sad, and you can’t help but notice that he seemed to lose some weight. This worries you as he is already thin. Both your hands reach up to cup his cheeks, sunken and bones, as you pull his face closer to yours and you press a kiss to his lips for only a second. “Have you eaten yet? I still have leftovers from last night that I can reheat.”

There’s not really much left, probably only five bites at most, but it’s still something.

“No, I already ate,” he declines with a lie, but you let it pass. “Let’s just take a bath instead. Yeah?”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s do that.”

Haruchiyo runs the bath like he always does, the temperature is always just right when he does it. When you slide into the bath, a soft moan escapes your lips at the warm contact. Haruchiyo takes off his clothes, gets in, and settles behind you. He pulls you into him, back against his chest, arms wrapping around your waist to keep you close.

You lift your head to look up, and Haruchiyo’s face is expressionless, but the look swimming in his eyes is undeniably love. It couldn’t be anything else.

“What is it?”

“I really meant what I said before, y’know. Most of the time, I—I just don’t feel like my own person,” he continues quietly, “I never wanted to make you cry.”

You twist, barely, due to the lack of space in the tub, and get a better look at him. Pink strands all over his face, you brush it away with your hand, tucking a strand behind his ear. The ocean stares back at you.

You snap yourself out of it, before you get lost. “It’s okay, Haru, really.”

He says your name, so softly, such a gentle sound — your soul is weeping. “You are the only thing that is precious to me, I need you, okay? I can’t live without you.”

Your head is swimming; if your apartment had a shower instead of a bathtub like your old place did, you would’ve been unsteady on your feet. The feeling intensifies the longer you stare at him — drifting off to sea.

You tell him, “I am sorry, too. I just worry about you, Haru. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I know, and I am right here with you, baby,” he gently says (his promise of devotion, no other deserving of his worship). “And I am all yours. Only you.”

A silent ‘forever’ follows after his gentle kiss to your temple. His arms wrap around you, his bones digging into your gut, and you lift your head to kiss his cheek, then one over the faded pink scar running across his eye, then another to his soft pink lips. Haruchiyo is beautiful, everything about him is so beautifully blue.

“So, you forgive me, right?”

His hand taps your thigh, twice, a silent indication between the two of you meaning: open up. “Yes,” you breathe out. You let him in, you always do.

“Good,” he says as his other hand runs across your stomach, up to your breast, and he gently squeezes. His lips brush against your ear, his breath tickles, you can’t help, but smile. “We are in love, baby. No matter what happens, it won’t change a thing between us.”

You can’t imagine a life without Haruchiyo, or what it was like before him. You don’t want to. And so, you tell him just so. He pulls you impossibly closer as his head falls into the crook of your neck, smiling into your skin as he presses a delicate kiss — as soft as a cherry blossom petal passing you by. You love him, you love him so much. Even when he is about to fall, you will be there to catch him. Whispering this sweet oath on repeat, Haruchiyo receives each eternal promise with his lips.

—

Somewhere, he is drowning.

Sinking down, down, down to a place no man can reach. Water turns to mud, white static fills his ears, gasoline and cigarettes sting his eyes and nose; he returns home.

Somewhere, he is drowning.

But not here. You are his anchor.

[naebaetwsog]

I loved ur dohoon bf headcanons omg, can I please request a jihoon ver?🤍

。× Jihoon boyfriend headcanons＊

genre.fluff

warning.non

pairing.tws!jihoon x fem!reader

a/n. I’ve taking so long to respond the request and I want to apologise for that… hope you enjoy. Writing this convinced me even more that all I need to be happy is a Han Jihoon from tws

Bf!Jihoon Who is the type to wake you up on a Saturday like, “Get dressed, we’re going on an adventure.” You never know if it’s a cute picnic, a dance battle in an empty studio, or a spontaneous trip to the arcade.

Bf!Jihoon Who lives to annoy you in the most loving way possible. If you’re trying to concentrate, he’ll start tutting in front of your face. If you’re ignoring him, he’ll dramatically fake cry until you give him attention.

Bf!Jihoon Who always has to be touching you. A hand on your thigh, arm around your shoulder, playing with your fingers—he needs the physical connection.

Bf!Jihoon Who his absolute favorite thing is cuddling. He will literally wrap himself around you like a koala. You try to move? Not happening. “Five more minutes,” he mumbles, holding you tighter.

Bf!Jihoon Who acts all cool but actually gets pouty if you don’t give him enough attention. “Do you not love me anymore?” (He says after you ignored him for two minutes.)

Bf!Jihoon Who If he stubs his toe? He’s on the floor like he just got shot. If you take too long to respond to his texts? “I see how it is… I was just a phase to you.”

Bf!Jihoon Who If you steal his hoodie, he will make a whole show out of it. “Oh wow, looks better on you than on me. Guess it’s yours now. What a shame…” (He’s actually obsessed with it.)

Bf!Jihoon Who your clothes, his clothes—it’s all your clothes now. He doesn’t even ask, just casually wears your stuff like it was always his.

Bf!Jihoon Who if you say something sassy, he’ll just tut aggressively at you. If you ignore him, tut tut tut right in your face. “Jihoon, stop.” “This is how I express my pain.”

Bf!Jihoon Who random Dancing Anywhere, Anytime – Grocery store? Dancing. Waiting for the bus? Dancing. Brushing his teeth? Dancing.

Bf!Jihoon Who will just flop onto you like a cat. “You’re comfy,” he mutters, completely ignoring the fact that you can’t breathe.

Bf!Jihoon Who despite all the teasing, when you need to vent, he actually listens. He won’t always give advice, but he’ll hold you, nod, and say, “That sucks, babe. Want me to fight someone?”

Bf!Jihoon Who if someone flirts with you, he acts unbothered but later starts dramatically sighing. “Guess I should start working out more… seems like I have competition now…”

Bf!Jihoon Who doesn’t Say ‘I Love You’ Often, but Shows It – He’ll text you “eat something healthy” and “get home safe” before saying “I love you.” But the way he hugs you, looks at you, and holds your hand? Yeah, he loves you.

[genderqueerdykes]

About your "Men (including cishet men) welcome to interact" post

As someone who's most important/supportive person in their life is our dad, & we have (or just have meet) other men who has meant a lot to us or have been really supportive or even our role models, sometimes people hatred or just distrust they have and how openly rude they are about it just a lot sometimes. Obviously & Honestly there's a lot to be said here(about this topic as whole) but we are not able to(personal comfortability & actual writing ability). Thank you for being a blog that has been here allowing us to be able to explore, understand, learn our(& others) identities/experiences in world, not making us feel bad for the people who support us just because of how the judge based off of the same thing the rest of society shuns us for. (a side note because of your blog we were able to get the nerve and make the push to start T just over a year ago now. A lot of it due to the help and support we got from our dad, who despite us being an adult has financially covered everything for it and the rest of our health as we are also disabled and only recently have been able to work at all) Thank you for your time in just reading this if ya do.

thanks for taking the time to send this, i really appreciate it!

i'm tired of seeing hate for the sake of hate. hate solves very little. like being a hater sucks actually, it's not cool to be shitty to other people for no reason. it bothers me deeply that people refuse to accept that there genuinely are cishet men who are queer allies out there, and in fact, some of them are absolutely amazing queer allies. i've had friends who were cishet men and gendered me correctly after i came out to them. i've had cishet men stand up for me when someone questions my manhood.

nobody considers the fact that there are queer people that just might have a loved one, partner, or friend who is a cishet man. why would it ever be okay to openly show hate to someone who supports you? hell, how you even expect someone to respect your gender and your orientation if you hate them based off of their gender and orientation? profiling someone based off of their gender & orientation is quite literally what queerphobes do, and doing it to random cishet men who haven't hurt you will not make those queerphobes stop profiling you.

treating someone else like shit just because you've been treated like shit is passing your trauma on to someone else. you're bleeding on someone who did not cut you.

(a side note because of your blog we were able to get the nerve and make the push to start T just over a year ago now. A lot of it due to the help and support we got from our dad, who despite us being an adult has financially covered everything for it and the rest of our health as we are also disabled and only recently have been able to work at all)

first of all i'm so happy to hear that! i hope things have been going well for you with T, and i am genuinely so fucking happy to hear that your dad is so supportive. he sounds amazing i'm glad he wants to help you become the happiest version of yourself you can be. there really are supportive cishet men out there. some of them are dads, uncles, cousins, brothers, sons, friends and partners. there's no reason we should treat them like absolute shit when they support us. we need to love them just as they love us.

take care of yourself! thank you for sending this i really appreciate it! let me know if you need any help with regards to HRT! im always happy to help! good luck in your transition, stay safe!

