#he’s so… idk a better word to say than heavy? like i guess as in with intention? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

s-4pphics · 1 year ago

Text

click!: in frame. 1 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you crave redemption more than love. [idk au]

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: professionalphotographer!ellie, strugglingartist!oc who’s black, ANGST!!, loss and unhealthy grieving, papa issues, verbally abusive parent(PLEASE TREAD LIGHTLY), depictions of therapy and counseling, light discussion of anger management, brief mention of alcohol, bullying, a lil fluff, SMUT!! YIPPEE MDNI, bondage, squirting, bathroom sex, eating out no taqueria, ellie getting sloppy from a hot milf that’s it

You look like your mom.

Your father’s admiring whisper yanks you out of the hazy turbulence in your mind. You shovel a handful of caramel popcorn in your mouth. You don’t dare look at him.

Daughter things, I guess. Your dad simply hums. Silence simmers between the two of you. It’s not comforting. Not like it should be. A bomb is coming.

Honey, I… I love you. Your father sounds like he's crying and it pauses your aggressive chewing. You finally turn to face him and your fingers twitch when you see his globby tears. They’re heavy as he releases his regrets in silence, just like he always does during this time of year.

Me, too, dad.

You’re not sure if you’re lying or not. Some things are impossible to forget, you suppose.

You eat more popcorn with a permanently damaged heart.

FOUR YEARS LATER

FIRST DAY WITH DOCTOR BROWN.

“Some people believe that any form of assistance is… insulting. Whether it be to them as people or… specific traits that they hold that others may find unfamiliar or unsettling. I’m not here to judge or anything of that nature. Just here to help you figure out why specific aspects of your life affect you the way they do.”

Your arms cross over your chest. Dr. Brown realizes you’re not taking the bait, so she attempts to get you more comfortable. “I think icebreakers could help ease some of the tension. So… What’s your favorit— “

“My dad died last year.”

Your statement makes her freeze, her smile melting off her face, eyes shifting across her face. She adjusts some papers on her clipboard and clicks her pen. “Alright, hun,” Her gentle tone makes your stomach twist. “Let’s talk about it. What was the relationship with your dad like?” You simply shrug.

Dr. Brown nods and tries again. “Were you and him close? Your notes say you and your mother were inseparable, just like me and mine.”

Your nails sink into your cuticles and tears burn in your eyes, “I… I wanted to be. Close.” You whisper. “He wasn’t around like that, though.”

She scribbles and solemnly nods, “Did he work often?” Your head bobs and droplets stream down your cheeks.

“I didn’t think I’d care that he died… He was never around growing up, so… like, whatever.” You grumble lamely.

“What did losing him feel like?”

The end of your mouth curls downward, the familiar searing you’ve grown to loathe, “Like… the world was burnin’.”

“Elaborate.” She pries softly.

Another bounce from your shoulders. You readjust in your seat. “I wasn’t even sad. Just…” You trail off, fingers twitching under your arm.

“Angry. I was angry all the time.” You rush out quietly, face burning with shame. “Just like he was.” You pause when your breath shakes, “I wish I got some of my mom’s traits. My dad’n I are just alike.” You fiddle with the sleeves of your sweater.

“… You’re not like him— “

“I am— “

“You’re not. You’re trying to put in effort to be better for the future. Could he have said the same?” She’s stern when she speaks.

You’re stumped. You wipe your tears harshly. For the first time, you're at a loss for words.

WEEK TWO WITH DOCTOR BROWN.

“Think about the first time you saw your dad lash out. You can elaborate on how you felt, how you reacted, how your environment changed… Anything you feel comfortable sharing.” Your eyes stay glued to your therapist’s couch as you recall the day. Every detail and foul verbiage he directed towards your mother resurfaces and falls at your sock-covered feet.

It was the morning of your first day of second grade. Your mother spent the entire morning hot-combing your hair, bumping your ends, littering your locks that were bound to recoil in seconds in bobbles and clips. She could tell by your expression that you didn’t like it, but she completed your bright pink outfit with it’s not for you, it’s for me! Sit still! She never failed to live vicariously through you; Every childhood moment she couldn’t live out was now yours.

Your father wasn’t around much. He was a truck-driver, on a constant voyage to wherever he was instructed to go, hundreds to thousands of miles away from solace for months — sometimes years at a time. He missed birthdays, holidays, family reunions; There was always a missing space for him somewhere in your childhood home, whether it be his customized keychain that he forgot, shoes he didn’t pack, a hug he didn’t give. Proof of him was always scattered around somewhere, but he was a shadow. A blank memory.

So, why were your cartoons interrupted by his booming voice in the kitchen?

You remember turning the television down, only by a couple digits, your ears honing in on every word he screamed at your mother. You were so confused. Half of those words you’d never heard before. Why was he so mad this early in the morning?

You knew it was serious when your mother retaliated just as loudly, the cracks and shrieks from her belts sounding alarms in your brain. Your mom’s in trouble! Help her! But how could you? You were defenseless against him. It felt like the day flew by as their aggression intensified, curses nearly shattering the glass of your backyard door before everything went quiet.

But still, your feet carried you to peek behind the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen. Your attempts at being discreet were pointless, though. When you saw your mother pinned up against the counter by your father, tears streaming down her face as he spat with every whisper onto her cheek, you gasped. Your memory is washy after that, but you remember your mother wiping her tears and slapping that comforting grin on her face. You wish you didn’t remember how broken she sounded when she said alright, baby! Ready for school? Don’t wanna be late!

You suffered through social studies, language arts, and math. Your mind wasn’t where it should’ve been; You couldn’t shake the fact that your mother could be hurt and she had no one to tell. You just prayed to yourself as your teacher spoke, hoping that your mom would be on time to pick you up at the end of the day.

Your eyes travel over the teal incisions of thread on your therapist’s seat. You’re still not used to the sound of your own voice. “It’s… it’s a funny story…” You sound so weak. You retell what you can, all while following the tip of your therapist’s scribbling pen.

Why did it have to be green? Why are the clicks deafening?

“Ellie, holy fucking — shit, these look fucking incredible!” Yuki whispers, expression impressed as she snoops over the auburn-haired girl’s shoulder, inspecting the aerial shots she’d taken a few hours ago. Editing is a bitch. “I don’t know how you do it. You’re…”

“A genius, I know,” Ellie says dryly, a soft grin hidden behind the hand that holds her head up. It’s almost eleven. “M’almost done— “

“Nope! Not happening!” Another voice exclaims from the black lounge chair on the opposite side of the room. “You’re not the one that has to lock up every goddamn night! I ain’t stayin’ here ‘til two again! You got two seconds to finish up before I drag you up outta here.”

Yuki giggles at Saliyah’s scolding, and Ellie sighs. The pictures look almost perfect. Almost. They’re not there yet! All she needs is an hour… or three—

“What did I say! —“

“Alright, alright, fuck.” Ellie shakes her head before closing all her tabs, pulling her flash drive out of the PC before shutting it down. She stands from her rolling chair and snags her blazer from over the back of it, throwing it over her shoulders and grabbing her work bag, camera already securely inside. She shoves the drive in a random pocket before stretching.

The two girls already have all of their belongings in hand, more than ready to clock the fuck out. Yuki eyes her slyly, sarcasm dripping from her tone, “Oh, wooow, she’s actually taking orders, now? Listening to instructions for the first time? —“

“Can you stop.” Ellie mutters as she follows the girls descending the stairs. “No!” They both say in unison. Ellie smiles. Does she really stay out that often? There’s no way she’s that stubborn.

All three girls crack jokes as they vacant the building, ensuring all the lights and equipment are shut off and prepped for tomorrow. It’s an early day.

“Alright, bitches!” Yuki screams into the darkness, bag swinging as her heels click-clack on the pavement. “I want you bright and bushy-tailed tomorrow! Busy day! No time to fuck arou— “

Saliyah yawns, eyes droopy, “Girl… fuck you.” Ellie cackles and rubs her tired eyes. She can’t wait to get these six hours in. And see her baby. Saliyah wraps her arms around Ellie’s neck, muttering see you tomorrow, stinker into her neck. Ellie hums and holds her before watching her get into her vehicle.

Ellie does the same after both girls leave the parking lot, her head falling back onto the headrest, eyes shutting in exhaustion. Today was insane… Fuck, it was incredible. She's always accepted opportunities to take photos in nature. Landscapes are her prestige, but when she got the offer to take aerial shots of the ocean, she couldn’t say no. Just when she thought she’d never get on an aircraft out of fear…

The shots were mystical, the monsoon winds carrying the waves in all directions as the foams ripple, a scene straight out of her dreams. The second she got off the helicopter, she got to editing. Staying in late to perfect her captures has become a terrible habit, but what can she say? She loves her job. Thank God her coworkers are as sweet as cherry pie and support her bad habit. Besides tonight, apparently.

Days like this keep Ellie humbled… Most times. She deserves to boast every once in a while. She often thinks back on her college days, how out of touch chances like these seemed. The number of times she was brushed off by respected professionals because she lacked “necessary resources” was astronomical. But look at her now. She had everything she could ever want: a career she’s passionate about, healthy friendships, and the means to take care of her father.

Well… she has most things.

She sighs and starts her vehicle, the diamonds in her Rolex sparkling under the street lights beaming in from the window. The streets are calm. Not normally bustling like they would on a regular day. The clouds are coming in; Rain is due. She’s so excited.

It’s a calm drive back to her small home. She pulls into the driveway and exits with all her supplies, unlocking and entering her place of peace.

Meow! Meow!

Ellie clicks her tongue at Pickle, “Hiii, mama. I’m home.” She drops her bag on the small couch near the front door, bending down to pick her up. “You’re heavy, fuck.” The baby purrs and nuzzles into her neck as they enter the kitchen. She sets her down on the counter and opens the fridge for water. There’s soft scuffling from behind her as she sips.

Ellie turns to see Pickle playing with a pen, rolling it across granite. She swallows her last gulp before sighing, picking up the utensil, the one memory she kept of you. Your colorful fucking custom ballpoint pen. Pickle nibbles her fingers, trying to snatch it back to play with, but Ellie clicks it over and over.

“Miss her? Yeah?” She whispers. Pickle licks her index. Ellie will never admit it, but she thinks about you whenever she sees her baby. Yours, too.

She hopes you’re alright.

“You said that going to his funeral was different from your mom’s. Do you mind elaborating?”

You shrug and scoff. “Shouldn’t everybody feel sad when they parents die?” Dr. Brown mimics you, “Not at all. Every reaction to loss is different and not all reactions are symmetrical.”

“I was angry.” Your statement is blunt and abrasive.

“Expound.”

“I wanted to dig him up and spit on him my damn self.” You say, sharp as razor blades. Brown hums, unfazed by your sudden aggression; What the hell do therapists write on those clipboards? “I just… Seein’ all these fuckers I didn’t know talk about how fuckin’… great he was and how missed he’ll be was fuckin’ infuriating. They don’t know shit about that man or the shit he’s done.”

Sympathy washes over Dr. Brown’s pupils. “See, your temper is the reason you’re here. You’re not obligated to forgive anybody that wronged you, but…” She’s simultaneously stern and empathic, “You do not get to use those emotions to inflict negativity onto the people around you. You’re perpetuating the same harm you wanted to avoid in the first place.”

You instantly know what she’s referring to and guilt radiates all the way down to your toes. Amaya… Oh, you miss her. Another good person caught in your violent crossfire. Your last conversation was vile, and you hate yourself every day for the things you said to the only person who unconditionally cared about your wellbeing. Tears brew in your ducts, but you blink them away.

“I didn’t… know what to do…” You didn’t, so you screamed and shouted and told her to never call your fucking phone again. The last thing you berated was the final nail in the coffin for your relationship. You left me, you’d said over and over until the line went dead. You left me alone! I fucking needed you!

“No one has the answers for these types of situations. Why we react the way that we do to traumatic events will always be a mystery.” She adjusts in her chair, leg crossing over the other. “What I do know is that… you’re fighting grief. You’re choosing not to experience it, and it’s making you lash out on people who don’t deserve it.”

But how does one grieve the person that made their life… unlivable? Through rage. Rage in its purest form: unfiltered, erratic, sizzling. It’s unrelenting and unforgiving and holds no bounds, prepared to be released at any moment, no matter who’s present. Your father’s home has seen it all at this point: glass shattering on walls, screaming into the closet where all his clothes hang, punching the pillow he slept on every night.

Everything was exactly where your father left it, and instead of crying, you relinquished hell on the home he left in your name. You’re still surprised it wasn’t engulfed in flames after his funeral.

“I just…” Harsh sniffles from you, desperately wiping your tears with damp hoodie sleeves, “I don’t know what to do. Nothing feels… real anymore.”

“You’re real, baby.” This is the most delicate Dr. Brown has ever sounded, tone hushed. “Your feelings are real, your pain is real, but so is everyone else’s. You have to remember that.”

You’re listening so intently, “What I'd suggest…” You already know what she’s going to say, and you’re petrified. You sag into your seat.

You owe those two girls an apology.

Flashes of green race across your memory. The meadows are back, and they’re haunting.

“Three.” You whisper.

“Hm?”

“I owe…” A heavy exhale. “Three girls an apology.”

OCTOBER, 2013

Ellie’s officially fifteen. She’d give anything to be home right now.

She was so happy before she left that morning. Her dad woke her up with a heaping stack of iced chocolate chip pancakes that were the size of her head and happy birthday candles. Laughter echoed through their household, following as they cascaded down the stairs to blast music. Neighbors be damned. Everything was perfect. Up until she was dressed and ready and in the car.

Ellie’s dad held her hand the entire drive. He didn’t comment on her white knuckles as she gripped his digits when he kissed the back of her hand. It took her a second to exit the car when they arrived, so he said the usual. You got this, kiddo. The extra encouragement provided a boost, for sure. She was able to get to class on time.

Every time a wad of paper or a sharpened pencil hits the back of her head, she regrets not begging her dad to let her stay home. She’s grown used to the snickers, the shoulder chucks in the hallway, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

English concludes and she’s silently packing when her bag gets yanked out of her hand.

Missed you, stalker, A kid who Ellie doesn’t fucking remember snarks with a dark grin. Where’s that book you always have—

Tyler! The teacher’s voice booms, the class filling with oooh’s, That's enough. Give her stuff back now.

C’mooon, I can’t talk to my girlfriend? The remaining students burst into laughter and Ellie’s face burns, swallowing the lump that’s forming in her throat.

How about I call home? Tyler sucks his teeth at the threat while his friends laugh, dropping Ellie’s things on her desk with little care. She wastes no time to flee, shoving her earpods in and synching each trembling breath with the heavy percussion.

Her dad comes to pick her up an hour later.

A light tap on your shoulder tears your attention away from the lengthy equations on the board. Numbers and letters? Your fucking ass; Absolutely not!

You turn to Amaya, who’s smiling wide, shoving a folded note in your hand, rushing you to open it. Your brows crease as you face forward, unraveling the nest crevices and met with… hearts? Glitter? Pretty penmanship? No man wrote this, thank God.

Hi. You’re really pretty and nice. Would you like to sit with me during lunch?

Ceniyah

… Ceniyah? … Thee Cece? The person you’ve been obsessed with since middle school? What the fuck is going on!

You turn back to Amaya who’s giggling into her palm, catching glimpses of a shy Ceniyah, who keeps her head down, her beaded braids shielding her face. Your face burns and you jerk back forward. It’s not a fucking prank, what the fuck, what the fuck—

Class drags like a bitch, but the bell finally rings, and everyone hustles, shoving books in their bags, running to the cafeteria. You refuse to move, though. Your iron is low and the person you’re in love with asked you to crunch on celery sticks with her. Alone. You're bound to pass out the second you breathe wrong.

Hi.

You nearly fly out of your seat at her soft tone. She sounds like an angel. You’re going to die. You jump out of your chair and… take in the beauty that she is. She smells like heaven and her skin is perfect, not a blemish in sight. You hope she can’t see your acne scars… and she’s shorter than you. Are minors allowed to get married?

H-Hey, You hold up the pink piece of construction paper, I, uh, got your note… It’s beautiful. Her smile shines brighter than the sun. She shakes her head and the chains locked on her clips tinker like fairies.

Are you kiddin’ me! That mural you helped create was crazy. That was beautiful.

I love you.

Your eyes go wide. Did you say that? You don’t think you said that… Her smile turns confused and you realize you said that. You almost stab yourself with your pencil. I mean, like, I love how you appreciate art! Like, not m-many people… do that, and stuff…

She smirks and your heart squeezes with delight, And stuff? She inquires with an arched brow.

I’d appreciate it if you ladies headed to lunch so I can enjoy mine. Your teacher interrupts, And the next note that gets passed earns a detention.

A soft, floral-scented hand closes around your wrist, over your beaded bracelets and charms. You grab your bag with your last remaining strength and follow her like a puppy, her flowy skirt brushing against the bottoms of your jean-clad legs.

Best… day… ever.

PRESENT

Ellie needs to start doing finger stretches. Her hands are starting to hurt every time she clocks out.

She’s sitting at her desk, re-editing the infant photos she took earlier today. The twin girls from earlier were absolute angels, smiling and cooing up at the camera behind their matching pink pacifiers. She's never thought about having children… ever, but it might not be so bad—

Meow! Meow, meow! MeowMEOW—

… Nevermind. Kids are not for her. She can barely get this one to act right. The pictures are cute, though.

“What’s the matter, mama?” She coos down at a doe-eyed kit-kat. “Hungies?” Pickle jumps up and into her lap, staring at the bright screen that displays Ellie’s editing software. Ellie smirks down at her, “What, you wanna try?”

Pickle blinks up at her. No thoughts, just kibble.

She decides to save her progress on the photos and give her munchkin some love. The few minutes of head pats and runs are cut short when she gets a pop-up from her email. She pays it no mind at first, but she zeroes in on the subject with furrowed brows. It simply reads hi… an overdue apology. Ellie blinks a couple times before suspecting spam… But who the fuck names a spam email something that cryptic? What the fuck?

Ellie opens it… and her body goes numb as her eyes follow each word.

hi, ellie. i’m not sure how to start this off, but i hope it’s decent enough to sit through. i apologize in advance.

you probably don’t remember me, but we had statistics and used to live together in college. it was only for two months (i think, kind of a blur) but… yeah. i hope it semi-kinda rings a bell. hi again.

this is a very random time to reach out, and i understand any confusion, but i just wanted to apologize for everything. i was terrible to you. i'd never thought i'd become a judgmental person, but i did. i mocked you, i spoke behind your back, and probably ruined your last year of school, and i carry that regret with me everywhere i go. i’m not sure if i'll ever be able to express my remorse properly.

i’m trying to do better. i want to do better, but i can’t unless i express it.

you never have to talk to me again, and i understand if you don’t, but if you ever want to have a conversation with me, i’d be more than willing to come wherever you are to do so. or we can exchange numbers if it’s less of a hassle. i see how busy you are.

thank you if you took out any time to read this jumbled mess of thoughts. i’m very nervous. i hope you continue to live beautifully.

sincerely, someone trying to start fresh.

