#i get having a nostalgia for like... playing something the first time or when everyone was talking about it on release.

[wetcatspellcaster]

ok i don't normally make 'crotchety old lady on porch' posts. but i just saw someone on another social media website say they were feeling 'nostalgic' for their bg3 pairing and??? ....how????? it's not even been a year since release????? fan creators are still churning out content????

i know fandoms seem to cycle way quicker these days, but it's always so funny to me when people start to wonder why. the posts about 'the fandom is dying' are starting to circulate for bg3, and - not in a shaming way bc everyone is entitled to find new interests and new hyperfixations and also REST!! I'm not holding anyone hostage!!! - but... maybe it's because you barely gave it a chance to live??? by the time it had started to gather momentum you had already left it behind???

[this-doesnt-endd]

I love the museum scene from ferris bueller so much not only cause its just great but also cause like everytime i see it i see myself and think about how special that kind of moment is

[nilsavatar]

DAY 31 - A/B/O

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!Avatar

Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI +18, no use of Y/N, ANGST, SMUT in the end, love bites, rubbing, sexual tension, olfactophilia (they both turn on by smelling arousal/pheromones), P in V, manhandling, oral (f receiving), face fucking, fingering, praising, cursing, pet name (ma’uniltı`ranyu - my dreamwalker), rough, knotting, dirty talk, overstimulation, edging, strangers to lovers, first time (first heat, loss of avatar body virginity), begging, difference in power (alpha-omega dynamics), soft-dom Neteyam (mention of marking, possessive behavior but he’s kind and caring), Jamie Flatters cameo. All characters are AGED-UP.

Summary: Living in the body of an avatar is not as simple as one might think.

Little note: OMG! You have no idea how happy I am to have finally finished this fic. It has been on hiatus for so many months that I thought I would never publish it. The more time passed, the more the pressure to write something worth the long wait increased. I rewrote it so many times, but it never seemed good enough, and the editing was exhausting. I hope with all my heart not to disappoint your expectations. Please be forgiving: this is my first Omegaverse. Thank you🥰

If you would like to be tagged in future fics, please write it in the comments. I will be happy to add you all💕

Word Count: 7,6k

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Aubree’s knowledge as a xenobiologist fell short in front of the challenges of living as a dreamwalker among the Na’vi.

The presence of a secondary sex was fascinating, fictional in the eyes of a human being, accustomed to a binary system. But on Pandora, things were way different. The natives displayed their primary sex (male or female) from birth, and their roles in the clan were influenced by signs that emerged during puberty. Alphas, predominantly men, possessed a massive physiognomy. Tall, muscular, strong-willed, controlled in character, yet predisposed to irascibility. Betas were the largest group, with an equal proportion of females and males, and the most human-like. Omegas, mostly women, were known for their petite and delicate build, along with a calming demeanor.

When she arrived on Pandora, she had no particular expectations of what her avatar’s designation would be. Still, no one would ever have considered a potential alpha looking at her features. Aubree was a spitfire who was unlikely to be pushed around and knew her stuff in professional terms. Someone who won’t let you get away with nothing. However, her dainty physique and conflict-avoiding tendency were clear indications she would be an omega (or beta at best). The moment she connected with the hybrid, clarity rained down on her like a burst of sunlight breaking through the clouds. Her own body erupted in a chorus of sensations, each one clamoring for attention. It was as if every nerve ending had awoken from a deep sleep, demanding to be felt. The omega within seemed to mold itself to her presence, wrapping around her with the natural warmth of a long-lost sibling's affection. Its voice, like a lullaby, soothed tenderly in her ears, caressed her senses, evoking a bittersweet nostalgia. It had waited for her for a lifetime, patiently biding, though she felt as if it had always been there; their destinies entwined for eternity. The connection felt familiar as if it had always been an integral part of her existence, hidden deep within her soul, longing to be seen. A joyous reunion with her inner essence, theirs, rather than a discovery of something new about herself. As her eyes fluttered open, the blinding white light of the hospital room assaulted her vision, her first instinct was to cry. Overwhelmed by the pent-up emotions that had been building within her.

Yet another factor played a role — a negative note. The recognition wasn’t exclusive to her; everyone around her, from the very moment she had awoken as an avatar, had sensed, smelled what she was. And this made it obvious why omegas often experienced such a designation as a condemnation.

Alphas’ attentions may be... excessive.

From a human perspective, Na’vi were naturally intrusive. The concept of personal space between the two species was totally at odds; they were prone to be close, to touch each other, to smell each other. A fundamental part of their socialization techniques. Aubree could have learned to tolerate it as a cultural trait if her alpha-designated colleagues didn’t engage in the same behaviors. They couldn’t help themselves.

“It’s the pheromones,” said matter-of-fact Max, not having any other scientific explanation. Studies on the subject were stalled. Without a vomeronasal organ connected to the brain, or terrestrial examples to refer to, they couldn’t describe the phenomenon. The only thing palpable to both of them, equally inexplicable, was that her wake was inviting. Alphas were almost reduced to a primal state around her. “You should talk to the Tsahìk about this,” Aubree mentally berated herself for not thinking of it sooner. Who better than the Tsahìk, the spiritual leader of the clan and the highest authority among healers, to provide her with the answers she sought? And maybe even help in dealing with the symptoms.

*

The healers’ tent wasn’t large. Quite the opposite, it was indeed small. The room appeared even tinier with the disorganized heap of things stacked on top of each other in a jumbled mess, creating the feeling it could burst at any time. An imminent threat to be fair. However, under scrutiny, one could discern an order in the distribution of the items. To her right, tools of various types and sizes covered the entire wall. To the left, on shelves arranged by color, were terracotta jars filled with powders and ointments. Some were large, others tiny; some had regular shapes, others were bizarre, tongued, or angular. Engraved on the bottom of each were symbols. An early form of writing, considering the People were still oral.

A little further down, the counter ran around the entire interior of the room to the nearest post of mattresses where sicks could rest. Behind the cupboard was the massiest shelf of all. Ampoules, mirrors, rolls of cloth, baskets of bandages, needles, and flowers stuffed somehow. That place was a unique contradiction, ranging from manic order to disturbing chaos. Despite the dimness and the oppressive atmosphere, the tent also emitted a serene, welcoming feeling, akin to the mystical aura of a shaman’s lair.

But one not was out of place. Post-its here and there written in… English? What were post-its doing in the Tsahìk tent? They were so out of context.

“I see the human touch doesn’t go unnoticed.” Aubree gasped, more at the dull sound of something heavy being moved across the counter than the surprise itself. A woman emerged from the myriad of baskets scattered across the floor, placed one on the wooden shelf, and emptied its contents. Her hair, just above her chin, was straight but messy. The tswin, displayed in front of her chest, obscured the huge needle that hung from her slender neck. At every movement, the beads of the intricate shawl that covered her shoulders and breasts jingled, as lively as a child’s laughter. A streaked cerulean complexion set off lemon-yellow irises fixed upon her like those of a cat.

How old was she? Her face appeared youthful, almost adolescent, yet her eyes betrayed wisdom and worldliness far beyond her years.

“You must be Aubree. I was waiting for you to show up.” It seemed as if the healer’s pupils flickered at the sound of her name. The avatar stepped forward. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Kiri te Suli Kireysi’ite, Tsahìk of the Omatikaya.” Acting on impulse, she extended her hand, but when the young woman didn’t shake it, she hastily corrected the gesture into the typical bow of greeting and reverence. She looked amused.

“No need for formality here. We are the same age and are both researchers. We have more in common than you might think.” A smirk curved her plump lips as she put her fists on her sides. “To what do I owe the glee of your visit? I suppose you need to ask me something.” Her sudden remark made her jolt. The Na’vi woman stopped arranging the shelves and turned to look at her with anticipation. “Well?” “I wouldn’t know where to even start. It’s something I don’t fully understand,” she confessed. “Is it related to your dreamwalker body?” She nodded. “But humans cannot help you.” It wasn’t a question, but the scientist nodded anyway. Kiri drew a smile and disappeared behind a curtain that separated the room from the next one — a laboratory. After several minutes, she reappeared with a small box full of tea filters. “Have one in the morning and another in the evening. It’s a suppressant; it will quell your pheromones.”

Aubree blushed furiously. How…?

“I might be just a beta, but your wake is so strong that it knocked me out for a sec. I dare not imagine the effect you have on alphas.” “Not pleasant.” “Much too pleasant, you mean,” she chuckled. “Be careful not to abuse the drug. You wouldn’t want to find out about the side effects. And remember, it is a temporary remedy. Useless on the verge and during estrus.”

Estrus.

The idea hadn’t crossed her mind at all when she accepted her Ph.D. and joined the AVTR Program. She was so thrilled to pursue her dream she would have accepted any job proposal. And who was she to deny she had always felt a fascination about natives? Na’vi estrus cycle was highly articulated and varied by secondary sex designation. Beta females, like humans, had a menstrual cycle and were potentially always fertile, exhibiting no visual, behavioral, or olfactory signals announcing impending ovulation.

Quite a different story for omegas and alphas.

The former went into heat three times a year, about four months between cycles, and could last up to seven agonizing days in the absence of a partner to care for them. This was their peak fertility period. The latter rutted once a year, and the length of the inter-anestrus was unpredictable. In mated pairs wasn’t uncommon for one’s heat to trigger the other’s.

“What should I do when it happens?” “Well, the most natural advice would be to spend it with a playmate, preferably an alpha, as theirs are the only pheromones that have a calming effect on omegas. There is no risk of conception for those who are not mated, so as long as your kuru’s are not entwined, let go.” “Mm, alternatives?” “Lock yourself in a shelter until it ends, away from everyone. But that is the least desirable option. It’s terribly painful to face heat alone.” “I could stay disconnected as long as my avatar is in this state.” “Risking dying of dehydration and starvation in the meantime? Or worse, that some alpha will have fun at your expense?” Kiri hastened to say, noticing the scientist’s horrified expression. “Yes, it has happened, and I assure you that the physical memory of the trauma remains, even if consciousness was not present.” “But I’ll still have to log out myself. My human body needs care, too.” “All the more reason you should find someone to look after you, and quickly. Your first heat is approaching.”

As if that were a small thing.

“My intuition tells me you’ll be fine. Now go. And drink your infusion.” She was about to leave the tent when one last question left Aubree’s lips: “How will I know I’m in heat?” “Oh, trust me, you’ll know.”

She was so absorbed in Kiri’s words that she didn’t even notice the hungry glances she was catalyzing. Especially that of a distinguished man wearing a feathered cloak. The young Olo’eyktan followed her figure as she made her way back to the human outpost until she was swallowed up by the thick undergrowth.

“She doesn’t have a mate if that’s what you’re wondering,” a voice to his left exclaimed. As he turned, he came face to face with the Tsahìk, whose penetrating stare revealed a cunning expression that hinted at a deeper understanding. “I don’t see why this indiscretion of yours should interest me.” “Mm, I don’t know. Seems like she caught your interest.” “Hard to ignore with the trail she carries.” A corner of Kiri’s mouth twitched: Neteyam had just been trapped in the net. “She’s not the first omega with such a scent passing under your nose, but you’ve barely noticed the others.” The young man’s back straightened. “What's your point?” “I’m just surprised. That’s all.”

Neteyam’s gaze was again lost in scanning the spot where the avatar had vanished, lost in a thousand thoughts. Unaware of the bright, wide smile that now graced his sister’s beautiful face. The satisfied smirk of one who sees three moves ahead.

*

Upon entering the research division’s canteen, some may have felt as if they stepped into Goldilocks’ fairy tale. Everything in there was big, big or small, small, except for the stove and tables, which were set at an intermediate height so that both avatars and pilots could use them.

Aubree stared at the teapot brewing the concoction Kiri had given her; her nose stung by the pungent yet fresh smell of nettle wafting from the spout. Carefully, she poured the liquid into a cup without straining — Ingest the leaves — and drank it. Immediately, her throat burned and a tremendous itch seemed to want to tear it open.

Shit, even worse than anticipated.

She took a seat on the plush sofa, its velvety fabric enveloping her frame. As she pressed play on the remote, the screen flickered to life, casting a soft glow on the dimply lit room. Her eyes followed the vivid images of a movie for distraction, but her mind was eaten up by the searing prickle that intensified with each passing moment. The discomfort became all-consuming, shielding her from the outside world, as if the itchy sensations had woven a barrier around her, isolating the woman in her own thoughts. She was oblivious to her colleague’s presence until he sank into the cushions beside her. His arm hung weakly on the backrest, almost brushing against her shoulder. But it was his sudden loud snort that jolted her back to reality. Aubree jumped as she turned to her right and found Jamie. His left knee wedged into his opposite ankle, his foot dangling in her direction. His head rested an inch from the wall, eyes half-closed in a drowsy state.

“You look tired.”

The guy let out a low, rumbling laugh in his typical mumble before replying that he felt like a bulldozer had run over him. Fatigue weighed heavily on him, evident in the strain it put on his distinct British accent. She surreptitiously watched him, taking in the details of his avatar that closely resembled the human it was created from. His gaze remained the same, although his blue irises had now turned a striking shade of yellow. His lips and teeth mirrored the original, except for the canines. When he smiled full-mouthed, two dimples appeared on his cheeks, causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners, as if they were smiling, too. His slightly protruding incisors gave his face a boyish charm, contrasting with his strong, masculine features. He radiated a sense of gentleness.

That last remark had the same effect as lightning illuminating the night. They were conversing freely, as they would have if they were humans.

An alpha and an omega.

Aubree had gotten into the habit of avoiding alphas as much as possible when she was in this body; head down, shy look, walk fast. Never within nose reach. But Jamie did not lose his cool in her presence. He didn’t sniff the air greedily. His gaze didn’t become insistent as it passed over her face. He didn’t moisten his lips endlessly or clench his jaw and fists as if to keep himself from jumping on her. Nor did hold his breath and make excuses, running for his life as he was wont to do.

The suppressor was working!

The success of the next days was enough for the unknown estrus to recede into the background, in the darkest and most hidden place in her head. Who could blame her? Her life was finally back to normal. After all, her avatar's first heat couldn't have been so terrible, could it? Just stick to this simple recipe and everything will be fine, repeated as a mantra.

Remember, it is a temporary remedy. Useless on the verge and during the heat.

Time passed, and days turned into weeks. The taste of the medicine became more tolerable as her throat grew accustomed to its piquant flavor. Even if it wasn’t, the end justified the means. Aubree took the doses with obsessive precision, but after a few months, she noticed the effects wearing off, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it began.  The first warning came in the form of mild dizziness when she logged in, accompanied by a lingering feeling of fever. Then, her appetite waned, alternating with sudden bouts of hunger. Finally, twinges settled in her iliac fossae. She chalked it as harmless PMS, nothing she hadn’t already experienced. Most importantly, not a cause for alarm regarding her host’s performance or health; the hybrid was fully functional.

Wait a minute. Premenstrual syndrome?

As she walked down the hallway leading to the medical area, her mind wandered back to her last period. Her forefinger swiftly navigated the tablet, selecting the calendar app she used to track her menstrual cycle. She was still a long way from the start of the next one, a full two weeks, right in the middle of her fertility window. Maybe I’m ovulating. The symptoms she had been going through lately aligned with that assumption. Breast sensitivity, a slight increase in discharge, heightened lubrication, and libido.

This would have been enough to reassure her, if not for the steady, soft beeping coming from the hospital room, serving as a haunting reminder. Her stare roamed beyond the glass, taking in the circle of Link Units surrounding a pair of desks in the center, a total of eight. It settled on the last station on the far left. Number 3. Her lucky number. Well, not so lucky, given how things were going. The monitor next to it showed the status of the machine, the vitals of the subject inside, the neural activity of the two interconnected brains. The real-time image of the pilot's unconscious face.

Aubree’s face.

And so she realized the symptoms were none other than the avatar's. Ovulation, PMS, cravings were all alarm bells that the heat was near. But who gave her the coup de grâce was Jamie himself.

The guy was running towards her, calling out and weaving, eager for something he was about to share if he didn’t put the brakes on his run. With his palm up to cover his mouth and nose, he said, “Woah Bree... You stink.” His pupils showed a hint of dilation. “It’s time, isn’t it? The suppressant isn’t working anymore.” “Guess so.” “Um, I don’t wanna freak you out or anything, but...” He scratched nervously at the back of his head, no longer holding her gaze. “... if you ever need help dealing with… that. I mean, if I were in your shoes, I’d prefer a friend taking care of me over some random dude. So...” “Thanks, Jamie, for the offer. I know it’s from a genuine interest, and that you’re not trying to take advantage of the situation. I appreciate it, but maybe the Tsahìk can help me out while I’m in the shelter.” “It could last for days.” “I still haven’t come to terms that intercourses are the only way. She's possibly making it sound worse than it actually is.” “Possibly not. Thinking you’ll be locked up somewhere suffering...” "I'll log out for the night," Aubree giggled. “Besides, it would be kinda weird, don’t you think? We work together.” Now he couldn’t help but laugh. “I do science. Stuff like that won't faze me. You better hurry, based on the scent you're giving off, you could be in heat any minute. If you change your mind...” With a last playful wink, Jamie left.

Free to return to her concerns, Aubree’s smile turned into a taut line. She had to find Kiri. Quickly.

*

As she battled the relentless fever, the seemingly endless and overwhelming path to Hometree stretched out before her. Every step was a struggle, her trembling hands clutching onto the rough tree trunks for support. Fatigue weighed heavily upon her, her eyes squinting against the blinding rays of the sun as it dipped below the horizon. The intense heat made her perspire profusely, the dampness seeping through her clothes, clinging to her body like a second skin. She wished she could strip off her garments; the discomfort unbearable. The thought of dying of shame seemed trivial compared to the fire that consumed her from within, leaving her skin burning and blistering. 

Sounds of prolemuris filled the air, their calls echoing through the dense canopy. The heavy, rich, damp bouquet of lush vegetation mingled with the freshness of rain and whiffs of her scent, alerting a hunter nearby to her presence. His senses heightened. With narrowed eyes, he tasted the air, as if savoring a fine wine. The particles rose into his nostrils, painting a vivid image of Aubree in his mind. Her sweet face, adorned with sparkling eyes, and sinuous curves stood out against the dry features of the People. 

As he continued to track her trail, his pupils dilated, his senses enticed by the lingering aroma. Every step he took, he could feel the dampness of the forest floor beneath his feet, the rough texture of the leaves brushing against his fingertips. The air was alive with anticipation, as if holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable. But as quickly as the scent had captivated him, the hunter’s instincts kicked in. He realized that if he could smell her, others could too. The realization sent a shiver down his spine, a reminder of the dangers that lurked in the rainforest. With a determined resolve, he pressed on, his senses alert, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

He left his prey to almost run the distance that separated him from the woman. His omega. The moments it took him to reach her seemed like hours when they were a handful of minutes at most. He found her at the foot of a plant, curled up in a ball, her cheeks stained with tears as she whispered incomprehensible words under her breath. The man staggered, his senses assaulted by the unmistakable pungent smell of her heat stench. A wake so overpowering that left him breathless and struck, unlike anything he had ever smelled before. Teeth gritted and jaw clenched to the breaking point, he bravely advanced towards her, finally falling to his knees. If only he had resisted his natural urges. He could not allow himself to give in. Not him.

With a gentle touch, he cradled her jaw in his palm and soothed her with slow, reassuring strokes along her side, repeating, “It’s alright, it’s alright. You’re safe now. You're not alone; I'm here for you. You’re going to be okay.”  Her cry-streaked face trembled as she whispered, “Please... I can’t take it any longer,” cheeks dampened by an endless stream of tears. “Just take care of it.” He cursed in frustration, powerless that he couldn’t even bring her to his sister. Kiri was assisting a primipara in childbirth. “Please!”  Before taking her in his arms and laying her gently against his chest, the Na’vi sighed, his voice filled with resignation, “Yes, whatever you need.”

Walking backward towards the nearest shelter, he kept his gaze fixed on the path, his piercing eyes fully focused on his surroundings, scanning for any signs of danger. The very direction he had originally come from. Not that anyone could have stood up to him under those circumstances. Regardless of whether he had reached the woman first, no one would have been foolish enough to challenge the clan’s top warrior. 

Groaning, Aubree nuzzled against him, finding solace in the familiar and calming scent that emanated from his skin. Like lowered into a light, peaceful bubble, his soothing alpha pheromones everywhere. An alpha she couldn’t recognize, her vision too blurry, but to whom the omega inside her was singing a serenade. In this foggy confusion, she could only hear the beating of his heart against her ear and the oh-so-big, firm hands holding her up. And though she could not see him, starry eyes appeared in her mind’s eye, looking tenderly at her. 

Her fantasy drifted away, picturing him holding her close, his lips exploring every inch of her body, and their lovemaking leaving her in a state of euphoric surrender. A shiver ran down her spine and made her throbbing quicken at the mere thought of being touched where the tremendous burn concentrated the most. The brush of his lips on her forehead and the tip of her nose made her believe, if only for an instant, that reality had merged with her imagination. His voice lingered in the air, like a gentle gust against her mouth, hinting that they were just moments away from their destination.

Where, she would have inquired, but there wasn’t much room for consistency in her head right now, her perceptions too chaotic to form a coherent question. She would have gone to the ends of the Universe, as long as it meant she could be near him.

Next to her, on her, inside her. Her heart raced with anticipation.

As the hunter laid her down on the mattress and went to fetch water, it was no surprise that her expression crinkled, her eyelids opened slightly, and a low moan eluded her parched lips.

“You need to drink,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern, as he offered out a small bowl. The liquid inside shimmered, reflecting the soft glow of the room. However, she shook her head, causing the contents to spill onto the floor, the sound of the liquid splashing echoing through the silence. A flicker of frustration crossed his face, but it quickly melted away, replaced by a deep-seated worry as he watched her. Her arms opened towards him, inviting him into her embrace. He had never encountered such desperation and helplessness in an omega before. 

Calmly, he laid down beside her, pulling her gently towards him. As he hugged her, she could feel the tension slowly leaving her body. But it wasn’t enough. Aubree craved more, she needed more. And so he leaned in and kissed her. His lips were soft and tender, like a delicate caress. When she bit into them, the taste exploded on her tongue, a blend of sweet honey and warm sunshine. The flavors danced and mingled, delighting her senses. Closing her eyes, she felt a rush of sparks and stars illuminating her mind. His tongue explored her mouth with a gentle touch, mirroring the soothing sensation of his hands as they massaged her tense shoulders.

She felt perfect, cocooned in the strength of his embrace. The soft glow of candlelight danced across their entwined bodies, casting a warm, intimate atmosphere. The warmth of his arms, his faint scent mingled with her own, enveloped her, creating a sweet, comforting haven from the outside world. Yet, an intoxicating sensation filled the air as she nestled against his chest, hearing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. A soothing melody that resonated deep within her. Every touch, every caress, sent waves of bliss coursing through her body. In this moment, she found solace and contentment, knowing that she had found her rightful place - in his loving arms.

She was exactly where she belonged, complete and fulfilled.

When he let go, she was panting, her lungs desperate for oxygen, her heart pounding in her chest. All she could see were his eyes, lost in darkness. Delighting in her exquisite taste, surpassing his wildest dreams, he pressed his lips against her face and kissed her deeply. The overwhelming passion seemed to consume her, suffocating her with its intensity. He gently moved away, giving her a chance to catch her breath, and as he did, he positioned himself on top of her, taking off the thin t-shirt she had on.

As much as he longed to press his skin against the avatar's, the Na’vi couldn’t help but be drawn to her curvaceous physique, a stark contrast to the ruggedness of his own kind. He took his sweet time to admire her; the naked breasts, the rounder hips, he could not resist stroking them with his fingertips. Aubree’s scent brainwashed him, a slave to the instinct to take her where she was, but in the back of his mind, there was still enough clarity to realize that he was truly amazed by the wonder of the woman before him. He liked her. He really liked her. He had liked her from the first moment he had noticed her, her trail so enchanting that it could not be ignored.

Once again, he yearned to taste her, to hold her. He placed his lips upon every reachable inch, leaving his mark with his intoxicating scent. He lavished attention on her face, caressed her eyes, nibbled on her ears, traced her collarbones, and claimed her neck, burying his nose in her skin, his tongue tenderly exploring the hidden depths behind her shoulder. It was a remarkably sensitive spot, causing her to surrender to pleasure, her corneas tilting backward in ecstasy. The surge of pheromones transformed into a primal growl, resonating deep within her core; uncontrollable shivers coursed through her body. He pressed harder against her hips, releasing a second wave that intensified their connection.

Aubree wrapped her limbs around him, squeezing him in a fervent embrace. The sound of their mingling breaths filled the air as their lips met once more, a symphony of desire. Overwhelmed by the sensation of his body against hers, she reveled in the way he effortlessly fit into the curves of her form. Each kiss and caress he bestowed upon her skin brought a cascade of relief that engulfed her senses.

Through the graceful dance of their bodies, she felt the weight of his longing against her. Every movement spoke volumes of his desire to please her, to alleviate her anguish. As his lips explored her skin, a low, guttural moan escaped her throat, resonating with a mixture of gratification and pain. In the air, a spice of raw passion intertwined with a hint of vulnerability. In his touch, she could sense the depth of his caring, his soulful dominance.

She realized how similar they were: two people subjected to their nature.

Equally desperate, her lungs aching, she reached a trembling hand towards his tail, fingers brushing against the coarse texture of the loincloth. The tightly cinched knot resisted her efforts, causing each tug to reverberate with a faint sound of strained fabric. The hunter, his muscles trembling with anticipation, propped himself up slightly, his breaths mingling with hers in the dimly lit room.

Time slowed to a torturous crawl as he painstakingly unraveled the knot, his fingers working with meticulous precision. The sensation of the fiber slipping through his grasp sent shivers down his spine, a mix of alleviation and frustration intertwining in his chest. The weight of the tewng around his ankles became a physical reminder of the barriers they both longed to shed. Almost on the verge of tears, he yearned for liberation from this confining cloth, craving the proximity and warmth they shared. With a swift motion, he freed himself from the bindings, the garment rustling quietly as it fell to the ground. In an instant, he pulled her back into his embrace, his arms blanketing her with a renewed fervor.

As their bodies tangled, a rush of emotions flooded their senses — the scent of their shared desire hung heavy in the air, mingling with the musky aroma of sweat. The touch of their skin, now unencumbered, ignited a fire that burned with an intensity they could no longer deny.

The scientist loved every moment; his piercing, smoldering gaze fixated on her, lolling in every tender touch, every flattering word, but she reached her limit, and he could sense it. Suddenly, the biting cold dusk shrouded her exposed form. Her garments were violently ripped away, leaving her vulnerable. The icy sensation lasted only a fraction of a second, though, for that was all the time it took for the stranger to plunge into her doused core. His intricate braids tickled against the satin-like skin of her inner thigh. The balmy breeze of his breath danced upon her as she rolled up her sticky legs around his head. “No need for that,” she giggled, her voice trembling. The sharp edges of his canines teased her, causing a playful tingle to spread across her lips. His smile showing both desire and mischief.

With exasperating slowness, he inhaled in a long sniff, his expounded pupils pulsating as they reopened. He dove in to guzzle the juicy nectar at its source, emitting a hoarse moan with the initial sip. She gasped, feeling the vibration against her quivering lips, as a blissful wave rippled through her soul, intensifying her arousal. Gripping her silky hair, he nestled his face, exploring every crevice, nuzzling her thoroughly. His insatiable tongue and eager lips caressed the velvety walls of her intimate entrance, skillfully teasing the supple skin and delicate clitoris. His left hand, loving and firm, cupped her slender ankle, his touch sending shivers up her bone. Slowly, he trailed his hand up her smooth thigh, his fingertips tracing every contour, igniting a fiery anticipation within her. With a whispered whoop, he sank his index into her swollen, drenched core, the wetness coating his digit. There was no resistance, only an overwhelming urge for more. In sync with her ragged sighs, he added a second finger. The sound of their combined panting saturated the air as her grip tightened around his relentless, plunging fingers.