[secondarysefikura]

Since Vincent is immortal but also in the original game is one of two optional party members(plus there’s also that theory that Vincent is actually Sephiroth’s biological father), here’s two ideas involving Vincent in Sephiroth’s victory.

Scenario one being where the party did find Vincent. Safer Sephiroth defeats the party, killing everyone but Cloud and Vincent. At first Sephiroth is very pleased with what has happened, now the people were trying to keep him and Cloud apart are finally dead and soon meteor will strike the planet and once it does he will become a god, but more importantly he and Cloud will be together forever. But that’s when he realizes that one of Cloud’s friends is still alive, and of course attempts to finish Vincent off, but much to Sephiroth’s anger and annoyance Vincent isn’t dying. Eventually Sephiroth gets fed up with this, and just grabs Cloud who is trying desperately to escape his grasp and get to Vincent before flying out of the Northern Crater. Sephiroth is now keeping Cloud hidden away from Vincent while the ladder is searching for Cloud. Both Vincent and Sephiroth end up having many encounters which usually ends the same which is Sephiroth being angry that despite his efforts Vincent still isn’t dead.

Scenario two being where the party never found Vincent. Sephiroth wins and ends up keeping Cloud in the Shinra Mansion since that place is special to him, as it was the place where he found out ‘the truth’ about his past. Sephiroth will leave for a few hours and during one of these times Cloud discovers Vincent sleep the one of the coffins. He of course keeps Vincent’s existence a secret from Sephiroth and when every Sephiroth leaves Cloud immediately goes down to the basement to see Vincent who in now the only human interaction he can have who isn’t Sephiroth. Cloud is always careful and listening out in case Sephiroth decides to return early. In the beginning of their little friendship they have going it was pretty much just small talk with both not wanting to talk about their pasts, but later on they eventually start to open up more to each other. Despite how Vincent’s seems he ends up being the light that Cloud needed in the hell he was now trapped in, making it more important to him that he keeps Vincent a secret.

Oooo, you have two great ideas here! Let's break them down!

So for scenario one:

"...but much to Sephiroth’s anger and annoyance Vincent isn’t dying."

I really like the image of Sephiroth getting more and more upset when he's can't seem to kill a guy! I'm imagining him having a minor mental breakdown as he tries (and fails) to end Vincent. Bonus if he thinks he finally succeeded only to see Vincent get back up. He's seriously starting to question his "ascent" in godhood if he can't kill just one guy!

"Sephiroth is now keeping Cloud hidden away from Vincent while the latter is searching for Cloud. Both Vincent and Sephiroth end up having many encounters which usually ends the same which is Sephiroth being angry that despite his efforts Vincent still isn’t dead."

You know what Sephiroth probably hates even more than the fact that Vincent just refuses to die? The fact that Cloud seems happy every time Sephiroth comes "home" angry about failing to kill Vincent.

He hates that Cloud gets a small smile whenever Sephiroth growls that Vincent survived another encounter. Even worse, Cloud always tries to "threaten" him with what will happen the moment Vincent finds him and "frees" him. As soon as he gets his hands on his sword, Cloud promises, Sephiroth will wish he had killed him .

Sephiroth is not gentle as he tries to make Cloud understand that such things will NEVER be allowed to happen.

For scenario two:

Vincent probably scares the shit out of Cloud when he finds him. Depending on how bold Cloud is with exploring the manor (or just how much he thinks he can explore before he risks Sephiroth punishing him for "trying to escape") it may have been several years since Cloud saw someone other than Sephiroth. So finding another person--one who is a coffin nonetheless? Cloud probably has a small heart attack.

Although as startling as it for Cloud, I imagine the whole situation is even more startling for Vincent. What do you mean that humanity has been wiped off the earth by some guy? And you said his name is Sephiroth?

To say Vincent is horrified to discover the things Sephiroth has done is an understatement. He desperately wants to ask Cloud more questions about what has happened since he fell asleep, but before he can Cloud snaps his head to the side and starts muttering about how "Sephiroth is back" and that Vincent "needs to hide."

I'm willing to bet that at first, Vincent only talks to Cloud to try to gather information on Sephiroth so he can plan how to kill him. With time, however, he grows genuinely fond of Cloud and their interactions with each other. Hence, as you said, he opens up to Cloud as Cloud begins to open up to him. Soon, Vincent begins to look forward to their visits just as much as Cloud does.

Perhaps the two even begin to develop something of a relationship. Nothing too intimate--Cloud is terrified that Sephiroth will somehow know if Vincent so much as kisses him on the cheek--but they'll rest their heads on the other's shoulder and enjoy a brief moment of peace.

That is until one day, however, when it isn't Cloud who opens his coffin. No, this time the one who opens his coffin is a man with green cat slit eyes and silver hair.

And to say this man is livid is an understatement.

[sasukeless]

What's Sasuke and Karin's friendship like?

i can’t tell if you’re asking me for hcs or use canon? anyway i guess they both the same anyway because i don’t like changing stuff. so yeah they are a very subtle friendship since karin is a side character and not meant at the center of sasuke’s arc the way itachi and naruto are but i still find them very precious.

like imagine you’re karin and you have no family and no village and you’re basically the lab experiment of some freak and there’s this boy that saves your life and is the only person kind to you (you can notice is taka’s interactions sasuke defends karin from suigetsu which i find really nice of him). it makes perfect sense to me karin grows very attached to sasuke. he’s also the one to kill her abuser (more because orochimaru is his abuser as well but yeah) and free her of duty, and trusts his back to her. the way jugo tells sasuke they have to leave karin behind because they won’t make it otherwise but sasuke stands his ground and does everything to save her it’s so telling and debunks any argument people have of sasuke just seeing her as a tool.

in fact, i find hilarious ppl use him stabbing karin at 5ks as their proof when the whole point of that scene is seeing how far gone sasuke was and his mental instability when faced against the responsibility for itachi’s and his clan massacre that he ended up hurting a friend that gave all to help him. obito literally calls karin sasuke’s favorite out of taka during that fight, do people just assume kishimoto added that for no reason? but anyways back to them. i also love that despite his crush and flirting, karin also can talk back to sasuke and isn’t meek. she isn’t scared to call him out when she wants to. sasuke also apologizes to her and ik shippers of all kind love to say he didn’t mean it but there’s no indication he wasn’t sincere unless you try to push an agenda lol. i also love that sensing sasuke in danger got karin to unlock the uzumaki chains technique so she could get to save him, it shows how much she cares (and it kinda parallels him saving her during the killer bee fight). and lastly karin just wants sasuke happy like for all her crush can be annoying at times she really cares more for sasuke’s happiness than “winning” him and doesn’t try to generate pity with her feelings to get him to stay with her and i think that’s why sasuke doesn’t find her annoying lol.

so to summarize it, i adore their friendship even if it’s not in your face and you have to pick it up. i think they care about each other and like each other presences. i can also see them bonding over their traumas being victims of orochimaru’s grooming and being understanding. i like to think even after moving on from her crush karin still acts clingy and annoying w sasuke but instead of being confused like before he just now is like Whatever and lets her because they both know it’s not serious.

[distracted-milkshake]

Backseats - Tony Stark x reader

Warnings: sex sex sexxx but not smut, mentions of injuries, typical pregnancy talk

Words: 3.7k

Rating: M

Summary: Tony grapples with the fact that, after finally getting you pregnant, you’re a bit more pregnant than either of you expected.

or

In which almost every important thing since you met Tony seems to happen in the backseat of a car.

Had an exact idea for this, and it just came out for once, ending me with a sweet little one-shot I’m happy to say came out exactly how I wanted. Hope you enjoy!

Little unfun fact, I may have broken my foot halfway through finishing this. Won’t know till tomorrow, but I am quite pissed

Also want to note that I didn’t notice till I was about half done, but there’s not actual reference to Tony being Iron Man or having the arc reactor anywhere in this. I didn’t exactly do this on purpose but it felt worth pointing out

Ao3 link

“No. No, that’s entirely too many.” 

Tony was sat beside you at your ultrasound appointment, squinting to get a better look at the image being displayed. 

“Tony…” you started, though you weren’t sure how to continue. 

He pulled his hands out of his pockets, standing up. 

