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aboutcustardcreams · 2 days ago

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Time. I want more time.

Summary: Rio finds you, or rather you find her. But things don't go as planned. They simply can't. And when together with Nicky and Agatha, you make her an offer, one so tempting, so impossible to refuse, it makes Rio forget why she should. So she takes it. Just for now, just for this moment, Rio -not Lady Death- allows herself the thing she’s denied for so long. Time.

a/n: I’m so, so sorry it’s been so long! As I mentioned before, I was busy studying for a public competition, which I finally took a couple of days ago. On top of that, I came down with the flu, which slowed me down a lot. But I’m feeling much better now, so here I am!

I hope there aren’t too many typos or mistakes—I didn’t reread but I'll do it latr today (let’s be honest, it is very on brand for me at this point). Anyway, I hope you like it! ❤️

previous chapter

They gave her a job, a very specific one, that clashed with every fiber of her cosmic being. Only then did Rio realize why mortals loathed and resented her so much, why each and every time she showed up to collect a soul, all she saw was fear and despair swimming in the eyes of those whose life had sadly come to an end.

Lady Death always found a way to justify herself, until now. She persuaded herself into believing that those who feared her were just… ignorant to the real purpose of her visit. She was meant to be welcomed as a friend and not dreaded as an enemy. And some did see her that way, as a release, a quiet mercy. But most didn’t. Most couldn’t. And now, she could see why.

Rio couldn’t help but wonder, what kind of balance was she trying to achieve by condemning you to years of torment. What good was to the world if she made sure you suffered for having used your power to save your child? She searched for the meaning of it, but this time she failed to see it.

The Fates had been outraged, that was the truth. The punishment she was meant to inflict to you had nothing to do with what was fair and what wasn’t.

She sighed deeply, as she leaned against a tree. Was it better to warn you or to do it, from night to day? Should she speak to Agatha? Should she show up at all, or complete the task hidden in the shadow?

She brought her hands to her face and then rubbed at it, out of sheer petulance. She inhaled and exhaled shakingly. Silent tears welled up in her eyes then slid down her cheeks like a raging river, the moment her eyelids fell shut.

Rio couldn’t do this to you, without granting an explanation. She couldn’t distort Agatha and Nicky’s life by acting behind their back and yours.

Then she heard it, a voice, one she had been allowed to listen to, from the fragile veil between the two realms. She froze before crunching down behind the tree she laid on to stay put. Quickly she wiped her eyes, before tugging her hood over her face. Silence was one of her crafts. Death could come unexpectedly, like a hurricane as well as softly and subtly like the faintest whisper of wind. And now, despite the tragic drumming of her heart, she was the latter. She had to be.

“I’m so full, mama,” she heard Nicky say, with a sigh, though by the tone of his voice, she caught how satisfied he actually was.

A smile tugged at her lips, small, yet sincere.

“I can see that,” Agatha mused, her blue eyes flickered from him to you, “your stomachs are like bottomless pits.”

Your head lolled to the side, kinda dreamy. “But the lamb stock was so good, Ags.” Agatha rolled her eyes at that. She wasn’t there to deny that, her point was another. “I know that, but you had three refills, my love. Three–” she repeated, playfully elbowing at you.

You stuck your tongue out at her in response.

Rio watched the interaction unfold, struggling to keep her soft side at bay. She tried to see you as another task to complete, and as soon as she did that, she cursed herself because you simply were not. To separate her love for you from the things she had to do against you was impossible.

Before meeting you and Agatha, her job was relatively easier– if not completely, it was at least partially bearable. Without emotional ties, her tasks were just that: assignments to be completed, objectives to be met. But you weren’t one, and you could never be.

“I had four!” Nicky squealed, catching her attention once again. You turned towards the boy, and so did Agatha, whose eyebrows shot up. “My, my, four you say–?!” Playfully, you draped an arm around his middle, pulled him snug against your side. His back bumped into you and before he could react your fingers found his tummy, wiggling silly. “I wonder how all that food fits in this tum-tum of yours, lil champ!”

His reaction was immediate. Laughter burst from Nicky as he squirmed and squealed, his small hands pushing at yours but to no avail. Agatha watched with a fond smile, her eyes glimmered to the sound of her son’s giggles mingled with yours.

“I’m a grown up now, mama–” he protested between laughs. “I can eat more than both of you, if I want to!”

“Oh-ho, hear that, Ags?” You leaned in, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to the top of his head before finally setting him free. She hummed, a playful sound slipping past her lips. “We’ve got a tween on our hands–”

Nicky braced his hands on his knees and bent forward to collect his breath. But the glimmer in his eyes gave it away– he was happy, perhaps the happiest he has ever been.

He could have it all now: a long life ahead, his mothers by his side and no more battles to fight. Rio’s hands turned into fists, her nails dug in so hard she ripped at her skin, but she felt no pain. The only ache– the most painful and persistent inhabited inside her chest. Nothing could top the feeling of her heart turning darker little by little.

Agatha grimaced, brows furrowing in feign disappointment. “Well, it’s a shame really–” she rummaged through her nosebag, quickly catching the boy’s attention. And yours. His eyes locked onto her hands the moment she pulled out a bundle wrapped in cloth. She peeled it back, revealing two soft oat cakes, still warm, their golden surface glistening under a thick glaze of wildflower honey. They looked delicious. Nicky felt his own mouth water at the scent they emanated. “I was going to give you these later today as a snack, but since you’re a big man now, perhaps you’d rather donate them to younger children?””

His brows furrowed, his mouth parted ajar, ready to protest, but you were faster.

“Or–” you rolled your tongue, drawing closer, eyes on them. “I could eat those.”

Agatha should have known. “You’re worse than him,” she mused, keeping the oat cakes at a fair distance, giving you an innocent push.

An impish grin tugged at your lips, before you giggled, “you do call me baby girl, don’t you?”

Agatha snorted out a chuckle as she glanced at you. Her eyes spoke louder than any words. “This is not the appropriate context…”

You played dumb, “is it?”

Nicky, completely ignoring your staring contest, decided to interfere. “If mama can eat those, so can I,” he reasoned defiantly.

Oh yes, your boy was sharp.

“His logic is airtight,” you admitted with a nod.

A toothy grin played out on his face, one of victory.

“Fine, fine,” Agatha snorted in defeat. “Both of you can have it. But later– unless you want a serious stomachache now.” She put the treats back in her nosebag, silently enjoying the way your lips turned into a slight pout, matching Nicky’s. It took all her willpower not to pounce on you two and pepper your faces with sloppy kisses.

“We can wait, right kid?”

Nicky nodded promptly, muttering a soft ‘I guess’, before resuming his walk, trotting ahead and busying himself searching for pieces of wood.

You and Agatha remained a few steps behind him. It was peaceful. It was everything you always wanted.

You were looking for a spot to settle down for the night, but in the meantime, something caught your attention. There, on the forest floor, nestled against the green of the leaves, were clusters of red berries. Their deep crimson skin gleamed, looking so smooth, plump and perfect, you couldn’t help but feel intrigued. Something about them felt off, though. You crouched down, fingers grazing the soft, delicate surface of one berry. You squeezed one between your fingers and then leaned in, inhaling it softly. There was something faintly bitter underneath its apparent sweetness– like decay. It made you wince.

“Are there any good?” Agatha asked, lowering herself to crouch beside you.

Her hand brushed a strand of hair from your face behind your ear and when she did she caught the way your nose scrunched up.

“I’m afraid not, unless you’re eager to lose your sense of taste,” you hummed, discarding the berry and wiping your fingers on a large green leaf lying there.

Agatha chuckled softly, with a shake of her head. “Pass.”

“Thought so,” you grinned, pulling yourself up.

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?”

You met her gaze, the subtle shift in her tone inevitably caught your attention. “That not everything is as it seems?”

“Yes,” she began, leaning in just a fraction closer, so that her warm breath crashed against your cheek, tickling your skin and making your stomach flutter. “But also that something so good looking, juicy and rich like those barriers can also be potentially… lethal.”

You couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle at that, your head dipping with amusement. You got the feeling it wasn’t just the berries she was talking about. Nicky, a few steps ahead, was too engrossed in his own task to notice the conversation going on between you and Agatha, his back turned as he collected wood and pines.

“Are you calling me lethal, Ags?” You said, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned in.

Unable to resist, she pulled you by your hips, her eyes bore into yours and you saw a flicker of arousal swim within them. There was hunger there, barely restrained. One you understood very well, because it was similar to yours.

She hummed, her hands squeezed your hips, fingers kneading slow, deliberate circles. Each stroke of hers sent a shiver running up your spine and goosebumps to rise over your arms. Her breath ghosted over your lips, so close it made your skin tingle. “No, not lethal.” She shook her head.

You swept your tongue over your mouth, and her eyes followed there helplessly. She wanted to claim you, pull you close and devour you right then and there, but the sun was too high in the sky. And then there was Nicky… “But easy to fall for, yes.”

You bowed your head, a quiet chuckle slipping past your lips. One Agatha found herself going mad. When your eyes bore into hers again, only a second passed before you kissed her. Agatha exhaled, her mouth parting instinctively as her eyes fluttered shut. Yours did, too. A soft hum vibrated in your throat when she deepened the kiss, drinking you in like the succubus she was. Your hands cradled her face, fingers threading into her hair as you tilted your head, surrendering to her. Her tongue crashed against yours, teasing, chasing, until she caught the very tip between her teeth, giving the lightest, most maddening nip.

You couldn’t help the faint little chuckle that slipped past your lips, one she promptly reciprocated. “You’re being unfair now,” you whined, before laying your forehead against hers. “I– we can’t do this now.”

A flicker of amusement danced in her gaze, as she inhaled deeply in your scent, “I know, but perhaps when the night falls–” her breath was hot on your skin.

You nodded way too quickly. “I’d like that,” your voice came out hoarse, “please,” you added eagerly.

Agatha smiled against your lips, her fingers still tapping at your hips. “Such a good baby girl for me,” she closed the distance between you one more time to give you a gentle peck on your lips. She used that pet name on purpose, knowing the things it did to you, especially in such intimate contexts.

“Ags–” you whined, but before you could say anything else, a sound came to your ears. It felt like a crunch in the grass that interrupted, gladly or less so, it depends on how you see it– the moment between you and Agatha. You three turned, but not at the same time. Nicky had noticed a slight movement coming from a point in the distance, a glimpse of a green cloak, one vaguely familiar to him.

Before you and Agatha could tell him to wait, he trotted in that direction.

Rio could have disappeared. With a snap of her fingers, she could have. She should have. But what was the point? She was never a coward and she clearly wouldn’t start now. For once, in centuries, Lady Death felt like she needed the contact– a physical one. Looking at her family in the eye, and enjoying a glimpse of normality she always wished for herself. So she stayed.

She came out of her hiding spot, and took her hoodie off, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

You and Agatha froze, eyes widening but for different reasons.

Nicky’s face lit up as he ran to her. “Rio! It’s you!”

With a chuckle, she caught him in her arms, and buried her face into his hair, while he nuzzled underneath her chin, “my dear– It’s so good to see you.”

For a moment, time itself seemed to hesitate. It was as if Death and the very essence of Life had met halfway. It felt so right. Rio and Nicky there, together. Your eyes watered, a single tear slipped down your cheek but you wiped at it before it could wet your chin.

Beside you, Agatha tensed up, her magic flickering at her fingertips. One wrong word, one bad movement and you knew she would have snapped. Her magic stilled when you reached out and curled your fingers around hers. She looked at you, brows furrowing, a plea in her eyes. She was conflicted, you knew that. Honestly, who better than you could, after everything you went through?

“Don’t– she’s not here to hurt him,” you reassured her, voice soft and kind.

“Moms!” Nicky called out, as Lady Death pulled him down, ever so gently. His hand in hers as he dragged her towards you and Agatha. “It’s her! She’s the woman I told you about! I found her!”

He looked so happy, your heart swelled. When he let go of her hand, he ran to you and pulled at your clothes, barely containing himself.

Rio didn’t say anything, she waited for you and Agatha to do so first.

“Rio,” saying her name felt like finally taking a breath after being underwater for ages.

She turned, hazel eyes bore into yours with such a raw intensity, you felt the need to get even closer. She looked at Agatha too, with the same love and… what you thought being regret. Guilt gnawed at you as you did, memories of your last encounter came back to you like a hurricane. You had treated her unfairly, let yourself be fuelled by harshness– so deeply foreign to your person and pushed her away.

“I’m sorry for-”

“I need to apologize for–”

Realizing you had talked at the same time, a soft laugh slipped past your lips. She smiled, instead, eyes flickering towards Agatha, catching the moment she started nibbling the inside of her cheek. You caught a gentle blush coloring Rio’s cheeks, when she turned to you once again and your expression softened even more.

“You first,” Rio muttered softly.

You rubbed at Nicky’s back, still clung to your side before speaking, “I shouldn’t have said those things,” you started, your voice barely above a murmur. “And I’m sorry I’ve been cruel to you. I regret pushing you away… it was selfish– you were as scared as Agatha and I were and–” you swallowed a lump in your throat getting bigger and bigger.

Rio’s face fell, her brows furrowing. “No, no, shhh, it’s okay–” She was quick to cut the distance between you. “

Nicky looked up at you, a pout forming on his face, recognizing you were this close to crying. “Mama–?”

You inhaled a deep shaky breath. Your eyes flickered to him, “it’s okay, my love,” you smiled, softly but sincerely. “I’m just– emotional. I’m okay.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, because you indeed were. However, there was more to it: things you weren’t ready to confess to your son.

The sight of your lip quivering, only caused Rio’s heart to feel heavier. Agatha wasn’t doing much better, but she resisted, she had to. With one hand atop Nicky’s shoulder, she kept the other in yours, thumb gently tickling your palm as a way to reassure you.

“I never blamed you for a second. Not you, Agatha…” A bitter smile ghosted her lips as she shrugged. “What other choice did you have?” she murmured.

It was your turn to furrow your eyebrows.

“You had no choice either–” you croaked out.

“Yeah, I s’pose.” Rio pursed her lips, trying to offer a smile, but it wavered, tilting into something closer to a grimace. “It’s okay now. No hard feelings,” her attempt at teasing worked quite well, because you chuckled. Weak, quiet, but real. And for a moment, the world seemed to slow. The ache remained, but it was softer now, dulled just enough to breathe.

Agatha scoffed. She knew the pull Rio had on you, knew it because she felt it too. But unlike you, she couldn’t let herself be swayed. She needed more time, proof that it was safe to let the guard down now. No catches. No hidden prices to pay. She wanted to ask, she wanted Rio to be straightforward about her intentions, but sadly that was not the right moment, not with Nicky listening to the conversation.

When Rio reached out a hand towards Agatha, she whimpered without meaning to. The image of the four of you gathered so closely– closer than ever before, was a lot even for her. She hated how she loved it. She hated how much it terrified her: to be shown something she wasn’t sure she could keep for herself, for Nicky and for you. She swallowed, blue eyes boring into hazel ones, searching, digging deep, trying to find clues, anything, pleading even.

"I know this is hard for you– I see you trying, and I appreciate it. Truly." Rio said, her voice thick with emotion. You smiled at Agatha, it was encouraging, lovingly. "What you’ve done here—” Rio’s eyes flickered to Nicky, then. Her hand grazed at his cheek. “It’s nothing short of a miracle. And I couldn’t be prouder."

Agatha could have answered with one of her usual bitter remarks, but decided against it.

Instead, she shot you a teasing look and said, “she did all the work, but insists on giving me the credit, too.”

An amused scoff slipped past your lips, as you rolled your eyes. “We talked about this, Ags–”

“No kidding,” her remark caused Rio to barely stifle a chuckle.

“Wait–” Nicky, his brows furrowed, mind racing, found himself bubbling with a very important question, his mouth parted, before he finally asked, “so, you do know each other?”

A watery chuckle slipped past your lips, as you nodded. Agatha’s smile grew and so did Rio’s. Of course he would have noticed by now, considering you and Rio were talking as if there was a history and indeed there was one. There was no point in lying on that part now, wasn’t there?

“Yeah–” you confirmed, with your hand resting atop his shoulder. “Guess we know the same Rio after all–”

“What were the odds, huh?” Agatha added, her gruff voice taking on a note of fondness.

“There aren’t many like me,” Death teased lightly.

Agatha folded her arms to her chest, “thank the stars for that–”

You shot her a playful elbow, despite knowing full well there was no real bite behind her remark. And Rio– she, too, knew better than to take offense. Agatha and you noticed the way she tried to hide her amusement, by pressing her tongue against her cheek. A thing of hers.

Nicky grinned. In his perspective, this coincidence only made things easier for you to get along. “My moms and I were looking for you.”

Lady Death frowned at his words. “Oh?” Her tone held a note of surprise, though she stopped herself from asking why. She had a feeling you’d give her the answer soon enough.

Nicky glanced up at you, as if searching for the right words. His wish was simple: he wanted Rio to be with you all. And while you knew it wasn’t that easy, that it couldn’t fully happen, not when Rio’s duty was unlike any other, you still hoped to find a compromise.

And as for Agatha– she wasn’t sure what scared her more. The fact that Rio might actually stay, or the possibility of another betrayal coming from her. Because unlike you, she didn’t forget. She wasn’t even sure you did, to be honest. Perhaps you simply pushed the thought aside because you were desperate for some peace and quiet. Some normalcy in your life. And quite frankly, how could she blame you for wishing such a simple thing?

Rio had mentioned a price to pay that night. So if you wanted to let your guard down, then fine, she would have to be the one with a clear head, ready to have your back. To fight, if necessary.

When you spoke, Rio’s heart clenched in a way that almost hurt.

“We were hoping you’d… tag along,” you murmured, so softly you weren’t even sure she heard.

But Rio did. And it stole the breath from her lungs. Not that it could kill her– but it almost felt like it. She looked at Agatha for further confirmation, only to find her nodding at your words.

“I know you’re busy,” you continued, hesitating, your fingers curling slightly at your sides, as a way to cope with your own jitters. Because yes– there was the possibility that your request would be denied. That your hope would burn out as easily as it came to light. “I know your job is part of who you are, but—” You turned, searching for Agatha’s eyes and your heart pounded even faster when she looked at you in a way that made you feel seen and protected. “But you’re also needed here,” you pressed on, your voice steadier now. “With us. You’re not just your job, Rio. And I hope you know… you’re so much more.”

Rio didn’t say a word, she couldn’t trust her own voice yet. She had shown up with a purpose, one certainly less flattering than yours. She curled her fingers into fists, and inhaled. She almost thought the Fates did this to her, manipulated yours and Agatha’s mind into asking her such a thing. And quite frankly it wouldn’t surprise her if that was true. Only to make her suffer more. Only to make her task even more impossible to be carried out.

“I–” she hesitated. She wanted this. She really did.

Nicky tugged at her cloak, with adorable impatience. “Please–” he half whined. “There’s no need to hide. No need to meet in secret anymore. We can be your family–” The way he said that, with such simplicity, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, affected you three at the same time and with the same force.

You, Agatha, Rio and Nicky. A family. A real family.

You reached out, cupped her cheek and stroked her skin ever so gently. “What do you say? Want to give it a try?”

She leaned in, lips a few millimeters from your face, eyes staring at your lips. She loved your hope. And she would absolutely hate it to be the one taking it from you.

To her surprise, Agatha drew closer, too. Gently, almost absentmindedly, she reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Rio’s ear. And for the first time in a while, she allowed herself to truly look at her, not as the witch, and even less as Lady Death. But as the woman beneath it all, who never truly stopped, not even once to be hers and yours.

“Make it right,” she added, and before you and Rio could ask her what she meant by that, she continued, “for us and for you. Just– for the love of the gods, make the right choice,” she finished, her voice barely above a whisper held a pinch of urgency.

Rio let out a quiet scoff, her smile touched with something almost amused—almost, but not quite. The right choice, she said. She had made choices before, choices that defied fate itself. And if she had to do it again—if it meant giving you all something, even if just for a little while—then to hell with it. Her hands were still tied, but she could live with that a little longer.

Her gaze flickered to Nicky, something unreadable passing through her eyes. She knew– Hell, she knew this choice would break her. But it wasn’t just about her. It never was. You all needed this.

So she made up her mind, by offering you the same thing she once did.

“I’d very much like that.”

Time. She could only offer time.

“That means–?” Agatha began, head lolling to the side, suspicion warring with hope in her eyes.

“That I’ll stay.” She confirmed, her voice trembling as tears welled, faster than she could blink them away. “If you all will have me.”

