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babeyun · 8 days ago

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fool me three times... ✩ s.jy [m]

synopsis: you've come home late twice this week, and for the third time to be on jake's birthday is not as charming as they say. genre: established relationship, pwp (sigh...), angst/smut/tiny bit of fluff pairing: sim jaeyun x fem!reader word count: 3.3k rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: swearing, angry?jake, mentions of jay (poor guy). petnames (baby..sir [free me!!!!]), mentions of voyeurism/3way. biting, spitting, a singular slap (below the belt), oral (f.rec), fingering (f.rec), squirting, degrading, no aftercare (but it's fine i promise) listen to: fallin' - dawn, pH-1 ; abyss - dawn ; meddle about - chase atlantic author's note: i wrote this on a whim, and i'm not entirely happy with it (smut is not my forte nor do i love writing it.) i'd originally planned to take one of my ideas out of the vault and write it in advance, but i got slammed with schoolwork. i am so, so tired as i write this note. happy birthday, jaeyun. i love u.

It's twelve-forty-two in the morning.

This is the third time this week that Jake finds himself sitting on the couch, alone in your shared apartment. He's turned all the lights off, legs crossed over one another as he checks his phone for the fifth time. Nothing.

He sighs inwardly, leaning further into the soft cushions of the couch. You'd picked this out together, and it was one of your favorite places to spend time together that wasn't your bedroom. The soft brown suede had seen the two of you in many situations – cuddling under a soft white blanket Jake's mom gave you for Christmas last year. Sharing a bowl of cereal because you were too lazy to get up and make your own, but you gladly stood up and refilled his bowl. Holding hands tightly when a scary scene came on the television, crashing on the couch after dancing around together to Fallin' by Dawn and pH-1.

Kissing like two desperate lovers, unable to even take your clothes off to fully feel each other's skin. This couch had seen you in every position imaginable, the cushion on the far right the usual place for your face if Jake was too excited to make it to the bedroom.

You were so busy these days. You hadn't had a date night in three weeks, hadn't had sex in two…and unfortunately – it's making him a little insane.

Recently…the couch had seen more and more of Jake, alone. Jake sitting alone, popcorn bowl in his lap as he waited for you to come home from work. Jake, laying down while wearing the oversized hoodie you'd worn the day before, engulfed in the soft grapefruit notes of your perfume. Jake, letting Layla up on the couch to snuggle with because he can't feel your warmth at that moment.

Jake, missing you.

He sighs again, flipping his phone over.

12:45AM.

No new messages from you, no missed calls. Just the soft sound of Abyss by Dawn.

Where have you gone? You were his best friend. His best friend wrapped gently in the sheets of his love, filled to the brim with his soft words and loving caresses. You were his best friend, his lover, his everything. He saw himself in you, his whole purpose was you.

"Shh, he's probably asleep." He hears your voice from the other side of the front door, before hearing you try to gently slide your key in the lock. His eyes widened, pressing pause on the song before bolting for the bedroom. He doesn't make it in time, the door opening and his ears picking up on a familiar laugh.

Jay.

"Jongseong, for the love of God." You grit, and Jake watches as the two of you carefully toe off your shoes, loads of bags in your hands as Jay snickers to himself, carefully tiptoeing to the kitchen in the dark. The hallway light illuminates the back of you, and you suddenly stiffen, lifting your head to meet Jake's eyes.

He scoffs inwardly, watching as you try to fumble with the lightswitch in the living room just as he slides into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He locks it, hearing you start an argument with Jay in the kitchen as you shut the front door.

Unfortunately, Jake only stews in his anger. He doesn't know why you're late today, but it seems Jay has your attention more than your boyfriend does. Your boyfriend of three years, pushed to the side the day before (and day of) his birthday for a friend you made through Jake.

Jake flips onto the bed, a frustrated groan from his lips as he hears the two of you rustling around in the kitchen. The fact that you haven't even come to the bedroom to let him know that you're home is even more infuriating, and Jake feels his throat start to burn as he holds back angry tears.

Jake had always been good at setting boundaries and putting feelings first, despite being somewhat of a more logical thinker. You were an incredibly emotional person, hidden behind layers of shitty relationships and hurtful friendships, was your tired heart trying to patch itself up. Jake knew that if it was him that did this – not texting you when he'd be home late, letting you agonize over your whereabouts, coming home with one of your friends in tow and giggling like they had some sort of secret…

You'd make a fucking scene.

But Jake can't bring himself to do that. Even in all his anger, his frustration…his hurt, he can't confront you like that. It's not fair, to either of you (or Jay, but who's talking about that guy right now? Not Jake.)

He takes a deep breath, feeling a tear slip down the side of his face. He wipes it away quickly, only standing up from the bed to unlock the door. He takes your hoodie off, the grapefruit perfume making his chest ache. He knows you could just be planning a surprise for him. He knows that, but his mind can't help but wonder as he pulls back the comforter.

Why three late nights, in one week? Why no messages, why no phone calls? You wouldn't even kiss him hello when you arrived, just a tired smile and a soft hey. Your hair was always in disarray, and he knew it was because you liked to drive with the windows down. He knew that.

Sighing, he slips under the covers, facing away from the door. He hears you laugh loudly, before hearing your soft footsteps make their way to the bedroom. He wipes at his eyes, feeling a few more tears trickle down his fingers as he hears the door open gently.

He doesn't turn to face you, instead choosing to squeeze his eyes shut when he hears you sigh gently.

"I know you're awake." You murmur, but he doesn't respond. He doesn't turn around, choosing to breathe through his mouth to hide the fact that your behavior drove him to tears. You click your tongue, and he hears the zipper of your pants. You're moving around, undressing from the pretty pink blouse and grey slacks he chose for you that morning.

He pulls the covers up further, covering his bare shoulders before feeling your hand on the back of his neck. Your fingertips are warm, your thumb gently circling his pulse point. "Jake." "What?" He mutters, the bite of his tone not going unnoticed. You sigh, and he peels open one eye to look up at you. "What, Y/N?" He sees your eyes scan his face, before your hand on his neck gives a soft squeeze. "I love you." He doesn't like how quickly the knot in his stomach goes away at your words, or the way you can tell his cheeks and ears are tinging pink. He scoffs, closing his eye and moving from your touch. "I love you, too. Keep it down."

"Mmh." You hum in response, but he feels your hand card through his hair. He huffs, before feeling your lips press gently on his temple. "I miss you, my baby." You say against his skin, and pull away entirely. He hears you open his dresser drawer, and the rustling of his clothing being pulled onto your body. He opens his eyes to see you tug on a random shirt of his, pulling your hair out of the neckline before opening the door.

"Y/N, where is your butter?!" Jay calls, and you quickly shut the door, scampering down the hall.

He can hear the two of you bickering before you groan frustratedly, and he can hear Jay say he's going to the store. You argue that you don't even really need the butter for the cake, but Jay's words take Jake by surprise.

"Maybe go spend some time with him while I'm out of here. You know, I love you because you're my friend, but you're really dense today. Sometimes your boyfriend just needs you."

You didn't reply, or at least Jake doesn't think you did as he hears the door open and close. He hears you groan, and he's out of bed before he can even realize it. He grabs the hoodie back off the top of the dresser, shoving his head through it before yanking the door open.

"Y/N." He calls from the threshold of the bedroom, and you poke your head out of the kitchen. Your eyes are wide, but he can see how tired you are by the bags under your eyes. You probably took it off during your overtime, you'd been doing that a lot lately.

He sighs, closing the bedroom door behind him as he walks towards the kitchen. You step out, shaking your head. "You can't go in there, Jake. I'm…we…" "I'm just going to get the butter for you." He rolls his eyes, pushing past and looking away from all the stuff on the counter – but not before catching a glimpse of baby blue frosting in a bag. There were egg cartons stacked neatly, and three gallons of milk. Too many bags of flour to count, and Jake opens the freezer to pull out the butter he'd put up there earlier.

He'd gone grocery shopping by himself, because you weren't able to get off work. He wasn't upset about it, but he remembers you liked to freeze the butter until you had to use it. He doesn't remember why, but the habit stuck with him.

Just like all of your other little habits.

Your eyes are wide as he slides it onto the island, before worming back out of the kitchen. He doesn't say anything to you, only slinking past your tired shoulders when you manage to grab his fingers. He stops in his tracks, sighing as you skirt around to face him. He looks down at you, a tense clench in his jaw as he moves his brows in query.

"Don't be mad." You breathe, both your hands now holding his wrist and fingers. Your eyes search his face, finding the anger in the twitch of his brows before he shakes his head. "I'm not. I'm just tired." "I'm tired too, but I'm not looking at you like that." Jake feels his head swim as he takes in the tinge of guilt in your voice. He knows you're trying to do something nice for him, even if you're shitty at keeping secrets. He knows you're not doing anything to hurt him, you just have a horrible way of executing things.