“Did I hit my head?” He tapped the monitor, and the doctor gave you a disapproving look you could do nothing but shake your head at, shrugging. 

“Are you seeing this?” He looked at you, head at a tilt. 

“Yes. I told you.” 

“You’re kidding me. Tell me you’re kidding me, this has got to be some sort of prank.” 

He tapped his foot in relative silence for a moment, chewing his lip. 

“We’ve got to downsize.” You gave him an unamused frown, to which he put his hands up defensively. 

“Only joking.” He said. 

“Don’t even.” You said. Any way you interpreted that wasn’t funny. 

“What’s the odds on that, by the way?” He inquired. 

“IVF brings a much higher chance of multiples, so not that unlikely, actually.” 

You’d only gone for artificial methods after banging for almost a year with no results. 

Despite supplements and tracking and Tony stepping it up, something just wasn’t working. 

You’d brought it up when he made it home late one night. 

“You look lively after fourteen hours.” You said from the couch as Tony walked in, dumping his briefcase by the stairs for later. 

“Private plane’ll do that. I’m not even tired, I think I’ve grown immune to jet lag.” 

“How’d it go?” 

“It was wild. They asked about you. I said you’d gotten into beekeeping.” 

“That’s what we’re saying now?” You teased. 

“Hey, whatever they’ll print.” 

“Appreciate it.” 

You could only manage flying once or twice a year, otherwise? You could handle not seeing Tony for a few days. In fact, more times than not you could use it. 

“Aside that, it has been a hell of a day. Meet you in bed?” 

“Sure thing.” 

With that and a kiss on the cheek, he went off to the bathroom. 

You headed to the bedroom, and a few minutes later Tony joined you, already stripped to his slacks. 

“God you look sexy when you do that.” He murmured, pulling off his socks and getting on the bed next to you. 

“I’m not doing anything,” 

“Exactly. You don’t need to.” 

He tugged off what little you were wearing, situating himself between your legs. 

“You gotta shave if I’m gonna do this.” He blew a tuft of hair off his forehead. 

“You offered.” 

“As if I’m going to pass it up, please. Waiter? There’s a hair in my meal.” He spat, picking at his tongue, making you giggle. 

He smiled. finished undressing and crawled up to kiss you, pulling you down by the waist off the headboard to on your back in the pillows. 

You stared ahead, brow drawn as he pulled your leg up over his shoulder. 

“Jesus that feels like coming home.” He huffed. 

“Tony?” 

“Yeah?”  

“Why haven’t I gotten pregnant yet?” He slowed, giving you a look. 

“Well I wouldn’t know. Hormones, cycles, the whole thing‘s finicky, never really made sense of it myself.” 

”Tony.” You voiced with a groan, scrunching your nose. 

“You want me to stop right now and answer?” 

“No, I just– I’m serious.” 

“So am I. I don’t know.” 

You sat up on your elbows, and Tony sighed, dropping your leg and sitting back. “Think maybe we should try something different?” You said. 

“Like what?” 

“You know.” 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Not to be possessive, or whatever it’s called now, but I really don’t like to share.” 

“Oh Jesus, Tony, no! I mean like artificial insemination, IVF, you know, that kind of thing.” 

“Thank god. Though I was afraid you meant that.” He sighed, resting on his haunches. “Frick.” 

“You don’t want to?” 

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” he scratched his chin. “Actually, yes it is. I don’t want to. Scoot.” 

You moved over so he could pull his legs out from under him and climb up next to you, pushing the covers out of the way, gesturing for you. 

You laid back into his arms.

“No, we’ll keep trying. It’ll sort itself out, I’m sure.” 

“Any particular reason?” 

“Do we have to get into it? I just don’t want to.” 

“All right then.” You leaned up and kissed him, pulling him against you. 

You liked Tony because you hadn’t known who he was when you met him. He was stranded from some failed scheduling, and in the backseat of a ride share he’d asked to borrow your phone like any other person would.  

“Really, just one call and I’ll give it right back.” 

You'd rolled your eyes, but handed it over. “You should put your seatbelt on.” You had said. 

“I’m like ten minutes from where I’m going, this guy doesn’t care.” 

And then when he gave it back to you, you had found his number in it. 

You’d called him the next day, of course, with full intent to tell him to buzz off, only to be stunned into intrigue. 

“Great. Now I have yours.” Had been all he said before hanging up. 

After that, you texted near daily. He wasn’t always the greatest at responding, so you preferred video calls. It was like that for months before you finally went out. You played hard to get, right up until he got you. 

You had told him it was on one condition, that he wouldn’t chew you up and spit you out like he did to supermodels and reporters, or say, his secretary. 

That if you were going to date him, and really date him, that he’d have to be all in, it was you or bust; you weren’t going to let him play you into something just for it to fall through. 

Not when you knew he was the only one for you. 

He’d only said one thing to that: “Done.” 

And two weeks later he proposed to you on live television. 

The media still didn’t believe, no matter how many times Tony said you were special, that you were going to last. 

Stuff spread fast as soon as you were seen in public together, journalists certain you were his latest in a long line of heartless flings. 

So you agreed to help him change that. 

“Go easy on her, yeah? She’s not used to television, but it's cool, because she agreed to be here with me, and honestly that’s enough work in a relationship on its own, I think she’s clear for the year.” Watching Tony beam on camera, every ounce of charm working, was worth it on its own. 

“Well we’ve got some great stuff planned for tonight, so don’t you worry.” 

You smiled, seated on that couch next to him in front of a whole studio audience and probably millions of viewers, because although you felt out of place, and a little in over your head, Tony kept his hand on yours damn near the entire time. 

Despite being asked a few questions, Tony answered most of them for you, dismissing any negative rhetoric coming your way, which you appreciated, because you could hardly believe the audacity of some of the things they were saying. 

You wouldn’t have agreed to do it if Tony hadn’t let you pick your own outfit, a loose, patterned jumpsuit, and made sure you didn’t have to wear any makeup that you didn’t usually. 

You got to show off when they asked about it, giving a spin Tony stayed holding your hand through, to lots of claps and applause, which would’ve been your highlight of the night if not for what came right after. 

“Well might I just say I think I speak for everyone when I say you look amazing tonight,” the interviewer complimented a little too gushingly, eyeing you. 

“Hey, easy. I am taken.” You spoke up, smiling thinly. 

“Fiery; I like it. Where’s he been keeping you!” 

“Wherever she pleases,” Tony said. “As it turns out, because I don’t keep her.”

“So, last question, have you thought about settling down?” The interviewer pivoted, letting you breathe easier, not wanting but more than willing to make a scene over anything more.

“Thought about? Oh yeah.” Tony said. “We’re pretty inseparable as it is. I don’t go a day without talking to her.” He glanced at you, brown eyes shining. “We’ve discussed it a little. Playfully, mostly. I don’t doubt why she doesn’t always take me seriously.” 

“Does marriage scare you?” The interviewer asked. 

“Terrifies, if I’m honest. But actually, it’s more the asking, you know, the hardest part is deciding when is a good time.” 

You straightened your back, alert as Tony leaned back to dig around in the pocket of his suit before standing, giving you a nod as you stared at him with wide eyes, getting down on one knee. 

You could feel how red your face must’ve been with all the cameras on you. 

“You’d make me the happiest man on Earth if you said yes.” 

The interview had been to announce you were together, among other things, after months of tabloids and speculation, to clear things up. Though the way Tony had phrased it beforehand made it all make a lot more sense. 

“I just wanna let the world know I’ve met someone really special, and I’ve changed. I want to show them.” He adjusted your mic backstages behind the tech’s back, placing his hands on your upper arms. 

“Because things are gonna change.” 

The interview blew up, and pictures of your red, tear stained, smiling face as Tony hugged you, engagement ring held up, displayed proudly on your hand, were in articles and magazines the world over. 

All the attention was a little overwhelming, but you were the most thrilled you had ever been in your life to be engaged to Tony Stark. 

He’d asked you after, on the way home, if it was too much, but you assured him it was perfect. 

“I thought about it immediately when I was asked to do the interview, and I knew if I didn’t do it then I was going to put it off. So I’m, how you say…”

“Sorry?”

“That.” You gave him an expectant eyebrow raise. 

“I’m… sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but you don’t deserve that, being strung out.” 

“It was very you. I still can’t believe I didn’t see it coming, I was so nervous.” 

“I saw that, I was afraid you’d faint.” 