You smiled. Nicky cheered. Agatha swallowed hard, then nodded. The answer to that couldn’t be clearer.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #wlw #rio vidal #kathryn hahn #aubrey plaza #rio vidal x reader #agathario x reader #agatha x rio x reader #nicholas scratch

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soobmint · 1 day ago

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moon song | choi yeonjun [a] ; [s] (14.8k words)

“so i will wait for the next time you want me, like a dog with a bird at your door.” moon song, phoebe bridgers

first installment in the “punisher” collection. masterlist can be found here.

pairing; choi yeonjun x fem!reader

blurb; for better or worse, you have placed your heart in the hands of choi yeonjun, a struggling musician trying his best to be all you expect of him. but when you realize you’ve been losing more and more of yourself just to keep him near, you fear you may be too far gone to keep yourself from falling down with him.

genres; angst, established relationship

warnings; alcoholism, profanity, suggestive content, themes of mental illness & destructive thought spirals

playlist; find it here!! shoutout to @heetendo for helping me make this, she found half the songs for it <3

author’s note; hi all, welcome to the first piece in my punisher series! this is my first time putting out both a suggestive fic and a fic that’s 99% angst haha. it was really exciting to try out some new things, and it helped me get out of my writing slump for sure! do be sure to check out the warnings before reading, and i hope you enjoy moon song <3 (also, highly suggest giving the song a listen!! you can find it here.)

taglist; @hoonbear @hyuckworld @heetendo @yeonjuniper @soobin-chois @magicalstellar @maplecornia @baekberrie @boba-beom

[back to my masterlist]

WHEN THE MOON RISES, YOU FEEL AT PEACE.

The muted blue reflects off the ocean, illuminating the stones beneath your bare feet with a soft glow. In the distance, the bright beam of a lighthouse streaks its way through the dark blue sky. Waves gently caress your toes, but you can hardly feel the chill of the evening sea. Instead, you feel the warm hands covering your own, tucked away in the front pockets of your coat.

As you sink back against a firm chest, you can hear a far off sea barge blare its horn. You taste salt on your lips, smell the smoke from a campfire a little ways down the beach. If it weren’t so cold out, you would suggest taking a walk down the pier to your favorite ice cream stand, but the biting air keeps you in place. You close your eyes, snuggling back against the figure standing behind you. He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” He says quietly, lips brushing against your skin. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything special for you today.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be. This is perfect.”

“Perfect? Really?” The doubt lacing his voice makes you smile. He has always been so unsure of himself.

“Yes, perfect.” You tighten your grip on his hands. “Just being here with you is enough for me.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Then he asks, “Do you remember this place?”

Of course you do. It’s the place where you had first met him. It seems like so many years ago now, you have begun to lose track of how much time has passed since then, all the days blurring together in one whimsical haze.

“How could I forget it?”

He rests his chin on your shoulder. “Look up,” he whispers.

You cast your eyes upwards, and what seems to be hundreds of thousands of stars speckle the sky, surrounding the blue moon. When you see the stars, you can’t help but think of his eyes. They would sparkle just like this from time to time, entrancing you with their wonder, as if endless possibilities lied just beyond them. God, you would do anything if it meant seeing that starstruck gaze for even one extra moment.

“They’re beautiful,” you say.

“Wanna know something?” He asks.

“What?”

“For you, I’d capture every single one of those stars. I’d bring them right down to earth, tie them up with strings, and hang them from your ceiling so you could see them every night before you go to sleep.”

You laugh a bit, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’d do that? With your bare hands?”

“Of course.” You can hear the smile in his voice. It’s velvet, warm and soft.

“And what about the moon?” You tease.

“The moon? No problem – I can give you that too.”

“And how would you go about doing that?”

“Easy – a lasso. Throw it around the whole thing and pull it down to you. I’ve been working out a lot more recently, you know.”

Your laughter is vibrant this time; contagious as it falls from his lips as well.

“I love you,” you say.

His lips are on your neck now. “I know.”

There’s a burning in your throat. Your chest is tight, mind racing. There’s so much you want to say – so much you need to say – but the words are stuck on the tip of your tongue. It’s as if your head has been overcome by a fog. You feel everything all at once; desperation, panic, desire, hope, anything and everything in between.

You turn around. “Yeonjun.”

The space behind you is empty.

----------

When you wake up, you remember nothing of your dream other than the faint taste of salt.

Your phone is ringing beside you on the couch. You rub the sleep from your eyes, glancing at the time before answering the call. It’s 11:42 PM, and you can hardly see anything in the pitch black room.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, thank God! This is my fourth time calling you.” It’s Yeonjun’s friend, Wooyoung, on the other line. You’ve gotten quite used to his late night calls.

“I’m sorry, I fell asleep.” You stand up and flick the lights on, forcing your mess of unfolded laundry and empty coffee mugs out of hiding. You wince at the disarray; you’ll be sure to clean up later. “Where are you guys?”

“We’re at Mr. Kim’s, it’s on the –”

“The corner of First and Main. I know.” You grab your keys – heavy with an assortment of keychains, most of them gifted to you by your boyfriend – from amid a pile of notebooks and loose pieces of paper on the coffee table. In your hurry, you don’t even take the time to change out of your house slippers. “I’ll be there in five.”

The drive feels long, though it only lasts a few minutes. You crank up the volume on the radio, the generic pop song nothing but white noise to your buzzing mind as the lights of your small town turn to one big blur out the window. When you park beneath the street lamp outside Mr. Kim’s pub, you close your eyes and take a deep breath before you step out of the car.

The bell above the door jingles as you enter the pub, the smell of grilled pork and fried rice filling your nose. The place is nearly empty, a few drunken laughs and dated music from the crackling speakers filling the otherwise quiet atmosphere. The fluorescent lights flicker. You squint, scrunching your nose. You’ll have to take a couple painkillers when you get home – you always get a headache from the blaring artificial light.

Hands in the pocket of your sweatshirt, you glance around. It doesn’t take long for you to spot your boyfriend, face down on his usual table in the back corner of the restaurant. Wooyoung is seated across from him, head in his hands, several other empty plates abandoned on the table. The rest of the group must have left already, you suspect.

Wooyoung catches your eye and waves you down. You nod, making your way towards the table. “Sorry for waking you up,” he says when you arrive. He gestures to Yeonjun, who hasn’t made a single movement since your arrival. “I just figured he shouldn’t stay out like this for much longer.”

You wave off the apology. “No, it’s okay. Thank you.” Gently, you brush a hand through Yeonjun’s bleached hair. His skin is warm when your fingertips grace his forehead, glistening with sweat. He groans, and you’re glad – a tiny part of you always wonders if he’s even alive when he gets like this. “Rough day, I’m guessing?”

Wooyoung shrugs, stacking the scattered shot glasses together. “I thought it was okay. We played a gig down the street. Got a couple hundred bucks out of it. He looked so happy for a while but then he just . . . I dunno. Started drinking.”

You nod, easing your arm around Yeonjun’s waist. “Hey, time to get up. Let’s go home.”

It takes both you and Wooyoung to lift the barely conscious Yeonjun from his seat. He’s leaning against you as you pull him along, feet dragging along the laminate. The scent of cherry soju is strong, bitter as it overcomes your senses. You’ve always hated the smell; it reminds you of the cough syrup your mother would have to force down your throat when you were a child. Yeonjun never seemed to mind it.

You stop by the front counter. The pub’s owner has just come out from the kitchen, and you pull your wallet from your back pocket. “How much, Mr. Kim?”

He shakes his head, eyes crossing from the money in your hand to Yeonjun’s head on your shoulder. “He can pay me for it himself next time he comes in here – next time he’s sober, that is.”

You sigh, pushing your card closer to him. “We talked about this. No more handouts.”

“It’s not a handout. I’m just waiting for the customer himself to pay me. Consider it me putting it on his tab or something.”

“No use arguing with him, Y/N,” Wooyoung says. He spots Yeonjun’s guitar case by the door before you do, picking it up as he throws a wink at Mr. Kim. “We’ll see you soon then, sir!”

“Sooner than I’d like, I’m sure.” Mr. Kim’s gruff voice is difficult to hear when he mumbles. “Why don’t you ever offer to pay, eh? You’re just as bad as he is!”

“See you!”

Wooyoung practically pushes you and Yeonjun out of the pub, bell ringing once more to announce your exit. He hurries to open the passenger door of your car, and you all but drop Yeonjun into the seat. He moans, squinting at the brightness that falls from the streetlight. You buckle him in and close the door, sighing as you brush the hair from your face that had begun to stick from sweat.

“You know, these days you have to act more like a mom to him than a girlfriend.” Wooyoung’s voice breaks your moment of solitude. He closes the trunk – you assume he’s put Yeonjun’s guitar in there. “And by these days I guess I mean the past like, eight months or something.”

“Funny. I’m barely containing my laughter.” Your voice is monotonous, not a trace of humor to be found.

“Sorry. Too far?”

“Always.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t last long. “I’m wondering though, Y/N. How long are you gonna keep doing this?”

You lean back against the car, raising a brow. You don’t smoke, but if you did, you figure you’d be craving a cigarette right about now. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think Yeonjun’s been treating you like shit lately?”

The question is a knife to the heart. It’s instinctual, the way you shake your head in an instant, standing up straight and squaring your shoulders as though you’re preparing to defend your very life. “Of course not. He’s just going through a lot right now. You know that.” Your words are sharp, retaliation for the stab of Wooyoung’s.

He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I never said he wasn’t. He’s my friend, so of course I’m sympathetic to what he’s going through. What we’re both going through. He’s not the only one in a failing band.”

“If you understand, why would you accuse him of treating me like shit?”

“Because he is!” The force of his voice takes you by surprise, and you’re stunned into silence. He sighs, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just – you’re my friend too, y’know? So I see what you’re going through because of him, and I can’t help but get pissed off.”

“I appreciate it, Wooyoung. Really, I do.” You pause, reading the doubt in his eyes before glancing over your shoulder. Yeonjun’s leaning his head against the window, lips pursed. You swallow. “I swear, it’s fine. We’re fine.”

It’s Wooyoung’s turn to lift a brow, leaning forward onto the balls of his feet. “Really? Tell me then, did he get you anything for your birthday today? Or at least acknowledge that it’s your birthday?”

“That’s not fair. You know he’s had so much going on today and –”

“Y/N, would you listen to yourself? He could’ve sent a text, left a note, or God forbid, given you a phone call at the very least.” He’s not yelling anymore, but his words still strike like blades across your skin, and you flinch.

Wooyoung closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he opens them again, the frustration is gone. Now, he’s looking at you like you’re a wounded dog, desperate and dependent, waiting for something that’s never going to come.

“When’s the last time he asked you about your passions? Your dreams, your goals? Have you even had time to sit down and write lately?”

Your silence is the only response he gets. The muggy air is suffocating you.

“You deserve more than this, Y/N. You deserve so much more.”

Your eyes are burning, and you feel the lump in your throat that’s been there for what seems like days get bigger.

“I love him.” It’s all you can say, because in your world of drunken calls at midnight and the bitter scent of cherry soju, it’s all you know to be true.

He sighs in defeat. “I know you do. I just wish you would give a damn about yourself sometimes too.”

You go your separate ways after that, him giving you a halfhearted wave as a farewell. His words are still lingering as you put the car into drive and begin your route home. When you hit a red light, you glance over at Yeonjun, his sharp features glowing crimson in the hue. His brows are knit together, sweat beading above them. You notice his dark roots growing in; it’s been months since he last got his hair bleached. His cheeks are flushed, lips parted. He used to look so peaceful when he slept, you recall. You wonder how long it’s been since you’ve last seen him without that crease between his brows.

Carefully, you wipe your hand across his forehead to rid him of some of the sweat. He sighs, leaning into your touch before taking hold of your wrist. “Y/N?”

“I’m here, Jun,” you say, ignoring the tears that bead in the corners of your eyes. “I’m right here.”

He presses his lips into your palm, kissing you once, twice, three times. Your heart dances at the touch, aching for more. Yet the desire is diluted by the smell of alcohol and the absent look in his eyes. The light turns green, and you can’t bring yourself to pull away from him. You make the rest of the drive with one hand.

When you get home, it takes all of your strength to get him out of the car and into the apartment. His feet are dragging, and he’s clinging onto you as though you’re his lifeline as you stumble through the living room, nothing to light your way but a single lamp in the corner of the room that you had left on just for this reason. He accidentally knocks one of the empty coffee mugs to the ground, mumbling an apology that you immediately dismiss.

“It’s fine, baby,” You say without a second thought. “Just focus on getting to the bed, yeah?”

Somehow, you make it to your room, moonlight spilling in through the crack in the gray curtains as you drop Yeonjun onto the unmade bed. You push your hair back from your face, sinking into the mattress. His eyes are tethered to you, glazed and heavy, watching you pull his feet into your lap as though he’s in a trance. You’re trying, desperately, to push your conversation with his bandmate out of your mind, even as the words swarm you like moths to a flame. With an absent mind, you untie his shoelaces, slipping the sneakers off his feet and setting them down on the carpet.

I love him. I love him. I love him.

It’s a mantra in your buzzing mind, the only loose thread you have left to cling to as everything else unravels. Your days may be hell, your nights may be lonely, moments may go by like whispers in the wind. But you love him. You love him, and this should be enough. It is enough.

You’re grabbing the cuffs of his socks now, rolling them together before placing them inside one of the sneakers. Taking hold of his wrists, you gently pull him towards you so that he’s sitting up. For some reason, you’re unable to meet his eyes as you begin to unbutton his shirt; perhaps you’re afraid he’ll be looking at you with the same pity that Wooyoung had shown earlier, or even worse, with some amount of contempt or disdain for you.

The first button is undone, then the second. When your fingers hover over the third, you pause. Yeonjun’s fingers gently encircle your wrist, his thumb tracing its way along your veins. Heart in your throat, you meet his gaze. He’s looking at you with heavy lidded eyes, pink lips barely parted.

“Yeonjun?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

He moves your hand, slowly, til your palm is pressing into his exposed chest, fingertips brushing against his collarbone.

“Touch me,” he rasps. “I want you to touch me.”

You’ve gone still at his words. You know he needs rest – that you need rest. But his eyes are begging you, his hands luring you, as he moves your own further up so that it’s on his neck, your fingers touching his hair. He leans forward, his forehead on yours, nose just barely meeting the skin of your burning cheek.

“Please,” he whispers, and you feel his breath against your lips. “I need you.”

Those three words; simple in theory, but dangerous in practice. They’re your Achilles’ heel, your fatal flaw. You’d do anything, anything, if it meant that he needed you. You’d lose yourself in him completely if that’s what it took to see the stars dance in his eyes once more, to see his shoulders lift as though the weight of a thousand worlds no longer rested upon him, to see his brow unfurrow from the release of his countless burdens.

You’d do it all a thousand times over. Why, for him, you’d even offer the moon.

And so, you oblige to his request, unable to ignore the fire in your own chest as you push your fingers into his hair, raking your hand through the knots and tangles. He sighs in what must be relief, grabbing your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. You make quick work of the remaining buttons on his shirt, pushing it off of his shoulders and tossing it to the ground. He buries his face in your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your collarbone. You bite your lip, feeling the trail of sparks he leaves against you as he works his mouth along your skin. Your hands are moving up and down his bare chest, feeling every bump, every line, every perfect imperfection. The feeling of his skin on your own is addictive; you cannot satisfy your senses, the urge to feel all of him, everywhere, all at once fogging your already clouded mind. You can feel him beneath you now, as his hands travel higher up your thighs, fingers playing with the hem of your shorts. Breath hitching, you press against him, feeling warmth between your legs.

“God, yeah, just – just like that.” He groans, hips raising up to meet yours as he catches the skin of your neck between his teeth. A whimper slips through your lips as you keep your hips moving against his, your lips following your hands as they explore his jaw.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbles against you, fingers pressing into your thighs so hard, you’re sure they’ll leave marks; but you don’t mind. In fact, you only wish he’d press harder, your body aching for him more and more, even as you’re practically melded together. You want to feel him on every cell of your skin. You want to taste him, to cover him, to breathe him in and never exhale.

It’s sudden when he pushes on your shoulders, causing you to fall back against the mattress. He’s over you now, taking both your hands in one of his and holding them above your head, his other hand sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, traveling up your ribs. Your back arches at the touch; you’re desperate to push ever closer to him, even if it’s impossible. He pulls the neckline of your shirt down, exposing your shoulder and the top of your bra. His lips are on your chest now, sucking and biting at the skin there. You suck in a sharp breath at the feeling, your eyes rolling shut as he slides his knee between your trembling legs, his tongue tracing its way along your collarbone.

You’re panting, chest heaving as his lips travel back up your neck, your jaw, your cheek; every inch of your skin is burning in his wake. You’ve been aching to feel his lips on yours, craving the sweet taste of him in your mouth.

But when his lips finally cover your own, the taste isn’t sweet like the vanilla ice creams you used to share on the pier, or the peaches you had sunk your teeth into backstage before one of his first gigs all those years ago. Instead he tastes bitter, the traces of cherry soju still burning on his tongue.

It’s the taste that brings reality crashing down around you. Suddenly, the burning between your legs isn’t pleasant – it’s too hot, too dangerous. His hands are singeing your skin now, your name falling from his lips a curse rather than a blessing. It’s a brutal reminder: he’s not sober. That’s why he’s doing this. It’s a stab straight to the gut.

“Yeonjun,” you whisper, breathless, when he comes up for air. “You’re drunk.”

His breathing is shallow, his hand still gripping both of yours. “What?”

“You’re drunk,” you repeat, freeing your hands from his grasp. You place your palms on his shoulders, easing him back as you sit up. “We have to stop.”

He’s breathless still, lips red and raw and hanging open, hair tousled. His eyes are searching yours, pupils big as saucers, his ever-knit brows showing his confusion – or maybe even concern. “Y/N, I –”

“It’s okay, Jun. Really.” You push a halfhearted smile, brushing a strand of bleached hair behind his ear. “You should rest.”

There’s so much he wants to say. You can see it in his eyes. But you also see the exhaustion, the confusion, the dismay. You’re terrified of what may come next.

Pity.

Regret.

You need to leave before he even has the chance to show a hint of either.

You lay him down, pulling the covers up over him. When you lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, his heavy eyes are already falling shut.

With a sigh, you walk to the window and cast a quick glance at the sky before pulling the curtains all the way shut. You leave the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind you as quietly as you can. You hate the silence that has settled over the apartment, the only sound being your bare feet against the cold floor. There’s a sudden sharp pain in your heel and you wince, looking down to see a single shard of glass that had chipped off the mug Yeonjun knocked over in his drunken haze.

You pull the shard out of your skin, hobbling one-footed to the bathroom to grab a bandaid. When you open the cabinet above the toilet, all that’s left in terms of bandages are the cheap Iron Man ones Yeonjun had bought nearly a year ago. As you peel it open, wiping the blood from your skin before pressing the bandage on, you almost smile.

After taking care of the cut, you head towards the kitchen. You light the candle on the counter, slowly filling the room with the faint scent of vanilla and amber, the wooden wick crackling as the flame begins to flicker. After setting the lighter down, you pull open the fridge and grab a paper plate covered in plastic wrap. It holds a single slice of semi-stale chocolate cake, leftover from the last-minute birthday treat your coworkers had purchased during your lunch break. You grab a fork from a drawer and glance at the clock. It’s 12:59 AM; too late to even wish yourself a happy birthday.

When you sink down on the couch and take your first bite, you can’t help but think that the cake tastes quite bitter as well.

----------

Yeonjun is cold when he wakes up the next morning.

The sun beats in through the tiny slit in the curtains and he groans, pulling his pillow down over his face. He tucks his blanket around his body, desperate to kill the chills that shake his nearly naked self, but it’s no use. With an exasperated sigh, he turns onto his side, stretching his arm out.

“Y/N,” he mumbles, fingers searching for your body in the bed beside him. He pries his eyes open when he doesn’t feel you. Your side of the bed is bare.

He sighs, tossing his pillow off and running a hand over his face. When he sits up, he sees his discarded clothes on the floor and the memories of the night come rushing back to him. He remembers the heat of your body, the desperation in his voice as he practically chanted your name like a prayer. Most of all, he remembers the ache in the pit of his stomach as he watched your eyes go dim beneath him, and the defeat on your face as you laid him down to sleep.

Choi Yeonjun, you fucking idiot.

He’s no stranger to calling himself names. His mind is no friend of his.

He stumbles out of bed and towards the pile of unfolded laundry in the desk chair, pulling on a pair of joggers and one of your old tee shirts. It’s not his size, but he doesn’t mind; he likes how it smells just like you. Your favorite lavender perfume must be embedded within the threading, filling him with both comfort and guilt as the scent overtakes him.

