#i hate tumbles format lately

[fushiguruuzzzz]

OUT THE DOOR, INTO THE LIGHT.

you hated missing osamu miya. what you loathed even further was him being just out of reach.

a request for my 700 event from @cherrysurf but I got a little carried away and decided to format. exes to something anew. sort of hurt/comf but not entirely. not proofread. first time writing for osamu. word count of about 1.1k.

a/n: okay now I work on mattsun texts and school work.

missing osamu miya was the most agonizing thing you had ever had the misfortune of experiencing. what was once a sunny world, filled with rapid heartbeats and the nearly imperceptible smell of cooking that seemed to cling to the cotton of his t-shirts, was now a dreary nothingness filled only by the aching of your heart. it was louder than any sob you had allowed to tumble from your lips, those that were once pressed to his but were now left in solidarity. you did not let yourself cry over him, no, choosing to grasp desperately to the last crumb of composure you had access to, but the wails of your soul rang louder in your ears than any verbal expression. the yearning was a wicked spirit, seeping into your skin and invading your nerves with messages that chanted his name. that and some other profanities directed at yourself for causing it at all, but that was not the most haunting sensation.

thanks to the curse that seemed to have doomed you from the very beginning, you had a rather awakening discovery: missing osamu miya was agonizing. having him close was much worse. as you sat in the passenger seat of his car, the cool press of leather on your bare thighs the only piece of you that was not burning up in pure shame and self-loathing, this was more prominent than it had ever been. it baffled you, the mere concept of hurting even more when he was right beside you than you did the first moment he was not. disoriented, you were, but aware nonetheless.

the ache in your chest drew attention to itself, leaving you defenseless to withhold as the words tumbled from your lips. “i’m sorry.”

each syllable cut through the moonlit ambience of the vehicle, burying deeper and deeper into the silence until it shattered under the pressure of unresolved turmoil. his eyes flicked to you, and they looked more gray than you had ever seen them — or were you forgetting his face already? that was a thought you were unready to face head on.

“don’t be,” he murmured, the simple, withdrawn answer packing more material onto the wall that had risen between you. he was silent again. he was always, as restricting as it was, always silent. his fingers flexed around the steering wheel, the action such a subtle display of tenseness that you would not have noticed, had you not felt the exact same way.

he paused as you came to a halt, the crimson glow of the red light casting over his features. softer than those of his twin, worn by taste tests and his deep rooted love that led him to his career, but alluring all the same. “why’d ya’ call me?”

barely a whisper, as if he could not resist asking. you felt embarrassment pump through your veins as you tried to think of an explanation that seemed at least relatively normal. any sort of answer that was not sorry, it was late and I knew you would be up because you watch television on fridays as a treat for yourself or I simply remember your routine, because I used to share it with you, and remembered you were in the area. instead you said something far less extravagant, but still lacking the nonchalance to cover up the meaning.

“figured you’d be awake,” you replied.

“ah.”

it was the truth. you needed a ride, and the convenience of calling osamu was your only source of reasoning. not because you wanted to see him.

another gaze that seemed to bore heart shaped holes in your head, and you were starting to wonder how long it would take for the light to be green. was traffic always this slow so late at night?

osamu took a breath, the air pouring into his lungs and filling his chest for a long moment. the subtle movement was not lost on your eyes, for despite being fixed on the road ahead, they simply could not resist analysing him.

“i’m glad you called me,” he said.

for someone so steady, so calm, he had a way of taking you by surprise. there were many things you had expected him to say to you. you expected him to lecture you, to bring back the sorrowful memories of how things had been — actually, you had not expected to find yourself this near to him at all.

“you are?”

he nodded, a strand of hair falling into his eyes and curtaining him in gentle shadows. he had let it grow out, never really bothered to follow up with his barber as often as he once had. he looked good, really, just… tired. as though he could not be asked to care anymore. “yeah.”

you let out an exhale. you had been almost sure you had misheard him, but the confirmation made something content and nostalgic bubble in your chest.

for the first time that night, you lifted your eyes from the dashboard and looked at him. really, truly looked at him in the flesh. it was a refreshing change from the fuzzy lenses of your memory, contorted by longing and the dread for the next day set to be lived alone. he looked much more real like this, much more human. his eyes met yours and there was something that clicked, the tension in the air fading and melting into blissful nothingness. a clean slate, possibly.

he hesitated before he continued, but decided to go for it, and chalk it up to exhaustion in the morning. “missed seeing your face.”

a small smile pulled at your lips, and you had to bite your cheek to refrain from letting the satisfaction bleed any further into your face. “did you, now?”

he shot you a glance as the car began to move again, unimpressed. “don’t push it,” he replied, but there was a hint of fondness concealed beneath the stubborn command. in truth, he was just happy to see a bit of your spark again.

he let out a small huff of amusement, breathing into the car and ridding it of any tethers to the past. the crushing pressure weighing down on your frail heart seemed to lift, eased by the simple sound of his voice. every passing streetlight felt like a step closer to something different, something more right than fleeting moments and the knowledge of the end. it felt familiar, and yet entirely new at once.

missing osamu miya was agonizing. having him close felt worse, but ultimately, was all you had ever yearned for.

🏷️. - @sh0ot1ngst4r @Azinniya @Kashee-h @fiannee @bubybubsters @lizbix @mayyhaps @adoresia @gumims @cinnamxnangel @sickpatientt @aldebrana @cancelledkat @wizzzierr @jadeyaps

[babytarttdoodoo]

Jamie’s afraid of making a big deal out of being hurt after everything that happened in season 1 - he doesn’t want everyone to think he’s being a prick again. But then one day either in season 2 or 3 he actually is genuinely hurt badly (the reason is up to you) but doesn’t tell anyone and shows up to practice anyway. It’s bad enough that he collapses on the field and that’s when everyone finds out.

I could have made this so much easier on myself and literally just written the conversation at the end. As it is, I started hating this about a third of the way through.

I hope that's just hyper-criticism of my own work and that this is still an enjoyable request fill.

---

It wasn’t like he’d done it on purpose.

A lack of sleep, a dark hallway, and a half-forgotten set of steps had all converged into a little tumble in the middle of the night. That was all.

A bruised side. A knock on the head. No big deal.

That’s what Jamie had told himself as he’d inspected the damage in the mirror. He would be fine. He could put his kit on at home and wear a beanie to cover up the dark smudge of skin at his temple.

No one would notice. No one needed to know. It would be fine. Hardly the first time he’d pushed through an injury to stay in the game, was it?

He didn’t need to miss training. He didn’t need to turn up at Nelson Road and tell Ted he couldn’t play. Just the thought of trying to do so sent a thrill of unease through Jamie that he wasn’t keen to examine too closely.

So he took some ibuprofen, slowly and stiffly got changed into his Richmond gear, and called a taxi to get himself to the training ground late enough that no one had time to question his appearance.

(Driving was out of the question. He could admit that.)

Roy all but sneered at him when he stumbled in - that wasn’t anything to write home about, though. He caught a few looks from the others and had to wave Dani off on their way out to the pitch but, otherwise, Jamie was able to keep his head down and not draw attention to himself.

Drills were awful. Just stretching out his legs had him biting his tongue against making any pained sounds. When they started lunging, the hot-sick pain in his side necessitated swallowing down bile.

Sprints weren’t the worst, though Isaac definitely noticed he wasn’t starting from a crouch as he normally would. Then Nate had them doing a coordination exercise, hopping sideways and throwing balls between each other.

Lifting his arms was bad enough. Then each hop jolted Jamie’s whole body and made his head throb.

He managed, somehow, but Jamie wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He was being slow and clumsy. He was being useless. Fuck.

Panting, sweating, and trying not to throw up, he hovered at the back of the group and prayed no one called him out. No such luck. 

“You alright, mate?” Colin had sidled over while Ted called out their scrimmage teams. He was speaking quietly, which Jamie appreciated, but frowned at him with an unusual level of seriousness. Shit.

“Course I am.” Jamie forced himself to straighten up and smile. It felt wrong on his face. Too many teeth. “Just got a stitch. Didn’t drink enough.”

Colin looked doubtful, like he was about to question him further, but Jamie pushed forward to accept his yellow vest from Beard and positioned himself as far away from the Welshman as he could.

He was careful to stay in the formation they were practising, though. No sense in fucking up training for everyone more than he already had.

Roy hollered “WHISTLE!” from the side of the pitch and everyone lurched into action. Running around wasn’t so bad and Jamie soon lost himself in the game, following the movement of the ball and players with a preternatural instinct, ignoring any pain as the inconvenient distraction it was.

The few times the ball came his way, he took control of it as if by second nature, barely having to tell his feet what to do as he passed to Dani, then to Sam ten minutes later.

He was being a good teammate. He was playing like he was supposed to. And then he heard someone shout his name.

Jamie didn't need to look around to know that the ball would be sailing through the air towards him. He didn't need to deliberate about what to do. He would catch the ball on his chest and send it to Sam again before Richard could make it close enough to tackle. It was the only option to get it in the net.

He didn't need to think about it. He just did it.

And his sore, battered ribs only crossed his mind when he jumped up and twisted mid-air.

The yelp of pain was completely involuntary and Jamie would have been horrendously embarrassed by it if he hadn’t immediately crumpled into a heap on the pitch.

Something had grinded in his torso. It fucking hurt. It felt wrong.

He distantly registered the sound of an actual whistle over the rushing white noise in his ears as he lay gasping on the damp grass. A hand grasped his arm and Jamie realised Richard had skidded to his knees beside him, ball forgotten.

“Jamie? What’s wrong?” More hands were on him, trying to turn him over, but the slight pull sent another wave of sick pain through his side and he keened, curling up further to stave off the harm. “Merde, get the medics.”

“Colin’s already gone.” That was Isaac, a lot closer than he’d been less than five minutes ago, defending the box on the other end of the pitch. “He��ll need a stretcher if we can’t move him ourselves.”

“Fuck.” The notion of needing to be carried out of training brought Jamie back to himself. “I don’t need… Fuck it. I’m fine.”

“No, you are not.” Sam was standing over him as well, Jamie realised as he tried to force himself up to his knees at least. Most of the team were looming around, actually, and Ted broke through their little huddle right as a spike in pain brought up the vomit Jamie had been desperately holding back all morning.

“Hoo boy.” An American accent could really cut through the crowd, apparently, since Jamie had no problem hearing that low exclamation over twenty or so sounds of disgust.

Someone stopped him from pitching forward into his own sick and Jamie finally, limply, accepted help back upright onto his own shaky legs. Ted’s hands were one of the several pairs supporting him and Jamie could feel the humiliation and shame rising up in his gut like another bout of nausea.

“Sorry, coach,” he mumbled, even as he let Isaac put a secure arm around his waist. Sam tried to prop up his other side but Jamie shied away with an apologetic shake of the head. “Ribs. Don’t- Can’t lift me arm right now.”

He silently begged the younger player to understand, to not take it as yet another personal slight. Because Sam Obisanya was a much better person than Jamie would ever be, he only took a firm hold of Jamie’s elbow instead, face belying nothing but concern.

“Okay, folks, let’s give him some room.” Ted shooed gently at everyone not currently vital to keeping Jamie vertical. “You fellas got a good hold of him? We can get a stretcher out here, tout sweet.”

“Don’t want a fucking stretcher. I can walk.” Jamie bit out, choosing not to acknowledge how heavily he was still leaning on Isaac and Sam.

“Well, son, I’m not all too keen on taking your word for that right now.”

Ted’s tone didn’t change at all from the pleasant, practical way he’d just addressed the others. He didn’t raise his voice even a little. Jamie still felt the admonishment like a physical blow and hung his head with a wince.

“We’ve got him,” Sam spoke up. “Treatment room, right?”

They made an awkward threesome, hobbling off the pitch behind Ted and down the tunnel. Colin jogged out to meet them with a medic in tow and (surprise, surprise) Roy peeled off from the other coaches to join the entourage hustling Jamie towards the now-not-haunted medical suite.

Settled uncomfortably on the edge of the reclining bed, with a hovering audience whose eyes he couldn’t meet if he tried, Jamie numbly answered the medic’s questions about his pain level and location. He allowed her to gently remove his hat and examine the bruise underneath, went through the concussion tests without complaint, and was even honest about when he’d last eaten or drank anything.

When she pulled up his shirt, there was more than one sympathetic wince around the room. A quick look down confirmed that the bruise, though still quite small, had deepened in colour since he’d last poked at it and his skin looked oddly swollen around the area.

Even the barest methodical prodding with careful fingers made Jamie flinch and hiss through his teeth. The medic (Jennifer, Jamie vaguely recalled) hummed thoughtfully.

“Two are definitely broken. You’ll need to stay off the pitch for a few weeks, at least.”

The prognosis tightened Jamie’s throat like a hand was clamped around his neck. 

“Weeks? Nah, fuck that,” he choked out. “I were playing fine until I took the chest ball. I can still score.”

“Are you actually thick?” Roy demanded, loud and angry as per usual. There was something wild in his expression as he stepped closer to the bed. “How fucking stupid do you have to be to try and play with broken fucking ribs.”

“Fuck off, you won’t even coach me,” Jamie snarled at him, all attempts at mending bridges forgotten in the wake of pain and frustration. “Don’t act like it matters if I play hurt or not. I’ve done it plenty times before.”

“Alright, alright!” Ted cut in between them before Roy could retort with whatever words had conjured up that twisted, outraged look on his face. Nothing good, Jamie was sure.

“Roy, why don’t you take five, okay? In fact, let’s clear the room. Y’all got things to do, I’ll stick with Jamie while the good doc here gets him set up with what he needs.”

Even with Ted partially blocking his view, Jamie could see Roy was about to argue. Surprisingly, it was Isaac’s hand on his shoulder that seemed to take the wind out of his sails.

“Fuck! Fine!” He shrugged the hand off and pointed damningly at Jamie’s face. “But you’re not putting a toe out on the grass until I say so, you bloody fuckwit.”

With that, Roy stormed out of the room, sending the door bouncing off the wall with the force of his exit. Jamie’s teammates followed much more sedately, all with looks back over their shoulders and quiet murmurs Jamie couldn’t discern.

“Here.” He jumped slightly when maybe-Jennifer reappeared at his side with a bundle of items. “Drink this and take two paracetamol. Hold the ice pack to your side for twenty minutes. If the swelling hasn’t gone down, I’ll send you home with a few extras, okay?”

“Thank you kindly, doc,” Ted answered for him. “I’ll make sure he stays put for a bit.”

“Not a doctor,” she corrected mildly but gave Ted a smile and nod. “I’ll need you to sign an incident report and there’s some insurance paperwork to go through. I’ll go get the ball rolling on that and check in later.”

Jamie didn’t really like the way they were talking around him, rather than to him. He liked the idea of being alone with Ted after having caused a scene and an extra load of work for him even less. Still, he couldn’t think of any reason for the medic to stay and just watched her walk away, gently closing the door in her wake.

“You should probably do as she says,” Ted said softly after a moment of quiet, indicating the bottle of water and packet of tablets. “Doesn’t strike me as the ‘take it or leave it’ kind of advice. Rarely is, from those of the medical persuasion, even if they don’t have a fancy title.”

Moving like he was underwater, braced for the other shoe to drop, Jamie silently went through the motions of taking the painkillers. He tried not to move in any way that would agitate his injury but his hands were still shaking by the time he reached for the ice pack.

“Oh, here, let me…” Ted stepped in closer, his own hands outstretched, and Jamie flinched violently. The sudden jolt caused his abused ribs to make themselves known all over again and a small shout fell from his mouth unbidden.

“Alright, okay, no touching, got that memo, loud and clear,” Ted rambled on while Jamie waited for his vision to clear from the haze of pain. When it did, he noticed his coach frozen in place, hands still hovering in midair and significantly less threatening than moments before.

“Sorry,” he croaked, embarrassment and discomfort robbing his voice. “Didn’t mean… I’m sorry.”

“Now, hey, no. That one’s on me.” Ted glanced around and pulled up a chair to sit near Jamie’s knees. “How’s about you get that ice where it needs to be and you and I have a little heart-to-heart, that sound okay?”

Jamie nodded and gingerly wrapped the frozen pouch in the towel provided before applying it to his side. The relief was almost immediate and he felt his shoulders relax from the tense position he hadn’t even registered amongst everything else.

Ted clearly noticed too, since he smiled up at Jamie. There was still a furrow between his eyebrows, though.

“Ain’t it great when stuff helps the way it’s supposed to?” he started and Jamie tried not to let the dread of what was coming show on his face. “You know, when you’re sure that, in theory, something should do you good but you’re not quite bought into the reality yet? It’s a damn good feeling when the bet pays off.

“Course, sometimes it goes the other way. The thing that’s supposed to help you doesn’t do anything at all. Or, hell, it just makes everything worse…”

“I’m sorry,” Jamie blurted out again in a panic. “I weren’t trying to do that. I swear, I know I’m not supposed to mess up training or nothing. I… I…”

“Whoa, whoa, Jamie!” Ted’s smile had dropped clean off his face. “I think we’ve got some wires all muddled up here, somewhere. I’m not fishing for an apology. Matter of fact, I’m kind of wriggling on the end of the hook, myself.”

Jamie really, honestly tried to wrap his head around that one. He failed. “What?”

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” Ted told him firmly. “We all knew something wasn’t right with you out there today and let you play on through anyway. That’s no bueno. If you can’t rely on your coach to help you out when you need it, well, then, that’s not a sign of a very good coach, is it?”

Jamie stared at him, dumbfounded. “But… I didn’t tell you I were hurt.”

“There is that,” Ted agreed easily, nodding and settling back in his chair. “And I’d sure like to hear how you got knocked around so good in the whole twelve hours you were out of our sight. Any particular reason you didn’t share that with the class this morning?”

“I…” The hand that wasn’t holding the ice pack to Jamie’s ribs started picking at the disposable paper sheet on the bed. “I fell. Down the stairs at me house. Last night. I. It didn’t hurt too bad, I thought.”

Ted hummed. “Well, you see? Accident like that, it ain’t anybody’s fault. And you felt okay after?”

The excuse hung there so temptingly that Jamie was almost inclined to think they were back to mind games. He could tell Ted that he’d been sore, but fine, up until he got out on the pitch. But that would be just another lie, wouldn’t it? And all lying had done for him today was drag more and more people into his shit.

So, instead of agreeing like he so desperately wanted to do, he shook his head slowly.

“No, no I weren’t okay.” He swallowed and looked down at his shoes, dangling just shy of the floor. “Couldn’t even drive myself in, could I? But I thought being here and acting normal was better than… better than saying I couldn’t train today. More important.”

“Oh. Now, that’s another thing to chalk up in the ‘no bueno’ category, I’m sorry to say.” Ted’s voice had softened again but Jamie couldn’t bring himself to look up. “Jamie, if you’re hurting, ever, practice or no, I’d really rather you say so. Nothing’s more important than that.”

“Team is,” Jamie objected quietly. “Being here is. I don’t got anywhere to get sent back to now, do I?”

That sullen admission hung in the air. Jamie heard Ted suck in a breath.

“Okay. Alright. Could you do me a favour and try to lift that handsome as all heck face of yours up, just a smidge? I’m getting the feeling eye contact is going to be real important here.”

With very few options of avoidance available to him, Jamie forced himself to meet Ted’s gaze. His expression bore a startling resemblance to Roy’s wild-eyed reaction before, which did nothing to set Jamie’s mind at ease.

“Jamie, when you turned up to practice last season and said you weren’t going to train, I assumed you were mad because I benched you. That sound about right?”

The player nodded, ready for the familiar prickle of shame that clawed through his chest at the memory.

“So you weren’t actually hurt? Or did I get that wrong?”

Jamie shook his head this time, then clarified: “Were being a prick.”

“Alright, that’s fine. Water under the bridge.” Ted scrubbed a hand over his face, looking relieved for some bizarre reason. “Can we agree, though, that there’s a difference between someone pretending to be hurt, for whatever reason, and someone actually being badly injured? That a middle ground we can settle on?”

“Yeah…” Jamie agreed cautiously.

“Outstanding.” Ted took a deep breath. “So, let’s just take a little hop, skip and jump from there to how things might’ve played out a little differently today than they did last year?”

“Oh.” Jamie blinked a few times, processing. Slotting that bit of logic into the missing gaps of the day. “You’re not angry at me for missing training?”

Ted’s face broke back into a genuine, if tired, smile. “No, sir, I am not angry at you for that. Or for any other reason, while we’re on the subject. I am… mighty disappointed that you didn’t feel like you could come to me, or even call when you took your little tumble. But I think maybe we can both agree to do a little better next time, how about that?”

He held out his hand for a shake - his left, in deference to Jamie’s occupied right. That small concession alone was enough for Jamie to wordlessly grasp Ted’s palm with his own in a firm hold.

“Alright. I’ll try.”

“I know, Jamie,” Ted assured him. “That’s all any of us can do.”

[miniscrew-anon]

I'm pretty sure I've written this scene like 3937163526 times but whatever lmao here you go

Shadow strutted into Four’s room as usual, creaking the door ever so slightly so Four knew he was here. Even so, Four still jolted when he noticed him out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s late, Rain,” Shadow remarked as flopped down onto the bed next to Four. Four groaned as he rolled over to make room. It was nearly 3, in fact. Did that mean it was actually early? He wasn’t sure.

“Mm…couldn’t sleep,” Four replied lamely. Clearly a lie.

Shadow scoffed. “You know I can see when you’re online, right? Don’t pretend you even tried.”

Four sighed. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I dunno, lost track of time or something.” He set down his phone and rolled over to look at Shadow. “You weren’t sleeping either,” he pointed out.

“I was working, man! You were just lying here.”

“Working until 2 in the morning?”

“Fair point,” Shadow admitted. He’d gone down another internet rabbit hole. Something wasn’t right about this place, and Four knew it too. He just needed to figure out what.