“Oh lord, don’t even say that!” You laughed, giving him a shove. 

“It’s fine, I would’ve caught you.” He kissed your ear, giving it a tug with his teeth before you threw your arms over his shoulders and pushed him into a breathless kiss. 

You first started trying for a baby four months after the wedding. 

“Hey, be here when we’re done, yeah? It’s gonna be a long night. You get in there, get yourself a drink, enjoy.” Tony dismissed the cab driver with a tip. 

“I cannot stand when they talk. Tell me again why we couldn’t get a limo?” You were fidgeting, not because of nerves, but excitement. 

“Whatcha smilin’ about? It’s just an action flick, probably not even good.” You would forever commend Tony on his ability to read a room, mood, or vibe without seeming to even look. Especially when it came to you. 

“I was going to tell you when we got home tonight.” 

“Tell me…?” He tilted his head at you, doing that thing with his lips that never failed to make your chest tight. “We’re not getting back till late, come on.” He urged. 

“You know we were talking last month, and I– I took it to heart.” 

“Oh?” 

You took a deep breath. “I stopped taking my birth control yesterday.” 

His eyes lit up. “You serious?” 

“I think I’m ready.” You nodded. 

He all but tackled you in the backseat of that cab, littering your jaw in kisses before moving down to your cleavage, making you yelp. 

“It’s not going to work yet!” You laughed. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try. Celebratory sex, you, me, now.” 

“Tony…! We’ve got a premiere!” 

He brought up his watch, squinting. 

“I’ve got ten minutes and a hard-on, seriously, they’re still playing ads, we won’t miss a thing. And ‘sides, I gotta practice dropping my pullout game.” 

“You are unbelievable.” 

“Won’t make a mess, swear it.” 

“God I love you.” You gripped his lapel, pulling him into a kiss. 

Having straightened out your two-piece and fixed Tony’s hair, grinning when he gave your ass a more than friendly pat, you started the couple blocks to the theater. 

“Right, let’s hurry.” You crossed the street, close by his side. 

“You really cut it close.” You shook your head at him, double checking your clothes. 

“Completely worth it. Do it again in a heartbeat.” 

You swore you always felt like a teenager with their first crush around him, the way he looked at you, always excited you were in the room. 

He took your hand, letting his fingers thread with yours. 

“hey so, I promise I’m gonna be a better dad than mine was. I know I’m not great, but… I promise I’m gonna be decent.” 

“You’re already half there.” You squeezed his hand, giving him a nudge. 

“You think so?” 

“I wouldn’t have married you otherwise.” 

He kissed the crown of your head, before lights and cameras surrounded you both on the carpet. 

But not everything had been roses. 

A few months after that, you’d both been in an accident. 

Tony had been driving, when a tire blew along a turn, sending the car over the side of the highway into the bushes. 

He'd gone through the windshield, hitting the hood and landing a few feet in front of the car in the dirt. 

You scrambled to unfasten your seatbelt, stumbling dazedly out the passenger door onto your hands, shaking it off and rushing to Tony.

“Oh my god, Tony!” Relief washed over you as he groaned when you turned him over. 

“Ow .” 

“Are you hurt?” 

“Jesus, duh.” He felt his face and chest, blinking through the bleary vision. 

“Just my head, I think, but holy shit.” 

You helped him up into the backseat, pulling out your phone and dialing 911. 

“I’m calling an ambulance.” 

You grabbed Tony’s handkerchief for the bleeding from his head, telling the operator where you were and what happened, as well as your husband’s condition. 

“Right, they’re on their way. Don’t lean back, sit up.” 

”We should try IVF.” 

“What?” 

“You mentioned it, and I know I said I was against it, but I think we need to look into it.” 

“Tony we were just in a car crash–”

“Yeah and I really put something into perspective for me. I really don’t want to die before we manage to conceive.” 

“That’s what you were thinking about?” You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath. 

“Deadass, sweetie. Imagine how ridiculous it would be if we ended up childless at like fifty because I was too worried about being seen as inadequate.” 

“You’re kidding me. That’s why you didn’t want to?” 

“Come on. It should be obvious. I spent years sleeping around, making my name synonymous with sex, and I can’t even get my wife pregnant? I would never live that down.” 

“Hey, it was not for lack of trying.” 

“Don’t I know it.” He huffed, wincing as you checked where you’d been staunching his head. 

“I want kids with you.” He said. “And I mean that.” 

“Yeah, okay.” You nodded. 

“Okay? Okay.”  

A half hour or so later the ambulance showed up, and you spent the rest of the evening getting Tony stitches. 

He’d been lucky a concussion and a couple fractured ribs was all he got off with, and he wouldn’t have even gotten that if he’d been wearing a seatbelt. 

“I guess there’s something to be said for getting it over with.” Back in the present, Tony was still talking himself into the news. 

“What do I know, maybe it’s incredibly efficient.” He sighed. “How many did you want again?” 

“Like, two?” You threw out. 

“Surprise, bonus for ya.” He gestured like he was pulling a slot machine. “You struck a three for one, cash-in is in eight months. Hope you know this is your early birthday gift. Christmas too.” 

“That’s a relief.” You shook your head, remembering the last time Tony tried to get you something, and just how much of a disaster it was. 

“Don’t make fun of me, I’m in a very vulnerable place right now.” He teased, but you could tell there was some seriousness behind it. 

“Three kids…” he exhaled a drawn out breath. 

“You’re gonna do great.” You said. 

“I am? I should be the one telling you. It is safe, correct?” He addressed the doctor. 

“We’ll have to see how the pregnancy develops, twins and triplets are almost always born premature, which adds risk to any delivery.” 

“And they are?” The doctor gave him a confused look. 

“Boys? Girls? Other? All of the above?” 

“It’s too early to tell.” 

“Of course. What was I thinking. Right, well, thanks for the news.” 

He was quiet as you wrapped up, getting cleaned up, and printed off your pictures—three little fuzzy black and white shapes. 

“You good?” You asked out in the hall, on your way to the rear exit, noticing how out of it Tony looked. 

“I’m gonna need to think about it. I’m kinda tingly in the fingers, my heart’s racing, I think I’m still in denial.” 

As you approached the glass door, Tony stopped you with an arm, biting his lip. 

“Shit.” 

You followed his gaze to the moderately sized crowd outside, feeling your heart sink. 

“Oh goddamnit.” 

“Don’t people have anything better to do with their lives?” Tony muttered. 

“How. We took surface roads and parked behind the hospital!” You groaned. 

“Where there's a me there’s a camera hoping to catch something. Car’s close, yeah?” He asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“Right. Deep breath.” 

He tugged off his jacket, covering you as you made your way to the car, ducking you inside while camera flashes snapped from every direction. 

“Mister Stark! Mister Stark! Are you currently going through IVF treatment?” 

“Is your wife expecting?” 

“Sir, is it true you’re going to be a father soon?” 

“Fine, you might as well know now.” He caught your eye through the gap of the tinted car window, and you furrowed your brow. 

“My wife and I are expecting. We’re having triplets.” He said. 

“And that’s a you get.”  

You moved over as he opened the door and got in the seat beside you, quickly shutting it behind him. 

“I can’t believe you just did that.” 

“Yeah, believe it, before I change my mind.” 

“You can’t take it back now!” 

“Well yeah, but if I could, you would have to accept that I wouldn’t, unless I changed my mind, or you really wanted me to, in which case I’d figure it out.” 

“What?” 

“Nevermind.” He rolled up his window the rest of the way, drowning out the paparazzi still clamoring for his attention outside. 

“Hey,” you put your hand on his thigh. “Thank you, Tony.” 

“I’m not the one who’s going to have three human beings inside her, and not in a fun way. Jesus, you’re going to get huge.” He looked down at your stomach, then back up into your eyes. 

“You’re having triplets?” Happy exclaimed from the front seat. 

“Christ, Happy, you are not a part of this conversation.” Tony gave a dramatic slump against his headrest, throwing his hand up. “Is privacy dead!” 

“Yes, we’re having triplets.” You confirmed with a smile. 

Tony turned back to you. “But you are welcome. My sperm and all. Sorry I couldn’t get it the old fashioned way.” 

“I am not complaining.” 

Happy started the car. 

“Seatbelt,” you gave Tony's arm a tap with the back of your hand, and he quickly buckled himself in, kissing his fingers as you drove off. 

“What’s that for?” You asked. 

“I’m kissing my free time goodbye.” He exhaled heavily. 