In the living room, he finds you curled up on the sofa. No blanket, no pajamas – just a half-eaten slice of cake on the coffee table, the T.V. remote loosely gripped in your hand, reruns of an old sitcom buzzing on the screen before you. Slowly, he takes the remote from your hand and switches off the T.V., brushing his fingers over your cheek before he kisses it lightly, careful not to wake you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Of course, you don’t hear him. Deep down, in some twisted way and for reasons he cannot attempt to explain, Yeonjun is glad that you don’t.

He walks to the kitchen, seeing your favorite candle still burning in a pool of melted wax. He blows it out, watching the tendrils of smoke rise and dissolve in the air. He walks to the cabinet, pulling out garlic, bean paste, and some red pepper. He puts some water on the stove to boil, grabbing the tray of diced vegetables you keep in the fridge for him. Though he doesn’t mind the taste of his own haejangguk, he much prefers it when you make it; but he knows it would be cruel of him to wake you up.

The water has come to a boil, so he throws in the rest of the ingredients for his hangover soup. His head’s pounding, and he wishes he could shut off the sun as its streams in through the skylight above him. He sets the burner to low heat and puts a lid on the pot, leaving it to simmer for a bit.

He leans back against the counter, his hand brushing over a small stack of photos behind him that you had recently gotten developed, knocking some to the floor. With a sigh, he crouches down to gather them back up, his hand pausing as he grabs the first one. It’s a picture of him with his arm around your waist, both of your hands cupping his cheeks as he holds a vanilla ice cream cone. In the background, the sun is setting over the ocean, the sky painted in strokes of pinks and purples and reds and golds. You have a dot of the ice cream on your nose – he remembers that he had smeared it there himself after you tried to take a bite of his dessert. Both of you are laughing, mouths wide, your eyes scrunched up into crescent moons while his bright gaze is fixed on you. He remembers Wooyoung taking the picture during one of your walks to the pier near your home. It’s dated back two summers ago.

A smile is tugging the corners of his lips. He can’t remember the last time the two of you had taken a photo together. For the briefest of moments, he can feel a ghost of the joy that had once filled him. It’s spilling out of the picture in his hands, seeping through to his chest.

The feeling doesn’t last long. It never does.

The smell of his soup boiling on the stove draws him back to the present. He quickly scoops the rest of the scattered pictures together, setting them back on the countertop as he rushes to the stove. He takes the pot off the heat and switches the stove off, taking the lid off to let the steam free. The spices fill his nose, causing him to cough as they overpower his senses. You have always told him he’s a bit heavy-handed when it comes to adding the red pepper, but he only seems to remember your advice when it’s too late. Every time.

“Jun?” He turns at the sound of your voice, seeing you sleepily rise from the couch. You rub your eyes, covering your mouth as you yawn and make your way towards him.

“Morning,” he says, trying his best to smile, though he can’t be sure what the correct way to speak to you is right now. He knows he acted selfishly last night, but he also knows that you’ll refuse to bring it up. At times, he wishes you would unleash all hell on him; he wishes you would scream, dig your nails into his skin, bite into his flesh with the words of resentment and anger he only imagines you have buried deep within your heart of hearts.

But you never do. And he’s far too much of a coward to ask you to. The tension of last night will linger, you’ll both carry on until the next thing happens and it snowballs, getting bigger and bigger but never crashing down around you. You wrap your arms around his waist, looking down at his breakfast. “You should’ve woken me up, Jun. I know you like my haejangguk more, I would’ve made it for you.”

“I know you would’ve,” he says. “That’s exactly why I didn’t wake you up. You need to rest.”

“I’m fine though,” you mumble, leaving his side to pull a couple of bowls down from one of the cabinets. He notices the dark circles beneath your eyes and wonders how fine you truly could be. You take a ladle from a drawer and scoop two servings of the soup into the bowls, fishing out some spoons to eat with.

“You don’t have to eat this babe. You’re not hungover.” He watches as you set the dishes down at two of the bar stools, climbing up to sit atop one of them. “I’ll make something else for you.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, smiling sweetly at him. “It tastes pretty good regardless. Can you bring me the black pepper?”

He nods, turning around to find it. When he turns towards the cabinet, his eyes fall on the calendar that’s hanging on the side of the refrigerator. Yesterday’s date is circled in red, with poorly done doodles of a cake and confetti surrounding two words written in bright pastels: Y/N’s Birthday.

His stomach drops. There’s a big black line crossing out the date.

“Do you have any gigs today?” Your voice is distant to him, his gaze still stuck on the calendar as his head swarms with thoughts, his hand shaking around the can of pepper in his grasp. How could he forget your birthday? How had he reached such a devastating low that he couldn’t even properly celebrate with you, the one person who had stuck with him through every high and low? And how could you not even think of mentioning it to him?

“Jun? You okay?” He slowly turns back to face you at the sound of your voice, seeing the worry lines creasing your forehead. One day, those wrinkles would be permanent, and he can’t help but feel like the full responsibility of it will fall upon his shoulders.

He walks towards you, passing you the pepper you had asked for as he sits down beside you at the counter. Hesitantly, you take it from him, but your eyes are still fixed upon him as he stares down into his bowl, his appetite seeming to be completely erased from him.

“What’s wrong?” Your hand is on his shoulder now. His skin nearly burns at the touch.

“I missed your birthday.” His voice is quiet, heavy. Silence settles in the room afterwards, and he can’t bring himself to look at you. Your hand drops from his shoulder.

“Oh. That. Seriously, don’t worry about it. I know you’ve had a lot going on lately with the band and all, so it makes sense that –”

“Y/N.” He cuts you off, his eyes meeting yours. You stop mid-sentence, mouth ajar. “Stop it. Stop making excuses for me.”

“They’re not excuses, it’s just the truth. What kind of partner would I be if I got mad at you for being overworked all the time?”

“And what kind of partner would I be for letting myself get away with forgetting your birthday?” His words are piercing, but he can’t help it. He already feels terrible, and for some reason, the lack of anger or spite on your part is making him feel even worse. You shrink down into your stool, gazing absently at your soup.

He closes his eyes, sighing as he runs his hand down his face. “Y/N, I’m not – I’m not angry. Not at you anyways; just at myself. I’m sorry for getting frustrated, it’s just . . . God, I wish you would care more about yourself.”

“I care about myself enough, Jun.” You’re almost whispering now, moving your spoon around in your bowl but not taking a single sip of the broth. “But I care about you too. Of course, I was a little disappointed but – I don’t know. I just want to be here to support you, I can’t justify getting angry at you when I know you’re having a hard time.”

The words are not new to him. He’s heard them from you countless times before. At first, he found them comforting; knowing you would always be there for him, supporting him through the dark times and not just the good. But as time went on, the words had begun to weigh him down. How often was he there to offer you the same support you gave to him constantly? How often did you even ask for it?

He sets his spoon down, taking both your hands in his. Your eyes go wide when they meet his, your shoulders tense.

“I’m going to make it up to you, Y/N. I swear.” His words are firm, and he means them, truly, with every bone in his body. He’s tired of being a burden to you, so tired that he makes these promises to you almost every day. But this time, he’s going to keep it; this time, for sure.

Your eyes look dim when you smile. “Alright.”

“Where do you want to go? We’ll do something tonight, right after my show at the Alley.”

You purse your lips, mulling over a thousand different possibilities in your mind. “Can we go down to the ice cream stand at the pier? The one we used to go to all the time.”

He nods, squeezing your hands tightly. “Of course. It’s a date.”

Your smile grows wide, and you lean forward, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose. He lets his eyes fall shut, savoring the way the kiss warms his heart that had felt like ice for so long, even if the relief only lasted a moment.

He is going to do everything he can to keep you smiling this time. He is done making you wait for him – he has to be. This is the promise he makes to himself.

And so, the cycle begins.

----------

The air is muggy inside the venue that night. The red lights are dim, the aroma of spilt beer and fried chicken taking over Yeonjun’s senses as he steps inside the small building known as the Alley, home to many aspiring bands booking their first venues or failed musical acts who never made it past this point. The line between the two categories is quite thin.

The crowd is gathered round the stage, a few stragglers left behind at the bar near the back of the open space. The venue capacity sits around two-hundred, and it looks to be about halfway full. He has to push along the edge of the crowd to make it to the waiting rooms.

Yeonjun is pulling you along behind him, his painted fingers interlocked with your own as the hum of the crowd buzzes over the grunge rock spilling from the loudspeakers. He’s got his guitar slung over his shoulder, tightly clutching the strap in his free hand. When he glances down at you, he can tell that you’re a bit nervous – this crowd was a bit larger than most of the open mic nights that Yeonjun and his band frequent.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay, Jun?” You ask, straining to be heard over all the noise as you make your way to one of the back rooms near the stage. “I know you get nervous with larger crowds.”

You’re not wrong, of course. One of the more popular up and coming bands in the area had asked Yeonjun’s to open for their set. Most of the people in the crowd tonight – if not all of them – have no idea who they are. Not to mention the fact that the venue hadn’t even offered them a soundcheck – they were coming in cold, with little to no preparation.

“A little bit,” he answers honestly. He smiles, bumping his shoulder against yours. “But the show must go on, right?”

You smile back at him, giving his hand a squeeze. “You’ve got this.”

“And what about the rest of us?” A high-pitched voice pierces Yeonjun’s ears as Wooyoung joins the both of you, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Are we gonna do well too, or is it just him?”

You laugh, the three of you entering the assigned waiting room with floors made of checkered tile and a cheap popcorn ceiling overhead. Nobody else is there yet – the room is empty aside from a cheap wine-stained couch and a couple of folding chairs.

“Of course you’re gonna do well too, Wooyoung,” you assure him, leaving Yeonjun’s side to sit down on one of the folding chairs. “I just figured that went without saying.”

“Where are the others?” Yeonjun asks as he sits on the other folding chair and begins tuning his guitar, Wooyoung stretching out on the couch and taking up all the space for himself. “They usually come with you.”

“Not sure; they haven’t been answering my calls at all today.” Wooyoung sighs, pulling out his phone. “It might just be you and me tonight.”

Though Yeonjun is disappointed by the statement, he can’t say that he’s surprised. The days where he and Wooyoung end up taking the stage alone have become more and more frequent. He twists the final peg on his guitar, plucking the strings one by one to check that they’re in tune.

“We’ll make it work,” he says.

Wooyoung nods. “We always do.”

Yeonjun can feel your eyes on him, but he doesn’t look your way. He knows you’re worried about him. He knows you want to offer him support and encouragement, but he can’t take it right now. He’s terrified of letting you down – again.

A woman with bright blue hair dressed in all black pops her head into the room. “You guys are on in five. Get ready.”

Yeonjun nods as she disappears, standing up from the chair with his guitar in hand. He glances in the full-length mirror hanging before him on the wall, wondering if he’s underdressed in his ripped black jeans and Pink Floyd tee that’s so old, he would label it as ancient – but you always correct him, preferring the term vintage. He doesn’t have time to contemplate his choice of dress any further though, as you and Wooyoung both stand up with him, following him out the door and up the stairs that lead to the side wings of the stage.

Wooyoung pulls his drumsticks from his back pocket, making a quick glance at the rusty old drumset sitting towards the back of the stage. You grab hold of Yeonjun’s sleeve, smiling up at him as you squint against the colorful lighting. Yeonjun notices the way your nose crinkles along with your eyes – something he’s always loved about you.

“Knock ‘em dead, yeah?” Your voice is as soft as it can be while still being heard above the murmuring crowd. You run your fingers through his hair, a last-ditch effort to fix up a few of the pieces that frame his face.

He gently takes your wrist in his hand, lowering it from his face as he leans down to kiss you swiftly. “I’ll do my best.”

The stage is set with a single microphone in the center, the drumset a bit behind it. There’s a single spotlight hanging low over the mic, the same burnt red as the rest of the lighting in the venue. He glances at Wooyoung, who gives him a reassuring nod. He clutches the strap of his guitar.

He takes his first step out onto the stage, Wooyoung following close behind. A few people in the crowd notice, turning towards them. Most give the two of them a passing glance, checking to be sure that they’re not the main act of the night, before they resume their buzzing conversations or boisterous laughter.

He stops in front of the microphone, tilting it upwards so that it matches his height. He spots the aux on the ground and leans down to plug it into his guitar, a high-pitched screech humming over the room for a brief moment before it fades away. He looks over his shoulder to see Wooyoung take his seat behind the drums, giving him a thumbs up, mouthing the familiar words, You ready?

With a sigh, Yeonjun gives the only honest answer he can think of by shrugging his shoulders. This was their routine as of late.

He taps a finger against the mic, the familiar thumping coming out muffled through the loudspeakers. He clears his throat, taking another look out at the crowd.

“Hey everyone, how are we feeling tonight?” His voice is clear, gaining the attention of a few more people in the crowd. A couple of half-hearted cheers resound, and he’s thankful for that at least. “My name’s Yeonjun, and this is my buddy Wooyoung on the drums. We’re happy to be here tonight to open up the show for you.”

He looks over to the wing, seeing you standing there, hands clasped together over your chest. You’re glowing red from the overhead lights, eyes sparkling. You perk up when you catch his gaze, throwing him your ever-warm smile. He can only lift the corner of his mouth, his nerves already beginning to wear him down.

He glances back at Wooyoung again, giving him a nod as he adjusts his grip on the neck of his guitar, fingers clasped tightly around the pick. The drummer smiles, clicking his drumsticks together, counting off the beat.

One, two, three, four.

He strikes the first chord, letting his eyes fall shut as the sounds of his strings fill him, drowning out the buzz of the crowd. When the first lyrics leave his lips, he’s already felt himself drift away. Eyes closed, he can imagine himself being somewhere else, anywhere but here. He’s not standing on the stage burning beneath the lights, overwhelmed by the flood of voices kept in time by the steady beat of the drums and the thrumming of his heart, sending hot blood coursing through his veins.

Instead, he’s sat upon a blanket in the sand, the plucking of his guitar harmonizing with the waves melting against the shoreline, a crackling fire burning before him beneath the starlight, slightly blocked out by the wisps of a few gray and blue clouds. The salt air is muddled by the smell of smoke, the gentle breeze tickling the tip of his nose. Wooyoung’s fast asleep on the other side of the fire, arm covering his eyes as his mouth hangs open, a trickle of drool slipping down his chin.

And you. You’re there by Yeonjun’s side, head resting upon his shoulder as he picks out the melody, singing softly, the words falling upon your ears alone.

This, he thinks, is what music is meant to be. A connection from himself to you, the lines of a song reaching your heart much deeper than any words he could speak. Words failed him so often when he tried to talk. If he could sing forever, serenading you with all the right words set to a lulling melody that rang sweet in your ears, he would sign himself away to it in a heartbeat.

The first song has ended, and he opens his eyes to find himself back in reality, square center on the stage. It’s not you he’s looking at – it’s a crowd of uninterested strangers, eyes seeming to fall anywhere but himself. It’s like whiplash, the serenity he felt moments ago rapidly being replaced by the anxiety and displacement he’s become all too familiar with. The lights are too bright, the voices are too loud, the air is too warm. He feels so small. He shouldn’t be here – he should be anywhere else.

He turns to look at you again. Even across the distance that separates you, he can see the worry swimming in your eyes as you give him a thumbs up. He’s certain that the words of his song had fallen short even upon your ears. You had probably heard nothing but your own racing thoughts, screaming with worry and tension as you watched him intently, wishing for him to not fail.

He knows you – perhaps a little too well. His throat is tight, his chest screaming for air. He’s never felt as far away from you as he does in this moment.

The rest of the set flies by in a haze of tension and suffocating disinterest from the crowd. He expected this, prepared for it even. But for some reason, he can never seem to get past the disappointment that comes from it.

He manages to push out a quick “thank you” to the mic when they’re finished, but he can hardly see the point in it as it falls upon deaf ears. A few people clap, but Yeonjun doesn’t stay on stage long enough to hear. He unplugs his guitar, all but running towards where you wait for him in the wing.

“You did great, Jun,” you say. “I mean it.”

He can’t even force himself to smile now. He needs to get out of here.

“Good job, sweetheart!” Wooyoung throws his arm around Yeonjun’s shoulders, drumsticks clanking together as he clutches them in one hand. “How we feeling?”

“Can we get out of here?” Yeonjun feels as though there’s a fist around his throat, choking all the air out of him at an alarming pace. He rubs a hand along the base of his neck, skin burning. “I can’t – I’m not thinking clearly.”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” You waste no time in linking arms with him, pulling him alongside you down the steps with Wooyoung following close behind. “Woo, can you grab his guitar case from the waiting room and meet us outside? I think he needs some air.”

“Sure thing. See you out there.”

Yeonjun is in a trance, not feeling his feet touch the ground as you guide him along the edge of the crowd once more towards the exit. When he takes his first step out into the cool night air, he feels like he’s finally come up from underwater, taking a cleansing breath in, exhaling moments later. He sits down on the cement steps, ignoring the thud of his guitar hitting the concrete behind him. You waste no time in sinking down by his side, rubbing his arm in an effort to provide even the smallest bit of comfort.

“You okay?” You ask. He can feel the pity in your eyes without even looking at them. He keeps staring down at his scuffed sneakers.

“I’m alright.”

He hears the door open behind them and looks up to see Wooyoung hovering above him, his black guitar case littered with stickers in hand.

“You good?” His friend asks, motioning for Yeonjun to hand his guitar over.

He lifts the strap over his head, grabbing the guitar by the neck and handing it to Wooyoung. “I just needed some air. I’m okay.”

“I think we did a pretty good job,” Wooyoung says, kneeling on the ground to set the guitar in its case. “We got a decent response from the crowd.”

Yeonjun watches you nod in agreement, but he himself remains quiet, fiddling with his shoelaces. He can hardly remember any of their set to begin with, and what little he does recall feels like it’s the opposite of “decent”.

“So, what’s the move for tonight?” Wooyoung asks. “Celebrating a late birthday for Y/N? Oh wait – did you ever end up remembering it in the – ow!”

You’ve leaned down to smack Wooyoung’s cheek, ending his trail of harsh – but well deserved – words that were no doubt pointed towards Yeonjun. He doesn’t miss the venom in his friend’s voice, and he feels the sharp pang of guilt dig deeper into his chest than it already was before.

“We’re gonna go down to the pier,” he says in response, forcing a smile. “See if the ice cream shop is open.”

He feels your eyes on him again, but can’t bear to look. He knows that concern he doesn’t deserve will be waiting for him in your gaze. It’s nothing but salt to his open wound.

“You know Jun, maybe we should just go to Mr. Kim’s tonight instead.” He looks at you then, eyes widening at your suggestion. “You’re not feeling the best, and it’s super cold out – I bet the shop isn’t even open during this time of year anyways.”

“No, Y/N.” He grabs both your hands, shaking his head. “It’s your day, we’re going to the pier. That’s what you wanted.”

You smile, running your thumb along his knuckles. His skin tingles at the touch. “Seriously Jun, it’s okay. We can just wait til it gets warmer out. It’ll be more fun at that time anyways.”

Yeonjun glances at Wooyoung, surprised to see his friend minding his own business for once – or at least pretending to mind his own. He’s whistling the tune of one of their songs, securing the latches on the guitar case as he clearly does everything in his power to avoid eye contact.

The one time I need his loud ass to chime in and back me up, Yeonjun thinks. He’s really useless, huh?

He looks back at you. “Y/N –”

Your lips cover his, cutting his words off. He hesitates before his eyes flutter shut, taking in the warmth that comes from the feeling of you against him as his body shakes from the chilling air.

When you pull away, you’re still smiling. “It’s okay, Jun,” you whisper. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

He remains quiet for a moment. He can’t quite tell if your smile reaches your eyes.

“Okay.” His voice is barely audible, his nose brushing against yours. “Let’s go.”

You nod with contentment, standing up and pulling him to his feet along with you. “What about you, Woo? Wanna come with?”

“Sure, why not.” The drummer smirks as he walks closer to Yeonjun, bumping their shoulders together while wiggling his eyebrows. “As long as this guy’s paying. You’re good with that, right sweetheart?”

“Stop calling me that,” Yeonjun mutters, sinking his elbow into Wooyoung’s side with enough force to send the latter stumbling back a few steps. “And I’m paying for my girlfriend, of course. But you’re on your own.”

Wooyoung flashes a middle finger, tongue stuck out in mockery, and Yeonjun returns both gestures as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, noticing the hand you’ve placed over your lips in an attempt to hide your laughter. “Lead the way, sweetheart. Y/N and I will be close behind.”

“Screw you,” Wooyoung says, unable to mask the smile blossoming on his lips. “And take your stupid guitar too. It’s heavy.”