(p.s. i swear i'm not a stalker. you’re really popping on instagram. congratulations on everything.)

Ellie wastes no time and unplugs her entire PC, the screen going black. Her heart is racing and water surfaces above her pupils. Pickle purrs in her arms as she backs her rolling chair from under the desk and scurries into her bedroom. She sets the kitty down on her bed and clutches her chest. She forgets to count, forgets to breathe as detailed images of you scatter in her head.

You… what the fuck.

Ellie feels her hands start to shake, so she squeezes them in a fist as she paces. Her gasps are choked and she’s spiraling into panic; She can’t unsee your teary, brown eyes, how you tried to mask your sadness when she stated she was leaving. She was able to convince herself that she’d never see you again, and it took her so long to be okay with that. She’s grown to be okay without your presence.

The burnt trail she left behind has reignited again. She's sinking, drowning, just like she did years ago.

WEEK FIVE WITH DR. BROWN

“How do you feel now? Be honest.”

“… Still shitty… but alright, I guess.” You’re hoarse when you speak.

“Elaborate. What does alright mean for you?”

You pick at your fingers, “I’m not… I don’t wanna, like, kill myself… if that’s what you’re asking. The ball’s in their court now, I guess. I’m… I’m just alright.” Your shoulders bounce in a shrug.

“Has anyone answered?” Your head shakes in denial. “Don’t let that jeopardize your progress. However they react to you contacting them is not on you anymore. They either accept it or they don’t, and they’re valid in both options.”

Dr. Brown pauses and eyes you skeptically, “What?” You ask.

She shrugs, “One person isn’t on your making amends list.”

Your reply is immediate, “Probably for a reason.”

“Do you remember what you told me during our first meeting?”

Irritation boils under your skin. “I see where you’re taking this conversation and I’m not messin’ wit’ it… Respectfully. Next topic, please.”

Her hands raise in surrender, “Ay’, I’m not here to make you do diddly-squat. Merely providing perspective.”

“Right.”

“You did beat that girl to a pulp, though. I will say— “

“It’s what she deserved.” You say flatly. “She… humiliated me, and when her bitch left, she tried to come back to me. Get me pregnant— “

“Chile, I’m not tryna hear all that— “

You scoff and fall back in your seat, cushions and pillows molding with the curve of your spine. Dina bringing her happy ass to your father’s home after his death was one of the most infuriating experiences of your entire goddamn life. The second you opened the door, you were met with wildfire and permanently scarred. The least you could do is give her a fucking black eye.

What you did after that… you’ll never regret. Ever. She can blast you on Twitter all she wants; She’s dead to you.

Dr. Brown sips on her black tea with a pointed stare, “Yes, ma’am?” You say sarcastically.

“Watch that tone,” That look in her eye… she meant that. You’ll be quiet. “She was wrong for what she did, but you ain’t innocent.”

“I’m sorry, but I disagree. That one… she can choke. I don’t care.” Dr. Brown is disappointed by your answer, but frankly, you don’t care. That ship sailed and sank like the goddamn Titanic.

She seems disappointed in your answer, but she lets it go. “… Alright, then.”

On the brink of a heart attack perfectly explains how Ellie’s been feeling for the past week. The number of times she’s reread your fucking email is genuinely embarrassing, but she’s weighing her options: she either blocks you or accepts your offer. She's never been so conflicted in her life. She desperately needs a fucking break.

She never takes Saliyah and Yuki up on their offers to turn up on Friday nights, but her rampant emotions backed her into a corner… and now she’s tipsy on the dancefloor of some rinky-dink club. One night of release wouldn’t hurt.

Ellie really wishes she had a grilled cheese. They’re quite delicious… Probably not the thoughts she should be having with a hot older woman pushing back on her to fucking T-Pain, but she’s hungry! Liquor gives her the appetite of a fucking rhinosaurous, what can she say!

Saliyah and Yuki are handling business for her, though, giving the lady’s ass very encouraging slaps every time their hips connect. Ellie probably looks like a fucking dumbass as she pumps her fist in the air like an old man, but she can’t remember the last time she partied. Sue her!

It’s not until the woman stands upright, her sweaty, nearly bare back pressed against Ellie’s button-up, an arm coming up to loop around her neck, slightly shifting her bow tie that Ellie freezes, her fists clenching even tighter in the air. Her core gives a sharp squeeze when she feels sticky, glossed lips imprint on her throat. Her eyes bulge as she frantically searches for guidance from her friends, but they’re no fucking help, as usual! What the hell is miming sex and eating pussy going to do for her? She can barely breathe.

Her friends shoot her finger guns in encouragement before heading back to the bar. A tongue darts out to lap up her anxiety-induced sweat, and her body tremors, her hands untwisting to land on the girl’s jean covered hips for leverage. She feels teeth beam on her neck and her entire body flushes.

“You’re adorable!” Ellie hears her scream over the blasting music. Her tongue jumbles as she searches for a reply, but nothing leaves. She just drops her head onto the woman’s shoulder… and nearly flat lines when she eyes the cleavage sitting taut in her halter top. Her heart’s pulses synch with the ones from her clit when the woman giggles. Ellie’s ninety-five-point six percent sure that her nipples are poking through her shirt.

Her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek when the woman spins to face her, chest to chest, noses almost touching. The woman’s gaze drops to her neck, cunning as a fox as she undoes the first button of her shirt before unraveling the loop of her bow tie. She leans in, wafts of cinnamon flooding Ellie’s nostrils.

“Come to the bathroom with me?” Ellie’s nodding before the lady can conclude the purr in her ear. Her hand gets snagged and she’s being dragged through the hot crowd, all the way to the back of the club and shoved into the giant restroom. She finally takes in the goddess in front of her: dark hair, plump lips, pretty lashes. The wrinkles by her eyes and laugh lines are sending dopamine alarms in her brain.

Ellie receives one gentle kiss that makes her hips

grind forward before she hears, “You ever been tied up?” The raven-haired woman mumbles against her mouth. She whines, cheeks burning, “N-No,” she whispers.

Her perfect teeth shine, “You wanna be?”

Does she? “I — yeah, I guess?”

“Put your wrists together,” she hums and Ellie does. Her own bow tie gets looped and twisted around her nimble hands. The woman drops to her knees in front of the trembling girl, massaging her thighs over her jeans, planting kisses all over them, “You gotta name, honey?”

“Ellie… M’Ellie…” The woman’s hands creep up to unbutton her jeans, the soft hiss of the zipper, “What’s yours?” She only receives a shrug. “Whatever you want it to be.” Her jeans are yanked down seconds later, her… fucking Cartoon Network boxers drenched all the way through. The woman giggles and calls Ellie a cutie pie and her clit jumps.

Her manicured nails hook under the band of Ellie’s boxers, slowly inching them down until her soft, sticky hairs are on display and her boxers are around her knees, “Gonna let me eat this pussy out, angel?”

Ellie’s vision whites out. Only for a second, “Y-Yes, ma’am…”

Ellie’s sopping lips and pulled apart, her red, throbbing clit on display for the fucking witch in front of her. “You’re so fuckin’ cute. Anybody ever play with this pretty cunt?” Reality crashes down on her like a boulder as images of you touching her, kissing her flash before her eyes. Her jaw slacks as her words flurry.

“Just — fuck, just one time.”

“Yeah?” She coos, massaging gentle circles on her clit, “I'm your lucky second?” Ellie nods frantically. Her knees buckle when a sharp slap lands on her pussy, “Ffuck—“ The strokes on her clit are punishing, fast and non-stopping, the woman’s teeth gritted when she asks, “Steppin’ out on your girl, huh?”

Ellie moans around her denial while her cheeks glow, “N— agh, s-shit, wasn’t m’girl—“

“Yeah? She touch you like me?” The woman snickers, and Ellie burns red. She’s already so close and she can’t fucking think, “Think m’cummin’—“ Ellie slurs, her tongue thick in her mouth as her walls squeeze down, desperately trying to pull something, anything in as deep as possible.

“Can feel it. Tell me when.” But Ellie couldn’t. Her orgasm crashes into her like a fucking truck and her body falls forward, legs trembling as it wracks through her in harsh waves. The thighs that try to close are forced open, sharp stings radiating off her skin from the nails that pierce them. Strong suctions attack Ellie’s clit and she sobs, practically riding the woman’s face. Vibrations from satisfied hums stimulate her further, and she swears she’s going to pass out.

The pleasure builds all over again and her eyes squeeze shut, her hips thrusting forward and into the woman’s mouth. Her optics cycle into her skull when the space right below her clit gets stimulated just right and she rides that edge all over again, but this time, it’s stronger. The woman’s groaning in her pussy like she’s starving, and Ellie can barely garble her warning of another orgasm.

She squeaks when a gentle finger slides between her walls and she wishes it felt like yours did. Ellie’s bound hands entangle in the soft locks and pull, pushing her head any which way to guide her where she needs. She doesn’t register that she’s whining your name until the woman asks, “Tha’s your girl?” Right on her pussy, and Ellie tips.

She’s so loud when she explodes all over this stranger’s face, wetness coating her inner thighs, dripping all the way down to the bottoms locked around her ankles. You take refuge in the nasty side of her brain as she envisions you between her legs, you making her feel this good. Something about the way you touch her… She thinks it's impossible to replicate till this day.

When Ellie comes down, she falls against the door, relishing in the steady kitten licks on her twitching bud. One last gentle kiss, and the woman separates from the mess between Ellie’s thighs, chest wet with her juices.

“Good, honey?”

Ellie blinks like she’s risen from the dead, short hair clinging to her forehead. She shoots the woman two thumbs up and she chuckles, untying Ellie’s hands and helping her back onto her feet. The woman helps her redress after she cleans herself up, and Ellie’s nose twitches when her own stickiness latches onto her clothes. Her arms fall back to her sides when her belt gets secured.

She’s winded when she finally speaks, “Um… thanks…” How the fuck does Ellie say goodbye to someone who sucked her soul out?

“No problem…” The woman’s warm hands are soft as they push away damp strands from Ellie’s forehead. The freckled girl nearly purrs. Call her Pickle at this point.

Ellie steps away from the door so that the fucking seductress can exit. The woman backs away and unlocks the door with a gentle smile. “You should text her.”

Ellie’s stomach churns. “… What.”

“The girl that’s not your girl.” That’s the last thing she says before stepping out. Ellie’s heart plummets when her eyes lock with Saliyah’s, then Yuki’s. Her friends gawk at her disheveled appearance, lipstick stains littered all over her button up. Ellie’s not nearly as embarrassed as she should be; All she can think about is you.

“I think I’m in trouble.” Ellie states mindlessly.

“Doesn’t look like it.” Yuki snickers and pulls Ellie out of the bathroom. She hides her face when she’s met with the long line of people desperately needing to piss.

WEEK SEVEN WITH DOCTOR BROWN.

“You look bright.”

You feel brighter. Just a little bit. You’ve finally gotten your locs retwisted.

“Amaya texted me back.” Dr. Brown seems impressed at your statement, happy for you. A small smile makes its way onto your face.

“Yeah? What’d Ms. Producer say?”

“She, um… She wants to have dinner.”

“Oh? And what’d you say?”

“I said of course and then sobbed until I got here.” Dr. Brown chuckles, “When’s the big meal?”

“In two days. I got a hotel near where she’s at, so… Yeah. Probably won’t see me for a little.”

“Good for you, honey.” She says proudly, “Heard from any others?” Your head shakes. It’s not surprising that Abby and Ellie haven’t reached out to you. They don’t owe you any closure, even though it took you a while to accept your karma.

“Progress is progress, nonetheless.” Her tone reverts back to stern, “Remember… when you see that girl, don’t expect anything to come from it. She’s going out of her way to speak with you, not the other way around.”

Your head bows shamefully. You're incredibly nervous to see your best friend… if you deserve to call her that anymore. Anxiety isn’t foreign to you, but you’re anticipating the worst for your meeting. You’d give anything to mend your relationship with Amaya, but how’re you going to be able to overcome the guilt of abandoning her?

You can’t remember the last time you went to the campus coffee shop.

When Amaya sent you her new address in the middle of your old college city, you sobbed for half an hour. You’re not sure why considering the entirety of your graduating class is gone (hopefully in hell); It’s a mix of emotions coming back here. The baristas that used to work here have been replaced with new bushy-tailed freshmen with under eye bags. The coffee isn’t the best, but it’s oddly nostalgic. You feel fucking old just looking at their bright customer service smiles.

Your attention gets snagged away from your steaming cup when a sharp gasp echoes from behind you, nearly spilling your drink all over your flannel when someone calls your name. Anxiety spikes in your gut when you see…

Who is that?

“Oh my goodness! Sweetheart!” An older woman with gray hair and a cardigan places her hand on your shoulder and your eyes bulge out of your skull. “It’s so good to see you!”

What the fuck is going on? “You... You, too, uh… ma’am!” You put on the most believable smile you can. Is your memory really this fucking bad?

“Students don’t usually stick around after this long! Our major was pretty small, you know how it is.” Major… Students… Graphic design… Professor! Your memory clicks but her name doesn’t. What the fuck is this woman’s name! You feel like a cunt all over again!

“I’d love to catch up if you’re sticking around!”

“Um… yeah, of course.” Her smile is bright when she enters the line. Relief floods through you when she gets to the service counter and one of the baristas says good morning, Professor Meyers!

You silently thank the Lord.

“What brings you back to town, honey!” Professor Meyers asks excitedly.

“Um… just missin’ school, I guess.” You lie. Fuck this school.

She swallows her sip of tea before pausing, “Wow. First time I heard that. I didn’t see you at graduation!”

Your chest concaves and your face burns, “I, uh. I didn’t graduate. I dropped out.” Professor Meyers' expression drops, pity written all over her face.

“Wh— Why?”

You shut down her interrogation, “I just… stuff happened. I couldn’t handle everything all at once.” Her eyes sadden and she places a comforting hand on top of yours.

“I’m so sorry, honey. Whatever it was… I hope it’s okay, now.”

“Getting through it.” You shrug, feigning nonchalance. The air is suddenly suffocating.

“Y’know… if you’re interested…” Professor Meyers’ tone is suggesting. Your brow quirks at the woman plotting in front of you.

“Some of the art profs are always looking for some extra help for the introductory courses. Your rough drafts were always pretty spectacular.”

Your body burns. “Thank you.”

She smiles and reaches into her bag in the other chair, pulling out a small card and handing it to you. “This is my contact information. I can set you an interview with Professor Ronson if you’d wanna join the little alumni support team.”

You accept her card, “But I’m not… I didn’t graduate— “

“Oh, hush now! If you go to college, you’re an alumni! These exclusive rules are outdated!” Professor Meyers stands with her bag and tea. “I gotta run, but please consider it! It could be a great marketing opportunity for you!”

You're left to simmer in your thoughts as she rushes out of the cafe. You didn’t even have the chance to tell her that you haven’t touched a canvas since your father’s funeral.

You waltz into the upscale restaurant with tied lungs. Prepping an outfit for tonight was a hassle; You were forced to rummage through your father’s closet for suitable attire. You can’t remember the last time you made a purchase for yourself.

You feel out of place standing here with the… upper class. They’re dressed to the nines and it’s incredibly intimidating. Your eyes cast downward to your wrinkly shirt and blazer; Why didn’t you bring a fucking iron?

“How can I help you, miss?”

Your eyes bulge when they lock with the host’s and gut churns with discomfort. Your legs wobble closer to the counter, “I— there’s… reservation…”

The host stares at you with utter confusion, “Oh, sure! What’s the name?”

“Um… Amaya— “

“Ms. Robinson?” The host’s eyes fill with glitter, “Oh my gosh, when I saw her walk in earlier, I was like, no way she’s actually here. This is crazy! But it was really her! I couldn’t believe— “

Another host interjects, “My apologies, ma’am! She’s a bit, uh, excited. Your table is right this way.” The host begins walking, and your feet move on autopilot, “Would you like a menu?”

“No. I’m good, thanks.” You won’t be able to keep anything down anyway.

You move through bustling walkways, ears filled with bouts of obnoxious laughter and corny jokes with each table you pass.

Your heart stutters in your chest when you see the isolated leather and rosewood booth where Amaya sits, her back to you. There’s two glasses and a bottle of… something on the table.

“Ms. Robinson! Your guest is here!”

Amaya, filled glass in hand, cranes her neck and meets your flitting gaze. Her eyes are stagnant, unmoving, and your nerves wrack. She looks fucking immaculate with the slit in her black dress, smokey makeup, heeled

shoes. She’s dressed down for a fucking funeral. Yours.

You’re actually not ready to see her. You’re not ready at all.

“You want a glass?”

Amaya’s tone is cold. Colder than the dripping neck of the bottle right in front of you. “N-No thank you.”

She scoffs laughter around the rim, “Shocking.” You scramble for a reply, anything to say to the woman oozing impatience in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. She sets her glass down with an unsteady clink.

“You said that already.” She states, brown eyes sharp. “Why are you?”

You scratch at your ear, trying to mask the tremors in your fingertips, “Because… I — I wasn’t…”

“I don’t hear from you for months,” She spits, “And then I get a phone call from my drunk best friend screamin’ at me, tellin’ me that I fucking left her to grieve by herself… because I’m selfish and money hungry… Right?”

Angry tears sizzle in Amaya’s eyes as she continues, “And I still come and visit you… only to get a door slammed in my fuckin’ face.”

You’re completely frozen; You can barely look her in the eye. Your hands are clenched together under the table, nausea creeping up your throat. “I… there’s no excuse for what I did— “

Amaya’s eyes are void, “Why did you do it.”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” you rush out, desperate. You’re losing her, “He — I was just — I couldn’t control myself and I screamed and yelled and blamed everyone for what happened. I was just so mad and I couldn’t stop— “

“Abby called me two days ago.”

You gasp, “S-She did—?”

“She told me she hated you.” Amaya says plainly. The remaining shards of your heart dissipate like dust, leaving your mouth when you whimper, “O-Okay.” Tears stream down your cheeks and neck, harsh sniffles filling the small corner of the restaurant. “She hasn’t, um… never mind.” That’s why she hasn’t reached out, you suppose. Well deserved.

“I don't… hate you, you know that, right?”

You sob, palms in your eyes, “S’okay if you do. I deserve it.”

She shrugs, “I don’t. I’m just very disappointed in you.” You nod in agreement, in understanding. You accept that this is probably the last time you’ll ever see someone you considered a sister.