He appreciates you nonetheless, because he knows that you're trying your best. Your schedule is jam-packed – your days are long and frustrating, full of people that need your help constantly, full of you having to make decisions for everyone else.

Jake being someone who values quality time clashed with that. He remembers how he'd squeeze in seeing you during your lunch break when you first started dating, just to have a moment alone. He remembers even waking up early to drive to your old apartment and sit in your bedroom while you got ready for work, just for a chance to give you a good morning kiss.

He made time. You're making time.

"I'm sorry." You speak again, your hands squeezing his arm lightly. "Yeah?" He shakes his head, but you nod quickly, your hands floating to his face.

"I am, I'm sorry. I know I should be–" "Prove it." He cuts you off, his face just inches from yours. Your eyes are glued to his lips, before they flicker up to his. He furrows his eyebrows at you expectantly, your tongue wetting your own lips just slightly. "How?" "You know how." His response is curt, and you swallow hard. "...Can I kiss you?" He doesn't respond, opting to answer physically. His lips press to yours gently, hands snaking around your waist to pull you closer to him. He craved your presence, in any way he could have it. He feels you sigh into his mouth as his fingers slip under your shirt, pinching at the soft skin.

"Bedroom." You mumble against his lips, and he shakes his head. "Right here." His lips move down your jaw, before his teeth catch your earring, tugging it gently. You groan as his hands move under your sweatpants, palming at your ass as you struggle to speak. "Jay-" He growls against your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin before running his tongue over it. "I don't give a shit about Jay. We can give him a show if he wants to watch."

He reconnects your lips, tongue sliding into your mouth as he moves the two of you back to the couch. His fingers push your sweatpants down as the back of your legs hit the cushion, and you look over at the door, seeing it slightly ajar and unlocked. "The door–" "Fuck the door." He groans, tugging your underwear down in one go. He pushes you gently back against the couch before kneeling in front of you, tugging the clothing off your bottom half before yanking you closer to him by your ankle. You yelp before feeling him bite at your inner thigh. "Jake!" "That's for being late on Monday." He mutters, before sinking his teeth into your other thigh, a whimper from your throat catching his attention. "That's for being late on Thursday." "I'm sorry, I was just–" "I don't want to hear it." He interrupts, shrugging. He lowers his head again, watching you brace yourself for the sharp pain of his teeth, smiling to himself before spitting on your pussy. You jolt, but can't say anything as he quickly drags his tongue through your slit. He laps at you like a dog, messily collecting your arousal on his tongue as you breathe heavily.

His nose bumps your clit as he avoids touching it with his tongue entirely, opting to thrust the wet muscle into your hole as you whine his name out desperately. "J-Jake, please, I'm sorry–" He pulls away, his lips and chin covered in your slick as he runs the tips of his cold fingers through your folds. "You know, you could've texted me."

You shudder as his thumb makes contact with your clit, the pressure light as he circles it. "I know, Jakey, I'm–" "Or called. I paid the phone bill, and I got the confirmation email. Your phone works." He interjects, nodding his head as he eases the tip of his middle finger into you, smiling to himself as your head lolls back. "I'm sorry." You breathe out, Jake's finger curling inside you to brush that spot that makes your eyes roll. He only hums in response, feeling you cover his hand in your arousal as he slowly adds another finger, relishing in the wet sound of your pussy against his hand. "You're going to prove it to me, right? Gonna cum all over my hand, right? That's all you're good for, anyway." His tone is condescending, making you clench around his fingers. His eyes widen, before a low chuckle slips through his lips. "You like that? Being nothing but a hole for me to use?" You whimper, hiding your face in your hands as your hips meet Jake's fingers, only for his hand to slip out and land a sharp smack against your clit. You gasp, your legs threatening to close as Jake bullies his shoulders between them, his fingers slipping back into you with practiced ease.

"You can't call, you can't text, and now you can't speak. Forgive me for thinking your brain would work for anything." He rolls his eyes, feeling his cheeks flush at his own words. The two of you had never explored this, only sweet nothings and soft praises expressed between you, even a soft slut thrown in if the night was especially raunchy.

"I'm sorry, Jake, I'm sorry." Your thighs are trembling on his shoulders, and he scoffs against your skin. "Yeah, yeah."

He lowers his head, lips latching onto your swollen clit. His eyes flutter shut at the taste of you, his knees weak at the idea of having gone so long without it. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he curls his own upwards, the tug of yours making him moan into your wet cunt. Soft gasps of don't stop hitting his ears, and he knows he should be upset at you but it would take an entire army to pry him off you at that moment.

He feels you clamp down on his fingers, your back arching off the couch as he feels your release soak his face and hoodie, dripping down his fingers onto the carpet. He slurps at you eagerly, his fingers overstimulating you as you try to pull him away by his hair. "J-Jake, s'too much…" You trail off, not able to finish your sentence as he tongues at your clit with vigor, your thighs clamping shut around him. "One more, c'mon. One more, show me how sorry you are."

He hears you cry his name out softly, eyes looking up to see your head thrown back against the couch, chest moving up in shallow breaths. He kisses up your stomach, nipping as he moves up, his fingers never slowing their pace as he pushes your shirt up with his free hand, cool fingers palming at your chest. His fingers gently toy with your nipple, a soft groan from you as your thighs start to shake a bit harder.

"You're sorry, right?" He lifts himself to meet your face, your eyes glistening with unshed tears as you nod. "You'll call or text when you're going to be late, right, angel?" "Yes." You whisper as his lips ghost over yours. "Yes, what?" "Yes, sir." Your eyes flutter shut, and he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Open."

Your lips part with a pathetic whimper of his name, before he gracefully spits onto your tongue. His lips press to yours quickly, suppressing your moans as his fingers pick up their pace, feeling your release drip all over his hand and the couch. "I love you, okay? I just get worried." His mumbles are soft in comparison to the degrading words he'd said earlier, and you can't bring yourself to speak back as you nod against his lips. You kiss him back slowly, putting all your energy into it. "I'm sorry." "It's okay. Are you okay? Let me get a towel, okay?"

You shake your head, carding your fingers through his hair and holding him close. His fingers slip out of you, a dull ache between your thighs as he taps your knee. "Baby, c'mon." "Please." You murmur against his lips, and he feels a flustered smile taking over as he shakes his head. "Jay'll be back soon–"

"Oh, come on." Jay's voice rings through the air, and Jake looks up to see the guy covering his eyes as he runs into the kitchen. Jake's ears burn in embarrassment, only to feel you tug on the sleeve of his hoodie. "Please, Jakey." "Jay–" "You said you didn't care earlier. Why do you care now?" You pout, canting your hips against the tent in his shorts, watching his eyes flutter shut and his lip tucked between his teeth. "You're so–" "Can you guys please take it elsewhere?" Jay whines from the kitchen, and you snort. Jake sighs inwardly, awkwardly rooting around for your sweatpants before finding them just beneath him, entirely soaked.

"Fuck." He shoves the material up your legs anyway, before wrapping your legs around his waist, lifting you up carefully as Jay peeks out the kitchen. "I assume I'm in here alone for the rest of the night?" You smile at him over Jake's shoulder, "Unless you want to join."

Jake stops, looking over his shoulder at one of his oldest friends. Jay's face looks a bit conflicted, his brows furrowed but cheeks pink with embarrassment. Jake's throat clearing garners the older man's attention, a small smile on Jake's lips.

"You wouldn't say no to your best friend on his birthday, would you?"

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writingwithfolklore · 7 months ago

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How to Hold Yourself Accountable as a Professional Writer

Okay maybe you’re not self-employed or professional yet and writing definitely isn’t bringing in the big bucks, but you’d like it to some day, and you’re working right now on making that a reality. This post is for you, because the best time to practice getting into a healthy writing habit and holding yourself accountable to writing for that future where it’s your full time gig is now—before it’s essential to do so.

1. It will never be easy

It’s easy to think that maintaining a schedule or habit for writing would be easy if only it was your full-time gig and all you needed to do. While it might be easier than trying to cram in writing between classes or jobs, it will never be easy. You’re always going to have multiple things going on, there’s always going to be something you could be or need to be doing other than writing. Developing good habits right now, when it is really hard, is going to set you up far better than just waiting for it to get easy before you fully commit to it.

2. Set a schedule that actually works for you

I did a whole post on making a writing schedule you can actually manage and maintain here:

But the TL;DR is that in order to keep to a schedule, you have to make sure it’s attainable. Fit when you write around your other life schedule. For example, if you’re really not a morning person, planning on waking up at 5am every morning to write for a couple hours is probably not something you’ll be able to maintain. But setting aside an hour before bed may be more manageable for you.

3. Form a habit

To train your brain to make your writing schedule a habit you’ll actually stick to, you should make it into a routine. Similar to how you have a bedtime routine that sets you up to feel sleepy at night, a routine that sets you up for writing will make it harder to turn away from your manuscript, and help inspire a productive writing block.