Yeonjun grabs the case with his free hand, the two of you falling into pace behind Wooyoung as you make the short walk to Mr. Kim’s pub. The lights outside are flickering; Yeonjun makes a mental note to remind Mr. Kim to check the batteries later. That is, if he remains sober long enough to remember to do so.

But tonight is about you. He will stay sober if that’s what it takes to make things up to you. He has to.

The bell above the door jingles in its familiar tune, the scent of soju and samgyeopsal wafting towards you as soon as the three of you cross the threshold. The pub is fairly quiet, only a few of the tables occupied by guests.

Mr. Kim is waiting behind the counter, barely containing his eye roll when he spots Yeonjun and Wooyoung. “You two again? Was last night not enough for you?”

“Relax, Mr. Kim.” Wooyoung’s voice is smooth and assuring – he’s very used to charming his way into various kinds of situations. “We’re not here to drink our sorrows away tonight. It’s our lovely Y/N’s post-birthday celebration! You wouldn’t want to turn away your most loyal and dearest customers on such a special occasion, would you?”

Mr. Kim’s eyes narrow when they land on you, peeking around Yeonjun’s shoulder, offering a meek wave in greeting. He sighs, gesturing towards the table in the back corner of the room. “Just go sit down.”

“Ah, see! I knew you had a big heart.” Wooyoung reaches towards the older man with two arms, almost as if he were going in for a hug.

Mr. Kim flicks him square in the middle of his forehead. “Get away from me.”

“Love you too, Mr. Kim!” Yeonjun notices the redness that the elder’s contact had left behind in the center of Wooyoung’s forehead – there would definitely be a welt there tomorrow.

Yeonjun leaves his guitar propped up in the corner behind the counter like always before he leads you back to your usual table, pulling out your chair before he takes his place beside you.

“Three servings of rice and samgyeopsal, please!” Wooyoung yells, earning a shout of confirmation from the staff as she heads back towards the kitchen. “And a few bottles of cherry soju!”

“Wooyoung.” Yeonjun makes a cutting motion across his neck with his hand, head shaking with intent. “No soju.”

“It’s okay, Jun,” you say, pushing his hand down. “I wanted a drink anyways.”

His brows crease, lips pursed. “But you hate the cherry flavor.”

You shrug, pouring a cup of water from the jug on the table. “It’s growing on me.”

Your words linger with him as the waitress sets a few glasses and two bottles of cherry soju on the table.

“Two?” Wooyoung asks, raising a brow. “You guys think that’ll be enough?”

“Should be.” Yeonjun takes a sip of your water as Wooyoung fills your other glass first with the fruit-flavored alcohol. “I’m abstaining.”

There’s silence for the briefest of moments. Then, boisterous laughter echoes across the room, drawing the attention of a few other patrons. Wooyoung is clutching his stomach as he continues to laugh, and Yeonjun kicks his shin under the table.

“Would you shut up?” He hisses, nodding a thank you to the waitress as she sets down a few bowls of rice along with the plate of uncooked pork.

Wooyoung wipes the corner of his eyes, the laughter finally having subsided. “Sorry. I just – I’ve never seen you turn down a drink.”

“There’s a first time for everything, right?” He turns the grill on, smiling at you when he notices you staring at him with wide eyes, hands frozen around the glass of soju. “Come on,” he says, nudging you in the side. “Drink up, birthday girl.”

You hesitate before throwing the shot back, eyes crinkling up as you take a hard swallow. Wooyoung cheers as you pour him a glass next.

“I haven’t seen you drink in ages, Y/N,” he says before taking his first shot as well. “You deserve to let loose a bit tonight.”

You cough, placing your palm flat against your chest. “Well, I’m remembering now why I don’t drink. This tastes awful.”

“Nah, you’re just not used to it.” Wooyoung motions for you to raise your glass again. “You’ll be loving it in no time.”

You shake your head in disagreement, but oblige to his request as you lift your glass up once more, taking your second shot. You shake your head, lips pursed in disgust as you force the liquid down.

“Alright, stop forcing her, Wooyoung,” Yeonjun insists, pushing his friend’s hand away as he raises the bottle towards you once more. “You’re the kind of person they warned us about in middle school during all those assemblies about peer pressure.”

“You’re one to talk,” Wooyoung mutters, pouring a second shot for himself and taking it down only seconds later. He barely even flinches at the taste. “I see you drunk way more than I see you sober.”

Yeonjun pauses, and Wooyoung immediately knows he’s crossed a line. You clear your throat, gesturing towards the plate of pork. “I think the grill’s warm. Want me to put the meat on?”

“No, stay still,” Yeonjun insists, glad for the break in the uncomfortable tension that has settled over the table. “I’ll do it.”

The grill sizzles as the pork settles atop it, the savory aroma immediately filling his senses. He pushes the pieces around with the pair of tongs that were resting beside the plate, focusing all his attention on his task as he tries desperately to ignore the scent of the soju creeping in. The sight of the third shot glass, empty and untouched, burns in the corner of his vision. He’s determined to ignore it.

Yeonjun sets the first few pieces of cooked pork on your plate, giving Wooyoung a pointed look as he does so. The meal carries on smoothly for a bit – no more talks of sobriety or peer pressure from Wooyoung for you to take another shot of the bitter drink. There’s light conversation and laughter, reminding Yeonjun of how things were just a few years ago when the three of you first started hanging out together, right after he had asked you out.

“It’s nice to be out together again – all three of us,” Wooyoung says, taking the last piece of pork from the sizzling grill. “Why’d we stop doing this again?”

“We just got busy.” You take a swig of water, bowing your head in thanks to the waitress as she sets another dish of meat to cook and two more bottles of soju on the table – Wooyoung had already drained the first.

“You’re right. How could I forget our band taking off in infinite success?” Wooyoung shakes his head, emptying the contents of the new dish onto the grill. “The life of a star isn’t an easy one, I suppose.”

You laugh a bit, but quickly bite it back, glancing over at your boyfriend. He forces a laugh of his own, though the words of his friend are piercing blows to his already fragile ego.

“Lighten up, sweetheart.” Wooyoung reaches over the table, ruffling Yeonjun’s hair. “It’s all jokes.”

Yeonjun smiles bitterly, nodding in assumed agreement. He passes the metal tongs to Wooyoung who then takes his turn cooking the meat, returning to the light-hearted conversation he had been having with you moments before.

This leaves Yeonjun with the perfect opportunity to begin thinking.

And thinking.

And thinking and thinking and thinking.

He thinks about the buzz of the disinterested crowd watching their show that night, a sea of blank faces and muddled voices drowning him out.

He thinks about the bright lights, burning through his eyelids despite how tightly he shut them, desperate to keep the beams from slipping through the cracks.

He thinks about the steel strings of his guitar, digging into the calloused skin of his fingertips, the pain so familiar he hardly feels it at all anymore, but still potent enough to remind him that it was there.

He thinks and he thinks, until he cannot bear to do so for a second longer.

Without a word, he takes an unopened bottle of soju and twists the cap off with the ease that only comes from what feels like a lifetime of experience. Ignoring how your eyes burn into the side of his head, he pours himself a glass and throws back the shot. The alcohol burns its way down his throat, and he closes his eyes as the feeling overpowers him and then subsides all in an instant.

Just one shot, to keep me sane. That’s all.

He lets his eyes meet yours once again. You quickly look away, reaching toward the grill as the second batch of meat finishes cooking. He glances at Wooyoung, who is pointedly keeping his eyes anywhere but his best friend.

It’s guilt this time that’s flooding Yeonjun’s entire being. God, how could he be so fucking selfish? It was just one night, one night that he needed to push his own needs aside for yours. He wanted to, more than anything. Yet, somehow, he always lost in this battle against himself. No matter how hard he tried, what moves he made, this was a game he was forever destined to lose.

His throat feels like it’s closing, ears ringing, head swarmed with the sounds of the restaurant. The relief from the first shot is long gone, and he’s staring at the bottle of soju again. He’s merely a puppet, the bottle of burning liquid his master, pulling the strings as he reaches forward and takes the bottle in his hands once more.

He had already screwed things up. One more shot couldn’t hurt, right?

When he throws back the second shot, he tells himself it is just to keep the thoughts quiet. With the third, he assures himself that it’s to loosen up the tightness in his chest – nothing more.

The fourth is to chase the third. He hates leaving things on odd numbers.

By the time he gets to the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth, he’s far too tired to think of reasons why he continues to down them. He loses count soon after that.

----------

Deep down, you had known the night would end up this way from the very beginning.

You tell yourself that you’re not resentful. It doesn’t bother you at all, the fact that you’re leaving Mr. Kim’s with Yeonjun’s arms wrapped around your neck from behind as you desperately try to pull him along the sidewalk, the buzz from the two shots you had taken long gone. All that’s left now is a searing headache and a knot in your stomach.

Wooyoung has left already, carrying Yeonjun’s abandoned guitar with him. He had offered to help you bring Yeonjun home, but you insisted that he go first. You don’t know why, but you’re embarrassed – not of Yeonjun, of course, but of the fact that Wooyoung thinks you can’t handle him on your own. You’ve gotten quite used to this.

You’ve made it a couple blocks down the street, drunken words falling from Yeonjun’s lips in incoherent rambles that you’re too exhausted to try and make any sense of. You shift his weight, bringing one of your arms around his waist as the other holds the wrist of the arm that he has draped across your shoulders.

“Y/N,” he mumbles. “Stop.”

There’s sweat beading on the back of your neck. You shake your head, gritting your teeth as his feet drag down the sidewalk. You hate to think of the scuff marks it’s sure to leave on his sneakers “No, Jun. We’ve gotta get you home.”

“I wanted to walk you home tonight,” he croaks, his words followed by a few hiccups. “It’s your sort-of-birthday, I should – I should be carrying you.”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “Don’t worry about it, alright? Just focus on walking. Left foot, right foot, left –”

“No.” He plants his feet, legs wobbling. The movement is so sudden that it causes you to trip, bringing him crashing to the cold hard ground with you. The back of your head smacks against the pavement, his form crashing down atop of you. You hiss in pain, but you quickly push the feeling aside, sitting up to grab Yeonjun’s shoulders.

“Are you okay?” You ask, eyes searching his dull ones for any hint of pain. He blinks at you slowly, lips settled into a pout as he brings his hands up to cup your face. His palms are clammy, fingertips rough with guitar-string callouses.

“Yeonjun.” You grab hold of his wrists, voice dripping with worry. “Are you hurt? Talk to me.”

“Do you love me, Y/N?”

The question is so sudden, it freezes you to your core. You go still, hands clasped around his wrists.

“Of course I love you, Yeonjun.” The words require no thought on your end, spilling from your lips freely. You’ve said them so many times, you’re not sure why he even feels the need to ask you to say them again. Maybe you’ve done a worse job at showing it than you thought.

He frowns, brows knit as always. “How much?”

“What?”

“How much do you love me?” You can see tears brimming in his eyes, and your heart aches.

“So, so much, Yeonjun,” you say, running your finger along the back of his hand in a soothing rhythm. “More than you could ever imagine. I’d do anything for you. Anything at all.”

He sighs, eyes falling shut. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. “Would you catch the stars for me?”

It’s an odd question. If he weren’t completely wasted and practically sobbing in your arms in the middle of the street, you might even find it to be an endearing one. “Yeah, sure. I’d catch the stars. I’d bring each and every one of them down to the ground for you.”

“What about the moon?”

“The moon too. If you asked me for it, I’d give it to you. I’d give you anything, Jun.”

He stares at you in silence, a single tear falling down his cheek, hanging onto his jaw.

“Kiss me,” he rasps, leaning even closer so that his lips are only a breath away from yours.

For some reason, you’re hesitating. His lips are practically against your own already, tempting you closer to the comfort they always provide for you, melting the worries of your small and insignificant world to nothing as you’re taken over by thoughts of nothing but him.

But tonight, you don’t want your worries to fall to the wayside. You’re searching his eyes again and remember how you used to see the stars shining in them. Tonight, you curse the city lights under your breath. They’ve killed your shot at seeing the starlight’s reflection there when you need it the most.

His eyes fall shut. “Y/N. Kiss me.”

Your throat feels tight, the worries in your mind pressing in on you, like the walls of a prison cell that are about to cave in, locking you forever in their grasp. They come closer, and closer, until you fear they’ll suffocate you and swallow you whole.

You throw away any reservations, closing the distance between yourself and Yeonjun, taking his lips captive with yours. Every clash of your teeth, every swipe of his tongue against your chapped lips, every breathless whisper of your name falling from his mouth – it all pushes the negative thoughts further and further away. His kiss is a haven, despite the burn of the cherry soju, just like you knew it would be.

You’re reminded once more, as you are every moment of every day: you love him. You love him, and it’s still enough to get you by.

----------

No matter how many times Yeonjun wakes up in bed with a hellish hangover, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the pain and guilt that simultaneously wash over him within an instant of him opening his eyes to the late afternoon light seeping through his window.

When he turns over on his side, squinting against the brightness in the room, his guilt multiplies tenfold when he realizes that you’re not in bed next to him. Again.

He sits up, running his hand over his eyes. He takes a whiff of his own breath, nearly gagging at the rancid smell of sour soju that pours out of him. One sniff is all the motivation he needs to drag himself out of bed and stumble towards the bathroom. He grabs his toothbrush and toothpaste, getting to work at remedying the horrible version of morning breath that’s plaguing him.

The memories of the night before are coming back to him, playing one by one in his head like a bad movie looping on a broken DVD player, skipping and replaying all the most dreadful moments, savoring the bad luck of the lovers on screen. He squeezes his eyes shut, scrubbing furiously at his back teeth as his mind works against him once more, reminding him of how badly he’s screwed up, of how awful you must feel, of how you’re definitely not going to bring it up to him, and of how he’ll need to make it up to you for certain this time, promising you to never screw up that badly ever again.

He spits into the sink, turning on the water to rinse it down. He watches it go down the drain, eyes unfocused as his mind races. He’s tired, he’s so tired of this vicious cycle that he puts you through every week – no, every day. He can promise himself til the end of the world that he’s going to change, that he’s going to abandon his reckless ways, that he won’t let the thoughts win ever again.

But he’s afraid. He can hardly believe his own promises now. How long can he keep convincing you to have faith in him, when his faith in himself is already gone?

He hears the front door to the apartment open, followed swiftly by your voice. “Jun? You up?”

He turns the faucet off after splashing a bit of cold water in his face. “Yeah, in here.”

“Ah, perfect. You’re already here,” You say as you turn the corner into the bathroom. There’s a plastic bag in your hand, and you set it on the counter, pulling the items out one by one. A box of black hair dye. Conditioner. A pair of plastic gloves. A plastic mixing bowl and a brush.

“What’s this?” Yeonjun picks up the box of hair dye, turning it over in his hands.

“Your roots are growing in.” You stand on your toes, gently pulling your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut for just a moment, savoring the touch, before the guilt in his stomach pulls him back to reality. “I know it’s not really in the budget for you to go back for another bleach, yeah?”

He nods, setting the box dye back on the counter. “You’re gonna dye it for me?”

“Of course.” You respond without hesitation, and he’s not surprised. Your words from the night before are seeping into his brain, clouding everything else around him.

If you asked me for it, I’d give it to you. I’d give you anything, Jun.

You’re prying open the box, pouring the color and developer into the bowl. His throat feels tight. Whether it’s from the chemicals or the lump of regret he’s been harboring for what feels like decades, he’s not sure.

Per your instructions, he sits down on the closed toilet as you pull on the plastic gloves. You clip up a section of his hair, slowly working the product into his blonde strands, fried from too much bleach. Every touch from you against his scalp, every brush of your chest against his shoulders, every breath from your lips that he feels gently caress his neck as you lean in for a better angle is working a fire up within him. He’s suffocating from the inside out. He needs you closer, your touch, everything. The fire is creeping his way through his stomach, invading his lungs, burning his throat. He needs you. Yet, at the same time, he wants you to step as far away from him as possible. He’s afraid, so afraid, of this consuming fire within him jumping from himself to you, burning you alive right along with him.

He’s quiet during the entire process, and so are you for the most part, only the occasional hum from your lips breaking the silence. He realizes you’re humming one of his songs. His eyes burn. He chooses to blame it on the chemicals.

“Okay,” you say when you’re finished covering his hair with the black dye. “All done. I’m gonna hop in the shower while it develops, then you can rinse it out.” He nods, and you narrow your eyes. “Jun. Have you eaten today?”

He gulps. “No. . . Kinda just woke up.”

You huff out a breath, pulling the gloves from your hands tossing them in the garbage. “Go eat, please. I’ll come get you when it’s time.”

You practically shove him out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen before turning back to put the shower on. He glances over his shoulder, seeing that you’ve left the door cracked open. He wanders towards the fridge, trying not to itch his scalp. The dye burns a bit, but he barely notices.

He finds a cup of yogurt and fishes a spoon from the drawer, propping himself against the counter as he slowly starts on his “breakfast”. Soon enough, he’s finished the cup and he hears you shut the water off.

“Jun!” You call. “It’s time!”

“Mm, coming,” he mumbles, tossing his garbage into the can before he slowly makes his way back to the bathroom. He pushes the door open, a thick cloud of steam hitting him instantly. He waves his hand through the air a bit and stops when he sees you through the fog, nothing but a towel wrapped around your body, hair wet and sticking to your shimmering skin. His breath catches in his throat as his eyes travel up your body, tracing all the curves and edges until he meets your gaze.

You smile softly at him. “Ready?”

“Ready?” He rasps, clearing his throat. “I mean – for what?”

“To rinse your hair?”

He swallows. “Oh.” He pulls off his tee shirt, leaving him in just his boxers. He feels warm as the steam wraps around his bare skin. You push back the shower curtain and motion for him to step inside. He sees the stool that you’ve set on the floor of the shower and sits down, watching as you step in behind him. You pull the shower head down and turn the water on, testing the temperature on your hand before letting the water run over his hair, gently running your fingers through his locks.

The water is lukewarm and muddied from the black dye, trickling down his neck and bare chest. He’s not sure why he feels so guilty for the way his heart is pounding against his chest, the way his hands are aching to touch you as you stand behind him and rinse the product out. He’s been with you for so long and he’s seen every part of you time and time again, but no matter how much he tries, he can never seem to shake the nervousness that overcomes when he feels your breath down his neck, sending sparks flying down his spine, igniting a fire in his veins that he had no means of extinguishing. Every touch of your fingertips against his scalp pains him. It makes him want you more and more.

“Y/N.” His voice is raspy. He clears his throat. “How long is this gonna take?”

“I’m supposed to rinse until the water runs clear.” You’re leaning down when you answer him, probably to get a better angle as you continue to run your hands through his hair as you rinse. He’s sure you’re unaware of the way your lips accidentally brush against the shell of his ear when you speak, but he isn’t so lucky. He can’t ignore it. The sparks are running all along his skin now.

He swallows. Hard. “And how long does that usually take?”

You laugh lightly, your fingers casually sliding a bit further down the nape of his neck before retreating back behind his hairline. “Why, Jun? Do you have somewhere to be?”

He doesn’t understand how you still can’t seem to see the agony you’re causing him. He doesn’t quite understand it himself; he’s made you his countless times. Yet, for some odd reason, he still feels the same desperation, the same urgency, the same overwhelming longing for your skin against his as if it’s the first time all over again.

He reaches behind him and clasps a hand around your wrist, stilling your movement. His chest is rising and falling with labored breaths, water continuing to slide down his skin, pooling beneath his feet.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He slowly pulls your hand down, your palm sliding over his shoulder and down his chest. By pulling your hand down, he’s also drawn you closer to him. He feels the rough fabric of your towel against his back. “Nothing’s wrong.”

You’re closer now; he can feel your breath against his neck more distinctly than before. Your breathing has become labored to match his own. He feels your chest push against his back with each inhale. He tilts his head back so he’s looking up at you as you loom over him. Your cheeks are flushed, and he’s unable to tell if it’s because of him or the lingering steam. He keeps one hand over yours on his chest and brings the other up to cradle your jaw, his fingers lightly grazing over your cheekbone.

“Jun.” You inhale sharply after whispering his name, still holding the showerhead in your other hand. The water is pointed at the shower floor now, occasionally splashing up onto his legs. He pulls your face down, closer to his own, until his nose is brushing against your skin. Then, his lips are against yours, soft and gentle, heart fluttering in his chest.

You sigh against him, your hand moving freely along his chest now, tracing circles across his damp skin. He moves his other hand up to hold the other side of your face, pulling you further against him. He wants to remain gentle, afraid of the intensity of the fire that continues to blaze within him. Yet, as though entranced, he parts his lips and closes them around yours with more pressure than before. You hum at the movement, your hand halting briefly against his chest before slowly sliding lower down his stomach, reaching dangerous territory as your fingers tease the waistline of his boxers.