At this point, Aubree was trembling with need as every fiber within her begged to be fucked. The alpha’s dominant pheromones beguiled her, while his languid, deliberate movements captivated her gaze. His hungry eyes, dark and all-consuming held her spellbound by the way he devoured her. The crushed combination of his present and skill left her subdued, infatuated even. As her back arched in pleasure, a primordial scream tore through her open windpipe. Excitement was so intense, a fiery mixture of ecstasy and release so gratifying and flawless,  that her omega felt a devastating love than just heat. In that instant, he hit her G-spot with caustic precision one final time, causing her to pour forth in a torrential climax. A violent, passionate eruption met by the man’s eager mouth, which drank her essence like a thirsty beast.

However, something unexpected happened as the orgasm subsided. Aubree burst into tears.

Copious tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks; wet, hot streaks that burned almost as scorching as the new, unbearable fire festering in her belly. Sobs rang through the shelter as he called her back, holding her tightly in his protective embrace, now curled against his chest seeking consolation. “Shushu... ‘Upe kemwiä? (What is it?).” He murmured, his lips resting on her temples as he futilely wiped away her tear-strained cheekbones. “It doesn’t go away, it doesn’t go away.” She cried, her nails scratching his chest, desperately trying to hold on to something. Her nose rubbed against his rib cage, then his jaw to impregnate him with her perfume, his heart pounding wildly.

In a frenzy of kisses and bites and touches, he let her vent, his digits grazing along her spine, confused by the speed with which the urge had reassembled in her. The Na’vi was confused by the speed with which the itch had reassembled within her. Normally it would take a few hours after such a powerful first orgasm. Time to rest, eat, drink. Aubree badly needed hydration to combat the incessant fever that plagued her and the fluids she was losing.

“Take a moment to rest. You need to drink.” “Screw the water, I want you,” she confessed, her misty eyes fixated on him. They shimmered with unstoppable tears and thirst. Her face flushed with a violent purple. It was the most powerful heat the man had ever witnessed, and he wondered what had triggered it. That it was her first heat? Had the suppressors made her high? It was because of him? The alpha in him reprimanded him with the natural mildness of primal appetites. Just take her, she’s pleading for it. But he shook his head. It wasn’t him. He was better than that. He had been raised to care for others, not to use them. Alphas protect, that was what gave them purpose; he would do anything to protect his mate, even from herself.

Even though she wasn’t technically his mate.

Despite not being bonded in the traditional sense, their connection was undeniable. Aubree, unbeknownst to her, held a special place in his heart from the very moment they met. It was clear from the start that this outcome was unavoidable. Calling upon anything that could keep him sane, he held some sort of energy drink under her nose. “Näk (drink).” The omega sounded at this command. It was as if by speaking in his native language, he was able to assert himself a thousand times more forcefully, even if she didn't get his words. The omega knew for both of them. “Can you do this for me? Drink this and I'll give you everything you want.” She had never heard anything more beautiful. She swelled the entire contents in one gulp, her head dizzy from the sudden amount of sugar. She fell back between the pillows with a quickening pulse, even if he was stroking her hair comfortably. The fall brought a fresh whiff of her needy wake, filling the entire hut as well as his nostrils. Instinctively, the hunter took a deep breath. A breath, that stopped halfway as his brain registered the source of the trail between the woman’s legs. A shimmering fountain that caused him to let out a guttural roar of defeat. He was so weak to her.

As he settled between her groin, the tip of his erection brushed against the warrior’s waistband, still clinging to his torso. The only garment Aubree had allowed him to keep.  The sight of him, breathtakingly elegant and athletic, thanks to Eywa’s mercy, overshadowed the idea of how many other omegas had the privilege of having him inside them before her. But now he was all hers. That thought alone ignited a fresh wave of excitement to blossom. He pressed his full weight onto her, and she wasted no time running her hands over his taut, strong, muscular back. Every contour, every sinew, was exquisitely formed and enticing under her touch. The closeness they shared, their bodies pressed against each other, sent a thrill through her. He smelled so damn good, hard and bothered for her. The way he responded to her advances only heightened her desire, flaring up a foreign heat in her veins, surpassing even her own natural instincts.

His shaft, long and thick, glided inside her, stealing her a gasp as he filled her in one fluid motion. Pleasure trembled through her, evident in her labored breathing and tightened walls. The barriers of her depths easily acclimated to his divine cock, satisfying even her smallest wishes. It was almost embarrassing to realize how every aspect of him was designed to please her — the texture of his body, the touch of his skin, the taste of his lips, the sound of his voice, his tantalizing scent.

She couldn’t help it and was somehow ashamed of her weakness. Her intimacy clenched at some point, in response to the blows he gave her, the few but deep sounds he made. So securely he gasped at the faint pain before rushing to her mouth in a ferocious kiss. Demanding, needy. He bit and pulled at her lip, pushing his tongue to lick the arch of hers, to suck her teeth, making her vibrate around him.  Had she mentioned that his lips were amazing? Yes, she had, but who cared? She would have repeated over and over again how unworldly they melded with hers in such a sublime way that they would have stunned her if she weren’t for the crazy pheromones already. Aubree didn’t even know who this man was. Her senses tangled, preventing her from recognizing his face or voice, despite a nagging suspicion of familiarity. Her mind sporadically focused before touch or smell overpowered it. Now taste. His lips felt like fresh fruit, sweet and full-bodied. She would have spent hours luxuriating in them, but the impression she was about to burst grew and grew, driving and unbearable.

She moaned uncontrollably as the Na’vi drew back his hips until only the tip rested against her core to thrust again before effortlessly thrusting again. Each new point of contact stung inside her. The avatar felt an insatiable desire to take all of him, to never let go. Her heart filled with euphoria — little bites, caresses, kisses ran through her body, which now smelled like his. She tugged at his hair as he made his way back to her mouth, her wet thighs encircling his waist, her heels nestled in the dimples of Venus. Clinging to him as if the contact of his epidermis, his chest, his arms weren’t enough. She craved more. Their hearts pounded in unison, like furious galloping horses, their passion untamed. “Tsahey, sı`ltsan’efu (oh hell, feels good),” he grunted, his timbre low and gravelly. Kind of a dirty move whispering praise in Na’vi into her ear. His words danced to the tips of her toes from the dull joy it gave her to feel appreciated, as the sound of their frames colliding echoed in the hut, a symphony of lust and devotion. Her cries grew shrill, a melodic chorus that fueled his every thrust. He was so hot, his skin flushed and glistening with sweat, as he moved faster, the friction intensified, sending sparks shooting through all of her body. Aubree clasped her legs around his waist, hankering for everything he offered. His grip on her shoulders steadied, his fingers digging into her skin. The force of his thrusts increased, each one hitting her with a mix of pleasure and pain. Her nails dragged along his back, leaving red trails in their wake.

The man rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingled; his lukewarm exhales covering her face and his ears full with her gasps. The smell of their passion hung heavy in the small space, a heady mixture of steam and need. He watched her in both ecstasy and disbelief. The sight of such intensity in his gaze overpowered her, but she clung to it, relishing every moment when his dick struck a sensitive bundle of nerves.

As she felt his knot dwell, alpha pheromones crept into her subconscious, drowning her omega in the musky aroma of dominance and submission, an exhilarating fog that pushed her further into surrender. The place seemed to darken as her soul naturally responded to him; her pulse hastening with trepidation. Each frantic gasps for oxygen a struggle against the sweeping emotions. She had no choice but to capitulate, to cry out for him. It felt as if her very DNA had been written to covet him, to lock him inside, but the native held her back, prolonging the exquisite torture.

“That’s not a good idea. It’s your first time.”

A new growl escaped her windpipe, vibrating hungry rage. A rumble that allowed no response, a warning that made him bend his ears back and sink to the point of no return. His stare fixed on her with a longing that knew no bounds. Now only orgasm could free him from her clutches. His expression seemed pained, a flicker of hesitation, but it lasted only a second before the most animalistic and savage sounds she had ever heard rose from the back of his throat. The researcher bit his neck to stifle a moan louder than the others, desperate to repress the burden that threatened to consume him. The last thing she wanted was for him to stop for concern of hurting her. He gasped, his grip on her hips toughening as he plunged more fervently, the rhythmic slapping of their bodies reverberating through the room.

“Don’t ever come out. Stay in forever,” she stammered in confused, fading whimpers. His reaction was harsh, his hips digging with such force that the knot scraped hard against her walls, inducing her to writhe in ecstasy. “Nga tsun ke pawm fula tsonta oe… Nga zir fìtxan tsìltsan (You can’t just ask me that… You feel so amazing).” His voice strained with lust. In response, the woman gyrated her hips even deeper against him, moaning with abandon until he filled her completely. His burning seed spread inside her, as he released a final wave of pheromones that triggered an orgasm so powerful it knocked her unconscious — her frame succumbing to the overwhelming fulfillment that exhausted her. “Are you okay?” He kissed her temple, but she could barely nod, still breathless. “Good.”

Amid that swirling sea of dizzying, carnal lechery, the Na’vi caught a whiff of her enticing trail, drawing him in like a magnetic force. He twisted her neck gently, planting kisses and licks behind her ear, where it released all sorts of fragrances that blended with the aftermath of their passionate encounter. Aubree shivered, her skin tingling as he grazed his teeth over her sensitive flesh. The aroma of her essence intensified here, so potent it could dance on his tongue, so tantalizing to explore further.

As he indulged in a small taste, her partner’s presence surged within her; his dick twitched, and automatically her inner walls throb around him. Just as her apprehension grew, fearing his bite, his lips found her ear where he murmured: “Don’t be afraid. I won’t mark you until you ask me to.”

Suddenly, a clarity washed over her, as if the dense intoxication of hormones had dissolved, leaving her lucid in its wake. The researcher pushed her lover away, panic coursing. Her narrowed eyes hinted at a revelation, now that she could finally name the alpha who had guided her in her very first heat, still mating with her with a satisfied and dangerous grin.

Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan. Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya.

Her eyelids suddenly grew heavy. Aubree fought not to close them, but with each blink it became harder and harder to keep them open. She felt his fingertips brush the hair from her face, then caress one cheek as he lowered himself to place a light kiss on her forehead.“Hahaw, ma’uniltı`ranyu. Nga kin ne tsurokx. Tätxaw ngeyä tawtutetokx. Oe veaywng nga kay sìn. (Sleep, my dreamwalker. You need to rest. Return to your human body. I’ll take care of you from now on).”

Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

@neteyamssyulang @layla2-49

[reidsexual]

Reach

“Earth to Dick?” You wave your hand in front of his faraway expression, helping him get off his knees.

The movement helps snap Dick back to reality, his eyebrows raising and his mouth agape almost as if he’s realized something. He looks up into your direction and laughs awkwardly, accepting your hand whilst pushing himself off the floor.

“Is everything alright?” You ask, puzzled by his change in mood. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” He assures you, flashing a smile that could fool most. “Besides, we got the job done.” He looks around, taking in the ruins of the building.

You had been assigned with Dick, Wonder Girl, and Beast Boy on a mission to stop a supervillain with psychic abilities. Made you wonder why they didn’t bring Miss Martian along.

“Sure…” You say, letting him off the hook for a moment. Just until you and your teammates get back to the base, that is.

“That was totally awesome! Did you see when she was trying to manipulate me into lasso-ing myself and I was like ‘No way, Jose!’ and threw her against the wall!” Cassie enthusiastically plays out the entire fight, with extra hand movements to boot.

“Totally badass.” Gar agrees, smiling ear to ear. “And I bet Dick thought so too.” He turns his head towards Dick’s direction, without a doubt seeking approval from the leader.

But Dick stays silent. His mind seems distant - closed off. He’s been like this since Wally’s death, and it wasn’t a secret to you that these missions he went on were merely distractions to cope with his own grief. Once those missions were over, he was alone again in his own mind.

Gar’s shoulders slump, and his smile slowly fades away. You put a hand on his shoulder, smiling sympathetically. “You all did well. I’m proud of you both.”

Hopefully that gets their spirits up.

Truth be told, you’d had quite a crush on Dick since the team’s been formed. When it was just you 6: Dick, Wally, Kaldur, Artemis, M’gann, and Conner. But it never lead to anything - and you were a fool to think so.

Besides, everyone’s moved on from their lives - why shouldn’t you?

You make it to the headquarters, but before Dick can make his first footsteps on the floor, you place a hand on his shoulder.

Dick turns around to meet your eye, an amused glint in his smile. “Didn’t know we were getting handsy now.”

“Funny.” You give him a quick and sarcastic smile, taking your hand off of him and crossing your arms against your chest. “But I’m not in the mood for jokes, Dick.”

“What are you in the mood for? Chinese takeout?” Dick suggests.

“No. A spar would actually be quite nice.” You can feel a flicker of a smile touch upon your features at the thought. “Like old times?” You add, trying not to sound like you crave the nostalgia.

For the first time this mission, you notice Dick’s teasing expression falter, his face falling. His eyes can’t seem to look anywhere but the ground. “Sure. Like old times.” He says, turning around and stepping foot in headquarters.

By the time you’ve showered and cleaned yourself up, Dick’s already at the training room - waiting for you.

The sight makes you panic by just a little bit. How long have you kept him waiting?

Dick stifles a laugh, almost as if reading your thoughts. “Relax, I just got here.” He says in a good-natured manner.

Rolling your eyes playfully, “Just wondering what’s got you so enthusiastic.” You banter back, stepping into the ring.

“What can I say? Nothing cheers me up like some good ‘ol’ training session.” He shrugs, tossing you a wooden stick that you catch without missing a beat.

“Mind if we share a chat while we’re at it?” You test the waters, positioning yourself into a fighting stance across from him.

“If you can focus.” Dick answers confidently, before you charge at him, striking your stick to the side of his neck before he effectively blocks it, repositions your weapon, nearly making you lose balance.

You do a cartwheel to land on your feet. Both arms stretched out as you crouch on the floor, sticks on each side.

“What was it you wanted to talk about again?” Dick asks in the middle of you launching a kick at him, which he catches with his free hand. While he’s distracted, you deliver a blow to his side with your elbow.

“How are you?” Seems to be the most appropriate way to start the conversation to you right now.

“Fighting an extremely athletic lady. You, on the other hand?” He jokes, and you can almost see a glimpse of the boyish Dick you used to know.

“Repeat that - but replace ‘lady’ with ‘gentleman.’”

“Flattered.”

Dick lands a devastating blow to your jaw, and you have to take a step back and wipe the blood off your lip.

His face morphs from playful and teasing to concerned and worried in less than a millisecond, instantly dropping his sticks and rushing forward to you.

“Are you okay? God, I didn’t think-” You sweep your leg under his, Dick falling back-first with a thump.

“Careful. Might change my mind about you being a gentleman. Might change it to little rascal instead.” You say, reaching your hand out to help Dick as he sits up and rubs his hand behind his neck.

“Never-”

“Lose focus when attacking your opponent. Taught you that our first training session alone.” Dick finishes your sentence for you. His delivery, so lighthearted and playful - can’t even mask the bittersweet undertone in his words.

“Do you ever miss those days?” You ask without thinking.

“My days as Robin?”

“I mean those days of fresh experience. Back when being a superhero felt like playing a video game instead of a world of hurt on your shoulders.” You explain hesitantly, taking a seat on the ground next to him.

Dick’s eyebrows furrow and you can feel him stare at you intently as you are the one now struggling to look into his eyes. “Hey, hey.” He cups your face in both his hands, softly guiding your face to meet his gaze.

“Where’s this coming from?” He asks quietly. You’re only now realizing how intimate this all looks - your faces just inches apart, you could count all of his eyelashes if you wanted to.

Dick Grayson. Why always be there for others when you can’t even be there for yourself?

You grab both his wrists and set his hands on his lap, immediately regretting the action at the loss of his warmth. “This isn’t about me.” You can hear the annoyance seeping in your voice, you hate it. But how can he be so oblivious?

“This is about you.” You point a finger at his chest, before dropping it and sighing. “I mean, what’s going on with you?”

“What’s going on with me?“ He repeats, sounding equal amounts offended and confused.

“Yes! You’ve been acting so differently as of late and-”

“And it’s nothing you have to worry about.” Dick interrupts, his gaze cold as opposed to his warmth of his touch.

“Will you stop interrupting me?” You huff, annoyed. Standing up from the ground, you dust off imaginary dirt on your clothes.

Combing a hand through your hair, you try to calm yourself down. Remind yourself that you shouldn’t lose patience with someone grieving. But it’s so hard when you are too.

“And will you stop worrying?” Dick stands up to the ground, his height towering over you.

“You’ve noticed?” You scoff, sounding childish even in your own ears.

“Oh, I’ve noticed! I notice everything about you, come on!” He’s almost shouting now - you’re not used to Dick losing his temper, especially not with you.

“Why are you so pissed about a friend caring for you?” Your voice cracks at the word ‘friend’ because you’re not even sure if he considers you one with the way he’s talking to you right now.

Sweat drips down the side of his forearm, and you’re not sure if it’s from the heat of your argument or the intense sparring session earlier. But either way, you can feel yourself start to get heat up over the whole ordeal too.

“I’m not mad that you care.” He says pleadingly, his voice calmer now, but the anger still appears. “I’m upset that you treat me like glass. That I’m fragile. That I have to prove myself all over again to show you that I can handle things on my own.”

The way he looks at you, you can tell he’s at battle with his own thoughts. Between desperately trying to convince you he’s fine, and wanting to give into your help and tell you he’s not.

“Nobody’s invulnerable, Dick.” You take a step closer, your frustration simmering down. “And you’re one of the most capable people I know. But that doesn’t mean I don’t notice when you need support by your side.” You take his hand in yours, reassuring him, as a friend. As a friend.

Dick looks at you at loss for words. It’s like he’s asking you what’s the right thing to say, the right thing to feel.

“It’s been tough, I can admit that.” He says somberly, taking his hand out of yours in a way that makes you pretend it didn’t hurt. “But that’s what comes with saving the world. That’s the price there is to pay for.”

You’ve always known that Dick’s life revolved around bettering others. It’s been his life since he was a kid - from performing for others entertainment, to fighting crime for others safety. It’s all he’s known.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t reach out.” You whisper, trying one more time. For someone who doesn’t want to be Batman, he sure is good at avoiding others from seeing his true emotions.

Dick turns his back on you and grabs the sticks on the ground. “I came here because I thought I could shut my mind off. Focus on things that made me forget about work.”

“I guess we’re both disappointed then.” You say in a soft voice, careful not to let it crack.

And with that, Dick’s shadow disappears in the corridors. Leaving you alone in the training room with nothing but wooden sticks for you to reach for.

(hey guys!!! this is my first time writing anything, like, EVER. so if I made any mistakes, please lmk and I do apologize if the portrayal of dick isn’t accurate or if some of the dialogue feels cringy and unnatural)

[mrwinterr]

Fast In My Car

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Summary: Self-driving car sex. That’s it. 

Warnings: Adult themes | 🚫 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🚫 | Smut 18+ (unprotected sex [risky business], vaginal penetration, oral [male receiving], riding, creampie), dirty talk and language.

Disclaimer: None of the spooky events of the Stranger Things (2016) series take place in this piece. Everything is just where it’s at because this is made up. 

A/N: I don’t own a car with this feature, so oops on the technicalities. We’re just trying to have fun. Self-driving or not, lol, this is dangerous, but sexy too. Idk if this has been done. It’s just another car sex fic.   

mrwinterr masterlist

When Steve said he had a surprise, you thought it would be something simple like flowers, candy or some cute gift, but what you don’t expect is him with a new car. 

“Check it out!” he exclaims from the curb, a big smile on his face, his arms outstretched wide with the new shiny vehicle glistening in the sunlight behind him. He looked so happy and who wouldn’t be with a new car, right? 

There was nothing wrong with his BMW, so you were a little confused. He had the best car from the lot, courtesy of his parents, and while your own car was still holding its own, you remained steadfast in your refusal to mooch off their wealth, which they’d grown indifferent to. You knew they meant well in their own way. They gave Steve everything he wanted and only the best for him, but you just weren’t cut from the same cloth. 

“Where did you get that?” your first reaction was to question it, although you already had a good feeling from where. 

“At the dealership,” he answered simply. 

“Okay, not what I meant, babe. I mean how and why?” you clarify not one for playing dumb with him at that moment. 

“My parents wanted to surprise us,” he explained, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for them to do. 

“There’s nothing wrong with the car you have,” you noted.

“Had,” he corrects you before revealing the fate of his car, “they traded the BMW.” 

“What?” you exclaimed, taken aback. 

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Come on, it’s just a car. People trade in for new ones all the time.” Everything was just that easy for the Harringtons. “Okay, not everyone...or all the time,” he admits, seeing the unamused look on your face. “I didn’t know you liked the BMW that much.” 

“It’s not that…I don’t know,” you trailed off, trying to not sound sentimental. “We just had a lot of memories with the BMW.” 

Steve’s expression softened as he started reminiscing about the nostalgia tied to his old car. He picked you up for your first date in that car. He drove you to work with that car when yours would inconveniently break down. You both went on several road trips in that car. Among a lot of other things…in that car. 

“Couldn’t they have given us something else? Like…I don’t know, a house in Chicago maybe,” you unrealistically suggest, but wouldn’t completely put it past them. 

“What’s wrong with the house we have right now?” He asks, failing to grasp your point. 

“This is your parents’ house!” You remind him, gesturing toward the big house behind you. 

“They barely live here. It’s practically ours.” Steve reasons. 

“Not the point,” you say, hands on your hips, not amused by that answer either. 

“Whatever. Let’s take this for a spin.”

You sigh and reluctantly make your way to the passenger side, where he held the door open for you. 

~

Steve took the long way to everything during the whole drive and you were getting bored fast. Admittedly, the ride was smooth and the seats were very comfortable. You struggle to keep your eyes open and head up right, trying to not doze off. 

It was such a mundane thing, Steve driving around town with one hand on the wheel while the other on your thigh, sometimes in your hand. You didn’t think much of it at first, but when you start to feel him get a little too handsy, you rouse awake. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“Well, you mentioned how we have so much history with the BMW…I was thinking maybe we can make some memories here,” he shrugs casually, continuing to drive through the backroads. 

“I’m not having sex with you in this car just for that reason,” you retort. 

“Why not? It has a self-driving feature,” he counters like that would help his case. 

“That still doesn’t mean you don’t have to pay attention to the road.” 

“How is you giving me road head in the BMW going to be any different in here?” 

“Steve!” You yell appalled by his bluntness on the topic. 

“If anything, it’ll be easier for me to keep the car on the road.” He’s really trying to upsell you on that self-driving feature, “…and the windows are tinted. No one will see us.” He can see the gears in your head turning, contemplating your next move. You just need a little nudge and Steve knows how to push your buttons. 

“You can’t tell me that car sex isn’t hot.” His hand sliding further up your skirt. He can feel the heat radiating from your core through the thin barrier of your underwear, which boosts his confidence in his plan. He has to bite his bottom lip to conceal the smirk. 

There were so many things wrong about this like endangering not only your lives but others, getting caught, and wrecking the car to name a few, but despite that, he’s right; you can’t deny the idea. It was dangerous but also thrilling. 

You huff at his triumph, unbuckle your seatbelt, and turn to face him. Giddy, he pushes his chair back to make room for you, but at enough distance for him to ensure he can still reach the steering wheel should he need to. 

“You’re taking us home right after this,” you demand, watching him nod his head eagerly, then reach to grab him. “Shit, Steve,” you pull your hand back not expecting him to be half hard already. 

“What? You’re the one that put the idea of us fucking in a car in my head. I can’t help but think about it,” he says defensively, trying to shift some of the blame on you. “Plus, your legs look really nice.” 

Shaking your head, you refocus your attention on undressing his lower half. Steve raises his hips as best as he could to help you tug his pants and boxers down enough for his cock to spring out. 

You wrap your hand around his length, giving it a light squeeze before pumping him in a gradual pace you knew that got him going. You watch his lips part at the sensation you’re conjuring from him, and it only encourages you to continue. Seeing Steve come undone is one of your favorite things. 

Leaning over the console, you get closer, poke your tongue out to swirl it around the head, collecting the small bead of pre-cum pooling from the slit. Your mouth waters at the taste, hungry for more, so you skip the teasing and go right for it. Steve sighs when you take him in your mouth, your lips enclosed around his cock.  

You look up high to the left to see he’s thrown his head back against the headrest, eyes closed, so you pull yourself off him. “Hey! Eyes on the road!” He jolts, your warning ringing through his ears, straightening up a bit and a hand back on the wheel. 

You’re soon bobbing your head up and down his length, a hand assisting in the job before you slowly start taking more of him inch by inch. He bunches up your hair in his hands to get a good view, sneaking a peek while still trying to keep his eyes trained on the road. Feeling the head of cock hitting the back of your throat stirs something animalistic in Steve. You have to keep your hands on his hips to force them down, so he doesn’t lodge himself any deeper than you could handle. 

“Fuck. You’re so good at that.“ His voice drones with the sloppy sounds from working your mouth on his cock. 

You hold him in place for a few seconds until you pull away, in desperate need for air, a mix of fluids running down your chin, but continue fisting his cock, feeling him grow harder.

Satisfied, you carefully maneuver over to him, claiming his lap as your new seat. It’s an awkward angle, but nothing new to you both. You hike your skirt up and push the slit of your underwear to the side. You let out a long moan as you lower yourself down on his thick cock. Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you close your eyes to focus on the sensation wracking through your body, doing your best to ignore the sting from being stretched out. 

“Yes,” he lets out as you’re fully seated on his thick cock, allowing him to bask in the warmth of your wet and inviting pussy. “You’re so tight,” he whines, feeling your walls contract around him involuntarily, waiting patiently for you to get used to his girth. 

It’s always a bit of a struggle, but once you get accustomed to him, you pull your face away, brace your palms on his clothed chest and start to bounce on his cock. High enough to keep the tip snuggled inside and low enough to feel his balls press up against the bottom of your ass. He looks down, gawking at the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing in you. 

“You’re so wet,” he says, licking his lips at the delicious sight. “You like riding my cock don’t you?” He knows you do. Your juices make certain of that when it starts overflowing that it starts to drip down his balls, soaking his seat. 

He’s just eating up the effects that his words have on you, the vulnerable look displayed on your face, so different from the one that was reprimanding him earlier. “Making such a mess,” he chastises, grabbing a hold of your chin forcibly to look at him. You’re struggling to keep your eyes open from the orgasm building up in you. Once he has your attention, his stare is intense as he gravely speaks out, “my dirty girl,” before smashing your lips together, his tongue inviting himself in your mouth seeking your own.  

It’s not enough for Steve to be just content with his cock buried deep inside you, he pulls your top down, your breasts spilling out. “God, I love your tits,” he groans, taking his other hand off the wheel so he could get a good fill of them in his hands. 

Moaning at the sensation when his mouth latches onto them, teasingly nibbling the hardened buds, you get more heated. You start grinding on him, your hips swiveling in circular motions. He loves when you do this because it allows him to feel every part of you, sending him into overdrive. 

“That’s it, grind on that cock, baby,” he mumbles against your chest, his hot breath fanning your skin.