You can create a writing playlist with songs that inspire your project you listen to whenever you begin writing, make a tea or other drink to sip on while you write, grab a snack, share your schedule with a writing buddy and write together, put together a document of inspiring quotes, photos, or other muses you can read, or really anything that gets you into the writing mood. By following this routine every time you set up to write, you’ll train your brain to get into a mindset that will make it easier to stick to your writing block.

4. Reward yourself

Brains love doing things for a reward. Maybe after a productive writing block you can spend some time doing something else you love, like watching an episode of your favourite show, lighting a candle, taking a bath, or having a glass of wine, I don’t know, anything that would give your brain the happy juice in response to your good work.

5. Set deadlines and goals

Writing consistently is basically the majority of the battle. I don’t typically worry about word count, but I do know that it can be helpful for others to set wordcount goals and deadlines to ensure productivity. If that sounds like you, make sure your goals are actionable while also being attainable. “Finish novel” isn’t a great goal, but “write 2000 words per week for three months” could be helpful if you know that 2000 words is attainable for you.

Same as before, you can also set rewards for when you reach your goals. I have a big tattoo upcoming if I complete my goal for the year.

The last tip I have for this point is to try to find an accountabili-buddy to hold you to your goals and deadlines if you think that would be helpful for you. As a professional writer, you may be held accountable by an editor or agent, so practicing through asking a buddy to help you set deadlines and deliverables will help prepare you for writing towards a date.

The TL;DR is find out what works for you and practice doing it consistently! Anything else I missed?

#writing #creative writing #writers #writing community #screenwriting #writing inspiration #books #filmmaking #film #writing advice #How to Hold Yourself Accountable as a Professional Writer #professional writing #full time writer #accountability

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mysteria157 · 6 months ago

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Moment Two: Your Daughter's First Pair

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: fluff, profanity (not really), sexual suggestion, slight angst (very minimal).

Word Count: ~3.4k

Summary: Nanami joins you and your daughter for a family tradition, but he may not be as strong as he thinks.

Set in the It Had To Be You universe but you don't need a lot of backstory to follow along.

Notes: This was a random thought that I had based on something that has always been a thing in my family that I wanted to write out. There is nothing significant about this, I have not written Nanami in a LONG time, so I'm trying to warm myself up again. I am so rusty but I'm using fleeting moments of inspiration and taking advantage of it.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome! Happy reading!

Divider: @saradika | Header: myself

MINORS DNI

“You don’t need to hold her so tight.”

“I’m protecting her.”

“And what am I, a goat?”

He raises a brow at your jest, autumn wheat and elegant but nonetheless annoyed as he glares at you. He doesn’t mean it, you know that—it’s all nerves.

“Ken, we don’t have to do this you know? If you’re against the idea, we can wait a few more years.”

“I’m not against it,” he reassures you, adjusting your daughter in his arms. Ulani babbles up at him, her chubby hands digging into a sharply cut cheekbone. He carries on without complaint, already used to her behavior. “This is a tradition, and I understand it but…”

You turn a key chain in one hand, your thumb smoothing along the glittery face of a dog—or is it a cat? The rack is filled with key chains of different colors, animals and objects, bringing back memories of middle school when you would drag your best friend Omelia into this same store in Sendai before it closed down. Despite the many years that have passed, the store chain still has its subtle hues of purples and pinks, earrings punched through purple cardboard paper, pens with wonky erasers, and headbands of different designs.

“But what?” you try to finish for him, smiling up at his nervous form as he lets Ulani talk to him in her own baby language.

Kento pulls in a deep breath as if to steel his nerves and prepare for the inevitable. He’s praying to whoever will listen, trying to use every coping mechanism in the book. He’s wearing jeans that hug his fit thighs and a dark blue short sleeve that shows too much bicep for your liking (you should give him a dress code). There are only so many single and married women and men that you can glare at in a day, and the redhead over by the register is pushing it.

“Will it hurt her?” your boyfriend’s low timber pulls you back, filled with apprehension, and he keeps mahogany eyes on his daughter to avoid showing you just how scared he is. You rub his back to soothe him, tracing the bands of muscle that are tense behind the soft fabric.

“I-I’m worried.”

“And you shouldn’t be. It’s a simple thing, lasts two seconds. Just like when she got her first shots.”

That’s not enough for him, because now Kento furrows his eyebrows in frustration, bouncing his daughter in his arms to entertain her and also soothe himself. “There are a lot of things to consider. The risk of infection. Rejection. What if she hates them? What if they get caught on her clothes? Or her curls? Or—”

“Are we ready?” one of the employee’s sing songs from behind you both, walking towards the singular chair perched against the glass wall of the store.

“I—” Kento croaks, clearing his throat and swallowing loudly. He looks down at you. “Are we?”

In the time you’ve known him, you’ve only seen Kento visibly nervous a handful of times. That stoic demeanor is a smooth, stone-like shell to everyone else besides family and close friends, but you know the weak spots and have glimpsed into the fragmented sections only visible to your eyes. Right now, he’s nervous and fearful beyond belief. That all encompassing love and attention that he shows you from sunup to sundown extends to his daughter as well. If there is one person besides you, who can make Nanami Kento show his emotions freely and without reservation no matter the date, place, or time, it’s Ulani.

“How about you hold her?” you suggest and give him a small push towards the black chair. Two employees work at the small kiosk next to him, unwrapping sterile materials and cotton swabs. Kento’s eyes watch every movement, searching for any sign of threat that can give him the ammunition to take his daughter and never come back. You can practically hear his thoughts:

“Is that up to code?”

“How long has that been sealed?”

“What is the name of the manufacturer so that I can ensure it’s reputable?”

Your roll your own eyes, knowing how right you might be.

When you found out your pediatrician would be on her own maternity leave, you let Kento research every establishment in Tokyo until he found one in Shibuya. Reputable, good reviews, and well-practiced in this procedure.

Of course, you’re nervous too. She’s your daughter, a combination of you and Kento, conceived from a very drunken night of disdain but grown out of eventual love and adoration. The thought of her crying in pain makes that maternal part of you flare with anger and the consuming need to protect her forever. But you’ve prepared for this for awhile.

Kento? Not so much.

“Is that clean?” your boyfriend asks one of the employees, clutching his daughter a little tighter. It’s a little rude, but the employee smiles at him in a way that conveys understanding of his trepidation. This isn’t their first rodeo.

“Completely sterile from the package. I promise she’s in great hands.” Deep eyes free of steampunk-esque glasses flicker up at her in doubt, but he simply sniffs and looks back to his daughter instead to withhold a scathing remark. “How about one of us on each side, and we do it at once?” she suggests, addressing him directly. It helps, as he gives her a somber but curt nod.

He situates Ulani in his arms so she’s sitting fully on his lap, his large hands holding her up with a slight tremble. The sight is enough to remind you again that this is new territory for him. What has always been a normal tradition for you and the other females in your life, is a foreign concept for him.

Ear piercings are a milestone in a young girl’s life. You got yours as a baby, and so did your mother. Omelia got hers as a baby, as did all her female cousins, as did her mother and the mother before her. If you interacted with your mother’s side of the family, then maybe you would know if your cousins also did the same.

But that’s another thought for another time, and you refuse to let painful memories tarnish what should be a memory you are crafting on your own, right now.

You step closer and run your hands through thick blond locks that are free of gel. You brush the strands from his forehead, letting the soft texture slip past your fingertips as he relaxes instantly. With his place in his chair, he’s at the perfect height to rest his head on your stomach, and he does so a second later.

One of his hands brushes light brown curls from his daughters ears. You can feel the unease radiating from him with every deep breath he takes, and you scratch that spot at his nape that makes him shudder, hoping it will help.

The muscles in Kento’s neck bunch together instead when one of the employee’s leans toward Ulani to make marks in deep purple, and even your own stomach turns in response at what’s to come.

“Okay, we will do this on three. How’s that sound honey?” one of the employees coos at your daughter. Ulani, who is a carbon copy of her father, stares up at her, observant and sinking into her daddy before offering a gummy smile. “She’s so pretty.”

“She’s beautiful,” Kento corrects, slightly rough but still appreciative of the compliment. “Aren’t you, my dove?”

He tickles her side and offers a rare chuckle as she squeals up at him, wiggling in her father’s embrace. The sight makes your heart do flips because this is your world, day in and day out. Just you, Kento, and the person you’ve created together.

You step around to squat in front of him so you’re eye level with your daughter, a hand coming up to wiggle the toes covered in a tan sock. Her eyes catch you immediately, and she holds your gaze long enough for the two employees to position themselves on each side of her.

Kento holds his breath.

“Alright, here we go. One. Two. Three.”