“Half the house is going to be kids’ stuff, isn’t it?” 

“Half the house is going to be kids’ stuff.” You chuckled. 

“Not the basement.” 

“Basement can stay.” You assured him. 

“I’m gonna have to uninstall the fountain, aren’t I? It’s just not safe.” 

“I wasn’t gonna say it.” 

“Holy shit, what are we gonna name them!” He interjected,, his expression somewhere between panicked and elated. 

“‘Cause all I’ve only got Maria. That’s it. Does first to pop out get priority, or…?” He showed his teeth, gesturing. “There’s gotta be at least one girl out of three, right?” 

“Actually, I was thinking Virginia for a girl.” 

“That’s funny.“ He deadpanned. 

“She’s been a big help.” You shrugged. 

“You got me laughing.” He shook his head. 

“But seriously. I’m typically great at naming things, but, people who can get mad at me later– not to mention something I’m gonna have to call out across the house only about three million times, I’m not so sure if I want that to be my mom’s name.”

“We’ll figure it out.” You ran a hand through where his hair had shuck loose to hang in his eyes, kissing his cheek. 

It was wild to think less than a two years ago you’d met him for the very first time, and now you were closer to him than anyone, married and having kids. 

“Hey Happy, closest drive through with ice cream?” Tony leaned forward to ask. 

“You know this woman had ice cream every day while she was pregnant, and apparently, full fat ice cream has like fourteen grams of protein per cup? It’s nuts. More if you add nuts now I think about it. That’s not a bad idea. Butter pecan?” 

“Ice cream sounds great right now.” 

“I’m not suggesting you do that, but as far as becoming a picky eater goes… not the worst idea.” 

You pulled through a Dairy Queen, getting two butter pecan ice creams. 

Tony pulled out his phone and held up his spoon, clinking it with yours. 

“To becoming parents.” He toasted, kissing a bit of pecan off your upper lip, snapping a picture of you both as you laughed. 

[storytowrite]

Seven deadly sins (OT8 x F! Reader)

-> Sin Four: Envy |Kim Seungmin|

Genre: Suggestive, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 1067

Warnings: 18+

Summary: Y/N performed every one of the deadly sins and that's means that she's going to hell.

----------

You woke up in bed alone. You were still in the third room, however, there was no Hyunjin by your side, with whom you had spent... actually, how much time? You had lost count long ago.  But was it actually that important? 

You finally decided to get out of bed and look for Hyunjin. After all, he couldn't have gone far, right? In the end, he himself invited you to the third room and, as a host, he should look after you. 

You looked around the room. There were definitely more women in it now. This surprised you a bit. Why so many of them? Did Hyunjin also invite them, just like he invited you? 

Last night Hyunjin made you feel special, but now, seeing so many beautiful women around, you begin to feel insecure. You didn't like the feeling. Your gaze finally located Hyunjin, who was sitting among the other girls and joking with them. 

You heard his laughter. One of the girls put her hand on his thigh, and another whispered something in his ear, which made him laugh. You squint your eyes. You didn't like it one bit. Why would Hyunjin turn to some girls after such a good, intoxicating night? You were overwhelmed with jealousy. Hyunjin's laughter began to become louder and louder. And you began to be eaten up more and more by envy. You didn't like the fact that he was sitting among other women. That he was letting them touch him. You decided to confront him. 

“Hyunin?” You started while standing in front of him. “Can you explain to me what all this is supposed to mean?” 

“Hm? What do you mean?” He asked, raising his eyebrow slightly. “What do you have a problem with, my muse?” 

“What do you mean, what do I have a problem with! You spent the whole previous evening with me and now...” You started, but he didn't let you finish. 

“Love, you are not my girlfriend. You let your emotions get carried away and now you are suffering the consequences. Not my fault.” He shrugged his shoulders dismissively. Well, he didn’t care about you. 

You looked at him in disbelief. Last night he was definitely saying something different from what he represented now. You watched as the women around him became bolder and bolder in touching him and whispering sweet nothings. Hyunjin apparently liked this, because his face expressed satisfaction. 

You boiled inside. How could he treat you like this? Like some kind of thing? You watched the view in front of your eyes for a while. One of the women sat down on Hyunjin's lap. You clenched your jaws with jealousy. 

“Are you okay?” You heard suddenly next to you. You glanced at the owner of the voice. A tall man, not much shorter than Hyunjin, appeared right next to you. 

“No, it's not okay.” You burbled, watching as the woman on Hyunjin's lap began placing kisses on his neck. 

“Ah, you've fallen victim to Hyunjin's charm.” The man spoke up with a slight smile that you didn't notice. 

“And what do you know?” You snorted, rolling your eyes. 

“Believe me, beautiful, I know.” He smiled warmly at you. “I'm Seungmin, and you, jealous?” 

“I'm not jealous.” You denied and turned toward him. “I am Y/N.” 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Would you like to join me?” He asked, offering you his arm. 

“Huh? Join where?” You asked slightly confused. 

“You'll see.” He winked. “I'll take you where few people have the opportunity to enter. What do you think? You'll make them jealous.” Seungmin said this loud enough that the women surrounding Hyunjin looked at you. 

“Ah yes? Then let's go.” You agreed. 

Seungmin smiled and, giving you his arm, led you to the exit of the third room. On your way out, you looked over your shoulder some more and looked towards Hyunjin, who, despite everything, did not look happy. 

Seungmin led you to another room. This one was black with green accents. You looked around you. It was the first time you had seen such a vibrant color combination. You liked it. You were in the fourth room. 

Appetite grows as you eat. Getting to the fourth room was easy. You spent a great time with its host, Seungmin. Seungmin was funny and intelligent. His comments were always on point. His stories were entertaining. You could listen to him forever. 

However, some doubts and questions began to arise in your mind. How did you get through four rooms in one evening, out of seven, when for years you couldn't even advance to the second room? 

You began to have some doubts. Something wasn't right, however, you couldn't tell what exactly. How long had you been at the club actually? How much time had passed? A couple of hours? One day? Several? You were so preoccupied with it all that you couldn't tell. You lost track of time. 

And yet, you longed to find out what the other rooms looked like. You longed to get to the seventh, or even the eighth - which was probably just a rumor, but your senses said otherwise. 

“Hey, Seungmin? Can I ask you a question?” You decided to ask your host. 

“Huh? Sure, what's the matter Y/N?” He glanced at you from over his drink. 

“Actually, I have a few questions.... First, how long have I been here? Have I lost track of time? What time are you closing the club?” 

“Oh beautiful, it's hard to say.” The man glanced at his watch, which you hadn't noticed before. “It looks like you've only been here a few hours.” 

“Hm? How is that possible? I'll give my head cut off that I've been here more than a day.” You said, puzzled. 

“I don't know anything about that, Y/N. Our club was recently opened.... Maybe you drank too much?” Seungmin suggested. “Or maybe just not enough?” He smiled slightly. “I'll ask Changbin to take you to our special bar. Only the lucky ones can go in there. The others here, if they see you crossing about that door will be boiling with jealousy.” He persuaded you. 

You looked at him and contemplated. Your doubts began to fade. In the end, you felt pride, greed and desire inside you, and the envy of others made you want even more. You were hungry for new experiences.

----------

-> Masterlist <- Lust | Gluttony ->

Taglist: @dinogal97 @velvetmoonlght

[lillaydee]

The Unlucky One

Joel Miller (No Outbreak AU) / F Reader

When it comes to love, Lady Luck seems to have lost your address. After being left at the altar without so much of an explanation, you decided love is no longer something you are interested in. Not even meeting an unlucky-in-love-himself Mr. Grump could change your mind.

Right?

Let me know if you want to be tagged, or if you want to be removed from the tag list.

WARNINGS: Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Grumpy Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Idiots in Love, unlucky in love, Child Abandonment, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us)

@peelieblue, @vickie5446, @harriedandharassed, @lovefreylove

SERIES MASTER LIST

---

“God, I cannot believe this is what my life has come to! I must be the unluckiest person on earth when it comes to love!” the young lady moaned, drowning her sorrows in yet another tequila shot, as her friends coaxed her, telling her no, she’s not unlucky, she just hadn’t found the right guy.

“Come on, guys, there were ten of them in that group, not even the frumpiest one took a second look at me!” she continued, gesturing at the bartender to give her another, looking longingly at a group of young men who were, at the time, shamelessly ogling at a group of ladies your age walking by in kaftans that might as well have not been there – the barely there bikinis clearly visible through the flowy, see-through materials.