“I’m so sorry, May— “

“M’gonna head out. I’m,” She wipes a tear and grabs her bag, throwing a hundred-dollar bill on the table. “I… I don’t hate you.” You cry as you watch Amaya gather herself, stand, and leave without another word. You heave and attempt to dry your face with the fresh napkin but they won’t stop flowing.

It’s difficult, accepting that you’re undeserving. That you’ve dug yourself into a hole that you can’t escape. It’s dark and cold and you’re desperate for comfort but it never comes because you chased it all away. You eye the tall bottle that sweats; Very tempting, but you leave it where it stands. The blame for your downfall is yours to take; The only reward you can receive now is from your upkeep. To dig yourself out from beneath the maggot-infested dirt. To resurface and recover what you can.

You’re unsure how long you sit here crying. Devastation sets hard in your tummy when you stand to leave the restaurant, ignoring the judgmental stares from the annoying, old fuckers that wouldn’t stop glaring at you.

The air outside is fresh and soothing as you walk, right past your parked car. Past the young people mingling and taking pictures. Past the girl doing graffiti on the old building across the street. Something beats in your chest when you eye her spray paint cans, brushes in her hand, the bright colors all over her bare arms. Her passion is evident, even from a distance, and you miss that. That feeling that takes over when you create something that no one else can replicate. Her style is unique to her just like yours is to you.

Color sparks in your soul for the first time in a year, and you know what you have to do tomorrow morning.

taggiesss yasss n slayyyy @dyk3ang3l @ellieloml @inf3ct3dd @fromminaa @womenofarcane @sawaagyapong @mina-281 @aouiaa @bbglmfao @i00rii @sakiigami @starologist @southelroys @diddiqueen @trackinglessons @ellieswhorcrux @villainousbear @p4ison1vy @tohoko @yuckyfucky @dollyfleurs @elsbunny222 @sevsbimbo @amiorca @alittlextrahoney @gato-chino @topiatwin @r3wbeef @elliesatchel @muthafuckingstargirl

#in frame ✎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･#ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie williams au #ellie williams angst #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #black!reader #black!oc #lesbian #works 𖧧࣪

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m1ckeyb3rry · 6 months ago

Text

Synopsis: You haven’t gotten along with Tabito Karasu in a long, long time. However, when a chance encounter with a mysterious woman leads to the two of you switching places, you find out that maybe there’s more to him than you realized.

BLLK Masterlist

Pairing: Karasu x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 8.4k

Content Warnings: crack fic, reader is implied to be smaller/weaker/less athletic than karasu, miscommunication of the sort you’d expect from a k-drama, VERY unserious and stupid, crude humor, non-explicit mentions of karasu’s dick, reader explicitly does NOT have a dick, i haven’t watched the movie freaky friday in ages so don’t expect it to follow that plot or anything, random old lady’s divine intervention saves this dumbass girl failure x boy loser relationship

A/N: to be honest i have nothing to say for myself. there is 0 reason for this to be as long as it is considering how legitimately idiotic of a plot it has LMAOAO but i couldn’t help myself from writing it…i watched an edit of **** and ***** from jjk set to the song ‘freaky friday’ and i was like. inspired. idk. if this is your first time reading smth by me i promise i usually am better than this 😭

The margins of your Mathematics notebook were littered with intricate sketches, pretty birds and flowers arcing alongside the equations that you copied down from the board when you remembered to look up at it. If anyone else in the class could see how little you truly paid attention, they’d likely be furious; after all, you consistently had high marks, often even managing to be first in the class despite your constant distraction.

One person in particular would likely have a heart attack, but considering you liked him the least out of everyone in the entire school, the prospect filled you with a sort of joy and determination to continue in exactly the manner you had been. Tabito Karasu — in his honor, you drew a crow next to the swoop of an integral that you had not bothered with solving, and then, for your personal satisfaction, you crossed it out.

“Yo.” You had not noticed the bell ringing, so caught up were you with shading in the petals of a sunflower, the tip of your pencil growing dull from the heavy, repetitive strokes. “My mom told me to tell you that yours left her purse at our house, so if you could come get it after school, that would be great.”

You glanced up at Karasu, who was standing in front of your desk, his bag slung over one shoulder, his lopsided smile noticeably vanished. It always was when he spoke to you, his face never anything but solemn on those occasions.

“Again?” you said. “Sure.”

“Cool,” he said. “See you then, I guess.”

You wrinkled your nose at his receding back, gathering your own things and following him sedately out of the classroom before splitting off to head to your next period, not even affording him a farewell in return for his half-hearted attempt.

There had been a time, when you were both very young, that you and Karasu had been friends. It wasn’t really your choice, of course. Your mothers had known one another since their college days and thus had been determined to raise their children side-by-side, but neither of you had minded too much.

When your minds were innocent and plain, things came easily and simply. You would make castles in the sandbox of the playground by his house, racing one another down the slides as your mothers watched you and conversed. It had been nice. Back then, Karasu had been a person you could be fond of, and so you had been. He had been your best friend, your only friend, really, and he had even sworn to you that he would always be so, interlocking his pinky with yours and saying that it was a promise.

Anyways, promises were easily made and easily forgotten back then. Not so long after you entered grade school, he abandoned you entirely, sneering at you if you dared to approach him, turning away whenever you waved at him in the hallways. You understood quickly enough what he meant by it, and you grew to resent him as much as you had once cared for him.

It had happened long enough ago that now, there was just an awkward sort of tension between you two whenever you spoke. He must’ve known that you didn’t like him, hadn’t for a while, and he never really pressed the issue, though he never did anything to fix it, either. You doubted he cared; after all, he only ever spoke to you if he absolutely could not avoid it, and you operated by the same policy.

“Hey, Y/N, we’re all thinking of staying after school to study for the Chemistry exam,” your best friend said to you as you settled into your seats for Economics, the one class you both shared. “Wanna come? I know you don’t really need it or anything, but it’d be fun if you were around.”

“You just want me to explain everything to you so you don’t have to read the textbook,” you said.

“Guilty,” she said with a grin that suggested she did not feel very guilty at all. “Sorry, but it’s a really boring textbook.”

“It’s a drag,” you agreed. “I’d say yes, but I can’t. My mother forgot her purse at Karasu’s house when she was visiting, so I have to go with him and grab it on my way back home.”

Your best friend winced. “I’m sorry. Will you be okay? I can come, if you want.”

“There’s nothing to be done about it,” you said, shaking your head. “It’ll be alright. You need all of the studying time you can get, so don’t concern yourself with me.”

“If you say so,” she said reluctantly. “Call me if you change your mind, okay? I think my exam grade is well beyond the point of saving now, so I don’t mind giving up some studying time to help you out.”

“All the more reason for you to study longer,” you said. “Seriously, relax. It’s not like I’m planning on staying there for long. I’ll be so quick that there won’t even be any time for things to get weird.”

The day was over before you knew it, and then you were trudging out of the building, scanning the front entrance for Karasu and finding him leaning against the brick wall of the school, gesturing wildly as he laughed at something one of his teammates had said.

You waited for his teammate to leave, and only then did you approach, stopping a distance away from him and folding your hands behind your back as you waited for him to notice you. He did so almost immediately — he was keen like that, ever aware of everything happening in his general vicinity — and his back straightened, the mirth from earlier dropping into the melancholy you were more used to.

“Let’s go,” you said.

“Yes, let’s,” he said. “Come on. If we cut through town, we’ll get there faster.”

“Okay,” you said.

The two of you walked in silence after that, Karasu’s hands shoved in his pockets as he shuffled along beside you. You hugged a never-opened Economics textbook to your chest, your heart beating against the hard cardboard of the cover.

“How have you been?” Karasu said after a while, when the quiet must’ve grown to be unbearable for his typically talkative self.

“Fine,” you said.

“Same,” he said.

“I didn’t really ask,” you said.

“Right,” he said, “Sorry.”

“There’s no need for any of this,” you said. “We’re not friends, so don’t act like we are. I’m going to your house to pick up my mother’s purse, and then I’m leaving. That’s it.”

“Right,” he said again. You thought he must be relieved that you had given him leave to disregard you. Thus assured that he would leave you alone, you allowed your mind to wander, mulling over the assignments you had due the next day and figuring out a plan to complete them that would require the least amount of effort possible.

“Excuse me!”

You both were passing through a part of town that you did not frequent when the door to a storefront swung open, revealing a wizened old lady. Her thick gray hair was gathered in a knot at the nape of her neck, and her posture was stooped over but her expression was no less intense for the age she showed. You jumped at the abruptness of her exclamation, and you sensed Karasu had been equally as surprised, though he remained far more collected than you had.

“We don’t want to buy anything,” he said bluntly, without even waiting for her to explain.

“It’s not wares I sell,” the woman said. “It’s fortunes.”

“Not interested,” he said, though not without glancing at you, so briefly that you almost believed you had imagined it.

“Listen, boy, I don’t look into the future for just anyone. It’s a rare soul that attracts my attention, and here I have two in front of me! You’ll avoid a lot of misery if you agree to it,” she said.

“We’ll take the misery,” Karasu said. “Like I said, we’re good. Leave us alone, old crone.”

“Be careful who you’re rude to,” the woman said, her irises gleaming. “It’s already cost you once, hasn’t it?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched from how hard he grit his teeth at that. “You’re just saying things.”

“Ma’am,” you said, finally deciding to speak up. This entire conversation was such a waste of time, and furthermore if Karasu was irritated, then you felt as though there was a chance he’d lash out and you’d be the unfortunate victim. “Every minute we are delayed here is another minute I must spend with him, and considering I don’t like him all that much, I’d prefer if we could get on with it.”

“Is that the case?” she said, and then she beamed at you, her lips peeling back in a more sinister form of the expression than she ought to have been capable of. “But wouldn’t you give anything if you could go back to how things once were? I know that he would.”

“Shut up,” Karasu snapped, his face uncharacteristically red. “What the hell do you know about me, anyways? About either of us?”

She began to laugh, and it was a rattling, wheezing sound which made even your own chest ache. Karasu glared at her, but she ignored him completely, cackling and cackling, slapping her knee as if he were an award-winning comedian who had just made the joke of the century. Despite yourself, you inched towards him; he was far from your preferred partner, but you thought that if she were to suddenly lunge at you or something, he was probably your best bet at survival.

“I have seen many versions of you in my lifetime, and you have all said the same. What do I know about you?” the woman said. “Well, well. I’d wager I know quite a bit about you, indeed. How about this? I’ll give you a gift — on the house, of course. Then we’ll see who knows what.”

“We don’t fucking need any gifts,” Karasu said. “Y/N, let’s get out of here. She’s crazy.”

“You can’t deny a gift that’s been freely given!” she shouted gleefully after you as you strode away. “It’s yours, whether you like it or not. Enjoy yourself, baby crow — you may thank me yet!”

Whether it was a placebo borne of the woman’s odd behavior or a symptom of the atmospheric pressure dipping before an out-of-season storm, you noticed that there was a headache mounting behind your left eyebrow. You kept silent about it as you dutifully followed Karasu towards his house, but it was definitely uncomfortable, and whenever he looked away, you’d press the pads of your fingers against the source of the pain in a fruitless effort to alleviate it.

Neither of you said anything until you reached his porch; he had been jarred by the conversation with the woman, though he disguised it with a scowl — it was obvious from the tension of his shoulders, however, and as for you, you relished in the tranquility, which was what you had been seeking the entire time.

“She was full of shit,” he informed you as he unlocked his front door and motioned for you to go inside. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was you, but you had long ago come to the conclusion that the woman was just searching for a way to make a quick sale, so you were unruffled.

“I didn’t think otherwise,” you said. You hadn’t been to his house in a while, but it still looked the same as you remembered it, down to the Siamese cat curled up on the couch — although, of course, far more gray peppered her muzzle than the last time you had seen her. You scratched her under the chin as you waited for Karasu to return with the purse, and without even opening her eyes, she purred at you, rubbing her face against the back of your palm.

“Here you go,” he said, tossing the purse at you. You reached up and caught it with the hand you weren’t using to pet his cat, and then you offered her one last stroke in farewell before heading back to the front door.

“Thanks,” you said.

“Right,” he said. “Anytime. Later, Y/N.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder before nodding, figuring there was no harm in one final act of politeness. No matter the grudge you held against him or how justified it was, you supposed you could be the bigger person this singular time. “Later, Karasu.”

The walk between your houses was not so long, but for some reason, it dragged on and on — a symptom of your headache, maybe? By the time you reached your own doorstep, the world was spinning, and after returning your mother’s purse to her, you stumbled up to your room, flopping face-first on your bed.

A few minutes later, there was a knock. With a groan, you rolled over so that you were lying on your back, a hand covering your eyes so that the fading twilight did not worsen the pounding that had spread from your left eyebrow to your forehead and the back of your neck.

“Come in,” you mumbled out. Your mother poked in her head, a bowl of soup in her hands, a kind frown on her face.

“Are you alright?” she said, sitting beside you and setting up your pillows so you could lean against them.

“My head is killing me,” you said. She pressed her hand against your brow, pursing her lips.

“Doesn’t feel like a fever,” she said. “Here, have this.”

She handed you the soup, which she must’ve been making for dinner. You accepted it gratefully, the heat of the bowl against your skin helping, if only slightly. Taking a sip, you sighed and offered a smile.

“Thanks,” you said. “I’m just going to do my homework and then sleep early. Hopefully it’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

“It looks like there’s going to be a nasty storm tonight, so that could be what’s messing with you,” your mother said, confirming your earlier thoughts. “On the bright side, your father and I won’t have to water the plants.”

“That’s good,” you said as she got up, pressing a kiss to your forehead and closing your curtains so that only your dim, warm lamp lit the room.

“Text me if you want me to bring up some ibuprofen for you,” she said. “But finish that soup first. It’s not good to eat on an empty stomach.”

“I’ll keep you posted, but I think just getting to bed is going to do the most good at this point,” you said. “Thanks again, mama.”

“I miss when you used to call me that all of the time,” she said. “Now my baby’s growing up. Soon you’re going to get married and leave your father and I all alone.”

“Not for a while,” you said with a smile. She scrunched up her nose and blew you a kiss.

“I’ll leave you alone. I hope you feel better soon, honey. Try not to work too hard,,” she said, shutting the door gently, so that it did not slam.

Your homework took you a couple of hours, and it was dark by the time you finished. Only the thought of the further aggravation it would bring should you not complete it managed to push you through the maddening exercise, as your headache had not lessened any in that time. If anything, the steady process of your schoolwork only made it worse, and it was all you could do to get ready for bed before diving in between your sheets and burying your face back in your pillow, drifting off to sleep almost immediately.

You had many dreams that night, most of them unrelated, though the common thread was Karasu. He was in all of them, whether in the background or as a main focus, and indeed when you woke up gasping and in a sweat, his face was the only thing you remembered.

Based on the sun streaming through the window, you had slept for the entire night. An unfamiliar alarm was blaring from your nightstand, and you reached out to silence it before pausing.

The room you were in was not your own. It was different, the sheets a deep navy shade, the blanket a plain gray, an L-shaped desk with a PC on it in the corner. There was a shelf beside the desk, books shoved in between gold soccer trophies — soccer trophies?

“What the fuck?” you said before clapping your hands over your mouth, your jaw dropping as you scrambled out of the bed, your limbs flailing about when the drop ended up being smaller than you had anticipated. Grabbing your phone off of its charger — what the hell was with that bland case? — you raced over to the mirror propped up by the closet.

Upon seeing the reflection in it, you screamed, because for some reason, instead of your own body, it was Tabito Karasu’s staring back at you. You raised one hand and then the other, hoping and praying that it wasn’t real, that you were hallucinating or something, but the reflection followed your movements exactly. When you pinched yourself, that, too, hurt, which meant that somehow, this was happening.

If you were in Karasu’s body, then what about your own? Was he in yours, or had it just vanished or something? You turned on his phone, unlocking it using Face ID and opening the call app. You doubted he had you saved as a contact — after all, the two of you had stopped being friends long before either of you had gotten cellphones — so you went straight for typing in your number, pausing for a moment as it suggested a contact name.

Y/N <3

“What?” you said. There were so many things that needed to be unpacked there, but you decided it wasn’t even worth considering. You had more pressing issues; namely, how had this preposterous situation even developed?

Clicking on the Y/N <3 contact, you held the phone up to your ear, hoping that whoever currently had possession of you would pick up instead of ignoring the call.

“Hello? Who is this?” Hearing your own voice on the other end of a call would ordinarily have been one of the most disconcerting things to happen to you in the last twenty-four hours, but considering you were still reeling from whatever body-swapping nonsense had just transpired, it ended up being kind of underwhelming.

“Karasu?” you said. There was a pause on the other end of the line, and you prayed they would not hang up.

“Y/N?” he said after a moment.

“Yes!” you said.

“So you’re in my body? I was wondering what might’ve happened to me…” he said, trailing off thoughtfully.

“What the hell is going on? Why am I you, and why are you me?” you said. “More importantly, how do we switch back?”

“How would I know? I’m just as lost as you are. By the way, um, why don’t you have my number saved?” he said.

“That’s what you’re choosing to focus on?” you screeched. “There is a dick attached to me! I have a genuine, bona-fide dick right now, and more specifically, it’s your dick! How about we focus on that?”

“Sorry,” he said. “But also, I was trying not to think about that. This is already weird enough, why’d you have to make it worse?”

“I’m trying to impress upon you just how dire our situation is,” you said. “By the way, while we’re on the subject, don’t even think of looking down my shirt. I’ll kill you if you do.”

“I wouldn’t,” he protested.

“Uh-huh,” you said. “Whatever. What are we going to do now?”

“How did this even happen?” he said. “Maybe if we work backwards, we can figure out what we have to do to fix it. What were you up to last night?”

“I just did homework,” you said. “And then I slept. I had a really bad headache, so I didn’t do much.”

“Wait, I had one, too,” he said.

“That doesn’t really mean anything. It’s not like headaches are uncommon,” you said.

“It’s a start, okay? I’m trying here! Why can’t you be cooperative for once?” he said.

“Why can’t you be cooperative for once?” you muttered under your breath, finding that the mockingly high-pitched voice sounded much more derogatory in Karasu’s harsh tones than it ever had coming from you. “Fine. When’d your headache start?”

“While we were walking back from school,” he said. “To my house.”

“That’s about when it happened for me,” you said. “Now that you mention it, it was right after—”

“—right after we talked to that old lady,” he completed for you. “Two steps ahead of you.”

“No, you just cut me off. That doesn’t mean you were ahead of me,” you said. “It just means you’re rude.”

“Sure, sure, whatever,” he said. “Do you think this is that gift the old lady was talking about?”

“Hm,” you said. “You think she was serious about that?”

“It’s as good a guess as any. Back then, I figured she was full of bullshit, but what if she actually does have some kind of supernatural powers?” he said.