Electrified by the sensation, Yeonjun loses control. He breaks the kiss, leaving you with your mouth agape as he stands abruptly, prying the running shower head from your grasp and hanging it back in its place. The water pours over both of you now like rain, black from the dye as it runs down Yeonjun’s bare chest. He tosses the stool out of the shower, ridding himself of the only obstacle between himself and you.

He cups your neck in his hand, pulling you flush against his chest as he collides with you once more, desperate and feverish as his teeth graze your bottom lip. You gasp against him, hands sliding up his back, tangling themselves in his dripping black hair. He turns and pushes you back against the wall, hands desperate as they work to unravel the towel that still covers you. He tosses it over the curtain rod once you’re free of it, his lips trailing down to explore what he’s just uncovered. Your hands are still in his hair, small gasps and moans slipping past your lips when he reaches the sensitive spots on your chest with his lips, biting gently before smoothing the skin over with his tongue.

Your hands slide down his chest, followed by a trail of black from his hair as they wrap around to his hips. You pull him into you as his mouth travels back up to the crook of your neck, grinding your hips against his. He gasps, biting at your skin when you make contact.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispers, palms covering your breasts as you push yourself into him once more. He groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder as you continue to move against him rhythmically, kissing along his collarbone.

“Yeonjun,” you rasp, moaning softly when he slides his knee between your legs, pushing against your sensitive spot.

“I want you, Y/N.” He knows you know this, but he feels the need to say it at this moment.

You still at his words. He raises his head, eyes meeting yours. He can’t be sure if it’s tears or the shower water, but something is welling in your eyes.

He furrows his brow, brushing your sopping hair behind your ear. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “Nothing. I just– I needed to hear that.” You softly push your lips against his, sliding his boxers down as you kiss him slowly.

“I love you, Jun,” you whisper against him, jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist. He catches you, holding you against him as he kisses you back, gingerly, closing his eyes and shutting out the pain he had just seen in your gaze.

He’s too aware now– aware of why there were tears in your eyes. About the guilt he’s felt all these months, and the sickening feeling that has been growing in the pit of his stomach; it’s all become so clear to him. The way he’s been holding onto you so tightly, without thinking about how he’d been dragging you down with him. How he’s been so afraid of the person he was becoming that he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone with himself– without you.

Because he knows, at the end of the day, that you would do anything for him without him even having to ask. That you would stay beside him with claw marks in your skin and bruises around your wrists from how desperate he had been to keep you there, no matter the cost.

He knows that you would ruin yourself a million times over for him. You would never let him go.

Not without him letting you go first.

----------

You had heard it said before that everything would feel just right for a fraction of a moment right before it all went so horribly wrong, so horribly fast.

It’s subtle at first. You open your eyes, smiling as the sunlight trickles through the open window. Rolling onto your side, you reach out your arm, hoping to brush your hand against his skin. When you find the space beside you to be empty, you’re disappointed, but not particularly surprised. This is to be expected.

However, when you sit up, something is off. Everything is too quiet, too empty. You slide out of bed, wandering into the kitchen, heart rate increasing with each step you take.

“Jun?” You call, biting the inside of your cheek when silence is the only response.

You see a note taped to the front of the fridge. Your breath catches.

Before even reading it, you’re certain you know what it says. There’s a feeling somewhere deep in your gut, toiling like a stormy sea.

You hold your breath as you pull the note off and begin to read.

Y/N,

Have I ever told you how much you remind me of the moon? You are soft, glowing, lighting the darkness. Constant – even when I can’t see you, I know you are there. Somber, kind. Beautiful.

Everything.

How could I deserve to love the moon when, right now, I can barely even see the stars?

I am the tide. Pulling close to you, then rushing far away. I want to stay close, but right now, I can’t. Something pulls me back, each time.

I love you. So, so much. Because I love you, I have to let you go. I need help. The kind of help that would be cruel to continue asking you to give me. I want to get better, not just for you, but for myself as well.

My moon, please continue to shine. I may not see you, but I will always know you are there. And, like the tide, you will still hear me, even from afar. In the songs on the breeze, the melodies in the trees, the steady beat of your heart. Remember me in all of it.

When the time is right, and if I can get better, I will find you again. I promise. But in the meantime, I ask you just one thing: don’t waste away waiting for me to return. Live. To the fullest, in the most beautiful way you can. Please don’t forget to live.

Love, Jun

Teardrops stain the paper. Your hand shakes as you sink to the ground, unsure of what sounds leave you as your chest heaves, eyes squeezing shut to block out the sunlight that now feels blinding.

Yet, in the midst of it all, something small and warm settles into the pit of your chest. It burns, yet it comforts you. As you sob, fists wrapped up in the soft fabric of his tee shirt that you had fallen asleep in, you pretend that you are holding on to that warm feeling, keeping it close, never letting go.

This feeling – this hope – is what keeps you going. You know that, despite it all, you will not forget to live.

----------

THE SUN SETS, AND YOU FEEL AT PEACE.

The soft pinks and purples of the last bit of sunset begin to fade, rippling away with the ocean’s waves as the sun sinks beneath the horizon line. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as the salt air fills your nose. The sand is cooling beneath your feet and you shiver as the breeze flows by, wrapping your cardigan tighter around your shoulders.

There’s nobody behind you now, but that’s okay.

A bell dings in the distance. You turn, letting your eyes slide open.

You aren’t sure if it’s him at first, partially due to the distance, and partially because his hair is now back to his natural black color. He’s riding his bike, dinging the small bell from the handle. As he approaches, you can see the soft smile settling on his lips. In his hand, he holds an ice cream cone.

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, but you smile, so big you can’t help but laugh.

He stops in front of you, nearly dropping the ice cream cone from his hand before he lets the bike fall to the ground. His own eyes are full of tears, but he too smiles, stars dancing in his eyes. He extends the ice cream cone to you, and you smile wider, fingers brushing against his as you grab hold of it. “Happy birthday, Y/N.”

Your heart skips a beat at his voice. “Thank you, Jun.”

You’re both silent, soaking in the presence of one another, listening to the waves crash against the shore, saltwater spraying across your ankles. His head is tilted towards the sky.

“Look up,” he whispers.

You lean your head back, sighing in contentment as the moon comes into sight.

“It’s beautiful,” you say.

His hand slides into yours.

“Yes. You are.”

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sweetgummyclusters · 18 hours ago

Text

OLD FRIENDS

satoru gojo x mtf reader

18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

A/N There Will Be A Part ii To This. Most Likely Next Week.

tags/cw: besties to friends to lovers trope, drunk sex, blowjob, almost caught (?), nipple play, (SLIGHTEST bit of angst)

word count: 6.7k

December was always cold; It always held too many memories. You hated to be alone during the month, and you weren't the only one. Suguru Geto was a man adored by several, but that group was never one to let themselves grieve so openly. So instead of having those who'd understand you best over at your apartment tonight, a week before the anniversary, you've invited a few people who are fun to drink with. Fun to talk to. Fun distractions.

“That's actually insane. You're insane.” The sound of her laughter brings feeling to the desolation in your chest. You turn to your friend who is giggling through her sentences. The littlest pieces of her brown hair dance from the breeze of the fan she’s hogged. You have to let your head fall back on the couch, as she sits on a cushion and you sit on the floor.

“Are you hearing this?” She asks you, her head tilted down.

“No, sorry. I missed it, I think.” You apologize, smiling sweetly at her. She scoffs and shakes her head. It's an exaggerated show of her taking offense to that, but you know she's too drunk to remember what she even finds offensive.

“This man just said he's stolen a cop car. This man.” She repeats. “A cop car!”

You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head at the liar with a cocky grin on his face. He sits at the other side of the carpet, his hoodie on the floor next to him. “As cool as that sounds, that cannot be true.”

You watch as he sluggishly shakes his head at you, keeping the same proud expression. “Tis true.” He declares.

Your friend of higher ground and your friend of fictional hijinks choose to spend the next five minutes arguing about this. You've chosen to spend it on your phone.

There's a bit of guilt on your mind, inviting half a dozen people over to your apartment only to leave them to their own devices. But you also know that if there was any group to do that to, it would be this one. This bunch is perfect for when you want to be the quiet girl in the back who follows along on everyone else's ridiculous adventures. When the whole idea of a social life is too much to bear, but you still want the comfort of some company.

You had a few people who used to be that for you, not in this way, but in a more comfortable sense. Here, you seemed less like a part of the group and more like an accessory. With them, they made you feel like everything you said or did clicked perfectly. You used to think it was too good to be true, too good to last, if only you knew how right you were.

“Hey, do you have any more chasers somewhere? There’s nothing in the fridge.” You look over to your friend in the kitchen. Jeremy’s hair doesn’t dance at all, but instead, sits blonde, beautiful, and still at the top of his head. He wears a black turtleneck with a beige jacket tied around his waist. He didn’t show up like that, but after a few times of drinking with him, you’ve realized he gets very hot, very quickly when drunk. He saunters over from the kitchen to where you are.

“I’m probably out, then.” Your head falls back against the cushion again, as you have to look up at him when he stands above you. His eyes stay on you as his long, slender arms reach for the table right by the armrest. You hear his keys jingle in his hands as you tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows. “Where you going?”

He stares at you for a moment and doesn’t answer. He can’t help it. The way you look up at him, and the way your whole pretty face is so entirely visible, it makes him smile. Everyone else shares a knowing glance between themselves. Jeremy likes you. He has for a while. And everyone but you knew it. Well, you’ve had your moments. Moments where you felt like he was doing a bit much as a friend, putting in a lot of effort, saying too many right things, but you didn’t want to think too much into it.

“Well, someone’s out of chasers. So I’m gonna go grab some.” He has a playful tone in the way he talks to you. It makes your friends almost wanna gag.

“What? You’re not gonna drive. You drank.” In times like these, the slightest attraction you had for him wavered. He sighs.

“Yeah, okay.” He shoves his keys into his jean pocket and shifts his smile from teasing to somewhat sincere. “You worry too much about me, though.”

He continues as he walks away. “You don’t have to be pretty and sweet.” With that, he walks out the front door and shuts it behind him. Your friends all give their own unique disgusted expressions as a sort of silence befalls you all. You hate it. What were they here for if they weren’t gonna talk so much that they annoy your neighbors? You start praying to anything out there that someone speaks up, someone starts talking again, saying something. Anything.

“He’s likes you so much, it’s gross.”

You raise your head with wide eyes, turning your head and staring at the loud-mouthed woman. Not what you expected, but she certainly gave you what you asked for. Everyone else is instantly turning up the volume again, bickering and arguing over what the brunette said and why it should or should not have been said aloud. You sigh, deciding to bother with this later. You didn’t have the energy to open up that box. Instead, you get up and make your way to the bathroom. You excuse yourself, but nobody noticed anyway. They weren’t always good at that.

The way you look in the mirror captures your attention. It’s like there’s something there, something in front of your face that looks just like an exact replica. This happens sometimes, when you’ve blown past your social battery. You press your fingers against it before placing your palms on the cheeks. You shift your hands to cover the bottom-half of the face, blocking everything from view but the forehead, eyebrows, and eyes. Suguru always liked that part of your face. You assumed it’s because you wore a mask a lot in public so he saw it a lot more than your other features, but he was always good at making you feel proud of it. He made you feel feminine and beautiful, without making things feel weird or awkward at any point. You always appreciated it as one of his many talents. It’s stuff like that that you miss in times like these.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when your phone vibrates. You don’t even remember bringing it with you, and you start to question how many you had to drink out there. You take it out of your back pocket and look at the screen. Your eyes widen slightly at the name before you start to squint at the message underneath.

hey where r u rn?

You blink. It wasn’t unusual for Satoru Gojo to text you. It would be more so strange if he went a week where he didn’t, interrupting your routine to send you a meme that only he finds funny. Especially at an ungodly hour like this. After Suguru, he sort of seemed like he forgot what sleep was. But there's an off feeling in your gut when you read the text.

Tapping on your screen, you open up your chat log with the man. Ultimately, you figure that the odd feeling inside you is just the alcohol in your system. Just as you’re about to write something back, your phone vibrates again for one long second before his name and contact photo shines brightly over your display. Now, this was unusual.

Your heart beats just a little faster, and you hesitate to answer. You bite your lip and look towards the door, the faint voices in your living room make you think twice about taking a call in the bathroom.

Without wasting another second, you quickly open the door and make your way towards your bedroom. When you step inside, you turn the lock and press the green button on your phone, holding it up to your ear. You hear the chatter of loud conversation and abrasive laughter in the background. “Gojo?” You ask, your voice almost as quiet as a whisper.

This contrasts with the way he answers. “Hello?” He shouts over the noise.

“Hey dude, what’s up?”

He doesn’t answer. You hear him sigh, almost groan, as he tries to think of one. “J'st a second.” He tells you. You listen, but your confusion has almost hit its peak. After a minute or two, the sounds of people around him are replaced with the quiet hum of car engines and the occasional wind blowing.

“Gojo?” You call for him again. This time, he responds.

“Hey, yeah. Hi.” The sound of his voice is a little.. weird, you think that maybe it’s just his mic. Or maybe it’s your speaker, knowing him he probably has the best mobile device on the market, being the richest guy you personally know and all.

“Hi, are you okay?” You move over to sit at your desk, the comfort of the back pillow bringing you the smallest bit of relief.

“Yeah.” He laughs. “Yeah, nah, yeah. I’m good. So good. Always, uh.. always good.”

After finally hearing a somewhat full sentence from the blue-eyed man, you figure out the reason for the call as quickly as it arose in your mind. “Are you drunk, Gojo?”

As your question hangs in the air, you feel as if even the world around you struggles to answer back. Suddenly, it feels quiet again. You fucking hate it.

“Gojo?” You ask as if he’s disappeared, but it actually sounds more like a stern repeat of his name. Your irritation is audibly noticeable, and it almost makes him smile.

“Yeah, uhm. I mean, no. I mean, yeah. Fuck, uhm..” He sighs. “I’m not usually a drinker, so my tolerance is pretty low. I didn’t drink a lot tonight, but I prob’ly am.”

You tilt your head in confusion, as if he can see. “Drunk, I mean.” He finishes. This side of your old friend is a peculiar one. He’s usually so cool with his words, everything that flows out of him seems to be so natural. But this? This is almost awkward, somewhat gauche, he sounds.. a little adorable.

“Yeah, I’ve realized that by now.” You laugh slightly. You wonder if you should tell him how drunk you are too, but then it strikes you that he mentioned the fact that he’s not usually a drinker, and that uneasy feeling is back in your stomach.

“What gave it away?” He asks. “I thought I was being slick.”

You shake your head and sigh. “Yeah, no. That was probably the ‘unslickest’ cover-up I’ve ever heard in my life.” You joke. You think to yourself for a moment as you listen to the soft sounds of traffic on the other line before you go on.

“I’ve been drinking too.” You confess. “With some friends.”

Gojo feels a tug at his chest as you clarify. He immediately assumes that that must be why Shoko turned down his invite to the bar that evening. She was with you. His next assumption is that you must’ve actually hated him or something, because you invited her to drink at your apartment but not him. It didn’t make logical sense, and he knew that. Throughout the years, even after the split of the group, you were both always kind to each other. Always warm. Always, at the very least, friends. But Gojo couldn’t find it in himself to be logical, not when he felt so strange. Like there was a spinning rotor in his brain.

“Wow. Could’ve softened that blow.” He comments. He thanks whoever out there in the universe that he still has his sarcasm intact, even when drunk.

“What do you mean?” You ask him.

“Whad’you mean? Is she not the ‘friend’ with you?” He makes a voice at the word friend and scoffs, lifting the bottle he’s been carrying in his other hand this whole time and taking a swig. He cringes at the taste and then again at the burn down his throat. He can’t believe that you’d invite Shoko for a drink and not him. He, in his own head, is much more fun than Shoko is. He knows that you’ve never really seen him drunk before, and he’s hardly really experienced it himself, but geez! It would’ve been nice to experience it together. With you. Shoko at home. The both of you in your apartment. Alone, tipsy, and curious.

“No, she’s not here. I invited some other friends, you wouldn’t know them.”

Oh.

He feels stupid. Stupid and drunk. He thinks to himself that he should just hang up now. He should just apologize for interrupting and tell you to have a good night. That would be smart and sane of him, but then he thinks again, and he throws away any remnant of sense he had in his brain with another swig of the bottle.

“Are you still drinking?” You ask, hearing him gulp. He lets out a soft ‘blegh’ and you deadpan.

“Can you tell them to go home?�� He slurs, his tone is low and almost comical. Your eyebrows furrow and you shake your head, thinking to yourself that you must’ve heard him wrong.

“Huh?”

He giggles. “Ah, you sound cute. I said.. Can. You. Tell. Them. To. Go. Home.” You don’t respond. You bring your hand up to your forehead and rest your elbow on your desk. A million questions flood your mind at once, but you can only get one out.

“Are you okay, Gojo?” You pause before asking another. “What’s wrong?”

You realize that you don’t really need him to answer the first one. You know something’s up. And you already sort of know the answer to the second one, but you hope that he’ll respond anyway. You give him about twenty seconds before feeling the irritation rise through you at the sudden silence again.

“Do you want to come over?” It’s a simple question, but the realization that you’ve just said it to Satoru Gojo makes you want to throw your pillow to the wall. Plus the fact that both of you are drunk, and he just called you cute, doesn’t help.

“Yes, I do. But get them to leave, will you?” He doesn’t say please, but he himself feels that he sounds sorta like he’s begging. You roll your eyes.

“I heard you. I will.” You respond. “Do you need the pin?”

He shakes his head slowly, as if you can see. “No. I remember where you live.”

Ah.

You say your goodbyes, although it’s more like see you soons, and hang up. You unlock your bedroom door and head out to the living area, four of the drunks are conversing amongst themselves while one of them is passed out on your couch. The conscious ones turn to look at you and cheer at your arrival. You give them a sorrowful look as you lie, explaining that something’s come up with your siblings and they have to leave. They buy it at first, waking up their sleeping friend and grabbing as much stuff as they can remember. It’s not until much later when they start to question if you’d ever mentioned having siblings before at all. But then at that point, they’re already in their uber on their way to the most sober one’s home.

—-

You sit on your couch, trying to finish the rest of the bottle your friends had left behind. Being lost in your own thoughts, the beverage doesn’t help that. You hadn’t seen Satoru Gojo in a few months, and even then, it was only because the two of you crossed paths at a bar. You think about the tension the both of you had the last time you were drunk. The brave little acts of flirtation, the carefully clumsy words of suggestion. All of that was reciprocated and he wasn’t even drinking. There’s a sudden knock on your door that makes your heart skip a beat. You look over, unsure of whether or not you’re relieved that the virgin of alcohol has arrived. On one hand, you were starting to think that if you sat in another second of this silence, you'd throw your table out the window. On the other hand, you didn’t know if a drunk Satoru Gojo was better or worse for your peace of mind.

Another knock sounds before you get up from your seat. Making your way towards the entrance, you take a couple deep breaths, trying your best to calm your nerves. Your fingers carelessly swipe at the locks and you open the door. The white-haired man stumbles forward a little bit and you slightly brace for his fall. “You, did you even.. check the peephole?” His words drag as his feet do the same, inviting himself inside.

“I knew it was you. You said you were coming, duh.” You explain, shaking your head and giving him a slow up and down glance. His black long sleeve shirt barely holds above his shoulders. His snow white pants make him look a little ridiculous, only in the sense where he kinda looks like he’s trying too hard to not look like he’s trying hard. The glasses don’t help either, but you know how sensitive his eyes are, so you never bother to question it when he puts on a pair that clashes atrociously with his outfit. Besides, he’s the most sensible when it comes to style out of any rich person in the world, you think. They always make weird fashion choices, and you’ve always been glad he’s not like them.

“That’s not safe. What if I was a murder?”

You scoff out a laugh. Gojo smiles slightly without even realizing. “Whatever.” The both of you settle on the sofa.

He takes a minute to look around your apartment, taking in his surroundings. He then looks at you, taking you in. The frame of your body in your outfit was one he missed being able to stare at. He recalls the times the six of you would be out, going to see a movie or taking the unnecessary long way to get to a store, and he would have the same unshakeable stare. You clear your throat, noticing now. You never did back then. You sort of did at the bar, but you just assumed you were imagining things.

“So, what’s up? Whatchu want?”

“Whose jacket is that?” He points to the jacket on the floor by the TV, across from the both of you. He continues, less like he’s talking to you but instead more to himself. “That isn’t yours, right? That’s not your style.”