“I guess…well, I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately,” Four said.

“Yeah, I knew,” Shadow replied. “You’ve been more distant, taking longer to respond- you’re not taking care of yourself, Four. Have you even been eating enough?” He llifted a strand of hair out of Four’s face. “What’s going on?”

Four didn’t reply for a few moments. “I…I’m not sure,” he decided. “Got caught up in…other things, and well, it’s just been so busy, I just kind of forgot, you know?”

Shadow nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do know.” He pulled Four close, realizing how thin he felt. “Just take care of yourself, alright?”

Four chuckled. “Yeah, okay.”

“Promise?” Shadow teased.

“Okay, okay, I promise!” Four laughed, chucking a pillow at Shadow.

“How’re the…roommates?”

“Housemates, I guess. They’re fine. I haven’t really been up to the third floor, but I am praying that the guy doesn’t have any more rooms. Nine people in a house is enough.”

“No kidding. Who even are they?” Shadow hadn’t seen much of them, he made a point to keep his presence as quiet as possible.

“Well, other than the homeowner…” (Now that guy was someone to look into. What kind of person just lets 8 other people live in his house? Maybe he had a secret desire for kids or something, but these were grown men. He was hoping it wasn’t some sort of weird fetish.) “There’s the kid. Pretty much just hangs in his room all day.”

“You say kid, how old even is he?”

"Dunno. Young. There's Hyrule, he's the doctor." Shadow figured that was good. The guy seemed trustworthy enough.

"What about the weird one? He a drug dealer or something?"

"Probably not. He's got some weird friend that hangs around here sometimes, but they don't bother anyone else." (If he was a drug dealer, Shadow would probably ask Four to come live with him. The risk of being arrested is not something either of them wanted to take.) "The others are pretty alright. There's Wild, he's a but…

"Mm. Yeah, there's some weird figures here, I've seen that much." Shadow nestled into Four's hair, the blond leaning back against him. "Be careful, Rain, okay?"

"Of course."

They stayed in silence then, Shadow holding Four close to him.

"I'm glad you're here," Four whispered to him a few minutes later.

"Me too."

honestly I'm pretty sure this was gonna go somewhere but I got too tired to insert a plot so this is the soup you get 🍲

--secret third thing anon, too lazy to edit this because tumble hates formatting

I love this so much!!!

Shadow casually tracking everyone Four lives with is just so mwah chefs kiss - I love when he’s that special brand of protective and intrusive that’s all him. And him being sus of Time is just perfect. Because seriously - who just invites eight random guys off the street into his home filled with expensive and fancy stuff?

Secret thank you! You’re always welcome to drop things into my inbox! I love hearing from you ❤️

[elriell]

(Instagram) & (Twitter)

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (part 4): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: escape sounds good. but is it better than staying?

wc: 2.6k

tw: sexual assault and death

a/n: please don’t kill me. This is plot. No smut to be found quite yet. I’m really trying to save up my smut cards for something really big lol

masterlist

 Everything is on fire. Everyone is running around you, because for some reason, you’re walking toward the flames. Screams echo in your ears and the feeling of something tugging you into the burning building that looked like your home is too strong to ignore. When you push the door to your house open, your mother is hovering over your father, who is bleeding out as you watch in horror. When your mother looks up at you, she’s crying fat tears of sorrow, then she whispers:

“You did this, y/n. You let that monster into our town, and now look at what you’ve done.” 

A hand smooths over your face as you twist and turn, but you don’t realize it’s the General until you open your eyes, the light from the moon blocked by his body. “You’re okay. Don’t worry; no one’s going to hurt you here,” he whispers, despite having hurt you before. You push his hand away and sit up, clutching your knees to your chest as you catch your breath. “Nightmare?” he asks, and for a second, you’re wondering if he’s saying that he had a nightmare. But then you feel the sweat around the nape of your neck and on your chest, and remember the feeling of helplessness you just emerged from. You nod, looking around the tent at the table, papers, the ink, the discarded haori near the seat…

“You’re up late,” you mention - trying to change the subject - and the General huffs a laugh, pushing back his hair like he always did before he launched into an explanation. Why didn’t he just tie it up? 

“I do my best work right before the midnight hours. You’d be surprised at the formations I can create with just a hint of alertness left in my body.” He turns back to you, touching your foot with a broad hand. “Do you want to talk about your dream?”

“No,” you answer quickly, hoping he would drop the subject. 

“Then let me have Kaori fetch you some water for a bath. I would hate for you to remain as sweaty as you are.” You slide off the bed, walking around to the little desk area that held stacks of papers and diagrams and sliding one free from the stack. 

“You draw maps?” 

“Cartographers are not cheap, little one. I’ve canvassed a massive effort to make a map of every place I’ve been to… Nanami is very helpful with this, as well. He’s so attentive to details that I might have missed, so I rely on his help more often than not.” 

“And Haibara?” 

“Yu? He’s pretty easy to get along with as well. He’s my mentee, if you really consider it. If I have no children, he will inherit the throne after me.” 

“What about Gojo?” you question, sliding a map of the surrounding area forward and examining it carefully. As he drones on about the blue eyed man, you make sure your eyes cover every inch of the map and memorize the routes in and out of the camp. If you could just find a way to get over to the edge of the camp, you could easily hitch a ride back to your hometown and tell everyone about the General’s whereabouts. And expose Yuko for the traitor he is. 

“But do you enjoy your time with Kaori? I purposefully made her the head of maids so she would tend to you and you alone.” 

“Ah,” you push the map away and smile up at Geto, having finally found your escape route. “She’s lovely.” 

And Kaori would be even more lovely once she helped you with your plan to run away. 

_______________________________________________________________________

“How do you feel today?” Kaori wonders as you dress in your standard blue kimono.

“Quite well,” you answer, smiling back at her. She raises a brow, a grin forming on her lips. 

“Might this have anything to do with Master Geto?” 

You look back at the maid, and give her your best fake grin. “Maybe.” Kaori hums in surprise, then gathers her things up before leaving you alone again. “Oh, I almost forgot,” you begin, tying the kimono closed. “Could you bring me an extra pear or two with lunch today? I have a craving for them right now.” Kaori nods and bows slightly before walking out of the tent. 

Map? Check.

Clothes? Check.

Extra food? Check. 

The entire morning is spent pouring over the map, tracking your path in and out of the compound. You would have to walk a considerable distance, but it was perfectly fine. If you could manage to secure a horse, you’d probably get halfway home before anyone noticed you were missing, and that was a considerable head start. 

Your plan went into effect as soon as they announced dinner, and you wait patiently for Geto to come fetch you for the evening meal, laying in his bed with a pained expression. When he comes inside, he sees you clutching your stomach and hanging over the side of the bed a little. 

“Are you unwell?” he asks immediately, stooping by the bedside and smoothing your hair away from your face. You shake your head slowly, all of it an act, and he grumbles something about ‘knowing the food was undercooked at lunch’. Little did he know that you had stowed it away, along with a spare kimono of his and rudimentary copy of the map. 

You fake a cough for emphasis, and his hands fly to your face, patting the tender flesh of your cheeks and forehead. “You’re warm. I’ll have Kaori come and attend to-” 

“I don’t want her to catch what I have,” you moan, rolling over on your left side. 

“You shouldn’t be alone like this,” Geto urges, eyes frantically looking around the tent space for something. “I’ll… I’ll eat dinner here, then. I’ll stay with you.” You shake your head weakly, ignoring his panicked expression. 

“I can’t bear the smell of food right now… I just need some rest.” 

“And you shall have it,” Geto whispers, placing a tender kiss on your left hand. “I’ll be back within the hour to check on you.” And with that, he leaves you in the tent. When you suspect that he - and as a result, his friends - are all gone to eat, you slide out of the bed and retrieve your sack of things hidden underneath it. 

It isn’t escaping the camp that’s hard.

It’s running through the dead of night with only a sliver of moon to guide you that is most difficult. 

Without the daylight, you could easily mistake a patch of trees for a forest and river for a ravine. But it doesn’t matter. Your father had taught you how to tell the North from the South and the East from the West, and you relied on those skills now to guide you out of the camp. First, you have to locate the brightest star in the sky and just follow it to get on the right path. If it is directly overhead, you’d be on your way to determining which way to go. The makeshift map you have is telling you that you should wander northeast to get out of the confines of the camp, and you would be well on your way to your hometown. 

Except… 

You look back at the lights dotted around the camp behind you. 

What if you stayed? What if you stayed and made friends with the General? What if you stayed, made friends with the General, and then lured him in with a false sense of security? You adjust the sack on your back and think for a moment more.

He had let you remain in the tent by yourself. Not only was it a sign that he was finally beginning to trust you while you were alone, but also while you had all of the opportunity to escape, like you were now. Either that, or he’s more than confident that he would be able to find you and drag you back so he could execute his plan properly. 

The only thing that would come from you attempting to run away would be a chase, and you would more than likely be caught without a horse. Then, Geto would not hesitate to discipline you and make you submit to his will, and possibly never trust you again. 

“Flattery is the best persuader of people,” your father used to murmur, but you didn’t believe it back then; rolling your eyes at his old sayings. But now… perhaps you could work this to your advantage by staying. 

You trek back with the pack, dumping everything except the kimono nearby to avoid any suspicion. The kimono is placed back where it had been before, and you slump onto the bed - facing away from the tent opening - groaning with exhaustion and anxiety. 

The General returns what feels like a few minutes later and runs a hand down your back with care, humming in the darkness. He’s unsteady on his feet, it sounds like, and he anchors himself on the bed with one knee, leaning over you to brush a lock of hair away from your face. 

“If there’s one thing I know about Yuko,” he breathes, words tumbling out of his mouth like a bucket of apples. “He didn’t lie about beauty or character.” Geto slides in next you, wrapping an arm around your waist protectively and nestling his face into the crook of your neck. He places a kiss below your earlobe, then almost instantly afterward, he’s asleep. 

And although you want to squirm out of his arms and give him what-for, you don’t. The resolve in your new plan has set you on a path of compromise, and you would see this through until the end.

_______________________________________________________________________

Lips. They’re everywhere. On your face, trailing down your neck and accompanied by touches that stoke the flames of a fire you didn’t realize you had burning inside of you. 

When your eyes flutter open, it’s still night, but the General has let the wine go to his head. You let out an involuntary moan at the feeling of his fingers gripping the skin underneath your kimono before you snatch yourself out of his grasp, tumbling to the floor below and remembering how much you hated him. 

“Y/n… are you..” he hiccups a little. “Are you alright?” You push off of the ground in a fury, dusting yourself off and facing away from him as you yell:

“How dare you go back on your promise to not defile me, you filthy swine! Touching me in my sleep is low for even you, Your Majesty!” You spit the last two words at him, then stomp towards the flaps of the tent, which open with a flutter before you can get to them. 

Geto steps inside, his eyes meeting yours in a confused stare. 

“I heard you yelling and I--” He looks over your shoulder and frowns, squinting his eyes at the figure in the bed. “Get up.” When the man stumbles to the floor, Geto pulls you in behind him, shielding you from who really occupied the bed. 

“M-Master Geto, I can expla--” 

“Silence.” The deep bass of the General’s voice is unmatched, deadly, and practically telling of the punishment to come. Haibara and Gojo walk past you into the tent behind Geto, making lanterns glow and illuminate the tent space. “Do you know this man?” Geto roars, pointing an accusing finger at the offender as he turns to you, throwing daggers with his eyes. You look at the soon-to-be dead man, nostrils flaring. But you don’t recognize his face, nor his body. Nothing about this person is familiar.

“No, sir,” you state, and Geto starts a little at the sound of the formality falling from your lips. 

“Has he touched you in any way?” Your skin is crawling with what feels like a thousand little bugs, and you clutch your elbows instinctively. In one smooth motion, Geto turns to Gojo, who nods his head once and grabs the man’s hair, dragging him past you and Haibara as his screams of pain echo into the night. You feel two hands resting on your shoulders as you stare at the tent flaps, the fluttering of them barely revealing the man’s fate. It’s only when the screaming stops that you turn to Geto. “Are you hurt?” he asks, dipping his head a little to look into your eyes with his piercing black ones. 

“No, I’m fine.” 

“Where did he touch you?” You look over to Haibara, and Geto does as well, before waving the youth off. “Make sure Gojo takes care of…” 

“Of course,” Haibara replies, and with a sad smile thrown your way, he departs. Geto turns his attention back to you, taking your wrists in his hands. 

“Show me.” You move a hand across your chest and down your right thigh, grazing the spot where the man had grabbed you roughly. Then you swipe at your neck and face. “My gods,” he breathes before pulling you close. Tears threaten to leak out of your eyes, but you hold them at bay, trying to maintain the hysterics for later when you were alone. “I should have stayed.” 

“I should have let you.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

You awake enveloped in Geto’s warmth, unsure of when you fell asleep for the second time, but thankful for the body heat that wards off the night-time chill. When you move away from him, he does not awaken, but does stir a little. 

And that’s when you see it. The dragon on his arm is moving it’s head back and forth, eyes blinking lazily. At first you think you’re hallucinating, but when you rub your eyes and peer closer, it’s still moving; the entirety of its body doing a little dance side to side. 

“You should see it after a battle,” Geto murmurs sleepily, eyes trained on your astonished face. “Dancing is just how it wakes itself up.” You stare at the mythical being in silence, unsure of whether the true beast was the man before you or the tattoo on his arm. “How are you feeling?” Geto finally breaks the silence, sitting up and pushing himself out of the bed. 

“I feel alright.” He takes your hand, lifting it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to the back. You pause, unsure of how to respond to such a gesture, but Geto keeps moving around the tent, adjusting the sheets and running his hands through his hair. 

“Have you ever thought about braiding it?” you wonder, and Geto looks over at you with an amused look. 

“I have; but no one here is skilled enough to braid - not even Kaori.” 

Wordlessly, you trek over to him and thread the locks of hair through your fingers. 

“How do you keep it so clean when you’re on the battlefield?” you wonder aloud, and Geto chuckles. 

“Water is a resource that I take full advantage of, little one.” He instinctively stops his movements and angles his head back so you can work the strands one over the other, finally ending the long braid with a simple strip of fabric from the edge of your kimono. 

“There.” Geto pulls the braid over his shoulder and examines it carefully, humming at the sight of your handiwork. 

“This is interesting, to say the least.” 

“It will keep things from getting caught in your hair, and I’m sure it feels much less ‘all over the place’.” 

“Indeed, it does,” he breathes, then reaches a hand out to touch your cheek affectionately. Without thinking, you lean into his touch, and after taking half a step forward, Geto places a kiss on your forehead. After this signal of affection, he leaves, making you wonder what was wrong with your face and if you actually had a fever - because your cheeks felt hotter than they had ever felt before. 

[roger-that-cap]

meet me in the gardens

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either. 

warnings: lots of emotions, feelings, slightly cynical and bitter reader- she’s honestly just being a realist, we are chugging forward, did not check for typos, format could be fucked up bc i’m posting from my phone quite literally minutes before i clock in- PATHETIC LMAO

word count: 2.7k

this is a short chapter by my standards, but it felt long to me because of the things in it??? this is part five! all other parts can be found on my masterlist, it’s my pinned post!

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Wanda asked while she tied your corset, not even needing to ask whether it was too tight or loose. You looked up in your vanity and immediately tried to wipe your smile away, but it was too late. She knew you better than anyone, and she had yet to see a thoughtful smile on your face, ever. Pietro, who had caught you going back inside the previous night, caught on to the fact that you looked more carefree, and that you just seemed to look like you were carrying around less. 

“Nothing.” 

“Hmm,” Wanda hummed, an entertained look on her face. Something told you that she already had an idea of what was going on, even though there was no way she could have. Besides, you hardly even knew what was going on. “I’ll ask again later.” She looked you in the eyes through the mirror, a slightly mischievous smile on her face. “Maybe then you’ll tell the truth,” she said, flicking you on the side of the head, and then letting it rest.

§§

Natasha was out in the village doing whatever it was the knights did one night, and she was planning on spending the night at a bed and breakfast before coming back in the morning. As disheartened as you were about not being able to see her for your stargazing, you were partly glad for it. You missed being with the twins. 

You had dinner with them alone, sitting and laughing about old memories and scheduling times to make new ones together. You loved the way you could be with them. Your laughter was allowed to go over the volume of a giggle without them looking at you like you had grown seven heads, your silverware were allowed to take a tumble onto your plate with a clatter without a second glance, and you were allowed to use whatever language you pleased. You missed the comfort that you felt with them, the comfort that your brain and the part of you that would always be the farm girl felt with them. 

“And Pietro chased him all the way off, you should have seen how terrified he was,” Wanda recapped, and you couldn't help but grin at Pietro, who was sipping wine with his charming grin. “That boy will never lift another skirt, I can assure you of that.” 

“I’m glad,” you mused, shooting Pietro a look that made him laugh. 

“Enough about me,” he said after swallowing a sip of his wine that was much more like a gulp. “We’re not going to talk about how you’ve been walking on the clouds for weeks now?” 

You nearly dropped your fork again. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve both realized,” Pietro said, motioning with his buttered knife towards his sister, who had a soft smile on her face as she observed your reaction. “That you have been significantly happier. Even with the circumstances-”

“Pietro,” Wanda hissed, but you just snorted and shook your head. 

“It’s like you found your own little pocket of happiness. We were worried about you, but, you’re doing alright.” Ever the blatant one out of the three of you, he leaned forward with his trademark smirk, eyes full of curiosity. “What do you know that we don't?” 

You hesitated for a second, mouth opening and closing twice as you grappled for anything to say, even a lie. And then, you settled on just shrugging your shoulders with a grin, shaking your head. “Honestly, Pietro, I know nothing. I don’t know anything.”

§§

Your heart was beating faster than normal as you looked at the woman next to you, your hand subconsciously itching closer to hers as you sat on the ground, ass on the blanket that you had brought out.  “I would like to… show you something.” 

It was probably the twentieth time that you and Natasha had met with each other, and still, you were entranced by her and everything that she did.  And you were entranced while you stared at her and waited for her answer, just a little nervous as to what she would say. 

As if she would ever say no to something you said. 

��Show me anything you’d like me to see,” Natasha urged on, and you fought back a smile. You stood up, and she did the same, and then you were picking up the blanket and walking side by side with her. It was quiet the entire way there as you walked in step with her, hand brushing against her every few steps and sending tingles down your arm every time it happened. 

The feeling that you got when she touched you made you feel both alive and scared to death. You weren’t stupid. You knew what you were steadily collecting more than friendly feelings for her, and that she may have been on the same page you were on. The game you were playing was a dangerous one, the risk threatening to swallow up the reward more and more by the day. 

You had known that being with her by yourself was bad judgement, ever since the first time you did it. Hell, the look you gave her the first time you met her was far from appropriate. Every single conversation that you had with her was a risk, and both of you knew it. And now that your soon-to-be husband was approaching, it was even more scandalous. No one knew and you hoped no one would ever find out, but hiding forever wasn’t a choice. But what would you be hiding if there were no true feelings? 

You hated yourself for falling for her and her pretty words. 

“I used to come here to escape,” you started, pulling yourself out of your thoughts, voice low as you passed the tree line to get into the thick of the woods. You narrowly missed stepping in a particularly muddy spot on the ground. “This was my spot, before I got the garden of course.”

“The woods?” 

“No, Nat,” you said, slightly amused as you stepped over a fallen branch. You smiled a bit when the sound of running water hit your ears.  “The stream.” 

You knew the exact second that she saw it, because her eyes widened and her breath hitched.  “That’s not a stream, that’s a river.”

“It’s the forgotten part of the main river,” you explained. “It’s much skinnier and more shallow, and it doesn't have nearly as much fish coming through, so people forget about it.” You looked towards her and saw how intrigued she was by it, so you judged her armor free body with a slight smirk. “What? Never seen running water?”

“I lived in the capital, all they had was the ocean. And even then I was never allowed on the harbor if I wasn’t selling clams, and I didn’t sell clams much.”

You felt silence start to grow between the two of you, so you said the first thing that you thought of. “You don’t look like a clam seller.” 

He looked away from the river and to you, a slight grin on her face even as she talked again. “And you don’t look like a petal kisser, blossom, but look where we are today.”

Your heart raced in your chest. “Blossom? Is that what you’re calling me now?” 

“It’s only payback for calling me ‘cherry’,” she said, and you stifled a laugh at the retired name, glancing up at the red hair that you had gotten inspiration from.  

“You didn’t actually mind it,” you said, looking off into the distance, only looking back at her when a warm hand slotted over yours. You blinked and looked down at your hands, which she had intertwined, and then back up at her again, only to see that she was staring straight ahead in the dark at the way the moonlight hit the water. 

“How could I?” She asked softly, a subtle breeze picking up.”You were the one saying it.” She looked at you, and in the dim lighting, you could have sworn that her eyes were saying, you can call me anything in the book, and I will own it proudly. And then, the look changed to something else, something less devoting, and something more passionate. It took you a few seconds to understand what the look meant, and before you could fully register it, she was leaning forward. 

A few seconds came and went where you could feel your heartbeat all over, and you tried to look somewhere other than in her eyes. You couldn't. “Don’t look at me like that.” When all Natasha did was tilt her head to the side and give you an even more intense version of the look, you let out a small sigh. “Please.”

“Why not?” 

She knew why. She knew why probably better than you did after living in the capital. She saw what happened firsthand to people who committed crimes, and those who committed second degree adultery. If you two did what you were wanting to do with your entire heart, you would fall right into that category. “I know where this is going,” you said softly, “and this won’t end well.” 

“Why not?” She asked again, and you turned your head to the side, shaking it slightly and closing your eyes. 

“Because, I’m about to get married,” you hissed, and though you didn’t mean to sound so angry, you did. Natasha was hardly affected. 