They both move in sync, pressing down on the plastic gun so the studs slide through the soft lobe of Ulani’s lower ears. Kento’s eyebrows furl together immediately. Ulani’s eyes widen for a second before her face contorts, her mouth opening in a silent cry. Your heart hammers and your chest tightens in an sudden flood of sadness and desperation that crashes against you like a tumultuous wave when Ulani takes one heaving breath in….

And screams.

His reaction is quick. Kento bounces one leg at a tempo that alarms you, his handsome face flying through different stages of grief, anger, and pain as he watches the employees adjust the diamond earrings to ensure they heal without complication. His mouth opens and closes, jaw grinding to keep his rudeness in check, because you know what he wants to say.

He was the same way when she got her shots; all glares and sharp stares at everyone else because they were the source of her discomfort. But like that time before, you are the cooling balm for his hot anger as you wiggle your daughters toes and murmur soothing words at her, to show him that she’s going to be just fine.

“It’s okay, baby,” you smile softly and it’s enough to capture her attention even though she’s squealing and crying from the sharp but quick pain in her ears. But all too quickly, you’re not enough for her, because the daughter that you carried for almost ten months turns away and reaches for her father, crying loudly in his arms. It’s a sting that you prepared for, but nonetheless hurts with a severity that takes a few seconds for you to recover from.

By the time you pay one of the employees and exit the store, Ulani has already calmed down. Kento digs into the diaper bag on his shoulder and pulls out a cotton cloth, wiping her nose as she sniffles and whines into his shoulder.

“I know honey, I know,” he coos to her, wiping the tears from her light brown skin and swaying back and forth. “But you were so strong, weren’t you? Hmm? A lot stronger than me.”

He pulls her away from his neck, smiling softly at her, and that one smile makes your chest bloom with satisfaction. It’s times like these that remind you how your life has surprisingly fallen into place. Who would have thought that the man who used to drive you insane would be the only one fit for you?

That small twinge of hurt you felt minutes ago when Ulani turned away from you resurfaces, but reassurance cools it’s prickly edges. Even though this is a moment you may have been more connected with, it’s Kento who feels the painful side of it a lot more.

So you give him his own moment. You watch quietly as he kisses her chubby cheeks repeatedly, smiling into her skin at the giggles that leave her. You fall into the hum of the world around you as you watch him tuck away the cotton cloth and smooth the curls away from Ulani’s ears, finally admiring the diamonds that twinkle on each side. The lobes will be red for a few days, but for Ulani, she will never think of them again until she’s old enough to pay attention. Until she’s old enough to change them out to match the outfits she decides to wear, different colors and gemstones, and multiples if she ever has a streak of expression in her teenage years. Like you did.

Kento finally looks down at you, chestnut browns sparkling as he takes you in from head to toe. The harsh Shibuya sun beats down on bustling city square, but the rays are soft when they touch him. Tan skin is illuminated gold on his cheekbones, his hair luminous in the sun. You reach up to run a hand through his locks for the second time this afternoon, your heart still not used to the incessant hammering that arises when he leans into your touch.

You lift an accusatory eyebrow at him and hold back a chuckle when you speak. “Our daughter was the soldier this afternoon, and yet I’m coddling you?”

“Keep coddling,” he demands, voice tinged with mirth as he turns to place a kiss inside of your palm and then leans back into your stroking. “Today was very painful for me, have you no shame?”

You snort and dig your nails into his scalp in retaliation, enjoying the groan that rumbles in the air from your ministrations. “Don’t blame this one moment on your entire day. You had a great run, remember?”

“My slowest three mile run yet.” Quick on the draw, and you already know where this is going. Kento rarely complains, but when he does, it is about the most trivial things as a means to get and keep your attention.

“You made me pancakes this morning.”

“Not my best work. Too much cinnamon in the batter.”

“We made out two hours ago?”

“Ulani woke from her nap and interrupted what would have been a very enjoyable afternoon.” That complaint leaves his mouth in a grumble, and you purse your lips to hold off the laughter that sits in the back of your throat. He’s truly pouting, and god do you love him.

“And now seeing your daughter cry from her first ear piercing was icing on the cake of a bad day, I imagine?”

“Exactly.”

You finally giggle and playfully pull a strand of his hair. He narrows his eyes at you, mischievous yet still carrying that ingrained indifference that you know and love. Ulani shrieks in his arms, finally past her blip of crying and now ready for her parent’s attention. You take in her drool of a smile, slightly red ears, and brown onesie-dress, and the possibilities flood your mind. It’s…very overwhelming when the thoughts hit you: how she will grow into herself, develop her personality, her wants and desires, her hobbies and her dreams.

“Pay attention to me,” he interrupts your thoughts, and you can’t help the bark of laughter that you give him in response. Ulani mimics you, completely oblivious.

“You’re such a baby, and we have a baby,” you tease, snorting at his level expression and dusty cheeks, slightly shy but absorbing your presence. “You and Ulani have had it rough today. So how about a reward?” You look to your daughter when you ask, knowing damn well she has no idea what you’re saying but you want to include her anyway.

“How about frozen yogurt?” I.e., the unsweetened applesauce in the diaper bag for Ulani and matcha-flavored frozen yogurt for Kento from a favorite vendor a few blocks away. It’s an obsession of his that’s been appearing in the freezer with numbing regularity.

Kento remains unphased by your suggestion, though his lips twitch with the desire to smirk down at you.

“Seeing our daughter in pain was more heartbreaking than I thought. Food may not help, I’m afraid.”

Kento is milking his “pain” at this point, and you’re far too in love with him not to entertain the idea you know is floating in his head. You love this about him, just how playful he is when it comes to you.

“You’re a tough nut to crack.” You tap your chin as if you’re thinking hard, humming in contemplation. “How about…” you trail off, a hand sliding up a muscular bicep before massaging his nape again, relishing in the shudder he gives in response, his eyes twitching to hold back the urge to roll into his head in satisfaction. “Since you’ve suffered so much today…we can go home…and I’ll do that thing you like.”

You have the privilege and skill of being able to read Nanami Kento like a book. You don’t miss the glee that dances across his features—the uptick of one side of his mouth, the slow brow lift, the darkening of his irises. He knows exactly what that thing is. You’re pretty good at it—a master at it—and he made you promise that the day he ever turns that thing down, is the day you can leave him.

His cheeks explode in blush, jaw ticking before he clears his throat and smooths a sweaty hand down the dark blue of his shirt.

“I see,” he ponders, looking up to the sky as if in deep thought, and you know if you roll your eyes again, they’ll get stuck. “Well.” He situates Ulani in his arms and presses a few kisses to her cheek again to pull those giggles from her that you both love. “Who am I to deny your mother?” he suggests to his daughter. “Not a moment to waste, Ulani.”

“You’ve got to be kidding—”

“Quickly, before you change your mind.” He slides a hand to the small of your back as a means to hurry you along, pressing softly and turning you in the direction of the car.

You try to bat his hands away from you, giggles growing in volume as he dodges all your attempts to get rid of him. “I’m not going to change my mind, Ken—”

“Quickly.”

He takes your hand and you let him pull you, beaming at his back as he increases his pace. Ulani is happy as can be in her father’s arms and babbling as he talks softly to her.

“A snack before nap time sounds good, doesn’t it? What kind of applesauce would you like today?” She gurgles. “Cinnamon again? Hmmm, we should always try new things, Dove. What about the strawberry ones I bought you yesterday?” A squeal. “Strawberry it is. I think…”

The rest of their conversation fades into the background as you walk with them, warmth coursing through your veins with each step. It’s a warmth that catches you off guard, but has been ever present since Ulani’s birth. And you love every bit of how it feels. How it flows through you with every breath you take. How it only grows every minute, every hour, every day that you create a life with them.

After Ulani is buckled in her car seat and you slide your seat belt into its latch, Kento leans across the armrest, a warm hand sliding against your cheek in a gentle caress before he slants his lips against yours. It’s a surprise, but the shock dies as quickly as it forms as you melt into his touch—full lips that know your own and soft blonde locks brushing your face.

That affection that he pulls from you every day is given back in this moment—freely and without restraint—in the parking lot of Claire’s in Shibuya, where your daughter got her ears pierced for the first time.

When he pulls away and whispers his love for you against your lips, you repeat it back to him without thinking. It’s a motion that you both carry out whenever you can.

“No more piercings. My heart will probably give out.”

“Do you feel better?” you ask in a tone that is filled with the teasing nature that sticks to you like a second skin.

He loves it, but doesn’t take the bait, and instead kisses your lips again, each cheek, and the tip of your nose. “I will soon.” The innuendo is so obvious you can taste it. He’s been with you too long to be a blushing and awkward man. “Once Ulani is asleep.” You push him away with a giggling huff and savor the deep chuckle that falls from his lips, permeating the air of the car.