“It’s so good,” you praise his cock. You let out a choked gasp when you ground harder, switching from circular to back and forth motions, “you’re so deep.” Feeling your body shiver, you try to memorize the angle where he’d just probed at, desperately needing him to hit it again. 

Your efforts proving futile, Steve notices your hips losing its rhythm, so he decides to take control. Sneaking his hands around to grope the globes of your ass, he draws you in closer to him, thrusting his cock deep inside to find it for you and judging by the volume of your moans getting louder and louder plus the way your walls contract around his member, he’s found your sweet spot. 

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes,” your voice wavering. You use the bit of strength remaining in your legs to sit up to focus on him. “Steve, I’m gonna cum,” your warning pushing him to drive it home.  

“Oh, baby,” he coos, bringing a hand up to push away the sweaty hair matted on your face. He loved watching you unravel too. He grips the side of your hips, fingers digging into your skin, not a care given about the marks they’d leave, and starts lifting you up and down his cock. 

“Right there! Fuck, yes. Steve, baby, right there.” 

“Yeah? You got it, baby.” He pistons his hips up into you, loving the way your breasts bounce from his harsh thrusts. “That’s it. Fucking come all over my cock…I’m right behind you, honey.” 

Your thighs clamped around his hips, hands twisting his shirt from the tight grip you held, you let out a silent sob as your orgasm rocks through you. Steve makes good on his word because as your walls start pulsing around his cock, it’s enough to make him come. His arms tightly wrapped around you, keeping you close and rooted down, he stills. Sensitive, you flinch and groan in bliss from feeling, the throb of each spurt of his cum shooting deep inside you.

When you both come down from the high, your body is slumped over him. Steve tilts your head leaning in to kiss you tenderly. He pulls away, a soft smile adorns his perfect face as you gaze lovingly at him. You almost forget that you’re in a moving vehicle until the warning noise breaks your catatonic state. 

“Shit,” he panics, letting go of you, quickly reaching over to align the wheel, almost crushing you in-between. You shoot him a threatening look to which he returns with a sheepish smile. 

“It’s cool! We’re alive aren’t we?” 

Shaking your head, Steve hissed as you carefully removed yourself from him, quickly sliding your panties back in place, not wanting to make a bigger mess than you already have or leave any stains before you climb over back to your seat. 

He pulls his pants back up on his own as you try to fix your appearance, but the post-coital glow doesn’t allow you to. He doesn’t look any more innocent either and he doesn’t care. These memories are yours alone. 

“Can we please go home now?” You ask, buckling up again. 

He looks over watching you draw a small heart on the foggy passenger side window, one of your quirky ways of expressing your love. 

“Yes, honey,” he says with a sweet smile, reaching over to hold your hand, and then taking the shortcut back home. 

A/N: Well that came out of nowhere. I'm a little rusty, but I'm done looking at this. Please give it a like, reblog or reply. I’d love to hear what y’all thought. Thank you for reading!

[inbloomwriting]

Everything to me - Chapter 2

Chapter two - Blueberry & Kidney Bean

Chapter 1

Plot: Jamie Tartt is a lot of things: professional footballer, the island's top scorer .... sexually, extremly handsome. But one thing he never saw himself as was a dad. Too bad he has to deal with the consequences of his own actions. This fic follows reader and Jamie as they navigate life and turn from practially strangers to parents. Pairing: Jaime Tartt x female reader Warnings: Pregnancy, swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, slight mention of sexual intimacy (nothing graphic), strained/toxic parental relationship Notes: 5.6k words. I do not have a set uploading schedule. Please bear with me as I work on this story. I know hardly anything about pregnancy, all my information comes from google. I tagged everyone who asked me to do it when I posted part 1. Please let me know if you want to be taken off or added to the taglist. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please

The store smells like dust and cardboard and old carpet. It's not necessarily a bad smell, it just doesn't live up to her memories.

She remembers the perpetual scent of menthol cigarettes and some kind of cheap men's perfume wafting through the air. The store used to smell like her dad and now it doesn't. And that just makes it all even more real.

Boxes upon boxes litter the room, filled with records. Some older, some newer. Guitars adorn one wall while the others are covered in posters from tours that happened long ago, some even before she was born.

There is something comforting about being here. It’s like stepping back into the past. Long nights watching Dad and his friends play their guitars after store-closing. Discovering new bands whenever a new shipment of records came in. And yes - she is the first to admit that in her younger years, she mostly chose the records by how cool the cover looked. 

It’s also memories of Dad getting caught up in the after-hours jam sessions and forgetting about her dance recital and that one time he threw a guitar at the window out of anger that a shipment of records got lost. It took him months to get the window replaced. She could probably still trace exactly where the crack used to be. 

Being here is very reminiscent in all the good and bad ways. But it’s a warped version of the past. One that’s laced with all the knowledge she has now. Like a movie that you’ve seen a million times.

“I don’t think pregnant women are supposed to be doing that!” 

Jamie’s voice cuts through the nostalgia-induced fog like a sunbeam through the clouds. And it also gives her a little heart attack as the only sound filling the room up until now had been her moving around and the soft tunes of an Eric Clapton record playing in the background.

“Jesus fuck! You scared me. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to startle pregnant women either and give them heart attacks.” 

He looks at her with those big expressive eyes of his and a comically overdone pout on his lips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. But seriously give me that.” 

He’s so quick to take the box of records from her hands (Y/N) hardly has time to process what’s going on. 

Quite honestly, his worry is a bit misplaced here but she appreciates the sentiment even if he might be a little overly cautious at that moment. It feels nice to be cared for. 

“You know I’m pregnant, not sick, right? I can carry stuff.” 

“Yeah but why would you if you got me carrying it for you?” 

He has a point, she has to give him that. 

“Fair enough. Those go over there in the corner please.” 

Jamie follows her order without hesitation and, after setting the box down in its designated place, his eyes dart across the room and light up with childlike wonder and curiosity.

“This used to be your dad’s place, yeah? It looks really neat with all them posters and shit. Like stepping into an old person’s mind but like a cool old person that buys you alcohol when you’re 15 and lets you watch horror movies when your mum said no.” 

Of all the adjectives in the world, (Y/N) wouldn’t ever think of using the word “cool” to describe her dad. He was creative and fun and eccentric and stubborn — but cool? 

Then again he was her dad and no one ever likes to think of their own parents as cool. Oh god, will their kid think she’s uncool?! 

“Uh yeah, the shop and the apartment right above us. He owned it, now I do. I’m trying to get it all fixed up and ready to be sold.”

“What? Why?” 

There is something to be said about Jamie’s face and his absolute inability to mask his emotions. Everything he thinks and feels is mirrored twice as vividly on his face. He’s all furrowed brows and pouty lips. 

“I mean — it’s a record store. People don’t really buy records anymore. Be honest, when was the last time you bought one instead of just streaming the music?” 

“Like two weeks ago.” 

“Fuck off, no you didn’t!” 

“Uh — yeah, I did. Olivia Rodrigo if you must know.” 

A soft giggle falls from (Y/N)’s lips. How fitting for Jamie to buy an album full of teenage angst. 

“Well, you’re one of very few people though. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have to sell. I’d keep it open. Instead of selling instruments, it’d turn that part of the shop into a little stage with a coffee counter or a bar. Host open mic nights and shine a spotlight on undiscovered artists. But the world isn’t perfect and there is no way I can afford to turn that vision into reality so really there’s no use in letting myself get too caught up in it.” 

There is pity in his eyes and she hates it. She doesn’t want pity, not his or anyone else’s. Has seen enough of it, especially lately. If she had received just one more “Sorry for your loss” card in the mail from relatives she hadn’t seen in decades, she probably would’ve stabbed a fork in her own eye. Pity does no good to no one. 

“Anyway, Jamie. Not that I don’t enjoy hanging out with you, it’s kind of necessary if we want to get this whole beings-friends-thing right, but uh — what are you doing here?” 

“Jesus, can’t a guy just come around to say hi to his baby? “ 

She thinks the way he says the word “Baby” in his thick accent is surprisingly and undeniably adorable. As if it ends in an “eh” instead of a “y”.

“By the way, they’re as big as a blueberry now.” 

And the way he’s keeping track of the baby's growth gets her right in the heart. For some reason, this seems to come so naturally to him when it all still feels weird and foreign and surreal to her. As if it were happening to someone else and she’s just a mere spectator. The idea that something as small as a blueberry will one day turn into a proper baby, a child, a teenager … a whole ass adult - is so wild to her. Almost incomprehensible. A person with their own feelings and dreams and personality. (Y/N) wonders if at any point in this pregnancy, she'll wake up and it'll all just make sense or if that only comes once she's holding the baby in her arms.

“That's cute. Doesn't answer my question though. What brings you here?”

A shadow of something flickers across Jamie’s face. Something unreadable and unfamiliar. Something that makes (Y/N) feel a sense of dread bubbling up in her stomach.

“I uh — I can’t do this.”

And there it is. That unfamiliar shadow is now a metaphorical atom bomb, a mushroom cloud of all that could have been and won’t be.

“Oh okay. I mean no, not okay. This sucks actually. You said you wanted to be part of the baby’s life and now you’re bailing? That’s a shit move, Jamie. You’re a right prick for pulling that crap.” 

“What? Oh no!” his eyes widen as the realization sets in. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well then what did you mean? Cause you’re truly giving me a heart attack right now. Second one for today. You really need to start working on your conversation starters.” 

She had given him the chance to opt out of being a dad, to not be a part of the baby’s life. It seemed like the right thing to do and, foolishly, (Y/N) had believed that she’d be okay with him doing just that. In this very moment though, she feels everything but okay. The idea of Jamie changing his mind is terrifying. 

Sometimes you don’t realize just how much you need something — or someone until you’re faced with the possibility of losing them.

“I mean, I can’t do this alone. I need to tell someone. All I keep thinking about is the baby and I feel like I am going to explode any second now. I know we can’t tell everyone yet ‘cause of — well you know, things going wrong and stuff. But I need to tell someone. You got to tell Rebecca and your mum, I think it’s only fair I get to tell two people as well, yeah?”

A sense of relief floods her. Starts in her toes and fills her all the way to the top of her head. He wants this — wants the baby. It’s not just her in this. It’s nice to know you have someone in your corner. It’s also scary. Because he deserves to know just whose team he’s on. And being vulnerable fucking sucks. 

“Jamie, that’s fine. Absolutely you can tell your mum.” 

“And Simon? You got two people so — “

“I didn’t though.” 

“Uh yes, you did. I know you told Rebecca.” 

“That’s right.”

“And your mum too”.

The silence that follows his words is deafening. Being vulnerable means also admitting guilt. It means owning up to all of your mistakes. Though we are not the sum of our mistakes, they are what help shape the person we become. And (Y/N) really doesn’t think they make her a very good one.

“And your mum too?” 

More silence.

“You didn’t tell your mum? Why not? “

To his credit, Jamie looks truly surprised and confused. There is no judgment there, just absolute bewilderment and that signature softness that rounds out his features and settles in his eyes whenever Jamie talks to her about something serious. Granted they’ve not had that many conversations but she hopes that softness stays. She hopes that maybe their baby can have those soft, gentle eyes too.

“I’m not sure. I think I’m scared. My mum and I have a — complicated relationship. I disappoint her, she judges me. You know, the usual.” 

“You think she’ll be disappointed because we're having a baby? Is it because of me?”

(Y/N) shrugs, breaking eye contact and fixing her gaze on the old grey carpet with the ugly 90s pattern. What if those soft eyes can look straight through her, see all the ugly parts and the insecurities? That’s too scary for now. Too much too soon.

“No, it has nothing to do with you. Think she’ll just be disappointed I didn’t get pregnant according to the timeline she dreamed up for my life when I was like 2 years old. Had it all planned out for me and I never stuck to it.” 

Jamie is quiet for a moment but (Y/N) doesn’t dare to look back up at him. She can’t deal with any more pity.

“Well if you want to practice telling a mum, we can start with mine.”

“Huh?” 

“You can come to Manchester with me if you want. To tell my mum. We’ll have one mum down then, makes it easier to do it a second time. It’s science.” 

Jamie has the fascinating quality of making you believe in his words just by being so undeniably charming and because he believes in them himself. He makes it look easy when it is everything but.

“And if things don’t go well with your mum at least you’ll know you have at least one mum you can rely on, even if it’s not your own. She raised me pretty much by herself so she knows a thing or two about babies and parenting and stuff.” 

The mocking raise of (Y/N)’s right eyebrow doesn’t go unnoticed by Jamie who opens his lips to a silent gasp and clutches his chest with an overly dramatic gesture. 

“What? You saying I didn’t turn out perfectly?”

“No,” she laughs, a lightness festering in her chest. Like the first rays of sunshine after a cold winter that never seemed to end. Like a glass of wine after a long day at work. Like your favorite song on the radio at the exact moment you need it most. “I think you turned out exactly the way you were supposed to.” 

“Thanks,” Jamie says with that cheeky smile playing on his lips that makes him look a little younger than he actually is. Then he dares to wink at her and it’s a little annoying but also insanely charming. “Not sure you meant it as a compliment but I am taking it. Now when are you free for a trip up to Manchester?” 

(Y/N)’s been on a lot of road trips around the country when she was younger. She’s even spent a whole summer traveling Europe, partially by train but most of the time was spent stuffed in a Fiat Punto with 3 of her friends and all their luggage. It was stuffy, it was chaotic and it was immensely fun. None of those road trips ever involved a shiny black Aston Martin Rapide though. 

Or a famous footballer dressed in the ugliest lime green sweater (Y/N) has ever seen. 

“That’s all the luggage you got?” Jamie questions as he moves the black shades off of his eyes and sets them on the top of his head, holding back some of his hair. It shouldn’t work so well but it does. 

“I mean, we’re only staying for a night right? Why? Should I have brought more? How much did you pack?” 

He glances at her, then towards the car, and back at her. A sheepish look crosses his face before being replaced by his childlike cheekiness. “That’s confidential. Don’t worry about it, yeah?” 

“I got my ginger lollies, that’s all that matters really.” 

“You feeling alright?” 

“Mh, I’m good. Just pregnant.” 

His eyes drop down to her stomach for just a second before he nods his head in what (Y/N) can only describe as a mix of pride and satisfaction. “Yeah, you are.” 

That’s new. Well not new-new but it hasn’t happened since the day of the funeral. That tingly feeling in her stomach that has fuck all to do with the baby and everything with how the baby got there. Yes, Jamie is hot and (Y/N) is the first to admit as much but there has been so much stress and chaos and she hardly had time to think about anything but surviving and making sure not to completely lose herself in bad visions of what-ifs that her brain has had no time to process any feelings of arousal or lust. That look he just gave her though, that one made her remember it for just a second.

“You sure you’re alright?” 

Jamie’s voice shakes her from her daydream and brings her back to the real world, her eyes focusing back on the obscene car parked in front of her tiny apartment building looking so insanely out of place.

“Uh yes, I’m fine. I just — sometimes I forget that you’re famous.” 

Jamie regards her for a moment before shrugging his shoulder and grabbing the bag from her hands. “I don’t. It’s fun. Now come on, let’s goooooo.” 

His voice is dipped in excitement and there’s a bounce in his step. If this is how the prospect of seeing his mother makes him feel and behave, she must be one lovely woman. Whenever (Y/N) thinks of her own mother her chest fills with tiny metaphorical icicles. Sharp and rough and painful. It’s all regret and judgment and disapproval. It’s “You gained weight”, “you look tired”, and “You should really look into getting a new job”. Daggers disguised as roses. Stabs right to the heart in the name of being honest. “I just care about you, because I love you, because I am your mother!” 

If there is one thing (Y/N) knows for sure, it’s that she will never ever find the need to resort to criticism and thinly veiled malice in order to show her child that she cares. They will know. Every single day. Because she’ll make sure to show them. Every single day in all the big and tiny ways a person can show their love. 

“Kidney Bean?”

“Kidney Bean. And apparently, the baby is sprouting webbed fingers and toes right now. Oh, and it’s starting to move!” 

“Can you feel that?” 

“No, not yet.” 

“It’s mental. Last week she was the size of a blueberry and now she’s a kidney bean. Kid’s growing up too fast.” 

It’s true. There is so much happening all at once and it’s almost impossible to really process it all. Suddenly there is a tiny spark of a human inside her. Not really a baby yet but a baby to her. And it's moving and developing and changing every second of every day. Fucking insane.

“Wait … you said she. You think it’s a girl?”

Maybe it’s the sunlight casting a glow through the windshield but (Y/N) is almost certain she can just about make out a blush dusting Jamie’s cheeks. 

“Dunno.”

“Jamie Tartt, do you want to be a girl dad?” 

He glances at (Y/N) through the corner of his eyes for just a moment but it’s enough for her to see the sincerity in him. This is something he’s thought about before. Learning new things about Jamie is fascinating.

“Ah,  it’s stupid, really. It’s — It’s dumb or whatever.” 

“No, come on, don't go shy on me now. Tell me.” 

He takes a deep breath. A moment passes then another. There is no rush. Sometimes silly thoughts are the result of harsh truths. 

“Told you my dad was a prick. Like the biggest piece of shit walking this earth, yeah? And I knew that all my life. Thing is I still tried to impress him. I just — I wanted him to like me so badly. Just felt wrong that me own dad didn’t care about me and that made me angry. And I kept that anger inside me for so long. Sometimes when I think about the baby and the future I am scared that if I have a son that anger will jump over to him. Like maybe all Tartt men are cursed or some shit like that. But if I had a little girl maybe that would make it easier for me to be a good dad. I don’t mind either way, obviously, but the idea of having a son scares me.” 

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been with her so far and by the way he clenches his jaw and grabs onto the steering wheel just a little tighter, (Y/N) can tell this isn’t easy on him. It means a lot that he shares this part of him with her anyway. It feels like they are actually becoming friends. So opening up to him in return is only half as horrifying. 

“When I was a kid, maybe 11 or 12, I wrote a short story for school and I won an award. They did this big ceremony thing where the 3 finalists got to read their stories out loud for an audience and then receive their prizes. My mum didn’t show up, not sure if it was because she stayed longer at the office and didn’t care enough to leave on time or if she just didn’t feel like getting out of the house. Point is, she wasn’t there. When I came home that night I was sad, obviously, and I was also pissed. Because why the fuck couldn’t she take one night off to come see me succeed at something even if it wasn’t something she deemed worthy of praise. 

So I yelled at her and I’m sure I said some hurtful things. But I was so devastated and angry and I needed an outlet for once. She called me ungrateful but I was used to that, she always called me ungrateful. Then she looked at me with that look of absolute resignation and malice and she said that she hopes I have a daughter like me one day and that she makes me realize how hard it is to love me. 

When I think of the baby, sometimes I see a little girl too. One that I will love so much she never has to doubt it for a single second. And I will also prove my mother wrong. Because it will be so easy to love my little girl and it would’ve been so easy to love me, her little girl.” 

It’s the first time she’s ever said those words out loud. Truly, (Y/N) had not expected for them to come out in an Aston Martin, on the way to meet her baby’s father’s mother but life doesn’t seem to care for plans very much these days.

Softly, as if to not startle her, Jamie places his hand on hers, squeezing gently.

“I think your mum is a right bitch.” 

“Thanks. I think your dad is a huge asshole.” 

“We’re gonna be better than them, right?” 

It’s not really a question. It’s more of a promise.

“We will. I know it.”

His hand doesn’t leave hers for a good long while. 

The nerves don’t hit her until they pull up to the quaint little house with the white front. There’s a rose bush to the side and some kids playing football just across the way. The nerves don’t hit her until Jamie puts the car in park but when they do, they hit her like a freight train.

“Woah, you alright?” 

“Huh?” 

“You look all pale and like you’ve seen a ghost or something. Do you have to puke?”

A chuckle falls from her lips at the absurdity of it all. In all honesty, she’s not met a lot of parents yet but the few she did meet were parents of actual partners. People she had been dating for a while. It was a natural progression of steps. This is all wrong and sideways and topsy-turvy. You’re supposed to meet the mum first and then get pregnant. 

Again with the life and the plans. 

“I’m fucking nervous.” 

“Hah,” Jamie laughs. The audacity of this guy. “You’re nervous to meet my mum? Why? She’s an angel.”

“Do you not know how intimidating that is? Like, if she was shit I wouldn’t care but she sounds wonderful and I want her to like me. No, I need her to like me. Desperately. And I can only imagine what she thinks of me already. Some floozy who gets knocked up and really just wants your money.” 

Before she even fully realizes what’s happening, (Y/N) feels Jamie’s hands on her cheeks, framing her face in warmth.

“Calm down, please. I promise it’ll be alright. My mum will love you, I know it. Probably more than she loves me. Actually no that’s a lie, but she will love you and she will love our baby. Promise.”

“She’s not gonna judge me for — you know. Getting pregnant even though we’re not dating or anything.” 

“My mum was married to my dad, worst person on planet Earth. Don’t think she’s in any position to judge you. It’ll be alright, trust me.” 

She hardly knows this man and yet she can’t help but do just that. Trust him.

The first thing (Y/N) notices about Georgie is her smile. A smile that is so familiar because it looks exactly like Jamie’s smile. Warm and radiant and true. A part of (Y/N) hopes that their baby inherits that same smile. Partially because it’s a really good smile and partially because maybe that could help Jamie realize that he is more than the sum of his father’s problems and mistakes. He is all his mother’s boy.

“Oh, I missed you, my baby.” 

Georgie wraps her arms around Jamie’s middle, getting swallowed by his frame for a moment. There’s no denying that part of (Y/N)’s heart breaks a little seeing how loving of a relationship these two have and wondering where she and her own mother went wrong.

And as it so happens with so many kids that have never been loved quite the way they deserved, (Y/N) can’t help but search for the problem in herself. 

“Yeah sorry for not visiting earlier. You know how it is with training and stuff.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I know my boy is busy being a star.” 

The words hold a slight mocking, never mean but in the way that only people who are close can tease each other. You know every word comes laced with deep affection, with pride, with love.

“And it’s so nice to meet you too. I’m Georgie.” 

It takes a second for (Y/N) to realize that Jamie’s mum is now talking to her directly.

“I uh — oh thank you. Nice to meet you too, I’m (Y/N).” 

Georgie smells like mint chewing gum and floral perfume as she pulls (Y/N) into a hug. She’s soft and gentle and it’s been the first hug from a mother (Y/N) has received in quite some time.

“Sorry, didn’t even ask if you’re a hugger.”

“Oh that’s alright, don’t worry about it.” 

She’s not a hugger, never really was, but there is something about Georgie granting her some affection that isn’t all that bad. Maybe their kid can have at least one grandmother who cares and who isn’t completely disgusted by the idea of showing any kind of positive emotions.

“Jamie never brings girlfriends around so I’m a bit out of my element here if I’m being honest.” 

“Mum we’re not — she’s not.” Jamie takes a big breath before starting again “(Y/N) and I are friends, yeah? Told you about it on the phone.” 

“Right, right. Well, you don’t bring around a lot of friends either so same difference, really. Now come inside will you, I’m sure we got a lot to catch up on.”

Oh if only she knew how true that sentiment really is.

There are pictures of Jamie staring back at (Y/N) from every corner of the house and Georgie leads them through the hallway and towards the kitchen. Every wall and every shelf holds a memory of him at one point in his life. Gap toothed with a football in hand smiling, surrounded by a field of tulips arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulder, his teenage self smoldering at the camera with an even more questionable haircut than the one he is sporting right now. Oh to be loved in a way that every past version of you is being remembered.

As they reach the kitchen a sweet scent fills the room when a man clad in an apron turns around and faces them with a huge smile playing on his face. He has a dorky kind of charm to him that immediately puts you at ease. Maybe it’s just the frilly apron, maybe it’s the big oven gloves, maybe it’s the smile. Either way, (Y/N) thinks that if they take the news well, her kid might have truly lucked out on one side of the grandparents department. 

“Jamie, welcome home.” 

“Hi Simon, thanks, mate. Glad to be back. This is (Y/N).” 

“The friend, right.” Simon says and shoots Georgie a look that neither of them misses. Subtlety doesn’t seem to be one of his best qualities. “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you too. It smells amazing in here.” 

“I found this new recipe for honey blondies. Not sure if they'll be any good but I guess we'll find out. If you guys want to go have a seat, I'll come bring them over.”

“Actually,” Jamie speaks up while nervously fiddling with his hands. “I was hoping we could have a talk before we do anything else. There’s something I need to tell you both.” 

Imagining the hypothetical scenario of telling your mum you’re having a baby and actually doing it really are two completely different things it seems. Gone is all of Jamie’s confidence and replaced with a whole lot of anxiety. 

“You're worrying me, Jamie. What has you acting so serious? Did you get someone pregnant or something?”

Georgie's words are followed by a thick awkward silence. It's heavy and suffocating and it makes (Y/N) feel uneasy in both her heart and her head.

It doesn't take long for Jamie’s parents to realize what his silence means. Everything communicated by not saying a single word.

“Oh, fuck.”

And there's nothing to add to Georgie's reaction. It's the exact same one (Y/N) had when she first saw those faint blue lines.

Of all the possible outcomes and ways this day could’ve gone, (Y/N) had not expected to find herself staring at not only a curly-haired Roy Kent but also come face to face with two very persuasive arguments belonging to no other than Keeley fucking Jones. 

“This is surreal.” 

The posters stare back at her all crinkled paper and bleached ink, as if to mock her silently. 

“Ah, well I told them to redecorate when I moved out, think they just haven’t gotten around to it yet.” 

A light dusting of pink settles on the apples of Jamie’s cheeks as well as the tips of his ears. This man can’t hide his emotions for the life of him. It’s quite adorable really. 

“Do they know?” 

“Does who know?” 

“Roy and Keeley. Do they know you have their pictures up in your room?”

“Well no and It’s not my room anymore, is it? ‘S not like I have ‘em hanging at home. Put these up ages ago.” 

A giggle slips through (Y/N)’s lips at his desperate attempt to talk himself out of this situation. 

“It’s okay, Jamie. I won’t tell.” 

“There’s nothing to tell, alright?” he responds in mock offense before sitting down on his childhood bed next to (Y/N). “Just liked boobs and football and those two were the best those fields had to offer, yeah? Can’t really blame me.” 

“Not much has changed has it?”

He shrugs his shoulders in response “Nah. Still like boobs and football but no way I’d put up a poster of granddad’s ugly mug nowadays.”

From the few times they talked about his job, including his teammates and coaches, (Y/N) was able to gather that Jamie’s relationship with Roy is something special. Odd, but special. Maybe that’s what happens when you end up working with your childhood idol. Either way, no matter how much shit he likes to talk about him, it’s clear that Jamie respects and admires Roy a great deal still.

“And uh — and Keeley?” 

“What about her?” 

“Is she — are you — how are things?” 

She still remembers that crestfallen look on his face on the day of the funeral. That infinite sadness in his eyes. She hadn’t put two and two together at that moment but later that night it all clicked. Keeley was the woman he was in love with, the woman who did not love him back. And while (Y/N) knows that she and Jamie are only bound together by happenstance and fate — if one chooses to believe in that, and that there is nothing romantic about their situation, it does sting a little to know that the man you’re having a baby with is in love with someone else.

“We’re good. We’re friends, think that’s all we’ll ever be. Her and Roy, they’re happy and I don’t want to ruin it for either of them. Keeley and I just were not right together.” 

“And you’re okay with that?” 

He nods his head, a small smile playing on his lips “Yeah, I’m alright with it. If I hadn’t made a fool of myself at the funeral then you and I wouldn’t have — you know, and then we wouldn’t be having a baby. Little Kidney Bean.” 