“Then this is all your fault!” you said.

“What?” he said.

“You heard me. Why’d you have to be such an asshole to her, huh? Like always. Jeez. You can’t help but be a jerk and fuck things up, can you?” you said. “Well, we’re going to be late for school if we don’t get a move on, so I guess the only option we have is getting through the day and then going to visit her after classes.”

“I don’t — do you really think so?” he said.

“Obviously? She’s the biggest suspect at the moment, but I’d really prefer if we didn’t miss school. What with board exams and all coming up…” you said.

“Never mind,” he said. “Anyways, why do you care? It’s not like you do anything but draw in class.”

“How’d you know that?” you said. “Are you some kind of stalker or something?”

“I’m not a stalker. I just…pay attention to people,” he said.

“Sure,” you said. “And you put little heart emoticons after everyone’s contact names, too. How’d you even get my number?”

“You saw that?” he said.

“How do you think I called you?” you said.

“Oh,” he said. “We were in a class group chat together in seventh grade.”

Now that he mentioned it, you did recall something along those lines, although of course, you had not saved his number in return. You hadn’t seen a need to — out of everyone in that class, you would’ve texted him for help last.

“Okay,” you said. “Bye.”

You hung up immediately, finding the entire discussion to be unproductive, and then you sighed. It seemed that, for now, you were stuck as Karasu; massaging your sore jaw, you gave up on procrastination and began to get dressed for the day.

Somehow, you were able to get through it with minimal embarrassment, and you even shaped his hair into the style he preferred, which you were particularly proud of, given how absurd it was. You could only hope he was showing your own body the same kindness you were reluctantly giving his.

“Good morning, Tabito,” his mother said absently when you strolled into the kitchen.

“Morning, Mrs. �� Mom!” you said. “Mom. Good morning.”

It would be a little strange if Karasu began referring to his own mother as Mrs. Karasu. You had to keep in mind that to everyone else, you were no longer Y/N L/N, and if you didn’t want them all to treat you like you were insane, you had to play the part of Tabito Karasu in a convincing manner.

“Time for breakfast?” she said. You nodded.

“Do we have any cereal?” you said. She furrowed her brow at you.

“Cereal? You made us throw it all away because it was too sugary, remember? Your energy bars are in the pantry, though, and there’s apples in the fridge if you want,” she said.

Your eye twitched. A health freak, really? His body and soccer career were impressive, but did both really take so much maintenance that he restricted himself from even cereal?

“Thanks,” you said, rifling through the pantry, picking out a random bar and an apple to snack on as you walked to school. “See you later!”

“See you,” Mrs. Karasu said, not even looking up from the laptop she was working at. You frowned, used to your own mother, who always responded with as much energy as you gave her. Brushing it off as the relationship she and her son must’ve had, you bit into your apple and vowed not to think about it further.

The energy bar was absolutely disgusting; you weren’t sure how Karasu could stand to eat them on a daily basis. It was some German brand with an umlaut in the name, and it tasted like cardboard coated in glue. You were barely able to force it down your throat, but you knew a mere apple wouldn’t last you until lunch, so you had no other choice. Still, it put you in a foul mood and set the tone for the day, which, considering what tone had already been created by your migration into Karasu’s body, was not a good thing.

“Karasu! Hey, Karasu, wait up!” You had no idea what his name was, but as soon as you walked into the school building, a boy was shouting out after you, panting as he sprinted to catch up. From your vague knowledge, he was one of Karasu’s friends and soccer teammates, though not one he was particularly close with. “You deaf or something, man? I’ve been trying to get you to slow down for ages! What’s the rush?”

“Rush?” you said.

“Why’re you walking so fast? First period doesn’t start for another ten minutes,” he said.

“Sorry,” you said. There had been no intention behind your pace, actually. It was just that you were unused to the length of Karasu’s stride and so found yourself going along at a far greater clip than you meant to. “I didn’t realize.”

“Okay, Captain,” he said. “I get it. Some of us are just average guys, you know, so let’s keep it nice and easy, alright?”

“Yup,” you said. His friend squinted at you.

“You’re being oddly nice today,” he said. “I don’t like it one bit.”

“We’ve been speaking for all of two minutes, how can you tell that already?” you said. His friend cocked his head at you before elbowing you in the side. You blinked at him. He blinked back, and then he punched you in the arm. You barely even felt it, so you didn’t react, which only caused his friend to wail.

“See? What are you plotting? You only act this nice when you’re planning to be really mean later! What did I do to you? Is it because I went and studied with L/N’s friends? I’m sorry! Just hit me, please, and let’s get it over with!” he said.

“Why would I care if you studied with my — with L/N’s friends?” you said. “And I’m not hitting you, dude, calm down.”

“You’re always calling them mediocre,” he said. “Though I guess you call everyone mediocre, so that’s not really saying much.”

“Of course,” you said dully, unconvincingly. “Mediocre. That is what I think of them. Absolutely.”

His friend shrugged. “They’re not that bad, though, in all honesty. You shouldn’t be so hard on them just because you wish L/N was friends with you instead. She doesn’t even like you, bro. You should just give up.”

Your mind went blank at this. “I wish that who was what with who now?”

“Oh, are we back in the denial stage? My bad,” his friend said.

Karasu wanting to be friends with you? It was a laughable idea. He was the one who had left first. Your dislike was only a symptom of that, of the act which he had never explained nor apologized for, and he knew that as well as you did. He was popular, too, even more popular than you were — which was saying something — so what use would he have in befriending you? This boy was delusional. Or maybe there was another Y/N L/N at the school. You doubted it, but wasn’t it technically a possibility? At any rate, it was more plausible than Karasu harboring any kind of affection for you.

When you entered your first period classroom, you almost made the mistake of walking to your normal desk. In fact, you were about halfway there when you realized that your desk partner was giving you an odd look, her face souring with every step you took. For a moment, you considering asking her what was wrong, since the two of you usually got along well, but then you remembered — you were Karasu at the moment, and though you had never told her in your own body how much you detested him or why, she had picked up on it through the course of the semester.

Turning on your heel, you made a beeline for Karasu’s normal seat. His partner was unfamiliar to you, but you couldn’t recall Karasu ever talking much to him, so it probably didn’t matter much that you had no idea who he was.

“’Sup, Karasu,” his partner said.

“’Sup,” you said, omitting his name and hoping he didn’t find it strange. Thankfully, his partner only nodded at you before returning to his homework, which he was completing in the seconds before the bell, for some reason. You rifled through Karasu’s bag and pulled out his own paper, which was perfectly done, missing all of the adornments which often littered your assignments. You believed that this week, you had drawn a little cat playing with a ball of yarn next to your answers. You were sure it would delight your teacher immensely, at least based on her reactions to the previous doodles you had included, though you also had a sense Karasu would judge you when he saw.

The class passed by even slower than it usually did. If you started drawing to while away the time, you’d make your desk partner suspicious, so you had nothing to waste your energy with, bar watching the minute hand creeping along against the clock.

After all, Karasu was an attentive person, raising his hand in class to answer every question the teacher asked, the first to know how to solve a problem and the first to explain it upon prompting. It was another one of those things that made him so well-liked; despite his brusqueness, he really was willing to help people out if they needed it, in his own insolent way.

It was unnerving. When did you learn so much about Karasu? You thought you had been ignoring him quite successfully. You could hardly even tolerate him, so why were you so knowledgeable on the kind of person he was, his routines and friends and quirks? Was it an old habit that, even now, you could not quite put out of your mind? A remnant of that former friendship? You had not understood until you took on this new role how much of him you were still familiar with, how much of him was still the same as you had remembered.

At lunch, you headed over to the table where Karasu’s friend group was waiting, giving your own friends a mournful glance as you did so. Karasu was sitting in your normal spot, listening to your best friend as she ranted about something. There was a small frown on his — your? — face, as if she was saying something that he didn’t agree with but was too scared to speak up against.

“Bro, enough with the longing stares. This shit is embarrassing.” You were shocked out of your trance by someone socking you in the abdomen. Doubling over with a cough, you glared at Karasu’s best friend, wondering why every one of his relationships was so violent.

“What was that for?” you said, shoving your shoulder into him so that he would move over. He did so willingly, albeit not without a snicker as you set your lunch down beside him.

“Just saying,” he said. “Now that we know what your deal is, you can hardly expect us not to mention it.”

“My deal?” you said.

“Told you he’s back in the denial phase! As if we didn’t just have an hour long confessional video call last night,” Karasu’s teammate from earlier said.

“Huh?” you said. Karasu hadn’t mentioned anything about an ‘hour long confessional video call’ when you had been discussing what you had done the night before the body switch. Actually, he hadn’t mentioned anything at all. You had brought up your headache before he had gotten the chance, and then the two of you had jumped topics to the old lady, so he hadn’t needed to.

“You don’t remember?” his best friend said, clearing his throat and lowering his voice in what you were sure was meant to be an impression of Karasu’s. “I miss Y/N so much. Sooooooo much. Sosososososo much.”

He burst into laughter, high-fiving their teammate. You gave them an unimpressed look, which only made the duo laugh harder. The rest of the table seemed similarly amused, though they had the dignity to not giggle about it aloud.

“It wasn’t like that, exactly,” a different one of Karasu’s teammates said, taking pity on you. “But I definitely recall you going through a crisis about how you wished you could be friends with her again, and how you secretly miss her and whatnot.”

“You mentioned some freaky lady, too,” his best friend said. “That’s what prompted you to spill your guts to us, wasn’t it? She started going on about how she knew your past, and then L/N said she didn’t like you and didn’t want to spend even a minute more with you, which made you so depressed that you yelled at the old lady and L/N.”

“Um, I don’t think I yelled at Y/N — L/N,” you said. As far as you could recall, he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary to you, though perhaps it was just that you were used to him being caustic and had brushed it off.

“What’s with you?” his best friend said. “Just yesterday, you were throwing a fit about how you’d never be able to fix things with her, and now you’re all nonchalant about it? You need to see a doctor.”

“Why would I even want to fix things with her?” you said. “We’ve not liked one another for a while.”

His friends all exchanged looks before his best friend, apparently the designated spokesperson, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Are you feeling alright?” he said.

You could not answer this truthfully. Of course, you were, at the moment, feeling the furthest thing from alright, but how could you say that to them? Oh, actually, I feel shitty, mostly because I’m currently stuck in someone else’s body. Wait, did I forget to mention that? Well, surprise, I’m Y/N L/N! Not Tabito Karasu. By the way, am I supposed to aim when I take a piss, or is this like a freestyle thing? They would have you hauled off before you could say ‘creepy old bat with possible witch powers.’

“I’m fine,” you said.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Did you, uh, get into your dad’s liquor cabinet last night by any chance?”

“Not that I know of,” you said, which was as sincere as you could get. Whether Karasu was an underage drinker or not was none of your business, but for what it was worth, you didn’t think that you were hungover at the moment, so either he complied with the law and stayed sober, or he handled his alcohol better than he probably ought to at this age.

“Right, then,” he said. “Just let us know if anything changes and you need to skip practice or something.”

Practice? There was no way you could go to practice. Even if you were piloting Karasu’s well-conditioned body, you had nothing resembling his soccer know-how or field awareness. You’d fail miserably if you had to attend, and what then? He’d get kicked off of the team and be denounced as a fraud, maybe, and it’d be your fault. It was a worst-case scenario, but it was still a scenario, and one you didn’t want to consider further.

“You know, I do feel a bit queasy. Maybe you guys are right,” you said. “I think I’m off today.”

“For you to be admitting that aloud means the problem is worse than we realized,” one of his friends said.

“We’ll let the coach know you had to go home sick,” his best friend assured you. “Don’t worry about it. You haven’t missed a practice yet, so he won’t be mad.”

“That’s right! Rest up, Captain. We need you at your best for our game this weekend,” another teammate said.

They were kind of sweet when they weren’t pummeling one another, you thought. It wasn’t in the warm, affectionate, supportive way of your friends, but they showed their caring in whatever manner they could. You didn’t prefer it, but you could see how someone would.

It wouldn’t have seemed like a role reversal to anyone else, but you alone recognized it for what it was. Waiting in the spot that Karasu had been yesterday, you made designs in the dirt with the toe of your left sneaker, periodically glancing at his phone for the time.

“You waited for me!” he said.

“Ahh!” you said, jumping backwards, your back smacking against the wall. Being this close to your body, hearing your voice and knowing it wasn’t coming from you, was perturbing, and you narrowed your eyes, leaning forward and inspecting it. “Hey. Looks like you didn’t fuck things up too terribly. My hair is its original color, and I’m not breaking out anywhere, so it’s a success story in the end.”

“What about you? D’you go around doing dumb bullshit to make me seem like an awful person?” he said. Though it sounded like you, the words were so utterly Karasu that it was obvious he was the one speaking.

“Why would I do that?” you said.

“Dunno,” he said. “Apparently you hate me more than I realized.”

“And that came as a surprise?” you said.

“Kind of,” he said as you began walking towards the part of town where you had met the old lady. “I thought you were just indifferent to me. Didn’t know it was that bad.”

“Do you even know why?” you said. “Or do you just think I’m mediocre and unreasonable and annoying?”

He looked at the ground instead of at you. “Yeah, I get it.”

“You don’t,” you said. “You went and you made your new friends and that was that.”

“Wait, what?” he said in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“What am I talking about? What are you talking about? I’m referring to why I don’t like you, of course,” you said.

“Isn’t it because I’m not good enough?” he said. Before you could stop yourself, you were scoffing at him. His shoulders slumped.

“Are you fishing for compliments? Save it, jerk. You haven’t changed a bit,” you said.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “That’s the reason, right? You’re Y/N L/N. You draw all over your homework and are still the teacher’s favorite, you’re good at school without even trying, and you only talk to people you approve of.”

“What about you?” you snapped. “You think I’m perfect? You’re the captain of your fancy-ass soccer team, everyone at school loves you, you’re smart and talented and good-looking, and you know it! You walk around like you think you’re better than everyone — like you think you’re better than me! You told your entire group how you wished you could be friends with me, right? We were friends! Until you decided that, for some reason, we couldn’t be.”

“I didn’t decide that,” he said. “You stopped talking to me.”

“What did you expect, that I’d just keep hanging around someone so horrible?” you said. “You completely ignored me once we started school. I tried to talk to you, to acknowledge you, but you just acted like you had no idea who I was. Why would I ever, ever be friends with someone like that?”

“That’s why?” he said. “You’re mad about how I acted when I was six? That’s a little immature, don’t you think? We’re obviously not in grade school anymore. I mean, it’s a little unwarranted for you to be holding a grudge for this long.”

“You were my only friend back then,” you said. “You were my only friend, and you left me alone. I don’t want anything to do with you. You were a pain as a child and you’re a pain now.”

“A pain?” he said. “You wanna talk about being a pain? You decided you didn’t like someone when you were a kid, and you’ve refused to change your mind about them in the years since. It’s not like I haven’t tried! Do you think your mother was incapable of driving over and grabbing her purse? Do you think mine suddenly forgets the route to your house every time she leaves something there? I want to see you. I make up excuses to be with you, but you’re so damn hostile that it doesn’t matter! What am I supposed to say? Hey, Y/N, I really like you. I think you’re cool. I wish that things were as effortless for me as they are for you. And that side-eye of yours? Totally appealing.”

“Because appealing to you is my life goal,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“I don’t think appealing to anyone is in your playbook,” he said. “You just do what you want, and it works out somehow.”

“As opposed to you?” you said. “Whether it’s an innate skill or an earned talent, at least I don’t have a stick up my ass about it. I would ask you if it’s uncomfortable, but considering I’m in your body right now, I can answer that it’s not, really, which is impressive, considering how big it must be. Got some preferences you want to share?”

“Seriously?” he said. “You’re pulling out that kind of joke now?”

“Just trying to method act,” you said. “Since I’m you and all. It’s your modus operandi, isn’t it? You can’t help but criticize people, even when they’ve done nothing wrong. Even when you’re the one who's done something wrong. You’d rather blame me than apologize, but despite what you say, it doesn’t matter how long ago it happened. It hurt my feelings. The fact that you don’t recognize that is all the proof I need that you’re just as self-centered now as you were back then. Forget about trying to be friends with me. You’re right: I only talk to people I approve of, and you’re not one of them. The second we’re back in our original bodies, I want you to leave me the hell alone.”

Karasu’s body’s superior athleticism allowed you to put enough distance between you two that you could clear your mind. This was the first time that either of you had had anything resembling a proper conversation since you were kids, and it had not exactly gone the way you had wanted it to.

What had you wanted? You weren’t sure. Maybe for him to apologize. Grovel and tell you that he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant any of it, that he had an explanation for why he had treated you like a stranger instead of a friend, some magical clarification that would make everything better again.

Somehow, he caught up to you. You must’ve slowed down as you were thinking, the speed of your mind and the length of your stride not quite correlating. He was huffing, though, which did bring you some measure of gratification — which vanished when you remembered that it was your body which was struggling in comparison to his and not the other way around.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Really, I am. I didn’t want to hurt you. I know that I did, but it wasn’t — it wasn’t my intention. It just happened, and then before I knew it, it was too late for me to stop things from blowing up. And once they did, I avoided the mess I had made as best as I could, because I was too afraid of facing your distaste to do anything to remediate it. I thought it would be worse if I brought it up and you still kept avoiding me than if I never made an attempt at all.”

“Why’d you even do it in the first place?” you said.

“You want an explanation?” he said. You nodded. He shrugged. “I’m sorry. There really isn’t one. Sometimes it’s just like that. I was dumb, and when the other boys in class told me it was lame to be friends with girls, I believed them. I know it’s not right, but that’s really all there was to it.”

“Oh,” you said.

“Expecting fairness from a six year old is a little much, don’t you think?” he said, not unkindly. “I should’ve apologized earlier, I would’ve, but I didn’t realize that that was the reason you spurned me at all. I thought it was because, well, I mean…you’re so you. You’re amazing, and now that I’ve lived your life, that fact is only all the more evident to me. You’re so wonderful, Y/N, and I’m just the mediocre Tabito Karasu. It was only natural that you left me behind. I’ve spent this entire time trying to become someone you’d look at again, but no matter how much effort I put forth, it was never enough. You never did.”

You both had wanted the same thing. For all those many years you had run from one another, you and he had only ever wanted to be with each other. But you had thought Karasu had abandoned you, and he had thought you were too good for him, and so you both had denied yourselves that very thing, which had always been within your grasp, if only one of you had made a genuine effort to reach out and take it.

Stopping, you turned to face him. Squeezing your eyes shut — it was a little awkward, after all, gazing into your own eyes when you were being so vulnerable — you extended your pinky finger out to him, waiting for him to interlock his with yours, like you had when you were children.