As Kento drives through the crowded streets towards your shared home in Nakameguro, the hand not on the steering wheel envelops yours, a thumb stroking the skin of your palm. You look out the window and observe the colors and cars that zoom by, and the sound of a deep breath behind you makes you look back. And when you do, your heart gives a painful but welcoming lurch as you gaze at her. Your daughter already asleep, her head dipping to the side—curly locks askew and sticking to the drool on her face, and her new diamond earrings shining back at you.

Thanks for reading!

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mononijikayu · 8 months ago

Text

magnetic — ieiri shoko.

As Shoko smiles and leans in to kiss you, a rush of bittersweet emotions floods her heart. In that tender moment, she can't help but reflect on the magnetic pull that drew you both together, like two stars orbiting each other in a celestial dance. But beneath the surface, she knows that nothing lasts forever. Inevitably, the forces that brought you together will begin to wane, replaced by the slow, steady drift of separation. It's a reality she's all too aware of, a truth she's learned to accept.

GENRE: Hidden Inventory to Pre-Fearsome Womb Arc, 2005 - 2018;

WARNING/s: Friends to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Banter, Romance, Pining, Grief, Mention of Illness, Depiction of Intimacy, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Near Death, Depiction of Grief, And Then They Were Roommates;

masterlist

listen: magnetic by illit

note: i liked this song. i ended up writing it to be happy, but it ended up being sad instead. anyway, i wrote this a while back and this is the prequel to 'let you break my heart again'!!! i wanted to write suguru into this more, you and him flirting and shoko gets jealous, but i ended up not doing it because its getting way too long. let me know if you want that to be written on another part!!! i hope you love it~

IT WAS CLICHE TO SAY IT, BUT IT FELT MAGNETIC. As Shoko's gaze lingered on you, she couldn't help but notice the subtle nuances of your presence that had captured her heart so many years ago. Your radiant smile, like the sun breaking through clouds after a storm, illuminated the room with its warmth and brightness. It was a smile that seemed to carry the promise of better days ahead, a beacon of hope in the darkness.

Your long hair, flowing behind you like a banner of freedom, danced in the breeze as you swung open the door, revealing a glimpse of the world beyond. In that fleeting moment, as you exchanged a wave with your brother, Shoko felt something stir within her—a spark of recognition, a sense of connection that she couldn't quite explain.

Your carefree demeanor, so effortlessly captivating, spoke volumes about your spirit and resilience. Despite the challenges and uncertainties of life, you carried yourself with an air of confidence and grace that was both inspiring and infectious. It was as if you were untouched by the troubles of the world, your spirit unyielding in the face of adversity.

And as she stood there, lost in the reverie of that fateful day, Ieiri Shoko couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion wash over her—a mixture of longing and nostalgia that tugged at her heartstrings with an undeniable force. It was a feeling that defied explanation, rooted in the inexplicable connection she felt with you from the very first moment their eyes met.

It had been many years since that day, yet the memory remained etched in her mind as fresh and vivid as if it had happened only yesterday. In her mind's eye, she could see you rushing through the halls of Jujutsu High, your energy infectious as you moved with a vibrant vitality that seemed to light up the entire room.

It was as if fate had intervened, weaving the threads of destiny to bring the two of you together in that singular moment. For Shoko, it was love at first sight—a feeling so powerful and undeniable that it had lingered in her heart for years, shaping her thoughts and emotions in ways she could scarcely comprehend.

And now, as she stood before you once again, the memories of that day flooded her mind with a bittersweet intensity, reminding her of the profound impact you had made on her life from the very beginning.

As the first day of Jujutsu High unfolded, the bustling hallways echoed with the chatter of students, each one brimming with excitement and anticipation for the year ahead. The air was alive with the energy of new beginnings, as freshmen and returning students alike embarked on their journey of learning and growth.

She hadn’t met the other older students just yet — but she was supposed to meet the new batch of freshmen coming in. Yaga–sensei had messaged them that it was time to gather up, to finally get to know each other.

The walls whispered tales of centuries-old practices and rituals, each corner holding secrets passed down through generations of sorcerers. Yet amidst the age-old traditions, there were glimpses of modernity - digital displays and state-of-the-art facilities coexisting alongside ancient artifacts and mystical relics.

For Shoko, the contrast between the old and the new was both intriguing and intimidating. Jujutsu High was a place where ancient wisdom met contemporary knowledge, where tradition and innovation intersected in a delicate balance.

Shoko couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves in the pit of her stomach. Everything was so new and unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the comfort and familiarity of her previous school. She was no longer of the regular world, that’s what Yaga–sensei said. She had to do well. She wanted to do well.

For the first time in her life, finally felt like she wasn’t different. Beneath the surface of her bubbling apprehension, there was also a sense of excitement—and anticipation of the adventures and opportunities that awaited her at Jujutsu High. She was a sorcerer now. She belonged here. And she felt it.

She started to cheer for herself, a little magic spell that calmed her down – that got the tension high. Shaking her arms, she started to whisper to herself over and over, ‘it was going to be okay!’ and ‘you’re so strong!’ like she actually meant it. Shoko thinks looking back at it now, it's the most embarrassing thing. But as a young woman, she supposed it felt like it was genuine enough. It got her through life, after all.

As Shoko composed herself and started to walk forward, she halted as she felt her eyes twitch over the loud voices echoing across the halls. The brown eyed woman suddenly found herself in the middle of a fight, or at least that’s what that looked like. Two white-haired individuals, a tall boy and a girl, caught her attention as they engaged in a boisterous, fight, or conversation — Shoko wasn’t sure.

For a moment, Shoko thinks to herself that the feeling of a surge of apprehension welling up within her and returns like a brutal punch. So much for the charm she cast on herself. She scoffs. She’s never doing that again. The commotion and energy radiating from the pair on the other side of the hallway seemed to overwhelm her senses, and she couldn't help but think that dealing with them would be far too much trouble. Wait—are those gonna be her classmates?

Shoko bit her lower lip. Yaga–sensei did say her two other classmates would be hectic and loud. But Shoko didn’t expect them to be this loud. They’re way too loud for her already. Shoko thinks at that moment that she wishes there was a chance for a smoke. To get her through this. But she curses under her breath. Smoking is prohibited in the school. Yaga–sensei did say that there are sprinklers too.

Taking a deep breath, Shoko closed her eyes briefly, silently reciting a more suitable mantra to calm her nerves. Over and over again, she repeated it. She felt the tension in her muscles ease as she shook her arms, whispering reassuring words to herself over and over again.

"It's going to be okay," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're going to go eat some coffee jelly later. There’s a konbini nearby. You can smoke too. Just hold on, Sho. Hold on.”

As Shoko discreetly edged closer, her curiosity peaked, her steps faltering as she strained to listen in on their conversation. With narrowed eyes, she leaned in even closer, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to catch every word exchanged between the two.

Every 'HAH!?' and 'HUH!?' was recorded in her mind, every pitch, sound, vowel, texture, and existence. The two bantered like children, their tongues wagging and fingers flipping off in a playful exchange that filled the air with laughter and warmth.

"I'm telling you, the kikufuku strawberry mochi from granny Kirei is the best," The tall boy declared with a playful grin, his hands gesturing animatedly as he made his case. His dark rimmed glasses lowered, the bluest eyes Shoko had seen echoed across the hall. “Why argue at all? We tasted every flavor. Nothing has EVER topped granny Kirei!”

You seemed to have a spirited twinkle in your eyes, as you shook your head at your brother—face full of mock disbelief. You cross your arms with a huff. "Hah!? No way, four eyes! Red bean mochi from grandpa Nemui is clearly superior. It's the perfect blend of sweet and savory! You’re just too much of a loser to admit that!”

The tall boy chuckled maniacally at his sister's defiance, leaning in closer with a playful glint in his eyes. "Come on, sis, don't be ridiculous," he snickered, nudging you gently with his elbow. "Everyone knows that strawberry mochi is the ultimate flavor. It's like a burst of sunshine in your mouth! Unlike that salty little—”

You rolled your darker blues back at him, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "Oh please," you retorted, nudging him back with equal playfulness. "Red bean mochi has been a classic for generations. It's a timeless delicacy that never fails to satisfy. You’re just, once again, too much of a loser!”

"And what about you, no-name?" Satoru suddenly turned to the other side of the hall, his grin widening as you followed your brother as he turned his body. "What's your take on the great mochi debate?"

You look at him with a raised brow, curious. “Your six eyes picking up something? I’m surprised it took you too long.”

“Sometimes it takes time, little sister. Not perfect everyday!” Your brother retorted haughtily as he put his hands on his pockets. “Come on now, don’t be shy, no–name. We’re going to be classmates, after all!”

As the white haired boy's attention shifted across the hall, Shoko couldn't help but feel a sense of unease wash over her. She watched with bated breath as his gaze landed on her, his grin widening with mischief as you followed suit, her curious eyes assessing Shoko with a raised brow.