“That’s true. Your mum seemed excited.” 

“Hah, sorry about her. She can be intense.” 

Intense might be the understatement of the century. It took her approximately 2.3 seconds to get over the initial shock of the announcement and really process it before Georgie let out a scream of pure excitement and joy and wrapped both Jamie and (Y/N) up in her arms. She didn’t fully let go for a good 20 minutes. It was intense. It was also phenomenal.

“Don’t apologize. I am so glad she took it so well, Simon too. At least now I’ll have the certainty that my baby will have one set of loving grandparents at least.” 

“Hey,” Jamie says and nudges her shoulder with his “We’ll sort out telling your mum next, okay. I’m sure it’ll go better than you think. And if not we can always call up my mum for some more hugs and a pep talk. Whatever happens, you won’t have to do it alone. I promise.” 

For what is probably the first time in her life (Y/N) lets herself believe that there truly is someone else having her back, undisputedly and all the way. It’s unfamiliar. It’s a little scary. It’s also wonderful.

“Thanks, Jamie. I appreciate it, I really do. Think so far we’re doing alright, huh?” 

“I’d say so. Two sexy parents and a little Kidney Bean.” 

Their laughter echoes through Jamie’s childhood bedroom for quite a while longer until at some point it stills and gives room to soft breathing and quiet snores. The bed isn’t meant for two grown adults and really Jamie truly meant to sleep on the couch but somewhere between talks of baby clothes and childhood memories, eyes grew heavy and tired, and soon enough both of them are fast asleep.

Just them and their little Kidney Bean 

— and a curly-haired Roy Kent 

— and Keeley’s boobs.

taglist (@ me if you want to be taken off or added): @captainfrisbee - @scaramou - @mischiefmanaged71 - @rexorangecouny - @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog - @tweasley20 - @dreamtrydoforkinggood - @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo - @heletsmelovehim - @snubug - @katdahlali - @oldglitterstory - @lalla-04p - @aiyaiy

[tinykittendelusion]

Seventeen as different tropes

a/n : I've gotten into a book slump again so i thought might as well try something that's going to make me want to read more :)

triggers: mentions of sex or sexual content or indicates sexual behaviour

Scoups

Workplace romance especially billionaire ceo romance where he falls in love with this girl from a small town almost like a typical hallmark movie. he gives very CEO vibes especially like business proposal kang tae moo he loves showering you with love and lots and lots of gifts.

Jeonghan

Opposites attract. I think it would be so cool if jeonghan falls for someone his exact opposite who looks like a troublemaker but is actually very innocent. It would be hilarious when at first she gets blamed for a prank he pulled making him apologise with lots and lots of kisses. Also she'd be the only person with whom he won't cheat while playing games?!

Joshua

good boy x bad girl. This is the reverse of the bad boy trope and that suits him so much Joshua is a very good gentlemanly guy until he isn't and then he's this crazy person and he'd naturally be drawn to people who take risks.

Jun

childhood friends to lovers. Honestly after watching exclusive fairytale I feel this is exactly his vibe he's a shy guy so he takes time getting comfortable and since you've known him since childhood he's the most comfortable with you. The comfort of knowing someone through all their stages of life and falling for them.

Hoshi

Enemies to lovers. Hoshi is a sweetheart that everyone knows but he's amazing at teasing people aka seungkwan in gose episodes so him having an enemies to lovers relationship makes so much sense to me. Also hoshi getting angry/pissed would be HOT.

Wonwoo

Aloof couple. Everyone except the both of you know that you both are dating. Together you both are dumb and dumber. After Hoshi accidentally ends up spilling the fact that wonwoo has a crush on you You guys would finally start dating. Both of you would be so shocked to know that the other person actually liked them too.

Woozi

Fated soulmates. Now listen to me woozi is a homebody just like me and sometimes I wish the love of my life would just come to my house and announce his existence. This is exactly what happens when you go to deliver fried chicken completely drenched in the rain and he offers you to stay and dry off before leaving.

Dokyeom

brothers bestfriend. He's your brother's friend so he should be off limits to you but he's so kind so nice and so caring you can't help but fall in love. He doesn't notice you until one day you drunk confess and then suddenly you're all that he can think about.

a/n: very much like the male lead in hidden love (c-drama)

Mingyu

reverse grumpy x sunshine. Oh he falls for the slightly broody introverted nerd. They literally collided into each other when Wonwoo dragged him to this one book convention. He was jealous of how close Wonwoo and you were. Which led to him confessing and you both dating. He absolutely adores the fact that your cute silly side is reserved only for him.

Minghao

hopeless romantic x skeptic Minghao was that person who did not believe in love at first sight cause how do you fall in love without knowing anyone that is until you walked into his life and caused him to fall literally for you. You loved this fact as you were a big romantic person. You'd often watch rom coms together and have discussions on the characters for hours.

Seungkwan

Academic rivals. YES YES YES

the banter would be off the charts. He'd be full on sassy boo who loves winning and y/n would be the same. They'd fight argue and insult each other but would be forced into spending time together and boom he's pinned you to the wall.

Vernon

Second chance. Yes the angst the pain the hurt the NOSTALGIA. everything vernon runs into you in seoul one day and it's decided that he wants you back bonus points if you have a child that he babysits and that child comes to adore him.

a/n: i think I have to cry vernon with kids would be so funny and cute and I WILL CRY

Dino

a/n: i absolutely adore these I lowkey might make all of these into longer fics.

best friends turned enemies turned lovers. the chemistry would be fire you'd both participate in a dance competition as kids but at the last moment you ditched him to dance with your crush years later you both hate each other and it gets worse when you are one of the background dancers in seventeen's world tour.

i made a longer version for dino- here

[caffeinemachine]

Life Jacket- Chapter 2

Hi!! Thanks for all the love on the first chapter! Sorry this out later than I expected but I couldn't stop writing and I didn't want to end the chapter at an odd spot.

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Hope you like this chapter!

WC: 4.8K

Conrad Fisher x Eldest Conklin Sibling Reader

Blurb | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

~~~~~~~~~~

The first day always went the same. Unpack, swim, shower, nap, dinner. Sometimes the first bonfire of the season was the first day we got there, other times it was the next day. This year it was the first. So today’s order was, unpack, swim, shower, nap, dinner, get ready, party. 

We all gathered around the table for dinner in our usual spots. My Mom, Belly, and me on one side,  Steven and Jere across from us, then Conrad on the end next to me, and Sussanah on the end next to my Mom. The spots never changed over the years, unless we had guests to squeeze in somewhere. The other thing that never changed was the food. Susannah was an amazing cook. She had taught me to cook over the years. I had spent many hours by her side being her ‘little sous chef’ as she called me. This summer she told me she would show me her old college food recipe hacks. 

I picked my head up from my plate when I heard Jeremiah’s voice, “So Y/n/n when do you leave for school? Do they have the swim team go early?” 

I nodded, quickly swallowing my food so I could answer, “Yeah I have to go early, It's not too bad though only 2 weeks before the regular move-in date. I leave on August 5th.”

Susannah spoke next, “We’re so proud of you, our little fish.” Everyone chuckled at the nickname, ‘little fish’. Susannah had been calling me that for years. 

“So what about you man when do you leave for training camp?” Steven asked Conrad, only he wasn’t the one who answered. Jeremiah did.

“He uh quit football.” Silenced stretched over the table. He what? I stared at him in disbelief, but in my heart, a part of me felt relieved for him. Being a student athlete isn’t easy and I knew Conrad only did football for his father. Sure he still loved the sport, but not enough. 

“What you quit? Why man, I would’ve killed to play college ball?” Steven asked Conrad but again he didn't respond, his mother answered this time. 

“He can always change his mind.” That made Conrad speak up, getting defensive towards his mother in a way I didn't usually see from him.

“I’m not gonna change my mind, I was just gonna sit on the bench all season anyway.” I sat quietly. I didn’t know what to say. Conrad and I bonded over our athleticism over the years, it felt weird to think we didn’t share that similarity anymore. 

I hadn't realized I was staring at him until he looked back at me, our eyes locked and yet I still couldn't move. You'd think it'd be instinct to look away but as he came into focus, we just stared. I tried my best to read him to understand why he might do that, Why would he quit? I knew he didn't love it but he had gone this far with it, What made him change his mind?

There was something unreadable in his expression I didn't think it was regret or nostalgia or sadness or anger but instead some combination of all of it. I wondered why. He looked away first turning his attention to his plate as he picked at the food in front of him. I didn't push him on it, I wasn't sure I'd push him on it later either. I’m sure he had a reason, maybe it’d be best if I just let him tell me if he wanted. 

The rest of dinner continued on like normal on the first night. Catching up, making jokes, and just being happy to be in each other's presence again. Everyone went their separate ways to get ready for the bonfire, and Belly and the moms stayed downstairs preparing for their movie night. Their tradition started a few years ago when Belly was 11, almost 12. That was the first year we went to a bonfire, Conrad and I were 14, and Jeremiah and Steven were 13. The bonfires were different then, we were with the younger crowd still unmixed from the older kids.  It was in the backyard of the house owned by a kid Jeremiah and Conrad knew from sailing camp. Belly was so upset she couldn't come with us. She was too young and we didn't want to have to watch out for her the whole night, or entertain her for that matter. I love my sister and she's gotten a lot better over the years but she loves attention, even though she won't admit it. Having her come meant that I would have to keep her by my side the whole night, that I couldn't mingle with new kids and make new friends. The moms promised to hang out with her that night. They went to the drugstore in town and bought a bunch of candy. Susannah made brownies and they watched a movie, a PG-13 movie which Belly thought was awesome at the time. 

I didn't do too much to get ready for the bonfire, it wasn't anything new, but I still like to look a little bit nice. It was the first time I was seeing everybody for the season after all. My hair was down, air-dried from the shower I took earlier so it had a natural wave to it. A little concealer under my eyes, some mascara, tinted lip balm, and that was that. I put on a tank top and some jean shorts with my navy Cousins Beach sweatshirt on top. It tended to get a little bit chilly on the beach at night. I looked at myself in the mirror, my eyes catching on the shimmer coming from my ears. My pearl earrings, Susannah's pearl earrings. She gave them to me for my 16th birthday just like her mother did and I've treasured them every day since. 

I had to shoo the thought away as I felt myself getting choked up. I exited my room and went down the stairs, slipping on my very worn-in black Converse by the door.  I heard stories of people in college having a designated pair of shoes they called their ‘frat shoes’. This pair of black Converse was that for me over the summer.  They had been covered in sand, soaked from water, and scuffed with dirt, more times than I could count. 

As I finished tying my last lace, the boys walked down the stairs. I sat up, shoes now tied, and patted my knees, “You guys ready to go?”

“Yep let's do this we're taking my car. Y/N you promised to be DD for the night right? Don’t worry though I won’t drink too much anyway, wouldn't want to be hungover for my first day of duty, right Y/ N?” Jeremiah answered.

I laughed, “No Jere, you definitely shouldn't be hungover. Wouldn't look good for me either after I vouched for you to get this job. But yes I’ll be DD.” He laughed with me throwing his arm over my shoulder as we walked to the car. Steven called shotgun which left me and Conrad to sit together in the back. I hated to admit it to myself but he looked good. How someone could pull off a gray hoodie that well I didn't know, but he pulled off a gray hoodie and jeans better than I'd seen ever before. 

The drive was silent in terms of conversation but in the front seat, Jeremiah and Steven were singing their hearts out to Steven's ‘pregame’ playlist off Spotify. I kept my gaze out the window. Partly because I was still taking in the beauty of Cousins, partly because I could look at him. He looked too good and I always had to distance myself from Conrad before parties. I never knew how they’d play out with him. Sometimes he’d just stick close to us, the crew, and have a super fun night hanging out. Usually, that’s what he did when I was at the party with the guys but I’d been told the stories of his playboy party actions when I wasn’t there, and last summer I had gotten a glimpse of it. A girl named Nicole had come up to him and started chatting with him. Within seconds she was quite touchy-feely. Her hand was on his chest or upper arm, even playing with his hair every once in a while. I had whispered into Jere’s ear who was between me and the horny fest, “Who’s that?” 

Jere took a quick glance over his shoulder and then whispered back, “Nicole, she and Conrad hook up every once in a while.”

I furrowed my brows, “I’ve literally never seen her before.”

“They met at a party last summer when you had left for swim camp, I think her family like only comes out for August.”

I swallowed the information and then excused myself to get a drink. I stole a beer from the kid's fridge and walked back feeling a little bit better now that I had a drink in my hand. But when I looked up to find Nicole on her tiptoes kissing Conrad against the wall, the power of the drink in my hand ceased. I turned back to the kitchen, leaning against the counter by myself for a few minutes. I had my focus down on my hands when I suddenly looked up at the sound of the refrigerator doors flying open. It was her. She was seemingly grabbing a beer from the fridge the same way I had been just a second ago. I expected her to walk back out to Connie, but instead, she stationed herself on the counter, so I took that as my sign to walk back. It was the first, and only time since I had seen Conrad's fuck-boy behavior, but the stories continued, and I never let myself feel unprepared for the chance I might see it again.

Now sitting in the car with him I did just that as I watched the houses go by. The streets are littered with beautiful bloomed hydrangeas. Suddenly, my hair was pushed behind my ear. I turned my head as his hand draped its way down from my ear to the ends of my hair. His face was soft but I could see the dimples around his smile starting to crease. I shifted in my seat, nervous with his attention on me. 

“W-what are you doing?” I spoke lowly. Not that it mattered, Jere and Steven had no chance of hearing over our screaming.

“You’re hiding.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. And it left me speechless. “Your hair is always so soft, you’d think after years of chlorine that wouldn’t be the case.” 

That eased the tension a little, as the corner of my mouth turned up. “Well, that's because I wear one of those swim caps.”

He laughed, “I’d pay to have a picture of that.” 

I laughed with him, “Don’t say that to my mom 'cause she’d easily take your money for an exchange.” 

“Let's go!” Jeremiah shouted, exiting the car along with my brother. I hadn't realized we had stopped.

I looked over my shoulder to see Conrad hadn’t moved. His eyes looked at me like he was observing my soul. I held my breath. As if not breathing would help ease the bubbles floating around in my chest. 

I couldn’t bear it.

With an awkward laugh, I scooted out of the car and jogged over to Jere and Steven. I didn’t want to walk down alone. I knew the boys wouldn’t stay by my side the whole night, they’d go do other things within the first hour, but I liked to hold onto them for as long as I could. I didn’t mind the girls I’d met with the guys here over the years, but we were never that close. Nicole, Dara, Gigi, Marisa, and Shayla, we’d all lose contact over the school year. I also knew some people who weren’t from that crew. Some of them I knew from the swim club I used to do at the Country Club when I was little under the Fisher’s name. I wasn’t exactly supposed to be in the club seeing as I wasn’t truly a member but Susannah had a way of getting people to do what she wanted. Kindness can be blinding. The club was mostly made up of little boys, there were only 3 of us girls, Sydney, Ally, and me. Sydney was a nice girl. She was super smart, and ambitous, she’s set to start at Princeton for business in the Fall. Ally, I remained better friends with as we grew up. She was a dedicated swimmer like me so we even ran into each other sometimes during the school year at competitions. Ally was a total sweetheart, but she liked to have fun. She was easy to hang out with, she understood. I hoped they were here, I had forgotten to text them when I got to Cousins.

The fire wasn’t too crazy, they had to be careful not to draw too much attention from the cops. A big crowd of people had already formed though and it was only 9:30. I grabbed a cola from the cooler as I said hello to everyone coming up to us. Chit-chat was made with numerous people, and I couldn’t help but feel these conversations were really competitions for these kids. It was like every comment had to be a one-up to the one previous.

It was around 10:30 when a hand plopped down on my shoulder abruptly.  I assumed it was one of the guys but then he came into my eyeline, Peter Millington. 

“Yooo Y/N what's good?” He said a little slurred. As he moved to stand in front of me his hand dropped from my shoulder. 

“Hey Peter,” I laughed. Peter was a good guy, he was flirty but it was harmless. Annoying, but harmless. I met him at the swim club when we were 10. 

“So miss big shot where you heading this fall?  I’m sure schools across the country were practically begging outside your front door!” 

I laughed, “I won’t deny that, but I’m actually not going far. I’m gonna be going to Harvard.” His mouth hung open.

“No shit.”

“Yes, shit. How about you, still swimming?” 

He shook his head, “Nah nah, I’m trying to be a sports agent, I’ll be going to Penn State.”

“That’s great, congrats.” I smiled at him. 

He pointed at me a big smirk spreading across his face, “Yeah so you better remember me when you go all famous.” He finished his statement by slightly hitting the side of my arm. 

“You got it Pete, I won’t forget you-”

“Belly what the fuck!” My head snapped and my jaw dropped. I took off over to them. I sort of abandoned Pete but eh, he’ll be fine. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Steven yelled.

I smacked his shoulder once I had run up to them. “Stop yelling! You’re making a scene!” I whisper-shouted at him. 

Then I turned my attention to my baby sister. My baby sister, who wasn’t supposed to be here. My baby sister, who was just talking to a man 5 years older than her. My baby sister, who chose to wear a tiny skin-tight pink mini dress. My clueless, trouble-causing, baby sister. 

“What are you doing here?” I asked her as calmly as I could. 

“What I can’t go to a party?” She bit back defensively.

Excuse me? She didn’t get to give me shit for being concerned when she's the one who showed up out of the blue. I scoffed, “Did I say that?”

“What are you even wearing Belly we are on the beach why would you-“ 

“Steven. Knock it off. Go hang out with Shayla.” This was getting too aggravating. Steven was instigating too much, he must have already pissed Belly off by the time I ran up and now I had to deal with it.

“Did Taylor tell you to wear that or something?” I asked Belly, trying my best to figure out what was going on without having to have an argument in the middle of a party. 

“Why can’t I just dress nicely without being questioned?” Why the hell was she being so defensive? 

 “Again did I say that?” I couldn’t hold back the bite to my tone.

She rolled her eyes before looking at me. But then her gaze sharply caught something over my shoulder. I turned to look. Jeremiah. Drunk off his ass. Standing next to the fire trying to strip and go skinny dipping. He had already stripped off his sweatshirt, shirt, shoes, and socks. 

“Great.” I scoffed, running over to my now 2nd problem of the night. 

When he saw me running over he smiled brightly, “Y/N! We are going swimming come on! OH MY GOSH Belly! You’re here! You come too!”

Belly laughed beside me and I would’ve thrown a dirty look her way if I had the energy to spare. 

“No. No one is going swimming. It’s pitch black, the rip currents are crazy, and you are wasted. That’s all recipe for disaster.” I said authoritatively. 

Jeremiah pouted. “Please?”

“No. Now put your clothes on.” 

“Booooo.” Was he serious? He swayed as he re-dressed, his shirt blocking his vision. Good god.

“And get rid of the drink Jere, You’ve had enough.” 

“Ughhh fine party pooper.” Before I could stop him he threw his drink into the fire. 

“Jere-” The fire grew, a blaze lighting the beach. Shouts were heard as other drunk idiots followed Jeremiah’s lead and fueled the fire. “I can’t with this, Jere hang out with Belly.”

He smiled at that, “Alright come here belly button sit with me by the fire.” She giggled and obliged.

I took a deep breath, my feet taking me to the shoreline without even thinking. I needed to calm down. The chaos was overwhelming. I sat down on the sand a few feet away from where the water reached. The breeze flowed against me and I felt my mind begin to ease. This. This is why I always loved Cousins. I will never feel as at peace as I do when I’m next to the ocean. Water just calmed me down. I was the little fish. 

I hoped that would never change. I hoped I would always be the little fish, no matter how big or how small the pond. No matter what happened down the line, the peace I felt by the water would never be disturbed. I’d always be, as Susannah so deemed me, a little fish. 

I felt a plop next to me in the sand. I knew who it was without even looking, I could simply feel his energy. It was Conrad. He looked out on the water as he placed whatever drink he had in his hand down next to him. I kept my gaze out on the water as well. It felt good to just sit with somebody. With him. 

“So you go around telling everybody you’re going to Harvard?” He said, slight humor in his tone.

I sighed, “I mean only when anyone asked.”

“No shouting from the rooftops?” 

“No shouting from the rooftops. I’m not a big bragger.” I snickered, and so did he.

“You? Please! You have always been humble but you never shied away from sharing your accomplishments. You should be proud of yourself, it’s a big deal.” I just shrugged in response.

“I’m proud of you.” I looked at him then. His eyes were full of sincerity. I don’t think he knew how much that meant to hear. I caught his eyes flicking to my lips. 

Wait what-

He was looking at my lips and when he looked back up his eyes shone with vulnerability. I couldn’t help myself when my eyes dipped down to look at his. I imagined what it’d be like to kiss him. His soft pillowy lips moving against my own. I wondered where he’d put his hands. He seemed like the type of guy to cup the back of your head. I’d feel the weight of his hand as he pulled me into him like he was desperate for our connection. Maybe one hand would fall to my hips or my thigh, acting like an anchor. 

I couldn’t let my mind wander too far. Lord knows where that would lead. When our eyes met the tension was unmistakable. I couldn’t. I couldn’t let myself fall into him. I’d never stand back up. 

“Stella? Alright, thanks man!” 

Spell broken. Peter had just snatched Conrad’s beer from its spot between us and was taking a big slug of it. 

“Pete what the hell?” I said, standing up from my seat on the sand. 

“Dude give me my beer back.” Conrad stood up as well, Pete was standing between us. 

“Whaaaat? You weren’t even drinking it man! It was just- you know just sitting there and all the- all the other Stella’s are gone.” He was plastered. I felt my chest sink. This isn’t gonna go well.

“I don’t give a fuck if there aren’t any left, that one is mine now give it back to me.” Conrad defended.

“Connie come on-” 

“It’s just a beer man.” Pete turned to face primarily towards Conrad. 

“Exactly, so give me my beer back and get yourself your own.” 

“No.”

“Pete come on you definitely don’t need another drink.” I approached him, going to put my hand down on his shoulder to try and calm him down. Then just as I did he rolled back his elbow saying,

“Oh fuck off.”

I fell to the ground. His elbow collided right with my ear and the side of my face. Well, that hurt like a bitch. I’ll have a black eye on my first day back to work. Awesome.

“Y/N-“

I kept my eyes clenched shut for a minute before I felt a hand come to my shoulder, it was Belly and Jeremiah helping me up. My ears rang for a minutes before clearing. I watched as Steven and Jere broke up the fight. 

Conrad looked at me as Steven pulled him back. I shook my head and looked away. Actually, I looked right at the flashing blue and red lights now coming from the top of the dunes. Cops, awesome. 

“Enough!” I snapped everyone out of it, “Let’s go! Come on!”

I grabbed Belly’s hand as we ran up to the car, glancing over my shoulder quickly to make sure the boys were behind us. 

“Jere keys!” I caught the keys as he tossed them to me, unlocking the car doors. “In! Now!”

I started the car, a scowl on my face. My head felt like it was vibrating but it wasn’t like any of them could drive with their intoxication level. I couldn’t believe them. How on earth did they think it was appropriate to act like this?  I kept my eyes on the road, but I was sure they could feel the anger radiating off of me. 

“Y/N look I-“ Steven started but I cut him off.

“I don’t wanna hear it.” 

Then Jeremiah came in, “We didn’t mean to-“

“I said I don’t wanna hear it! Unless you want me to hit a drunk teenager stumbling home, you’ll shut up and listen to me! I’m distracted enough by the pinging in my head.” 

They were silent after that. 

I was mad and I had plenty of reason to be. I had been in this position with my sibling plenty of times, a few with Jeremiah, but never Conrad. I knew he started fights occasionally, but never with me around. 

I pulled into the driveway and parked the car. Then I child-locked in all those mother fuckers. I unblocked my seatbelt and positioned myself to be able to see them all. Steven and Jere struggled to open the doors while Belly sat in the middle confused. To my surprise Conrad just sat in his seat, his focus down in his lap, he made no objections. Once the three backseat idiots figured it out they looked to me expectantly. 

I raised my brows, “What you thought just cause I didn’t want you distracting me while driving you were gonna be off the hook?”

“Y/N what do you even care? You’re not our mom.” Belly said, rolling her eyes.

She only fueled my anger, “Yeah no shit I’m not 'cause Mom wouldn’t have put up with even an ounce of the crap you guys pulled tonight. Do you think I like playing mommy? Do you think I wouldn’t have rathered to enjoy the first night of my summer stress-free? You are lucky I’m a good sister, 'cause I could so easily walk inside and tell Mom everything that went down tonight. Then maybe you’d realize that having you deal with me instead of mom, is me being nice.”  I watched my sibling's attitudes deflate. Jeremiah on the other hand was sitting there trying and failing to hide the smirk from his face. “What’s so funny Jeremiah? Do you think I’m not talking to you too right now? All of you put me in bad positions tonight because of how you acted. ”

Jeremiah chimed in again, “We weren’t that bad.”

My jaw dropped, “Not that bad? Let’s see who should I start with. How about you Jeremiah, I stopped you from getting naked in front of every teenager in cousins, potentially drowning and killing yourself, and even after I did that you acted like an idiot! Throwing alcohol into the fire, you’re probably the reason the cops came! Oh and just the cherry on top, the fact that you’re wasted after promising me you wouldn’t be.” He was quiet now. 

“Steven had to cause a whole scene, but I’m not even that mad at him because he was right to be questioning you Bells! How the hell did you even get there?”  

She peeked up sheepishly, “I walked.” 

“You walked? Belly do the Moms even know you came to the bonfire?”

“No, I snuck out.”  She spoke in a quiet tone.

“Jesus Bells! If you had just told me you wanted to come I would’ve vouched for you. For god sake, I would’ve given you a ride!” My head pounded. I rubbed my forehead trying to ease the pain, I needed some advil. “You guys can’t act like that. It’s dangerous, and quite frankly embarrassing. I’m just- I’m done dealing with it.” I took a breath and unlocked the doors, “Go inside guys. Go to sleep.” I sat forward with my head in my hands. I heard the doors open and close as they got out without a word. 

Except he didn’t. I didn’t look over at him. I honestly didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t know how I felt at the moment. 

“Are you ok? Is your head alright?” He had worry in his voice and I couldn’t help but feel a flutter in my heart. 

“I have a headache and I’ll probably wake up to a huge bruise on my cheek but I’m fine.”

“How come you’re not mad at me too?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t mad at you.” I felt his eyes on me the whole time but mine stayed forward at the house. 

“You didn’t yell at me like everyone else.”

“Because I didn’t know what to say to you not because I’m not mad at you.”

A beat passed. Just us sitting in the car before he spoke up again, “I’m so sorry you got hurt, Pete was plastered-“

“You could’ve just let him have the beer.”

“Y/N I wasn’t going to-“

“Look it’s been a long night, just- just go to bed Con.” I grabbed the keys and left the car. I hadn’t looked at him once and I didn’t look back at him.  I couldn’t. I don’t even think I was truly mad at him, I mean it was Pete’s fault, not his. I was more overwhelmed with tonight’s events and I didn’t have the energy to unpack anything right now. My head was pounding and I needed to lay down. Work would be a nightmare tomorrow morning. 

I went straight into the shower when I got inside. I gave myself a quick rinse. Susannah always stoked our bathroom with luxurious bath products for me and Belly. But I know Steven liked it too.

I walked into my room and plopped right down onto my bed. Man, it was soft, and it only seemed softer after a hard night. 

I went to grab my phone when I saw it. A water bottle, advil, an ice pack, and a cookie, sitting on my bedside table, and I most certainly didn’t put it there. I knew who did. I knew it was him, and I could feel myself smile a little. I felt myself forgive him, he was hard to stay mad at. He wouldn’t mention it, I probably wouldn’t either, but we knew that we knew. That was enough. 

For now.