She lifted her arms and let them fall against her clothing with a soft slap that still echoed in the night. “You’re not married right now.” 

“But I will be, Natasha,” you said, gripping her hands and squeezing  them softly, begging for her to understand you. “What’s going to happen when I get married to a man who already has a streak for murdering his wives, and he finds out that I have feelings for you? He’ll kill me. He’ll kill you. And if he doesn’t, we’ll both be hung for adultery, after being put into torture camps for being… together as women.” 

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Y/N, you know that.” The fervency in her tone nearly shocked you as she took a bold step forward, nearly surrounding you in her scent and energy. “I would never let anything happen to you.” 

“You’re too important for me to condemn to death and dishonor just because I have feelings for you. It was selfish of me to meet with you in the first place, but I can’t let myself do this. It’s a bad idea,” You said, voice hushed even though no one would have followed you. You were trembling, hand shaking more than anything else as you tried to understand how fast everything was moving; forward and backwards, sewing together and ripping apart all the same. If you were any more attentive to her expression, you would have seen the grin that lit up her face as your confession. “We were just about to cross a line. We’ve crossed quite a few dotted ones, but this one? It is bold and blaring.” 

“Blossom,” Natasha started, and you just shook your head and kept going. 

“And-and what we were just about to do? That crosses the line. We cannot.” 

“Do you really think my feelings for you are going to change depending on whether or not we kiss?” She asked, her voice slightly deeper than usual, almost sounding insulted. “You’re telling me to close my heart off from you, not to not kiss you. And you know that.”  

“What if I am?” You asked, eyes starting to burn with tears. “I’m doing it for the right reasons, Nat. I’m trying to save us from a world of hurt when reality finally sinks in.”

“That isn’t today.” She took another step forward and this time, you couldn't find the strength in you to step back. “And it isn’t tomorrow, and not even within the fortnight. You and I have something, and I know that you know it’s different. It’s special. We would be so stupid to ignore it, so stupid.” 

“I know, I know,” you said, voice tapering off into a whine as you slowly felt your resolve come apart, even though you thought it was stronger. “I’m sorry.”

 “You don’t have to apologize,” Natasha said after a few minutes of pure silence, and you found yourself exhaling. “I just wish things were different.” 

  “I know,” she said, and you turned to look up at the sky, tears threatening to come down on your cheeks. The stars seemed to twinkle and wink at you, talking amongst themselves about a future you had no idea about just yet. 

“Guess they’re never gonna line up,” you murmured to yourself, and then you heard Natasha grumble something from your side, and then she was coming closer, a barreling energy force full of passion and intent, and you knew exactly what she was coming for. For less than a split second, you thought about it. And then you turned your head and met her halfway. 

You would have been surprised by the passion in it if you weren’t just as desperate for the contact. You twisted in her arms, already wrapped around you as she drew you in close, closer than you had ever been with her, and the tears that were welling up before were now escaping for a different reason. Your lips were pressing into hers, moving fluidly and with an air of fervor that she matched equally. You felt wanted, and needed, and you felt loved. You felt the tenderness of the moment with every brush of her fingers on the back of your neck and with every rub of your back over the thin material of your night dress. 

Your legs were shaking, and she noticed before you did that you were getting weak in the knees. She held you up and pulled back slightly, just enough for you to feel her lips brush against yours while she asked if you were okay, like she wasn’t willing to take herself from you just yet. And honestly, you weren’t ready for her to leave you, either. You nodded, and she leaned in again, much slower, and then you had time to think. 

Her eyes weren’t the same shade they were when the sun hit them, they were almost an eerie pale blue, but they were still just as gorgeous to you, especially now that they were slanted with desire. Her hair wasn’t perfect like she somehow always managed or it to be, and you realized that it was because you had gotten a hand to run through it despite the way that she had previously held you like a lifeline. Her lashes were long, and you swore that she was close enough that you could count them. Her cheekbones were accentuated in the lighting, making her look like something straight out of a fairy tale, like a floating fae creature that led people to safety. In that moment, you could have sworn that she was the answer to every prayer you had ever whispered, to every question you had ever asked your etiquette teachers. In that moment, and in every moment to come, she was your ending and beginning, your creation and destruction, your sunrise and sunset. She was Natasha Romanoff, and in that moment, no wedding or murderous man even held a candle to the way you felt about her.

  What a beautiful person. 

“Now you’re looking at me strangely,” Natasha said, her voice quieter than you had ever heard it as the both of you treated over the moment carefully, trying not to break it and leave it in shambles. “What are you thinking about?” 

“How I’m going to have to pretend like this never happened in a few weeks,” you said softly, and part of you hated yourself for bringing up the bad part of the future so soon after you both had just lost all ties to reality. 

“You don’t have to,” she said, stroking your hair. “We can just keep doing what we’re doing, sneaking off in the night and coming back in the morning before anyone realizes. Nothing really has to change, I just want you to know that I… that we can be whatever you want us to be.” 

“As long as we’re in the confines of the garden walls.” 

“And now the woods,” Natasha said, and you couldn’t help but laugh in her arms. 

“And now the woods."

****

this is short, but i couldn’t see anything being tacked on to this. we’re at an important part, and from here it’s gonna be fun!! thank y’all for reading; if you liked it please drop a like and a reblog bc it makes my day!! comments also make me ascend y’all

tags!! : tags! : @teenwonder @saamwilscn @procrastinatingsapphictrash @fayhar @8plasma @slut-for-nat @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool @200605chaeng @thescottishavenger @antidaytime @jenny-song @madamevirgo @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife​ @shycucumbersandwich @dailyavengering @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ima-gi--na-tion @chickenhavewisdom

so sorry if i forgot anyone!!!!!

[narrators-journal]

Moonlight

warning: Light depictions of violence, Aku really admires Atsushi’s tiger (idk if it comes off as super sexual, so idk might be a bit monster-fucker-y) Nothing sexual or vulgar, just him being super into watching Atsushi kill.

edit: Had to fix some glaring formatting issues, also just editted some of the choppier bits of the text :D

Akutagawa had no clue why he was out looking for a pissy tiger gijinka at 10 pm, but he was. He wasn't super thrilled about it, to say the least. However, Dazai had called and explained that Atsushi had apparently had an awful day at work or something and then changed into a weretiger in the evening, and the bandaged ADA agent wasn't sure if that was intentional or because of the full moon, so it was now up to Aku to go find the weretiger and bring him back to his apartment before he could cause any trouble.

Any good mafia member would've told the traitorous sociopath to go fuck himself with a cactus, but some weird urge had led the goth to agree to return Atsushi home for his old mentor. Had him receiving the crybaby's address from his mentor and heading out into the darkness.

It wasn't that he still wanted acknowledgment, he'd gotten his praise and acknowledgment a few weeks before. So while he still highly respected Dazai, he wasn't out clicking his tongue into alleyways and lifting himself onto rooftops at such a late hour for his praise. It definitely wasn't out of concern for Jinko, he could care less if the brainless house cat got hit by a car or stuck up a telephone pole. No, what had Akutagawa out near the hellish docks was a lingering sense of curiosity. He couldn't exactly place what he was curious about that exact moment, but he was intrigued. So, he poked around until he finally spotted a familiar flick of white and black disappearing around the corner in the slums.

When he spotted the first signs of Atsushi, Akutagawa dropped to a crouch and crept forward until he could look around the wall to see a dimly glowing white tiger nosing through a trash bag he seemed interested in. With him distracted, Aku took the chance to move towards him, bringing Rashoumon to life once he was close enough. Either the energy or the light near-instantly drew the predator's eye, but either way, he was now staring into the golden eyes of Atsushi Nakajima, or, more so, his tiger.

In that dangerous, uneasy situation, it finally clicked. He'd wanted to see this. Atsushi's full tiger form. That's why he'd agreed to go hunting for him upon Dazai's request. Not only that but staring into those predatory eyes brought a new sensation through his body. Awe.

        "Jinko," He said, doing his best to sound calm while he internally battled a storm of fear, awe, and honest wonder. "Can you understand me?" He asked it nonchalantly, his grey eyes just staying glued to the tiger's golden gaze as he circled to face the vampire of a man properly. With no answer, obviously, Aku took a deep breath to steel his nerves before trying to reason with the creature again, "Listen, I know we don't get along, you annoy the shit out of me, I'm sure you dislike me just as much. But, Dazai sent me to try and return you home, so can you please cooperate?" He asked, but the answer he got was a pretty huffy tail lash and the creature walking past him and across the street to dig through more trash. And for a moment, Akutagawa was nearly mesmerized, forgetting what he was going to say. The hunter's movements revealed the powerful muscles just beneath its snowy, striped fur, it knocked home just how dangerous this car-sized cat could be. He hasn't attacked me though, the mafioso realized, normally Jinko would maul me on sight, but his tiger isn't. Not even a growl. The realization almost made a sense of honor well up in his chest as he followed the giant cat to the next bag of garbage he seemed intent on investigating.

For a bit, the goth trailed after the large predator, his original task abandoned, mesmerized by the sight of it moving so quietly despite its lethal claws and hulking, muscular form. However, his observations were interrupted when a realization hit him like a brick to the face, Of course! He's hungry! No wonder he's been digging through stray garbage bags and whatnot, he's probably looking for meat! He slapped his hand over his face at how obvious that had been, then, he whistled to the massive feline, coughing a few times before he spoke again,           "Would you like to actually hunt, Jinko?" The snowy ears of the creature perked at the mention of hunting, perhaps he can understand me to some extent, the thought was swiftly shelved for later though, he had mentioned hunting, he had no time to ponder how conscious his nemesis was as a likely impatient and hungry tiger. "If you follow me, I can take you to someone you can hunt," he offered, once again looking into the yellow eyes of the beast, almost able to see him contemplating his offer before he suddenly moved forward.

Akutagawa's first thought was that the car-sized feline was going to eat him instead, but no. In reality, Atsushi simply headbutted him in the chest, sending him sliding on his back across the pavement, coughing and wheezing from the air leaving his weak lungs so suddenly.             "J-Jinko!" he snapped between coughs, glowing red in his annoyance, but instead of being even slightly intimidated or on-edge from the show of hostility, Atsushi just continued to headbutt or nose him, pushing him along the pavement until the choking mafioso finally managed to put his hand on the cat's striped, moon-silver forehead, Holy shit, you're so soft, and shove him back enough to let him get back to his feet. "What are you doing Jinko? Don't nuzzle up to me just because I offered you food, dumbass!" he snarled, keeping his pale hand on the cat's head as he glared at him.

The two stood there for a moment, Akutagawa's glow intensifying when Atsushi pushed against his hand and made him step back to avoid tumbling over again, all the while the choppy-haired vampire was trying to decipher what the weretiger might be doing this for. It's not likely that he wishes to eat me. If he did, he would've pounced as soon as I was on the ground...That also means he's not looking for a fight. Could it be his way of thanking me for offering to take him to hunt? Is he just trying to NUZZLE me?? His cheeks heated like stovetop burners at the thought of the elegant predator showing him, his most hated rival, affection of all things. He could handle the tiger trying to maul him, half expected it honestly, but he didn't know how to feel about Atsushi nuzzling up to him as a thank you or otherwise.

It was only when he gave another attempt at a nudge that Akutagawa got the message at long last.           "Oh! You're wanting me to take you there!" He rolled his dark gray eyes at that and pushed himself away from the weretiger, turning around with a huff and starting to lead the way. This also gave his pale cheeks the time to return to normal in the cool night air, though his heart couldn't seem to stay at a steady, calm pace. It kept jumping and thumping unpredictably with the excitement of maybe seeing Atsushi on a proper hunt.

It was sure to be a fascinating sight, to see the massive feline crouched, creeping up on an unsuspecting victim, to see his muscles bunch with so much power just before lunging at the prey. He was excited at the thought of seeing the weretiger's lethal talons tear into a person, and his jaws crunch down mercilessly on his victim's bones. The sheer power of it. The fact that he had fought someone who could tap into that primal potential. He'd looked into such an animal's eyes, he'd seen the human intelligence mingling seamlessly with the animalistic cunning. Atsushi's razor-sharp fangs had been mere inches from such a vital part of his body, and yet he'd done no malicious harm. No, not a scratch. Aku couldn't place the feeling of awe and nebulous adrenaline-pumping thrill he got from it. From being so close to a beast who could end him without hesitation or issue, and yet he hadn't. All of that strength was so beautifully control-

The goth's thoughts were interrupted by another headbutt, this time to his spine, sending him sprawling onto the pavement with an indignant squawk.           "Jinko! Wha- Are you trying to get me to speed up, or fucking kill me?!" He snapped, scrambling to his feet with a small cough and a tidal wave of humiliation for the noise he'd made on his way down, but his only response was another nudge from the beast, one he swatted away. "Oh no! I am not jogging or running ahead of you! Quit acting like an impatient toddler," he scolded, dusting himself off while the tiger huffed like said impatient toddler.

With his own grumpy huff, he continued, leading Atsushi out of the slums and into the nicer parts of town. It wasn't the rich end of Yokohama, where the homes were capped with long driveways and wrought-iron fences or had names for addresses, but it wasn't the slums. The neighborhood they ended up in, while sparse of people on the sidewalk and road, thrummed with life within the safety of the nightclubs and bars that were scattered about. It was somewhere near the outskirts of town without being too far, around there Akutagawa would find the mafia's casino and the one rival casino whose owner was as equally a customer of the mafia as much as a rival.           "Alright, you stay here for a moment. I've got to go find your food. Don't worry, they aren't good, innocent people, so you shouldn't feel a lick of shame for eating them." He promised Atsushi, now standing a few buildings down in a wide alleyway from the rival casino. "You eat the men in suits to your heart's content, in return, I'll destroy the street security cameras." The creature made a noise he assumed was agreement, so he left him in the alleyway and began prowling the street, taking out cameras as he went until he'd not only left the whole street defenseless but also found the owner of the second gambling hall.

Once he'd located the man and his goons relaxing at an outside table, smoking and drinking their booze in front of the closed shop, he used a ribbon of his coat to slither over and knick the owner with the sharpened cloth, slipping away before he realized it was more than a simple bug bite or accidental scratch. With the fresh blood now on his coat, he slunk back to Atsushi, letting the striped hunter sniff the strip of cloth thoroughly before he hoisted himself onto the roof with Rashoumon.

From his vantage point on the rooftops, the wheezy goth could follow the weretiger as he prowled down the street, following the scent of blood until he too spotted the prey at the cafe table and fell into a hunter's crouch. The goth repressed his coughing and wheezing as much as possible, paused with the cat, his grey eyes fixated on the silent animal as he inched closer to the men.

It amazed Aku that neither the owner nor his goons noticed the rabbit-soft white-and-black fur of the weretiger, part of him wanted them to spot the beast before he pounced, just so he could watch them run and panic and really see Atsushi chase down his prey. Sadly, by the time the small group had finally realized they were being stalked, it was too late. Atsushi was already on them, tearing them apart, his powerful jaws turning their muscles to pulled pork in seconds, his talons tearing into them like a hot knife through butter. They tried to run, but they didn't get far before each one was picked off with one swipe of the dark claws, or powerful jaws of the predator.

Akutagawa watched the scene from the safety of the rooftop, his heart racing with excitement, his breath quickening as he grinned like a lunatic. Not even his subsequent coughing fit could ruin the absolute thrill that zipped through his blood at the sight of such a gorgeous, efficient predator crunching on bones like they were nothing, his white fur now stained a lovely shade of red. It took a moment for him to come back from that high and realize that his lightheadedness and shortness of breath had gone from pure elation to an issue, so he had to swiftly fish his inhaler out of his pocket and pull from it, hoping it was enough to open his airways so he would avoid the hospital. He was not keen on having to explain to a doctor what exactly had gotten him so hyper.

Thankfully for the pale mafioso, his inhaler worked. So, after a moment to catch his breath and regain his composure, he brought Rashoumon to life and used it to lower himself down to the pavement again, a safe distance from Atsushi, who was contently tearing the mafia's rivals apart and devouring their flesh. With one final calming breath, he slowly walked over to the beast, not getting a glance as he approached until he was beside the car-sized feline while he chomped at a bone until it splintered.

Once he was sure Atsushi wasn't interested in him, Akutagawa crouched down and gently, tentatively put a hand against his side, feeling the soft, silky, striped fur and perfectly honed muscles just beneath his pale fingertips.          "I can see why Dazai chose you...over me..." he muttered quietly, his eyes glued to the tiger's mouth, admiring his fangs as they worked at the bones and meat of the casino owner, "You are far beyond my power level. So much more controlled, so much stronger, so much more capable than I'll ever be." It hurt to voice these shameful realizations, but for some reason, Aku felt like he wouldn't be judged by the beast, even if it did understand his words, it wouldn't shame him for his admitting to his faults.

So, he just sat beside the tiger, running his hand over the beast's side, shoulder, even along its back, from snout to as far as he could reach behind him. Just taking everything about him in. The car-sized feline didn't seem to care at all, unbothered by the admiring pets, or when Aku grabbed his back paw to flex his toes and unsheath his talons. Some part of the mafioso still reminded him, He could still eat you next, but it did nothing to dissuade the child-like curiosity that fuelled his exploration of every deadly part of the animal, from tracing his muscles, to bringing out his bloodied talons, all while Atsushi ate his fill of his prey until nothing remained save for their shredded clothing.

The pale man simply gathered those up and ran a hand through his chopped up hair,             "I guess I should take you back to your apartment now before dawn comes." he mused, judging that they had about an hour or two before the sun rose and Atsushi likely changed back to his more pathetic, weak form. Aku looked at the weretiger, watching as the beast licked his chops and shook himself off, then turned with a sigh to head to the address Dazai had given him. Atsushi followed without complaint, padding alongside the goth, much more content, it seemed.

Once Atsushi was safely back in his own home, and the clothing was burnt and disposed of, Aku went home to his personal apartment, flopping onto the bed with a half groan, half sigh. Now that he wasn't running on thrills and curiosity, he was exhausted. His only thought before passing out was Never telling anyone of this.

[amandaoftherosemire]

And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Four

Fandom: Marvel/MCU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,425

Format: Short Series (Complete)

Warnings: Violence, graphic and disturbing imagery, death, language, implied smut, fluff.

Summary: You meet Bucky Barnes upon your mysterious and deadly escape from a power obsessed cult leader and his followers. Though you carry a secret in addition to the wariness of trauma, you can’t help your attraction to Bucky and his irascible demeanor. As for Bucky, he is drawn to the light he sees in you while he fears the things you’re hiding. Can you trust him with your secrets, and your life? Will you have a choice?

A/N: When I told my husband about some of the things that happen in this chapter, he reacted with impressed horror and disgust. (He’s a great audience.) When I went to edit and proofread this chapter, however, that was in my mind and I realized that some of the things I describe in here are pretty weird and gross and I’m a little perturbed that I wrote them without realizing exactly how weird and gross they were. I wasn’t aware I also had a horror writer in here. Hmm. Anyway, fair warning: graphic horror movie style descriptions.

That said, these two were fun to write, and I might write more with them reuniting after the Blip. TFAWS was a gold mine for inspiration and I’m itching to write more Sam and Bucky interactions now that I have more of them in my head. Feel free to let me know if you want that. 😊

I would have had this up faster, but the God of Mischief has been busy of late and he was occupying my mind and my keyboard for the past several weeks. Every time I sat down to my computer, he took over and it has been too much fun to stop. Soon, I promise. 😉

 Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four

 And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Four

 Bucky shook his head and snorted. "We're gonna have to have a talk about your timing, doll."

Bucky dragged his eyes from your retreating form to focus on the threat outside. He'd be damned if he'd let these assholes hurt you. Especially when he needed to hear you tell him you loved him again, when he still needed to tell you he loved you, too.

"JOSEPH!" You shouted as you threw the door open, your hair smoldering as you stepped over the body in the doorway. Your voice was a mockery of the strident tone he'd taken as you'd made him wait while you spoke to Bucky. You walked forward until you were standing at the          top of the stairs onto the front porch. "If you want me to be quick, do not send me meals. Or did you not send Brit as a sacrifice to the creature inside me?”

Joseph took a single step forward, losing his breath in a sigh of awe as your skin began to glow the red-orange of a fire's heart from the inside out, your eyes glowing molten gold as you spoke. "He's pleased that you'd send someone so valuable, but he also hopes you understand," your lips curved in a cruel, hungry smile as those brilliant eyes swept over the robed figures ranged behind him, "it's not going to be nearly enough.”

Bucky could see the shudder of fear run through the small crowd and figured at least half would panic and run should you attack. However, as he'd kept his eyes and the sight of his gun on Joseph, he could also see the desire on the other man's face as he eased closer when you didn't stop that first tentative step.

"That's not going to be a problem," the man said with pure lust in his voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw a twinkle of light just before a wall of flame erupted into being between Joseph and his followers, spreading from the left to the right. As he expected, half of them broke and ran immediately, joined by a few more besides. A few diehards ran towards the flames, but the heat screaming off of the fire easily kept them at bay. He figured Kiki was in control of them and focused in on the only threat left.

Joseph seemed mesmerized by the sight of you as you slowly descended the stairs toward him. "Are you a god?" You intoned the words in the same popping, roaring voice Bucky remembered from that first meeting and his eyes swept the scene for confirmation that Kiki was coming in from the left as her wall of fire indicated.

"I will be!" Joseph cried as he lunged towards you, only to stop abruptly at the blast of heated air that swept between you as the wall began to move in a swirl, whipped into a river of fire. The leading edge was bright gold with streamers of vibrant orange and red and hints of turquoise heat that hit the man directly in the chest and poured into him.

When he'd absorbed the last bit of fire, he looked up at you next to your front door where you'd retreated and smiled a cruel, anticipatory smile. His body continued to jerk and contort in wicked and unsettling ways that seemed to be preventing him from following you up the stairs to take his revenge.