Shoko can admit she felt truly caught off guard by their sudden interest. But she supposed that she was a stranger to them. Shoko felt a flutter of nerves in the pit of her stomach.

Her cursed energy must have been leaking throughout, spiking high with her nerves. She swallowed hard, her mind racing as she tried to gather her thoughts. With a quick glance around to ensure no one else was the subject of their attention, she pursed her lips.

As Shoko took a hesitant step forward, she couldn't shake the feeling of being under a microscope, every movement and word scrutinized by the two enigmatic figures before her. Despite her best efforts to appear composed, her nerves betrayed her, her palms growing clammy and her heart pounding in her chest.

The tall white haired boy gave her a playful grin and it only widened as he waited for her response, his eyes sparkling with mischief and curiosity. His sister, standing beside him, observed Shoko with a mix of amusement and intrigue, her expression unreadable yet somehow inviting.

“You don’t have to answer my brother if you don’t want to.” You grinned at Shoko, deep blue eyes echoing through the sunlight. You smiled at her as though Shoko was the only one that mattered. “He’s over zealous about things, it's ridiculous!”

In that moment, as Shoko's eyes met yours, she felt a spark of recognition stir within her, a sense of familiarity that she couldn't quite place. There was something about you, something captivating and alluring, that left her breathless. Suddenly, the nervousness was replaced by this tender warmth — warmth she had never felt before.

“HAH!? I was not!”

“You were!”

“Was not!”

“You were, four eyes!”

“You take that back!”

“No!”

No matter how mature you are — Shoko supposed that you will always be like a child with Gojo Satoru. You were two peas in a pod, the same and different all at once. But you were one soul cleaved into two. Satoru liked to think that the most. You did too, all your life.

As Shoko watched the two of you engage in their playful banter, she found herself at a loss for what to do. The argument escalated with each exchange, their voices growing louder as they traded playful insults back and forth. They almost reminded her of children, who would get louder and louder, trying to win no matter the cost.

Caught in the crossfire, Shoko couldn't help but feel like an outsider, unsure of how to interject or if she even should. Part of her wanted to step in and diffuse the tension, while another part of her was intrigued by the dynamic between the two siblings. But she supposed it was better to just let the two of you be.

Maybe you’ll get tired, maybe you’ll back off. Shoko thinks that over the years — she learned to just let the two of you be the children that you were together. Because you smiled at Satoru afterwards. She loved it when you smiled, even if it wasn’t for her.

As their argument continued to escalate, Shoko shifted slightly, her own feet tapping lightly against the floorboards. She was unsure of whether to stay and observe or make a hasty retreat. Maybe she could find Yaga–sensei and get herself some peace and quiet.

So that she can finally go to the konbini and get a pack of cigarettes, with her fake id and then a snack, that good coffee jelly brand. Just as much, Shoko can’t pretend that she didn’t feel like an intruder if she butts into the situation.

But then they stopped, you huffed and puffed, as you looked away from your brother. Your brother rolled his eyes at his little sister and turned to Shoko.

“Tell me, seriously — what do you like in mochi?”

Shoko wonders how the two of you could just stop fighting and just pretend that nothing happened. But she supposed you both just knew when it would stop. She still wonders everyday how you dealt with Satoru like that, even growing up. Shoko blinked for a moment, she never really liked sweet things. Not even when she was a kid. But maybe this will come to an end when she gives you an answer. Shoko took a deep breath, she summoned her voice and spoke, her words carrying a hint of uncertainty but also a quiet resolve.

"I don’t like sweet things that much….” Shoko began to say to you. "But I’ve always had a soft spot for the classic red bean flavor. My grandma used to make it when we visited her.”

As Shoko voiced her opinion, her words were met with a sudden lull in the siblings. The white haired sister turned her attention towards Shoko, her eyes narrowing with pleasure as she considered her response. They had the same taste.

Your brother looked at Shoko as though she had grown a second head. Shoko realized that she never really got your brother’s acquired taste for something sweet. You join him, Shoko supposed, to amuse him. But nothing beyond that, she thinks.

The tall boy, on the other hand, wore an unimpressed pout on his face, his gaze alight with disappointment as he studied Shoko’s nonchalant look. "Red bean, huh?" he remarked with forlorn. “You and my sister are both weird! How can you not like sweet things – let alone in good ol’ mochi?”

“Not everyone has the same insane diabetic palette as you, Satoru.” You retorted at your brother, snickering at him and his disappointment. “Besides, red bean flavor is a classic! It’s the very fabric of the Japanese experience!”

“Oh, that’s…shut up!” The dark rimmed glasses went up, his eyes hiding in the darkness. Yet he still pouted like a child. Shoko wonders if he was more a five year old than a high schooler. He straightens himself and looks at Shoko. “You’re missing out, you know?”

“I don’t think so.” Shoko retorts to the boy, now she knows he was named Satoru and snickers. “I’m happy with what I like.”

“But wouldn’t you give this a chance?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on!”

You nudge him playfully with your elbow. "Leave her alone, Satoru," you chided, your tone affectionate. "She deserves to like what she likes.”

He simply shrugged at you. "Suit yourself," he replied, his pout still present. "But just know that you're always welcome to join us for a taste test whenever you're feeling adventurous."

He turned back to his sister, the argument starting again as you chide him for acting like a five year old. As the exchange unfolded before her, Shoko couldn't help but feel like laughing at the sight of you both. Yet now, she stood there – wondering if she should leave now. You then blink and panic as you realize that you neglected Shoko again, distracted by your brother. You hit her brother over the side of his head as you grew red and flustered.

“OW!? What was that for, you witch?”

“You distracted me — we just forgot and ignored her. It was rude, Satoru!” You scolded your brother, who was rubbing the back of his head, crying. You bowed deeply to Shoko and started apologizing. Shoko realized that you look really cute when you’re flustered. You now turned to your brother.“You apologize!”

“I–I’m so sorry!”

As the white-haired boy continued to rub his head and mutter under his breath about how rude you always were to him, you just ignored him and turned to Shoko again. With a warm smile, your eyes reflected a mix of guilt and genuineness, silently acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation.

"Sorry about that," you said, your voice soft and apologetic. "My brother can be a handful sometimes."

Shoko couldn't help but notice the warmth in your smile and the sincerity in your eyes. Up close, you seemed even more like a goddess than she had imagined, radiating a beauty that was both captivating and ethereal. It struck her how similar you and your brother were in appearance, yet there was something uniquely mesmerizing about you.

As she met your gaze, Shoko felt a pang of admiration and perhaps a hint of envy. You were undeniably beautiful, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the thought of standing in your shadow. But despite her insecurities, she couldn't deny the pull of your presence, drawing her in like a moth to a flame.

You furrowed your brows slightly, realizing that in the midst of the commotion, you had unintentionally overlooked Shoko. "I'm sorry, to you," you said apologetically, your voice sincere. "I didn't mean to ignore you. It's just... well, things tend to get a bit chaotic around here sometimes."

Shoko waved off your apology with a gentle smile, understanding shining in her eyes. "It's okay, really," she assured you. "I know how it is, especially with everything going on."

Your brother, Gojo Satoru, chimed in as he rubbed the small of his back. "Yeah, sorry about that too," he added, his tone lighthearted. "We can get a bit carried away sometimes."

Shoko looks at you softly, shaking her head. "No need to apologize," she replied, her voice warm. "I'm just happy to be here, getting to know everyone."

You smiled appreciatively at Shoko's understanding, feeling a sense of camaraderie growing between the three of you. "Well, we're glad to have you," you said sincerely, your gaze meeting hers. "And if you ever feel like we're ignoring you again, just give us a shout. We promise to pay attention this time."

Shoko chuckled at your words, feeling at ease in your presence. "I'll keep that in mind," she said with a playful grin. "Thanks, both of you."

There you go again, smiling at her in the most beautiful and wondrous way. There was a comforting aura about you, as if you carried with you a sense of magic that immediately put Shoko at ease. You remained calm and composed, radiating a sense of warmth that enveloped Shoko like a gentle embrace. It was as though you just had a natural talent for making others feel welcome and accepted, regardless of the circumstances.

"Oh, we forgot to introduce ourselves!" you say, your face turning red again. You told Shoko your name. Shoko thinks it rolled off the tongue easily. It was as soft as a feather, as tender as a featherbed. You were warm. And that made her warm inside too. Like it’s summer again. “And the troublemaker beside me is my brother, Gojo Satoru."

Satoru finally regained his composure and grinned sheepishly, offering a casual wave. "Nice to meet you," he chimed in, his tone casual yet friendly. "So, what's your name?" he asked, his blue eyes locking onto Shoko's with genuine curiosity.

"It's nice to meet you too," Shoko replied warmly. "I'm Ieiri Shoko." She watched as Satoru's blue eyes locked onto hers with genuine curiosity. Your own eyes looking at her tenderly.