~~~~~~~

Tag list:

@mid-80s @geekinthefuschiahair @paytonloiselle

[dovesdreaming]

Silent longing

(Close to you)

Summary: inspired by the song close to you by Gracie abrams. Hazel is your best friend and you long for her in silence until tonight.

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: none

-

Hazel Callahan always had this magnetic energy about her. To the outside world, she was the master planner, the one who always knew what to say to get everyone on board with her wild ideas. But to you, she was so much more than that. She was your best friend, the person who understood you without needing any words at all. And maybe that’s why it hurt so much to be this close and yet feel so far away. Tonight was no different. The two of you were sitting on Hazel’s bed, half heartedly flipping through an old yearbook she had pulled from the depths of her closet. A playlist hummed softly in the background, the dim lighting making everything feel softer, more intimate. Hazel’s room was filled with little pieces of her, a collage of messy Polaroids on the wall, a half-finished painting leaning against the desk, and stacks of books she would probably never get around to reading. You loved it all. You loved her.

As you sat there, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Hazel, taking in the way her nose scrunched up when she found an embarrassing photo or how her laughter filled the room with warmth. You’d known Hazel forever, and in that time, your feelings for her had only grown, quietly and insistently. You tried to be content with what you had. Late-night hangouts, inside jokes, and moments like these that made your heart ache in the best way. But it was hard when every small touch, every lingering look, left you wanting more. Hazel nudged your shoulder playfully, her voice snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Hey, you’re zoning out on me” she teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Where’d you go?”. You forced a smile, trying to play it cool. “Nowhere, just thinking” you replied, hoping she wouldn’t press any further. Hazel set the yearbook aside, shifting closer until your knees were touching. She studied you, her expression softening into something that made your heart skip a beat. “You’ve been kind of quiet lately. Are you okay?”. You shrugged, struggling to find the right words. How could you explain that being around her was both the best and most painful thing in the world? That every time she smiled at you, it felt like both a promise and a reminder of what you couldn’t have?

“It’s nothing” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. But Hazel didn’t buy it. She never did. “Liar” she said gently, bumping her shoulder against yours. “Come on, you can talk to me. It’s me”. That was the problem, wasn’t it? It was Hazel. And you wanted to be close to her in a way that you were afraid to admit, even to yourself.

A familiar song started playing softly in the background and you swallowed hard, feeling the lyrics settle deep into your chest. Hazel didn’t notice at first, too busy watching you, but when she heard the familiar melody, she grinned.

‘You saw me look at you

I burn for you’

“I love this song” she said, her voice tinged with a quiet kind of nostalgia. “It’s one of those that makes you feel… everything, you know?”. You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. The words felt too close to home, almost as if they were written for moments like this, for all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t.

‘If you asked me to

I’d give up everything

To be close to you’

Hazel reached out, her fingers brushing against yours in a soft, tentative touch. It was nothing new, she was always tactile, always finding ways to connect but tonight, it felt different. More charged, you were burning for her touch. “You can talk to me” she repeated, her voice softer this time, almost pleading. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to keep it inside”.

‘I wanna be close to you

Break my heart and start a fire

You got me overnight

Just let me be..’

The dam broke before you could stop it. “It’s you, Hazel” you blurted out, your voice cracking. “I’m always thinking about you”. Hazel’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. For a moment, you thought you’d ruined everything, that you’d crossed a line you couldn’t uncross. But then she smiled a slow, understanding smile that sent warmth flooding through you. “Is that so bad?” Hazel asked, her tone light but her eyes searching yours deeply. “Thinking about me?”. “It is when I want more than just thinking” you confessed, feeling your cheeks burn. “When I’m sitting here wishing I could just… be close to you in a way that matters”.

Hazel was quiet, and you braced yourself for rejection. But then she leaned in, closing the distance between you with a gentleness that made your heart feel like it was going to burst. She rested her forehead against yours, her breath mingling with yours in the small space between. “You already matter to me” Hazel whispered, her voice barely audible but so full of sincerity that it made your head spin. “More than you know”. Before you could say anything, Hazel’s lips were on yours. Soft, hesitant, but so full of all the things you’d been too afraid to hope for. It wasn’t perfect or practiced, but it was real, and it was Hazel. She pulled away just enough to look at you, her hand still cupping your cheek. “Being close to you… it’s all I’ve ever wanted” she admitted, her thumb brushing against your skin. “So if you’re thinking about me, just know I’m thinking about you, too. All the time”. You smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that you hadn’t felt in a long time. With Hazel, you felt safe like maybe, just maybe, being close to her was exactly where you were meant to be.

-

Thank you for reading!!

[ruershrimo]

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 8: late

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev | m.list

chapter synopsis:

' “Kugisaki Nobara. Be honoured, boys,” she says, stance confident, “I’m your group’s girl.”

She’s so cool. '

---

You meet the girl of steel, though you've yet to get closer to her. Luckily, you have friends around the corner like Yuuji— and Megumi, too, but it's a little different with him.

word count: ~7k; tws: none for now :)!!

short a/n: hi i’m sorry i was away for so long!! life got a little busy and this chapter took a while to write. I will preface it by saying that this one is quite boring, though, but the chapters to look forward to a bit more are the two next ones!! lots will happen there :). thank you for your patience and i’m so sorry again!

25-6-2018 

By the time you’re back in Jujutsu High’s campus, night time has already shed its shadow against the world, black over Tokyo's fulgid skyscrapers like a veil, the sky devoid of any stars. Tokyo is a metropolis of glittery, coruscant lights that litter the land, with parks and crepe shops and cafes galore. And oh, how you love it every time you come back, from its 90s movie mood to its futuristic innovations. 

Dr Ieiri really had planned everything, as if she’d always expected you to be here: she’d got you a room near her office, even helped to clean some of it up, and promised you that you’d still be merely a room away from the one other female student currently in the school. Once the last first year— a girl— arrived, she’d be staying right next to you. 

“So? How long do you think you’ll be staying?” Dr Ieiri asks, “I know you’re planning on just giving someone something, but you’re going to be here for much longer, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Alright, but I’ll give you a heads up first. Staying here and operating as an actual sorcerer here, or a doctor for sorcerers like me or your father— it’s a far cry from the last time you were there. I won’t force you to help me when I need it, but you’re still going to be demanded of at almost all times, and I know you’d be the type of person to try to save people as much as you can. You have to be ready for that— the strain and all.” 

So she knew what you wanted better than you did. “I am.” You’ll ask that of your father later, to tell Sugisawa Third that you’re transferring to a religious school in Tokyo. They knew too little of you to think of whether you were religious or not anyway. 

“I’ll help you so you can still take things easy, okay?” 

“...okay. Thank you, doctor.” 

26-6-2018 

Dr Ieiri smokes less than you thought. Really, the night that you first met her was the first time she’d smoked again in five years, according to her. She attributed it to nostalgia and reminiscing on old memories before asking you to just go to bed— it was almost two in the morning. But you thought it made sense that the ones who were made to heal were the ones who mourned what was unhealed the most; you weren’t the only one stuck playing long-gone memories like a panoramic film on loop, a permanent backdrop in your mind. 

“You need to get a good night’s rest,” she’d said, but now you’re walking down the desolate hallways again. It’s fine— if there’s one thing about actually going against your parents for the first time instead of solely refuting them verbally in heated, mangled arguments, it’s that it’s insanely liberating. Before this, you’d have never even considered it an option, yet now it suddenly exists— that autonomy; suddenly, there isn’t a need to follow whatever order you’ve been given. And yes, you do respect Dr Ieiri and probably everyone else in your life, but you can choose not to abide by what they tell you just because you don’t want to— you decide it. No justifications, no reasons or polemics. Just pure responsibility and autonomy of yourself. You can’t fathom now, why you’d been scared of it before, or whether you’d even realised you were. It still feels unfamiliar, like a thrill, like adrenaline from treading on a tightrope above pits of deep, all-encompassing water, but in a week or so you’re going to have become used to it. 

From your room, if you walked all the way to the end of the hallway, you’d see the first year boys’ dorms. You don’t take the letter with you— that’s a bridge to either burn or cross another time, when you’re not right about to sleep. 

Careful to make as little sound as possible, you knock the door, hoping he’s awake. 

You hear his groggy steps as he seems to trudge himself along, before the door opens with a creaky whine. “—it’s one in the morning,” he frowns, “What do you want—” 

“Hi, Megumi.” 

He closes the door. You wait outside for a moment. 

Megumi opens the door again. 

“...I should’ve told you I was here, actually,” you say. 

“It’s one in the morning,” he goes, “Why aren’t…” he blinks his eyes awake a little, groaning as he rubs his temples, “Why aren’t you asleep? —no, why are you even here, really…” 

You’re going to regret your replies come morning, probably; they’ll sound stupid by then. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but that doesn’t really bother you. “I’m sorry. It’s just, um, I actually wanted to give you something, I mean— I’ll give it to you tomorrow or one of these days, but I was just bored. I just got here, and I’m just going to help Dr Ieiri with some things, um. …sorry, did I wake you? You should rest, actually, it helps your injuries heal faster; sorry for waking you—” 

“—no, not… not really. Don’t worry about that,” he states, “But you should still go to sleep anyway. It’s late.” 

“I can’t sleep.” 

He opens the door and heads inside. An invitation for you to enter, it seems, because he turns and waits for you, the door ajar as you hesitate in front of it. 

You come in. 

His dorm room seems quite similar to the one in his old home, actually, the only difference being how his room now is only just a little larger than the one you were in at fourteen. (You wonder what happened to it, whether Tsumiki still lies on her bed with her phone for a maximum of five minutes at the same time every day.) The two of you sit on the foot of the bed, the lack of light unquestioned. Just like things were two years ago. With the lights outside his window, the bustling city still abuzz with their izakayas and night clubs, your eyes can trace over an outline of his sharp face and spiky hair.  

“How long will you be staying?” 

“Quite a while, I think.” 

“...which is?” 

“Probably more than a week.” 

“Wh— then what about school?” 

“Oh, I kind of, um… threw it away. I don’t know, um. My parents knew I’d be here for a long time. I think I’m just going to transfer here. I’ll leave it all behind that way.” 

He sighs, “I know, but that… that just sounds like a thoughtless decision.” 

“The only part of it that I put thought into was whether I’d run away and live or stay and rot there. So when Dr Ieiri gave me a chance I just took it. And I’ll keep taking what she gives me. If not, then… I’ll be stuck dwelling on it for the rest of my life, I think.” For so long, you’d been trying not to do so; to not take that life-determining chance, to decide to dwell yearningly instead of live, and to appease your parents so at least your mother would have that sliver of assurance, but not anymore. They wouldn’t be in your life forever. 

“So you’re doing this just so you won’t live a life of regret? You’re doing this just for yourself?” 

“It’s the same thing as doing this so that I can help people. It’s two sides of the same coin. Not everyone has what I do.” 

“You sound like Itadori,” he says. The way he does so makes your chest ache slightly and you don’t know why. But nobody is as selfless or as much of an unstoppable force as Yuuji is. Nobody, ever. You turn your eyes away from him even if he can’t see you do so in the dark. 

“But Yuuji takes that to the extreme, I’m…pretty sure. I’m just trying to do what I can because I can.” 

You move your right hand to the side, fiddling with yourself, empty hands trying to find something to do. It bumps into something— something warm and soft. Skin. 

With imaginary chills running along your body, you feel Megumi’s left pinky finger loop itself around yours. He clears his throat, breaking the silence, and you look at him again, at the vague shadow before you. “—that’s…that’s my hand.” 

“Oh. Ah, okay,” you say. It feels right this way— comfortable, nervous, jumbled, calm— 

Your hands move slowly, your fingers trying to steady it like steering around an old, shaky wooden boat with only a paddle, set and ready to embark on a journey. Quivering, you pull your right pinky finger away before your hand is fully enveloped under the hold of his. The heat from his palm on the back of your hand transfers itself right to your face and neck. It’s summer, but it feels cold and hot in the best way possible. “Do… do you want me to let go? Do you want me to stop?” 

“...no. I don’t think so. Do you?” 

“No. I want to stay.” 

“Okay. Me too.” 

He does. 

In the silence you sit up, biting your bottom lip, your nerves like jelly and your brain probably fried if not for the lack of sleep. For a moment you decide to look at him, and you see him swifty turn his head away from you as soon as you do so. 

(—so he’d been looking at you?) 

What wakes you up is the sunrise, an early morning. It’s been embedded into your brain to wake up at seven sharp no matter how late you slept. 

He’s sleeping, his face down, water in his eyelashes— you suppose that’s why he has such crystalline eyes, viridian ones that remind you of summer and life and protection. Jade and grass. Shifting into rather uncomfortable positions so as to not wake him, you pull yourself away. 

His hand still remains snug over yours. 

‘Just friends’ don’t do things like this, you think. But at the same time, ‘just friends’ don’t fight curses or heal those who do so, and ‘just friends’ don’t have a third person they had better relationships with before they broke apart while constantly thinking of each other and decided to at the very least become active figures in each others’ lives again. 

This is scary, moving all too quickly. You’re being grabbed by the waist and thrust into a paraglider; you’re flying in the vast expanse of a boundless, unnavigable sky, manning a paramotor with no previous warning or idea of how to do so. 

But he's very beautiful like this. Hair so black it’s blue, eyelashes woven of silk, a jaw so sharp yet so smooth. The sun greeting the sky as it ejects itself from the inky-hued horizon. You don’t know if there’s a creator, or if there’s a god— you’ve heard of Christianity and many other kinds of faith, though you’d never really dabbled in any of them. But you’d definitely thank someone like that, because scenes like these are proof that someone like that exists, and that that someone is an artist, a masterful artist. So he must have created you and given you an apt appreciation for beauty and art, too, as well as someone like Megumi who was beauty and art. 

‘Just friends’ don’t think like that. 

But you still will anyway. You can allow yourself that. 

He makes a tired little noise as he wakes up, taking in a deep inhale. “...did we really—” 

“Yeah. Um. —wait! I should, um, probably brush my teeth first, my breath probably smells horrible right now, sorry—” 

“Oh. No, it’s fine, I should too—” 

“Yeah, I think I’ll go back to my room too; I don’t want doctor suspecting anything, ah—” 

“Oh— okay,” he releases his hand. 

It’s strange to have things like these— little snippets and moments that remind you to just have fun and be a kid. For years— maybe your whole adolescent experience so far— every day hailed with it a new matter to tend to and worry about, and every day you subconsciously wondered if you were wasting your life away, doing nothing but fantasise of a faraway fancy in which you could use the only potential you had for something. 

But who knew that it was so simple, yet so profound: that the excitement and memories that you yearned for could be obtained just from wanting to do so? That if you wanted to do something, you could just up and do it? 

You like it, though. The paralysing, dizzying feeling of it all, breaths caught in your throat and you can’t say anything without stuttering. The last time you’d felt it, it was Yuuji: you’d had yourself emotionally constipated to the point you choked it all up within you, toned things down and muted the intensity of it all before you even felt it. But it was fun then, and now this is much better. It would seem delusional to hope for anything else. There’s not much of a fantasy for you to look to and put yourself into a deluge of daydreams about, but for once you want to feel something without the implications. That must be what being a teenager is like— you’d seen it time and time again in movies, with cliques and girlfriends and gossip sessions, but you’d never had the luxury to have them yourself and be a girl like that. So this must be what it’s like, at least a semblance of it, with its fun and frivolities and feelings straight from familiar flicks. 

Not quite the time to put a name to it just yet, but it’s fun. At least, you can do it a little longer. It feels like a breath of fresh air after chaining yourself down like an anchor to the seabed. 

You rush to the door. “I’ll see you later? For breakfast,” you try to smile as calmly as you can while you turn back to look at him again. 

Thank goodness Dr Ieiri wakes up at eight whenever there isn't much work for her to tend to. 

You set a mission for yourself: hold Megumi’s hand again at least once in your high school career. 

Now that’s how to live without regrets, be a teenager, and have fun. 

Are you being delusional? 

You don’t know what Fushiguro Megumi is to you now, because ‘friend’ doesn’t sum it up well enough, ‘stranger’ doesn’t do the two of you your deserved justice, classmates isn’t the actual term, and ‘boyfriend’ is way too far from the truth. 

So to have dreams like that; thoughts like that, you think as you brush your teeth, you’re probably making a fool of yourself again. 

There’s something going on here and you don’t know what it is. And even if you’d told yourself you were fine with it, you don’t know how long everything else will be. 

It makes you feel like an idiot. 

But in your head you're filled with thoughts and, for a lack of a better term, hindrances. Did he sleep well? Do friends do that? Or was it just the two of you who’d do that? Was there even any meaning behind it all, any implications on your relationship due to this? This way you’d drive yourself insane before you could even get to breakfast. 

Did he like it, though? Could he have liked it, the sight of you sleeping next to him? Of vulnerability? No, he couldn’t, right? Yet, if he did, then—

You needed to calm down. 

(What about the letter?)

Maybe this was adrenaline: you’d run and take a few bites of breakfast before anyone else did, heading back to your room after you had done so. This way, nobody would see you. (You weren’t calm enough to do this, what made you think, in your sleep-deprived mind, that you’d be mature enough to handle this the next morning?) 

Just as you’re planning strategies to spend the whole day holed up in your room and avoid contact with anyone for it all, there’s a knock on your door. 

“Took so much to talk to the dad alone—” he says, his voice muffled as he speaks to someone else, “I could never stand that old geezer! If he’s like that I’m glad I never had to know how much worse his wife is.” 

It’s Gojo, you can tell. There’s a slight mocking tone in the way he does everything, in the way he says and laughs about the most out-of-pocket shit ever— this is one of those times, because you can almost hear what you think is a feral maniac with the voice of an idol laughing like a loon as he bangs against your door as if he’s trying to kill it. 

“You probably shouldn’t hit it so hard.” Dr Ieiri’s voice. 

You open the door. “Yes?” 

“He’s saying that you should come as backup, and I thought it would help you be put on the spot. It’ll teach you how to operate with clarity as you work,” Dr Ieiri explains. 

“Besides, you won’t even need to help that much. It’s just that this way, you’ll be able to do so if it’s needed while we’re here to guide you. Think of a baby taking its first steps with the help of its parents. If it gets dangerous for them, I’ll step in and you can heal them, but if you can’t heal them enough, we’ll just bring them back to Shoko,” Gojo cheerfully adds. Dr Ieiri nods along with him. 

“Ah… okay.” Your first “actual” lesson as an “apprentice”, then. 

“But first, you should change,” Gojo tells you, handing you a set of clothes, “Here. It’s a spare standard uniform that we keep for special cases. Now you can match with Megumi!” 

Your eyes widen, unsure of whether to laugh nervously or slap him or dash in the opposite direction— shawty a runner, she a track star.  

“I’m so sorry that he’s like this,” Dr Ieiri goes. Joking or not, she’s right. You’re sorry she’s dealt with him for so long, too. 

“...thanks.” 

“Don’t bully my student, Satoru,” Dr Ieiri orders, and you kind of like the sound of your new title. 

You wonder how Gojo got used to teleporting with his cursed technique, but you suppose that it comes with the innate ability to switch from one scene to another so rapidly without feeling at least a little sick— like how the shift from the quiet of the dormitories to the bustle outside of Harajuku has you feeling right now. The brightness of the summer sunlight feels like an intrusion as Gojo sets you down and you open your eyes again. 

“Wow.” 

“Oh, it’s [Name]!” 

Megumi looks away. He’s probably embarrassed to hell and back right now— angry at you, even, maybe. You weren’t sure anymore; you couldn’t even think. You try to let the heat rising up to your face subside without fanning it, steadying yourself beside Gojo, swearing that you’d like to be invisible just this once. 

“Sorry for the wait! I had to take up a call. I brought [Name] over here for backup too to get a grasp of the on-field experience.” Gojo says, waving at them, “Oh! Your uniform made it in time.” 

“Yeah! It fits great! Though I noticed it’s slightly different from Fushiguro’s. Mine has got a hood.”

It does fit him, you think, as you look at Yuuji. It looks better on him than it did when he sent you pictures of it over text. It’s easier to look at him now than Megumi. 

“That’s because the uniforms can be customised upon request.”

“Huh?” Yuuji tilts his head to the side, “But I never put in any requests.” 

“You’re right!” Gojo smiles, “I was the one who put in the custom order.” 

“Huh… oh. Well, cool!” 

“Be careful,” Megumi goes, “Gojo has a habit of doing that kind of stuff. So why are we meeting up here in Harajuku?” 

“Because,” Gojo clarifies, “That’s what she asked for.” 

“Oh!” Yuuji starts as the four of you walk out of the station, “You’re wearing the uniform too, [Name]. Looking good!” 

“Really? Thanks. I mean, I like the skirt. The uniform makes me feel like a fancy princess in a fancy school or something, but the skirt looks a little like it belongs to an elegant office lady.” 

“Uh, yeah,” Megumi follows, “You… look good. In the uniform, I mean.” 

You force out a laugh— “Haha, uh… you too. I mean, everyone would look good with these uniforms, right?” Wow… 

“...I guess so,” Megumi replies, looking in the other direction. 

If you see Gojo stifling his laughter in front of you, no you don’t. 

“We- we should get popcorn. I read online that said you could get really tasty popcorn at one of the shops in Takeshita Street.” 

“Yay, popcorn!” Yuuji exclaims, “I want some!” 

“Sure,” Gojo chuckles, “The shop’s pretty near here anyway. This is your guys’ first time in Harajuku, right, [Name] and Yuuji?” 

“Ah… yeah, and now that I think about it, Yuuji had never been out of Sendai until recently, actually. Right?” 

“Yeah, but I thought you’d have been to Harajuku before.” 

“I mean, I used to live in Tokyo, but I didn’t really move around. I think the most famous place I’ve been to is Shinjuku-Gyoen. Really pretty garden…” 

“Oh… then we should go around Tokyo one of these days!” 

“Yeah,” you smile, “We should! But you could spend a whole week exploring and you still wouldn’t see all of it,” you remark, “It’s a good idea, though.” 

“Fushiguro, wanna come along?” 

“Uh, sure…” Megumi goes, avoiding eye contact with you. You do the same. 

“...hey, is everything okay between the two of you? How come you’re so shy with each other all of a sudden?” 

“H-huh? Ah, no, no, it’s okay.” 

“You said ‘no’ twice. You usually only repeat words like that when you’re really worried about something,” Yuuji says. Curse his affinity for knowing you. 

“But it’s fine, though. Don’t worry.” 

“Uh… yeah. What [Name] said.” 

“You sure?” Yuuji asks again, a bit concerned. “Okay, then.” 

The rest of the walk mostly goes in silence— Yuuji excitedly heads for things to buy, from funky accessories to buckets of snacks. By the time it’s over and all of you are near the 400 yen corner, he’s decked out in all the Tokyo tourist gear, there’s popcorn in his hands, and sunglasses with frames spelling out “ROOK” on his face. (Maybe because he’s a rookie?)

There’s a well-dressed girl in front of you— you wonder if it’s her, but she isn’t wearing the uniform, so it probably isn’t— and a man most likely bald and wearing a wig with his black-and-white business suit. “Well, hello, there!” the man says to her, “Are you on the clock right now?” 

“No, not right now,” she replies. 

“That’s great! You see, I’m looking for potential models. That’s what I do! Would you be interested?” 

He’s scouting for models? 

There’s a sliver of hope in you that he looks at you next and asks you that question. You’re sure it isn’t going to happen, but you suppose you would like being told you were pretty by having a job associated with people who were— there was no chance, though. In Tokyo, the vast metropolis that it is, there are so many with better looks; better faces, prettier hair, nicer bodies— or people who dress better, walk more confidently; people who are adequate in all the ways you aren’t. 

The thought slightly shocks you, in reality— you haven’t thought about how you may not be able to compare with others since the time when you really did realise that Yuuji would never like you (not in that way, at least, and it still hurts to think about it). You never thought you’d feel that way again, and you never thought you would have to be surprised by such thoughts that had been brought in by something akin to envy or jealousy. 

“I’m in a hurry right now,” the girl denies. 

At least she probably knows just how beautiful she is. 

“Hey, you!” another girl calls. This one is just as beautiful— prettier than you, with brown (probably dyed) hair, and pretty brown eyes to match. She’s wearing the same uniform as you save for some titivations at the skirt, and she looks way better in it than you do. “What about me?” she asks, pointing at herself, “For that modelling gig. Hey, I’m asking what you think about me.” 

She’s so confident, it’s so cool… 

“Oh, well uh… I’m in a hurry at the moment,” the man says. Little bitch boy. 

“What the hell?” she asks, holding the man by the collar, “Don’t run, come out and say what you think!” 

“Wait, she’s the one we have to go and talk to? This is real embarrassing,” Yuuji says. 

Megumi mutters under his breath, “Yeah? So are you.” 

“I think she’s an icon,” you express. 

Gojo waves at her, amused, “Hey, we’re over here!” 

The girl slams the locker door shut after she places her backpack— a really tiny, cute pink one— into its pit of shopping bags. Probably to buy pretty clothes. She’d look really good in them. 

“Right, so now we have our three students! Oh— [Name] here isn’t really a student, by the way, I’ll explain later,” Gojo informs the pretty girl, “I’d like you to meet—” 

“Kugisaki Nobara. Be honoured, boys,” she says, stance confident, “I’m your group’s girl.” 

She’s so cool.

Oh, she’s judging them, you think as she stares at the boys. 

“I’m Itadori Yuuji. I’m from Sendai!” 

“Fushiguro Megumi.” 

“Ugh,” she lets out, “This is what I get to work with? Great, just my luck.” 

“She took one look and sighed— that can’t be good,” Yuuji says. 

“Are we going somewhere from here?” Megumi asks. 

“Well, we do have all three—” 

“All four—” Megumi interjects. 

“Ack— no, no, Megumi, I’m not a student, hold on—” You don’t want to be something other than a ghost, not right now, because then you’ll have to deal with whatever you’ve done in the last twenty-four hours that you’d rather beat around the bush and eventually forget about than anything. 

“Okay, we do have all four of you together, and since three of you kids are from the countryside, that means…” he pauses for effect— were you really “from” the countryside, though, if you’d moved around so much that you had no sure idea where your roots were? “...we’re going to Tokyo!” 

You and Megumi watch as Kugisaki and Yuuji chant the city name over and over in unison before arguing over where to head to. But this is Gojo— so there may be a catch somewhere that you just haven’t found yet. 

Megumi looks as annoyed as ever, much like the expression his younger self used to have when his eyebrows crinkled in exasperation from your antics. 

“If you quiet down, I’ll announce our destination,” Gojo begins, and the newly formed pair quiet down, “Roppongi!” 

It’s probably just something like an abandoned building in Roppongi, not Roppongi in all of its glamour itself. 

It’s an abandoned building in Roppongi. 

Gojo explains the situation after Kugisaki and Yuuji’s outrage— “There’s a big cemetery nearby. That, plus an abandoned building, and you’ve got a curse.” 

Kugisaki stops her raging when she finds out that Yuuji is still learning about how curses are formed. “Wait, hold up here. He didn’t even know that yet?” 

“To be honest…” Megumi starts to explain. 

She looks horrified after. 

(If you could, though, if you were anything other than a ghost right now— you’d tell her of how selfless and brave Yuuji is, of how incredible he is that he stopped at nothing to help his friends. You’d tell her that this was what made liking him as easy as breathing air.) 