“I think they just preferred older ladies, sweetheart,” her friend said, slyly pushing the freshly poured tequila out of the way. “How about we get you some coffee huh? It’s not even five yet, sweetie. We’re in Bali! Let’s enjoy our time here, okay?”

The young lady scoffed, “As if I could, knowing that Ed is currently unloading his stuff into the whore’s apartment!”

The ladies surrounded her with hugs and coos, telling her to forget that bastard, let’s enjoy the holiday, okay?

“I’m telling you, I challenge anyone, ANYONE!” she yelled out to the entire bar, which went quiet for a bit before breaking into it's buzz again, “To tell me they are unluckier than me when it comes to love. Heck, I bet you a thousand bucks no one has it worse than me.”

You couldn’t help yourself. You snorted into your drink.

And just like that, five pairs of eyes snapped towards you.

“You taking the challenge, lady?” the young lady slurred, despite her eyes being so sharply trained on you.

“I don’t know,” you said, turning your body towards them. “Let’s hear your story, and then I’ll decide if mine is worth telling.”

She adjusted herself to be a bit more stable in her seat, taking a deep breath.

“Well, let’s see. My parents divorced and remarried and divorced again before I was ten, married and divorced so many other people I’ve lost count of how many step parents I have, shutting me up with money to keep me happy. I’ve been with my ex Ed since high school, thought I would finally have some stability in life. We went to college together, birds of a feather, all that. I thought we were golden. Ten years! And a month ago, I found out he had been cheating on me all along with his girl best friend, the one he kept telling me to not worry about. The one who was supposedly seeing someone else that conveniently, didn’t have a name, or had never been introduced to us despite the fact that we all grew up together. I came home early one night and found them in our bed, that I paid for, in my house, that I bought!”

“And you know what’s worse? He actually told me he stayed with me for my money! She didn’t have the money, nor the education to help him out financially, so now that we’ve all graduated and working, he can provide for her! So bubbye me, hello filthy whore who stood by and let him flirt with and later fuck someone else for ten years just so that he could have a roof over his head and money in his pocket! And now, I’m on vacation, where I can’t even find one man who would hook up with me!”

She burst into tears.

You wanted to laugh, but managed to rein yourself in.

“How old are you sweetie?”

“23,” she answered through sobs, her friends clamouring to give her tissues.

“Oh, sweetheart…” you said, refraining yourself from calling her a ‘sweet summer child’, “You have a long way to go, I’m afraid. Life’s gonna throw so much more shit at you before you find happiness.”

Her sobs lessened as she asked you, “How old were you when you finally found it?”

You smiled, lifting your hands, crossing both sets of your forefinger and middle finger together, “Any day now.”

Somehow, that gesture put a smile on her face, although it may have been from pity. “So, you wanna take me on my challenge?”

You thought to yourself, why the hell not. Better out than in, right? So you ordered another margarita and told the five young ladies your story.

**********

You were the product of a drunken mistake. Your parents were going through a divorce, and one night of drinking too much at a party in an attempt to be civil with each other ended with you in your mother’s womb. They divorced anyway, but at first, agreed to co-parent.

About two weeks after you were born, your Dad met Frank. Your mother didn’t take it well when she found out. As you grew up, it became evident that she hated you, the only love you ever received from her household was from your Grandparents. She completely ignored you, chastising you for everything that went wrong in her life. So as you began to understand your surrounding more, you started avoiding her, knowing that you were not welcomed in her vicinity, going to your Grandparents with your cuts and woes, throwing tantrums when your Dad dropped you off after spending the weekends at his and Frank’s.

When school started, your Dad wanted you to stay with him and Frank, wanting to enrol you in the school where Frank taught, the best school in the county. Your mother fought tooth and nail against it, though it took you a long time to understand why. Not like she had to pay for it. Not like she spent any time with you when you were home with her. It was a miracle your Dad refrained from taking her to the courts over it, thinking of the trauma it would put you through. When you turned ten, your Grandma passed away, leaving your mother quite a bit of money. She used some to purchase a house nearer to your Dad’s. Just a few streets away from that school he wanted to enrol you in. One would think it was for your benefit, but no. 

See, she had decided that she simply needed another child to be happy. So she adopted your sister, Nell, who was five at the time. Nell, apparently, had more promise than you, so she would actually benefit from that expensive school, but not you. Your Dad was furious, so was your Grandpa, and the two of them enrolled you at the school anyway. And oh, she was going to have to pay for Nell’s fees herself. Your Dad only agreed to pay for you. After all, he didn’t adopt Nell. She did. Boy oh boy was your mother displeased. So how did she repay him?

By making your life as miserable as she could.

Anything your Grandpa or Dad bought you, became Nell’s. Mommy-daughter days consisted of her and Nell going places, eating the finest foods, while you sat in the car. Your birthdays consisted of nothing from her, but Nell’s deserved a bouncy castle and a petting zoo. You had to eat TV dinners, while Nell got homecooked meals made from scratch with the finest ingredients.

And what did your Grandpa and Dad do?

Nothing.

They did nothing, because you told them nothing. You were puzzled by the way your mother treated you, wanting to earn her affection, convinced that you had done something wrong to earn her wrath, so you didn’t say anything. She always sent you to your Dad’s and Grandpa’s in your finest clothes, the ones they bought for you, the ones that Nell was too little to fit into. And because you never complained, they were none the wiser.

You had your first boyfriend when you were 16. Kyle. He was sweet. Your Dad, Grandpa and Frank loved him. Your mother? Not so much. Why? Because see, your sister, the 11 year old, had a crush on him. And you were standing in the way of her happiness. She did everything she could to get Kyle away from you. He didn’t budge, though, the sweet boy that he was.

But then, he was also your first heartbreak.

He was your first. The two of you had gotten a motel room prom night. You thought the night went well, for your first time. But you woke up to him crying at the foot of the bed, fully dressed.

He told you he was gay.

He had suspected, for quite a while, but didn’t want to believe it, not when his parents were the way they were.

And how did your mother react to the revelation? When you went home crying to her? She laughed. She told you it served you right for turning your own Dad gay. He wasn't before you came along. And then you arrived, and voila! Bill and Frank happened. Clearly, that was your doing.

And that was the day you found out the reason she hated you so much. Turned out, she had hoped that she and your Dad would reconcile after your birth. Instead, he found Frank. Naturally, it was your fault. At two weeks old.

Your Dad and Grandpa almost killed Kyle, but when they found out his own father had kicked him out of the house for being gay, your Grandpa took him in, even paid for his college tuition. Try as you might, you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate him, much less be angry at him. So Kyle remained in your life, one of your best friends to this day.

And the boyfriends that came after him?

Well, the second and third boyfriend you had was during your early college years, just a few months each. Both broke up with you without explanation after meeting your mother and Nell. It seemed they were uncomfortable with the fact that your underaged sister liked to accidentally run into them while half-naked in the house when you were asleep, or that one of them woke up to her touching him inappropriately while he was sleeping on the couch, something your mother insisted, claiming she didn’t trust you enough to not whore around under her roof. You didn’t even find out until years after. They were just so uncomfortable they didn’t even want to tell you.

Eric, your fourth boyfriend whom you met at 21 managed to remain your boyfriend for a whole year. He was the first man you were in love with. He was the greatest. So caring, loving, romantic. He was the first person you actually started dreaming of a future with. You made plans with him. You were all set to move in together after graduation, saving money on the side to purchase your own place together, start a life together. You thought you were set. You were wondering if your mother or Nell had said something to your previous boyfriends, so you refrained from taking him home to meet them.

But your mother guilted you into coming home for her birthday, where shockingly, she insisted that Eric stay with you in your old room rather than the couch. She and Nell were so nice to him you actually thought they were turning a new leaf.

Well, you thought wrong. Nell went to bed early, but your mother, you and Eric celebrated until well near midnight. Eric went up first, drunk from all the wine your mother kept pouring into his glass. Your mother had asked you to help her with the dishes after the little celebration, and you walked into your room an hour later to a passed out Eric sleeping on your bed, your sister wrapped around him.

Naked.

When you screamed at them, Eric woke up, confused, immediately pushing Nell off him when he realized it was her, and not you. She had visited him in the dark room naked while you were downstairs, and he was drunk. He thought it was you.

Nell was sobbing, telling your mother that he had willingly taken her virginity, and now he was denying it. Your mother screamed at you to get out, telling you how worthless you were for bringing him into her home.