You were deeply horrified by what was happening to him, though you didn't move any further away because you could hear Kiki muttering as she rummaged around inside Joseph. You didn't know what she was looking for, but you knew that he was dead as soon as she found it, either because of what she was doing or the man in the window waiting for his moment. You could see, however, that Joseph thought he was on the verge of victory, and you pitied him.

When you heard her crow in delighted discovery, you whispered, that pity ripe in your voice and on your face. "Good-bye, Joseph."

In the next instant, Kiki was clawing her way out of him, starting at his chest and climbing up his throat as he clutched his neck in nightmarish pain. Your eyes stayed dry, but you didn't enjoy suffering, even his. When the little flame body that Kiki had in this dimension came pushing out of Joseph's mouth in front of a hoarse scream, Bucky ended his torment with a single bullet to the heart.

The blackened body that fell to the ground was the last straw for the last few cultists who hadn't already fled. You saw them run for the forest in your peripheral vision but couldn't watch, your eyes glued to the happily chattering little fire trying to drag something out of Joseph's body.

As grateful as you were to never have to worry about Joseph ever again, you weren't made of stone and your stomach churned when Kiki managed to pry loose whatever it was she was so intent on retrieving. When the object fell heavily to the ground, she evidently lost her grip as she went tumbling several feet, but she was up and making cheerful scolding chuffs of sound in an instant.

The little flame creature scampered in merry leaps around something that looked like a dark quartz stone a little smaller than a tennis ball, with jagged spikes of black glass sticking out of the top. You frowned in confusion when Kiki continued to make huffing and scoffing noises that you couldn't understand as she got behind the rock and started pushing it forward.

"Y/N?" Behind you, Bucky murmured your name in a voice gentle with sympathy. Whatever else Joseph had been, he was pretty sure the man hadn't deserved to die like that. If he'd had his way, Bucky would have moved more quickly and made the end much less painful. On top of that, he hated that you'd had to see your little friend do something so gruesome.

"Yeah?" You sounded weird, like you were both puzzled and worried, but you didn't turn to look at him, your gaze on the wild flickering of Kiki on the ground next to the charred remains of what was once Joseph.

Bucky reached out, hoping he was doing the right thing, and slid his arm around your waist to pull you in and cradle you against his body. "Are you okay?"

"I guess?" If you weren't so focused on Kiki, you'd have melted at the tenderness in his tone, in his touch. As it was, you snuggled back into him even as you craned your neck to try and see what the little flame was up to. "I don't know what Kiki is doing. Kiki!"

Kiki's head popped up and she scampered forward a couple feet and shouted happily, It's Grumble! She scampered back and climbed on top of the stone, her front limbs wrapped around a couple of the spikes on top. I found Grumble in the human demon!

"What the hell is Grumble?" Your hand came up to grip Bucky's where it rested against your hip. As you stepped forward to get a closer look at whatever Kiki had found, you pulled him with you by the hand you kept wrapped around his, needing him with you. Stopping at the edge of the porch at the top of the stairs, you watched Kiki playfully rock back and forth on top of her discovery.

The little flame made the popping sound that served as her most delighted laugh, something you'd heard only a couple of times since you'd met her. No! Not Grumble. Grumble! You could hear very little difference between the two sounds, the second only more intense in its rumbling sound.

"That sounds like the same word, Keek."

Kiki laughed again and rocked the stone as her little head tilted down and she chuffed and rumbled at the object beneath her fiery feet. I love it! She shouted it in her popping, crackling language. She sounded so happy, so relieved, you relaxed by a fraction, enough to be tempted when she continued, Come meet Grumble, then, and waved you forward with one arm of flame.

You looked at Bucky, who was watching you communicate with Kiki with a raised brow and ready stance, not sure the danger was as over as he had believed. "She found someone named something that sounds like her word for 'grumble'."

Bucky tensed and his gaze dropped to the happy, chuffing fire where it was perched. He didn't know exactly what Kiki was, or what all she could do, but for now she resembled a small four-legged creature with a diamond shaped head and long almond shaped eyes made of blue flame. She scorched the ground wherever she ran, and he wondered if this was now why she seemed content to sit on her rock. "Where did she find this someone?"

Your mouth spread in a sickly expression, but it could still be described as an attempt at a winning smile. “Inside Joseph?" When Bucky understood that this was what Kiki had been doing between pouring her fire into him and the bullet through the heart that had ended it, the horror of it hit him like a brick. He looked back to you to find the same horror in your eyes. "I think?"

Bucky couldn't stop looking back and forth between you and the happy little flame continuing to scold the thing beneath her feet. "What is it?"

It's Grumble. She patted her hand against the obsidian spike she was holding and her eyes squinched up in delight. He's mine. He followed me through the hole but got confused and hid inside the demon man because I aimed at him. With that she dropped down and seemed to hug the stone, her flame wrapping close with what looked like affection.

You smiled a little at her apparent joy. "Okay." Still, you needed to know more about whatever had followed her from her world. She'd told you stories of some of the things that lived there. "But what is Grumble? Like, you're made of fire. What is he made of?" You were getting more and more curious, but you didn't move down the stairs yet, not sure that it was safe.

Oh! Kiki sounded surprised at the question, looking down at the stone she was perched upon with a head tilted in confusion. When she looked back up at you, that tilted head was a counterpoint to her perplexed tone. He's rock. You could almost hear the 'duh' that came after that sentence and you snorted softly in amusement. That's why he was so hard to move. Her voice took on a gentle, loving tone, and you realized that whatever or whoever Grumble was, he was evidently precious to Kiki. He's stubborn. And he's scared.

As you started down the stairs, you heard for the first time a rumbling at frequencies at the bottom of the audible range. You almost more felt the sound than heard it, so low were the vaguely annoyed growling noises that had Kiki answering in a spitting, roaring language that sounded like an approximation of them.

You got to the bottom of the stairs, doing everything in your power to keep your eyes on Kiki and her rock and not on what used to be Joseph. Once there, Kiki's face spread in what she used for a smile as she looked up at you and patted the stone beneath her again and said proudly, Grumble.

As he couldn't understand her, you explained to Bucky. "Grumble is this rock."

"I kind of figured that out for myself, thanks."

You shot Bucky a laughing grin, loving the irritated scowl on his face, delighted that he was back to regarding the world with a vague distrust. "He's also alive, and Kiki's friend. He followed her here when she got caught in Joseph's portal."

Bucky pulled you close and slung an arm around you to keep you there. "Pretty good friend." He smirked at you when his almost suggestive tone had your eyes flicking to his. You smirked back in acknowledgement before turning your gaze back to the flame creature that was now making a soothing chirring sound.

"Is it okay if I pick him up?" you asked her, needing to get away from Joseph as soon as possible. "So we can go inside?"

The little fire chirped a cheerful assent and nodded before immediately looking down to scold when the rock gave off what sounded like a hostile rumble. Bucky’s arm around your shoulders tightened slightly in response, a little concerned by it, and unwilling to watch you step again into peril so soon after the last time. "Let me, doll." You quirked a questioning eyebrow in his direction and he turned you in his arms to lean forward and brush your lips with his own, the gratitude he felt at having you safe bright in his eyes. He rested his forehead against yours, relief blowing through him, and smiled gently at you. "You've put yourself in danger enough tonight. I'm already gonna have nightmares."

You heard the dregs of fear in his voice, saw the relief of it in his face, and knew something of what it had cost him to watch you walk out the door to face Joseph. "Between Kiki," you answered, turning your cheek to tenderly rest it against his, "and you, I was never in any real danger."

Bucky's arms came around you in a move both fast and fierce. The next moment you were pressed firmly against him. His face was buried in your throat while he shuddered once, hard, before his hold gentled, and his lips brushed your skin as he spoke. "Sure didn't feel like it."

You simply held on, giving him the moment he needed to calm himself. He held you a moment longer than that, just for the joy of having you close. When he let you go, he flashed that million-watt grin of his that hit you like lightning every time and bent to pick up the little rumbly stone with his vibranium hand.

Kiki hopped out of the way and skittered up the hand you'd held out to nestle into her spot behind your ear where she could watch your world from your perspective. She had bonded herself to the roots of your hair, which is why your head started to smoke when she got angry. She was always more comfortable when she was closer to your scalp. From her perch she hissed in an encouraging tone towards the rock grumbling in Bucky's hand.

Bucky's eyes were on the stone, his brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concentration. He didn't look away when you took his hand and began moving up the stairs toward the house, too focused on the resentful grumbles of annoyance vibrating in his hand, up his arm and into his brain. He thought that if he just worked at it, he could come to understand what the different pulses and vibrations meant.

"We think he likes you." Your voice seemed to pop and growl in the same way Kiki had spoken to Grumble and drew Bucky's attention. While he'd been trying to understand the rumbles of the little stone in his hand, you'd led him to the front door and the unconscious body on the threshold. He bent and hauled the only cult member left up and over his shoulder with his free hand.

Bucky eased past you to carry Joseph's lieutenant to the kitchen, part of his attention still on the now curious purrs coming from Grumble. "Yeah. Cool." He was clearly distracted, and you wondered what about Kiki's friend had him so captivated. "Let's go call Steve so he can come clean this up."

"Actually," you said as you hopped up onto the kitchen counter to watch Bucky drop Brit to the floor, "I have a better idea."

By the time you made it back into bed, it was late morning, and you were unsteady on your feet, the weariness of the night having long since caught up with you. Still, your house was clean of Brit's presence and your yard of Joseph's body thanks to the phone call you'd made. You'd once done Maria Hill a favor and she was only too delighted to repay it. Even so odd a request hadn't fazed her when faced with the opportunity to no longer be in anyone's debt. Once Maria's crew had left, you and Bucky had been able to fall into bed in a tangled heap of relieved exhaustion.

If Maria'd had any questions about who had disabled and professionally restrained the tall and powerful person in your foyer, or about the bullet exactly through the heart of the incinerated corpse on your lawn, she kept them to herself. You imagined Nick Fury had already received a full and detailed report, but that was to be expected. You could only hope she was focused on you, considered it a small price to pay to distract them from Bucky's presence in your home.

Now that you'd found him, you would not give him up without a fight.

Bucky had stayed in the little library at the front of the second floor with Kiki and Grumble while you'd dealt with the people Maria had sent. Though he'd considered hiding in the forest during the clean-up, you'd been anxious at the thought. He couldn't stand to get that far away from you, not when he could so clearly see the worry in your eyes when he suggested it.

While he waited, he'd tried to communicate with Grumble. Something about the rumbling vibrations that came from the little stone resonated with his metal arm. If he focused on the sensory data he was getting from the vibranium, he could recognize tone and feeling. He would swear with practice he could truly communicate with the creature.

The clean-up took long enough that he got a little of that practice, was able to communicate enough reassurance to convince Grumble to open small, almond-shaped obsidian eyes. Those eyes had seemed to dart upward to the flame that popped and crackled on top of him. She whistled excitedly and, wrapping her arms of flame around his spikes, rocked him back and forth in what was clearly joy.

Bucky couldn't help but laugh at her antics, especially when he could feel Grumble's affection for her. He had placed one vibranium finger against one of the facets, could feel the relief, the gratitude underneath amused devotion, confirming Bucky's suspicions regarding their relationship. Whatever form it took, Grumble had followed Kiki because he loved her. 

Bucky could understand that feeling easily. He understood now he would follow you into the jaws of hell if he had to.

Thankfully, he didn't have to. Instead, he was laying on his side and nose to nose with you in the warmth of your bed and the only thing he cared about was hearing the words again. His arms were wrapped around you, his metal arm under your head, the other pressing you against him to feel your skin all over him.

Until he'd started sleeping in your bed, he hadn't realized how hungry he was for touch. Once he'd found the glory of your body warm and soft against his, he'd swiftly become obsessed. You were a feast to the famished, sweet and hot and delicious. His preference for having nothing between you whenever possible had been immediately apparent and something you indulged without comment. That silent acceptance inspired his everlasting gratitude as he hadn't known then how to tell you what it meant to him.

He knew now.

"Doll," his voice rumbled from his chest into yours and had you humming in pleasure and pressing closer, "I told you I wanted to talk about your timing." The feel of your body, warm and generous as you snuggled against his skin made both his body heat and his heart ache, and his hands smoothed over your skin in ways meant to make you shiver.

Your face melted into a bashful anxiety that made Bucky's heart pound like a drum. He couldn't believe that you could ever think that he'd be anything but endlessly thankful that you could feel a fraction of what he felt for you and he was terrified that you'd misunderstood. "Say it again, please," he whispered, his eyes burning like blue flames, "when there's time for me to say it back."

Your breath rushed out in relief, in joy, and your smile shone as your eyes blazed. You'd hoped the softness in his eyes had been reflecting his heart. "I love you, Bucky."

The sound of the words, the shape of them as they left your lips sent a feeling thrilling through his entire body, as though they had seeped beneath his skin and into the center of his being. His voice was hoarse with that desperate emotion when he answered. "I love you, too."

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours and he was taking your breath away. You let him, not needing air when you were breathing his breath, breathing him. Your body already yearning to his, your skin set aflame everywhere he touched, you gave yourself up to his embrace with nothing held back.

Bucky was drowning in you, in the soft warmth you'd shown him from the first time, gladly going under. He loved to hear the words, but now that he knew the name of the emotion that left your mouth so soft against his, he had to keep tasting it on your tongue. Your hands were as fervid as your mouth in their race over his skin, as greedy as your lips as they fed from his. The feeling went to his head and soaked into his body to make him ache with a joyous kind of need. The sound of your pleasure in your throat seemed to resonate with his bones.

His lips left yours to press to the pulse in your throat, wanting both the taste of your skin and the thump of your heart, glorying in the temptation of your voice. "I think my luck changed, too,” you murmured.

Bucky's body seemed to clench in reaction to the ache in your tone and he rolled until he was stretched out on top of you, his hips between your thighs, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. He was smiling sweetly as he brushed his lips over yours, but that smile turned sly as he bent to kiss your neck again. "I met your ex. Your luck completely changed."

The feel of your laughter vibrating in your throat under his lips sent a rush through him, lust and love tangled together to keep his touch tender even as his hands began to wander to incite, to arouse.

Skin to skin and heart to heart, you were soon entwined and rocking toward ecstasy. Always a joyous experience, your joining was even sweeter, now that you had given each other the love you’d both been holding back. The words were as sweet on your lips as they were to his ear when you whispered them as you quaked in pleasure. His arms enveloped you and the choked cry of your name had your hands gliding over him to hold him through his own rapture.

A long time later, once he’d adored you to his own exacting standards, pleasuring you thoroughly and doing all he could to erase the memory of the night before from both your minds, you lay boneless and satisfied in each other’s arms.

“I kind of feel weird about what we just did.” His voice was low and raspy and made you shiver agreeably. His tone was so quiet and calm, it didn’t break the silence as much as it dismissed it. You marveled at the fact that your body was utterly exhausted and still yearned. Even now you could want him. “You know, with them here.”

You glanced at the nightstand where Kiki lay curled up on top of Grumble, both ostensibly asleep. You could still feel the gentle hum of her awareness in the back of your mind, however, and knew she was still half-awake. You smiled and turned back to Bucky to nuzzle his mouth with your own.

"Kiki lives at the roots of my hair; she's seen it." You'd used up what little energy you had and let your head fall back to the pillow. Bucky, on the other hand, lifted his head to stare at you as you continued. "They're not interested, I promise." His look of mildly horrified confusion made you snort, but you answered defensively. "She sets fires if she just wanders around freely. This is the first time she's been able to hang out somewhere else."

"She lives in your hair?" You laughed out loud at the tone of his voice, rich with baffled shock, and the worried eyes that raked the top of your head as he craned his neck to see your scalp. "Doesn't that hurt?"

You were still laughing as you lifted one heavy arm to draw his head down to yours for a long, tender kiss. You should have known that his one worry would be for your safety, your comfort. This was why you'd fallen in love with the man, the generous heart that beat so true beneath that delightfully gruff exterior.

Your voice was a little breathless from the kiss when it broke, but still soft with remorse. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about her, about Joseph, any of it." That remorse also softened your mouth as it brushed over his beautiful face. "At first it was because I promised to keep her secret, then it was because I was afraid."

Bucky appreciated the apology but considered it unnecessary as he could easily understand your reticence considering the circumstances. Even if he wanted to be angry, he was pretty sure that was impossible with you soft and warm in his arms, with your gentle mouth brushing love into his skin. He should probably be concerned that you had such a hold on him, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

Snuggling you closer, he smoothed his palm slowly up your spine as he closed his eyes to better appreciate the sensation of your skin against his. "Afraid of what?" He murmured the question, and you could feel in the way he pressed you closer that he was wondering if he had the energy to love you one more time. Alas, you were pretty sure you did not, but that didn't stop your heart from kicking like it was willing to find out.

You used the arm you'd slid around his waist to pull yourself tightly against him so that you could bury your face in his neck. His palm was just rough enough to send shivers through you as he skimmed it over your skin. "That it would be too much, too weird." You smiled against his throat when he scoffed. "I have custody of a fire elemental. She's kind of a lot."

Bucky scoffed harder and rolled his eyes as he pressed his lips to the top of your head. "I'm an international fugitive because I spent the last several decades a brainwashed assassin." His hand had reached the nape of your neck, only to turn and start the path back down, his touch both soothing and tender. "That's kind of a lot, too, but you don't seem to mind."

You sighed in pleasure, in contentment, and let your eyes drift closed. The warmth of his body, the smooth skim of his skin over yours, the rumble of his voice as he spoke all combined to leave you boneless and sleepy in his arms. "I knew what I was getting into," you murmured and the beginning of a slur to your tone alerted Bucky to your fading consciousness.

He smiled and felt the last of his own tension start to fade. If you were as happily content as your body seemed to communicate as you rested so trustingly against him, he saw no need to stay on guard. He let himself relax and enjoy the sensation of love and safety that had been so rare in his life until he met you. "You were on fire the first time I saw you," he reminded you gently, smiling at the memory now that he knew how truly safe from the fire he was. "I wasn't exactly in the dark."

You tilted your head back so that you could look into his face. His mouth was soft with affection, his blue eyes bright behind lowered lids. The way-past-five-o'clock-shadow darkening his features only added to the deliciously dangerous look of him. The sight of him made your heart race and your throat swell. A little breathless with it, with him, you kissed him gently. "I love you."

Bucky's grin flashed, dazzling white against the dark of his stubble. "I will never get tired of hearing that." His pretty lips brushed yours once, twice, before he gave in and sank into a long, tender kiss. When he raised his head again, your eyes fluttered open to meet icy blue hot with emotion. "I love you, too, doll."

Your face lit up with a bright and happy smile that made Bucky feel ten feet tall. When you snuggled into his arms and closed your eyes with a sigh of contentment, seemingly determined to fall asleep in his arms, he simply adjusted to maximize the comfort of you both and prepared to follow you into dreamland.

Just as his eyes were falling closed, Bucky's gaze landed on the little stone that had followed Kiki into this world. The vibrations that seemed to resonate with his arm and into his brain were still causing questions to chase each other in circles around his mind. There was only one person he would consider trusting with this secret, and she was also the only person who understood vibranium well enough to answer any of those questions.

"How do you feel about international travel?" His voice was loud enough to keep you from sliding into sleep, but still a low, sexy rumble. If only you could stay awake. "I know someone who would kill to meet Grumble."

You snorted, softly, and turned to rub your face against the skin of his collarbones, basking in him. "Let me know when you convince Grumble and I'm in." Your mouth twisted sardonically against his chest, even as you started to relax back into sleep. It was impossible to stay awake when your worst enemy was dead, your worst worries were over, and you were safe and comfortable in the arms of the sweetest man you'd ever known. "Then we can all try to convince Kiki."

Bucky couldn't resist the siren song of the softness of your body, bonelessly trusting, nor that of a deep and dreamless sleep that he knew would be his reward for getting you through the crisis safe and sound. "Will that be difficult?"

"She's paranoid and temperamental." Bucky could hear a small, half-hearted hiss coming from the direction of the nightstand. That hiss prompted a forceful and challenging change to your tone. "Yes. Unless Grumble has some ability to persuade that we don't, it will be very difficult."

Next came a sound like a small tumble of gravel, but the little clacks of rock against each other had such an amused tone to it, you couldn't help but hear it. Bucky laughed out loud, as he could hear the smug assurance underneath the laughter and knew Grumble was perfectly capable of persuading Kiki. Her hissing denial was clearly weak to everyone in the room, and it was clear she was as smitten with Grumble as he with her.

Though the little flame sounded irritated, you could hear the reluctant amusement mixed with attraction in the back of your mind and wondered what Kiki saw when she looked at the other creature. Whatever it was, she was as caught in her sexy, grumpy partner as you were in yours.

Bucky grinned at you, thoroughly familiar with the feeling of smug amusement he was getting from Grumble, since he got to experience it every time you lost your train of thought looking at him. You grinned back, reluctantly amused by the arrogance all over him, and thinking you and Kiki had a lot more in common than you'd thought.

The End

Taglist:

@hellzzzbelle​ @samwilsons-pillowpecs​ @cheekygeek05​ @lbouvet​ @diinofayce​ @bibliophile1773​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @miraclesoflove​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​ @destiel-is--endgame​ @irritated-bisexual​ @peaceinourtime82​ @badassbaker​ @walkingtravesty97​ @fashionworld12​ @readermia​

[ginnyweasleywannabe]

How James found out- James' Pov

Companion piece to my other story "How James found out" but from James' POV. Gives more of glimpse to Marlene and James' friendship with a little background Blackinnon tender moment.

((I still don't know how to format a tumblr post so if you want to read the first piece, just go to my page and search tag #my writing))

As always you can also read on AO3 @inthemiddle

Notes: IDK honestly I just wanted to write more of the thoughts behind the other story. I thought about writing the talk between Marlene and James' after this event but I think I'll make that a separate piece. As always minimal editing because I just wanted to write and then be done and get it out-there.