Before the two of them head into the building, Gojo hands Yuuji a cursed tool— you’d never actually seen one before. You wonder if he’ll be able to wield it well enough: you know he has it covered, but you’re still worried about him anyway. (You always are.) 

And he gives Yuuji a challenge, too, though it’s more like an ultimatum. “Don’t let Sukuna out, okay?” 

Soon the three of you sit down near the building— there’s a block of concrete that you wonder why it was placed there for, and Gojo gestures for Megumi and you to sit down there. 

“Hey, you should be sitting here. I’m fine with standing.” 

“Nah, just take a seat. I’ve got to be on standby anyway.” 

“But you’re the teacher. You should get a better seat. And I’m not injured like Megumi, so I’m fine with standing.” 

“Pft,” he snorts, “You think I actually care about that sort of stuff?” 

You pause. “I… guess not. Thank you. Sorry again.” 

Gojo squats down instead, only his feet on the floor. “See? It’s better this way. Just you and Megumi in your own little world—”

“—please stop.” 

Megumi turns away from you again in embarrassment. 

“Anyway…ah, Kugisaki is really pretty,” you state, “And she seems really strong. I’m still worried, though. What if the curse inside is stronger than anticipated…” 

“...I think I’ll go in too,” Megumi says, “Someone needs to keep an eye on Itadori, right?” 

“You should rest and let your injuries heal, though. I mean, I could help you with that, but I’m supposed to wait for their injuries first—” 

“Well, the one we’re testing this time is Nobara,” Gojo highlights, “That Yuuji… he’s got some screws loose: he’s fearless— these things take the form of terrifying creatures who try to kill him, yet the guy has no hesitation at all. And he doesn’t have the familiarity with curses that you have. We’re talking about a boy who used to live a normal high school life. By now you’ve seen plenty of sorcerers and you’ve seen them give up because they couldn’t conquer their fear or disgust, right?” he explains to Megumi. 

He’s right, though. For someone who had no idea what curses were just a bit more than a week ago, it’s amazing how he can acclimatise himself to such a new life so quickly. When you’d first learned about curses and jujutsu sorcerers, the only reason your life stayed that way was because actually becoming a victim of it seemed like merely a faraway hypothetical, something that couldn’t affect you— up until your father revealed his cursed technique and you exorcised that curse in the store a while after. That was when the ghastly figure of reality that was jujutsu society reared its head and pricked you with its cold finger. As happy as you were after you’d exorcised it, you could feel that empty pit forming in your gut— you did it, thank goodness, but what now? And as your heart raced while you helped that lady, you didn’t address it. 

You supposed the benefit of your position was not having to at all. 

“Hasn’t Kugisaki already dealt with curses before, though?” 

“As we know, curses are born from human minds, so their strength in numbers grows in proportion to the population,” Gojo teaches, “Do you think Nobara understands? Tokyo curses are of a different level than those in the countryside.” 

The curse you handled before would be on the weaker side, then. “In what way?” you ask. 

“Their cunning— monsters that have gained wisdom will force cruel choices upon you where the weight of human life hangs in the balance. [Name], when you fought that curse last time, did it seem to be sentient or self-aware?” 

“...I mean, I guess it seemed like it couldn’t really see the other person there. It was just me and the lady who worked there, so… no.” 

“Well, to put it into perspective, [Name], the curse, had it been one from the city instead, could have done something like take the lady hostage to sort of threaten you and keep itself at large. So this test is to see if Nobara is crazy enough.” 

It wouldn’t matter, though— you were the healer, the medic, the doctor. Whatever level of martial prowess you were supposed to have didn’t concern you. 

“And speaking of tests, [Name]…” Gojo begins, “One of these days, you’ll have to get one too. As someone about to take Shoko’s role, this is your first test as a medic— every mission you get sent to will be a test in that aspect. But as a sorcerer…” 

“Hey. I’m not an actual sorcerer, though, remember? And you should speak with Dr Ieiri first if you want me to expel curses like one and all.” 

“Well, I didn’t speak to Dr Ieiri. I spoke to your dear old dad!” 

“What?” 

“Took a lot of convincing, but—”

“He didn’t tell me anything about this. I’m sorry— I know you just treated me well and gave me a better seat, but why didn’t you think to ask me first? It’s not like I ever really wanted to fight, either. And they were on-board with that. It’s just— why would you change that?” 

Megumi sighs exasperatedly, “Seriously, what is this?” 

“Yeah! What is this, Gojo?” 

“Okay, okay: I’ll share a secret with the two of you, then. You’ve always been tied together, so there’s no use in me telling either of you just to not tell the rest. Keep it between yourselves, okay? Think of it as another part of your shared bond,” Gojo says. 

You purse your lip. (Your mother did that a lot. There is nothing you can do that your parents are not entwined in even now; the roots of them have been planted so deeply into your life, ingrained so deeply into your psyche.) “Look, I just want you to answer me, Gojo. Why did you do it?” Why ruin a consensus that took years of compromise and arguments to settle on? 

“...because you can. I mean, it’s your philosophy to be like that, right? If you have the ability to help someone, do it.” 

“I mean, in essence, yeah, but what kind of point are you trying to make here?” 

“That I think with that mindset you’d make a pretty good teacher. You know,” he sighs with a faux furtiveness, “Your father had that same mindset, with his strength and his intelligence and his kindness, and he was one of the best teachers you could ever have. He wasn’t an actual teacher, but… he was the kind of geezer who people thought were wise and would seek guidance from. A great guy, actually. But to cut to the chase, what I’m saying is that I want you to be a sorcerer who knows how to fight, too, instead of just the doctor in the corner that you believe will be the peak of your potential. I think you can do better.” 

“So? I mean, as bad as it sounds, I don’t want to.” 

“That’s why I just want you to try. I want you to have that test and become an actual student here. Shoko doesn’t mind you not becoming one because she thinks they won’t send you on missions if you’re considered ‘too valuable’ by the higher-ups. But I want you to become my student— I’ll give you time to think about it, but look at this way: you have abilities that exceed what you think of yourself— imagine how it sounded to other sorcerers when they heard of you back then, a thirteen-year-old with a late-blooming cursed technique grasping control of it instantly and defeating a grade two curse, even healing the person left behind. Face it: you’re technically a prodigy. The only thing that separates you from others like you is your humanity that troubles you with a reluctance to believe you can actually do anything.” 

Harsh. “...I’ll think about it. But why spring it up on me now?” 

“Maybe you know too little. O-kay, children, listen carefully. Little [Name]’s father would be a relatively famous sorcerer just because of his partial position as a healer, right? For all your life, you were sheltered and protected by your parents who never wanted you to enter into the jujutsu world. I even spoke to your mother herself, remember? Told her that you’d probably be a window but that you could still use cursed energy. You hadn’t shown signs of a cursed technique yet, but we hadn’t considered that it was because prior to that you never had to use it— the countryside areas you grew up in were practically devoid of any curses that your mother and father wouldn’t have already killed themselves. So, with your father’s quote-en-quote ‘fame’, what makes you think that people wouldn’t have wanted you as a jujutsu sorcerer from the start?” 

Just like that the worlds in your head have had worlds of meanings added to them. 

“So? What do you think, [Name]?” 

You turn to Megumi. When you’re backed out into a corner, your eyes scrambling for a place to put them, you turn to Megumi. 

His hand moves hesitantly to your shoulder, ghosting over it like a teapot over a china cup. “...whatever it is, you’ll do well. Gojo just likes to pull stuff like this.” 

It feels warm. You won’t be in trouble if you don’t run away from this. It’s nice. It’s calm, his steady hand on your shoulder as your heart feels like it’s about to take a nosedive. “...thanks.” 

“Give me some time, Gojo.” 

Yuuji and Kugisaki come back with a little boy in tow. 

“Ah— you’re back!” 

“No injuries, [Name]! We’re all scratch-free! The kid has a bruise on his knee, though.” 

“Oh. Can I see it, please?” you ask the boy, kneeling to his height. 

The boy pulls the left hem of his pants up, revealing a fresh violet blot on his skin. 

“Would you be okay if I touched your knee? I can take the bruise away for you.” 

He nods and soon it’s gone, his skin pristine and new. “Woah,” he goes, “Thank you! Was that magic?” he asks, eyes full of childlike wonder. 

You giggle. “Something like that. Could you keep it a secret?” you make the best welcoming and kid-friendly grin you can as you place your index against your lips. 

“Okay!” he whisper-shouts, smiling wide. 

Kugisaki and Yuuji rest by the building while Gojo, Megumi and you bring the kid back home. 

“You know, I wanted to say, big sister,” he starts, looking up at you, “You’re really pretty!” 

(So cute!!) “Ah, really? That other girl is really pretty too, though.” 

“You too! You could be like a model on a poster!” he exclaims, “Oh wait— I live over there! Thanks again!” he points to the turning on the left. 

“Haha, thank you,” you reply as Gojo waves at him, “Take care of yourself!” 

“I will! Bye-bye, big sister!” 

“Are you hungry?” you ask Gojo and Megumi. “Ack— I feel lightheaded.”

Megumi turns to you in an instant— “You didn’t eat enough for breakfast?” 

“Guess so,” you reply, “I should be fine, though. I think I just had something on my mind the whole day and I couldn’t feel the hunger or something.” 

He whips his phone out. 

“Oh, there’s a famous tonkatsu restaurant back in Omotesando,” you suggest as he scrolls through restaurant options. “I think Yuuji may want to eat something like steak, though, and I don’t know what Kugisaki likes. Is there anything you want in particular?” 

“I’m fine with anything,” he says, “But it’s Gojo’s money we’re going to be using, so we should probably make the most of it.” 

“Mm… we can eat beef steak in Ginza, I think… ah— Yuuji’s grandfather always called it beefteki. I’m surprised I can still remember.” 

27-6-2018 

“Hi. It’s one in the morning, Megumi,” you greet him as he stands outside your room’s door, “Can’t sleep?” 

“...yeah,” he admits sheepishly, “Sorry about this.” 

He sits down on the bed. “Nah, it’s fine. It’s like we’re going to keep doing this,” you start, “Our special ritual. Something like that. I mean, we help each other in this way, right?” 

Your hand strays upward a little, nervous as it inches toward his shoulder. 

He brings your hand there and places his own hand on top of it. “Yeah,” he replies contentedly, “But I… wanted to ask,” Megumi begins, “What Gojo said. Are you going to become a student?” 

“I don’t know. I mean, looking at how things are going now, I may. It seems like things are leaning more towards me being a full-fledged sorcerer. Haven’t had the time to think about it.” 

He seems to pause for a moment, to reconsider something one last time like a record in his head. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

“I should take you to see Tsumiki first.” 

You nearly gasp. “She wants to see me?” After all this time? “I’m happy, but… wouldn’t she be busy, though?” 

“No… I mean… you really should take a look at her first. Then you’ll see what I’m trying to say. I’m sorry, but I just— I really should have told you sooner.

“Told me what?” you frown. Learning of this feels a bit like restarting and going back to square one somehow. 

“I’m sorry, can we just… do something else for now? Just… please be patient with me a little longer. I’m sorry you have to do that so much.” 

“…okay.” 

You wake up to his figure being illuminated shyly by the light of dawn. In the tiny bubble that the two of you share— of intertwined paths, secrets, lives— and the sensation of waking from a late night, you realise just how much you want to stay there forever. 

This morning, you don’t rush back to your room and hastily go through your routine. All you do for a while, for what feels like it lasts for a century yet lasts for too little time, is look at him, at his steady, quiet breathing as his eyes are shut comfortably tight.

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[m1ckeyb3rry]

── WILLOW TREE

Synopsis: Years after you leave Japan, Rin Itoshi finally wins the World Cup. As he promised he would, he comes to find you afterwards. (part one here!)

BLLK Masterlist

Pairing: Rin x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4.1k

Content Warnings: rin is lowkey nice and therefore ooc because he’s implied to have matured (considering he’s like in his twenties atp), one reference to another fic of mine, almost as cheesy as part one, reader and her bff have to interact w a misogynist, nagi and barou mentions because they are my goats

A/N: @why2277 requested a part two for cherry tree so yk i had to deliver!! hehe this isn’t super romantic or anything because it’s rin and he’s allergic to emotions lowkey but i hope it’s fun anyways 🥹

Additional: check my pinned post to make sure i have requests open; after reading the rules, please feel free to make your own!

From the window of the apartment you were renting for your final year of university, you could see a weeping willow tree. It was lovely and old, its leaves swaying in the slightest wind, and in the sunlight, it was too benevolent to be anything but ethereal. During the warmer months, you used to spread out a blanket in the grass beneath its shade and work on your homework, but now that there was a chill creeping into the air, you could only gaze longingly at it whenever you passed and imagine what it would be like in spring, when the temperature outside was once again tolerable.

Sometimes, on particularly stormy nights, the shapes of the leaves would coalesce into something resembling a man or monster. In those times, you would wish there was a room you could run to, albeit not out of any fear — you weren’t as easy to frighten as you had once been. It was nostalgia, horrible and sickening, which made your stomach turn and your heart palpitate, longing for a particular bed, a familiar embrace, though both were on the other side of the world and had been far out of your reach for years upon years now.

“Jeez,” your best friend said as the two of you elbowed your way into getting seats at the bar. Her university’s break had started earlier than yours, so instead of going directly to your hometown, she had come to visit you first, and of course in celebration of your reunion, you both had decided to visit the most popular bar in the area. “What’s going on? Hey, dude, what’s everyone watching?”

The man she was talking about spun around in surprise, his eyes enormous at her question, like he found it impossible that she was asking such a thing. She scowled at him, waiting for him to answer; when he realized she was being serious, he scoffed.

“It’s the World Cup final,” he said, before adding, under his breath, “Fucking girls.”

“The World Cup?” you said, your interest piqued despite his less than savory addition. “Who’s playing?”

Your best friend gave you a surprised look. “Since when have you cared about soccer?”

The man gave you a measured look, his face still pinched with distaste, and then he shrugged. “Japan and Germany. Craziest shit I’ve seen in a while. Never thought the Japanese team would get so far, but they’re goddamn monsters. Germany’s in the lead for the moment, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Japan turns it around and makes a comeback victory.“

“I see,” you said, craning your neck so you could see the small TV in the corner. Your best friend nudged you in the side, and when you glanced at her out of the corner of your eye, her brow was furrowed in confusion.

“What’s the big deal?” she said. “I didn’t realize you were into sports.”

“I’m not,” you said. “I was just reminded of something when he mentioned the World Cup, that’s all.”

You wondered if he was playing, and if so, whether he, too, remembered that half-awake promise he had made you. You wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. If you were any smarter, any less stubborn, you would’ve forgotten as well.

“Holy fucking shit!” the man shouted as the screen flashed in celebration of a goal.

“What?” your best friend said, enthralled, though her expression soured every time she glanced at the rude man, who the two of you were sadly dependent on for explanations.

“That was such a clean shot,” he said, eyes sparkling. “Rin Itoshi…he’s an amazing player. True, sometimes people forget that, because half of his teammates are the biggest peacocks known to mankind and hog all of the attention with their showboating, but I’d take him over Seishiro Nagi or Shoei Barou any day. Maybe he doesn’t have that flair or power, but he’s technically perfect, and that’s something none of the others can claim — not even that genius playmaker, Isagi!”

You didn’t know enough about soccer or the Japanese team to have an opinion on the rest of his claims, but you did know about Rin Itoshi, so you smiled softly and nodded. “Yeah, Rin’s pretty cool.”

Your best friend, who had finally caught up to what you were talking about, snickered. “That’s not what you used to say. I recall you hating him quite a bit.”

The man fully spun around in his barstool, glaring at you with his arms folded over his chest, his left hand gripping a beer. “On what grounds could one possibly hate Rin Itoshi? Name any player, and I’ll explain why he’s clear of them. Seriously, aren’t females supposed to like Rin? For his looks and all?”

You and your best friend exchanged glances before slowly inching away. There was no point in entertaining the man further; he was just inclined to see the worst in you two no matter what, and you would probably be better off trying to find another bar or just heading to your house for the night.

“Ah, I don’t really know any other players,” you admitted, grabbing your purse and slinging it on your shoulder. “I just happened to live with the Itoshis for a while during my first year of college.”

“What?” the man shrieked, though thankfully the music and chattering was so loud that only a couple of heads turned. “You lived in a house with Rin Itoshi?”

“Uh…” you trailed off, looking around and spotting the door at the same time as your best friend. Without even a signal, both of you took off for the exit at once, leaving the now-sputtering man behind and not slowing down until you were well down the street.

“I hate guys like that,” your best friend gasped out, leaning against the wall of a bagel shop, which was closed due to the late hour. “What a jerk.”

“Honestly,” you agreed. “At least he was kind of helpful, even if he did repeatedly insult our gender and treat us like children.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Rin Itoshi, huh? That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. Feeling nostalgic?”

“A bit,” you said. “I told you he had a crush on me, didn’t I? Or at least, I think he did. I’m not sure if he realized it himself.”

“Yup, I remember. It explained a lot more of his actions than it really should’ve,” she said. 

“Well, the truth is that the night I asked him about his feelings, he told me he didn’t have a crush on me or anything, but that after he retired from soccer for good, things might be different,” you said. This was something you hadn’t told anyone, not even her. For some reason, there had been a seriousness to the way he spoke, and at the time it had felt like a betrayal to share it with another person. Then, when you had moved back home at the end of the semester and the two of you had stopped speaking entirely, it had faded from the forefront of your mind, locked away alongside the rest of your memories from those strange few months.

“No way,” she said with a chuckle. “Did he think you’d wait for that long? Soccer players don’t retire until they’re in their thirties, right? That’s a long time to expect someone to keep you in their mind.”

“I told him as much, but as you know, I was apparently a huge distraction to his soccer career, so he couldn’t have me ruining that or whatever. Anyways, uh, he promised that once he won the World Cup, he’d come and find me,” you said. “So. I was just reminiscing a bit over that, I guess.”

“Do you think he will?” she said. You shook your head. 

“Of course not,” you said. “He’s famous now. I mean, random men in bars praise him, so he must be a celebrity, right? There’s a lot of girls he could have, and anyways, I myself wouldn’t have even thought of it if that guy hadn’t brought him and the World Cup up. Why would it be any different for Rin?”

“That’s fair,” your best friend said. “Fame changes people.”

“Right,” you said. “It’s just a cool story that I can tell at parties now. Like, did you know that famous footballer Rin Itoshi once told me I was the most annoying person he had ever met? I bet it’ll be a real winner.”

“Fascinating tale,” she said. 

“Thanks,” you said. “Like I said, it’ll be popular with the crowds for sure. Ah, provided that they believe me, of course.”

“That’s true,” she said, snorting in amusement. “It does kinda sound like you’re making it up. You were too busy arguing with him constantly, too, so you never even took any photos with him.”

“I know,” you said. “Oh, well. They can believe me or not. It did happen, so who cares what anyone else thinks?”

“Very mature,” your best friend said with a nod. “Moving on, what should we do next? That bar’s kinda out of the question.”

“Technically, I do still have class tomorrow,” you reminded her. “So maybe sleeping is a good idea?”

“Ugh, I forgot about that,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Sorry. Yeah, let’s get back. We can do more stuff once we’re home and off for the week.”

“Sounds good to me,” you said. “It looks like it’s going to rain soon, anyways, so that’s probably for the best.”

You were right — almost as soon as you entered your apartment, the earlier breezes turned to gales, and one of those storms which was not quite wintry but gray and gloomy regardless churned into existence. You and your best friend were quick to get ready, both surprisingly exhausted, and then she made herself comfortable on your couch while you settled in your bed, pulling the blankets up over your shoulders and staring out of your window, watching the bare branches of the willow thrash about desperately, like they were searching for something that they could never have.

The break was short but relaxing, and before you knew it, you were back at your apartment in school, although you didn’t have your best friend’s company this time. You settled back into your typical routine, and within a few days, your life was once again mundane and usual. Any thoughts of the past or of excitement vanished in the haze of working and studying, and indeed it sometimes felt like you were more of a zombie trudging through life until the winter next became alive instead of dull.

Two weeks after you returned to university, you were walking home in the evening after a study group meeting in the library, humming to yourself and texting one of your friends about a homework assignment, when you became acutely aware of footsteps mirroring your own. You tested it out, first slowing and then speeding up your pace, but no matter what you did, they matched you so eerily that you became genuinely worried.

Swallowing, you sped up again, hoping you could, in some way, outrun this pursuer which you had picked up. When the pat-pat of sneakers on concrete behind you sped up as well, you gasped and then broke into a run. This wasn’t just the beginning of every horror movie but also of many true-crime documentaries. A girl. A dark evening. A mysterious stalker. Were you going to be murdered or something?

“You’re painfully slow,” your would-be assailant said, keeping up with your full sprint and not even sounding winded. “Anyways, why are we running? Did you take up jogging once you left Japan or something?”

You skidded to a stop, turning to see a familiar figure a few steps behind you. When he noticed you had stopped, he did as well, and though he tried to fight it, a tiny smile threatened to bloom on his face when he noticed your awed expression.

He was wearing a pair of loose joggers and an oversized sweatshirt, which wasn’t his typical sense of style but suited him, as everything did; additionally, despite the late hour, there was a pair of sunglasses pushed up into his hair, which shone in the light of the street lamp you both stood under. His hands were shoved in his pockets, though he raised his right to wave at you shyly, the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks pink — whether from the biting cold or something else, you could not tell.

“Rin?” you said. He nodded. “Rin, what are you—?”

You broke off in disbelief, unable to even move. In your wildest dreams, when you pictured reuniting with him, you had imagined something more romantic. Perhaps one of you would pick the other up from the airport, and you’d dash towards him and leap into his arms and he’d spin you about and — well, now that you thought about it more, that was a little unrealistic. Rin had never been that kind of person. The distance between you two had made your heart grow fonder, and time had formed a rosy film over your memories, but Rin as you had truly known him had always been standoffish and awkward.

“We won the World Cup,” he said. “No. I won it.”

“Yes,” you said. “Yes, I — I saw you score.”

His stare was arresting, his eyes the same brilliant shade as a writhing sea, framed by dark lashes which fluttered as nervously as a wasp’s wings. For a second, you thought he must be waiting for you to say something else, but you dismissed the thought in turn. What else would you even say?

After a second, he exhaled, his breath forming crystals in the air. “Yeah. Well, uh, I’m sure you’ve forgotten by now, but I told you, didn’t I? That once I won the World Cup, I’d find you?”

“I didn’t forget,” you said, swallowing. “I thought you might’ve, though.”

“I wouldn’t,” he said. “I’m mad at you, so of course I needed to see you again.”

“Mad at me?” you said.

“Yes,” he said. “I was so sure it would be better once you left, but it got worse. I thought of you even more. It was awful.”

“Didn’t seem to impact your soccer career any,” you pointed out.

“Maybe it did. Maybe I’d be even better if it weren’t for you,” he said. You waited for him to laugh. He didn’t, but there was mirth shimmering in his irises, which was close enough, so you allowed yourself to shake your head in amusement.

“I guess we’ll never know,” you said.

“Guess not,” he said.

“How did you even do it?” you said. “Find me, I mean.”

“I knew which university you went to,” he said.

“That’s it?” you said. “It’s not like this is a small school.”

“Believe me, I know,” he said. “I’ve been here since last Thursday.”

“Seriously?” you said.

“Seriously,” he affirmed. “I’ve been spending every day on campus looking for you. It took me a while, but I didn’t want to give up until I saw you again.”

“You did all of that and nobody recognized you?” you said.

“One of my teammates hates the media so much that he’s perfected the art of disguising himself in public. I figured that if it works for him, despite him being built like a white-haired telephone pole, it would probably do fine for my purposes,” he said.

“I see,” you said. “I guess that’s what’s the deal with the clothes.”

“Exactly,” he said.

“Well,” you said. “I don’t…I mean, I don’t really know what to say. I never thought I’d actually see you again, so this is kind of a lot. I’m sorry.”

“Did you want to?” he said.

“Huh?” you said.

“Did you want to see me again?” he said, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Did you ever think about me?”

“Let’s walk back to my apartment,” you said instead of answering the question. “I want to show you something.”

“Okay,” he said, walking at your side obligingly, though he kept a careful distance between you both. You did not try to close it, not yet. It didn’t feel right.

“By the way, why did you follow me like a creep?” you said as you changed course towards your apartment complex. “You should’ve just said hi like a normal person instead of scaring me.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just didn’t want to say anything.”

“Didn’t want to?” you said.

“Couldn’t,” he amended. “I didn’t realize how hard it would be until I saw you again. I had so many things I needed to tell you, and as soon as you were in front of me, I forgot them all.”

“That’s a shame,” you said. “If you remember any, let me know.”

He mulled this over for a moment before clearing his throat. “My brother’s getting married soon.”

“Really? How exciting,” you said. You had never met Sae Itoshi, so the news didn’t strike you one way or another, but you were just glad to hear Rin’s voice again, so you would’ve listened to him talking about anything and been happy about it.

“Yeah, it’s this girl he met while they were both on vacation by the beach in Spain,” he said. “She accidentally tackled him while trying to get her sandwich back from a seagull.”

“That’s a fun story,” you said. “Imagine your kids ask you how you met their mother and you get to tell them that.”

“There’s more to it, surprisingly,” he said. “But anyways, yeah, she’s nice. I don’t mind her that much.”

“Given that she’s going to be a part of your family, it’s good that you get along with her,” you said.

“Mhm,” he said. “Can you come?”

“To the wedding? Er, I don’t think I’m invited,” you said.

“I’m inviting you,” he said, his throat bobbing as he averted his gaze. “I want you to come. With me.”

“Oh,” you said. His eyes widened slightly.

“Am I — are you — um, Y/N. You don’t have a boyfriend or anything, right?” he said.

The two of you had reached the willow tree. You paused, gazing up at it. The branches no longer had their leaves, and it seemed more depressing and spindly instead of lush and inviting, as it did in the summer months. Rin stopped next to you, and you shifted so that there was only a hair’s breadth between your arm and his.

“When it rains really hard, this tree looks like a creature from one of those horror movies you used to watch,” you said. “It doesn’t scare me, not hardly, but I always wish I could run to you anyways. I guess there’s your answer. Every time there was a storm, I thought of you. Every time I saw this tree, I thought of you. Every time someone mentioned owls or soccer or scary films, I thought of you. So, yes. Sometimes, occasionally — or perhaps frequently, depending on how you see it — I did think of you. I did want to see you again.”

“What about the second question?” he said.

“A lot of people have tried,” you said. “Guys have asked me out. Friends have set me up and convinced me to go on blind dates. It never really works out, though. In the back of my mind, I’ve always been waiting for someone else. For a major jerk, in fact. The biggest jerk on the planet. Everyone probably thinks I’m crazy. It’s a ridiculous thing to say aloud, and even more ridiculous to actually do it, but here I am.”

“How long will you keep waiting for him?” he said.

“A while,” you said. “At least until I can meet someone as annoying as he is. I’ve been bored without him, and I don’t take well to boredom.”

Rin’s features were settled in a contemplative mask, his brows drawn together and his head tilted slightly. It was your chance to watch him; you had nothing more to say, so you opted for silence. Things like confessions and feelings weren’t really your style, nor were they his, but you hoped that he would understand what you had meant regardless. Just this once. Even if he never did again, this once, you wanted him to understand you.

“Thank you,” he said, and then: “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” you said.

“For making you wait. For letting you be bored,” he said. “Although it’s not my fault. I could’ve won the World Cup the year you left if it had happened then, and then we would’ve met again way sooner.”