As the footsteps drew closer, the atmosphere shifted, a palpable tension hanging in the air as the three of them turned to see another student approaching.

Shoko couldn't help but notice the tall, calm demeanor of the newcomer, his long dark hair neatly tied in a bun and his deep purple eyes exuding an air of quiet confidence. His bangs framed his face in a way that Shoko couldn't help but find intriguing, and she couldn't shake the feeling that he would quickly become popular among the students.

Meanwhile, you seemed equally intrigued by the newcomer, your gaze lingering on him as you scanned him from head to toe. Shoko felt a twinge of discomfort at the intensity of your stare, but she remained silent, choosing instead to observe the interaction between you and your brother. Satoru, unable to contain his amusement, let out a snicker that quickly escalated into laughter, drawing curious glances from both Shoko and the newcomer.

Satoru pointed towards the approaching student and exclaimed, "Bangs!" His words were followed by a burst of laughter, infectious in its nature.Your eyes widened in surprise.

“Hey, Satoru, you can’t just say that! Idiot!”

“B-but, But….” His laughter would not stop. “T-the bangs….”

The other boy, his eyes narrowing in displeasure, approached Satoru with determined strides. His brows furrowed as he confronted the Gojo heir, his voice laced with an unmistakable edge of irritation. "What did you say, four eyes?" he demanded, his tone firm and challenging.

As Shoko observed the exchange between the two boys, a knot of apprehension formed in her stomach. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with the crackling energy of their impending clash. She could sense the animosity radiating from their confrontation, the weight of their unspoken grievances hanging heavy in the air.

Despite your attempts to diffuse the situation and prevent further escalation, Shoko felt a growing unease settle over her. She recognized the telltale signs of their cursed energy rising, a surefire indication that things were spiraling out of control. With a sinking feeling in her chest, Shoko braced herself for the inevitable clash, knowing that this encounter could only end in chaos.

As you urged them to cease their conflict before it attracted unwanted attention, Shoko's instincts urged her to act. Ignoring the warning signs, she tugged at your arm, her grip firm and determined. In that moment, she made a split-second decision to intervene, knowing that the consequences could be dire but unwilling to stand by and watch the situation escalate further.

“Do you want to go get coffee jelly with me?”

You looked at her, your eyes blinking at her.

“But what about them—”

She grinned at you. “Let them suffer for that.”

She pulled your hand, and you protested back.

But soon, the alarms were blaring all around.

After the chaotic incident in the hallway, you and Shoko retreated to the convenience store, seeking refuge from the tumultuous events unfolding at Jujutsu High. As you returned later, Shoko stood faithfully by your side, a silent companion in the aftermath of the chaos.

Together, you shared a coffee jelly, the sweetness of the treat contrasting with the bitter taste of the day's events. Despite your shared dislike for the overly sugary dessert, you found solace in each other's company, grateful for the opportunity to get to know Shoko better.

As you and Shoko made your way back to the school grounds, you were met with the sight of your brother and the other boy, you both find out to be Geto Suguru, both nursing bruised egos and battered bodies. The unmistakable crack in the gym hall wall served as a stark reminder of the consequences of their reckless behavior.

Yaga-sensei's swift reprimand awaited them, but you and Shoko were not exempt from punishment. Despite your intentions to intervene and prevent further chaos, you were both scolded for leaving the premises without permission, a stern reminder of the rules and regulations that governed life at Jujutsu High. But Shoko didn’t mind. You kept bowing your head, apologizing though.

As fate would have it, this was her new life.

Ieiri Shoko thinks that her life changed pace.

But she supposed that she liked it that way.

It felt magnetic, being around you everyday.

SHOKO THINKS THAT SHE FELL FOR YOU BEFORE SHE COULD DESCRIBE IT. In the familiar surroundings of Shoko's dorm room, you felt a sense of ease that eluded you elsewhere. It was as if the walls themselves held a comforting embrace, welcoming you into their sanctuary of warmth and familiarity. Ieiri Shoko couldn't help but notice how effortlessly you made yourself at home, navigating the space with a comfort that spoke volumes about the depth of your bond.

As she watched you settle into her bed, Shoko couldn't shake the thought that perhaps you were more at home here than anywhere else. It was a bittersweet realization, one that tugged at her heartstrings and left her grappling with a swirl of conflicting emotions.

On one hand, she was grateful for your presence, for the companionship and comfort you offered her in times of need. But on the other hand, she couldn't help but worry about the toll that your restless lifestyle was taking on you.

She had seen firsthand the toll that the demands of being a Jujutsu Sorcerer could take on a person, the sleepless nights and endless battles that left scars both seen and unseen. She hated seeing you in the healing room – but she just saw you smile each time. Even when you got scolded by her, you smiled. That made her heart pound each time.

But that also made her feel sad deep down inside. While she admired your strength and resilience, she couldn't help but worry about the toll it was taking on your well-being. Deep down, she knew that she had no right to judge you, not when she had her own vices and struggles to contend with. But just as you worried for her, she couldn't help but worry for you, the weight of her concern settling like a heavy burden on her shoulders.

As you lay there in her bed, lost in your thoughts, Shoko couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for you. And that she couldn’t help. She couldn’t stop at it either. Not even if she tried. She loved you too much for that.

As you moved around Shoko's dorm room, Shoko couldn't help but admire the way you meticulously folded your uniform and neatly arranged it on the coffee table. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes about your character and attention to detail. She couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and comfort wash over her as she watched you, a feeling of gratitude for your presence in her life.

Returning from a grueling mission, you sought solace in the familiar surroundings of Shoko's room. It was a routine that had become second nature to you both, a silent agreement born out of mutual trust and understanding. Shoko had come to cherish these moments, the quiet intimacy of your presence filling the room with a sense of calm and reassurance.

At first, Shoko had assumed that your visits were a result of your brother's busy schedule, leaving you with limited time to spend together. But as time went on, she realized that there was something deeper at play. It wasn't just about seeking refuge from the chaos of the outside world; it was about finding solace in each other's company, about finding a sense of belonging and acceptance that transcended the confines of the mission.

As you settled onto her bed, Shoko couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for you. She had come to cherish these moments together, the simple yet profound connection that existed between you. She enjoyed the warmth of your body under her sheets, the sound of your laughter filling the room with joy and light. In your presence, she felt truly alive, as if the world outside ceased to exist and all that mattered was the here and now.

As she watched you, a smile playing at the corners of your lips, Shoko couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over her. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth and comfort of Shoko's room, she knew that she was exactly where she was meant to be. And for that, she was grateful.

The recent promotion to Grade 1 had indeed brought with it a flurry of responsibilities and assignments, demanding much of your time and attention. Yet, amidst the flurry of activity and the relentless pursuit of excellence, there were moments of quiet solitude that left you feeling unexpectedly lonely.

In those solitary moments, when the demands of duty momentarily subsided, you found yourself grappling with a sense of emptiness that seemed to linger just beneath the surface. Despite your accomplishments and the recognition that came with your promotion, there was a lingering feeling of disconnect, a sense of longing for something more.

Perhaps it was the weight of expectation that accompanied your newfound status, the pressure to excel and prove yourself worthy of the honor bestowed upon you. Or perhaps it was the absence of meaningful connections and companionship in your life, a void that seemed all the more pronounced in the silence of your own thoughts.

Regardless of the underlying cause, the feeling of loneliness persisted, casting a shadow over even the most triumphant moments of success. It was a reminder that, despite your achievements, there was still a longing for something deeper, something more fulfilling that eluded you in the midst of your professional pursuits.

With a weary body, you finally lowered your body and laid down on the bed. As you looked around the room, taking in all the traces of Shoko’s existence — you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you at the sight of her familiar surroundings. Without hesitation, you made yourself at home, settling into her bed instead of your own. Somehow you felt more comfortable here. You felt more at home where Shoko was.

As you lay there, lost in your thoughts, you finally felt like someone was watching you. Turning to the doorframe, you were met with the sight of Shoko standing there, her expression a mixture of surprise and concern. Despite the exhaustion that weighed heavily on your shoulders, a smile found its way onto your lips as you greeted her.

"Hey, Shoko," you said softly, your voice warm with affection. "Mind if I crash here for a bit?"

Shoko's heart fluttered at the sight of you, her feelings for you bubbling to the surface with an intensity that took her by surprise. As she watched you, lying there in her bed, she couldn't help but feel a rush of conflicting emotions. Part of her longed to embrace you, to hold you close and never let go, while another part of her feared the repercussions of crossing that line.

Shoko grappled with the realization that she harbored feelings for you, feelings that ran deeper than mere friendship or camaraderie. It was a realization that stirred a whirlwind of emotions within her, leaving her torn between the desire to acknowledge those feelings and the fear of the unknown that accompanied them.