Start:

Honestly, James was tired. He had been really pushing himself both mentally and physically lately. Revising was starting soon so he was working his school work more than usual. Revising and the end of the year also meant the end of quidditch season. They only had a few more games which mean they really needed to make them count to have the best chance at the cup. He had been looking forward to dinner all day, all the workouts meant bigger appetite. He was currently diving in deep into his shepherds pie, only half listening to the talk around him.

“Peter was great, he took a step in front of me and held up his wand. He didn’t even have to say anything, they just left!”

“Well, it wasn’t quite like that Mary….” Peter said sheepishly, “I think they knew that if they messed with us then it would become a whole thing with you lot, that’s all.”

“Peter, I think it was nice of you to stand in front of Mary. They truly believe as a muggle-born she’d be worth the easy fight.” Lily wanted to help boost Peters confidence.

“It shouldn’t matter! Mary is great at defense, she could’ve taken the whole lot without even breaking a sweat!” Marlene’s word were encouraging but James could tell she was really annoyed. Marlene tended to have a short fuse. James couldn’t blame her. He felt like things were getting worse and worse. He was of the firm belief that it was time for the staff to take more action. Dumbledore was a believer in keeping the peace and that there was always more to the story. James felt like that was bullshit.

“Uggghhh”

He looked up to see Marlene staring down some Slytherins down the table. He knew what she was thinking. He could read Marlene like quidditch through the ages. He got it but tomorrow was really important to him. He just wanted to make it through the game then deal with this.

“Just let them pass, Marley, it’s not worth getting suspended from tomorrow’s game” James urged her with a pleading glance.

Rosier sniggered to Snape “I saw the little chubby one staring at the redhead mudblood earlier, she must had something special to get them all worked up”

Okay screw keeping the peace, James was out of his seat. And so was Marley… and so was Sirius. But he was just not going for the Slytherins, he standing in front of her, back to Snape and Rosier. He had his arms wrapped around Marley’s waist, trying his best to stop the lunging girl. James felt small quick relief, Sirius had Marlene. If things turned physical, which it would with Marlene, she had a good ex but much preferred a punch, they would definitely have to forfeit tomorrow’s game. He glanced away from the focus of the two for just a second, taking in the whole scene as Rosier said “She’s got all of you wrapped around her finger, maybe I ought to give her a try.”

Marlene went to lunge again but James knew Sirius could hold her steady. He went to turn back and give the pair of Slytherins his mind but suddenly he was more focused on Marlene and Sirius. They had exchanged a few words but now it was time for Snape to cut in “Yeah Black control your girl” welp. James knew that wasn’t good. Back in 5th year Marlene had dated Luke Wilson for a few months and hated being called “his girl” She was not a piece of property. James knew the chances for the game tomorrow were gone, or so he thought but then Sirius just leaned into Marlene and whispered something in her ear. She slowly relaxed and let her feet back down onto the floor. Marlene never relaxed that easily, especially with the way things had been going for her today. Then with one arm still wrapped around her waist, Sirius used his free hand to push a piece of hair behind her ear. James suddenly felt like he was invading in a private moment. A private moment between his best friend and his sister.

What. The. fuck.

Before James could even blink, Marlene straightened her robes and excused herself. James whipped his head to Sirius. Sirius looked at James like everything was perfectly normal, like he didn’t just stroke Marlene’s hair and comfort her. He gave a quick shrug and then agreed with Lily to go check on Marlene. The whole group went to get up and James was still stunned for movement before storming ahead of the rest of the 6th years. He found Marlene pacing out in the corridor. James charged ahead, he wanted answers.

“What the hell was that?” He couldn’t help but raise his voice.

“Oh, sorry Jamie, I know I should have let it go but its just been a long day” Marlene sighed letting her shoulders hang.

James wasn’t mad at her outburst, how could she think that. This just got him more worked up, why was she not answering. “Jamie” that was she had always called him. She was the only person he allowed to call him that, it was their thing.

“I don’t care about that… what the fuck was that” James knew he wasn’t making a ton of sense but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words, so waving his hands around like a mad man would have to suffice. Marlene just stared at him with a face of confusion.

“James…”

Oh yeah that bastard was still here. During this whole thing James had been processing things at lightning speed and thinking everything through but at the sound of Sirius’ voice James didn’t think, he just whipped around and punched Sirius. Sirius stumbled a little but remained on his feet. James was seething. Marlene was his everything, he would give his life for her. She was the first person outside of his parents he ever loved, it wasn’t romantic but that’s what made it so special because he felt so much love for her it went beyond lust.

“James, its not-“ it’s not what he thinks?! Was he actually about to say that? What else could it be. Sirius had been sneaking around with his Marley behind his back, after he promised he would stay away from her. Sirius had taken advantage of her, her willingness to love everyone and want to fix broken things. James hit him again, this time knocking him to the floor

“MY SISTER?? I asked you for one thing and it was not to sleep with my sister!!” James was yelling as loud as he could. Sirius felt the blood from his nose. He lunged back at James. James was caught off guard expecting to just let him have it. They both tumbled to floor, it didn’t last long before the group was pulling them apart.

James was breathing hard. He was glaring daggers at Sirius while Marlene quickly wiped his cheek. Why was she doing that, why was she comforting her. She suddenly whipped around to James.

“What. the fuck. was. that.”

James recoiled into himself for just a moment. He took a lighter tone remember that this was his favorite person, he hoped his tone was filled with love so that she would listen to him. “Marley...”

“What. did you. Mean. He. Promised.” Oh yeah… had he said promised. He had never meant for Marley to find out about the promise. But once he explained, she would understand, he wasn’t the person she should be upset with. He was doing this for her.

“It’s Sirius, you know how he his. After fifth year anyone with eyes could see the way he was looking at you. I just wanted to keep you safe, I mean, I mean HE” but Marlene cut him off.

“You had no right to do that, James. You don’t get to hold your good deeds over him for a favor in return. Especially one that controls MY life.” Marlene was still glaring up at him. Her voice never taking the soft tone they usually used with each other.

James released his breath and hung his head. He was tired and he hated fighting with Marlene, he just wanted to go somewhere with her and they would talk, move past this and laugh.

“James…” Sirius had started barley above a whisper.

“Don’t.” James removed any emotion from his voice but anger. He couldn’t be here anymore, he turned and left the group.

[xyzcekaden]

🚍 unsuspecting sunday afternoon 🚍

by me, xyzcekaden! a pokemon fanfic about when the one you hate to love is made for you

How capable is the human heart now?

fandom: pokemon, gen 3, advanced generation characters: ash, may, steven stone in a “supporting” role ship: advanceshipping genre: romance, angst themes: friendship, pre-relationship, slowburn, 6+1 if you squint setting: modern, hoenn, pokemon universe lite word count: 4.6k rating: T

read it below, on ffnet, or on ao3!

A/N (9.7.201): So this has been in my drafts since about April 2020 😅 Sure, I'm happy to finally share something new with the small yet strong advanceshipping fandom; but more than that, I'm relieved this document can no longer taunt me with its incompletion, hahaha. Do let me know what you think! Especially with this opening formatting; I'm trying something new. :)

Nothing sensitive in the fic, but the characters are all adults so it felt fitting to rate it T. Title taken from the song of the same name by the Backstreet Boys, and its lyrics/sentiments are interwoven throughout. The narrative is inspired and framed by monstaxnight's anonymous ask. If you recognise it, it doesn't belong to me. Thanks for reading!

~~~

fall for someone whose body would start fires

On a Saturday, May asked Ash to come over the next day. “I need a second opinion on something,” she had said. “It’ll be super quick.”

Of course, ‘super quick’ means Ash has enough time to set his switch up on May’s gigantic living room tv and play a few rounds of his favourite fighting video game while she gets ready for something or another in her room. He always acts like he has better things to do than help her with her sundry weekly ventures, but they both know he’d rather do ‘nothing’ with her than ‘something’ on his own somewhere else.

“Okay, Ash, are you ready?” May’s voice rings out. “Yeah,” he answers distractedly, strategically button smashing.

“So I kept the jeans from this last outfit, but this top I just got two weekends ago and haven’t had a chance to wear yet,” May narrates as she exits her room. “I had the, frankly, brilliant idea of using the jacket from Outfit 1 and pairing it with those heels you paid for for my birthday, et voila!”

The clacking of heels stops at the entrance of the hallway. “What do you think?’

Ash redirects his attention to May. His avatar dies on screen, just like his voice dies in his throat.

“You, um, you look great.”

In actuality, May looks smoking hot, but that’s not new for either of them. His best friend is supremely attractive, and he knew it and had no problem acknowledging it normally. This time, however, May doesn’t just look physically great, she also looks like she feels like she looks great. He doesn’t know how much sense that makes; but there is decidedly something different, and Ash feels a strange sense of dread in his chest.

May beams, taking the inarticulate response in stride. “Well that’s a winning endorsement if I ever heard one! Now let’s just hope Steven has as great of a reaction.” She turns to one of the many full-length mirrors stationed around her condo and reviews the outfit with a critical eye.

This brings Ash out from his stupor. “‘Steven’?” he repeats as he sits up on the couch. “You’re going on a date?”

“It’s not a date,” May replies in a tone that clearly conveys that she would not be opposed to it turning into a date. “My dad is having dinner with an old business partner, and the guy’s bringing his son along, so me and Max were invited, too. We were kinda friends back when we were young, but it’s not like we’ve kept in touch or anything. I just figured I should make a good second first-impression… You know, for my dad’s sake.”

Ash can tell the last bit was just something she’s telling herself to rationalise why she’s trying so hard, and it doesn’t sit right with him. He slinks back down on the couch dejectedly and halfheartedly starts a new game.

He finds himself wondering how often they hung out and how much whatever-that-number-was-teenth impressions were worth. He hopes it’s a lot.

~~~

fall for someone who always runs from his kiss

“… And I was right! They were roommates!” May boisterously ends her story, almost losing her ice cream to physics as she wildly gesticulates.

They’re just strolling around the park that’s honestly nowhere near either of their apartments; but over the years, it became their park anyway. They didn’t even set plans to hang out today, but it kinda just happened―a recurring theme in their friendship, admittedly.

For his part, Ash hides a smirk with a lick to his own ice cream, not bothering to say or do anything to protect her treat. If she hasn’t learned by now, she never would. “Oh my god, they were roommates,” he deadpans instead.

May sends him an unimpressed smirk and lightly smacks Ash’s shoulder. He yelps. She yanks her hand back as soon as she realises, but the damage is done.

He blinks down at the cold, vanilla, rainbow-sprinkled stain before raising his gaze to meet May’s equally stunned one.

They stare in silence for a moment, then May cracks a conciliatory grin. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry?”

He shrugs it off easily. “I probably deserved it,” he says, making peace with the knowledge that his previous unwillingness to protect her ice cream from any accidents is the undoubted origin for his current poor luck. He nods toward the path. “Shall we?”

“We passed by a restroom a little bit ago. We can clean you up,” May disagrees, tugging on his arm in the opposite direction.

“‘S fine,” he argues as he tries to continue walking forward.

“Ash, it’ll stain!” She tugs harder.

“It’ll be an improvement!” He’s overpowering her, but not as easily as he’d like.

“Why are you being such a butthead about this!?” She’s pulling with all her strength now, this being a matter of pride to her at this point.

“Come on, May!” Ash heaves one last time.

They tumble head over feet onto the ground, but that’s not the reason Ash feels like his world has turned upside down.

May’s body weighs comfortably on his, his hands naturally settle on her waist with hers on his chest, and his brown eyes bore into her blues. Their ice cream has fallen… somewhere, but Ash doesn’t concern himself with that considering this is the closest they’ve been since they first met.

They’ve been toeing this line since then, too.

I’m gonna do it, he thinks to himself.

He closes his eyes.

He leans in.

May scrambles away.

Ash sits up and blinks at the sight of May’s confused, furious eyes. “Ash, what are you doing?” Her voice croaks like her throat is dry. It makes him clear his own before dumbly responding, “I was trying to kiss you.”

“Why??” she asks, her voice strangled. He pushes himself off the ground warily as he watches her hold herself, bite her lip, shake her head in a panic; and somehow in all of that, he understands.

“I thought it wasn’t a date.” Ash tries so hard not to sound accusatory, but her wince in response proves it didn’t work. It also proves his fear correct.

He turns, hiding as if the people walking by could discern his transgression and shame by the sight of his face alone. Besides, his mind can conjure up an image of her running away just fine on its own.

Ash notices the remnants of their impromptu outing splattered on the ground near his feet. He picks up what he can and stomps over to the nearest trash bin, throwing it in as hard as he can to let out some of his frustration.

He hopes he hasn’t gone and screwed everything up.

~~~

fall for someone whose lips belong to someone else

They don’t talk about it, and then it’s too late.

“Ash, this is Steven,” she tells him softly, as if it could make up for how it feels like the sight of her arms wrapped around the guy’s torso and his arm casually thrown over her shoulder assaults him every time he blinks.

“Steven Stone. It’s great to finally meet you. May speaks of you highly,” Steven introduces with a dignified air. Not pompous, no; he is just someone who was raised being told that he was going to do important things and who happened to believe it.

They shake hands, and Ash’s fingers feel cold, a marked contrast to how there’s something in his chest that’s burning.

Inside the restaurant, the waitress asks if a table is okay, and no one asks for a booth instead. In his seat, Ash is neither directly in between nor directly across from the newly-established couple, and he wonders if this is where all his luck went into.

Lunch goes better than expected.

Ash was prepared to hate the guy, but what is there to hate? Steven has a decent sense of humour, loves pokemon but loves rocks even more, and is COO of the biggest enterprise in Hoenn. He is a safe, sensible choice. This guy isn’t going to break May’s heart.

As the meal winds down, Steven offers to pay for everyone; but Ash still has his pride. In the end, he manages to negotiate paying for just his own plate and drink, knowing he has no right to battle for the privilege of paying for May’s.

He wouldn’t even do so on a typical occasion anyway; but as far as Ash is concerned, Steven’s presence throws all of the friends’ typical rules of engagement out the window.

They say goodbye and part ways in front of the restaurant.

A few steps later, Ash snaps his fingers as he recalls something. He turns around to remind May of their movie plans in a few days, and he is met with the sight of the couple sharing a sweet kiss on the corner while waiting for the light to change.

Steven could never break May’s heart, but he sure can break Ash’s.

Ash turns back and continues walking. He hopes May can remember on her own.

~~~

fall for someone whose touch is way too much

May insists that nothing has changed between them, but clearly something has because Ash doesn’t remember ever being so anxious about her proximity before.

He had always been aware of her, though. Always. When your first meeting is saving the other from getting run over by a tour bus, you quickly develop the habit of keeping track of where the person is at all times.

Between his athleticism and her natural proclivity towards tactileness, casual physical exchanges quickly became their norm: hugs and high fives, friendly elbows in the rib after a good joke and sharing a blanket as they watch a movie, (lingering touches on the shoulder and holding hands even after they’ve escaped a crowd… or did he make those up?).

They were controlled yet unmistakably affectionate markers of their relationship.

But now?

When she shifts one centimetre closer to him in line at the mall food court, he accidentally overpays by fifty pokeyen out of distraction. When she grabs his fork out of his hand to try a piece of his takoyaki, he jerks so hard at the contact that he spills his soft drink all over the table. When she pats him dry using flimsy food court napkins with a joke about ice cream in her voice and fondness in her eyes, he needs to claim a rapid-onset fever in order to give himself an excuse to cut their lunch short immediately.

These innocent touches have been an ever-present facet of their friendship since basically the beginning; and even when he realised he was in love, they hadn’t affected him like this.

Things are different now, despite what she says.

Well, maybe not things; maybe just him.

He had allowed himself to revel in their familiar touches when she was single because he could, because there was no one else that she was supposed to be able to make feel like this. Even if the feeling wasn’t meant for him, it wasn’t meant for anyone else either.

But now.

He can’t, in good conscience, allow his heart to rush and his smile to form and his hand to squeeze back. It wouldn’t be fair to May, not when she’s trusting him with her friendship and he’s taking more from her than that.

Even though he’d like nothing else than to keep that closeness, to go back to how it was between them before, this is the way it has to be now. He just hopes she can understand.

~~~

fall for someone he doesn’t want to feel for

On sleepless nights, he wonders when.

He knows the who, what, why, and how; but the when eludes him.

...

They were both breathing heavy, attention focused on the spot of the road where the girl would have flattened like a pancake if it weren’t for his quick reflexes and hero complex.

The clapping of a few passers-by snapped them out of their shock and into the realisation that he still had her protectively cradled to his chest.

They quickly broke apart, and he took the time to wave off the praise from the gathered crowd while she checked her purse to see if everything was inside.

“You got everything?” he asked after people’s attentions finally turned back towards their own lives.

“Yeah, I do,” the girl replied, and her voice was rather cheery considering the ordeal she just survived. (He would later learn that was her default.)

“Great,” he said, genuine yet awkward.

They continued staring at each other. The adrenaline from their brush with danger hadn’t worn off yet; his heart was still beating very fast.

“So, um, have a good day,” he bade after it was clear neither of them had anything more to say. He made to return to his errands, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

“You saved my life, and you’re just gonna walk away?” she asked incredulously.

He blinked at her. “I’ll be honest; I wasn’t aware there was an after-action protocol for this sort of situation.”

She was incredulous for only a second before she giggled at him. “The least I can do is buy you lunch to say ‘thank you.’”

“Well, I’ve never turned down a free meal,” he accepts with a grin.

She giggled again then stuck out her hand. “My name’s May.”

“Ash.”

...

No, it wasn’t then. Nor was it during the meal they shared, nor at the bar where they happened to see each other that weekend, nor while they were escaping from the bar fight that she accidentally instigated that night.

...

“Is this going to become a running gag? Will I have to constantly be saving you from trouble you unintentionally get yourself into?” Ash panted after he directed her to duck into a nearby alley.

“Hey, as far as I’m concerned, this automatically makes me the most interesting friend you’ve got,” May countered.

He took one extra second to check no one was following them then cut a glance at her. “I don’t know about you, but most of my friends have my number.”

She rolled her eyes with a smile. “Smooth.” They switched phones and exchanged numbers.

“Better memorize that by heart,” he jested as he handed her her phone back. “Don’t wanna waste your one phone call at the station just because you mixed up the last two digits by accident.”

“If the next time you hear from me is because I went and got myself arrested, just leave me to rot. I must have earned it,” she smirked.

...

Luckily, the next time one of them reached out to the other wasn’t to bail the former out of jail. May invited him to a pool party for her birthday, where he handily won a water balloon fight and impressed everyone by fixing the grill for their barbeque. Their friendship continued to progress naturally: movie nights that turned into impromptu sleepovers, brunches that turned into walks around town. Several shopping trips and video games and hikes later, they were each other’s best friends. It was basically inevitable.

So when? When would he have had the chance to fall in love with her?

...

“Hello?”

“Ash, you picked up!” she sounded surprised―happy, but surprised―and he winced. He knew he’d been blowing her off a little more often lately, but making her think he’d turn down her phone call?

“Heh, yeah, sorry about that,” he said, betting on the hope that she somehow implicitly understood everything he was apologising for. “Is everything okay?”

For an extended second, she was quiet, then she said, “I need to tell you something.”

His hackles rose, and he started grabbing his keys and putting on his shoes. Maybe she finally ended up in jail. “Where are you? I can be there in ten minutes, maybe twenty with traffic―”

She giggled, and he paused. That was her nervous giggle. “May?” he asked, still wary but not about to race out of his house with only his boxers on.

“No! No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just… Steven told me he loves me.”

His breath left his lungs.

“And I told him I love him back,” she continued.

All the adrenaline that had surged through his body only moments before completely left him at her words, and his limbs locked up instead. He felt cold.

“Hello?”

He didn’t even realise he had sunk to his knees until he meant to take a step back towards the couch. He just slumped onto his butt. “That’s―” He had to clear his throat. “That’s gotta be recent.”

He could slap himself. He sounded as dead as he felt. He tried again: “I mean, that’s great news, May! He’s a lucky guy. Yeah.”

She sighed with relief. Could Steven tell what her sighs meant over the phone? ”I’m the lucky one, I think,” she said happily, and that was his last straw.

“Heh, yeah, well,” he sputtered out, just to have something to say. “Listen, since you’re not in danger or anything, uh, you actually caught me at a bad time, so I gotta go. I’ll catch you later, yeah?”

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

“Wait, Ash! Before you go!”

He held back a sigh. “What’s up, May?”

“It’s just… You’re right; it is recent. You’re actually the first person I told.”

“I’m honoured.” He couldn’t help the sarcasm that spilled out, but he backtracked quickly. “I mean it. Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course, Ash; I tell you everything. At this point, it’s like I have to; nothing would ever feel real otherwise.”

He shut his eyes. He really couldn’t take this anymore. “I know what you mean. Same here.”

She made a cute sound, a quiet little ‘hmm,’ and that was when the first tear spilled out. “Alright, I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll text you later!!” she promised.

“Later,” he repeated, both an echo and a goodbye; and finally, blissfully, he ended the call.

...

When, when, when?!

That was supposed to be one of the sweetest moments of her young adult life, and she called on him―trusted him, even―to be happy for her. When did he get to the point where he couldn’t even do that? Instead, he recalls it now as he struggles to fall asleep, playing the memory at half-speed over and over again in his imagination, and all he does is hope.

He desperately hopes it’ll stop hurting so much.

~~~

fall for someone with the sweetest rebel heart

When he finds out he didn’t get the promotion he was vying for at work, there’s no one else’s comfort he sought but May’s.