He swore to you he was innocent, and you believed him. But the two of you could never bounce back from the incident. So you broke up, both of you heartbroken. You didn’t see him for a few weeks after that.

Until your mother called and asked to meet. When you got there, Eric was there too, confused at what was going on, not understanding why your mother had contacted him too.

Nell was pregnant.

Your mother demanded he marry her. He refused, only to be met with the threat of a police report, for raping a minor.

You could see Eric’s face turn white. Nell was a few months shy of 17. She was underaged. And there was no evidence to show she had done what she did, although you never doubted his version of the story. Even she didn’t deny it. But now the story had changed. She now insisted that he had raped her. And there was nothing he could do to prove otherwise. Not even your Dad, who ran his own law firm, could help him.

Despite your break up, you were devastated. You loved him. And now you had to watch him marry your underaged sister? You’d decided to attend so that he would have someone on his side. No one was there for him. His parents disowned him. His friends left him. Everyone believed he was a child rapist. You pleaded with them to believe him. You did. Why couldn’t they? They called you an enabler. Accused you of setting the whole thing up. Of trapping him to get into your mother and sister’s good graces. You felt helpless. So you went to the bathroom to cry it out after yet another futile last minute attempt to get his parents to at least see reason.

Your mother walked in and found you, shouting at you to stop being so dramatic and be happy for your sister. “Be thankful to her,” she said. “At least now he won’t turn gay. You know it was a matter of time before you turned him too.”

You could only sit and watch as the two of them got married. Conveniently, she lost the baby a week later. And when Eric tried to annul the marriage, the threat of statutory rape was again waved in his face. And just like that, Eric, the man you were in love with, the man you had planned a future with, the one who was going to be a doctor, ceased to exist.

A new man replaced him. One who was drunk all the time. Who did drugs. Who dropped out of college and couldn’t hold on to a job. Your heart broke every time you saw him. Any attempt to help him was met with accusations of trying to steal him away from Nell. And he was just as stubborn, refusing to hear you, refusing help, refusing any kind of hope altogether. Three whole years you tried. Every single day, you tried. It came to a point where he didn’t even answer your calls. Refused to see you at all, holed up in your old bedroom, which he apparently moved into after he and Nell married, having nowhere else to go.

So you gave up. You had to. You couldn’t possibly help someone who didn’t want to be helped. And the headache your mother and sister was giving you, all the accusations, all the snide remarks about wanting him back, not to mention bringing up Kyle and your Dad over and over again, were not doing you any good.

Shamefully, you didn’t cut contact with them, still yearning for your mother’s approval, even if she had made it quite clear through her actions that you would never receive it. You hoped. You distanced yourself, but you stayed in touch.

But then, a year later, your Grandpa passed. He left you everything. His properties, his money, everything. He had learnt of your mother and Nell’s antiques by then. Not one cent was given to your mother or Nell. That, it seemed, cemented your mother’s hatred for you. She took you to court, unsuccessfully. Your Grandpa’s will was ironclad. And your mother declared, right there outside the court building, that you were no daughter of hers.

So you stopped trying. No more.

You moved on. Graduated, moved to another city, started your Masters, and met Andrew.

Five years later, you were living the life in this new city. Your life with Andrew couldn’t be more perfect. You moved in with him, and for once in your life, you were happy. Really happy. You loved him, and he, you. Your Dad and Frank loved him, and he, them. His family loved you, and you, them. You had completed your Masters and was carefully planning to open your own business, which he fully supported, free-lancing in the mean time for the experience. Your mother and Nell were no longer in your periphery, although you did tell him about them. Your Dad and Frank travelled to the city often to see you, they were even present when Andrew proposed to you. He had thoughtfully called them and flew them in. Them, and your best friend Maria. They and his family were hiding, surprising you with their presence when you said yes. For the first time in your life, at age 30, you were deliriously happy.

But as the wedding approached, he changed. He got distant, coming home later and later, sometimes not coming home at all, blaming it on work stress. Big project, he said, deadlines, the likes. And like an idiot, you believed him.

That was until he didn’t show up at the wedding. Just ghosted you. Just like that.

As you sat in your living room, crying your eyes out, Maria, your Dad and Frank, his family with you, trying their hardest to calm you, you wondered what went wrong. Calls went unanswered, texts unread. They all stayed with you for two whole days after the wedding, and he was nowhere to be found. You woke up on the third day to his family angrily packing their things to leave, demanding you return the heirloom ring he had given you when he proposed, and they too, left without an explanation, telling you that you should be ashamed of yourself, not answering any of your questions, nor your dad’s.  

So here you were, in Bali, on what was supposed to be your honeymoon, but instead of your new husband, you were here with your best friend Maria, who was passed out from jetlag in your fancy honeymoon suite. You still had no idea what happened. Still clueless. But, as tired as you were, you couldn’t sleep. So you decided to drink your sorrows away, hoping that alcohol could help you sleep, drinking one cocktail after another, listening to the young lady’s sorrows.

**********

You downed the rest of your now watery and warm margarita, taking a deep breath, finally looking at the five pairs of eyes, all of which were now downturned with pity.

“So, did I win? I could use a grand to drink myself to death in the next week.”

They all stared at each other, taking a deep breath.

The young lady who had challenged you lunged at you, hugging you, sobbing for your misfortune. “I’m so sorry! God, your mother and sister are awful people! I’m so glad you cut them off! And your fiancé, what a jerk! At least have the balls to tell you why!”

The other ladies nodded, eyebrows scrunched, unable to think of anything to say to you. The young lady gave her card to the bartender, telling her to put a thousand dollars on your credit. You waved her hand away, telling her you were kidding. That she didn’t need to pay for anything. You just needed to rant. Make sure you weren’t overreacting, that your life was indeed, a disaster, that what you were feeling, all the hopelessness, the anxiety, the depression, were all warranted, expected, justified.

They vehemently agreed with you. Yep. Definitely justified. The young lady insisted that she at least buy you a drink, just because. You declined, telling her you were alright. “Go, enjoy your vacation,” you told her. “Your life may suck, but at least it’s way better than mine.” You picked up your little purse and got up to sleep the evening away, feeling a lot lighter now that you had unloaded it all on these girls.

“Wait,” the young lady said, holding her hand out to you. “I’m Tracy.”

You smiled, taking her hand. “Aria,” you told her.

“I hope you enjoy your vacation too, Aria, and not let those jerks in your life take this beautiful place away from you,” she said, giving you one more hug.

**********

You laid in the hammock on your balcony, wondering how the fuck your life had gone the way it did. Why did he just leave? What did you do? Was it so bad that he didn’t even think you merited an explanation? Were you supposed to know already but didn’t get it? You searched your brain, thinking about anything you might have missed. Did you perhaps say something? Do something he didn’t like that he had always complained about and he just snapped and couldn’t take it anymore? Was there an ongoing argument that slipped your memory? Did you take too much money from the joint account? Did you scratch his car?

So many questions popped up in your mind. It was making things up as it went along, asking this and that, seeing if that was a possibility of him just deciding to leave without so much as a goodbye. Was it Kyle? Was it your friendship with Kyle? It was, wasn’t it? He didn’t like that you and Kyle were watching that show together, Face Timing as you did, even when he was a good 500 miles away from you? That was it, right?

But he liked Kyle. He even called Kyle himself to invite him to the wedding. But Kyle couldn’t make it, his husband Ethan, who, incidentally, was your colleague first – you introduced them - was in an accident and had to be hospitalized. He only cancelled two days before the wedding, though. And Andrew had been distant for a few months.

Did you cheat on him with someone? Did you? You didn’t think so, but what if you forgot? Nah… that couldn’t possibly be, right?

Did you badmouth him to someone? Nag him? Shout at him?

Shit. Did he cheat on you?

That must be it, right? He found someone else and ran away with her? Or him? With your track record, you never knew. But who?

Could it be that new woman who joined his team? The one you met at the company dinner some time ago, she was just a week in, if you were not mistaken. The time sort of lined up. Vanessa, that’s her name, maybe. Or was it Valerie? He mentioned her maybe once, but you didn’t really know for sure. Oh, Vivian? Nope… Veronica? Didn’t sound right.

Danielle. That’s it.

But Danielle was happily married, you thought. You met her husband. Oh, well…  Andrew was happily engaged. Rings and marriage certificates wouldn’t stop cheaters. Right?