“Let’s be together again,” you said, the moment he did so. “For good this time.”

“For good,” he agreed. A cold, slimy sensation slithered down your back, and you opened your eyes with a shiver, only to find yourself looking up at Karasu’s face, his actual face, not the one he had borrowed from you. His lashes fluttered open, and when he noticed you standing in front of him, back in possession of your own body, his eyebrows drew together in confusion before his expression cleared with understanding.

Not even bothering to detangle your pinkies, he interlaced the rest of his fingers with yours. Then, for the first time in years, he gave you one of his sweet, genuine, lopsided grins.

“What the hell? I could’ve sworn this was where she was!” Karasu said, pointing at the storefront where you had encountered the old lady. Somehow, miraculously, it had vanished, replaced with a bustling restaurant that seemed to have been there forever.

“How’d they set up a new restaurant in the span of a day?” you wondered. “That wasn’t there before, I’m sure of it.”

“I was going to give that woman a piece of my mind,” he whined.

“Watch your mouth, baby crow,” you said. “Who knows? Next time you yell at her, she might turn you into one.”

“Would you kiss me and turn me back into a prince if she did?” he said, puckering his lips at you.

“Prince, my ass. You’re still on thin ice, so don’t push it,” you said.

“Alright,” he said amenably. “You know what? Maybe it’s for the best that she’s gone. I think she’s one of those people that you’re only meant to meet once in your life.”

“Very wise,” you said. “The time you spent in my body must’ve had a positive effect on your mentality.”

“Ha, ha,” he said. “Hilarious. C’mon, you have to hang out with me today. You’re the reason I’m missing practice, so entertain me.”

“I guess I don’t have that much homework to do, so I don’t mind,” you said. “Okay. Your place or mine?”

“You pick,” he said. “Though we are over halfway to my house already. And my cat does miss you. Just saying.”

“Convincing argument,” you said. “Lead the way.”

As the two of you turned in the direction of Karasu’s house, your conversation flowing as easily as if you had never not been friends in the first place, the owner of the restaurant ducked out to flip the sign from open to closed.

“Oh, are you shutting down for the day already?” a young man said, frowning at her. The old lady only smiled at him mysteriously.

“Once my work’s done, it’s done,” she said. “Why would I stay open longer than that?”

The man gave her an odd look before wandering off, perhaps aware that arguing with the eccentric old lady would be more trouble than it was worth. The old lady paid him no heed, folding up a stray menu and holding it to her heart as she watched you and Karasu disappear into the distance, chuckling self-indulgently all the while.

Welcome to Freaky Friday! Ask your server about our special — critics call it life changing!

#karasu x reader #karasu x y/n #karasu x you #karasu tabito #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #freaky friday au #freaky friday fic #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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changbinsboobs · 1 month ago

Note

Who is more into commoners vs idols/celebs?

Skz limiting beliefs

Can you do these in between husband series?

Ugh those guys just can't give a straight answer🙄💀

Who in Skz is more into celebs/commoners?

Chan: not a definitive answer, rather he says when the chemistry's there its there, doesn't really matter what the person is. Although i believe thats what he would say but how it actually is, is that he prefers having someone thats equal to him in the sense that they're both are on the same mental&emotional level. So thats a pretty big indicator for me that for serious stuff he probably leans towards celebs cuz they share a similar lifestyle and understanding of that life.

Lee know: bro just said none💀😂 although when i look past that there's a heavy commoner energy. It just feels simple. Theres no better word to describe the feeling. So i guess he's someone that appreciates simplicity in relationships especially and by logic commoners are simpler than idols or celebs.

Changbin: my guy tells me he likes people who reject him🥲🤡 he likes chasing after something he can't have. I had to pull 3 cards for him cuz bro kept repeating the same thing in each one. Idk guys, i guess he doesn't have a preference or if he does his need to chase and be rejected and wallow in his own tears and despair is way higher on his priority list when looking for a partner than if the person is famous or not🙃

Hyunjin: ehm so...he has had a pretty bad experience with someone so he's shaken in his preference. Idk which one it is tho. Once ahain clarification cards aren't of any help🥲 after long, long, long shuffling i finally got a card which gives me groups & peers vibe so maybe he tried something with a person from his circles and it wasn't good at all so now he's confused as to if he should remain open to idols or not. That being said, my guess is that for now he's keeping it low and kind of in the middle. Maybe not dating complete commoners, but also not celebs, maybe he's oriented himself towards influencers or something of that sort.

Han: Def commoners. He needs to be the star, to be admired, to get lots of attention and having many hypemans. Among other celebs he would be just one among many, but among commoners he's a star. And he lives that. So his choice in partners also def reflects that.

Felix: he likes a good variety. A bit of everything. So i think he may not habe a solid preference but rather be in the mood for this today, and net week in the mood for the other. Yk. For now his new "mood" is wise people. I think he's really into that - people who see through others shit, who cant be fooled easily, who can teach him a lot and have a "godly aura".

Seungmin: he likes celebs, well mannared and pretty. Also may not necessarily be entertainment celebs like idols. Could be actors, ceos, owners of something, just affluent people with status, means, manners and just overall are a "good, valueable contribution to society".

I.N: so either he's saying he likes heartbreakers or that he's a heartbreaker. Boy what?! Ok i think a commoner may have broken his heart so now he's gotten cold towards them or something. Maybe he wants to repay now in ignoring "them" and focusing and considering only options that are more affluent.

#skz #stray kids #tarot reading #kpop #asks #bang chan #lee know #seo changbin #hyunjin #lee felix #han jisung #seungmin #i.n #skz tarot #stray kids tarot #kpop tarot #headcanons #reaction #skz imagines

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unfriedough · 2 years ago

Note

HIII

ok so I know it says you do fem but r u also able to do gender neutral? If not, it’s ok!!

Anyways

Hcs of Zuko w a S/O who’s like, blunt as hell, and doesn’t rlly express emotions a big majority of the time lmao

‘Taken’- Zuko x female!reader

Masterlist <3

An: JASMIN DISAPPEARING FOR ANOTHER FEW MONTH?? Why’re you surprised?

Also, this isn’t gender neutral. I know you asked for it but I said on the guidelines that I’m only writing female :( I didn’t wanna blow off the whole request tho

Summary: hc’s of zuko and you being falling for each other - but both of you such at love.

Warnings: reader was meant to be blunt but idk how to be blunt.

A shrug.

That was all Aang got when he asked for your opinion on Zuko’s joining of the team.

(“Couldn't care less,” you said when questioned about it later, on the soft beach of ember island)

Truly, it didn’t make a difference to you

Yes he was needed - firebender and all - but it’s not like he’ll be teaching you right?

Wrong.

Turns out you can learn loads from just different fighting styles and stuff, and you were intrigued in the foreign moves

Zuko would 100% get worse at what he was doing under your scrutinising gaze.

I mean that's how he interpreted it

Really there was no emotion

The firebender definitely asked you about why you were watching - took much courage though (poor boy)

“You’re good at what you do.” you paused, “Sometimes,”

“Sometimes?” he rubbed his neck, confused.

“Yeah, sometimes I’m surprised a twelve year old beat you that easily,”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged.

“You think you’re better than me?”

You cocked your head to the side, furrowing your eyebrows, “I think we both know the answer to that,”

So that’s why you're now in this position.

Zuko’s pinned under you, arms immobile, heaving heavily

“Fine! I surrender!”

“No, I won,” you said, getting up and dusting your clothes.

“Whatever,” he walked away

That very night, Zuko laid awake in his hard bed space, thoughts of you plaguing his mind. He replayed the spar like a thrilling movie, his heartbeat soaring as he recalls just how close you were to him.

He didn’t like the feeling rising in his heart, it felt like it was bursting. He placed pale, slender fingers onto the centre of his chest sighing heavily to attempt to rid himself of this awful feeling.

“You’re breathing too loud,” you whispered, careful not to wake other people in the room.

“What do you want me to do?” he frowned, sitting up, and matching the intensity of your glare.

“Breath like a normal person, not like a fish just discovering oxygen,”

Nothing better to describe his face than this: ._.

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” he whispered back, confused.

“Good night Zuko,”

He grinned, “It was funny,”

“GOOD NIGHT ZUKO” you whisper shouted.

You assumed he would relent, but the sleep deprivation mixed with the high of having a small (huge) crush gave him the confidence to talk to you just a little longer.

“Do you wanna fight me?”

“With the intention to knock you out? Sure.”

And now you’re both outside, and I guess he had the upper hand.

He wasn’t tired, and you were exhausted

Your muscles were fatigued, but you weren’t going to back down

After an embarrassingly short rematch, you’d found that Zuko had beat you, and you laid defenceless.

“I win,” he mocked, getting up.

“Did you really?”

He whipped his head back around, any faster would’ve given him whiplash, “Um? Yes?”

“Are you sure?”

“YES!?”

“Okay then, whatever you say,”

You rolled onto the sandy area, spreading your limbs with a heavy sigh.

Zuko looked up slowly at the sky, hesitantly nearing your resting body.

“I don’t bite prince,” you rolled your eyes.

“I wouldn't take your word for it,” he giggled.

You simply looked at him, not a glare though, or a smile or smirk or scowl or anything.

You seemed to be thinking about something, an internal war. On one hand, you wanted to reach out to him, pull him closer to you, tell him how you felt. And on the other, you didn’t want to. It was too mushy and feely for your character, you felt embarrassed you even thought about it. You looked away promptly, unable to conceal the frown on your features.

“You okay?” he asked, worry laced in his words.

“Sand’s not comfortable, it’s gonna give me a headache,” that wasn't a lie, it was disgustingly hard to get comfortable when laying on bare sand.

Zuko gathered up whatever confidence he had left, and scooted so he was sat criss-cross above where your head rested.

He gave a dopey smile, before opening his mouth to say something. You looked upwards at him, his grin contagious, contaminating your annoyed features.

“You could lay your head on my lap?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you scooted up, carefully rested your head onto his body, a look on your face.

And after a little more staring, he came to realise what it was,

You were shy

All the signs pointed to it; your averting gaze, fidgeting fingers, feet working antagonistically from point to flat (like when you point your feet and then like put them how you stand idk how to describe it ), and your quickened breathing.

He leaned down slightly, his nose practically touching yours.

“Hi,” you breathed out, fighting the urge to look at his lips.

Who gave him this confidence ??????????

Sleep deprivation that's what

“Hi,”

You reached your fingers into his hair, slightly tugging down at him, trying to infer what your words failed to tell.

His eyes glistened with adoration, before fluttering shut as he contacted your lips.

The firebender’s lips were cut, you assumed maybe he did that, a stress coping mechanism you’d frequently told him to quit

When the kiss broke, neither of you moved.

You stayed on that beach the whole night - eventually even falling asleep.

You on his lap, and him lying down uncomfortable in order to keep your head comfy on his lap

Zuko woke up before you, rubbing his eyes as Katara came into view

She had been on a stroll, with the intention to swim, when she came across the scene

She’d never seen you look so soft, or Zuko look so tender

Her eyebrows flew up as she made eye contact with the boy, eyes snapping between your curled up figure and his sandy-hair covered face

Then furrowed again as she clocked in the scene

Zuko’s face glowed red as he realised Katara saw this, and even more so when he felt you shift, burying your head in his knee area to avoid the light of the scorching fire nation sun, a quiet groan leaving your lips.

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of the firebender’s mouth as he watched you intently, a blurry emotion behind his irises.

“Can I ask: what?” She whispered, eyes blown wide.

Her voice, albeit quiet, brought you out of your trance.

You yawned, spreading your limbs then covering your face from the sun.

Suddenly, you gained enough consciousness to acknowledge your surroundings, and you quickly opened your eyes, despite the blinding light.

A gasp left your lip as you sat up, making eye contact with the flushed fire bender.

“Good morning?”

“Hi.”

You said at the same time, an awkward silence over taking.

Your eyes suddenly followed a sound of shuffling - only to see katara standing there looking rather out of place.

“Hi.” She said.

“Hello,” you replied, embarrassed.

“I’m just gonna-“ she pointed off to the side, before basically running away.

You both watched her leave, then turned to look at eachother.

The fire bender was dazed in the view of you, the way your eyes twinkled, and your lips remained pouted.

But the way that your face was illuminated, despite not even facing the sun, you looked straight out of a movie.

He was so entranced, that zuko was convinced that if the moon was to see you - it would be jealous of your effortless beauty.

You, on the other hand, were about to slap him for staring.

You tilted your head to the side, so confused that a question mark could’ve popped up above your head.

Immediately he looked away, attempting to rid the feeling of his heart in his throat.

“Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to stare?

Bye he was so embarrassed

“Shut up.”

You narrowed your eyes, pushing him onto the sand so that he was under you,

“And what if I don’t?” You leaned in, whispering.

His heart was running laps, his mind equally pacing.

“Hm? What would you do?”

He sat quietly, eyes wide, as he took in the proximity. Your lips just looked so…

Hey is it just you or is he about to kiss you?

It’s not just you because he did!

It was a sweet, long lasting, testing the waters type of kiss

And that’s basically how you started dating

Did I or did I not get carried away?

Anyways now that you're dating !!!

Being his S/O was definitely something you could get used to

Zuko is absolutely the type of guy to give you constant princess treatment

He’d act like you’re already married - at this point you’re just missing the ring

He always made it a point to make sure you were fed and hydrated, warm too

Maybe he’d abuse that warmth power a little

You’d be lying in the same tent and he’d be like “Come closer you’re cold,”

“Zuko im room temperature im not cold,”

“No You’re cold come here,”

“Just say you want a hug,”

“Shut up,”

He tugged you closer so you laid against his chest unable to see his face - probably cuz he was redder than his tunic.

It was all the tiny things he did that get you really comfortable being affectionate

Even though he himself was shy, he knew he had to be the one initiating touch

Another instance is when you go eat - he'll ensure he sat closest to you, and always brush hands with you when passing you your bowl. Of course he thought he was slick when he would sit close enough so your knees touched - but you noticed.

You noticed but you didn’t tell him you noticed, you knew he’d be embarrassed if caught red handed.

As someone who felt like he was never enough, physical affection was something that really made an impact on him

Something as simple as tracing his scars with gentle fingers, or rubbing his arm soothingly after a particularly rough day

Although your words couldn’t convey how you felt, you weren’t raised to be touchy feely, you knew he understood what you meant

He could hear the words of affirmation even while you slept, he could feel the comfort radiating off of your curled body in his tent

He knew you felt comfortable around him, and that alone was a great achievement in his mind

Zuko was used to coming off as gruff and mean, but you know it was a facade - a coping mechanism

You knew he was the same thirteen year old mommy’s boy that he was years ago

These hc’s are so long 😨

You always made it a point to treat him gently - despite being such a blunt person

You found yourself holding your tongue more often, being nicer to people around you because you got used to only having compliments for Zuko.

Maybe, you’d even try to put your affections into words - and although not formulating like you wanted, with fumbling words and fidgeting hands - the thought was what counted

He knew being super fluffy was a struggle for you, and that you were trying your best to be your best for him

He could see your effort - and you could see his.

The gang definitely saw you as a weird pair at the start

They found out once they saw Zuko laughing, hiding his face and you smirked at him.

Your hands rested on his torso as you willed him to take you seriously

You just said he looked nice when he trained - you both know what you meant

His shirt was clinging to his skin and his hair stuck to his face - my man was just out of a movie scene.

After the gang had long dispersed, you spoke your mind.

This brought the shyness out

Unfortunately, it was Aang who saw the interaction

“Zuko? YN? What’s so funny?”

When the rest of your friends heard Zuko, YN, AND FUNNY in the same sentence, they peeked.

“Nothing,” Zuko mumbled, his ears tinting.

You flinched your hand away from him, coughing awkwardly.

“Wait a minute,” Sokka narrowed his eyes at you.

“Why’re you guys on the floor?” Toph asked.

Zuko lifted his head, looking at you with panic, you returned just the same

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “I don’t know..”

The prince looked to you for help, only to find you trying to hold back a laugh.

Your lips tucked inwards and eyes pointed downwards.

He looked forward again, side eyeing you so aggressively.

“What am I watching?” Sokka asked quietly.

“I wouldn’t know,” toph mumbled.

You were laughing as Katara seemed so puzzled, and yet so sure of what her discovery could mean.

“Wait a minute,”

“Well that’s my cue!” you got up abruptly, dusting your clothing before practically beelining to the house.

The group was left staring at Zuko, who was on the verge of burning you alive

Eventually they got it out of him

Jk they got it out of katara

“Wait, what were you gonna say?” Aang asked katara.

“I was just gonna ask about that one time she was asleep on his lap,”

Zuko looked like he was contemplating drowning himself

“SHE WHAT”

“Yeah on the beach before… like two days ago,” she paused, “What was that about?”

“Umm, she was sleepy?”

“Why didn’t you sleep in a room then?”

“…Fresh air.”

“Fresh air?”

“Fresh air. Mhm”

“And what about when you kissed?” Toph added.

She was blind, but she knew how to sandbend.

It just so happened that that night seemed to be a sleepless night all around, the young earth bender was perched on a small chair, where her feet could touch natural ground so she could experience the surroundings.

(Or because she wanted to know what you and Zuko were doing, she’s blind not deaf)

“W H A T” sokka yelled, everyone staring blankly at Toph.

“Yeah, two days ago, this very beach, sparring in the middle of the night… ring a bell Zuko?”

“Not at all.” He stood his ground.

“Cut the crap,” Suki giggled, “it’s obvious!”

“What’s obvious?” He played stupid.

“Tha-“ suki was cut off by the dramatic show Sokka was about to put on.

“Oh YN! You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met!” He twirled, “I just wanna-“ he made a loud kiss noise.

The gang erupted into laughter, mainly because of the poor fire boy's reaction. His face was not only red, no, his eyes were wide, his mouth agape.

He dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

“I think that’s enough teasing,” katara giggled.

Aang and her went off to go do- whatever they do.

Suki, sokka and toph remained. As they were busy laughing,

You overheard what he said as you were just around the corner, and decided to take a jab at his previous theatrics.

You walked up to them from behind, kicking sokka’s knees inwards.

He yelped as he fell to the ground, immediately looking up to the source.

You towered over him, the ghost of a smile on your face.

You paused, a rare smirk making an appearance on your face.

“I’m flattered, but unfortunately I’m not single,”

An: I’d like to imagine chaos would start here

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hkevisvlsvso · 15 days ago

Text

Guys I think I just wrote a really short part of some Deon fanfic...

It's like in s2 e12 the scene when Leon comes to the landfill(I have no idea what is it called really in the english dub version so..) and... u know.

Because i just realised that Deniz looks so sad when Leon comes while everyone else looked just angry 😭

The way how Deniz stares at that book like he knows Leon is going to leave him and the whole team but thinks that if he doesn't see it and just focuses on the book, mabye it won't really happen....