You grimace. “No, yeah. That’s not my style at all.” You laugh, he stares even more intently.

“It’s my friend’s. He probably forgot it.” Gojo comes up with a theory that upsets him in a way he finds humorous. He’s done that before as well: Left a jacket behind at a pretty girl’s house after a party, coming back to retrieve it after everyone’s gone home and ending up spending the night at her place. His expression falls and he frowns just a little.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Gojo, I invited you over because you sounded worrisome over the phone. Don’t avoid my question.” Your impatience was clear in your voice, your tone. He hadn’t heard you sound so irritated in so long, not since the days before everything went down. It almost warmed his heart. He missed when the two of you had that kind of relationship. One where you could both be as playfully mean as you wanted, as painfully direct as you needed, and you could smile and laugh about it in an instant. Now, you seemed to dance around everything. The both of you did. Conversations that once would’ve been filled with banter and snide comments, now just empty words of politeness.

“Yeah, no. I know.” He admits, running a hand through his hair. He leans back and sighs, manspreading in his seat next to you. His knee touches yours, you think you should move, but you don’t. He notices. “I know. I just.. I don’t know. Can we not talk?”

“What do you wanna do then?”

He shrugs. “Let’s just chill. Where’s your speaker?”

You laugh a bit through your words. “It’s literally two feet away from you. How drunk are you?” You gesture to where the side table is, underneath is your speaker with a couple detachable mics. Once he reaches over, it’s clear to him that your apartment is the resident drinking location for your friends. Either that, or you’re just well-prepared with a karaoke machine in your living room.

“Okay, sec.” He takes his phone out, you glare enviously at how big his pockets are. The face he makes as he tries his hardest to connect his phone is cute, you think. Lips pursed and pushed up, forcing him to make almost a kissy face. His eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes squint at his screen. “Okay, okay. What song you want?”

“I dunno, play anything.” Immediately, Been Away by Brent Faiyaz plays, an odd choice for someone who’s barely had a real conversation with you in a couple of years. Someone who’s now drunk on your couch, staring at you when he’s not staring at his blank phone screen.

“What, no like?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m good with it.” He turns up the volume a bit and sets it by his foot. After a moment passes, you feel a pressure on your arm. Looking over, you find the sluggish man leaning against you comfortably. His glasses are off, but his eyes are closed. “Y’know I didn’t expect you to listen to R&B music. I’ve only ever heard you play like, alt-rock. Or something like that.”

“I’ve traveled the world. I can’t listen to only Asian Kung-Fu Generation for the rest of my life.” He explains. “I heard of Brent Faiyaz when I went to a place called Maryland, in America.”

Your head tilts. “For business?”

He shakes his head, it feels almost as if he’s snuggling closer to you when he does. His eyes are still closed, and you wonder if you should turn off the overhead light.

“I took a girl there and we heard it at a party.” He laughs, thinking about the look on her face when he gave her the ticket, telling her that she could cancel if she wanted to. Either way, it wouldn’t really put a dent in his bank account. “She didn’t believe me when I said I was loaded so I booked us a flight and we spent the weekend.”

You frown a bit and don’t respond. You surely weren’t salty about him booking a weekend getaway with some girl he maybe didn’t know well. That wasn’t it at all, probably. But why didn’t he tell you? When did this happen? That seems crazy. Did he always just do crazy stuff like that now? Was it normal for him at this point in his life? Is that why he never thought to bring it up? He can almost feel the clunks and bangs of turning cogs in your brain. His eyes open. “It was.. I was in a weird spot. She was nice, but it was just that. We were both cool about it.” He clarifies. You think it’s weird how he does. It’s not like you need to know that. You don’t care for that confirmation, to be reassured that it was no big deal. You don’t care.

“Whatevs.”

—-

Time passes with both of you like this. Eventually, you start to have full conversations again. Giggles, laughter, agreements, disagreements as his playlist shuffles through similar sounding tracks. It begins to feel natural, almost like old times. Except, old times wouldn’t have granted you this space for just the two of you. Old times would mean two brunette’s and a blonde on one side, and a long-haired man on the other. Rarely did you ever get opportunities like this with him. Moments where you could get more personal and connected.

At some point, you don’t even think about the hand on your lap or the breath on your neck. You just think of it as bonding, as making up for lost time, or maybe you only think of it that way because you’ve been drinking as the half-hour goes on. You’ve managed to catch up to Gojo, in terms of tipsy buzzes, for better or worse. His face is buried in your neck as you both stifle your laughter, trying not to let a chuckle turn to a cackle and disturb the neighbors.

There’s a heat between you. There’s a heat inside you. There’s so much more space on the couch, you think. The both of you are almost huddled into one spot. Any outsider looking in would think your heater had broken and you ran out of blankets. You don’t even remember how he got here. God, he’s awfully close. Doesn’t he know that?

“You smell so good.” He whispers in your ear, you don’t think it’s intentional but it makes you shiver.

“What?” You laugh, albeit a bit awkwardly. Your shoulder moves just enough where he’s forced to raise his head and look at you. You raise your eyes to meet his own and the short distance between your faces make it difficult to choose your next words carefully. “Gojo?”

His eyes travel down your features until he gets to your lips. “Can you just..” He hesitates, his breathing is deep. Yours is almost in sync.

“Just Satoru, please?”

Your eyebrows knit together. You want to look away, but you can’t. You can feel the littlest bit of reason, just in the back of your brain, and it’s screaming at you to put an end to this. This is dangerous and reckless. The both of you are drunk, being led by temptation. And if there ever was a bad time to be exploring this aspect of your relationship with Satoru Gojo, it’d be today, this week, this month. You could be making the biggest mistake of your life, just for the temporary promise of comfort and pleasure. For distraction.

And though your doubts and concerns are all completely shared sentiments by the temptation himself, it only takes one string of justification for him to close the gap.

This was a long day for you. For both of you. December is always cold; It always holds too many memories. You hate to be alone during the month, and you aren’t the only one.

You kiss back.

Like every moment in your life where it feels like you’ve randomly decided to jump off a cliff into the raging ocean, your nerves shake as your body tingles. Your breathing is quick and your head feels like it’s swirling from a windstorm. The kiss quickly shifts from curious and nerve wracking to desperate and insatiable. Satoru has his arms wrapped around you in an instant when he scoops you up and places you on his lap.

You gasp at the feeling of being manhandled and feel a pull at your stomach when he deepens the kiss, his arms roaming your torso. A sigh escapes your lips when he moves, leaving a rough string of pecks on your neck. He groans and starts grinding his crotch against you, you feel cocky at first until you realize it was you who started moving your hips before he did. The feeling of someone pressed against you like this, especially when it’s him, makes the slight bulge in your shorts twitch. The pressure of his own bulge moving against your ass makes grinding so much harder to stop, but he has to. “Wait, please.” He clumsily asks, holding your waist and resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Need my pants off. Don’t..” He hesitates. His voice drops before he continues. “Don’t wanna cum in them.”

He almost sounds embarrassed. “Gojo-”

“Satoru.” He reminds you. “Please.”

You pause before just nodding and taking his face in your hands. You force him to look at you, and while you struggle, you successfully hold eye contact with the man. “Satoru.” His name sounds almost beautiful in your voice. Almost the way it did when he said it, when Suguru made it sound sweet. But there was an elegance to your tone, one he hadn’t heard before. It made his heart race.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?”

He breathes in deeply before closing his eyes and rubbing his cheek against your hand. The proximity of your bodies make it easy to inhale your scent with every breath. His hands are still holding onto your waist, but slowly coming to wrap themselves around you. Treating the position almost like a hug. It’s one that he doesn’t realize he needs so desperately until he gets it. That warmth of feeling you in his grasp. “I just need to feel good.” He finally answers.

Suddenly his hands slip under your top, gliding up from your lower back. You feel goosebumps form as his cold hands move on your skin. He continues. “I know you need it too.” He almost mutters. The music in the background and the way he grips onto your body creates an undeniably heated tension in the room. You struggle to answer back, until he moves his lips again. This time, back on your neck as he mumbles into your skin.

“Please, baby.”

You almost whine. Your head drops against him as his fingers stroke softly up and down your spine. You feel your own tug at his shirt; His heart pounds in his chest. He thinks back to the times before where you’d tug on his shirt, his sleeve, his bag, or his jacket. It was your quiet way of getting him to notice you and he adored it every time, getting to look at you with a smile as you slightly matched his own. Happy that you were getting the attention you craved, the eyes you wanted. “You want me?” You ask in response.

He moves his head to look at you, again with a small measure of space between you. He nods. “I do, really bad.” He can’t stop looking at your lips, he grows hungry.

You answer his prayers for him and lean in. Your kiss is soft, gentle. It contrasts with him again, but much more in the sense of nervousness. Almost fear. Fear that you might push too far, might break him. Might hurt yourself. You want to be cautious, but it gets harder and harder as you feel him rock his hips again, grinding against you. Subtle moans and whines escape the desperate man as you feel each one in your mouth, already having his tongue inside and moving against your own. His hands travel to your chest as yours find their way down to his crotch. You get started on unbuttoning his pants as he starts to knead and massage. You sigh in content, the light brushes against your nipples with his long slender fingers makes you want to lay down and let him have you.

After a moment, you get his zipper down. Your fingers push underneath the opening you’ve created and you place your palm over the long bulge in his underwear. He moans. Pulling away from the kiss, he tugs on the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to expose your chest. He leans down a bit to blow on your nipples and they take a more hardened shape at the feeling of the cold air hitting them. The feeling of his gaze locked onto your tits makes you wanna grind against him to interrupt. You choose not to, and instead begin stroking him through the fabric of his underwear. “Fuck, baby..” He moans again as his gaze shoots down to where your hand is. He’s panting as he uses one hand to shove his pants further down his thighs, you’re still on top of him as he lifts his hips up to make the adjustment easier. His other hand moves to grip and settle on the back of your neck. He licks his lips hungrily as you continue to stroke him before he has the idea to latch on to your nipples.

Sucking and lapping at your chest forces you to take a sharp breath through your teeth, a small whine escaping through the sigh you exhale. His tongue glides around your areola before his lips close around them and he starts sucking, still using his tongue as he does. His other hand finds its way to your other nipple, making sure it’s being shown proper attention. He twists and tugs, earning a guttural moan from your throat. Your hips grind more feverishly as you chase the pleasure you're craving for.

You continue to fondle his clothed cock until he can’t bear it anymore. He shoots up from his spot on the couch, bringing you up with him as he holds your ass in his hands. You gasp as your legs instinctively wrap around him. He kisses you again as he pushes you against the wall, right by the front door. You knew he was strong, you always did, but feeling him hold you tight and walk with you as he held you up with ease made your heart pulse between your legs. Eventually he gets back to your neck, before letting your legs drop back down to the floor. Your feet settle as you carry your own weight again. He moves to slip off your shirt and you raise your arms to make it easier for him. He licks, sucks, and kisses down your body until he gets to your belly. His fingers dig into where the hem of your shorts are.

Satoru looks up at you with a burning desire in his eyes, but also a needy sort of plea. The look on his face makes you all the more sure of your reckless behavior as you guide his hands to pull your bottoms down. Just enough to expose your needy, pretty penis. His eyelids droop as he bites his lip. His hands caress your thighs as they push upward, he licks the bite marks left behind on his bottom lip. Impatiently, your hands find their way onto the slutty man beneath you. One in his hair, and one under his chin. Your hand under his chin moves to make a sort of cup form in front of his lips. He eyes your palm before spitting on it, you rub it on yourself, making it easier for a hand to glide over.

As you twist and rub, Satoru leans in closer, his own impatience finally beginning to show. He licks his lips more sloppily, to coat his own mouth in just a bit of saliva, before settling on the tip of your penis. He treats your knob as he’s treated your nipples, sucking and licking. His tongue swirls around until the hand in his hair tugs his head further down your length.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You freeze. Satoru doesn’t, only slowing his work on your body with an angry look at whoever’s taken your attention away from him. You stare at the door, realizing you forgot to lock it. You hope and pray, repeating the words over and over again in your head, ‘do not fucking open it.’ It becomes a little hard to focus though, as a tongue licks at the vein on the underside of your shaft. Your hand shoots over your mouth.

A voice begins to speak behind the closed door. “Hey, uhh just wanted to drop the chasers. I’m.. sorry to hear that something came up and uhh I hope your siblings are okay.” You recognize the voice to be Jeremy, the one you never formally told that tonight was canceled. The one who left and almost got behind the wheel after drinking enough to make his now muffled words slow and deliberate. Slightly slurring through each syllable.

You whimper and whine with the lowest volume you can possibly muster. Satoru bobs his head up and down, the tiniest drops of precum running down his throat. He looks up at you with half-lidded eyes, a mischievous glint in them as he does. It isn’t until your friend knocks on the door for a second time that you notice Satoru is excited by this. Funnily enough, it’s not his somewhat smiling lips that give it away. Not the curved ends or the air being blown from his nose in a more quick, laughing manner than just normal breathing. It’s the way he speeds up, getting sloppy with each passing moment that your friend makes his presence known.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Hey, princess. You okay?” Satoru’s eyebrows furrow. He mouths a muffled ‘princess?’ repeating the pet name from Jeremy outside. The vibration on the skin of your girl cock sends a shiver down your spine and a shaky moan out your lips. “I can hear the music, I know you’re in there.”

Gojo just feels lucky that he decided to turn the music up at some point while you two were making out. Wave after wave of pleasure hits you as the quickly sobering older man brings you in and out of his hot mouth. You struggle to keep your composure, half of the reason you’re still able to stand up is the fact that Satoru has such a tight grip on your thighs. It makes you feel held in place as his thumb rubs circles into the meat of your leg. His large, cold hands send a different kind of sensation throughout your body. One that you’ve felt before, whenever he’d look at you with a certain type of admiration in his eyes while you spoke to him about something you didn’t think others would understand as well as him and Suguru could. Your heart would race.

“Princess?” You hear Jeremy call for you again. At this point, Satoru takes you out of his mouth with a pop. His hands move to stroke you, keeping you stimulated as he continues to look up at you.

“Want you to cum.” He sticks his tongue out to lick all the way down to your balls. He sucks and pulls at you with his lips as his hands stay on your length, using his saliva and your precum as lube. “Can you cum for me, pretty girl?”

You nod, frantically. Like you’ve been holding yourself back until the very moment he told you to release. “Mhm, mm. Haah..”

“You might be asleep.” Jeremy almost sounds like he meant to mutter, but his drunkenness makes his understanding of volume so wrong that he can be heard over the music. “I’m just gonna uhh, I’ll call you later.”

He lightly taps at the door as you hear his slow footsteps begin and then fade. Just when he’s out of earshot, Gojo sinks down onto you again, until his nose pushes against your pubic area. “Ah! Fuck, fuck, fuck. Satoru.. fuck, don’t stop. P-please..” The sudden burst of whines and pleading makes a wet spot on his underwear. He almost joins you in your orgasm when he feels ropes of warm viscous fluid shoot down his throat, that paired with the sound of you crying his name out as you tug on his hair, it’s like heaven for the man. He swallows it all.

Settling down, slowing your breathing, and lightening up on the grip you have on Satoru’s hair, you tear your gaze away from the ceiling and bring it down to the smiling face beneath you. You watch him lick his lips as he leaves a trail of light kisses down your shaft. This only brings up the idea of it being his turn. That alone brings another pull to your stomach, as you feel your dick twitch again.

“Bedroom?” You ask, breathless with a soft expression. He nods fervently, scooping his arms around your legs and back before whisking you away again. Your arms rest on his shoulders. Kisses and sweet whispered nothings fill the noise not already filled by a slow jam as he makes his way to your room, holding you like a princess.

"I missed you."

A/N I've Never Really Written For Trans Women Specifically When It Comes To Reader Fics, So I Apologize If The Words Used Or Chosen Language To Describe Some Body Parts Was Not To Your Liking. Although, I Always Appreciate Criticism And Helpful Tips On What Works Best For Y'all. That Goes For All Of My Fics.

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persevereforahappyending · 2 hours ago

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A Legacies Regret |8|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You were living in New York with your girlfriend, trying to forget about last year and just enjoy life, but that was easier said than done. (Sequel to A Legacies Secret)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.8k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | A Legacies Secret Masterlist

Tara stood at the back of an ambulance as you got checked over. You didn’t seem in too bad of shape, you actually managed to not get stabbed this time. Tara crossed her arms as she waited for you, they were surrounded by cops and ambulances, this was where she should feel the safest but given that she didn’t know who she could trust she wasn’t awarded that comfort.

Her eyes darted back and forth from Sam off to the side talking to Danny, to Chad next to the ambulance Mindy was getting patched up in. Anika had been there in her own ambulance, but the medics decided her wounds were too severe and rushed her off to the hospital. Tara wanted to think that Anika would be safe in the hospital, away from all the craziness, but she knew better than anyone that just because someone was in the hospital didn’t mean they were safe.

Tara’s attention fully snapped back to you when she overheard you thanking the medic. You slipped off the gurney and hopped out the back of the ambulance. Tara made sure to raise her hands when you landed, she didn’t know exactly what happened in the apartment, but it was clear you were hurting.

Tara wrapped an arm around your waist, partly because she wanted to help you keep more weight than necessary off your knee, but mostly because she didn’t want to let you go. Back in the apartment you didn’t even hesitate to push her behind you and towards the door, the first thing that crossed your mind in a moment of crisis wasn’t your own safety but hers. She loved that about you, she truly did, but she really needed to have a talk with you about putting yourself in danger. Tara knows you want to protect her, but she needed to put her foot down, if you were going to be all heroic and self-sacrificing then she was going to be by your side.

The two of you had only walked a few steps when Tara noticed just how much you were limping. She could feel the muscles in your back tensing up with every step. “Are you okay?” she asked. “What happened up there?”

You slowed to a stop, wincing one more time before leaning into her. You looked around as if you were afraid someone was going to overhear whatever it was you had to say. “When I tried to stop him from getting Anika, he kicked me in my knee,” you whispered, your lips brushing against her ear so only she could hear.

Tara furrowed her brow. A whole new rage was burning inside her, she couldn’t believe Ghostface did that. Well, she could, but that didn’t change the fact that if she ever got her hands on him, she would tear him apart. She looked up when she realized you were looking at her expectantly. She had a feeling she missed the point of what you said for some reason, but she wasn’t exactly sure what her takeaway was supposed to be.

“He knew I was injured,” you whispered. Tara mentally slapped herself, not many people knew about your injury, that you still struggled with it so much. That meant Ghostface was either stalking all of them and saw you or he was in the friend group and paid much more attention to everyone than anyone thought.

“Who do you think it was?” Tara asked. She herself didn’t have any ideas, everyone, besides you and Sam, was a suspect. You experienced Ghostface up close though, to close for comfort if someone were to ask Tara. If you fought him, if you got close enough then there was a chance you felt something, something to determine if he was in fact a he, or if you picked up on something like the way he moved or talked.

You opened your mouth to answer but your head snapped up just as Tara whipped around at the sound of a loud bang. Tara released a breath; it had just been Chad slamming Ethan against one of the vans. She should probably be worried about Chad’s quick response to violence but given what was going on she couldn’t say she actually cared.

She couldn’t hear exactly what was being said but it was clear Chad was questioning Ethan and accusing him of potentially being Ghostface. Tara tilted her head, she never suspecting Ethan of anything, the only reason she hung out with him was because he was Chad’s roommate. He wasn’t the worst company by any means, she was just kind of quiet and awkward, sometimes he would have good taste in movies, otherwise he was just there. She couldn’t picture Ethan as some psycho killer, but then again there was a point in time she would have said the same thing about Amber.

Ethan weakly defended himself by saying he was in his night class. Tara honestly didn’t know if he was telling the truth, she didn’t know his schedule, she didn’t even know what his major was. Ethan was insistent in his denial, he even told Chad to ask the people from his class, which could speak of his innocence, or it spoke of how cocky he was. Night classes were rather popular, she didn’t know how big Ethan’s class was but there was a high chance that if Ethan skipped class no one would even notice.

Chad gave Ethan one final shove into the van before walking back over to Mindy. Tara’s eyes lingered on Ethan as he fixed his sweatshirt and looked around at the chaos as if he were a lost puppy. If he was Ghostface he sure was doing a good job at pretending to be clueless.

Your entire body tensed underneath Tara’s touch, making her furrow her brow at what could have possibly caused such a reaction. You weren’t looking at her though, you were looking straight ahead at something else. When Tara turned to see what you were looking at, she couldn’t contain her eyeroll as she saw Gale Weathers running up to the two of you.

“Are you okay?” Gale asked, looking at you with the most concern Tara had ever seen. “I came as soon as I heard.”