“I’m sorry that happened, Ash,” May soothes as she rubs rhythmic circles into Ash’s back. They’re in her condo, noticeably nicer maintained than Ash’s flat, side by side on the sofa. It is the first time he’s let her touch him in weeks, and he really needs it. “At least now they know you’re interested? It might be your turn next time.”

Ash snorts but nods anyway. He’s usually the type to look at the bright side, but it would be an understatement to say that he is simply disappointed. After all the L’s he’s been taking in his personal life, he had been hoping at least something would go his way professionally.

May continues, “Just make sure not to let this setback actually set you back. Keep putting your best foot forward, and I know you’ll win those guys over… just like you did with me!” She ends with a wink, trying her hardest to inject some levity into the situation.

Just like that, Ash’s mood sours even more. “You can’t say that to me, May,” he angrily replies as he shuffles out of her hold.

“What are you talking about?” she pouts as she feebly tries to get him to lay back against the couch so that the cold air can’t get under the blanket they are sharing.

“I didn’t ‘win you over,’ clearly.” He shrugs off her touch and scoots away. He has spent so long trying to keep his bitterness inside, but he doesn’t have the emotional wherewithal to regulate himself right now. He’s tired of trying to get over things that make him upset.

May frowns, the furrow between her brow getting deeper as she sits up straight on the sofa. “Ash, why are you talking like that? I meant, like, how we became friends, obviously. I didn’t grow to love you by accident.”

Ash stands then, balling the blanket up and throwing it back on the couch. “I bet Steven wouldn’t be too happy to hear you say that.”

She follows suit, her voice elevating in volume as if to match. “I bet Steven wouldn’t appreciate being judged by someone who’s only met him once―despite my efforts otherwise, might I add.”

“I bet Steven would love to hear his girlfriend say she loves another guy.”

“I bet Steven isn’t dumb enough to think I can’t love you both.”

“You don’t love me, May!” Ash finally explodes.

He has never raised his voice like this, not to her, but he’s tired. He’s tired of loving someone he can’t have, he’s tired of hating himself for it, and he’s tired of the guilt when he takes it out on her despite all his attempts not to.

She looks like she’s torn between yelling right back or kicking him out; and before she could make up her mind, he collects himself enough so he could bring his voice down. He states simply, “Not the way you love Steven.” Not the way I love you.

He doesn’t say it, but he can tell she hears it anyway. He clears his throat and turns around, trying to hide without running away. “Hearts don’t work like that,” he murmurs into the room.

He makes to leave, but May’s hand on his shoulder stops him. She forcibly turns him back to face her, and Ash is shocked at the determined set to her face. Her eyes, bluer than a water stone and twice as powerful, hold him as captive as they always have. “You listen to me, Ash Ketchum.” Her tone brokers no argument. “If you thought for a second that I stopped loving you because I fell in love with Steven, you clearly underestimated what my heart is capable of.”

Her grip on him tightens, as if making sure he is still with her in the moment. “It’s big enough for the both of you; and if that’s not the way hearts are supposed to work, then I’ll just be the exception that proves the rule.”

She pulls him into a hug then, like locking that promise between them, and he dares let himself hope she means that.

~~~

fall for someone whose heart needs sewing up

Ash wasn’t expecting a knock on his door this late at night, and he definitely wasn’t expecting to see a beautifully made up May Maple standing in the hallway, mascara-tinged tears and runny nose notwithstanding.

"Steven is moving to Alola to support Devon Corp’s expansion," is all she said, but even that much is hard to make out through her watery voice.

The news sinks in, and Ash’s heart feels like someone moved it three centimetres to the left: still there, still functional, but not at all where he needs it to be.

"You’ve always talked about going to Alola," is the only way he could respond, thinking of all the times they’ve imagined taking a week off and vacationing in the tropical region. He won’t, can’t let himself think about anything else or else he’d break down.

In his heartbreak, he cannot recognise May's tears, which are too raw and too loud to be that of someone bearing regrettable news. These are the tears of a confused, broken heart.

"Ash, I'm not going," she sniffles, still stiffly standing outside his door. "He asked me not to."

Finally understanding that he misunderstood, Ash is even more disoriented than he was before. "Why would he do that?" he asks, obviously still trying to wrap his mind around what the hell was happening.

"I don’t know!" May yells while clenching her fists and stomping a high-heeled foot. It is the most movement she's made since he opened the door. "I demanded a reason, and he spewed nonsense at me! He said―" and she stops. Her whole body slumps back into stillness but without the stiffness of before. She continues quietly, "He said he didn’t want to see what I’d look like with my heart so far outside of my chest," like a guilty confession. Ash is at once reminded of their almost-fight a month ago, and he still isn’t sure what this all means.

He almost asks, Why wouldn’t he believe your heart was right where you were? or How capable is the human heart now? but he doesn’t.

Instead, he finally welcomes May inside. He sits her on the couch and helps her take off her heels before she wraps herself up in the blanket he keeps there―a blanket he only has, he remembers, because when she first visited his apartment, she insisted his couch needed one. She doesn’t just hold the blanket around her shoulders; she hides her entire frame within its folds. He merely sits on the couch next to the lump and places a solitary hand on top, unsure where it was resting yet hoping it is providing comfort nevertheless.

He wonders if May ever let Steven see her like this, the way she needs to shut out all stimuli as if to physically recreate her darkest moments. He wonders why he loves that she does that, even though it causes him so much selfish pain to be close enough to see her like this but shut out from her healing.

"I don’t think I have a boyfriend anymore," May says at length, voice dampened by the space and fabric between them.

It would have been the happiest news of Ash’s adult life if it weren’t for the extreme melancholy that laced her tone as she said it out loud.

He squeezes his hand into a fist on top of the blanket, his signal that he’d like to hug her if he could.

"I would have missed you if you left." Ash gives a nonsequitur-confession in response. May burrows deeper into the blankets and says nothing.

Instead, she reaches a hand out from a heretofore unseen opening in the fabric and holds on to his other hand tightly.

Ash stares at her slender knuckles, made paler from her firm grasp, and stops hoping.

He gently plies her fingers from his palm and tries not to feel guilty about the shocked, embarrassed way the hand pulls back into the blanket as he leaves her there.

The love of his life needs compassion right now. This is not his opportunity to sweep her off her feet; this is not his second chance.

He returns from the bedroom, settles back into his place on the couch, and forces May out of the blanket.

~~~

May jerks her head up, shocked and angry and still embarrassed from her rejected attempt to seek Ash’s comfort, but she is quickly mollified into confusion. The expected sight of Ash’s lit up form in his lit up living room ends up being no different from the blackness from which she thought she was rudely taken.

It is so dark under the extra, larger blanket that she can’t even see Ash’s nose even though she can sense his head is mere inches from hers.

His hands find hers in the darkness and squeeze. Relief flashes through her as she finally surrenders to the deep, thick slice of heartbreak.

May wants to see his face, but she settles for a hug.

[tangledinmdzs]

you belong to me, junior quartet hcs

junior quartet soulmate headcanons (modern au)

these are a bit long, but i hope you all don’t mind (also i hope you won’t mind the little formatting things i’m working on hehe)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Lan Sizhui

the timer

the moment that Lan Sizhui met you, he knew that you would be someone important to him

when his parents had become friendly with the family down the street and had introduced him to your smiling face, there was no turning back from there

he’d always adored you, long before the timer appeared on your 12th birthdays

and even after that, when the craze of estimates and soulmate countdowns swept through your school he still felt the same lingering ease of being beside you

Sizhui was fine with the mystery of the very big digits on his timer but you had been curious and had dragged him along on the estimation and soulmate guiding journeys that all the kids were crazy about

with some math, he figured out that his timer was set for only 6 more years from now, when he would turn 18.

you were more than jealous, because you had to wait a whole 4 years after him, destined to meet your soulmate at 22

“ahh that means it could be anyone in high school! you’re going to have your first love be your soulmate! that’s so romantic” and you would go on and on and on about all of that, young love and such things

he’d just laugh at you but let you immerse yourself in whatever you wanted to your heart’s content

high school years pass and go like a short rainstorm. 

you and Sizhui grow up together, laughter together, stay together despite all the world’s turbulences

Sizhui doesn’t meet anyone that stays longer than a week, even as his time drops day by day

the years pass by faster than you would imagine and on a wintery January morning, Sizhui wakes up on his 18th birthday to notice that his timer is counting down hours instead of days.

he’s a little shocked, a little scared

what if he met/was destined with a complete stranger

could that happen?

the smallest part of him hopes that isn’t the case

and then that small part of him is reassured by the fact that he would at least be spending some part of the day with you

out of the many traditions that you both have made, you always promised to celebrate each other’s birthday together

the little cute gifs and texts won’t cut it

just the thought of you eases his anxiousness and he anticipates the night that you guys have together

but as the evening gets later and you show no sign of showing up he begins to get worried, then fearful, then anxious

and even though it’s his birthday he ends up pacing by the front door when every call and text that he sends to you is left unanswered

his dads are worried too, you’re not usually like this and they hate seeing their only son so worried

they end up calling your parents only for them to be confused on your whereabouts and now everyone is worried

Sizhui can’t imagine anything happening to you and his fear is heightened by the late hours that’s approaching

he’s too worried about your well being to really notice that the timer on his wrist only has minutes left instead of hours

it is nearing 11:47PM and Sizhui is hurriedly shrugs on a winter coat and scarf, ready to just go looking for you himself

his dads are against it, one lost kid is already a enough of a worry 

but he doesn’t listen, can’t listen 

you’re his best friend for god’s sakes it’s not like he could just leave you

and he’s ignoring his parents commands and pulling the front door open just as the timer on his wrist runs out

in the snowy backdrop of early January five minutes to midnight, you stand with rosy cheeks and a bright smile with a big bag in your arms and a warmth in your eyes

“i was waiting on line for the release of this and i didn’t realize people took so long to wrap things and then the creators ended up being there so i had to fight some people for their signatures... but i’m here! i didn’t miss Sizhui day!” you explain in tumble of words and shove the bag unceremoniously into his shellshocked arms

“i know they’re your favorite game series! so this is all for you” you tell him, smiling widely at his face

he blinks at you, the incessant ticking at the back of his mind finally silent after so many years

Sizhui puts the bag down without even opening it 

without another word he pulls you close to him, holding you tight

his timer has finally ended

but your countdown steadily ticks on | || ||| [pt 2]

✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧

Lan Jingyi

writing on skin

you didn’t know who your soulmate was, but whoever they were must be the biggest cheater you’d ever meet

almost as early as you could have been able to contact your soulmate, your skin had been littered with writings of all different kinds

it had started off as little occurrences that slowly got heavier as you both continued on your academic careers

at one point the notes had gotten so bad that you had to resort to wearing long sleeves just to cover up the array of words that were on every inch of your arms  (even the occasional stomach)

all your friends always wondered why you never contacted this soulmate of yours

some acquaintances recommended the idea to you like you couldn’t have thought of it yourself.

of course you wanted to contact this person; tell them to lighten up on the writing a little bit

but was there even any room to write? would they even be able to tell the difference between your handwriting amidst all of the chaos of their notes?

besides this person also seems incredibly sly to be able to get away with such methods of learning for a long time

so you go along with it until you can’t

in your final year of college, the sleeve of words that don’t belong to you almost cost you your diploma

you’d been accused of cheating from your professor and had to go through a deep and painful trial to plead your innocence

it was something that lasted nearly a week, since plagiarism and lack of academic integrity were the highest of offenses at your college

your truth was finally realized when the higher ups on the board realized they couldn’t wash the writing off your arms and you provided the evidence of different handwritings

the trial had been so demanding and draining and it wasn’t even your fault!

and in your anger after the whole ordeal, you don’t think

you return to your dorm room, take out your big blue sharpie and retaliated to your soulmate for the first time by writing STOP on your left arm and  CHEATING on your right. 

you leave the large letters on for a the rest of the night, even when you get weird looks from your roommate for it

that night goes on normally until you’re about to go to sleep and you look down at your arms to realize that the sleeve of tiny scribbles are scrubbed clean from your skin

al that’s left aside from your blue sharpie is a single answer on your right arm, written in the handwriting that you had come to know better than your own for the past few years

i don’t cheat

you huff a disbelieving laugh at that and seeing that your arms are mostly clear go and wash off the blue sharpie

when your soulmate’s answer still remains, you answer them even though the night is late

what does a person do with so much notes on their arms if not to cheat?

your response is written in dark black, neat handwriting despite the fact that you’re writing at an awkward angle and place on your arm

after a few moments, words begin to appear

it’s so weird seeing words appear randomly on your skin, especially when they happen before your eyes

taking notes on the body saves paper

the answer truly makes you have a loss for words and knowing that you were awake, your soulmate probably felt the awkwardness from the silence that lapses for a bit afterwards

it just helps me concentrate better

but i’m assuming you’re not a big fan

and from that you guys start a conversation long overdue, years overdue

you learn that his name is Lan Jingyi and despite the unconventionalities of his work ethic, he had a bit of a charm when he was writing to someone with an answer

morning comes to both of you before you realize

and this time when your arms are filled, it is with many answers, instead of just questions

✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧

Jin Ling

with one touch

you had never gotten a bruise in your life

which was a kind of funny considering that you were had been training in your father’s dojo since you could walk

then again in your world, only when you touched your soulmate would that purple greenish ugly color come up 

and since you were the star pupil of your father’s martial arts dojo, it’s not like it was ever easy to land a punch on you anyways

anyone that ever did never was you soulmate

and they’d be dead meat ‘immobilized’ (if not by your retaliation or your sibling’s overprotectiveness or your father’s judgement, the possibilities were endless)

but the point was, you had never gotten a bruise in your entire life, so you definitely didn’t know what it even looked like until you were changing out of your gi and your older sister pointed out the large bruise on your shoulder

you’re surprised

you hadn’t even felt any pain from it

but as you stand with your back to the mirror looking at it back and forth you wrack you brain for every person that you had come into contact within the last few days

the only person that comes to mind is one of the newest recruits to your father’s dojo, an aggressive punk by the name of Jin Ling

he’s not a good fighter as much as he just fights a lot

but you vividly remember being pushed hard when you had to break a fight between him and another student the other day

you hadn’t realized that he had actually pushed your shoulder then

you figure that you’ll know for sure when he comes to the dojo for practice tomorrow

the next day arrives and when you’re setting up the mats for everyone else, Jin Ling ends up being one of the earlier arrivals

and since no one’s there yet, you end up asking him to do something that you don’t usually ask people

but it feels like the only way to know for sure if he is your soulmate or not

“spar with me” you invite him when he returns to the main room with his uniform on

he’s more than surprised; he’s the new kid on the block, you’re the seasoned veteran and the sensei’s kid

when you sense his hesitation, you egg him on with “nothing to be scared of; i’ll go easy on you”

and when you look at him, you notice how his eyes darken at your jab

even though you’re a brown belt and he’s just teetering around yellow

the dojo ends up welcoming the next batch of students that come in with a very bruised up Jin Ling

you’re a little bit better off, though your hands are a little battered up

there’s no pain, luckily, just the ugly color of the bruise of a soulmate touch

and even when Jin Ling glares at you as your father goes through the forms for the day’s lessons, you know that he can’t deny the marks on him can only be made by you

✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧

Ouyang Zizhen

first words tattooed on your wrist

Zizhen’s always been a bit of a romantic 

living in a society where all the movies play out picture perfect scenes of confessions has given Zizhen all of the back up that he needs in order to be prepared for his soulmate

he’s one of those people that make you read a specific quote he’s set out before initiating conversation (he’s just that prepared)

but what he isn’t prepared for is what he’d be saying to his soulmate

so one dreary autumn morning, when he walks into the cafe you’re working at bleary eyed and sleep deprived

 Zizhen is not in the state of mind to be meeting his soul mate

when he comes up to the register, he begins ordering his usual chai tea latte with all the specific condiments as you listen in

as he’s talking you feel a little tingling on your wrist and don’t think much about it, not even asking him anything else when he quietly hands you his credit card to swipe

you’d always been a quiet person, and your boss was always on your back for not going through all of the employee procedures but you don’t pay that any mind

but anyways, only when you’re in the middle of making his order do you finally realize

you sleeve slips up a little bit as you’re making the tea and you notice a little paragraph written in beautiful swirling script on your wrist

you’d almost burned yourself at the fact and put one and one together

some dude just placed a whole order as your soulmate quote

and you’re angry

when you’ve finished making the chai latte you hold onto the drink tight as the guy from before comes back for his order

but just before he gets it, you snatch the drink far from his grasp and pull down your sleeve showcase your newest soulmate quote

‘i’ll have a medium chai tea latte, light on on the cream with two pumps of vanilla, no water and switch out normal milk with soy milk. also with extra cinnamon”

when Zizhen realizes that you’re his soulmate his very actual soul wants to leave his body because:

the moment that he’s been waiting for has finally come

also you’re so cute!!!

but you face looks stormy and sullen... i mean who wouldn’t be, you just got an starbucks order as your soulmate quote  (and only a very very specific group of people would find a blessing in that and you were not one of them)

you wanna just call him ‘dickhead’ and make it even, but even that seems light in comparison to the entire chai tea latte order that he places on your wrist   

f o r e v e r

but you’re in for a treat, because, Zizhen’s always been a too much of a romantic

you take some time off from your shift to make a plan with this dude, because there was no way that you were gonna read the cheesy soulmate quote that he wanted and have everything be dandy

you learn that Zizhen is his name and that he’s much too romantic; so romantic in fact that he proposes a solution in comparison to your soulmate quote right away

“do you have a favorite recipe or something that you like to eat? you can read the recipe to me so that i’ll have it on my wrist, and i’ll know how to make it!”

he sounds so excited that it lightens the order on your wrist a little

the gesture softens you a bit (read a lot)

but you’re also mildly peeved that every time you look at your wrist its a beautiful beautiful calligraphy of a specific order of chai tea latte

so when you guys begin dating, you give him the silent treatment on your first few outings together

but through every date together, from movies to restaurant, you learn that Zizhen is a very easy going and compassionate guy, easily filling in for the empty space that would have been your voice

similarly, Zizhen wonders and lingers on the sound of your voice, but also finds himself falling deeply for your laugh

it’s amazing the vibe that you guys create together and this is without you talking yet!

after a few weeks of going out together, you’re sat across from him in a small homey cafe when you say your first words to him

in the end, there is no big recipe written on his wrist; you read the exact quote that he wants to have

because you know how much it means to him to have that on his skin

when you’re finished, Zizhen realizes that what he was searching for wasn’t even the perfect quote to be said

it was the fact that the person he had grown to love had said it to him

and even though there’s no recipe etched onto his skin, he has the rest of eternity to remember all of your favorite recipes to the depths of his heart

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

[tottymatsuno]

In The Peach Pit; Saw You Fake It (Osomatsu-san: Todomatsu x Reader)

CHAPTER 2: Go Away, This is MY Job!

Author: Roro (tottytown)

Fandom: Osomatsu-san

Pairing: Todomatsu x Reader

Category: Romance, enemies to friends to lovers, coworkers, fake dating, tsundere Todomatsu

Rating: T for language

Summary: Saw someone you knew at work today, hated him and cursed him out. He works there now though, you might have to kick his ass.

Word Count: 6363ish/37k+ (unfinished, in the process of editing now will most likely be an additional 15k when finished)

Warnings: none

Commentary: Now they work together! oh yeah, Namae means Name in Japanese! This is your stand in name since I think just going "L/N Y/N" is awkward asf. So Namae! I mean I could call you Kimi which means you as well. Also I'm tryna figure out how to format these intro parts here haha...bare with me. I'll also be updating this info as I go and per chapter.

A few weeks go by, things are normal at work save for a week where a buncha new releases dropped. There was an event or two as well that gained the store way more popularity with women in their late twenties to early thirties.

Must've been those josei events. Either way, suddenly there's a higher influx of women which could be a good or bad thing.

Because of that there's now longer cafe hours and thus they need to hire new recruits with previous barista experience to fill out the extra time slots.

Most of them seem to be assigned to the later shifts which is cool.

Also as shift manager for the bookstore you sometimes have to give brief tours around. It's not apart of your official duties, but you're reliable so they ask.

The walk over was nice, the sun was bright in the vivid expanse of the sky and it was a cooler spring day that it’s been in a while. You had the feeling it would be a good day considering the sakura blossoms made everything seem so beautiful. As you approached your job, you felt the resolve to give another day of your absolute best.

Today however you smell something covered in a scented hand sanitizer and nearly barf when you clocked in which doesn’t bode well and mentally makes you recant your previous thought, following in from the front automatic doors trailing into the lockers.

Like a comet of nasty, you noticed it instantly that made your regularly otherwise nice repetitive morning a bit more heinous.

Things you can count on everyday are your morning routine, your nice walking distance commute, the potted plants near the entrance being slightly off centered and a little more withered than not, the black rubber carpet being scuffed no matter how much it’s been vacuumed.

The florescent lights that you actually miss when you exit for the day due to warm lights being too dark now, the line of cash registers where the plastic film button covering being slightly sticky, the rich scent of coffee coming from the cafe that you swear up and down is similar to armpit...

But this; this is different but is a familiar smell that you can't place it. The source of it seems to get stronger near the cafe, making a gag inducing concoction of coffee and artificial pink alcohol scent.

"Hey, Ryo what smells like middle school in here?" You call out stepping through the unofficial tiny divider display between the bookstore proper into the cafe to pick up the newbie.

"Ah, about that. This is Matsuno-san, I was just explaining how the store works to him." Ryo seems to regard this Matsuno with all of the respect that a slightly annoying younger brother deserves. The grin pinned on her poor face shows her application for being the local Saint.

Whatever, as long as he isn’t weird towards Ryo it should be fine. You cycle in your head the proper way to greet a professional, but should you still initiate it as the superior? A moment rolls by and nothing happens.

At aged nine when you moved to Japan it was beaten in your head how to greet people, so you do a slight bow.