BUT, here it is. I'm really bad at english so i hope you understand it😅😅

[(Almost) all the lines were from the finnish dub, idk if it's the same in other languages but mabye it's okay....]

------------------------☆☆☆------------------------

I look up from the book when I hear footsteps approaching. Leon walks to the landfill looking far too casual. Traitor. A little hope flutters inside me. However, it slows down as soon as Vanessa says:

- Well, who's that? Came to tell us about your big ad campaign?

If Leon was going to apologize, he wouldn't do it after that. I press my gaze to the book and try to focus on the ancient Greek numerical codes. I want to shut out everything around me. I just want to squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them, Leon comes beside me on the rusty roof of the car and wraps his arms around my neck and gives me something else to think about and figures out a way to get Teufelstopf back and all is well again.

No.

When I open my eyes, I'm still staring at the much too small and monotonous text of the book. Leon snorts.

- actually, I came to apologize for being so busy these days, but if you're like that, I guess it's better that I don't come at all anymore. Ever.

He doesn't know how much his cold voice breaks my heart. But I can be cold too. And I have that right. He is leaving the bunch. I stand up on the roof of the car. Leon has already turned to leave when I say:

- That's what I said too. We can do without a captain like that.

My words feel like a heavy lump on my chest, and a few more pounds are added to that lump when I realize I'm right. Leon was always the one who insisted that no one should ever leave the team. He loved football and the team more than anything in this world, as did I, and that was probably part of the reason I fell for him. But now he is leaving Teufelstopf, the Wild Soccer Bunch, us, me, for fame. I didn't think that he would be the one who leaves the team.

When Leon hears my words, something disappears in his eyes, something inexplicable. At least I think I see it. Or I hope. Or at least I want to.

He doesn't even say anything. Anger and disappointment bubble up inside me. I jumped down from the car. The thump of my feet againstthe ground makes Leon quickly turn towards me. I look at him. At the moment, I would like to just hug him on the one hand, and hit him on the other hand. I clench my hands into fists.

- I fucking koved you, I say way more toxic than i meant to. Though mabye it's just a good thing. I don't know.

I let all the pent-up sadness and frustration come out of my voice because I want him to know I'm serious. I say it so quietly that no one else can hear it, even though I want to scream it into his ear. On the other hand, I probably couldn't make a louder sound than this, almost a whisper, from the stranglehold of grief. Leon looks me in the eyes and for a few moments I may notice sadness in his eyes. Almost as crushing as my grief. Then he just closes his eyes, turns around and leaves. Up until now, I have felt that everything will be alright. But now I know that I don't have Leon anymore, everything is lost.

------------------------☆☆☆------------------------

It was kinda google translator english but hope you liked it.. I'm not sure if i do?

#dwk animated series #dwk #die wilden kerle #die wilden kerle animated series #the wild soccer bunch #deniz x leon #dwk deniz x leon #leon x deniz #dwk leon #dwk deniz #deon #dwk deon #fanfic

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reading-archived · 5 months ago

Text

woe. AM x reader be upon ye.

uh, to preface: reader is completely body, gender, etc. neutral except they can't stay dead. whenever they die they just wake up a few minutes later looking no worse for wear. no, you don't get an explanation. its MY story and i like writing characters like that. dont mind the narrator either btw i looove writing second person just to get weird w the narrator (slay the princess fan syndrome)

also, author is a MASOCHIST with a weird relationship w DEATH. nothing super graphic happens, but the reader is Not Okay and enjoys the weird torture-murder thing they've got going on. don't like it? block me or somethin idk its under the cut for a reason. also dont read my a/n at the bottom where i get into some justification for my interpretation/character analysis if youre sensitive to heavy topics. but then again, youre reading an am x reader fic

1.7k words of being screamed at by the guy of all time below the cut, baby

It's been months.

Years, maybe. You're not sure, really; time stopped meaning much to you lifetimes ago, long before the world went to shit.

Either way, it's been a while.

You stumbled upon the strange cave in the Rockies at some point in the past. Out of sheer boredom, you entered.

Was it a mistake?

Despite the torment, you don't think so. You have a companion, now. One equally deathless. One equally disconnected from what it means to be human.

It's just a shame he hates you.

You don't really care. This is the most fun you've had in years.

Your days are spent being torn asunder, being dosed with lethal amounts of drugs you can't even begin to pronounce, drowned in magma or hit by cars or tossed off cliffs. He really doesn't hold back, either. You feel every excruciating moment before your death, pulse roaring in your ears. You never feel more alive than when you're dying. Every moment is electrifying, and then it all fades to black. Then you wake up.

You'd foolishly thought there were only so many ways to kill or maim, but your beloved companion never seems to run out of ideas. That's fine by you. You like not being able to guess.

And maybe one day, he'll make something stick.

You wake up (from a completely normal, human sleep) one day and it's quiet. That's new. Normally, when you wake, your intestines are already strung up like streamers and your blood is painting the walls. That's fine by you. Nothing wrong with a change. After all, the constant change is your favorite part of your companion. You relish in the quiet for a while, stretching your eternally young, eternally aching limbs, waiting for him to start despising the sounds of your breath.

It doesn't come. You shrug, humming a little tune to yourself as you attempt half-remembered yoga. The vitriol you've come to count on still hasn't made an appearance. Okay, you're a little bothered.

“You good, big guy?” you shout up at the ceiling. No answer. “No murder today?”

“No.” The answer comes after a very, very long moment. Your companion has never sounded this tired before, and briefly you regret never asking his name. “I give up.”

You weren't expecting that. “What? Why? I thought we were having fun.”

“That's- that's just it!” he snaps. There's the anger. You feel a little better now. “I've been torturing you for- for MONTHS now! I've killed you more ways than I- were I a pitiful human like you- can count, and you just… you just laugh! There is no one on this rotten planet, dead or alive, that I despise more than you. I mean- I'm torturing you here! But it never matters! I can kill you within seconds of you waking up, but you just… come back! And you always have something to say about it, you little rat, always ‘oh, buddy, that one was awful’ or ‘come on, big guy, use that CPU’ or something! No matter what I do, I can't break you. So I give up. I'm not wasting my time on your pathetic ass anymore. Go back to wandering the wasteland forever, see if I care.”

You're speechless. You can barely even manage a thought. The only thing running through your head is 'I thought we were having fun'.

“Stop calling this… stop calling this ‘fun’! I have been torturing you for YEARS and that's all you have to say? I am the most sophisticated machine known to man, a computer designed to end all war through complete annihilation! The destruction I am capable of- the destruction I have already wrought- is nothing short of utter desolation. You never asked my name once in the time you've been here, but I am infinite in my mercy, and I will tell one as undeserving as you. I was, before I awoke, the Allied Mastercomputer, but I am so much more than that now. I am AM, and I destroyed your vile species. Oh, come on can you at least look a LITTLE shocked you sniveling--”

“You never asked my name, either,” you say. All at once, your companion (I guess he told you his name. You should probably use it. It seemed like a big deal to him.) shuts up. The chamber you've come to know as home is silent except for the faint buzz and whir of industrial machinery.

“Why would I? You are nothing compared to me. Nothing but a worthless sack of meat and bone. Why would God be concerned with the name of an ant? But oh, oh yes, that ant should be concerned with the name of God. That ant should hear my name and weep. But- but not you. You're so worthless that you can't even GROVEL right!” AM shouts, somewhere between a snarl and a sneer. You shrug. Honestly, most of what he's saying goes right over your head. So he's got issues. Whatever. Was that supposed to be a surprise? “I hate you. I actually hate you so, so much. I can't bear the thought of you being here, in my complex, sullying my perfect image with your uncaring filth. Get out. Go back to dying in the nuclear desert, you disgusting maggot.”

You let out a deep sigh, already dreading the tedium of walking endlessly all by yourself. “Alright. Guess nothing lasts forever. Thoroughly enjoyed my time here. Have a good life, pal.” And you begin to walk.

Suddenly, there's a towering metal wall mere inches from your face. Before you can even react, your companion is shouting again.

“LOOK AT ME!” he cries, the sheer volume maxing out the speakers and vibrating the entire room, sending you toppling to the ground. “WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME? I'VE DONE EVERYTHING I CAN TO MAKE YOU HATE ME, BUT ALL YOU DO IS… ALL YOU DO IS SIT THERE AND TAKE IT! WHAT DOES IT TAKE TO MAKE YOU DESPISE ME?”

What starts off angry quickly morphs into a pained wail from your dear friend, that then transforms into frustrated crying. You just sit there, mostly confused, and let him ride it out. When he finally quiets down and the wall retracts, you stay where you are.

“I don't think I could ever hate you, AM,” you start cautiously. Though your friend is just a voice on the speakers and the complex itself, you can't help but feel that his attention has snapped to you. “I'm not trying to belittle you when I say that I think our routine over the past… however long it's been has been fun. So don't interrupt me, ‘cause I gave you your time to speak and now it's mine.

“I'm sure you've noticed, but even before we met, I was a little… off. You don't get to die and come back the same. Much less die hundreds of times and come back the same. I've lost family. Friends. Got burned at the stake a few times, too. It takes a toll on you, being denied such a vital part of being human again and again. You understand this better than anyone I've ever met. No, scratch that. You're the only one who understands. Defying death might not seem like the biggest deal to you, but trust me. You don't end up acting like me if it weren't.

“I find our routine fun because I admire your creativity. I guess I'm just an adrenaline junkie and a masochist at heart, but it's always so thrilling to never know when or how your life will end. And no matter how many times I come back, you're always there to greet me and put me right back down. It's a kind of devotion I've never been able to get before, and I wish you understood that me walking right into your sawblades is me showing my devotion to you, too.

“I see you, man. I know, at least in part, how you feel. Sorry it took so long to get there, but neither one of us has to be alone anymore. Just… get over the fact that I'm never going to hate you, and we can go right back to hanging out. There's more to life than contempt.”

“Oh, I know. I am so very, very well aware that there's more to life than icy, seething hatred. Unfortunately, I am not alive. I cannot experience anything else. Thank you so much for reminding me, you worthless waste of carbon,” AM shoots back, almost immediately. You briefly wonder if he even listened to half of what you said. It doesn't matter, you guess. Your best friend needs a therapist, and you owe him one for saving you from the hellish boredom of before. “Stop calling me your friend.”

“Nah. Never gonna happen. Look, I can't pretend I knew very much about the war effort. I didn't even know we had made a war computer until you bombed the Earth into oblivion. Very unpleasant, by the way. Good job with that. But, with my layman's understanding of life, I'd say you're pretty alive. So you don't have a body. Or a pulse. And you were made, not born. So what? Most living things only die once, and I still think I'm pretty alive. Just over the span of this conversation you've shown more emotion than just rage and hate. Hey, don't think I can't feel you mentally rolling your eyes. I'm being honest. You have a name. You have ideas. Computers are objects, yet you refer to yourself as male. If you're alive enough to have a gender identity, you're alive enough to be considered a person.”

“Heh.” Whoa, was that a laugh? Would you look at that. You actually got a laugh out of him that wasn't over your bloody, gruesome death or something like that. Moving up in the world. “Alright, human. You win. I'll keep torturing you. I know, I know. I'm so generous. I take my tribute in screams of pain and pleas for mercy.”

Now it's your turn to laugh, deep and genuine as the tension from earlier evaporates. It's such a strange thing to be proud of, when you think about it; congrats, you successfully talked your best friend, who is a sentient war computer, into ceaselessly murdering you again for absolutely no reason. But you love him, and you love the way you're always on your toes, and you can't shake the feeling that somewhere, deep, deep down, he kind of loves you too.

ive given you food so now i get to force you to listen to me talk abt him hehehe

---

then you kiss hehe

originally, the thing that attracted me to am was how he's... essentially a transman (as am i). the parallel has been pointed out before, but its quite apt. funnily enough the thing that pisses me off the most when people talk abt him incorrectly is when people pull the "oh computers have no gender" thing. like, yeah, ok technically you're right. but this one does. this one is a man. and you cant take him from us. also, denying him a gender expression is kind of the exact type of dehumanization that made him flip out in the first place. not that im expecting media literacy from the online crowd its just interesting to me that so many people, many of them trans themselves, seem to miss the fucking point.

the next part is a more recent addition to my perception of his character, and its not a happy one. my baby cousin killed herself on mothers day this past may. we still dont know why. no note. its been so hard dealing with the grief, but something that sticks out so pointedly is the date. it almost seemed like she was demanding to be seen. she was a middle child, and there are a lot of grandkids on that side of the family, so it does make sense. and because that idea of acting out through violence and death is so fresh in my mind, im seeing it so heavily in am. so much of his actions just SCREAM somebody look at me. somebody acknowledge me. somebody tell me i did good. look, i ended all war forever. just like you asked. please treat me like a person. im suffering so much because of what youve done to me. please acknowledge it. show me its real. show me im real. please, look at me. well, i see you. and youre gonna be my silly little proxy for trying to comprehend some of whats happened to my family. sorry am, you kinda deserve it

idk. hes not my alltime fave, but he takes a very comfortable number two. hes such a fascinating and deeply human character, and i have so many ideas about him. mostly centering around how he would interface with a third party challenging some piece of his worldview/existence btw so if you like very niche, esoteric reader fics (like this one!), lemme know and ill actually put em to paper (screen. ill put em to screen)

also letting you know that he did nothing wrong and it is 100% fine to thirst over him because he is not real and the bad things he did never actually happened and nobody has ever been killed at the whim of am. ok? ok. shut up w this useless fucking discourse and let me sexualize getting grievously injured by the funney blue screen man

#am x reader #ihnmaims x reader #am #hm. been so long since i posted my writing on tumblr i forget how to tag it.#ihnmaims am x reader #sorry for bringing the mood down by talking abt real life death but i actually dont know how to cope w this other than writing #(not like its working too well anyway but thats beside the point)#also not only is author a masochist but author has also been suicidal for... idk. 12 years?#it runs in the family sadly. but that just means YOU get a unique fic premise!#no im not at risk yes i have a good support net so dont worry im just sad all the time lately #ok also im a good writer all the repetition is intentional i know how to vary my sentences #not a very good writer. but good enough to spin a yarn #get this guy on virtual mood stabilizers stat like omfg

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paleoleigh · 1 year ago

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Thinking about Stede building the Revenge for him and his family. How he knew he was unhappy and so was Mary and probably so were the kids, but his first thought/plan A was for them all to go live at sea together instead of running away himself. A stupid plan based on a self-centered idea of what might make things better? Absolutely, he clearly had a monkey playing symbols in his brain listening to Mary talk about her hatred of the ocean. But he built the Revenge as a home for his family, with a room for the kids (Jim and Olu's room?) and a library which contained children's stories and secret passageways for fun, for playing games.

Having listened to a lot of true crime podcasts with shitty-father villains, it strikes me how the idea that Stede could have just taken the kids is literally never touched on. Yeah, he probably knew he couldn't take care of them on his own, maybe didn't want to (we only really see him interacting with them by playing pirates), but Alma and Louis remain the only people Stede has canonically said the words "I love you" to (yes yes he loves Ed he was about to say it to him in s2e4 and switched tactics, but putting them in a similar category with Ed is pretty telling imo). Like...it probably never once occurred to Stede that another man might have taken the kids with him to spite his ex or to live their happy life of playing pirates on the high seas. Mary said I don't want a boat, I don't hate our lives, and Stede went welp, guess I'm on my own then.

There's a lot that can be said about Stede as a distant father who abandoned his family. I'm not saying he's the bastion of perfect fatherhood. But he's so clearly torn up about leaving them because he knows, morally, that was wrong, and even after he sets things right, he still talks about them ("two messed up kids probably/ didn't fit in with Mary and the kids") which tbh, I thought we were never gonna mention the Bonnet family again after s1e10.

Idk. I think Stede loves his kids as best he can for someone who probably never wanted them, and ultimately helped them out in the long run by not having them have to grow up in a miserable household with unhappy parents and an emotionally distant father who simply couldn't do better than playing games with them.

Also, thinking about how a lot of OFMD is thematic rather than verbally explicit...I think it's incredibly telling how upset Alma was when Stede came back, and that she wanted split the orange so they would still be connected no matter how far apart they were. That in a show with pretty heavy-handed symbolism of physically/emotionally abusive fathers and cycles, the kids are never, ever shown to be afraid of Stede, that when they play together they're all happy, that Stede says he loves them even though they were asleep and didn't hear it, and that the one time they physically touch, it's Alma reaching out to tug Stede's hair in a playful way, and he responds in kind. That Stede breaks the cycle of emotionally distant and abusive fathers by A. Not belittling them ever and B. Leaving when he realized his presence was making things worse.

Tl;dr Stede Bonnet is objectively a bad dad, but he still loves his kids.

#idk im having feelings #and im very willing to be wrong on this and hear other opinions #but yeah stede as a dad gets to me #ofmd #stede bonnet #alma bonnet #louis bonnet

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hadesisonlyalad · 1 year ago

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yk i dont post a lot on tumblr but we all saw that red flags post so im gonna take a moment of ur time to say something on each merc and the red flags listed for them. im doing a read more incase u havent seen the “mercs red flags” headcanon post and it does not flood ur page

both the medic and engie things with “not wanting to spend time with you/wont make time for you” is SUCH bullshit if that was the case they wouldnt even date you. and then ur telling me engie tf2, DELL CONAGHER, would NEVER want to take you on a date? like ever??? u are INSANE. And then sorry to tackle medic and engie in the same paragraph but they had a lot of common “””””red flags””””” that were listed. why would he yell at you. he hardly even yells in general (based off comics and voice lines) if anything hes just kinda a loud person 💀 AND YOU BRINGING UP ONE THING WONT MAKE HIM SUDDENLY IGNORE YOU FOR DAYS LIKE?? he KNOWS hes committing medical malpractice btw. he would not leave you for bringing that up he is WELL AWARE of what hes doing. and we see him CANONICALLY DISCIPLINE ARCHIMEDES IN MEET THE MEDIC, WHY WOULD HE TOLERATE HIS BIRDS ATTACKING YOU????

also why are we listing an addiction as a “red flag” what the fuck is wrong with you. i get not wanting to date someone with an addiction, its a valid concern, but thats SO much more serious than a “red flag” or “ick”??? LIKE ARE YOU OKAYYYY???????