“Don’t you ever give it a rest?” Tara snapped.

“I’m not here to start anything. Truce,” Gale raised her hands in defense.

“Bullshit,” Sam said, coming up behind them. “What are you doing here?”

“I want to help.” Gale��s eyes darted to you. Tara wasn’t Gale’s biggest fan by any means, but she had a feeling wanting to help catch this Ghostface wasn’t the only reason Gale was there now. “Off the record,” Gale rolled her eyes.

Sam crossed her arms and shared a look with Tara. She still didn’t want to trust Gale, especially with how she’s treated you but Gale willing to help out off the record was definitely a start. “Fine,” Sam sighed, although a little reluctantly.

Gale looked at you, as if she were waiting for you to say something. You had yet to look Gale in the eye. Tara couldn’t even imagine what was going through your head. Besides recent selfish behavior she used to be able to read you better than anyone, when she opened her eyes, it seemed to be going back to that, except when it came to Gale. You already didn’t talk about Dewey but somehow you talked about Gale even less, Tara truly wasn’t sure where your mind was in regards to Gale.

“I see my present came in handy,” Gale said, giving an awkward smile as if it would help break the ice with you.

You still didn’t look at Gale as you lightly nodded. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Thanks for that.”

Tara looked from you to Gale and then back again. Her eyes widen as she came to the realization. “That’s where the gun game from?” she shouted.

Your mouth fell open, but nothing came out. Tara could practically see your brain spinning trying to come up with an answer. When you first came out of the apartment she didn’t notice the gun, she was too busy being relieved you were alive. When she did notice the gun, she didn’t get a chance to ask about it as you were being dragged to an ambulance. She knew Gale gave you a present, but you put it under the bed and that was that, she never even knew you opened let alone that it was a gun.

“The less people that knew about it the better,” Same said.

Tara slowly turned her head to her sister. “You knew?” she turned back to you, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. “You told her and not me?”

You began opening and closing your mouth again. “I need to stay on her good side,” you defended weakly.

Tara just gave a small hum at the reveal. She knew that if you hadn’t told Sam and Sam later discovered it, she would have been pissed. She still couldn’t believe you never even told her though; it’s not like she would have told anyone; she knew how to keep a secret. That being said, Tara also couldn’t say you were wrong in keeping the gun a secret, no one else knowing was probably why you were able to catch Ghostface off guard. If the others had known she was sure you’d go for the case only to find it empty in your moment of need.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group as Bailey walked up to everyone. He wiped his eyes from where he had been crying over his daughters’ body. “They took me off the case,” he said. “But that’s not going to stop me.” Tara had never seen such a rage burning behind someone’s eyes. “You fuck with my family, you die.”

“Hey,” Kirby greeted as she walked up to the group. Tara assumed she had to have just arrived because she hadn’t seen her before then.

“Kirby?” Gale asked, her eyes wide. Tara wasn’t sure how it was possible, but it seemed Gale hadn’t known Kirby was in town. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m in the FBI now,” Kirby smirked.

Gale rolled her eyes. “Then you’ll probably want to hear this too.” Tara scrunched her eyebrows together at what Gale could possibly want them all to hear. “It’s about the first victims; I found where the masks are coming from.”

Tara’s eyes widened. It was clear the masks Ghostface was leaving behind were the actual masks from the previous attacks. She didn’t know how anyone could possibly get their hands on those, but it seemed as though they had.

Tara barely listened as Gale went over everything. They were all going to go see what Gale discovered but Tara couldn’t take her mind off of you. She didn’t know where Gale was taking them or what they would find there, the only thing that Tara knew was that she didn’t intend to leave your side again.

Taglist: @mamas-evil-hag @thatshyboy1998 @btay3115 @idontliketoread2137 @nwestra

@honorarysimp @canyonyodeler @chxrryxcx @aceofspades190 @worstendingever

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x fem!reader #tara carpenter imagine #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #a legacies regret

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lilysworldofjoy · 2 days ago

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"Just admit it!" (Dandy's World tickle fic)

A/N: No Lee Rudie fics? I'll fix that, thank you very much (my motivation to write fics at almost fucking midnight is wild—)

Him combo'd with ler Bobette have been gyrating in my mind since.. a long time, so uh... Yeah. Also, look out for mentioned/implied Lee Bobette and Lee Ginger

Keep in mind, just cuz it's not Christmas doesn't mean I'll stop rudieposting... heh...

Plot: Bobette is trying to get toy ideas, so she goes to ask Rudie. That's where she makes a... rather interesting discovery—and decides to exploit the living hell out of it.

~🦌🎁~

It was a snowy day outside Gardenview. Of course it was, it's December after all. The month of the holidays!

Inside, Bobette was walking hurriedly around the area with a large box that had some toys inside. Her dog, Coal, was asleep next to the peppermint chair she usually sits on.

She places these toys on the table nearby. "Phew!" The bauble put her hands on her hips and said, "A job well done! Now... what do I make this time?" Bobette asked herself.

She asked Ginger. Maybe she should make a toy oven, the cookie says. That wouldn't end well, the bauble thought. So despite the measures that would be taken, that idea was scrapped.

Ginger is a good friend, of course! She's just a tad bit worse at ideas than everyone else, and that's why she's not asked frequently.

Or maybe... a toy sleigh! That can work! But... she tried to make that many a time, and no matter what, nothing just sparked her eye in the right way. So it was scrapped too, but one day, it would be a reality.

Bobette had an idea, maybe she can make her friends suggest some toys! So she headed off to the place where she knew she would get some really good ideas for them.

Rudie was untangling the Christmas lights from his body.... again. They shone as he removed them, the lights as bright as his nose. Of course, his peppermint-looking antlers stood out as always. He was almost done with that, and that's when Bobette entered his room.

"Rudieee! Hellooo!"

"Oh hi Bobette! Did you know it's Christmas?", the reindeer asked as the Christmas lights finally fell off of him, practically glowing bright with excitement.

"Of course I did, silly." She said, smiling. "Any good ideas you got?"

He knew the drill, practically giggling to himself as his tail wagged and he said "Oh boy.."

"How about a rocket, or a doll? A bicycle! A unicycle, even! Oh, oh! What about—" Bobette took notes fast, watching as Rudie kept on talking about toys she should craft, like a yo-yo, or maybe even some building blocks.

"Okay, that's enough! Thanks Rudie!", she said, giggling as she did the reflex thing: giving his side a playful poke, causing a flinch and a muffled squeal to exit his mouth. The reindeer swore a shiver ran down his spine.

Wait. Did she see (or hear) that correctly? Or was she just imagining things? The bauble decided to try again, but in a panic the reindeer slapped her hand away. He didn't mean to hurt her, but he was too embarrassed to state something about it.

"D-Don't do that! It's... It..." Rudie hesitated to finish his words, his ears going lower, and his face going a shade of red, though not as bright as his own nose. Said nose flickered slightly as he said this, akin to a broken LED light.

Bobette started to register this. Carefully. Methodically. In a calculating way, even. And then, the cogs in her head started to spin. And once realization dawned, she smirked.

...Oh no.

Oh NO.

But to her, it was oh YES.

There has got to be a way to avoid this fate for himself, the reindeer thought. There simply has to be!

If the bauble gets the gist even once, he's as good as done. But too bad for him, she almost instantly got the gist.

After all the times she was wrecked by him. After every ticklish piece of torment both she and Ginger had to endure. After all those days, it was finally her time to shine. It was finally payback time.

And it was about to be glorious.

Too bad for him, because his ticklishness?

Hoo boy.

Her smirk simply stayed in her face as she giggled. "You think I didn't notice? The fact it tickles?~"

"Uh... uhm..." The reindeer looked back at the closed door, and put his hands up in defense. "L-Listen Bobby," He said his voice shaking as he managed a shaky smile, "we can talk about thi—"

"Oho, there's no talking now." The bauble would rub her hands together and wiggle her fingers with a wide, menacing smirk. "Hope you're readyyy...~" she stated in a sing-song tone that made him panic.

Rudie stepped back, going against a wall. He tried to dodge every tickly attack, but Bobette didn't give up till she finally got him., right on the stomach.

"Pff—"

It was a matter of seconds before he was a giggling mess, flailing on the floor. "AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Gotcha! Now to amp this up~" The bauble did her tickles in a more fast manner, causing his legs to kick, he struggled to get out of her grasp. But she was strong, capable of making sure he stays. Plus, his laughter was adorable. She couldn't stop now after making this discovery!

"NAHAHAHAHAH! AHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Now now. Stop moving, or I'll getcha on your melt spot~", she said as her fingers started hovering over to his hooves, but not going there instantly. "These cute little hoovesies right here~"

That's what she thought. And somehow, she was right. The mere mention of... THAT place made him squirm even more. "NOHO, WAHAIT! I'M SOHORRY!" *snort* "PLEHEASE!" *snort*

Bobette froze the second he let that out. Was she hearing things right or was that a...?!

"Oh my gosh." She smiled as her eyes shone. "You snort?! Ooh, like a little piggy! That's SO cute!"

That immediately made the bauble want to tickle the reindeer more. Oh, did Rudie want to sink into the ground and dissapear upon hearing that.

And just like that, she buried herself on his stomach and did a raspberry right there. The reindeer did nothing but let out a loud shriek.

"NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!" *snort* "STAHAHAHAHAP!!"

But Bobette simply went to town, her fingers now circling Rudie's sides and not seeming to stop anytime soon. His legs kicked like their lives depended on it as she continued to tickle him.

"Uh uh uh. I'll only do that if you say it~", she responded to his pleas in a singsong tone, making him redder than his own nose in a matter of seconds.

"SAHAY WHAHAT?!"

And that's when she dropped the bomb, said bomb making him metaphorically explode.

"Just admit it! You're a ticklish reindeer~"

No.

Hell no.

No way he's saying THAT.

"NOHOHOHO—" *snort* "IHI'M NOHOHOHOT!"

"Resistant, eh? Let's see how you react to THIS!~"

The bauble simply grabbed one of his legs and tickled one of the hooves. Let's just say he was gone, for that? That was the final straw.

The squeal that exited him was shrill, loud, and caused him to desperately bang his fist against the ground.

"NAHAHAHAHAHAH—" *snort* "NOT THEHERE! PLEHEHEHASEE!"

"Aww, what's wrong?~ Did I find your melt spot?~"

Rudie just squealed. Then Bobette got an idea, she got down, and did one raspberry on his stomach as she went to town on his hypersensitive hoof.

"OKAHAY! OKAHAY! IHI'M A TIHICKLISH REINDEER!! HAHAPPY?!"

"There we go." She smiles. "I'll just do it for.... A bit longer~ Your laugh is already cute on its own, but it's WAY cuter than before when I go here~"

"NOOOOOOOOHOHOHO!!"

After about five more minutes (which felt like HOURS for Rudie), Bobette finally stopped, letting him catch his breath for once.

"Hmpf... yohou're.. soho... mehehean..." He said in residual giggles, hating how mean she was when it was him. Like a whole different breed of toon when it came to him. She only smirked and said,

"Well, I'm just being nice!"

But deep down, the bauble was so excited she thought, ("Ginger HAS to know about this!")

If the cookie got word, he was beyond done, and we all know what that means: his reign was going to end very, very soon.

And he just hopes that day NEVER comes.

But Bobette? She and Ginger wanted exactly that and more.

Much, MUCH more.

~🦌🎁~

A/N #2: BOY did I cook with this one. I love revenge tickles, ain't nothing better than revenge tickles

#ler!bobette #lee!rudie #dandy's world tickles #sfw tickle community #sfw interaction only #tickle fic #lily's stories

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wrongtvrns · 1 day ago

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"Oh is that what you're doing?" The brunette smirked, amusement displayed in her gaze as she wondered to herself on why someone from Paris would seek culture or life experience in a place such as Woodside. Sunny always tried to mind her own business so she didn't ask for the particulars or the dirty details because she wouldn't particularly like it of someone were to dig in on her. "I've always wondered about that, though. Does someone who grew up in a place like Paris get bored of it? Can a city like that lose its romanticism over time?" To her, who'd not traveled much outside of Michigan couldn't fathom it but what did she know. "Spent too much money and scrounged up too much trouble in the French Riviera," the brunette mused, "hmm... sounds like my kind of woman." Even though she hadn't exactly meant how that sounded, she wouldn't be so forward with a stranger she'd just met on the street, and Sunny couldn't afford to let anyone in closer to her, she let the words remain unedited regardless. "I'd be the worst person at a nude beach," she chuckled, thinking about it, "I would be that problem person gawking at everyone." Essentially a neon sign saying, 'HEY EVERYONE SPOT THE AMERICAN'. "I mean," another chuckled rolled out at Hazal's comments, she even pulled at her collar playfully, "I agree there's way too many good looking people in this town for it to be normal but nah I don't go around laying such compliments out. I'm very much in a focus on me phase and trying not to fall for or hook up with every pretty face." It was a challenge and one that she regretted taking on sometimes but Sunny did have her mission. The humility surprised her a little, mostly because Hazal radiated so much confidence. "Well, lets put it this way, I've never wanted to get involved in the Woodside arts until now... how about that?"

It was funny. Generally, even Sunny couldn't recall meeting other hygienists outside of something work related, running into random people and learning their professions. Yet it was such an integral part of life. Seeing your dentist and hygienist regularly one to two times a year to keep your teeth and mouth healthy. The brunette's smirk returned at the thought of having Hazal in her chair. "For sure," she fished a business card out of her bag and handed it over, "come see me at Bright Smiles. You'll have to schedule an appointment unless you're popping by to invite me out to lunch or something," she winked. Really and truly, Sunny needed to stop flirting. This couldn't be a good thing and she didn't need to get anyone involved in her life. Though, handing her card over, and then offering her name in a way that they were both sprung to surprise in realizing they actually had a very unique connection sent Sunny back a step with her hand over her stomach. "Wait... for real?" Stunned and shocked at the chances of this she stood there with eyes wide and her mouth hanging open slightly. "Hazal... seriously...?" Stepping forward she lightly gripped Hazal's arms and started smiling way too big. "I was thinking wow her name is so rare I've only known one other person... and... oh my god here you are!" Then the questions rolled as she still stood there in shock. Though, Hazal being Hazal with her wonderful uniqueness... "Miss anything about prison? You're kidding right?" Playfully she nudged the woman and shook her head, unable to fully contain her excitement. "I got out five years ago and moved here. I work in dentistry, nothing fancy. But oh my god... you! This is you... wow... maybe we should sit?"

The assumption was one that Hazal couldn't shoot down even if she'd wanted to, and she was sure that Sunny knew that. Hell, anyone who had been outside of Woodside could probably attest to most places being better, but definitely when compared to Paris. "You're not wrong, but I guess everyone needs a break from the place they've been in forever, you know? Figured I should get back to the US and get some more...life experiences." Sure, that was a great way of saying she'd needed to put some distance between herself and that scandal she hadn't even been privy to until it was exposed, but it could have still been true. At the mention of the French Riviera, she smiled softly. "Only in my dreams. I liked to visit every now and then, but my parents said I spent too much money and got into too much trouble any time I traveled out that way. As if it's my fault that there's nude beaches there." She teased, though she for sure stirred up some of her best mishaps out there, along with most of the people she met and traveled with. Sunny giving her compliments shouldn't have been making her blush, yet she just decided to roll with it anyway, as she did whenever a gorgeous woman thought highly of her. "Oh please, I'm sure you've said that to half of the women here. For such a boring city, this place is like a magnet for attractive people. And honestly, I'm well versed in the art of selling bullshit, which makes me a diamond in my lane. I simply got lucky." Hazal teased, though she truly was sure that there were people who truly were more invested in the arts that could have done her job as well, maybe just not as well as she did it apparently.

Maybe it was her bias because of her dad being a doctor, but that was just generally the first thing her mind drifted to when someone said they wore scrubs, which was why she looked so shocked when Sunny corrected her. "Oh? That's certainly not something I hear every day, but that's impressive. At least I know who to come to when I need a cleaning." After all, it would give her another chance to see the woman, so why not? She didn't even know why the nickname stood out so much initially, aside from just being one of those things people preferred to be called because they hated their real name or their was some cute little family story to accompany said nickname, yet there had been something underlying as well. Hazal hadn't even picked up on it until Sunny seemed to be experiencing the same recognition. To this day, she still didn't know what had sparked her curiosity in becoming penpals with someone in prison, yet it had been compelling hearing the woman's story. When Sunny confirmed that she was in fact the Sunny she'd been exchanging letters with, Hazal grinned in response. "Aman Tanrım! You are that Sunny!" She beamed. "This is so — I'm excited to finally meet you in person, but hot damn, I don't think I ever expected this to happen." She was trying, and failing, to hide her excitement right now, but she wasn't even ashamed of it after how much they'd shared in those letters. "Clearly you've gotten your life back together since getting out, but I need details. When did you get out? How was it adjusting back to life outside of that place? Do you miss anything about prison?"

#threads — nadia solís.#01 — nadia & hazal ulusoy.

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jackass-jones · 2 years ago

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God every day I think about Akane’s breakdown in door 3 because there really is no correct way to interpret that and every possibility makes me crazy. Like she sees this fucked up corpse whom Junpei (and the player, depending on how they play) believes is their friend Snake, but she knows that it’s Guy X. It’s a man she very intentionally put in the game for this very purpose, so that he could die horrifically and be displayed for everyone to see. And she has a full mental breakdown over being trapped in this room with the corpse, being trapped by Junpei, to the point where she rips out her hair and starts bleeding from how much she bangs on the door screaming to get out. And fuck, there’s so many possibilities like

Akane could be feeling genuine terror over the sight of the body, and with that remorse. She made this happen, she wanted this to happen, and now she’s forced to quite literally watch the damage she’s caused unfold. She can detach herself from his murder easily in other timelines where she doesn’t have to look at it, and she can sleep easy knowing that her hands are technically clean because she didn’t do the literal killing. But she can’t do that here, and she has to face the fact that not only did she happily cause this death, she failed her mission. She isn’t going to survive, and now this man is dead for nothing and everything is her fault

On the other hand, her entire breakdown could be completely fabricated in order to keep playing the role of the damsel in distress who is so innocent that the very sight of blood drives her to insanity. The interesting part about this is that if she could fake such a horrific breakdown, just how much of her personality a facade? We know she wants revenge, for everyone from Cradle to feel even an ounce of the pain she and so many others went through, but we don’t get to see the extent of how much she feels this way. We never hear directly from Akane about her feelings on any of the original organizers, just her note about her desire to punish them. She hates them, but does she see their deaths as a necessary evil, or does she feel joy and satisfaction at watching them go? It’s absolutely horrifying not knowing, not being able to see her true feelings, not knowing just how real or fake she is, the extent of her madness. Perhaps she doesn’t even know that herself

IN OTHER WORDS, it’s fucked

#zero escape #akane kurashiki #the truth lies somewhere in the middle im sure #but god both possibilities are so tasty #personally i think her reaction is fake to an extent like i think she does feel at least some joy over the murders #shes doing a good deed and ridding the world of evil #but i think that this is a rare moment where she actually thinks for a minute about what shes done and how its fucked #like shes never truly present in the moment she can never fully grasp the severity of the trauma #and i kinda want to believe that this route is a bit unexpected for her #like she had to have known it was a possibility but its entire existence relies on junpei betraying the others #and i think that she was ready to write it off as a rare possibility so she didnt worry about it too much #because the only thing holding junpei back from choosing door 3 is aoi saying that picking it would require leaving people to die #and akane has nothing but her trust that junpei is good and wouldnt do something so horrible to rely on #but then it happens and she cant handle the uncertainty she wasnt ready for ANY of this to happen #not only did junpei betray the others he betrayed HER in so many ways he doesnt realize #he did what he thought was good for june but its exactly the opposite hes not only damned her #but he trapped her in a room with the disgusting corpse that she put there and everything throws her off #and she has to confront that even junpei is unpredictable and is capable of evil and that she herself has fucked up so much #she cant escape this without literally STEPPING INTO the entrails of someone she killed #and its all just too much and she completely loses it #so yeah for me its less a mental breakdown cuz she feels bad for murder #but more a breakdown because shes been betrayed and caught off guard and has a brief realization of how terrifying her actions are #those may sound the same but they arent please guys please :(#as you can see im very normal about this and good god 999 is so fucking good

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raspberryjellybrains · 1 year ago

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image I.D. below the cut

image description start:

[a promotional picture of Sam and Dean Winchester, Sam on the left and Dean on the right, their images from circa 2010. They both stare challengingly into the camera with their arms crossed, though Dean also holds a large blade. The background is a two lane blacktop with an older style of power line and corn on either side. At the top and bottom are flames. Sam says "im restricting", Dean says "and im bingeing" and the flaming text gif at the bottom reads "the eating disorder brothers.]

image description end.