“It’s okay. Listen, Rin, I want to — no, I have to ask you something,” you said, and then you took a deep breath to steady yourself. “Come summer, will I still be able to see you? Can I show you this tree once it has its leaves, or is this the last time?”

The last time. Was this reunion like a fleeting dream? Would it be better or worse when you were split apart from him anew? How much longer could you bear to keep waiting for him? You had no idea, but it seemed impossible, the thought of being apart from him once more.

“If you come home with me, you can always see me,” he said. “There’s another tree there. One that you’ll remember. Is that close enough?”

“What about my job and my life here?” you said, taken aback at the bold offer, which felt a little out of the blue, although maybe it shouldn’t have. “I’ll graduate this year, and then I’ll start working. How can I leave all of that behind?”

“You don’t have to leave it behind forever. Not if you don’t want to,” he said. “I’d never make you do that. But Sae’s — the wedding, it’s in the spring. The cherry tree will have flowers then. I can show it to you. You never saw it like that, I don’t think, but you’ll like it. I’m sure you will.”

A ghostly wind whistled through the willow tree’s branches, and the street lamp illuminating Rin’s face flickered. Part of you had never really believed you’d look upon that face again, no matter how much you had wanted to. His features were different from the last time you had seen him, a little sharper, more weathered, the once-permanent scowl replaced with a blank, neutral expression as he waited for you to respond, but it was still his face before you.

“It’ll be warm there, won’t it?” you said. “I’m always cold here.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’ll be warm. Are you cold right now?”

You nodded. He made to shrug off his sweatshirt, but you shook your head, catching his arm and then placing it around your shoulders. He cocked his head at you, and then, all at once, recognition flashed in his eyes. Wrapping the other arm around you of his own volition, he pulled you into his chest carefully, unsurely, his heart pounding — you knew because you could hear it, could feel it, the way it beat against his sternum like a battle-cry.

“I miss it,” you said. “I was only there for one semester, but I still miss it.”

It, or him? Maybe both. Definitely both.

“You don’t have to anymore,” he said. You wondered if he meant his home, which in a way was also your home, or if he was talking about himself. “It’s yours. It’ll always be yours. Our roles are reversed now, I guess.”

“Reversed?” you said. You must’ve sounded like an idiot or an echo, dumbly repeating everything he said without comprehension. 

“I’ll be the one waiting,” he said. “And if you want…you can come and find me. I won’t make it hard. I’ll be where I always have been.”

“Do you think you can wait as long as I did?” you said.

“If I have to,” he said. “Will you make me?”

“No,” you said. “No, I won’t. You only have to wait until the spring. Then I’ll be there, and I don’t think — to tell you the truth, I don’t think I’ll be able to leave once I am.”

“Is it wrong if I say good?” he said.

“Maybe,” you said. His body was likely akin to a furnace or something, you thought, for curiously, in his embrace, you no longer felt frigid, though it had only gotten cooler and cooler out. “But even if it is, I won’t be the one to judge you for it.”

“Good,” he muttered breathlessly. “Good.”

You smiled broadly this time, broadly and fully, though he couldn’t see you do it — or maybe it was because of that fact that you could beam like this, as brightly as if you had won the lottery. Then again, you supposed that to you if no one else, you had. After all, somehow, despite all odds, Rin had found you again, and this time, he wouldn’t leave. Never again would he leave, not entirely, and if he did ever go, it would only be to a place where he could wait for you longer.

“Yes,” you said. “Yes, Rin. It’s good.”

[rex101111]

Ratchet and Clank size matters got added to the PSN store and I got a a major nostalgia pang so I went "eh, why not" and quickly played through it. And I do mean quickly, I know it was a PSP title but dang, last time I finished a R&C game this quick i played Nexus. Anyway, the thing that struck me about this game is that Ratchet is...a bit of an asshole here. And that struck me as odd because for the last few entries...he isn't.

Like this is still early series Ratchet, still on the PS2/PSP, released just before the first PS3 title, which was in retrospect a bit of an incredibly soft reboot. In the newer games, Ratchet is a fairly straight forward protag, nice, willing to help, only a little bit sarcastic if he's really strapped for time or dealing with someone especially annoying. Early Ratchet? Early Ratchet was a jackass, a dick, a selfish, quick tempered loner that only went on this quest because there was a tangible, direct benefit to him specifically. Seriously, in the first game Ratchet couldn't go two sentences without insulting somebody, and that's when he's in a good mood. In act 2 he's even worse, gnashing his teeth at everyone he talks to and threatening to sell Clank for scrap. It takes hours of in game time and half a dozen levels before Ratchet finally chills out, and a few more levels before he actually resolves to act like any sort of hero, and even that only happens after something he personally cares about gets threatened. Ratchet could give a damn, he can be convinced to help people, but he's still a selfish person who needs the situation rubbed in his nose before he realizes how dire it is. Clank having faith in him, throughout the entire game, even when he's being a dick, even when Clank himself is furious with him, meant something. When in the penultimate level he says "that's the Ratchet I always knew was there" and Ratchet brushes him off, you buy it, that beneath this sharp outside there's someone with the capacity to be a hero, an actual hero, a hero who isn't selfless, but one capable of overcoming his selfishness when it matters most.

Back when the first game came out, people complained about this, about their platformer mascot protag being a huge dick, and even the very next game addressed this by toning him down a smidge, but Ratchet in the PS2 trilogy is still very much not a perfect sunshine person. He's very sarcastic, pretty cynical, is very quick to call other people on their bullshit, and still has a very short temper. (Plasma city, anyone?) Ratchet had texture to him, he bounced off the much more straightforwardly nice Clank in a lot of ways, their friendship felt like it had weight and meant something because these two had so many differences between them that the fact they did get along so well and cared about each other so much showed that their friendship was genuine. I like the newer Ratchet and Clank games, played every one of them, but I've never been really happy with the direction they took with Ratchet. Each game made him nicer, friendlier, smoothing down his edges. And the reboot game had it the worst, they retold the first story, where Ratchet was at his worst and a major thread of the plot was him learning to get over his bullshit, but had the sanded down kitty cat of the later games instead of having confidence in their early work. Dickhead Ratchet worked, he had a place and it gave him a place to grow, while still maintaining his inherit sharpness. Ratchet should get to be an asshole again, just for a bit, let him get angry, properly. Sure, he's a hero who's saved two galaxies three times over and then some, but he did that while being a sarcastic little shit who made a joke about a plumber's ass crack showing and fired rockets at people while complaining about how high the prices are everywhere he went.

I dunno, maybe its a bit too late in the game to say this, but something got lost in the shuffle a while back, and getting a reminder of what was simply put it into perspective for me.

[party-lemon]

I've been wanting to make this post for a while and, in light of the absolute epic outfits at their first WWWY show, I thought this would be the perfect time:

My Chemical Romance is not the same.

When people think of MCR, they think of eyeliner and blood and vampires and red and black and doom and gloom. And, don't get me wrong, a number of Gerard's outfits show that we still get some of that:

But, nowadays, we also get:

And I'm not just talking about dresses. I'm not just talking about Gerard finally feeling comfortable to wear whatever he wants, because that could be from numerous other factors.

No, I'm also talking about:

They're having fun.

This band had been nonstop since 2003. They went from Bullets to Revenge to Black Parade to Danger Days without much of a break because they were great and they were expected to do something because that's what great bands do; they keep creating things, they churn stuff out for their fans and their industry, they bleed themselves dry for other people because that's their job.

My Chemical Romance thought they were done after The Black Parade. And then they kept going, only because they were desperately trying to rewrite themselves. To rid themselves of those crushing expectations to do something else great. But, no matter what they did, MCR couldn't escape them.

We don't really know the full story behind why they ended things. MCR is notorious for being rather cryptic. But I get the feeling that those expectations were too much. No matter how much they just tried to be themselves, to create things for themselves, to have fun, they couldn't. And constantly doing things for other people starts weighing very heavily. Expectations and threats are only separated by a fine line. And they were tired.

Did they always expect to return...who knows? Certainly not us. Like I said, MCR has always been cryptic. But I do know that they didn't come back the same as before.

My Chemical Romance came back and gave a big "fuck you" to expectations. I mean, The Foundations of Decay gives it all away. They've been playing a vast array of songs, some of which we've barely heard or they haven't played in years. Sister to Sleep, Fake Your Death, Mastas of Ravenkroft, Heaven Help Us, Bury Me in Black, Desert Song, Demolition Lovers. There's clips of Frank, Ray, and Mikey all playing in front of their kids. Frank and Gerard's piss and vinegar shirts, Ray wearing a Mikey Fuckin Way t-shirt, everyone hugging and laughing with each other, Frank literally saying he's having so much fun that he wants to keep playing, Gerard coming out in the most insane outfits, all of them just constantly smiling like a bunch of wonderstruck children.

So, no. MCR isn't the same. But they're having fun. And they're ridding themselves of what My Chemical Romance once was. There's bits and pieces still left that they'll still use but, for the most part, they're tearing down what once was and building something new. For all they knew, this could have all gone down in flames but they don't care because they're who they want to be. And they're giving the middle finger to expectations and to anyone who dares to say that MCR isn't good enough or was better before.

Nostalgia is no good when it blinds you to the better things in the present.

[scoobydooisadetective]

Tenoch's interview at the Vagos de la Vida Real Podcast

Hi! sorry this took so long, I'm a bit rusty. Sorry for any grammar mistakes too. If you find difficulties understanding anything or if you have any correction, let me know.

Bold is the interviewer, normal is Tenoch and italics are comments made by me (mostly explaining things or when I don’t understand what they’re saying)

We already have some followers here in this radio experimentation laboratory called "Vagos de la vida real", produced by La Universidad Autónoma de San Luis. And to start talking, I'd like to ask you something that has to do with your past, with your dreams, with nostalgia, I think. Let's see what you tell us: What does Ecatepec represent in your life?

Well, it’s the place where I was raised. I grew up on the border, right there, a few blocks away in between Ecatepec and Coacalco, and to me, apart from being the place where I grew up, it’s the place that gave me identity. Between the contrasts of things that I saw at home, what you see on the street, what you see at school, I think that at the end of the day the place where I grew up was very privileged because I was able to understand many dynamics and see many points of view and understand many types of lives and experiences based on the place where I grew up.

Back then, going from Mexico City to Ecatepec or from Ecatepec to the city was the equivalent to a trip outside the city, let’s say, it’s like going to Cuernavaca, to Querétaro, you know? It was literally like going to a city in a different state. The metropolitan area had not swallowed that part of the state of Mexico, so it was… Very particular, because I recall that when I have talked with friends that were raised outside the city, let’s say Jalisco or places like that, we have similar experiences about living “outside” the city, in another state and at the same time, this other identity that’s a lot more urban. In my case, it was formed towards my teenage years as a result of the closeness and “distance” between Ecatepunk (another way of calling Ecatepec that Tenoch uses)  and Mexico City.

That's right. Hey, right now we're going to talk about Ecatepunk, the term was among the questions I had (Tenoch laughs). Do you remember your friends from there?

Yeah, yeah!

What was everyday life like? Tell us about your friends, what did they do? Did they play in the street? Were they naughty nuisances? What was everyday life like when you were in middle school there in Ecatepec? Because you went to middle school in Ecatepec, right?

Yes, they're sons of a gun (the host laughs and I don't get to hear what Tenoch says properly, but he mentions something about being naughty or doing naughty things). Some were worse than others, you know, there's a bit of everything, from really quiet dudes, the majority of them are hard-working people, with their families and so on, but there were always the miscreants (he says malandrillos, idk how to translate it but basically reckless kids, 'bad' guys, etc, just in case this word is weird) and I just so happened to befriend them. I always had the... (Tenoch laughs and doesn’t finish the sentence). I was a very easy going kid, imagine that my first drop of alcohol... Well, I had tasted something, but I drank my first real drink when I was 21, 22 years old. I was finishing college when I had my first drink. Actually, I was really easy going and the majority of my friends were, let's say, a little more adventurous in life than me. And so I was friends with the bad guys and also the guys that were top in class, so I could move in all aspects, let's say, in all the areas that a public middle school could offer. I went to the Moisés Saenz middle school and when I was a little boy, that was the most posh school in the area, but by the time I started middle school there, it was a step before juvenile prison because everyone was a son of a gun, but the truth is I had a great time, it was fun and I still have many friends from middle school.

That's important, yes, yes. Hey, something that comes to mind about what you're talking about is, how did you and your friends saw Mexico City? You already told us it was like a trip to another city, but how did you guys see it? How did you imagine that urban monster that was growing? Did you ever realize that it was going to absorb you? You didn't realize? What was the imagery of those who lived there?

Well, you truly don't realize it. For starters, it was like a mythical place, it was a distant place, the big city. At the end of the day, it is the country's capital, so when you're a young what interests you is, or in my case, were the raves, the rock shows, going to bars and so on, but we didn't have enough money or the age... 14 years old, where the hell were they going to let us in? So that was like the dream of the city, the city, the city and suddenly, it began to become too urbanized there and when I started college... I mean, in high school I already acquired a little clearer awareness of the immensity of the city and the complexity of it. At the end of the day, I lived in a microcosm. When I was a child, there were, I don't know, four or five subdivisions and I lived in one of them. There were five or six villages that ended up being absorbed by the urban sprawl and now are interior villages and everything else was for plots. Then little by little it became urbanized, the city swallowed it up.

When I started my degree in the UNAM was when I really got to experience Mexico City, I was visiting it on a daily basis. I studied in Aragón, but the majority of my activities post-school where in Acatlán, because I played american football with los Pumas de Acatlán and the other part of my activities were in Mexico City, in Channel 22, where I did my social service, in ABC radio that's in the press building by the Hidalgo subway station, where I also did internships and eventually I did some work as a reporter and journalistic notes in the radio, I went on air and read news. Anyway, it was a whole adventure to discover... While I was growing, let's say... It's very funny, because while I was growing, my horizons were growing too. In terms of the city, the 'chilango' identity, that I personally love, I'm not a chilango supremacist, even though I make a lots of jokes about it, but the truth is I'm not. The bottom line is that something beautiful about Mexico City is that people from everywhere live in the city and Mexico City wouldn't be so cool if only us chilangos lived in it, because it's a really, really boring city. All the diversity, the food, the ambiance, the places, the people... I mean 25 millions of souls are 25 millions of different worlds, so there's a bit of everything for everyone and the truth is that I can brag that I have been able to live, well the precise term of the word is cosmopolitan, the cosmopolitan life of Mexico City, because we're a country that measures half of Europe. So, when we talk about cosmopolitanism, just with the inner immigration in the country is already half of Europe, that's how cosmopolitan Mexico City can be. So, truly, I've had a great time. Now I live in chilangolandia, I have become a chilango completely.

Full time

And I enjoy it a lot. Full time, truly. And I enjoy it a lot, I mean, we also have to keep the distances and proportions. I live in a central area of the city, in a middle class area, so obviously services such as transportation and security are greater, so it offers me a much more comfortable life in the city than to other people.

Hey, would you let us go back to your story?

Let's go, let's go. Yes.

In 91', before you went to college, one of the most complicated decades for this country began. In 94' the Zapatista war blows up, they kill Colosio, there's a series of complications that arose and are part of who we are today. I'd like for you to tell us if you remember how did you see it, if you were already in high school... How did you see everything that was happening? Or you didn't see it? It's something I've asked every guest we've had here in Vagos and the answers have been very diverse, from people that never knew, to people who participated, that went to protests. How was your experience with the '90s?

No, I was very... My parents politicized me since I was little. I went to my first march when I was 7 years old, which was the march in '88 ... (I don't understand what the march was for because they speak at the same time but I managed to hear something about something that they did to someone named Cardenas I think). So yeah, actually, I made things uncomfortable in the classroom since middle school, because when they started to talk about history, I'd bring up my facts like 'no, but wait, Porfirio Diaz did this and that' and they were like 'shut up, asshole' or I would go with my friends to chat and I'd start saying things like Mexico is a great nation and they have to respect us and they were like 'shut up, dude'. Eventually, the majority of my classmates ended up working in political parties and the only one who didn't work with political parties was me. It's like those people that tell you 'you're an atheist because you haven't read about religion' and you say 'no, because I've read about religion I'm an atheist', that happened to me. Since I was a kid my dad politicized me and well, yes, we saw all the events that were happening in the country, and well, I didn't only see them and was aware of them, my dad would talk to me about them and well when the... When the zapatista army arrived at Mexico City, I was there in the Zócalo with my family to receive them. I remember I learned a very important lesson there, I was telling my dad 'I think that Mexico isn't a racist country, but rather a classist country' and my dad told me 'go out to the street and yell 'indio' (indio it's used as a derogatory term in Mexico, meaning someone who's ignorant or uncivilized. Even though the original meaning is being descended from indigenous people) at any person and you'll see how it goes'.

That's right.

'If that is not racism, I don't know what is', and I was like 'oh, fuck'. I was around 13 or 14 years old at that time and since then I began to have a lot of awareness. I thank my dad for that, because regardless of the ideological or political positions that one might have, having awareness and being politicized in life allows you to make better conditions-- decisions, sorry.

Yeah, that's right.

I could say that a good part of the decisions I've taken in my career are based a lot on what I read in the newspapers and especially in the international news.

You have been telling us about your father. Would you like to tell us who your father is? About him?

Yeah, well, look, to me, my heroes in life are my parents. My mom and my dad, they're my fucking heroes, the two of them. My mom lost her mom when she was 11 or 12 years old and my dad lost his dad when he was 5 or 6 years old. So, the fact that my mom didn't have a mom and my dad didn't have a dad meant that no one ruined them (they laugh at this joke, and Tenoch adds something else but he's laughing so I can't manage to grasp what he's saying, though he says something about 'bad examples at home').

They both have worked their whole lives. My mom was raised in what was back then the Iztapalapa village, and it was just that, a village. There were only a few streets that had lights. My dad was from the Colonia Obrera, so it’s funny now that I mention it to you, because my dad was from the Colonia Obrera, a very urban area in Mexico City and my mom was from Iztapalapa, a village, a very rural area in Mexico City and the place where I grew up was a mix between the urban and the rural, right? Because there were many lots there, and at the same time there were a lot of subdivisions, Mexico City, well, the state was starting to split.

My dad was a kid that worked since he was 5 years old as a shoemaker assistant and he was a laborer since he was 13 years old. And being a laborer and having 2 or 3 children, I don’t remember if my sister who was born before me had already been borned, but my dad being a laborer and everything ended up in night-time studies at the polytechnic university (not sure if this or trade school is a better translation but I think you can grasp the idea) and he graduated as an engineer and won a scholarship to study in Germany for a year and a half.

Well I never!

Well, yes. Back then, when going to college actually meant social mobility. And my mom was raised by her aunt, she studied a technical career, starts to work and meets my dad, they get married and made the decision that my mom would stay at home taking care of the kids and my dad was going to work, because back then, before people judge without knowing and understanding, and as the wise says ‘there’s no text without context’. The context about the period when my parents were young, the 60-70s, is that one person, with one salary could sustain a family of 6 or 7 members. In our case, we were six: four siblings, including me, my dad and my mom. So, with my dad’s salary as a teacher, because first he was a teacher at a technical school… With my dad being a teacher, he could sustain us, the whole family. And my mom, by her own decision, wanted to stay home, which I thank a lot because without my mom's effort of taking care of us, of being at home, having always the clothes clean for us and warm food, a mommy that would hug us and pamper us, and when we got sick she would send us to school anyway, she didn't give a fuck, but when we got back from it she would receive us with a hot soup and kisses. And my siblings got hit (he says ‘les ponía su chingazo’, I don’t think it means he hit them violently or anything, it’s probably more like a telling off? just putting this here because slang and intentions are hard to translate at times) because they earned them, those fuckers, but without that mommy, we wouldn't had made it. So that's why I say that both of them have given me great examples. My mom, by staying at home, my dad, by going to work and with all that life experience accumulated, from the two of them, their lives, everything they went through since childhood, their loss of mom and dad, well, they raised us... We're four, the four of us went to college, we're professionals, we are good people, so the clear thing is that without my parents, without my mother and without my father we would not be what we are and that is why I will always be eternally grateful to my parents. And I hope that one day I can give that same example and that same support to my two little girls that I adore, these two little girls are my raison d'être (I looked this up, but basically they’re his reason to exist), they are my solid rock. Someone told me “I’m glad your daughter, the eldest in this case, was born, because otherwise you would have gone crazy, she’s your anchor to reality”, then the little one came along also at a very important time in my life and these two brought good luck to me when they were born. The truth is that these two kids are now what my parents showed me we were for them.

Hey, so I have a question. I read in an interview somewhere that you said that in Ecatepec the microphones were turned off and it was not easy to get out of there. Did you realize this in middle school? Or when you went to high school? Or did you rationalize it when you were already in college?

I realized when I was in college, because you know what? When I was in middle school and high school to me it was normal, I was just another kid from the suburbs and that was it. I lived my life, I went to political rallies and things like that with my parents, but beyond that, well, no.

And your classmates? What were their dreams about their future? Or they didn’t dream of the future?

Well, besides having a good life, earning a good salary and having a house, the truth is that I don’t remember us having any other kind of talks about the future. I think that is something that happens when you’re young, which I think is very healthy too. But also, when you live in less fortunate contexts you’re not thinking so much about the future, because you’re worried about the present and how to overcome things.

Here and now.

For the here and now. I think not all of my classmates, but most of us thought about the future in terms of what career we wanted to pursue and things like that, but there was also a significant part of my classmates who didn’t even question such things, they didn’t have the sense of urgency about the future, really. Beyond buying a house and having a good job, there wasn’t any sort of talks or points of views and I think it has to do with age. 

When I started to study my career, when I was accepted at the UNAM in ‘99, just when the 99 strike was happening, the climate was extremely politicized and I appreciate it a lot because it made us question other things. I personally did have the belief that Mexico had to change, that there would have to be a revolution. I thought that at that moment, like a lot of young people and people who came before me, actually, my dad is from the ‘68 generation, several of his classmates lost their lives… Well, they didn’t lose them, they were killed, they died in the movement in ‘68. I did think that the revolution had to be armed, but that didn’t mean that the political fight should be left aside. Anyways, when I started college, I started to understand a lot of things and I realized that college was giving me a lot, a college that was sustained with the taxes of a society, well, it was a college that was giving the less fortunate sons of the revolution… It was giving us a future, right?

Hey, we're running out of time for this segment, we're going to continue talking about this later and I'd like to take this opportunity to tell our listeners, you've heard who's here with us. With studies in communication and journalism at the FES Aragón of the UANAM, from a very young age he dedicated himself to acting and the quality of his work has led him to participate in more than fifty films, more than twelve Mexican, European and North American series. Nominated for the Ariel on five occasions and recognized in one of them as best actor and recognized as best supporting actor in the 54th version of the awards granted by the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, in the United States. Author of the book Orgullo Prieto, published in Editorial Grijalbo.

Tenoch huerta, I thank you with all my heart that you have opened a space in your agenda, an agenda that has a lot of work, that has many commitments and yet you still agreed to come and talk with us in this space. I'm going to play a song that closes this segment and I will continue talking with Tenoch Huerta in the next segment.

–

We’re back with Vagos de la Vida Real

We're back here, thank you for continuing with us in this radio experimentation laboratory called Vagos de la Vida Real. I take this opportunity to thank Gabriela Hernandez, our university radio director, who allows and supports this project in its second season. I thank you for your calls to the booth. Thank you for the messages we receive in our social networks, remember we have an Instagram for Vagos de la Vida Real if you want to write to us and there, we’ll say who’s going to be the next guests who will come to this program. Today, we have a top-level guest, Tenoch Huerta. Let’s continue talking with you, Tenoch.

I’d like, because of everything you said about Ecatepunk and all of that, to give a little more context: Ecatepec has always been considered as one of the municipalities with the biggest rate of violence, insecurity and femicides. Meaning, the zone where you grew up was very rough, then you moved to Coacalco and went to college. Something I’d like you to do is take us to the memory of your first day of college. I understand, if you want to tell us about that, that when your high school classmates applied for the exam, you were the only one admitted to college.

Yeah, yes, precisely. In the whole high school, I was the only one, which, now that I say it outloud, instead of speaking well of me, speaks badly of the school.

Indeed.

But well, that’s how it was. I was admitted to college. I took the test because my school wasn’t incorporated to the UNAM, it was rather incorporated to another system, so I had to take the test. I was admitted to journalism and I remember the first day I was very nervous. My first day of class was in extramuros, which was really funny because I felt a lot of affinity for the movement and its postures, from which I had some idea, but when I entered I could soak up much more about what was going on thanks to the flier distribution. The people in the general strike board would do it constantly and well, I started to read and soak up the ideas and overall, what the college was looking for at that moment, that topic seemed more important and attractive to me. I was never part of the strike board because I didn’t feel comfortable. Anyone could enter, right? You just went to the assembly and that was it, you were involved. I remember going to a few of them, and later on I went to another and no, it wasn’t something that moved me, but the things they talked about and the reason we were fighting mattered to me. So, yeah, I truly had a great time, but that first day I was very nervous, it was like the first day in kinder, middle school and high school, all of them together and multiplied for ten. So, that’s how the first day of class in my career felt, but the truth is I had a great time, I made great friends and the majority of my classmates are people that in one way or another, I still keep contact with. 

Also, it was very gratifying that the first college strike in the XXI century was in Mexico, and it also was a victorious one, because a lot of the things we were seeking, regardless of the phobias or philias of each person, well, the college is still public, free, secular and it still is and continues to have the status of the best college in Mexico. So, with all the love and respect that public and autonomous universities throughout the country deserve and also the private ones, well I come from a public school so evidently, my heart beats a bit more to the left. So, school, public education to me… If there’s something you have to bet on… Betting on the future is betting on education, but not education in an abstract way, but rather on a humanist education with a deep social commitment, which, at the end of the day, I ended up absorbing to a greater extent at the UNAM. Once I started having a bigger status in the film industry, I understood that my position is not only to enjoy the success, but also distribute the jar of honey. Start to distribute that jar and most importantly, well, take over the hives so we can start producing honey for everyone, that’s the idea I’ve always had in life, I know it sounds chairo (Chairo is a pejorative word that is used in Mexican politics to discriminate, disqualify or relegate militants or sympathizers of left-wing causes) and it’ll probably scare a lot of good consciences, but what can I say? Without social justice there’s no future.

No, that’s really poetic. That’s how it is, that’s how it is. Hey, something that comes up that I want to imagine, but I want you to tell us, how did a kid that enters college, what, were you like 18 years old?

Yeah

How do you make it coincide? How do you reconcile the college where you were going to study communication, journalism… But also you were already involved in acting for a bit, for a few years, and a while ago you told me you played american football in college. Which one do you want to start telling us about first? Football, acting, what came first?

I played American football since I was 5 years old.

Oh, since you were a kid!

Yeah, since I was 5 years old until I was 21 years old.

Wow!

Here and there I didn’t play two or three seasons for different reasons, but I played. I played every year my season of american football. I played in a lot of teams, the last team I played with was at the UNAM, with the Pumas de Ataclán. After that, I dislocated my shoulder and I couldn’t do anything and my dad… I had taken acting workshops when I was 17 just as a hobby, because I was really happy doing nothing on the couch in my living room, waiting for it to be 11:45 to watch Golden (they both laugh because golden was a channel where they would show adult movies around that hour). No, no, it’s not true. It’s a joke, but if you want to, it’s not a joke.

But it happened at the time, yes.