You felt as if someone squeezed your heart tight. You were happy. That’s what you thought. And he seemed happy too, up until these last few months. You felt blindsided. You didn’t even know what went wrong. You didn’t even have a definite answer. You didn’t even know where to go from here.

The house was his, it’s in his name, he was going to add you to the mortgage once the marriage was finalized. And now, what? You didn’t have a permanent job. There was a business plan, but now that Andrew had left, you didn’t know if you wanted to go through with it. He planned it all – what if he sued you for profit if you used the plan? Money was no issue, even if you stopped free-lancing. You had rental income from your grandpa’s properties, now yours, and there was the money he left you. But truth be told, the idea of going back to live in that city was giving you so much anxiety already you didn’t know what to do. What if you ran into him? You couldn’t go back to your old town, even the idea of being near your mother or Nell gave you itches, as much as you wanted to be near your Dad and Frank again.

What the fuck were you going to do?

Just four days ago you thought you would be here lying in this hammock with the love of your life. But now…

“Girl, I can hear you think from jetlag-land,” your best friend’s voice brought you back to reality. She came to join you on the hammock, laughing uncontrollably with you as the hammock swerved and tilted dangerously, threatening to throw you off as she climbed in and put her arm around you. You snuggled into her embrace, thankful she dropped everything to be here with you, although she insisted she was the one benefitting from this trip.

You fell asleep for a few hours and decided to order room service. You didn’t feel like meeting people. Frankly, although telling Tracy and her posse your story was therapeutic, you were rather worried that you would repeat that self-pity parade, and you didn’t want to. Where would that bring you?

But Maria begged you to come down with her. “We’re in Bali babes! Come on! mingle! Who knows, you might even meet someone to distract you!”

So you got dressed and went with her, making her promise not to make you meet anyone new. Dinner, a couple of drinks, and we will come straight up, right? Cross my heart, she said.

The restaurant was full, so the two of you made your way to the bar to wait. As you were deciding which drink to muddle your broken-hearted thoughts with, two glasses of vodka sodas were placed in front of you.

“We didn’t order these,” you quickly said.

“Courtesy of the gentlemen at the end of the bar,” she said, pointing at two men sitting together, another bartender handing them a glass of whiskey each, saying something to them while doing so. They looked at you, one looking much chirpier than the other, raising their glasses and taking a drink, looking impressed at what they were tasting.

“Oh, the one with the long hair is cute,” Maria cooed, raising her glass at them.

Well, a free drink was not a bad thing, you thought, following suit, thanking them for the drink from afar, a half-hearted smile accompanying it.

You were not even halfway through your drink when the long haired guy came to Maria.

“Hi, are you two waiting for a table too?” he asked.

“Why, yes we are,” your lawyer best friend answered, head cocking to one side, unnecessarily fixing her hair and dress, batting her eyelashes at him.

The fuck? What happened to not meeting anyone?

“Well, my brother and I just got a table, care to join us?”

“Oh, you’re so kind. We’d be honoured!” she picked up her glass and immediately went after him, taking his offered arm in hers. His brother was at the table, looking grumpy as fuck, seemingly not looking forward to dinner with a couple of strange women after all.

If you were to see your own reflection at that point, you would see the exact same look on your own face.

But… you were in a strange country, and your normally straight laced and serious lawyer best friend went through that vodka soda like it was water, so you shouldn’t leave her alone with the men who bought you alcohol. So reluctantly, you picked up your drink and followed her, who was already seated and talking to the long-haired guy as if she’d known him forever.

The grumpy one got up when you approached the table, pulling a chair for you, both of you still looking and feeling supremely annoyed at this sudden company for dinner. You gave him a reluctant smile, which he sort of returned. The two of you sat there quietly, hands on your glasses, waiting for your platonic companions to realize the table was now full. But all was in vain. The two seemed to think no one else was in the restaurant but each other. So you just got the waiter’s attention and told him what you wanted, and the Grump did the same before kicking his brother’s foot under the table, the latter and your best friend finally looking away from each other to order.

Dinner was quiet, at least on you and the Grump’s end. Maria and the brother didn’t stop chatting at all. When you finished eating, you told Maria you were going for a walk on the beach and then straight to bed. You doubted she even heard you, waving a hand at you without looking, still transfixed on the long-haired guy, who seemed equally besotted by her. You called the waiter again for the bill, but the Grump insisted on paying, grumpily, of course, just as you insisted the same, equally annoyed.

“No, you paid for the drinks, so it’s only fair…” both of you said at the same time.

Wait, what?

Your grumpy looks went away for a while, confusion taking over.

“We didn’t buy you your drinks,” both of you said, again, parroting each other.

Maria and long-haired guys stopped talking.

“Wait, we were told you bought us our drinks,” Maria said.

“We were told you bought us our drinks,” long-haired guy said.

The two of them suddenly got extremely giggly, at which point the grumpy looks on yourself and the Grump returned at full force.

When the waiter got to you, you asked for the bill, but he told you that your bill was already taken care of.

“By whom?”

“The person wishes to remain anonymous, Miss,” the waiter said, picking up the empty glasses, asking if you’d like anything else.

“Erm, no, nothing for me,” you said, still confused. Maria and Tommy mentioned they would like to go to the bar, have a drink or two. So you picked up your purse, asked the waiter to thank your benefactor for the four of you, and told Maria you were going for a walk, seeing as she didn’t really hear you the first time.

You were almost out the door when you realized the Grump had followed you. You stopped abruptly and turned to him, aggressively asking him what he was doing.

“I was just going back to my room,” he said, hands up as if worried you were going to shoot him.

Oh.

“You were going to the beach?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Let me walk you to the gate, at least? It’s dark.”

“I’m a big girl, Mr Grump, I think I could manage,” you said, before you could stop yourself, clapping your hand to your mouth at the realisation.

But before you could even apologize, he laughed. A pure, unadulterated, belly laugh. And suddenly, something shifted in you.

“I know you could, Ms Grump, didn’t mean it like that. My Mama would kill me if I didn’t offer,” he said, making you laugh yourself.

Two grumps on a holiday in Bali. Wonderful.

A group of ladies walked past, and you saw Tracy, smiling meaningfully at you, winking as she passed by, her posse giggling uncontrollably among themselves.

“You know them?” the Grump asked.

“We’ve met,” you told him. “Well, goodnight, Mr Grump,” you said, walking towards the beach.

“Good night, Ms Grump,” he said right back, standing there with his hands in his pocket until you disappeared through the gates.

When you got back about 30 minutes later, he was sitting in the lobby, still dressed in the same clothes he was wearing. Clearly, he hadn’t gone up after all, talking on the phone with someone. He hung up when he saw you, getting up and walking with you to the elevators. You didn’t punch in your floor number as he did his, exiting the elevator just as the door was about to close.

He smiled, “I’m not a creep, Ms Grump, just had to take a phone call, and now, I’m going to bed.”

“Better safe than sorry, Mr Grump,” you said, as the doors closed.

The two of you kept smiling at each other until your own reflections were all you could see on the shiny, highly polished doors.

---

Part 2

[teyrnacousland]

I've seen the headcanon that Lucanis' mother, Caterina's perfect heir, was actually similar to Illario in some ways. That she was calculating, ruthless, ambitious, obedient... all the things Caterina overlooks in Illario because Caterina sees her favourite daughter's deep brown eyes and quiet, controlled demeanor and careful planning in Lucanis.

But I am also attached to the idea that the opposite is true too. That Illario's mother shared similarities with Lucanis; that she was empathetic and stubborn, with a slight rebellious streak. But she was always outgoing and charming, was more impulsive with her emotions, and was always sharper with her tongue than with a sword, so Caterina only sees her in Illario.

I just love the idea that Caterina can't look beyond the surface and see who her grandsons really are because on some level she can't see past the ghosts reflected in their eyes. She can't see that the quiet brown eyed boy is is more of the gentle hearted rebel, and the one with blue eyes and a shining, fake smile is the ruthless leader who would do anything she asked.

[unriding]

a … a gift from the talented @kruinka 🥹 thank you so much!! ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ)

[fear-no-mort]

i cant get over the whole time in the real world rick just sat there watching over morty and when he woke up finally rick sounded SO happy the way he just yelled his name excitedly the second he woke up,,,

[mossterunderthebed]

[starbuck]

keep stressing about the goats show tomorrow, but i just have to keep reminding myself that i already saw the best set of the tour (song-wise, anyway), so whatever they do tomorrow is just icing on the cake.