“How do you do, I’m Namae Y/N. I’ll be doing your tour as a morning shift leader.”

Another moment tumbles by, and you exchange glances with Ryo before looking at the enraged Matsuno.

Your brows furrow as your eyes slide back to the neutral toned linoleum floor tiles; when they trail up with your straightening back you exhale with the resolve to attempt being nice once more. Breathe in, out; don’t go off. Angry girl out, cool girl back in.

“It’s alright if you don’t remember how to greet in the workforce, as a leader in the store I will try my best to guide you through this experience. How about we shake hands, and we can work on the bow and stuff a bit later.” You're really trying right now, and to be honest despite how uncomfortable you are this might be a lesson on how to deal with kinda weird people.

You avoid eye contact with Matsuno, since he made this really weird. Instead you search for his hand while extending your own with a half step taken forward.

When you go to shake Matsuno's hand, he steps back to clutch his own like pearls.

"Hey, don't be rude. I know this is your first day here, but chill out." If this dude has any barista experience he should at least know how to be personable. You're just trying to help him, plus it hurt your feeling a little bit.

"I know it's hard being shy but a barista's job is to be friendly and nice. So you need to start with your co workers first. You'll get used to the company atmosphere or not. Either way button that uniform properly and stand up straight."

"And also fix your face." You add as you pull your hand back and darkly return the glare at Matsuno. Ryo looks between you awkwardly. You try to convey with your eyes ‘what the fuck is going on?’

After a series of claustrophobically pregnant pauses with you and Ryo exchanging more and more concerned and sorta scared looks you hear something shrill that cringes your ears.

"What are you even doing here?!" Matsuno finally shrieks.

“I work here?” Who is this dude and what is his problem?

You can’t hide your befuddled expression, “I’m supposed to be here, but why is someone like you here is the real question.”

"Uh, you two know each other?" Ryo is just as confused as you are.

"I dunno, I don't recognize this guy. This guy’s rude, Ryo. Give him the boot." You shrug, but this offends Matsuno further.

"What do you mean you don't?! We went on a date a month and a half ago!" You look at him blankly for a moment.

Matsuno stares at you in disbelief that you legitimately don’t remember him.

“It was at that bear event! Six weeks, four days, and 18 hours ago!” You watch Matsuno double check his phone and then he pulls out screenshots of the two of you setting plans up.

“That’s a weirdly specific way to remember that, Matsuno-san.” Ryo’s tone tries to joke, but the way she’s sweating a bit shows her nerves.

Then it clicks, "Oh, you're that asshole who bathes in baby perfumes. Yeah so anyways, Ryo? Any other recruits or is it just this shithead?" If not you'll just give him the world's most basic tour.

"No, not today. Matsuno is the last new hire and the only one for the morning." Figures.

"Okay, let's go then." You roll your eyes and motion the piece of shit to follow you.

"Ryoko-san, can't you take me instead? Please?" What was this guy's first name again?

"I have to open right now, Matsuno-san." Ryo tries to answer. The way that she's glancing in your direction screams 'get him.'

"Is there anyone else? At all?" As Matsuno pathetically pleads you try to really remember his name.

"C'mon, Snotty. Let's get this over with. I don't got all day." That's his name, right? It was something weird like that.

Something about how Matsuno's face twists up in disgust and fury let's you know that's not correct. You blink for a half second but try to play it off it as if you meant to insult him with a smirk.

"Totty. Only cute girls can call me Totty. So remember that and speak accordingly."

You roll your eyes, "Okay, Potty." You begin walking off to start the tour. You don't care if Matsuno is behind you or not as you list the sections near the cafe.

Usually you'd take your time, explain everything with examples and actually pointing stuff out since it's a fun way to get to know your new coworkers. Not this time though.

Mentally you run through your regular tour, reciting the jokes that almost never land which is always the funniest part.

Next to the cafe is the easy to digest books, and for the students there are prep books so they can cram their mouths and heads with knowledge!

On the first floor, aka the worst floor the cash register’s are so sticky they’ll make you ichi!

Second floor will make you cry like chopping onions or is that with gas? Either way, we’re cooking something with the cookbooks on the right, on the far right corner is the instruction manuals, DIY self help, autobiographies, and most importantly information on driving!

Of course you need to help yourself become a person of note, so follow these instructions well! But don’t worry yourself too much, you can write it down, vent it out or relate to it with the stationary on the 3rd floor!

Until then, please enjoy these powerful art mediums and these amazing genres. On the left side there is manga! Senin, Josei, shounen and shoujos...you name em, we have a gender they cater too!

Third floor is where typically Daisuke lives, and therefore is the most important.

Stationary and office supplies, small home appliances, gadgets, phone chargers and a couple tablets and laptops. It’s the brightest place in the whole store, and that isn’t just because of resident sunshine boy Daisuke!

You quickly do your tour route without turning to look behind you once so at the end of it you're actually surprised to see Matsuno actually there.

"Bye." Is the last thing you say to him before leaving to do literally anything else. Matsuno might have been giving you the silent treatment but that works for you. You don't look back to see if Matsuno can return to the cafe on his own, nor do you care.

The day continues you feel fucked up now that your job is now going to get weird with that guy here. As you stew in your anger dragging your feet along until your shoes squeak, you hear the familiar voice of your crush.

"Rough morning?" Daisuke asks with concern. He's holding a load of boxes, it's so sweet he'd take the time to talk to you when he's so busy! Daisuke's goodness knows no bounds.

"Ah, I'm fine! Anyways let me help you with that." You offer, and Daisuke shakes his head no.

"I got it."

You end up taking the highest part of the stack without asking again,

"Don't worry about it. I can help." After all you were just walking around to see if any customers needed assistance or something.

"Thanks, I'm heading to restock the Manga section so if you could spare a little more time to help with that I'd really appreciate it." You know there's a lot of small figurines that go near the Manga section that's supposed to come in today.

Since Daisuke's always so sweet and gentle your cheesy grin comes out completely genuine. "Yeah, for sure."

You debate with yourself the entire walk down the escalators what to say to Daisuke, should you compliment his new hair dye? Strike a conversation about the state of the store? The weather? Lunch? Whatever series these figma are from?

“So uh…” You start off with, as Daisuke hm’s in response.

“I heard the 3rd floor has some new salad gadget?” You flounder helplessly.

This conversation goes better than expected, but to be honest it was so ridiculously boring you can’t recall the details.

After helping Daisuke again you feel like you're on cloud nine once more. You wonder if it's too soon to ask him to another date or if you should make more effort to get to know him better. The San-x event didn't work out, turns out Daisuke doesn't do well in crowded places and has a phobia of mascots. It's so sad because Rilakkuma is so so cute, but you weren't going to force it.

When you asked him out prior to that Daisuke was usually busy on all of those days or the place you asked about wasn't suitable for him.

You knew one thousand percent these were bullshit excuses. You figure it was because Daisuke didn't know you very well yet and he must be shy when it comes to girls.

A small smile is still playing on your lips when you step into the cafe for lunch like usual. That is until your turn in line came up and Matsuno gives you his best customer service appropriate evil eye.

"What are you doing here?" What a gross little face.

"What?! That's so rude!" Todomatsu can sure make his voice screech.

"Ah, did I think out loud again? Anyways, I want a cup of cheddar broccoli soup, a latte with a cat saying a funny phrase - artists choice and a cupcake."

Matsuno stares at you in disbelief, "You're ordering here?"

You're confused. "Duh? Oh and a choco chip cookie, thanks."

With the world's most exaggerated sighs, Matsuno rings up your order. He tries to charge you full price which you quickly point out. "I get the shift leaders discount which is 5% more than the regular employee discount." He corrects your bill while muttering under his breath.

You have to wait an incredibly long time for your order even though both the cafe and store are practically empty. Ryoko is doing inventory again while Matsuno is literally pretending not to be clearly on his phone.

"We have weekly performance evaluations here." You mention off hand at your spot near the counter.

"Uh huh." He's not trying to listen.

"Yeah, so the managers know the typical rush periods of the cafe." You add a little more. Take the hint, idiot.

"Okay?" Matsuno's attitude is getting worse.

"They review your production output, so if they see at a time where there's no customers but an order hasn't been finished they'll wonder if you're good at your job." You could get fired, you simpleton. You start fidgeting with a straw wrapper trying to keep your tone casual.

Matsuno groaned loudly setting his phone down loudly on the counter, "Can't you just take the hint and go?! Isn't your break over yet?"

You've been patient for a while, it's a testimony of your unwavering chill attitude. But enough is enough.

"Why don't you quit if you don't like seeing me so much? It's not like I enjoy seeing your generic face either, I feel like I see six people with your exact mug everyday and all of them hopelessly ugly. Besides I was here first, you glittery pile of vomit." You raise your voice just slightly, but the scariest part is when you deepen it to sound more threatening.

It really offends you because you usually go to the break room to eat, but you're stuck in your waiting seat because of this dickhead.

"Also I paid for my shit, I want it now before I smash that fake ass smile down your throat."

Matsuno actually tears up while letting you know verbally he hates you but sure makes your order quickly. Matsuno's little angry crybaby face is sorta appealing but you'd never let him know that as you watch him with a bemused smile.

At least he's not making gross little whimpering sounds or something vile like that. Instead there's a creative lineup of curses to your name and a wish you'd go bald.

After a rapid fast turn around, you hear the counter being lifted up.

There's not usually table service at the cafe, so it's a bit weird that Matsuno would walk over your order. He slams it down with his weirdly huge eyes now dried away. There's an evil grin that you think is supposed to be mocking you?

When you look down at your food you search for the slight. "Thanks." You say without truly studying your order.

Matsuno starts giggling menacingly when you finally spot what was supposed to offend you so much your reaction comes out faster than your head can keep up...it's.

It's a lot.

"Is this supposed to be me?!" Your voice is embarrassingly high.

Matsuno's giggles turn into full out villain laughter.

"I made it as disgusting as the actual thing," Matsuno gloats proudly until you start making little pitched breathing sounds. When he looks up to see your face Matsuno is shocked by your giddy expression.

"You made me SO cute!! Thank you soooo much, look how adorable my widdle fangs are! Oh my goodness, are those horns too? What's that around my body? Are those action lines?! Plus the phrase you had me say is too good!! No wonder you got hired here, this is amazing! " You gushed for nearly a minute solid at the world's cutest latte art. Wow, a real devil caricature of you! You even have your piercings and a little pitchfork. The phrase says: I'm an evil bitch!

"They're stink lines... You're not... Upset. At all." Matsuno answers dejectedly. His expression falls further when you start snapping pics of the cup, then you posing with the cup.

"Wow look at the amount of detail you added so quickly, that's super impressive!" You fawn over the drink more.

"C'mere, let's take one together!" You move closer to Matsuno with the latte in hand and cheerfully suggest then switch back to the front camera.

You manage to get a pretty good one with Matsuno glaring at you with an intense amount of annoyance while you blissfully grin with the latte in between the two of you. Matsuno's little blush and gritted teeth really highlights it for you too. It's soo cute!

You load the pictures onto Instagram with no filter as quickly as possible with the caption: New recruites are something else nowadays! 😈😈😈 #NoRespect, #NotLikeIDeserveIt, #Cute, #Demons, #LatteArt, #NewWorkNemesis

"Want me to tag you in this?" You ask as nicely as possible. "I want to give you the credit for this adorable creature!" You haven't uploaded the photo set yet.

"I really, really hate you." Matsuno says venomous.

"My handle is Totty6thM though." He adds, rolling his eyes as you waved off his confession of hatred.

You eat your super cold soup quickly as your break is pretty much over, but unfortunately you're still debating over the latte.

"Do I dare drink such a work of art?" You lament quietly.

"Drink it and get out. I'll make you another one later, so leave." You can distinctly hear there's no affection to Matsuno's voice but it causes you to grin again.

"Thanks, dude."

The latte is actually really delicious too. As a treat you give Matsuno your cupcake but keep the cookie for yourself. Matsuno actually tries to barter for both but you flip him off and leave. Things might not be so bad with Matsuno here after all!

As you exit you pretend not to hear Matsuno's gagging sounds. He's an asshole, you think not noticing at all his intense flustered expression. You wouldn't have found it cute anyways, an angry love sick puppy look isn't really your thing.

[eagesoldartblog]

“I think there’s something in there…” :3?

Have you every wanted to find out what a Gritter is?

Also totally didn’t forget to include the actual prompt as dialogue nope, no siree <<

Somethings in there

“Oh my god, what on earth is that?”

Both Arthur and Vivi turn around from their respective searching, and watch Lewis as he tensely backs away from his corner.

Immediately, Arthurs alarmed. With Vivi’s concern welling up just as much. They both share a look, before Arthur points to himself quietly, and Vivi nods before stepping back. Although never tearing her gaze away from them and pretending to survey the stacks of books and weapons in front of her.

“Wh-whats wrong, bug guy? What’d you find?” Slinking up to Lewis’s side, Arthur lightly grabs Lewis’s shoulder- only to get an almost violent flinch. A bad sign, Lewis never got like this unless he was having an anxiety attack or-

Arthurs eyes drop down to where Lewis was staring.

Then shaking his head to see if his mind if playing tricks on him.

There was a giant, worn crack in the wall, spanning two feet from the base, and getting wider closer to the ground. And something is sticking out of it, stick like and fuzzy. Twitching occasionally.

That’s ... weird. More confused than anything, Arthur glances up at Lewis and places a hand on his bicep again. “What was it? Some spiders jump out at you?”

Lewis was awfully tense, taking a huff of a breath before goosebumps prickle over his visible skin. “Not exactly. I can handle spiders for the most part, but I’m ... I don’t know what it is.”

O-kay? That’s even weirder. Arthurs eyebrows furrow and he nods with the click of his tongue.

Vivi starts over to them now, the floor creaking under her shoes.

Then Theres more movement. Arthur sees it too, and both him and Lewis jump in surprise.

“See!” Lewis half whispers, half yells, gesturing hurriedly to the crack. “What-! How many legs does that thing have?”

“Lew, buddy,” Vivi laughs, appearing besides Lewis and leaning down. Thank god considering that she’s more of a bug person than either of them could ever hope to be. “Why don’t you back up a bit?”

Lewis follows her advice and steps away from the area entirely, retreating to the book stack closest to the door. Half heartedly muttering, “Let me know if you two need some help or... something.”

“Thank you, Babe~” Vivi kneels down, examining the crack intently.

Not wanting to be awkwardly standing and being useless, Arthur mimics her and crouches close to the ground. Earning a look.

“I don’t think you’ll want to be there, Artie.”

“Wh-why not? This isn’t a problem normally- w-wait do you think it responds angrily to people surrounding it-?” He rattles off.

“No,” She snickers, “I don’t want you to piss your pants if it jumps at you.”

Arthur flushes, glaring at her, “That was one time, and we weren’t even on a case...” he grumbles. Vivi pats his back unsympathetically. Against his better judgement, Arthur stays put.

Actually- no, he would rather not be in the splash zone. Arthur pushes himself up and opts to loom over her to watch. “Tell me if you need more space..?”

Vivi shrugs, slipping a leather glove from her pocket over her fingers and up her forearm, readjusting her bracelets as she does. “Nah, I’m good. Besides, I think Lewis may need more emotional support than me.”

“Hey...” Lewis’s frown was evident in his voice and a chorus of chuckles fill the air for a second.

“Doesn’t feel so nice to be on that end of the stick, huh, Lew?” Arthur couldn’t resist the urge to tease, recalling the few times the two of them said those exact same words to him. Lewis rolls his eyes, but visibly relaxes the smallest bit. Even starting to smile a bit! That’s a plus...

Vivi didn’t pay either of them mind, smiling faintly as she uses her uncloaked hand to trace the crack itself. Part of the paint begins to crumble, chipping away, and the wall around it groans wearily.

“Huh, the walls rotting out. Makes sense.” She says, mostly to herself.

Still, Arthur leans down slightly to watch as she slowly wedges her fingers into the thinnest part she could, “Wh-why does it make sense...?”

A faint scuttling noise draws his attention to the base again- a small cockroach running out.

Vivi takes a slow breath and holds it. Then she yanks her arm back swiftly. Cracking open the wall and ripping out some of the rotten drywall.

And all at once a million small things scatter all across the wall.

Arthur lurches back, a scream lodged into his throat as ... bugs? Crawl up the wall, across the floor, and even deeper into the rotten wall. A few of the oddly shaped, oddly colored bugs sat still on the ground before Vivi’s knees, and she scoops them up carefully.

“They’re Gritters.”

“Wh-What?” Arthur asks, horrified. He’s pretty sure Lewis had simply ducked out of the room at this point, if the faint pacing beyond the room meant anything, but his own legs don’t give him the luxury of moving. Instead he’s rooted in place as the bugs- Gritters continue to scuttle out of view. Unbothered, Vivi stands up and holds the dark colored Gritter in her hand.

“Gritters,” she says again, lips curled into a small, pleasant smile, “They’re the insects of the liminal world- where the supernatural typically reside. They tend to grow in places that are dark, grimy areas with lots of decay. However,” she lightly pets the Gritter’s speckled back, and it jumps in alarm and raises its hands defensively. “Decay can mean anything. Most of the time it is actual death and rot, but emotional decay, physical decay, the wicked? Gritters are drawn to it and can begin to congregate and multiply due to a new food source!” She begins to ramble, listing off various facts on how they take on a mix-matched form...

Although anyone could guess that just from the one she’s holding. It’s shaped like a spider, but it’s back is freckled in mushroom-like formations and it’s antennas (with eyes poking out of the ends of them- horrible) resembled tree branches and feathers all at the same time.

“Lewis! Babe, get in here.” Vivi calls over her shoulder.

Arthur pries his eyes away from the abomination, watching the door frame fill with Lewis’s clear disgust and distress.

“Ye-yes, dear?” He shuffles into the room, looking somewhat nauseated, “Need some help-“

Vivi bounces across the room towards him, holding the Gritter out at arms length, “Meet our new pet! Say hello~!”

Lewis gasps and recoils dramatically, but it’s too late. The gritter leaps from her hand and launches itself toward Lewis, all of its weird feathers glimmering as it does so.

Only to fall short and tumble to the ground. Followed by Lewis’s heavy shoe slamming down on it, splurting an orange substance out on all sides. Gasping again, Lewis nearly wretches, shimmying away and scratching at his arms and head frantically without a care for his neatly contoured hair.

”Oh my god, oh my god, lord in heaven, save me from these demons!” He pointedly glares at Vivi, who buckles over with laughter. “You two are devils!”

Arthur snickers lightly, covering his mouth to avoid making an ‘enemy’ out of Lewis.

But then, as luck (and karma?) had to, something is crawling over his arm now.

Petrified, Arthur risks a look.

And sure enough, a centipede-like Gritter was crawling up his fingers with small, human-like arms and legs assisting it.

”Okay, you know what,” Arthur whispers airily behind his covered mouth, ”I think I hate these things as well.”

Vivi’s laughing doubles, snorting loudly.

“Vivi, please do a man a favor and get it off me. Please.”

“Sure thing buddy!” She gasps between laughs, Brushing it off his arm.

Both him and Lewis sputter with relief as they finally leave the god forsaken room, cracking small jokes about the horrible little night crawlers.

Vivi didn’t have the heart to tell them how common Gritters really were.

[letitrainathousandflames-archive]

Fighting What We Hate - A Fix-It AU Finn Minific

“The cannon is charged, it’s a suicide run!” Poe screamed over the comm line “Finn, retreat, that’s an order!”

“I’m almost there!” Finn barked back in defiance, eyes trained on the massive barrel of the First Order’s weapon, watching its ridges seeming almost distorted by the heat they generated

“Finn, it’s too late!” Rose whined

“No! I won’t let them win!” Finn steered the controls, pushing the engines to their limit

Rose’s pleading and Poe’s anger-turned-despair became static in the back of Finn’s mind as he moved faster and faster towards the weapon. He could see a red haze forming from inside it, a bright, sharp glow in the very center of it like a sun.

Neither of them could understand his feelings. Poe had grown in the resistance and lost people dear for him to the First Order. So had Rose. But to be stolen from your people from an age so young one could forget their people’s faces and voices...

To be put into the stormtrooper cadet training program as soon as you’re able to stand and talk, to have your hair shaven into a soldier’s crew cut without your consent, to be told to stand in perfect formation so that if one of you falls, another can close the lines again by standing where they stood... To have a number for a name, to be a slave of a system of violence and oppression that forces you to enact more violence and oppression, to hate your comrades and what they do, and even still ache and grieve when they die...

When General Leia introduced Finn to the clone wars veteran General Rex, the clone - a living relic in these times - had told him that only those who were ever forced to don the plastoid white armor could ever understand the unique pain of it. And he was right.

The one teaching Finn hated the most in the academy was to be willing to die for the cause. His fellow soldiers would follow it to the letter - gladly jumping in front of blaster bolts to protect a higher rank of even just precious equipment. Finn hated this. He hated that the stormtrooper he held as he dragged his own blood over his helmet was most likely proud of himself for dying for the cause.

Now he understood it, the willingness to die for something. Nothing would make him happier in this moment than smashing the muzzle of that death machine, destroying it and at the very least denting the pride of the the First Order, the power that subdued him, brainwashed him, enslaved him.

He glanced to the side, saw Rose approaching clearly attempting to crash against him and take him off course along with her. He sped up, gritting his teeth.

“Finn, we’re gonna win by saving what we love!” she screamed in the comm “Not fighting what we hate!”

Finn, pressed every button in the panel to remove extra weight so that he can be light enough to dodge her. His fingers were squeezing the controls to tightly ached. The entire ship was shaking as the red haze grew brighter, engulfing him in heat; sweat ran down his face as he blinked it away.