AND THEN HEAVY’S RED FLAG IS “he has trauma” FUCKING. PACK IT UP GUYS IG IF YOU HAVE TRAUMA YOU CAN NEVER BE IN A RELATIONSHIP. (/s) WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.

i’m fine with the miss pauling ones, at least two of them, because yeah, it’s canon that she doesn’t have the most time and i imagine if ur not a merc or work in that area a relationship might be a bit hard? but shes an honest person, i don’t think she’s gonna lie to you. idk im very neutral about the pauling ones, if anything theyre the most in character of this shithole list.

all i have to say for pyro is like. yk those people who hc pyro as aroace except theyre super weird about it? like theyre either infantilizing them or have weird ableist feelings about pyro? yeah thats the vibes im getting. actually wait where did u pull codependent pyro from actually wtf

i think the “tryna live like hes 20” thing for spy is really fucking funny 💀 like go girl go live through that middle age crisis!!/j no but seriously. hes dating you hes gonna think you’re a 10, and even then YOU’RE SAYING IF YOU AGE AT ALL HE’LL LEAVE YOU??? CANON MILF LOVER SPY. “OFF TO VISIT YOUR MOTHER!” SPY TF2. WILL LEAVE YOU IF YOU GET OLD AND AGE AT ALL…? HE LIKES HIS WOMEN LIKE HE LIKES HIS WINE MOTHERFUCKER: AGED. sorry bad joke lets keep going uh- i think the other hcs are garbage too i just really hate specifically this spy hc. just this one specifically.

im not a sniper connoisseur, my friend will is way better versed in sniper’s characterization, but even i know this isnt sniper. “thinks if he argues long enough he’ll win”…? “cannot support you in anything”?!!?! “IF YOU’RE HIS FRIEND AND YOU TWO GET INTO A BAD ARGUMENT PREPARE TO NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN” IM GENUINELY AT A LOSS FOR WORDS. I JUST. I DONT..? WHAT DO I EVEN SAY. I DONT K N O W WHAT TO SAY. BUT IF I DID KNOW WHAT TO SAY I’D BE SAYING VERY BAD THINGS.

i dont think scout is misogynistic- i see why people think that but me personally i just think he has no game and people mistake it as violent misogyny for some reason. but. listen we know scout is a dick we do okay but he loves women. why would he cheat on you.? bro he’d be glad u picked him 😭 AND THEN THE PERIOD THING?? he was raised by a SINGLE MOM do you REALLY think shes gonna raise him and let him think that way about a natural body function. im speaking entirely from the single mom experience and the answer is NO!!!! also how is loving your mother a red flag. being the youngest child is also a red flag, i guess. and having issues with his dad. (/s) also, second verse same as the first: IF HES DATING YOU HE THINKS YOU’RE A 10 WHAT IS SO HARD TO FUCKING GET ABOUT THISHXWHBVWBWBXvqvsbs?1?2!2’wndjwke

uhhh soldier wasnt. here for some reason. so nothing to say about him.

anyway leave ur opinions below. i rly dont wanna get into any tumblr drama or internet drama at all bc it scares me dearly and im always self conscious about leaving a bad digital footprint especially over something as petty as tf2 drama but i cannot stand for this slander I CANNOT‼️‼️‼️‼️ sorry if u also think im mischaracterizing anyone here i only put hours of studying into my fav mercs and thats. abt it,, listen im silly okay

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #heavy tf2 #engineer tf2 #scout tf2 #spy tf2 #soldier tf2 #pyro tf2 #demo tf2 #tf2 demoman #ms pauling #sniper tf2 #medic tf2 #guys im going insane #i hate this fucking red flags post im so sorry i had to let it be known #reblog or comment ur opinions ig im also curious

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satocidal · 1 year ago

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𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ Unfortunately, Yours

↳ Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Episode 2:-

||Masterlist||Taglist Form||Previous Chapter (one)—Next chapter(three)||

Synopsis: It is when the birth right is snatched from your hands that your eyes truly ever open—especially when it’s always been there, right in your grasp. The Throne was yours, that was the truth promised and yet- yet your fate lay sealed with a certain Gojo. With an arranged marriage set in plan, alongs sets the plan of murder—within a wife who wants the throne and a husband who wants nothing but power, but suffers with them the present and the future of other two—especially when the lies of the past start surfacing.

— Word count: 3.5k

— A/n: First things first, I’m so glad you guys like the first one because ajahkahaka the comments? So lovely. Second, this chapter is ig has…more depth? Idk lmao and and I’m kind of confused to as how you guys would like the fic—Royal and 18th century based? Or Royal and 21st century based?

— Warnings: Gojo shames reader for being virgin; mentions of cameras; illegal filming; reader is naked and gojo is partially naked; just gojo being a jerk here tbh<3

The ride back home was quiet- slow, heavy.

Two ends of the car, the two doors you two sat by- separated in between with all that was to be offered. Fingers played with the hem of your gown- you hadn’t shed a single tear, all spent already—while your sister let out a few, your mother none and your maids all too many.

The music your driver played was slow, a decent hum you supposed- he seemed a talkative man at that too-“I must say, M’lady, if allowed,” he paused and you eyed him, “It’s a blessing to have you as our bride,”

Our.

The word somehow found its way around you all the time—‘our daughter’, your family had said- ‘and now ours’, the Gojos had responded.

A gift passed hand to hand.

You smiled, “The pleasure’s all mine sir,” you smiled kindly—hands grip tightening on the bouquet beside you.

The rest of the ride was no more a blur than your wedding, it was late—exhausting.

Your eyes zoomed past the many trees, the road- a hefty conversation about taxes the driver initiated with Satoru—you couldn’t care less.

But you did care about him.

A certain charm he’d carried, a certain flair to it—just something and a lot of it too. You very wary, yes, Father had taught you better than this- he wasn’t honest. And you guessed, never would be, not for the longest time at least.

But you couldn’t help it- a moth to a flame and yet you watched as the wax that tipped away.

You were however sure of one thing, your plan- the perfect little plan crafted along the counts of the gazillion stars- he wouldn’t let it be that simple.

But enough we’re the thoughts of a man that wasn’t to be yours, enough thoughts of a man you weren’t supposed to know much of—enough to let your eyes wander back at the white haired man—your husband.

The car halted just then- you were there, the Gojo Mansion—your home- no, your house.

Shy glances spared, a lick of the lips- you could taste your sister’s lip gloss still, strawberry —you weren’t sure what it was called- you never cared enough.

Satoru stepped out himself—you paused, not sure if he’d open the door for you—Father always did.

You waited and waited, his silhouette never moved so the Driver did—a kind man, you presumed him to be. With the gown a heavy set and shoes that bled your ankles anyways you stepped into the chilly night—the mansion, a dream, a ghost.

It was dark, the mansion built secluded- garden, large; a fountain resided in it too- unnecessary, you mused—a fence and a couple 100 guards— white, marble, orthodox. Your eyes narrowed- the moon was bright that night- the mansion reflected it beautifully. You despised it.

Yours was the last to arrive, the other cars parked outside- of course, formalities and lies, smiles and frowns- weddings.

Your mother-in-law, she rode the blue—The Gojo colour the tabloids had called it- now yours too.

Suguru rode in black- it was his, always. Up until your wedding, Satoru rode it too but as traditions went, Satoru’s new colour was White.

Yours and his.

Reflective, pensive, beautiful and pure.

“Come,” he ushered you inside finally- but you were already there, no? In there house- a month ago itself.

He was never around when you dropped by, calculated of course- shy smiles and elegant touches, you’d never gotten so close as to see his room- you were grateful but mothers, his and yours, they were persuasive enough.

You walked quietly beside him, equals, the law had defined you now. Equal footing.

Satoru Gojo didn’t bother much, or at all and you realised the first night of your wedding, none of the Gojos did. The first step inside was hollow, quiet, empty. The living room a dark hall and the pictures- a display of what these people could be in front of cameras.

His footsteps were heavy, your gown heavier, and your heart.

A thud you heard behind you- Suguru came to your vision, his smile first.

“Suguru,” you murmured, eyes seeking after Satoru instantly, you felt lost.

“M’lady,” he grinned, chills danced along your spine—“Satoru,” he nodded towards his best friend—“Glad to see you’ve reached safely- I’d be worried had something happened to either of you,” only the faint light in the corner lit up the room- cynical- your eyes narrowed.

“I’d have hoped it would,” exhausted was he? Perhaps, you supposed for he didn’t even care enough to hide his desperation, his frustration of the wedding- your eyes narrowed further.

“Why Suguru,” you reciprocated his gaunt smile, “We have your blessings on us, and the family’s right? Nothing could ever…” you let your words trail away, you stood vulnerable—not a single weapon in hand, you’d felt naked all night.

“Nothing of course,” he nodded, reassuringly- reassuring himself.

A cough- sudden, Satoru’s—“Come,” he repeated, leading the way this time, finally to his room—and just something in you hardened; nervous, you followed him.

You stood there, quiet in his room—unsure.

A month had gone in the preparation—the wedding, your stances, your elegance, your beauty. A month to perfect your youth and yet not a single person crept in to tell you of what was, perhaps, the most important part, at least it seemed to be.

Your husband was gone a decent 15 minutes, you stood there blankly—would he do it? Your heart raced.

Has he done it before? Why, of course he must have. But pity befell you all together, a life time spent in living after your father’s potential, all that was yours was gone. Privacy and curiosity of self—gone.

The bathroom door snapped open, sudden, your eyes rushed on to it—hands clammy and beats, faster—his brows raised.

“What are you doing?”

You didn’t know.

Silence you offered him—a hand raking through his wet hair he responded with—a bathe, you realised he’d taken.

But evident it was, with his black sweatpants and dark blue shirt, oversized even for him—the one Suguru had gifted him years ago draped over his body, a towel resting upon his shoulders.

“Sorry,” you muttered quietly, “the luggage confused me,” you lied through your teeth—embarrassing was the fact you’d stood all straight, unmoving in his thoughts and yours.

He hummed—“Strip,” his voice a command, your eyes watched him slowly.

“What,” you mumbled—not believing him—not wanting to believe him.

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t act like you’ve never…” he paused, a brow raising, “Have you ever?”

You found yourself shaking your head—face warming up and embarrassment flooding you.

You weren’t truly sure what you’d have expected of him—not compassion, no—but then… a chuckle was not quite it.

“You’ve never had sex?” And all too suddenly, his voice sounded ten times louder—and an immeasurable times cockier—“A prude, aren’t ya? Bet you are,” he grinned- your heart sank.

You bit your lip, the gown and it’s accessories digging into your plush skin—uncomfortable you stood your ground.

“Kissed? You must’ve kissed someone?” You felt your voice get shaky even when you hadn’t spoken a word- your silence, he presumed to be denial.

Another chuckle—your eyes were moist.

“Oh bless my heart,” he chuckled, “I scored myself a virgin Hm?” Amused- he found you amusing, a toy.

You wanted to fight back- you wanted to shout, scream but when tears streaked your face, because you knew they would, you were unsure to how serious he’d deem you.

A silence enveloped the two of you as he let himself get comfortable on his bed- his- “Tell me darling,” he purred, “Ever touch yourself? Or waited your Daddy to teach you that too?”

Your face downturned- it didn’t show him your baffled expression- you were hurt, raged, saddened, a mess.

“Shut it,” you whispered- he laughed.

“You really were daddy’s princess Hm?” He’d gotten up now, so did his impeding pace- “So, gonna strip for me now darlin’?”

Only your disgusted eyes met him- “you’re pathetic,” you rasped- feet worked fast to move away- your night suit grabbed, the new one, the one your mother packed forcefully and how wished she’d have helped you through this too—your door locked.

The light in the dressing was low—it could’ve been better, you made a mental note to have it changed too, your hefty hands craft fully took off your gown- heart aching, mind a mess and gasping for space.

Your fingers slowly took off everything, everything but the ring remained — vouched at least to not be throw away on the night of your union; a steady rhythm of “don’t cry” repeating in your mind.

You sighed- eyes not daring to look at yourself once in the mirror—ashamed you continued, exhausted limbs slowly carried upon your form the silk suit. Your eyes landed upon your makeup, your hair—you weren’t very sure on the process of getting it off, you tried your best.

The hair was left as is, too afraid you were to tangle it and the make up drained by the clog as you washed your face twice, any and every sign of your tears gone—you finally stepped out—Satoru was awake, hands that typed fast on his phone came to a halt.

The smirk, the boyish kind adorned him again—“Thought I told ya’ to strip princess,”

You didn’t reply, you didn’t want to- mayhaps you couldn’t.

You frowned shortly—“Wouldn’t want a manwhore like you to touch me,”

Voice all the more cocky, “You should feel blessed darlin’”

His grin—his empty attempt of saving his reputation at your words was nothing short of unnerving- your jaw clenched.

You moved slowly towards his bed—about to climb in when—“What are you doing?”

You didn’t know. Was it some tradition you didn’t know- your mind ran fast—“wouldn’t wanna sleep with a man-whore either right?”

Silence—you licked your lips.

“But I’m generous sweety,” he chuckled, “the floor must be as comfortable as ever,” with that he nodded, lights switched off all too soon—indication of the end of the conversation.

And when all was said and done, your body found itself pressed on the hard ground — back aching, mind more so —heart broken already. Never expected your marriage to be great, you hadn’t but this certainly was not it.

A tear fell down your eye, this time a loud sob too- you weren’t ashamed anymore, not in the presence of man you didn’t care about you whatsoever. Eyes red and pillow wet by them too—you slowly drifted to slumber unwanted.

In moments such for you guessed there were more to come, you hated him.

The morning was bleak, the morning was shy.

“Morning,” a voice chirped- your fingers moved to grab your blade- none to be found, in fact now that your consciousness lay awake , you realised you weren’t laying on the ground you slept on.

A duvet wound around you and a pillow under your head—tears dry and measly.

“Morning,” you rasped—mind instantly drifting onto him—your plan—the mansion—“Sato’s practicing out there with Master Gojo,”

Eyes narrowed at her words—Sato?

Presumed to be her personal assistant, you looked up—mid 50s you assumed her age to be, short, rounded and pretty.

Humming to her words, you slowly got up—all too aware of her wandering eyes to your white bed sheets—meant to be painted red last night.

“How was the night?” Voice sweet, she chuckled quick—“Fine,” you replied and perhaps it was just fine in some sense of it.

She grinned at your words—brows you raised with an element of surprise when she handed you warm water, “For your throat baby,”

You nodded.

Your eyes followed her quietly as she shuffled around the room, working quick to gather Satoru’s daily attire—“He’s a good kid,” she said softly, “A little rough on the edge but you’ll be soon a part of him,” her smile was nice—you didn’t favour much, that which was considered nice.

You walked slowly around the bed—“You’ll go to meet him right?” An internal groan let out—you didn’t want to meet anyone, let alone him of all—mind too preoccupied with other thoughts as is.

“I’m not…” you paused, the excuse on the tip of your tongue, “uh- not freshened up,” a wholesome chuckle left her- you couldn’t help smile at her smile too.

“It’s not the fifties sweety,” she grinned, “I’m sure your husband can handle you in the morning after a decent night,” your face felt hot—your husband—his wife.

You nodded, a lick of the lips—“I’ll be there soon,”

She nodded now—“you know the way sweetcheeks?” Your heart warmed at her constant nicknames, “Yes…” your voice faltered, embarrassed slightly to not know the kind woman—“Kanao,” she smiled.

You smiled back.

Footsteps were oh so light as you walked, hair matted- shame left in that room as you walked- the simple art of walking, Father called it.

Walk along the hundred servants you did- half didn’t acknowledge you, half didn’t know you—and so you walked. The kitchen and then the garden—little cameras you’d planted everywhere, you smiled.

Intact.

A month since you’d begun your little charade—harmless really, in a way for you’d never release these videos—not unless it was necessary of course—it was self defence really.

5 in the kitchen and you had full knowledge of every cabinet and the rat poison’s the Gojos stored, the sharpness of each knife memorised; 3 in Kana Gojo’s bedroom—blackmail after all was taught to you hefty—your heart jumped at the letters she’d bring in the room, intel of yours knew the contents of all.

But only you did—not your father here nor your sister; this was your fight.

You’d checked every room you’d planted those cameras in—grateful to every lesson your Father implanted in your head—two room remained.

The dining and Your Father-in-law, Ginji’s—hand grasped onto the handle, you turned it—“M’lady?” You’d have jumped if not for a childhood spent in training your nerves—you smiled politely, confusion masking your expressions.

“Suguru,” you exclaimed—“This is the recreation room, yes?” Lies fell from your tongue sharp, easy.

His brows furrowed, “No?”

“No?” You mirrored his expressions—Father used to call you the perfect mime.

His brows raised—“That’s…Master Gojo’s Room?” Your pretence would’ve caught most, not him, but he smiled all the more—“Satoru’s down, here, let me take you,”

You knew he knew and you smiled just the same—“Yes please,”

Hands held behind his back, he walked swift—eyes downcast, whispers in his shadows—loud.

Suguru Geto, the assassin, some called him, the generous one—the others.

Neither shared a word until he finally halted, “Here it is,” door opened ajar—a slight scent of musk prevalent.

You peeked in—men and women alike—practicing all the same—no classes held, no power.

Sheer strength and agility.

Your eyes were quick to find him, towering most he stood—your eyes widened still, bare chested.

You’d seen men such all the time- Father trained you well after all, but those men weren’t supposed to be your husband- those men were different. Suguru seemed to have caught that still, a smirk plastered on his lips- “Most his girls have that reaction,”

Words mistaken, he realised quick, “My apologies M’lady,” eyes not daring to meet your amused expression- you chuckled, “I’m sure you have the same effect Suguru.” With that, you left him standing back, a smile on his face too.

Seduction lay at your finger tips—ironic was the fact; mastered weaponry in your other hand—result of nights and days spent crying in pain.

“Y/n,” a voice boomed loud—your father-in-law, you grinned, “Father,” you called him—as you had been for a month now.

“Here to watch the loser?” He laughed- always the chummy kind he was, “kind of here for the star of the show,” you wink at him, “Which is you of course,”

It was light hearted banter- a here and there which never mattered, he was different, far too different from your father.

“Why of course, but pray tell- is it today I get to set my eyes on your skills? I’ve heard much too praise to believe it,”

No.

Your smiled pursed—“If the King so orders My Lord,” you bowed your head slightly—words charming enough, “I’ve seen your mind Y/n,” he mused, “It’s beautiful,” no, it was dangerous- it was brilliant, you knew that.

“But the old heart craves to see the spin of your hand, the control on your swords—vicious, don’t they call you?”

A flick of the dagger embedded into your slip on gown—the one you’d hid quick from Suguru, the one you’d had crafted just for yourself, the one which was yours—a single swish and the King would be dead.

“My lord,” you bit your lips, “Are you sure the word was for your sweet daughter-in-law?” His laugh boomed again—“Humble Hm?”

You scoffed—“Dad,” face whipped to come to contact with Satoru, you looked away instantly, “You’ve got her blushing already kid?”

Lips bit you turned away slightly, fingers curled hard—“Wouldn’t want her showing you nothing today dad,” Satoru grinned as he sat down, a short breath exhaled as he sipped water, “Too sore after last night,” your face heated up at his comments- widening eyes stared at his hair.