So, I was really happy doing nothing in life and suddenly, my dad said ‘go and do something with your life’ and he almost dragged me to take those acting workshops. I liked them a lot, but it was just a hobby and when I was in college, as I was telling you, I played my last season, I dislocated my shoulder and my dad told me ‘Why don’t you take the workshops again?’ So I went back to the workshops, a little bit for curiosity and a little bit for having something to do.

Hey, before you tell us about the workshops and acting, what position did you play in american football?

I played as everything, but like my natural position, I figured it out the last 3 or 4 years that I played and it was the defense. For those who don’t know a lot of american football, the front line is the defensive and in that line, in the edges, there’s a pair of players that are the defensive ends and basically and elementally you dedicate to run into the coreback and beat the crap out of him so the dude would see you come and would be scared and wouldn’t be able to play at ease. So, basically, you’re a beater.

And it’s a complex position to play. I also played american football and the line is tough.

It’s tough (Tenoch goes on to mention something about receiving kicks I think, but the host speaks over him and I don’t understand).

And even more here, the american football played in universities is tougher than in the United States, what we see on TV. Here, the hits hurt in a different way.

Yeah, no, yeah, yeah. I played equipped when I was five, imagine it. The atom ant. We looked like little martians with the helmets that would make us lean to the side, but we start to bump into each other since we’re little, you can imagine… (Tenoch adds something but the host talks over him).

Now, tell us about the workshops. You repeated workshops.

Well, since I couldn’t play anymore, I started to take acting workshops and well, more than see these acting workshops as a way of living, I rather took it seriously because I liked it. So I dedicated it all my time and energy to my texts, monologues, to prepare, to give it a spin over and over again, because I truly liked it, I never had aspirations or anything, I simply liked it and it was something I was doing because all my time, energy and abilities were poured into accomplishing the job. Later on, a therapist told me that I’m obsessive and that obsession makes you not be able to let go until it comes out perfectly. It will never be perfect, so you never let it go. So, that obsession or profile made me always try harder. I was bad, I was terrible as an actor, really bad, but since I didn’t give up and I always kept going and I thank american football for that…

The discipline

One time, they blew the skin off one of my fingers while playing, and you could see the bone. I was 10 years old, I went out of the field and told the doctor ‘put a bandage on me’ and he put a gauze on and adhesive tape on my finger and I went back to play, even though they had torn off my skin, because that’s how it is, I don’t understand life in any other way. So they put the gauze and in you go. That’s why I get so angry when I watch soccer players, they tell them ‘good day’ and they tumble around four hundred times and they cry, and throw themselves and drag their feet and cry tears in front of the camera. I say, ‘dude, these people should be acting, they should be in soap operas and not in soccer’. And I know good soccer players who are actors and should be on the field, dude, but oh well.

So, there’s this thing about holding onto pain, not giving in without moving forward, continuing to fight until the referee whistles the end of the match, it’s what took me to eventually go from the worst actor in my workshop to the worst actor on set, but I was a professional! I wasn’t a student anymore, I was a professional actor. A very bad one, but I was there fighting, battling and that leads you to question yourself, and demand yourself and put the ‘this doesn’t end until it ends’ always in front of you, and you can’t take it for granted until it’s perfect, so that’s how I’ve always tried to do my job. I obviously have to measure myself, because there were times when I didn’t sleep or would hurt my body because I overtrained or demanded too much of myself. So, my therapist told me ‘yes, dude, but calm down a bit, it’s not a vow (he says ‘tampoco es manda’ so I guess he’s talking about when people ask a favor from a deity and then they pay it back by sacrificing their physical integrity at times) either’. 

But I think that American football gave me a fighting spirit, a sense of camaraderie, of teamwork, of strategy and of what you can't do… A player on his own is no one in a match, it’s always teamwork. I mean, you’re a team, a group and in that group, there are many individualities, but at the end of the day, they align towards the same objective and it allows you to achieve something. So I think all of that shaped me, not only on a professional level, but also on a personal level and it ended up making me the actor that I am now.

I finished my degree, I worked for a while, and suddenly, they called me to make a movie professionally, beyond those little calls here and there I took because I was simply bored and looking for something to do and earn some money, no, it was in a professional way. Deficit by Gael García Bernal was my first professional film, and although I had already done things before, it was my first professional film for real. And since then I have not worked on anything else, I haven’t earned a living from anything that is not acting. I’ve lived well, I’ve had seasons of skinny cows, fat cows and seasons where there even aren’t cows (cows are used to talk about money, like, época de vacas flacas is equal to lean years. I kept it because otherwise it didn’t make sense and I don’t know if there’s like a proper translation for this saying, but basically he’s saying he has struggled, has seen a lot of money and sometimes nothing at all). But I keep going, and overall, I think it has allowed me to find myself, to question a lot of things about life that eventually make us grow and now gives me the chance to offer a life, the best life I can, to my daughters. Someone told me something very nice recently: our ceilings will always be the floors of our children, so I want to elevate my ceilings a lot, so my daughters can have firm, solid floors, but they’ll have to build their own buildings. I’m not building anything for these damn kids! (He laughs).

Hey, let’s see if you allow me to go back to Ecatepec but in another sense. I read somewhere, in some interview you gave about the movie where you star as a cop and before you starred in it, you went to enroll in the police academy in Ecatepec, but without saying you were an actor. Tell us about that, because at the end of the day you returned to your land in some way.

Well, yeah, when we were preparing the movie, by the way, I had the script like a year and a half before, well, when the time to prepare the character arrived the director… I wasn’t giving what it needed. Actually, when I finished reading the script, I was about to tell the director that I couldn’t do that, that he needed an actor with more life experience, meaning, an older actor or with more training, because I had only taken workshops, I didn’t study acting as a career. So I was about to quit when he sent me the script and I read it, I was going to see him to tell him “you know what, dude? This story deserves someone who’s more prepared than me or has more life experience’ and when I arrived, he tells me ‘before you tell me anything, before you even speak, I would like to tell you that there’s no other actor in Mexico that can do this, only you. Now, what did you want to tell me?’ and I was like ‘When do we start, dude?’ 

So, the truth is I wasn’t enough, so the director suggested… And at the end of the day it was an agreement, but he said ‘dude, what if you take a few trips to the police academy?’ So I went to the police academy in Mexico City and they told me that no. I said well, I’m going to sign up as a cadet, and they told me that I couldn’t do that either because, I think I can say it openly, I don’t have a military service card, so I couldn’t sign up. And I was like ‘damn it’ and then, my mom knew people in the municipality of Coacalco, from Ecatepunk, and my mom told me ‘go there, they’ll receive you’, so right there my mom did production work, that’s how cool my mom is. So I arrived at the academy and the production intervened, obviously, and the agreements that had to be signed were signed, because I was going to train as a police officer, but since I wasn’t going to sign up, because if I did sign up, like with paperwork and so on, well, after I finished the training I would have had to serve in the police for at least six months. So, we reached an agreement with both the academy authorities and the municipal authorities, which was that I would train there an in exchange, we were going to talk about what was happening, which meant the process, about the Ecatepec police, to whom, to be honest, despite everything, at least what I could see is that a lot of the people that are in the police academy and in the Ecatepec police are people that wants to do things right, good people, honest people. At least that’s what I discovered from my experience. Obviously, every person might have a different one, but I met really good people, with good intentions and well, I graduated. I was going everyday, I was treated just like any other cadet.

In fact, no one knew I was an actor, except for the directors. Only the two of them knew that I was an actor, and well, obviously the municipal president, but apart from them no one else knew. And well, I finished my cadet training and thanks to all that experience I was able to play a role that ended up winning an Ariel and we also were part of the official selection of the Cannes Film Festival, we were in the main competition and we had a great chance of winning, but that was the year when everything happened with Florence Cassez (Not sure if I picked up the name right, but if it’s the right person, she is “a French woman convicted in Mexico of belonging to the kidnapping gang Los Zodíacos (The Zodiacs). She received a 60-year sentence for the crimes of kidnapping, organized crime, and illegal possession of firearms”.). And so there was a lot of…

The camera lens was turned the other way

Yes. I don’t want to say that that’s why… I don’t want to say that that’s why we didn’t win the Cannes Film Festival, but it did have an influence because there was a lot of general animosity towards us.

Tenoch Huerta, we reach the end of the program, the end of this episode. I want you to briefly answer me this last question. That little boy that wore his american football uniform, that little boy that went to college, where you explained that it was like arriving to kinder but 10 times worse, the one that started acting and has conquered international stages, how does he see the future? Where is Tenoch Huerta headed now?

I think that everytime I’m… It’s funny because I think that while my path goes further inward, the further inward I go, ironically, my career is taking me further outward, it’s taking me further in geographical terms, obviously in work terms too, but also in emotional terms. It’s taking me inwards, towards my heart, towards my spirit, towards my mind, towards love. The love I have at home, the love I have from my daughters, even the love from my puppies that were just barking, you know? I think that the further inwards I go, the more the world expands. It’s very funny, they say that universals become universal because they talk about the local, so I think that universalizing ourselves implies, or its first condition is being really honest with an introspective look to see the more human, because in the most intimate and in the most human, it's what we all connect on.

Tenoch, I wish you to continue winning on stages, to continue receiving interesting projects, to continue growing. I thank you for accompanying us until the end of this episode and I ask you to recommend a song to close.

Goodness! There’s a song that was considered the best song of the year and probably of the time, of the decade, it’s called “Oye Mujer” by Raymix. By the way, this dude, if I’m remembering it right, worked in a NASA project, experimenting with sounds and so on, so this dude takes part of the sounds he used the most, he’s an engineer, so he uses his knowledge to design this song that to me seems so beautiful, it’s one of my favorite songs because it’s so pretty and it gives me so much peace and it makes me… It’s funny because he uses sounds from NASA and truly, if you hear it, this song does take you to the stars, no matter how cliché of a romantic gentleman that might sound.

I thank you again, I send you a hug. And I’ll wait for you (the listener) in the next episode.

***

To be honest, I'm a bit dissapointed he didn't speak about future projects, but I understand he might not be able to or doesn't want to just yet. It was fun to know more things about his background, though. It's good to hear him again ❤️‍🩹

(Also he said PUPPIES as in more than one?? I'm DECEASED)

@teeunderscorebee @artintel001 @cutelatinagirl @observers-journal @talokanda-forever @cantstayawaycani @too-many-atoms @neoboha @aolechan @chaoticcatbunny

(sorry if I didn't tag you, as I said I'm rusty and can't remember more usernames rn lol or you speak spanish so this isn't useful to you <3)

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with Interview Magazine (2024)

Before he was known as the dashing Lord Anthony Bridgerton or Tim Laughlin, the character in Fellow Travelers for which he won a Critics Choice Award earlier this month, Jonathan Bailey caught the attention of Phoebe Waller-Bridge with his confident, self-possessed audition for her show Crashing nearly a decade ago. “You came in like a fireball,” said the Fleabag star on Zoom with Bailey, recounting how, while reading for the role of the sex-obsessed Sam, Bailey asked permission to lay his script out on the floor in front of him like a rainbow. “You had no embarrassment. You didn’t actually refer to it again, but you took those few seconds to just completely set up what you exactly needed for that audition, and then you were so free.” In the years since, with roles in Bridgerton, the Showtime drama Fellow Travelers, and the upcoming Wicked movie adaptation, Bailey has become one of the most sought-after actors in the business, capable of generating sparks with whoever’s on screen with him. Waller-Bridge attributes this to the 35-year-old’s distinct understanding of tension. “You’re like a chemistry machine,” she gushed. “There’s this incredible erotic energy that people are so excited about.” Last week, from a hotel room at Claridge’s in London, Bailey talked to Waller-Bridge about longing, orgasms, frosted tips, nostalgia, Shakespeare, and his very first role: playing a raindrop in a stage production of Noah’s Ark.

PHOEBE WALLER-BRIDGE: Hi.

JONATHAN BAILEY: Hi.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I’m taking my glasses off. Now I can be real.

BAILEY: I’ve just had a gin and tonic, actually. I had a meeting and he really wanted a glass of Whispering Angel, so I was like, “Well, I’ve got to dive in.”

WALLER-BRIDGE: What’s the time there?

BAILEY: Oh, I’m literally around the corner from you. Literally, I’ve come into Claridge’s Hotel and checked in for an hour just to have a Zoom.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Oh, god. That’s so chic. Jonny, I want all of your secrets.

BAILEY: I feel like you’ve got quite a few of them already.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I do, actually. And we’re not going to talk about any of those. But I did also get to do a little bit of research on you.

BAILEY: Oh, god. What have you got?

WALLER-BRIDGE: Jonathan Stewart Bailey, I’d like to jump straight in with the fact that the first professional job you had was playing a teardrop, or a raindrop?

BAILEY: There were teardrops, but yeah, I was playing a raindrop.

WALLER-BRIDGE: You were a crying raindrop.

BAILEY: A crying raindrop in Noah’s Ark.

WALLER-BRIDGE: And how old were you then?

BAILEY: I think I was about 5 going on 29. I was really upset because it didn’t rain. The bitch that played Noah, she forgot the cue for the rain to come. So my dance didn’t make it, but at the end of the show they allowed me to do it once everyone had applauded.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I asked you that specifically because you’ve also said that your grandmother took you to see a production of Oliver in London and that’s what changed everything.

BAILEY: Yes.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So was the raindrop before or after that? I am getting to something, I promise.

BAILEY: I think it was probably afterwards. I was really young when I went to see Oliver.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I’m interested because I read that seeing it made you decide you wanted to perform. Can you tell me the specific thing that made it click?

BAILEY: I’ll tell you, the most bizarre thing is that I had three seasons at the RSC under my belt by the age of nine. There was a moment where I played Prince Arthur, the kid in Shakespeare who gets his eyes gouged out and has to escape a turret. I remember doing that production and thinking I was aware of the power of words, if that makes sense. You’re so porous at that age, I think. It is such a gift, isn’t it, to be shown what iambic pentameter is.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you still feel passionate about Shakespeare now?

BAILEY: I do, actually. It’s my dirty, filthy habit.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Your dirty little habit. I know what you mean, though, how if you come to it quite raw, and it’s not something that you’ve had shoved down your throat at school, there is nothing more epic and spectacular.

BAILEY: And being around people who are just so committed to their vocation, whether they’re writing or creating. The smell backstage at the RSC at the Barbican was like cigarettes, stage makeup, Joe Fiennes, and hope.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s a lot of beautiful smells you’ve got going on there.

BAILEY: I know. Talk about top notes and bottom notes. I was like, “These men, these titans of theater!”

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s extraordinary that you were exposed to that kind of level of professionalism. Because you are consummately professional, and I remember that. You have this incredible ability to be completely live and spontaneous and wild at the same time as being so incredibly professional, and that’s why working with you felt totally safe. I know that I’ve got a professional actor coming today, but I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen because you still managed to keep that spontaneity and danger.

BAILEY: I suppose it’s sometimes dangerous. Today I had to do an interview. Crashing came up and I described working with you as being on the constant edge of an orgasm and also hysteria.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It did have a kind of wild, beautiful energy.

BAILEY: There’s a chemical alchemy when you get the right group of people led by the right people.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I haven’t had that in quite the same way since, where everyone has equal importance in the story. That’s the thing that feels quite rare, actually, there’s like six of you and they’re all as fucked up as each other. I remember your audition. You came in like a fireball and you already felt like you had a Sam energy. You sat in your chair, took out your script from your bag, and then you were like, “Give me a second,” and you laid out your script around you on the floor. You had no embarrassment about what you needed or in front of you. You didn’t actually refer to it again, but you took those few seconds to just completely set up what you exactly needed for that audition, and then you were so free. And I just wonder if you’ve felt that particular type of confidence your whole life?

BAILEY: That’s a really good question. I’ve got three older sisters and I wonder if they are a structure. I’ve definitely been in environments where I don’t feel free, and then you give the worst performance of your life. What I’ve found in the last few years is that, of course, you have to adapt so quickly to work out what you need in order to be able to be free. I think if I don’t have the equivalent of that on the floor, I panic or get really scared.

WALLER-BRIDGE: There’s something about that, which is being able to play dangerously in a safe environment. I feel like that’s got so much to do with an understanding of tension, which I think you have. You’re like a chemistry machine. Obviously, with Bridgerton and then in Fellow Travelers, there’s this incredible erotic energy that people are so excited about.

BAILEY: I really think it comes from Crashing.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It doesn’t come from Crashing, it comes from you. I think you’re the king of tension. I think you understand what that is.

BAILEY: I think you can give yourself butterflies, can’t you?

WALLER-BRIDGE: Is that what you’re looking for, the butterfly all the time?

BAILEY: Yeah, I’m always looking for my butterfly farm. The misty, slightly smelly greenhouse full of butterflies.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s your tummy?

BAILEY: Yeah, that’s my tummy.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Did you always dream of playing leading man roles growing up?

BAILEY: Not at all, no. I never thought I would be able to.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Why?

BAILEY: I’ve realized that I’m completely in awe of other people and performances and creative endeavors. I go to the theater and I love a performance and I’m like, “How do they do that? I can’t see the seams.” So therefore, I feel like I must be driven by that. And when something comes my way, there’s a fear that it won’t work.

WALLER-BRIDGE: What’s really exciting to me is when I see palpable dynamics between characters, which you have done multiple times, like the relationship between Tim and Hawk. There’s so much opportunity for intimacy and that kind of danger. And when you get to play those sorts of roles, when you know that you can stand in front of each other and you don’t really need to do anything because it’s giving you something, it must’ve just been a joy walking into this world because it’s like a banquet of stuff to play with, right?

BAILEY: Totally, and it feels sort of vital and sexy. I do remember this one memory, which I guess I’ll share with you now. I did play and there was a tiled wall,at eye level with a mirrored border around. And there was a guy, we were into each other, and I remember just looking up in the middle of a conversation and he was looking at me in a reflection. And I was like, “This is what life is about.” Anyway, I think that it must have something to do with feeling the most alive in that.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you know Esther Perel?

BAILEY: Yeah, I love Esther Perel.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So she’s written about how she believes that your next orgasm begins at the very end of your last one, which is basically our whole life just building up to our next orgasm.

BAILEY: That’s just fantastic. It’s just so positive and hopeful—

WALLER-BRIDGE: And so beautiful, isn’t it?

BAILEY: It is.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Everything that you encounter in your life, every conversation that you have, is in some way building up to the next euphoric physical experience. Every single character has to have that inside them one way or another, because every human does. And I think with Fellow Travelers, because you long for them so much as an audience and you want them to have everything that they want from each other, but they’re also brutal to themselves and to each other, there is something so extraordinary seeing characters in that time portrayed in the way that you guys have portrayed them.

BAILEY: One thing that we’re all born with is the sense of longing. Longing comes before anything else, doesn’t it? Whoever you put on the wall, laminate the poster or whatever, it’s there. And actually, if you long for someone, more often than not you don’t think you are worthy of it. And that, to me, is a way into characters.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you remember your laminated poster longing person?

BAILEY: I think I had the Simpsons, which was obviously me trying to disguise myself as much as possible. Lucy Liu was a big one for me, too.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Well, I can see that.

BAILEY: I suppose there’s the laminated wall in my literal bedroom and then there’s the laminated wall in my gay—

WALLER-BRIDGE: Mind.

BAILEY: Who was yours?

WALLER-BRIDGE: You know what? It’s really interesting, because I was the eagle in the Rescuers Down Under. That wasn’t necessarily a sexual longing, but it was a romantic idea, that overwhelming sense of watching the Rescuers Down Under and being able to run out of the back of my house on my own, age 10, and jump onto the back of a giant eagle and he’ll fly me around. But in terms of just a hottie that I really fancied, I think it was probably Leo [DiCaprio].

BAILEY: Oh, yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Are you a nostalgic person?

BAILEY: Yes, I think so. I think a lot about my younger self. I’m always like, “Guys, remember this?” It’s slightly annoying, but I’m always drawing a line between the past and now for sure.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s how you measure your life, by remembering the time that’s gone by or what 11-year-old you would think of what you were doing?

BAILEY: I think I’m probably more romantic than nostalgic, if that makes sense.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Go on.

BAILEY: Well, I just think I’ve fully committed to the idea of everything being brilliant and then I work backwards from there.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Well, having starred in two hit period dramas and also being a huge part of the fact that they are a hit, that’s why I wondered about what your relationship is with the past and history, and how much you actually knew about McCarthy America?

BAILEY: Oh, no. Have you got a quiz?

WALLER-BRIDGE: I actually don’t. Do you want one?

BAILEY: No, that would be the worst.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you enjoy historical novels? Do you live in the past in any way in your mind? Or you are kind of like, “We’re here and we’re moving forward?”

BAILEY: I do think I’m here and moving forward. I really struggled with history at school, I could not take in information about the past. When it came to exams, I would remember the page where things were written but I couldn’t stitch together epochs and eras and kings.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It crashes my brain, too. I have a friend, and you can say to her, “June 24th, 1999,” and she can tell you pretty much what she was up to.

BAILEY: That’s amazing.

WALLER-BRIDGE: You can see her go into the diary in her mind. She has a very different wiring of her brain. But speaking of longing, are there any fictional or real life couples, gay or straight, that captured your heart over the years?

BAILEY: Oh my god, what a question. What about Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling in Blue Valentine?

WALLER-BRIDGE: I think Morticia and Gomez Addams were the most romantic couple.

BAILEY: Yeah, I see that.

WALLER-BRIDGE: They understood it. They got it all.

BAILEY: Also maybe Ryan and Marissa in The OC.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Any gay male couples that you ever looked up to or were romanced by?

BAILEY: Well unfortunately, there just weren’t that many were there growing up.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So wild.

BAILEY: But I met Matthew Rhys recently, who I just love. And I was thinking about that relationship in Brothers and Sisters. And then there was Queer as Folk. Russell, T. Davies changed the game. So many people owe so much to him just purely for visibility. There is no Tim and Hawk to a 2023 audience without Queer as Folk.

WALLER-BRIDGE: But did you feel frustrated?

BAILEY: Well, speaking of history, I was doing media studies with an amazing teacher and I decided that I was going to do my dissertation about the representations of Hutus and Tutsis and the Rwanda genocide, looking at Hotel Rwanda and Shooting Dogs. And then Brokeback Mountain came out and I was like, “Hang on, how can I possibly create a world where I can go and have a free pass to go to the cinema to watch it 10 times?” I’m really proud of my 17-year-old self, I wasn’t necessarily out, but I changed the topic to representation of homosexuality in Brokeback Mountain and I watched that film 10 times. And this amazing teacher, Dr. Brunton, who probably had an idea of what was going on, was just like, “This is brilliant, keep going, keep going.” And I think it was the best mark I ever got.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you still have it?

BAILEY: It must be on a hard drive upstairs in the attic. And obviously, that completely changed me, something chemical happened there. But it’s funny, I’m not clear on memories. And I do think it’s a common thing for a lot of people, growing up and having to survive and be basically in fight or flight, there’s a murkiness to how I recall.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Of course, because you couldn’t be truly present because you weren’t being completely yourself.

BAILEY: Totally, yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: When you look back and start unpacking it, do you feel overwhelmed with sympathy for how hard you were having to work as a 16-year-old, coming up with excuses to see the movie that you wanted to see?

BAILEY: Yeah. But I spent more time trying to be sympathetic towards the people that were around me who didn’t support or couldn’t help. I look back and I go, “Hell.”

WALLER-BRIDGE: Yes. But you are representing that and living that for so many people now. Your speech at the Critics Choice Awards the other day was so sublime and beautiful and straight from the heart. You are so electric as a human being and that is the most important thing. There aren’t many people in the world that can do that, that can stand there in front of people and speak from their heart about what it means to them to be given this opportunity. And I know that your career is just going to be the most extraordinary journey. When I first met you, I remember sitting with Josh [Cole], who was the producer on Crashing, and we were like, “If we get this guy, it’s going to be the game changer for the show.” And I know that every single person now wanting you on their project is feeling the same thing.

BAILEY: I definitely feel overwhelmed by that, but it’s lovely to hear.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Can I just ask you one question which I couldn’t remember about Crashing?

BAILEY: Yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: The frosted tips were your idea, wasn’t it?

BAILEY: I had this conversation today. I think it’s in the script. But my reference picture was Justin Timberlake in double denim.

WALLER-BRIDGE: No, I don’t think it was [in the script], because Sam’s a character that I hold closest to my heart because, in so many ways, he represents how I feel about maybe my inner life. I just love him so much, and your ability to play every single little corner of him that I dreamed of.

BAILEY: Maybe that’s the answer I was looking for when you asked if I was drawn to any romantic couples? No, it was just about wanting bleach blonde hair.

Source

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

HI!! i loved your Bill Kaulitz as a dad. Daddy's Here.

yeah so i was thinking of another dad (2023 bill) fic where he has a daughter that is like him when he was younger and she asks if she can dye his hair and transform him into his emo self so they can be twins for an event thing.(like met gala or some event like that) he agrees and like at the end Uncle Tom is shocked! or something like that. i just think it would be really cute!

also i love your writing! keep it up pls!!!

<3<3<3

2023!Bill Kaulitz Back to 2005

He was very hesitant at first I feel like

He had done his makeup wmd stuff like that before to look like he was still in 2005 for fun

But he had never really thought about doing the whole thing again

Until you asked, more like begged, him too

It took a lot of convincing to make your dad to it, I'm not gonna lie

Mainly because he likes his style now and didn't want to have to spend the whole time trying to do everything again and dye his hair

He's lazy my dude, your dad is lazy

But somehow, you did it!

It was mainly because he likes seeing how happy you were at the idea

He has raised you around that stuff, and you were probably born in one of his eras, probably one of his emo eras, and wanted to see what it was like to actually experience it

Especially because you had only seen videos and pictures of him when they first started out and you wanted to see him like that in person

When you got older he was pretty surprised you were just like him when he was younger

In terms of style, hair, makeup and stuff like that

He thought the past was coming to bite him in the ass but he supported your style, he would be a hypocrite if he didn't

He was actually pretty excited you were taking after him, it was sort of nostalgia for him

But actually playing the part of his 2005 self with you seemed hesitant but a pretty fun idea

He was down after enough convincing from you

You guys turned it into a surprise, choosing to reveal it to everyone at an event

He was pretty excited for the bands reaction to him

It was pure chaos trying to get ready though

You guys had so much fun, but it was pretty chaotic as he tried to recreate his hairdo once more

He forgot how much hairstyle and he or fucking took

He had a set rule not to touch his hair once it was done and man, it looked exactly the same

If you have the same length hair he did the same one on you but if you didn't you settled for like one of his later looks, like in 2007

Bill is still the master at doing the hair and he said it felt like muscle memory

He got pretty emotional seeing you and him dressed up in the mirror

He realized how old you both were

He thought 15 was a shit age, but he still sorta missed it a bit, just being that young and that much fun

But he was so excited to see you and how excited you were made it all worth it

You and him did a good job hiding it all and when you guys got there and revealed it was so fun

Tom was actually very shocked and laughing

"Was hast du gemacht?"

Tom was laughing at how you begged your dad to do it and how your dad gave in

But he knew it was true as Bill would do anything for you

He was making fun of his brother but he also felt sorta nostalgic

Wanted him to dress up like his old self with his kid now

Get the band back together and shit

You guys got a very fun and positive message from social media

The pictures turned out great and Bill actually seemed like he was still on 2005, just a bit taller and more mature now

Especially with his own kid wrapped up in his arm

Tom and the band had fun posing with him

Georg and Gustav were non stop poking fun but said he should do it more often

You may have caused a little thing where you force everyone to dress as their old selves

Give Uncle Georg a wig