“If we don’t fight what we hate, there’s not gonna be much of what we love left!” he screamed back

He narrowly avoided the collision with Rose, keeping his course ahead as she zoomed past behind him, her damaged ship turning back towards the base after the failed attempt to stop him. Finn’s chair shook as he flicked the levers to every coolant system in the ship, redirecting them all to the wings even as they beamed incandescent and ready to burn.

He was close enough now. The ship was definitely going to hit the cannon and at the very least cause a significant damage. Finn closed his eyes and slammed his fist on the ejection button over the panel at the very last possible second.

Everything happened in a matter of seconds. The plastisteel cover of the cockpit cracked off the hinges with a rain of broken glass that gleamed like hundreds of little stars around Finn’s head. His seat was flung off the aircraft, sending him into the scorching hot wave that shot out of the cannon. Finn screamed, feeling his flesh ache and burn, nearly certain he could hear it sizzle even as he was already out of the weapon’s range.

Then came the blast - the concentrated power of the cannon exploding against the now-obstructed exit and recoiling into the highly volatile kyber crystals powering it. Finn opens his eyes, his body now reaching the peak of an elegant curve in the air. His vision is slightly tilted but he sees the bright red turn into green, and then blue. A blast that only growed, and now he was coming to terms with the fact that he really might not make it. He thought of Rey. Of Poe. Thought of how fate seemed to have twisted and turned to make the three of them meet.

He thought of the Force, the energy that binds and surround us all, and wished it could save him. He smiled fondly thinking of Han for a fraction of a second: ‘that’s not how the force works!’. He heard his comm crackling, Poe’s voice too distorted to make any sense, and he was impressed that the damn thing still had somehow managed to survive all of this.

“Wish I could’ve seen your smile again...” Finn muttered, waiting for the flames to engulf him

And engulf him they did, bright colors alternating all around him like a rainbow; But the pilot remained safe, what seemed like a transparent bubble surrounding and protecting him. His mouth dropped open, his fingers tingling under his gloves. A gentle sense of serenity settled in his mind and he waved his hand, steering the bubble so that it’ll send him farther from the explosion and the subsequent fires that still raged. Finn gracefully floated to the ground back at the base’s defense lines, his feet reaching the ground. He stumbled some, feeling some small glass shards from the crash tumbling out of his hair on the salt dirt.

The foot soldiers jumped out of the trenches, rushing to him, and Finn recognized Rex as the clone slung Finn’s arm over his shoulder.

“You’re okay, kid? Can you walk?” Finn nodded, but he was grateful for the help because his legs didn’t seem to stop shaking “Good, so now I can scold you. What the kriff were you doing?! Not even when I worked with general Skywalker I had ever- oh, wait.” Rex pressed the button on the side of his comlink “This is Commander Rex, over. Positive. Positive. I got our pilot. He’s okay. What?!”

Rex helped Finn back down into the trench, laughing out loud all the way as he did. Finn bit his lip and regretted it immediately - it had been cut and swollen at the collision.

“What?! What happened, Rex?”

Rex called over his medic friend, another clone veteran named Kix, to take a look on his wounds.

“Well, you simply blew over half of the First Order’s firepower with your stunt. And Rey just arrived with the Falcon, laying waste to the rest of them. Looks like we’re on the verge of kicking these osik’e out of here with few casualties, all thanks to you.”

Kix was muttering something about how the minute he witnessed Finn’s insane plan, he knew he had to be one of these ‘kriffin’ force-user lunatics’ with ‘no sense of self preservation’ all the while he dressed Finn’s wounds. His left arm had a large patch of burned skin that would most likely scar, and some of the glass had cut him over his cheek and jaw.

-

Poe only got back after they had all made sure that every last one of the First Order ships, especially Kylo Ren and General Hux’s was either retreating or completely destroyed, of course. He had enough runs with these bantha-shits to know you can never be too careful.

Finn knew he was the one to be loudly stomping his way to the medbay back in the base right as Kix was finally done wrapping the large bacta patches over the burned skin of Finn’s arm. Something about the timing of every stride just made it easy to know. Not that all the yelling didn’t help.

“Where is my- my pilot?!” Poe barked out with a little stutter, squeezing himself through the narrow opening of the door as if he couldn’t bear to wait for its mechanism to be done sliding all the way through “Where’s Finn?!”

Kix moved out of the way, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to Finn, who stood shirtless behind him - he had refused to lie down, much to Kix’s disapproval, his entire arm and some spots over his torso covered on bacta patches.

“He’s here, but take it easy on him because he’s still-” Poe ran past the medic, throwing his arms over Finn’s shoulders pulling him into a hug; Kix sighed heavily “I don’t know why I even bother trying.”

“Are you okay?!” Poe asked, breath shallow as he pulled back, one hand moving over the bacta patches and smaller wounds while the other was placed on Finn’s jaw, thumb running over the cut on his lip that had just started to heal “Please tell me you’re okay!”

Finn felt his face warm, and he nodded, placing his hand over Poe’s.

“Yeah, I’m... I’m fine.”

Poe gave him a small shove that Finn barely registered, too busy noticing the tears collecting at the corners of Poe’s eyes. Poe’s lower lip trembled, pulled down in a pained scowl that showed his gritted teeth.

“How dare you make me watch you nearly blow yourself like that!” Poe’s voice still had some strenght at first, but it was shaking at the last word “I thought you were.... I thought you were going to...”

And this time it was Finn who pulled Poe into his arms, wincing some as the patches on his arm shifted with the movement. He could feel Poe’s breath going staccato with small sobs, his voice almost a whisper.

“I don’t wanna live... in an universe without you...”

Finn pulled back some, staring wide-eyed at Poe. There were wounded, medics and other soldiers in the room. The medical equipment emitted beeps here and there. Medical droids strolled by, their engines whirring. All that seemed to fade for the former stormtrooper, surrounds blurring out. Poe’s bloodshot eyes, the still-wet lashes and the single piece of his tousled black hair falling messily over his forehead are all that Finn can stare at. His beautiful face, his rosy lips, the shadow of a beard darkening his features some.

Finn just stared at Poe’s dark eyes, and time seemed to stop for a moment as Poe stared back at him, breath slowly calming down. Poe hesitated to then drew closer, eyes flickering at Finn’s full lips. Finn drew closer as well, their noses bumping together. Well Finn’s eyes fluttered shut, Poe closed the distance between them, pressing a soft kiss to Finn’s lips.

The mighty explosion from before had nothing on the blast of pure joy that Finn felt in his chest. His hands went to Poe’s jaw, and he pressed his lips up against him some more. Poe opened his mouth some, pulling Finn’s upper lip between his own. Just as softly as they had started, Poe slowly pulled back, his nose brushing against the side of Finn’s own on his way back. The two of them blinked their eyes open.

“I...” Finn’s voice was raspy, and he cleared his throat; his sight was blurry with tears that he blinked away “I don’t wanna live in a universe without you either.”

The two of them kissed again, fingers moving to grab and caress at the back of each other’s neck. At this point, of course the bolder ones started clapping and screaming something along the lines of ‘Finally!’ and ‘hah, told you! You owe me twenty credits!’; Finn laughed into the kiss, feeling Poe smile against his lips as well.

Finn could understand Rose’s pain and her attempt to stop him. She had lost her sister in a ship explosion and she didn’t want to lose a dear friend the same way. But sometimes, Finn thought to himself, fighting what we hate is the only way to save what we love.

[dustedmagazine]

Punk’d History, Vol. VIII: This Machine [blank] Fascists

Photo by Richard Young

It has the appearance of a worrisome pattern: any number of punk rock’s founding figures embraced the symbolics of Nazi Germany. Ron Asheton, an original and indispensable member of the Stooges, played a number of gigs wearing a red swastika armband, and liked to sport Iron Cross medals and a Luftwaffe-style leather jacket. Sid Vicious loved his bright scarlet, swastika-emblazoned tee shirt, and Siouxsie Sioux, during her tenure as the It-Girl of the Bromley Contingent, mixed her breast-baring, black leather bondage gear with a bunch of “Nazi chic.” And how many early Ramones songs (inevitably penned by Dee Dee) referenced Nazi gear, concepts and geography? “Blitzkrieg Bop,” ��Today Your Love, Tomorrow the World,” “Commando,” “It’s a Long Way Back to Germany,” “All’s Quiet on the Eastern Front,” and so on—for sure, more than a few.

“Appearance” is the key term. Poor Sid lacked the sobriety and smarts to have much of a grasp of fascism as an ideology. Siouxsie was just taking the piss, and gleefully pissing off the mid-1970s British general public, for much of whom World War II was still a living memory. Asheton and Dee Dee? Both were sons of hyper-masculine military men. Asheton’s father was a collector of WWII artefacts, and the guitarist shared his father’s fascination. When the Stooges adopted an ethos and aesthetic hostile to the late-1960s prevailing Flower Power rock’n’roll subculture, the Nazi accoutrement seemed to him fitting signs of the band’s anger and alienation. Dee Dee hated his father, an abusive Army officer who married a German woman. Dee Dee spent some of his youth in post-war West Germany, in which Nazi symbols were highly charged with anxiety and vituperation. Casual veneration of Nazis was a convenient way to reject the triumphal ennobling of the Good War, and of the military men associated with its traditions. And (as Sid, Siouxsie and Asheton also noticed) it really bothered the squares. 

None of that makes the superficial use of the swastika or phrases like “Nazi schatzi” any less offensive — it simply underscores that in the cases noted above, the offense was the thing. The politics weren’t even an afterthought, because the political itself had been dismissed as corrupt, boring or simply the native territory of the very people the punks were striking out against. If that’s where the relation between punk and fascism ceased, there wouldn’t be much more to write about.

The post-punk moment in England provided opportunities to rethink and restrategize the nascent détournement of Siouxsie’s fashionable provocations. Genesis P-Orridge and the rest of Throbbing Gristle were a brainy bunch, and their play with fascist signifiers was a good deal more complex. The band’s logo and their occasional appearance in gun-metal grey uniforms clearly alluded to Nazism, with its attendant, keen interests in occult symbols and High Modernist representational languages. TG’s visual gestures were also of a piece with an early band slogan: “Industrial music for industrial people.” Clearly “industrial people” can be read as a highly ironized coupling: the oppressed workers marching through the bowels of Metropolis were a sort of industrial people, reduced to the functionality of pure human capital. TG seemed to impose the same analysis on the middle-managers of Britain’s post-industrial economy, and their uncritical complicity in capital’s cruelties. But it’s also possible to argue that industrial people are industrious people; like TG, industrial people (middle managers, MPs) can get a lot of stuff done. They can produce things. They can make the trains run on time. And what sorts of cargo might those trains be carrying? What variety of conveyance delivered the naked “little Jewish girl” of “Zyklon B Zombies” to her fate?  

To be clear: I don’t mean at all to suggest that TG was a fascist band. Like their punky contemporaries, TG traded in fascist iconography in a spirit of transgressive outrage, expressing their hot indignation with equally heated symbols. And other British post-punk acts flirted with fascist themes and images, ranging from ambiguous dalliance (Joy Division’s overt references to Yehiel De-Nur’s House of Dolls and to Rudolph Hess; and just what was the inspiration for Death in June’s band name?) to more assertive satire (see Current 93’s appealingly bonkers Swastikas for Noddy [LAYLAH Antirecords, 1988]). But a more problematic populist undercurrent in British punk persisted through the late 1970s. The dissolution of Sham 69—due in large part to the National Front’s attempts to appropriate the band’s working-class anger as a form of white pride—opened the way for a clutch of clueless, cynical or outright racist Oi! bands to attempt to impose themselves as the face of blue-collar English punk. And literally so: the Strength through Oi! compilation LP (Decca Records, 1981) featured notorious British Movement activist Nicky Crane on its cover. It didn’t help that the record’s title seemed to allude to the Nazis’ “Strength through Joy [Kraft durch Freude]” propaganda initiative.  

Of course, it’s unfair to tar all Oi! bands with an indiscriminate brush. A few bands whose songs were opportunistically stuck onto Strength through Oi! by the dullards at Decca Records — Cock Sparrer and the excellent Infa Riot — tended leftward in their politics, and were anything but racists. But for a lot of the disaffected kids sucking down pints of Bass and singing in the Shed at Stamford Bridge, it wasn’t much of a leap from the punk pathetique of the Toy Dolls to Skrewdriver’s poisonous palaver.  

In the States, a similarly complicated story can be recovered:

In numerous ways, hardcore intensified punk’s confrontational qualities, musically and aesthetically. The New York hardcore scene made a fetish of its inherent violence, which complemented the music’s sharpened impact. So it’s hard to know precisely what to make of the photo on the cover of Victim in Pain (Rat Cage Records, 1984). If inflicting violence was an essential element of belonging in the NYHC scene, with whom to identify: the Nazi with the pistol, or the abject Ukrainian Jewish man, on his knees and about to tumble into the mass grave?  

Agnostic Front seemed to provide a measure of clarity on the record, which included the song “Fascist Attitudes.” The lyric uses “fascist” as a condemnatory term. But the behaviors the song engages as evidence of fascism are intra-scene acts of violence: “Why should you go around bashing one another? […] / Learning how to respect each other is a must / So why start a war of anger, danger among us?” That’s a rhetoric familiar to anyone who participated in early-1980s hardcore; calls for scene unity were ubiquitous, and the theme is obsessively addressed on Victim in Pain. But the signs of inclusivity most visibly celebrated on the NYHC records and show flyers of the period were a skinhead’s white, shaven pate; black leather, steel-toe boots; and heavily muscled biceps. Those signifiers clearly link to the awful cover image of Strength through Oi! The forms of identity recognized and concretized in the songs’ first-person inclusive pronouns have a clear referent. 

Agnostic Front wasn’t the only NYHC band to refer to and engage World War Two-period fascism. Queens natives Dave Rubenstein and Paul Bakija met at Forest Hills High School—the same school at which John Cummings (Johnny) befriended Thomas Erdelyi (Tommy), laying the groundwork for the formation of the Ramones. Rubenstein and Bakija also took stage names (Dave Insurgent and Paul Cripple) and formed Reagan Youth. But unlike the Ramones, there was nothing tentative or ambivalent about Reagan Youth’s politics. Rubenstein’s parents, after all, were Holocaust survivors. The band’s name riffed on “Hitler Youth,” but specifically did so to draw associations between Reagan and Hitler, between American conservatism’s 1980s resurgence and the Nazi’s hateful, genocidal agenda. Songs like “New Aryans” and “I Hate Hate” accommodated no uncertainties.  

Still, it’s interesting that Victim in Pain and Reagan Youth’s Youth Anthems for the New Order (R Radical Records, 1984) were released only months apart, by bands in the same scene, sometimes sharing bills at CBGBs’ famous matinees of the period. And while Reagan Youth toured with Dead Kennedys, it’s Agnostic Front’s “Fascist Attitudes” that’s closer in content to the most famous punk rock putdown of Nazis.

It’s odd what comes back around: Martin Hannett, whom Biafra playfully chides at the track’s very beginning, produced much of Joy Division’s music, moving the band away from its brittle early sound to the fulsome atmospheres of the Factory records, and to a wider listenership. “Nazi Punks Fuck Off” similarly addresses a formerly obscure, tight scene opening to a greater array of participants, some of whom were attracted solely to hardcore’s reputation for violence. Like “Fascist Attitudes,” the Dead Kennedys’ song itemizes fighting at shows as its chief complaint, and as a principal marker for “Nazi” behavior. Biafra’s lyric eventually gets around to somewhat more focused ideological critique: “You still think swastikas look cool / The real Nazis run your schools / They’re coaches, businessmen, and cops / In a real fourth Reich, you’ll be the first to go.” The kiss-off to punk’s vapid romance of the swastika (it “looks cool”) complements the speculative treatment of a “real fourth Reich.” Both operate at the level of abstraction. The casual, superficial relation to the symbol’s aesthetic assumes a sort of safety from the real, material consequences of its application. And the emergence of a fascist political regime is dangled as a possible future event. That speculative futurity undoes the “real” in “real Nazis.” The threat is ultimately a metaphorical construct. The Nazis are metaphorical “Nazis.”  

Still, it’s the song’s chorus that resonates most powerfully. So much so that the song has found its way into other artworks.

Jeremy Saulnier’s Green Room (2015) is frequently identified as a horror film on streaming services. We could split hairs over that genre marker. The film gets quite graphically bloody, but there’s no psychotic slasher killer, no supernatural force at work. And cinematically, the film is a lot more interested in anxiety and dramatic tension than it is in inspiring revulsion or disgust. It terrifies, more than it horrifies. What’s especially compelling about the film (aside from Imogen Poots’ excellent performance, and Patrick Stewart’s menacing turn as charismatic fascist Darcy Banks) is its interest in embedding the viewer in a social context in which the Nazis are a lot less metaphorical, a lot more real. In Green Room, the kids in the punk band the Ain’t Rights are warned about the club they have agreed to play: “It’s mostly boots and braces down there.” And they understand the terms. What they can’t quite imagine is a room — a scene, a political Real — in which fascism is dominant. Their recognition of the stakes of the Real comes too late. The violence is already in motion. In that world, the Dead Kennedys song provides a nice slogan, but symbolic action alone is entirely inadequate.  

OK, sure, Green Room is a fiction. Its violence is necessarily aestheticized, distorted and hyperbolized. But perhaps the film’s most urgent source of horror can be located in its plausible connections to the social realities of our material, contemporary conjuncture. You don’t have to dig very deep into the Web to find thousands of records made by white nationalist and neo-fascist-allied bands, many, many of which deploy stylistic chops identified with punk rock and hardcore. You can listen. You can buy. (And yeah, I’m not going to link to any of that miserable shit, because fuck them. If you do your own digging to see what’s what, be careful. It’s scary and upsetting in there.) It feels endless. And the virulent sentiments expressed on those records are echoed in institutional politics in the US and elsewhere: Steve King (and now Marjorie Taylor Greene, effectively angling for her seat in Congress), Nigel Farage, Alternative für Deutschland, elected leadership in Poland and Hungary. Explicit white supremacist music also has somewhat more carefully coded counterparts in much more visible media (the nightly monologuing on Fox News) and in very well-positioned, prominent policy makers (Stephen Miller, who’s on the record touting “great replacement” theory and is a big fan of The Camp of the Saints). It’s a complex, ideologically coherent network, working industriously to impose and install its hateful vision as the dominant political Real. 

Sometimes it feels as if no progress at all has been made. Maybe we’re moving toward the reactionaries. Contrast Skokie in the late 1970s with Charlottesville in 2017. And now if the Neo-Nazis have licenses for their long guns, they can strut through American streets wearing them in the name of “law and order.” It’s even more disturbing that a subculture that wants to clothe itself in “revolution” and “radicalism” is so tightly in league with institutional politics. Say what you will about Siouxsie’s Nazi-fashion antics, no one suspected that her prancing echoed political activity, policy-making or messaging in Westminster.

So what’s a punk to do? It’s certain that a vigorously free society needs to preserve spaces in which unpopular speech can be uttered and exchanged. Punk should pride itself on defending those spaces. But speech that operates in conjunction with an ascendant political power and ideological agenda doesn’t need defense or energetic attempts to preserve its right to existence. In October of 2020, that speech (in this case, speeches being written by Miller, texts by folks who have spent time in Tucker Carlson’s writer’s room and songs by white supremacist hardcore bands) has become synonymous with political right itself.  

So now more than ever, it’s important to be active in the public square, to stand up to the fascists and to say it, often and out loud:

Jonathan Shaw

[ddaenggtan]

backseat memories - 1 [M]

Pairing | Kim Namjoon x Reader

Warnings | Fluff, Smut, no angst for once bc its gatverse, mechanic namjoon except this is almost entirely about his student life rip, Finals Week, sex as a motivator, encouraging girlfriend MC, Semi-Public Sex, exhibitionism, thigh riding 😎, grinding, fingering, nipple play, praise kink, unprotected sex (pls use condoms yall), slight degradation aka degrading pet names

A/N | Hello!!! Its been a minute I know but! This is gonna be an ongoing drabble series that I add on to when I can/want to, all about the same couple from my fic Give And Take! Originally this was gonna be one really long fic, but like...that was.....not working with my brain lmao it was difficult enough to get this little bit out on its own and it's not even that long so 🥴🥴🥴 this drabble has a dual function bc a year ago today I posted gat and for some reason yall liked it???? Idk????? And then forever ago i did the poll asking what yall wanted and gat sequel was the winner except i never actually got around to writing it lmaoooooo until nOW! So boom drabble series! (Also WHAT its been a YEAR holy SHIT time flies)

BUT MOSTLY!!!! THIS IS DEDICATED TO EMMA AKA @personawife BECAUSE THERE ISNT A SINGLE SOUL THAT LOVES GATJOON LIKE SHE DOES!!! NOT ONE!!! I STILL DONT GET IT BUT THATS OKAY!! anyway happy late birthday emma im sorry this wasnt ready on ur actual birthday also am proud of u for all the work u did in school this semester u killed it!!!! Also also fuck u for knowing exactly what it was gonna be i shouldve made it 666joon instead of your husband smh 😤😤 but anyway i hope u enjoy this clusterfuck 🥺🥺🥺

(Also im trying a new thing where i just link to ao3 bc i really really really really hate tumblrs entire shit like its posting is god awful and also i dont have internet rn so i rely on tumblr mobile and i dont feel like trying to format a bunch of shit on tumble mobile r i p me)

"Hey."

The soft voice startles both you and Namjoon. When he lifts from the desk, there are several index cards stuck to one cheek and a mini-highlighter settled comfortably in a fold of his wrinkled shirt.

You aren't much better off - you're no doubt a mess. Crumpled clothes, tangled hair, and what feels suspiciously like a drool trail running down your chin that you hastily wipe away. When you look up, Seokjin stands in the doorway to Namjoon's bedroom, a small smile playing across his lips.

Read on AO3!