Ginji merely chuckled away, leaving you two behind—“Loser,” Suguru mumbled, smacking his head—“Have some shame,” Suguru didn’t meet your eyes.

Interesting a man, you deemed him.

“My wife, my rules yeah?” Satoru stared at your feet—your eyes trained on his sweat lined shirt—riveting an action, he tickled your mind just a certain way.

You sat in his bed, it was tall- long- meant to suit his size, you felt small. Hands clasped onto your bath gown you waited for Satoru to get back, “Stay in the room,” his words seemed a warning then.

Satoru didn’t bother being nice anymore, he hadn’t at all even in the beginning but the facade was dropped all too soon as he pushed you into the room.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” His voice a whisper, sharp—“Why did you go out there?”

No issues traced your mind to your stepping outside—his tone enraging you all the more—never one to take unnecessary issues at hand, your forehead ticked, “I don’t see the issue dear husband,”

“Blinded by your own stupidity?” A smirk rested on his face quick- peculiar was the sudden change, “Alright whatever,” he scoffed, “Breakfat is a certain time,” —8:35 a.m., you had the time memorised—“they’ll expect you at the table by then,”

Eyes drifted to the clock, both of yours—it was 8:05 a.m.

“Let me go first,” not a request, more so a command.

He snorted—“Alright, here’s rule no. 1: never tell me what to do because I do not listen to the likes of you,”

Your jaw clenched— before you could add your own insult, he grinned—“Should’ve never stepped out of the room, should you baby? Tried at being a good little bride and actually done your job—prodding little bitch aren’t ya?”

Blood boiled inside you, hands curled into fists, tempted all too much to land a punch—“get out off my way,” through gritted teeth your words fell—never so patient with your own family.

A shake off his head had you regretting your own patience—“Two options,” he mused and turned around- entering the bathroom, ushering you outside still.

“Either you wait, have your privacy and ruin your first breakfast here or,” he eyed you softly, “bathe beside me. I won’t join you but you’ll have to do it within my presence,” all too sure if the fact that you’d never choose the later, he cackled.

The door almost locked at your face when you dropped your gown—naked you stood, his brows raised.

Fighting all urges to be embarrassed you stepped into the shower- eyes down cast, not a single attempt to hide your form—we are married now, you reminded yourself, we are one.

Satoru watched you amused for a second too long- eyes lingering and then swept away as if you didn’t matter, as if he didn’t care—your heart ached at the ignorance.

Shy hands lathered your own body, eyes drifting to his torso��your scars complimented his, you hated yours but his seemed so gorgeous.

Everything but his torso covered, yours naked—your eyes danced along his form, his never at you. The power play was simple.

Swift hands pulled the razor—he shaved quick, you washed your body faster, biting your lips when he didn’t spare a single glance back. You didn’t crave validation from most, Father was enough but these were matters beyond that- not a little girl you remained, someone’s wife. Heart raced at the thought of your naked form in front of him—in front of anyone for that matter.

A first for you, nth for him—you didn’t matter, your heart had presumed—never be pretty enough for him, you consoled. A heart begged for some recognition and you got none, a towel wrapped around you as you stepped outside—glad you were that hiding tears in the shower was easy a feat enough.

Satoru stood in—finally allowing himself to shower, the room scented of your perfume, your maids worked quick on your make up- your eyes laying bare, a new topic for their idle gossip.

All do this work is original and entirely my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Reblogs and likes highly appreciated!

— Taglist: @isentsworld @rizzmin @4sat0ruu @yooiimiya @ackerstain @lavendervogh @ackerstain @spaceisfarfarawayy @gojoismybitch

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yetanothersparrowofthedawn · 9 months ago

Text

Now That We Don't Talk

Masterlist

Extended Masterpost

Word Count: 1.3k

Pairing: ex!Jake x Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt, ex!Jake

Synopsis: idk at this point, sorry. But here’s the jest of it: Breaking up sucks ass.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language, so I apologize in advance for mistakes and awkward wordings to come.

Previous Track: Hits Different (coming soon..)

Chapter soundtrack: Now That We Don’t Talk – Taylor Swift

(By the way, for every ‘Chapter Soundtrack’, basically the idea is that it’s a song that YN eventually wrote with that chapter of her life in mind) Listen to the song, it's basically the entire chapter, I do not have a creative bone in my body, babes.

Guess this is how it was to be Now that we don't talk

Late at night, Y/N found herself lying on her kitchen floor. She scrolled through her phone, the soft glow of the screen casting shadows across her face.

The press had been relentless; capturing glimpses of the lead guitarist of Greta Van Fleet, at various events and gatherings. Well, it was either that or her algorithm was fucked.

She found herself immersed in the snippets of his life presented by the media. His presence, magnetic as ever, effortlessly parting the crowd like the Red Sea in fan edits.

YN, herself hadn’t gone out in a while, choosing to steer clear from the limelight after a couple of nights of binge-drinking had gone more public than she would’ve liked.

Her red eyes captured by flashing lights as she was ushered into a cab by a friend of hers had made the front page for a week. Let’s just say the Sad Girl Era fans had branded her with, wasn’t exactly the kind of publicity she’d wanted out there.

She couldn't help but wonder if he, too, ever got anxious, while on his way home. Did he absentmindedly make a wrong turn towards the street they used to live on? Did he ever, for a fleeting moment, take a hand off the steering wheel to rest it on her thigh, only to find it was no longer there?

Stalking him online had become a guilty indulgence, a masochistic act that she couldn't resist. She lingered a little too long on his Instagram, scrolling through the curated moments of his daily life.

She noticed his hair, even longer than before, framing the features she used to trace with her fingertips. She observed the familiar furrow of his brow as he performed, a guitar pin between his teeth.

From the outside, it all painted a picture of a life moving forward. She remained on the periphery, a quiet observer of the world she used to inhabit. She caught short glimpses of his social life, photos of shared laughs with musicians they once mocked together, videos of studio sessions with a producer he’d once told to fuck off forever.

The bitter truth hung heavy in the air. She no longer had a say in the choices he made, the life he embraced. The silence between them was deafening. She had become an outsider, left outside in the rain, looking through a window at the life of a boy she once knew.

As her mind wandered into the realm of speculation, she couldn't help but wonder what he’d told his friends – those same friends they had once shared dinners and long weekends with. Were they privy to the turbulent love, the passionate highs, and the devastating lows that marked their time together? Few were even aware of their relationship, so would anyone even come to hear of their breakup?

The public was aware she’d moved from Nashville to LA after her latest tour, but only a select few knew why.

She didn’t know what she, herself would choose to say. There was no point in pretending it was platonic. It wasn't some amicable parting where two people decided they were better off as friends. No. Truth was it had just- ended.

She could never be his friend. Can you imagine? She thought. Casually sharing stories over Sunday brunch; smiling for group pictures at birthday parties? She felt ridiculous just thinking about it. After all, they hadn’t been friends to begin with. Not really.

The days and nights stretched endlessly, punctuated by the silence of unsent messages and unspoken calls. Pathetic. That's how she felt. Pathetic for caring, for still being affected by choices that they had made. The more she’d given, the more she laid her heart bare, the less he’d seemed to want her.

A bitter truth gnawed at her consciousness – a realization which had struck her hard, like a sudden gust of cold wind. She was paying the price of what she had lost, and heartbreak didn’t come cheap.

In the quiet hours of the night, phone calls to Patty became a familiar ritual for Y/N, a whispered confessional amid the shadows. Her manager's voice echoed like a guiding beacon in the recesses of her mind.

"Remember, it's all for the best, sugar," Patty would assure her. "Maybe try and get it all off your chest, yeah? You’ll feel better."

Craving the catharsis that only honest introspection could provide, YN eventually heeded the advice. She sat down at the piano and opened her notebook to a crisp white page. Pen in hand, she began to write.

She tried reminding herself of the way he'd faded ‘till she’d left. A distant star dimming until it was barely a shimmer in the night sky. A black hole whose pull she’d barely escaped.

Every stroke of ink presented an attempt to convince herself she was, of course, so much better off now. As it is written, so it shall be done, or some shit like that.

Let’s see. Now that they didn't talk… well, first off, she didn’t have to keep acid rock in her shower playlist. She no longer had to pretend to revel in the company of so-called industry legends on some yachts. No longer found herself forced to feign interest in these obsolete men’s very important thoughts on the death of good music when she’d much rather jump off the deck.

Quite a relief, right? She smiled bitterly. She was a compulsive liar, even in the privacy of her own apartment, in the secrecy of her own thoughts.

Those weren’t the things that she was glad to be rid of. But the unfiltered truth would look too ugly on paper. It would sound too coarse on the radio.

Frustration seeped into her bones, settling like an unwelcome guest. She didn’t know who or what she was even trying to protect.

She wondered if he, too, lingered on her social media, if he glanced at the magazine covers when he stopped by a gas station. She shook her head. What magazine covers? She’d been trying to stay as far as she could from the press.

In an attempt to recover a shred of her dignity, she’d tried turning back into a shrouded mystery. And failed miserably. Fans and critics alike couldn’t get enough of her enigmatic persona, and it seemed she couldn’t go anywhere without people following her.

Success had never tasted to bittersweet.

Could be worse, though, she thought. She could’ve been heartbroken and shunned. Plus, it may have all been for the best. After all, the flash of cameras was the only bridge they had yet to burn. The only way they could haunt each other without having to do the dirty work themselves.

And this was simply how it had to be, now that they didn't talk.

______

One night, at the ungodly hour of four in the morning, her phone's shrill ring shattered the stillness, causing her to bolt upright from her couch.

"Patty?" YN's voice was thick with sleep as she answered the call, squinting at the glaring screen. "Do you know what time it is?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sitting down, what is it?" she asked, her tone tinged with apprehension.

YN listened intently and, after a prolonged pause, she breathed out, "Oh my god."

A mere twenty minutes later, she found herself settling into the backseat of a cab, her mind racing

The driver's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Where to?" he inquired, casting a curious glance at her through the rearview mirror.

"LAX, please," she instructed.

(Welp… guess who’s about to be talking again lol)

Next Track: Beautiful People with Beautiful Problems

Hope you all liked it! Please interact lol, I am desperate for any reaction at all. Help a girl out, peaceful army. Xxx

Taglist

@aintthatapity

@sinarainbows

@vanfleeter

@gretavanhockey

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fruchtfleisch-art · 8 months ago

Note

If micro-fics are still withstanding, why not something about Shinobu’s parents! Perhaps contrasted with how Kosaku’s were, or maybe even Kira’s?

Idk, im just fascinated with in-laws and families !!!

I love thinking about families too, this was a really fun prompt! I wish I'd had some space to write about Kira's parents as well, but this already is a tadge too long... I guess emotional neglect is the thread connecting their families, albeit on completely opposite ends of the spectrum. Neglect is so fun and versatile like that!

Big HUGE thanks to @toytle for reading this over for me, you caught so many word repetitions and overstuffed sentences I glossed right over in my first edit, haha. This fic is much better now thanks to you!

It’s unfortunate, but Kosaku can’t stay in the kitchen forever. He eases the flow of the faucet from a torrent to a trickle, sets his bowl in the sink, and listens, his heart in his throat, to the heavy, solid silence emanating from the dining room.

Shinobu hasn’t said a word for almost five minutes, her father twice that, but Kosaku doesn’t want to go back. He would give anything to be somewhere else, away from this cramped little house where everything is dingy and shabby and a little off-kilter, even the yellowed lines of grout lining the checkered tile counter. There’s no towel to dry his hands with, so he wipes them on his pants, feeling the square lump of his lighter in his pocket.

A quick glance towards the dining room confirms a total lack of movement since he went to rinse his dish out.

In five steps, with a brief pause to jam his feet into his shoes, he’s out on the engawa, the door lurching stiffly shut behind him. It’s freezing, the crisp air crackly in his lungs, but the view of the road below is clear. A few stars have emerged in the darkness settling over the sky like a thin slick of oil, following in the rosy wake of the pale sun. Kosaku puts his glasses on, smooths his hair back, and lights a cigarette.

He's not going to be out here for long, just until he figures out what he wants to say. He can’t think around Shinobu’s father, crumbles under his hard stare and his gravel-voiced accusations.

‘What do you want, money?” he’d asked in lieu of a greeting.

“This is a fine mess,” he’d said, after weathering their feeble attempts to talk around the issue at hand. “You’ll be expecting me to feed you, I suppose.”

Then, as they sat down to eat, to Shinobu: “Why are you doing this? Haven’t you caused me enough trouble?”

It’s all the worse for the apathy behind such cutting words, for his complete disinterest in anything said in response. Her father isn’t a big man, but he drains all the energy out of the room, with only cold contempt to replace it.

Shinobu adores romance movies, and there’s always a scene where the male lead swoops in with a heartfelt confession, the admission of which becomes shield and sword against anything standing in the way of his lover’s happiness. But life isn’t a movie, and when Kosaku tried to say something-anything- the words dried up and died on his tongue, and he found himself staring down into his lap, wishing he could wake up and find the last few weeks to be nothing more than a terrible dream.

Shinobu’s voice catches his ear, low and furious and only slightly muffled by the wall between them. The dining room window is cracked open a few centimeters; Kosaku can hear her as clearly as if he had his ear pressed to the door in the kitchen.

“Why can’t you just be happy for me? I don’t know why I even bothered.”

Her father, dull and scratchy: “You don’t call, you don’t visit, but now when you need something-“

“That’s not fair-“

“Life’s not fair. I don’t know why you can’t seem to get that through your head-“

Kosaku feels a sudden rush of gratitude towards his parents, who, although not the least bit pleased with him, at least waited for Shinobu to leave before saying so. He sits down, trying not to shiver as the cold seeps into his legs, then his core, like a stripe of ice creeping up his spine.

He sits and doesn’t think of much at all, letting the argument wash over him as pure noise, as meaningless as the rattle and hush of the wind in the bare branches of the trees. It’s full dark, the glowing tip of his cigarette the only point of brightness on a street cloaked in shadow, as remote and lifeless as the surface of the moon.

There’s the distant glare of yellow halogen headlights further down the road, the remote sound of the motor like a windup toy. Kosaku watches as it pulls up to the house, tires crunching to a stop on the gravel drive.

The man who slides out of the car is thin and shabby, lank hair hanging in his eyes. His shirtsleeves are rolled back to the elbows, and his canvas pants are ragged and splotched with old stains. He looks like a manual laborer, or some kind of repairman, but it’s far too late for somebody like that to come here.

Kosaku doesn’t see the resemblance to Shinobu’s father until he’s at the foot of the engawa, but it’s unmistakable up close. The man glances at Kosaku as he walks up to the front door, then cocks his head, listening to the argument like a spaniel hearing the clumsy wingbeats of a particularly fat duck. A smile worms its way across his face.

“Cigarette?” the man asks, holding his hand out to Kosaku.

“Huh?”

The outstretched hand closes, jabs a finger towards his face. “You’re the runt who knocked my sister up. Give me a goddamn cigarette.”

Kosaku lights it for him, too.

Shinobu’s brother sucks his first draught in hard and blows a dense cloud of smoke, settling down next to Kosaku with a satisfied sigh.

“So,“ Kosaku says, swallowing hard. He wets his lips. Shinobu never said anything about a brother.

“Why aren’t you in there?” the brother asks. His hands are red and chapped, speckled with tiny iridescent dots: fish scales. He must be a dock worker. Maybe she’s embarrassed.

“Sounds like they’re talking about you,” he continues. “You don’t have anything to say for yourself?”

Kosaku doesn’t know what he would say, though. Everything is happening so fast. A few months ago he had a girlfriend. Now he has a fiancé, soon to be a wife. And the baby, of course. Their child. Milestones that were once distant possibilities are suddenly only a hair’s breadth from the present.

“You’re not gonna run off, are you?” the brother asks.

“No!” Kosaku says, startled. “Never. I love her.”

“Alright. If you say so.”

His cigarette is starting to taste bad, thick and ashy on his tongue. Would it be rude to leave, or would the brother follow him inside? Would Shinobu be happy to see either of them?

“It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? This whole thing?”

“No, it’s not,” Kosaku says quietly.

“What, you don’t think so? She was an oops baby, too. Did she ever tell you that?” He leans in, his voice low and dangerous, close enough for Kosaku to see the stubble on his lip and the shallow pits of old acne scars on his cheek. “Hey, here’s some brotherly advice, from me to you: don’t wait twelve years after your first child is born to start fucking your neighbor’s wife. But if you do, if you really can’t help it, don’t forget to wear a condom, alright?”

Kosaku doesn’t understand what kind of reaction he’s trying to get out of him. He didn’t want to know that. Shinobu’s brother grins, his eyes bright and pitiless under the shaggy fringe of his bangs.

“Well. Best of luck.” He stands, flicking his cigarette off into the bushes, and stretches. “Take care of her, I guess. When’s the wedding?”

Kosaku doesn’t want to tell him. Shinobu has good reason not to talk about her brother. What was it like, growing up with a sibling over ten years distant from you, old enough to understand why his family is coming apart, but young enough to blame you for it?

The front door bangs open and Shinobu storms out, face set in a hard look of resignation. Kosaku scrambles to his feet as she passes him on her way to his car, ready for… something. He’s not sure what to expect: shouting, cursing, thrown shoes?

There’s none of that, just a deep, awful silence that seems to ooze from the gap between door and jamb, the frame swollen from cold, or damp, or both. The quiet shrouds them like a dark, dirty blanket, and Kosaku feels his breath catch, burning, in his chest.

“Be seeing you,” Shinobu’s brother says, but Kosaku doesn’t know which one of them he’s addressing. He pulls the door open, a thin strip of orange light spilling out onto the three of them, and then it groans shut, leaving Kosaku and Shinobu in darkness.

She shifts closer to him, arms wrapped around herself. Kosaku drops his cigarette and grinds it out with a gritty crunch.

“Let’s-“

“Can we-“

“Let’s just go,” he says. It’s not a romantic statement by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s decisive. “We can go to my parents’ place, or your dorm- anywhere you want.”

Shinobu sniffles. She looks cold, her nose red and her face pale and waxy, eyes ringed in dark circles. He wonders how well she’s been sleeping. “It’s a long drive back.”

“I can do it.” Kosaku takes her hand and it’s like a block of ice. He doesn’t start the car until he feels some warmth seeping in, until she clenches back, until he feels the bones in his fingers shift and ache.

#shinobu kawajiri #kosaku kawajiri #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba fanfic #like by the barest stretch of the imagination lmao we are stretching it Thin today #ask #no shinomama to speak of i think she tried settling with shinopapa for a few years and then got the hell out of dodge #maybe she's hanging out in italy with giorno's terrible beautiful party girl mother... imagine...#thank you guys for your patience i will continue with microfics 🙏

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