#theyre both so unwell #grew up in a financially unstable environment and coped opposite ways.#and i left it broad on purpose bc theres a lot of ways you can interpret their weird shit about food #bc i too am deeply unwell i counted every time sam eats on screen (not sits next to a plate of food–actually puts it in his mouth) and its #22 times. less than twice a season. i realize this could be in large part bc jared didnt want to have to act that but im choosing to Believe #not in him but my mentally ill agenda. bc you wanna look at me and say that hes totally normal aboht this when he has a guilt complex #autonomy issues a holdup with purity/cleanliness a boatload of self-loathing and an obsession with control.#and this feels familiar so just message or comment for credit or removal :)#i dont mean to plagiarize #also i didnt talk about it much but. dean definitely sees food as an assurance of safety and turns to it when under duress to the point of #excess. and also gets very specific and protective/territorial about his food.#so.#this is a silly meme but there are so many thoughts behind it #sam winchester #dean winchester #spn #ed mention

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thebigqueer · 1 year ago

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unrelated to that rb but im thinking about it and i dont think piper liking jason was ever a forced heteronormativity thing i think she genuinely liked him

#like i relate to her so much cuz like i also like guys and even though at this point in my life im more attracted to girls ive never #considered my guy crushes as 'not knowing i was queer' i think i genuinely liked them #but also the concept of piper not dealing with her internalized amatonormativity hits sooooo hard like i didnt even think of it like that #the fact she moved on from jason so quick too. not that she needs to always feel sad for him but it had to have been like at max 4 months #which isnt to say people cant move on its just for your ex bf dying that seems so quick to me #her turning to romance again to help her problems because its just what shes always been led to believe #especially as a daughter of aphrodite.... wow many thoughts. want to put her in the microwave #in other news i totally admit as cute as her and shel are it was definitely forced as a way to 'show' she was queer #but she didnt need a girl to show she was queer she could hvae just told it honestly. not everyone who finds out theyre queer is immediatel #in a relationship and you dont always need a relationship to realize youre queer #sorry that post got me thinking about other things lol #piper mclean #riordanverse

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silverselfshippingchaos · 10 months ago

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one day I'll be able to tell what I feel towards certain characters LMAAAOOO

#ash rambles 💚#i sometimes talk about how i identify as unlabeled and how that affects me as a person. especially as a punjabi woman. that feeling of being #marginalized different special and ultimately alone in so many ways. but a lot of my unlabeledness comes from a blatant hatred of calling #myself things. defining myself has always felt like a form of oppressing myself. i dont want to live in a box when thats what the world sees #me as. you have to learn how to get people to realize that youre so much more than Nerdy Indian Kid. and that's hard. and so i have this #tendency to merely accept feelings for what they are as opposed to dwelling on them at all #as a result there happens to be a lot of characters in which i go 'yeah i'd hit that.. but i wouldn't date that'. i dont label a lot of l #relationships. i see feelings as something very fluid. i think that we're all free birds at the end of the day #sorry for the ramble. this is all a long way for me to say that i literally dont know what i feel towards a new character LMAAAAOOO #is he a blorbo??? maybe. is he hot??? maybe. do i just have old man related issues??? yeah. am i crushing??? maybe.#do i wanna be his friend??? maybe. then again his source material is so complicated that i cant really put a label on anything since it's #all shifting constantly.#I'm... too embarrassed to say which character I'm thinking about!#but as a hint so maybe you can figure out what universe he's from...#'it's not a lake. it's an ocean.'

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automatic-midnight · 10 months ago

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My biased, really unpopular take is that I think rit/su/maya is an objectively boring ship.

#just to be clear I don’t hate it there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the ship it’s just such a nothing burger to me #like ok yes without a doubt Maya has a crush on Ritusko absolutely this is backed up by canon material #but from Ritsukos side the most the viewer comes away with is that Ritsuko holds mayas skills in decently high regard #a few moments of friendly chit chat and that’s it #it would be one thing if we actually saw Ritsukos more personal opinions on Maya but we never see that so fandom has to fill in the blanks #and now barring that all aside it’s just a ship dynamic even when fleshed out in fanon that im not intrigued by #in a show where the characters are so messy and terrible the ship feels so out of place #ohhhh Maya could fix Ritsuko NO she could not #the only way I could find the ship interesting is if you get weird with it #like focus on the inherent power imbalance of a boss and an employee how would they deal with that?#how would things change as the show progresses and Maya realizes Rituskos blurred morals #how would the ship work with Gendo in the picture? how would Maya actually help ritusko overcome her issues and deep rooted problems #and even with all that being said it’s just not interesting to me #Maya doesn’t have enough going as a character for me to care to ship her with Ritsuko #this is partly why I like misaritsu so much #you know so much about their individual characters and their dynamics that it’s easy to expand it further into hypothesizing #their relationship in a romantic light #evangelion #like misato and Ritsuko are individually super well written fleshed our characters and on top of that put in moments like the elevator scene #or Ritsukos flashback to talking about when Misato hooked up with Kaji for a week #or just every time Ritsuko looks at Misato if you really want to reach #there so many moments of good characterization between them that it’s so easy to ship them #the point I’ll give to ritsu/Maya is that the one sided crush is 100% intentional and implied in canon #Misato and Ritsukos relationship (as far as I’m aware) was never intended to be romantic or queer coded or anything like that #i’m not delusional #I don’t think anno or sadamoto was writing subtextual nuclear toxic yuri when they were thinking about Misato and ritsukos relationship #no one was in the writing room saying “oh boy I can’t wait to write subtext about how comphet Ritsuko is in unrequited love with Misato”#I’m not that far gone but purely from a potential ship perspective misaritsu has so much more going for it #asu/rei too that’s another super interesting f/f ship that people ignore #asurei isn’t my do or die ship but that’s a ship that’s genuinely super interesting to think about as a potential romantic relationship

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winterdusktales · 2 years ago

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yg has conditioned ot7 ikon to be a touring group so now even when they all left yg, all they (ikon & hanbin) do is tour and join various music festivals. like i know those guys would prefer inviting other artists to guest in their concert over inviting them for a quick tiktok challenge or something

#also why they dont have much close idol friends outside yg or ex yg artists #kinda frustrating sometimes as a multi cuz i want them interacting w other artists who arent or never have been related to yg #they love that slow build friendship over music collab than a quick tiktok challenge for clout sksksk #but like theyre capitalists too so which easier way to get those 💸💸💸 and keep ur stans loyal than a tour #all they have to do is perform on stage (which theyre v comfy with) and do some fan service #so its a win win #plus they get to travel #if i were an idol i'd prefer this tbh #imagine if yg didnt gatekeep and sabotage their career before #theyd be soooo rich now w all the sold out world tours every year #but yg did and theyre still on the nugu side #so i think they should consider doing different things outside their comfort zone to promote themselves better #hanbin is actually doing well w it despite the restrictions #but ikon....#can they stop relying on their company cuz even their new one isnt doing a great job promoting them #honestly they need a better team behind them #they did change companies but their managers are still the same sksksk #so how theyre managed is still the same -.-#i have so much to say but i just realized i put way too many tags #lol bye #one of those days again where i have to let smth out before i sleep TT #but u know... one can always say theyre doing it for the art and not the fame 🤷🏻‍♀️#but knowing my man #junhoe #i know that diva wants to be famous #while still be in it for the art #he literally had an old interview saying ikon has a potential to be famous #my fellow envisioner <3 #jana rambles

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unproduciblesmackdown · 2 years ago

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spent the evening reading through all of the like galley pdf copy of the 2 trans 2 furious zine and a great time start to finish like it was Not an effort to keep at it despite its being like 160 pgs. and despite my not having ever seen a f&f movie or really especially directly "correctly" being interested, though i'd ofc love to see any of the films like live & in person w/a bunch of trans strangers, say

laughed and teared up multiple times and thought about how impressive and creative entries were and like, the momentum was easy, everything was engaging and intriguing and invigorating and enriching....and Printed Editions (that ship to US & canada) are still available for pre-order, for about another week (also the window given for us going over the digital copy for edits/corrections lol) soooo. again i like haven't seen any f&f movies, and that didn't impede anything at all, and it was a fantastic time:

and another reason i'm like Oh My God So Appropriate To Have Sent In An Entry is how, like, it's all transformative fun and serious yet not somber Media Analysis on media you don't have to have actually even seen, or "like" straightforwardly, or at all, or be the "correct" audience for, or have an "intended" interpretation, lol, lmao....like this is Extremely our shit out here lol, what one is up to all the time in the world of Billions Series Analysis like, personally haven't even seen it, i'm not cishet enough to be the intended audience or otherwise sharing various particular assumed perspectives that are occasionally required to even parse, much less enjoy, some material....and yet!!

and like, if there was an all-autistic contributor's fun fan media analysis / commentary / parody / exploration / transformation / etc zine about billions? it'd be like wow how exactly me, and yet ofc i'd be at way more of a loss at what to scream abt winnie, perhaps ft. & tay, and the overall [billions]ing, much less how to actually execute that lol. it was easier to do a Very 101 Intro To: Cam Stone Exists Btw, nonbinarily, in that i limited myself to One Page so i could actually feasibly get it done, but in doing so i, as expected, could only say a fraction of what i could say about cam, were i explaining things in full / just unleashed, and skim the surface but just go "they exist btw and here's a tiny bit of further 101 info." it's not like, An Issue, b/c i don't think the [everything] that i could say would work great in full, and i can't write a great little short form piece of text about them (or winston, or anything else)....but it was also like, well if a trans f&f zine Doesn't have the trans f&f character in it then what are we doing, and We Know Of Cam Stone, so the most feasible [handing out a flyer] version of telling ppl they exist has gotta be done

and it's like, it's (relatively?) matter of fact to this end of only having so much room to put in words, and definitely ending up having to squeeze lines in vs struggling to fill the space. it could've been weirder, or funnier, or hornier, but it successfully exists and maybe it's a little weird, funny, and horny (drew an Especially [ooh sexy cam stone]-tinged pic lol) and whatever is difficult for me to perceive abt my own personality infusion in whatever, like how i have to be reminded like oh right, my Art Style, the way that Eye draw lol....and of course, i can't and don't expect my one page informative crash course intro to cam stone to be able to be Everything, any more than years' worth of lots of [winston billions] material in various formats of various extensiveness from various angles has been Everything. and the zine as a whole can't be Everything but it is, in fact, So Much abt So Many Things from so many different approaches. i enjoyed everything, especially like, "An Ode to X" as in fast x, which evolves into "x" as an (implicitly nonbinary) in-universe character and i was Moved and teared up, and i see it immediately follows "Jason Statham Will Call My Dad A Pussy In Fast 12" which moved me and made me tear up, which follows an entry that's a haiku about each film, none of which i've seen, which i didn't get misty about of course but was fully engaged with and enjoys, which follows my entry

there's naturally plenty about roads and horizons and racing and speed and i'm also like, i'm a gay who can drive, and i can feel it re: the trans contributor whose entry mine follows which is about their irl experiences driving in a demolition derby, inspired by f&f. and i can feel it re: enjoying f&f beyond how you're "supposed" to, or how you would in a cishet(tm) way, and how so many of these entries had resonance, and that intrigue and engagement, and lenses on where to find explorations of gendering which will kind of Have to come up whenever anything succeeds in approaching things that are genuine and really truly more To Life, even while the point of f&f is not to be "realistic," especially about, you know, the driving and what you can do with cars, which i fully appreciate and definitely understood more for cam stone being in a story ramming through a wall outracing an avalanche hacking cop cars and defusing bombs and ramping over bucket wheel mining excavators and being swept out of the way of a train that was going full speed but silent until like 0.05 sec ago when it also burst through a wall or something? and whomever all is involved with racing like a rocket launch fr. and having fun, being yourself, and killing people, hell yeah

and like, the [this is like my autistic ass out here laser pointing at winston billions as autistic and having that lens on this media that doesn't intend it or directly invoke it] relevance also Of Course in that, through kompenso, that is where it is like yes as i have that personal symposium of ongoing compounding unfolding branching distilling consideration, analysis, appreciation, transformation, etc going on, so too does my colleague as the world's preeminent tayficionado, which is where they looked into akd's oeuvre and found the cam stone material, and passed it on to me, then passed on the [zine call for trans f&f contributions], So

and that, just like as is also found crucially in kompenso / the then preexisting & all eventually following winnie n tay material, there's that Autistic and Trans resonance. some particular quotes from this zine were especially like, oh, pointing, pointing...."Thirty minutes into my visit, I suddenly just didn’t want to be there anymore. I didn’t feel angry, not really very sad at all either. I just longed to be elsewhere. A different place, with different people, within a different moment. And then every cell in my body pleaded to not feel that way in all of my moments, in every group of people, in all places." ....[from a poem, ft. formatting thusly:] "It made me feel important, kind of? Like, more present? Like people talked about me a lot but never exactly about ME, if you know what I mean. I mean, of course sometimes I could feel something inside of me. A sneaking or, like, a skittering. I just kind of figured everyone feels that sometimes, like really deep down, right? It’s just that no one really talks about it, you know. That’s what I figured." ....[from a section of a contribution w/the context of the author not yet knowing that they're trans]: "but he was familiar and didn’t make me think too critically about much in the world, especially myself, especially as he never seemed too interested to ask me about me—not that I would’ve had much insight to share at the time beyond “please do not think too deeply about how I am.”"; and then, w/the context that they do realize, and have expressed, that they're trans: "but I was still learning about the concept of mattering, so I didn’t push the issue of basic respect at the time." ....from another submission, that is Sooo: "maybe i am transing Fast and Furious just by loving it" ...."Discovering, loving, and sharing this franchise (and myself) with others has been such a wildly different experience—maybe even the opposite experience—than self-policing myself into who I thought I should be. It’s nourishing, welcoming—an open invitation to learn and grow rather than an ongoing test to constantly worry about failing."

an ongoing test to constantly worry about failing....here ofc a parallel to Gendering, and, ofc, the autistic & trans [handshake] and resonance, to Autisting....i resonated with plenty, genderingly, but this wasn't a surprise or even like, my focus, and of course not all the entries themselves Textually mention [gendering], but it's like, a trans space in a zine lol, a baseline of that understanding and perspective, vs having to be actively looking. nonzero textual neurodivergence mentions, too, and other lenses of ways to be Othered / non normative, like race, nationality, religion. the overarching, Constant [omg sooo me] resonance is that of like, having this foundation of refusing Limits, of approaching a Rich Text a hundred different ways, w/different tones, and different formats, and different experiences and ideas explored. you don't need the source material to acknowledge any noncishet people textually exist (to be understood by noncishet audiences), or to be deemed Good, or Enjoyed, or your entry to be proffered as like, correct and definitive rather than One exploration you could offer up, amongst many offered by many others who could say more, again, differently....i've been like, balancing excitement for having this contribution, and its being like ooh fancy lol this is the one time i can say i have (non self-)published work, and it'll be Out There, and (including all contributors' gifted copies) apparently that ft. abt a thousand printed copies atm, and the digital distribution option hasn't happened yet....along with, like, it can't even be my comprehensive, definitive [cam stone exists btw] theoretical Ideal Entry lol b/c that would not be feasible for me to make or to be put into a zine. knowing i have Points on my side for it being crucially relevant lore (and the competition being hotter for the small form text entries, though there's other illustrations, comics, collages, edits, etc) like, yeah the strength of this isn't in its being as weird or funny or horny as anything could be, lol....but my Personality is embedded in it as per like, see: how that Journey of relevant interests and enthusiasms and engagements and perspectives and weirder, hornier, more extensive and varied works led up to and contribute to this piece's existence (such as, years of drawing winston 9000 times being part of how my drawing looked in march, when i made the cam stone piece)

and like, in not seeing everything as a test to fail, in seeing [when are you seeing things as that test to fail], &/or similarly/overlappingly seeing [when are you seeing things as a test to Prove Value to others or something and achieve person status in their eyes b/c of it] like, lol, i hope a thousand plus ppl learn cam stone exists, and it'd be fun if they enjoy that process. put in little floaty hearts as flair, just as i often do, b/c by now i just Know and Embrace that i do. and i'm not like "i hope everyone ever is blown away" b/c why would they be lol, and that's fine. like how even in [i just say some shit abt winston billions, and ofc abt myself and my experiences / perspectives through winston billions while knowing that's not what's "meant" out here probably maybe though put me through to will roland, yknow...] i'm like oh don't be thinking abt proving your value w/this specific oeuvre lol like. anyone Caring as validation like, it's too late by now, i like people liking shit and getting anything out of it but it's like, i'm doing my thing, i'm having a specific ass symposium abt quantent and billionsing "wrong" that eye enjoy, i enjoy getting any feedback/attention on shit i put out there in case ppl wanna partake, i don't enjoy any/all of it in any/all ways just so long as it's Anything, yknow. like same with interactions/attention on Me as an autistic person who actually exists, lol. speaking being exhausting when it's ppl saying shit At me, would-be "positive" attention that's from someone like deciding what i'm like or what i'm communicating and wanting something from me, that shared discussion Abt something can only be a gateway into like "normal" exchanges to "normally" socialize, finding that pattern of not being worth effort unless it's effort that gets something out of hurting you / thwarting you; all versus: i have plenty of expertise knowing myself vs needing feedback, i like doing my thing, i like doing my thing Alongside others, probably strangers, within a certain context, like being cooped up at college and socially recharging by going ""alone"" to the coffeeshop down the block, while going "with" people would generally be a mixed bag if not disheartening to even distressing. which, here i am, doing my little thing alongside strangers in this context of transgendering and fun and serious but not not funny and varying and daring and earnest materials exploring something that's about anything or everything or nothing, and not made for You, but here you are anyways, as you always have been

anyways, that is to say, like, perfect that it's turned out so like "yeah you don't need to have seen the movies even" and such enriching Reflections and like, so different and yet cohesive without needing to like, painstakingly group or order things to create some Connections, they're all there, and i'm like damn yeah cam's quarter-mile V neck, so fucking true. and i'm like, this is so Me, without having to be like, "and that is b/c i have put Me on the page, in full, with utmost success, and Everyone Will Love It (Me)" lol, which was not like, a danger, but that's through all the years of going [everything is a test i'm failing / can fail at any moment] and yknow, even up to recently and this very moment wrangling with and realizing things like, hand on shoulder are you looking to "earn" some estimation of Value in others' eyes that they can only choose to give by seeing everyone as a fellow person w/inherent value who deserves basic respect. like the mortality mondays that ramped up since late january, but also since '09, but also since like forever in different forms, and back when first discovering billions and, for like the only time while we've been watching, Knowing when everything in a season will air, but also not thinking i'd get to see it, and now in a similar boat, but different (having done "nothing" on paper over the years but like, been Realizing Things, been powering up, been assigning the Value to myself and Understanding myself & my experiences further. and also other things that you Could put on paper, but yknow), and like, it's still about [grr let me see billions through, even though i don't even see billions] and still about [!!!] despite it all and things that are "unserious" and also not and who needs like a certain kind of validation from enough of certain kinds of people

anyways, the autistique resonance within it, and in the process of reading it, and having our specific path to sending something in, and making it. it's an excellent ride and it's very epic that it exists so consider that print copy preorder if you want (plus the intended eventual digital distribution option, not yet available)

#2 trans 2 furious #cam stone #reiterating this blog's lore like: this [this zine] submission from me made possible by nothingunrealistic.tumblr.com #also featured here as: the world's preeminent tayficionado and in further implicit / indirect presence and relevance #also going Lol at ppl mentioning their adhd vs [these films] or [sitting through Any film] or [these action scenes] like yea same too #not re: specifically having seen these movies lol but. in theory and in my own practice....#something something also just like. rejecting [the test to fail] like i feel like i have less of a buffer or smthing. b/w me & others #not the other way around lol. idk plenty to say and i'm obviously not even raring to say it lmao #if i verbalize shit i'm going to be doing it in Many Words; which takes time & effort; b/c to do it in few words takes too much more time &#effort or occasionally someone else's....and; nonrhetorically; for what #speaking of audhd i Have stepped outside time to Write A Bunch Of Text here; i Have reentered to realize it's half past 5am....#and i haven't made an omelet [weary emoticon] here i go....#but i Did have an easy time spending like all evening / into the night reading right through this whole thing (with some small breaks)#oh yeah and forgot to say my One Edit was saying ''i thought abt saying And I'm Autistic in my bio but then didn't put it in but afterwards #was like i should've put it in so let's put it in'' & noticing like 7 small formatting errors in entirely [not mine] sections & etc lol

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