Admitting her love for you felt like stepping into uncharted territory, a daunting journey fraught with uncertainty and risk. She couldn't shake the feeling that it was too soon, too premature to declare her affections openly. There were so many unanswered questions, so many variables at play, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to confront them just yet.

The prospect of allowing herself to fully embrace those feelings filled her with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. On one hand, there was the exhilarating prospect of exploring the depths of her emotions and forging a deeper connection with you. On the other hand, there was the nagging fear of rejection, of opening herself up to vulnerability and the possibility of heartache.

In the end, Shoko found herself grappling with a complex web of emotions, unsure of how to navigate the delicate balance between longing and apprehension. For now, she chose to keep her feelings hidden, burying them deep within her heart as she wrestled with the uncertainty of what the future might hold. Until she was ready, she was content with this. She was content with being together with you.

With a soft smile, she stepped further into the room, her gaze never leaving yours. "Of course, you can stay," she replied, her voice soft and gentle. "You're always welcome here."

As Shoko's soft words washed over you, a sense of relief swept through your weary body, easing the tension in your shoulders. "Thank you, Shoko," you said with a grateful smile, feeling the weight of the day begin to lift from your shoulders.

Settling onto her bed, you patted the space beside you invitingly. "Would you mind joining me?" you asked softly, your voice filled with warmth and gratitude. "Bed’s too big. Can’t lay down here by myself. Not right now.”

Shoko nodded, her eyes reflecting understanding and empathy as she settled beside you. "Of course," she replied gently, her voice a soothing melody in the quiet room. "I'm here for you, always."

You let out a soft sigh, you look at her apologetically. “I’m sorry. I seem to be out of it.”

She shakes her head at you. “It’s okay. Don’t worry too much about it.”

“I just….”

She leans towards you. “What happened? Do you wanna talk about it?”

You let our lips rest in a flat line. “It was horrible, Sho. I was….I was close to losing it.”

It was a bad case of a very downturned family home and it created a curse, where a child was taken captive for days on end. No one noticed, not until it was far too late and the curse had grown too huge, too big, feeding off the fear of this one child and this child, was about to lose himself. Shoko's attentive gaze never wavered as you began to unravel the harrowing tale of your recent mission. With each word you spoke, she remained a silent witness, her presence a beacon of unwavering support in the tumultuous sea of your thoughts and emotions.

"It was a close call," you confessed, the weight of the memory pressing down on you like a heavy burden. The memory of the child's desperate cries still echoed in your mind, a haunting reminder of the perilous situation you had faced. She could see the forming tears in your eyes. "I was afraid I wouldn't be able to save the child in time."

As the words left your lips, you could feel the rawness of your emotions bubbling to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you. Shoko thinks she’s never seen you this down before. Not even with the other bigger missions that were laid at your desk. But this was different.

The fear and uncertainty that had gripped you in that moment resurfaced, sending a shiver down your spine. But even as the darkness threatened to consume you, Shoko remained a steadfast presence by your side. Her unwavering support and understanding served as a lifeline in the midst of the storm, offering you solace and comfort in your time of need.

With each passing moment, you found yourself opening up to her, laying bare the depths of your fears and vulnerabilIties. And as you spoke, you felt a sense of catharsis wash over you, the weight of your burdens slowly beginning to lift. It was always like this when you were with Shoko. Somehow, everything was easier. Somehow, everything felt like it was something that wasn’t hard at all — living, being young, being trapped in the world of Jujutsu sorcery.

In the safety of Shoko's presence, you found the courage to confront your demons, to face the darkness within and emerge stronger for it. And as you gazed into her eyes, filled with empathy and compassion, you were lucky. You were so lucky to have Shoko by your side. But she thinks she was way more lucky with you. Because you were the angel that made her life mean something. More than anything, you saved her. And she was so happy, so so happy with that.

Shoko's touch was like a gentle caress, her hand resting warmly on your arm as she offered words of comfort and reassurance. "You did everything you could," she murmured softly, her voice a soothing melody in the midst of your turmoil. "I’m so proud of you, you know.”

The sincerity in her words washed over you like a wave, easing the tension that had knotted your muscles. You couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude towards her, knowing that her unwavering support was a beacon of light in the darkness.

Your eyes sparkled with emotion as you met her gaze, her words resonating deep within your soul. "You're always so kind to me," you whispered, the depth of your gratitude evident in your voice.

A smile tugged at Shoko's lips, her hand delicately brushing against your face. "And so are you," she replied, her voice filled with warmth and affection. "It goes both ways, doesn't it?”

As you looked into each other's eyes, a silent understanding passed between you, a shared bond that transcended words. Your hand instinctively reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the simple gesture filled with tenderness and affection.

In that fleeting moment, as the world around you melted away, it was just the two of you, enveloped in a cocoon of intimacy and passion. Your hearts beat as one, synchronized in the rhythm of love, as your faces drew closer, drawn together by an irresistible magnetic pull.

With a gentle touch, your lips met in a tender kiss, igniting a firestorm of emotions that blazed brightly in the depths of your souls. It was a kiss filled with the sweetness of affection, the warmth of devotion, and the promise of a future intertwined together.

As your lips lingered against each other's, time seemed to stand still, allowing you to savor the exquisite taste of each other's love. In that moment, all doubts and fears melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of certainty and belonging.

It was more than just a kiss; it was a declaration of love, a vow to stand by each other's side through every storm and every triumph. And as you pulled away, breathless and filled with euphoria, you knew deep in your hearts that this bond, this connection, would endure for eternity.

You smiled at her like she was your world.

Ieiri Shoko smiled back, like you were hers.

You both start to laugh tenderly together.

That kiss just magnetized her closer to you.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

YOU NEVER PUT LABELS ON ANYTHING. That’s at least what Shoko’s mother said to her when she was younger. She was a single mom, one that had experienced heartbreak over and over again. And at a young age, Shoko had watched that repeat, as each and every time, she watched Shoko grow up, watching every bit of the man that had left their lives blossom in Shoko. There was so little permanence in the world, her mother added, other than parting and sorrow. Shoko thinks her mother was right.

Shoko thinks it was right that even when you loved one another, you never put a label on what your relationship was. Because it was easier to just pretend. To detach about the personal, the depth of one’s very heart. That’s what you wanted, because you knew that the moment you woke up from that mission with Nanami and Haibara, you would never be the same.

You were slowly withering before her eyes. You were not long to live a long life, one that you had imagined with her each and every night in her bed. You weren’t meant for that and she hated that she knows too well that you’re right.

You still smiled at her, you still laid in her bed. You still wrap your arms around her each night. You still were ever so present. Ever so attached, ever so devoted to Shoko. And yet she knew, she knew too well, she knew too much, that there will come a time that it wouldn’t be the case.

That your scent won’t linger in her room anymore. That your bellowing laughter wouldn’t ring out of her ears anymore. That she wouldn’t feel your touch one day anymore. She tried not to cry, she tried not to show you any sadness in her eyes either. But she knows that you know. She knows too well that you can read her like she was the back of your hand.

Your brother watched your figure laying in silence, sleeping so peacefully on your side of Shoko’s bed. These days, Shoko and he had become ever so obsessed with watching you sleep. Watching you breathing. The sight of you limping in your own blood, disfigured by the curse with cuts and wounds — it was hard to get out of their head. They think that it wasn’t easy. You were too much of a hero for your own good, wanting to save Nanami and Haibara. Nanami told them everything.

The memory was etched vividly in Nanami’s mind, like a scene from a nightmare that refused to fade with time. It was a dark and ominous night, the air heavy with the scent of blood and the stifling presence of curses lurking in the shadows.

As you arrived on the scene, you found Nanami and Haibara locked in a desperate struggle against a Grade 1 curse, their strength waning as they fought to hold back the relentless onslaught of malevolent energy. It was supposed to be a Grade 2 curse – that’s what the report said. You were nearby and you felt it. It was way more than a Grade 2 curse. Without hesitation, you rushed to their aid, your heart pounding with adrenaline as you prepared to face the formidable foe.

Nanami's voice cut through the chaos, urgency evident in his tone. "Protect Haibara, I'll handle this one!" he shouted, his eyes locking with yours as he faced the looming threat.

The curse, sensing your interference, split itself into two entities, a sinister grin spreading across its grotesque features as it sought to overwhelm both you and Nanami simultaneously. Haibara struggles, already wounded from when he couldn’t dodge the curse’s attack.

With lightning-fast reflexes, you darted between the two, deflecting blows and launching counterattacks with all the skill and determination you could muster. "Stay focused!" you shouted to Nanami, your voice strained with exertion as you fought to keep the curse at bay.

But the curse was relentless, its attacks coming faster and fiercer with each passing moment. As Nanami urged you to prioritize saving Haibara, you made a split-second decision, throwing yourself into the fray to protect your comrade at any cost.

You fought with everything you had, your mind focused solely on the task at hand as you battled against the curse's relentless onslaught. "I won't let you harm him!" you growled, your resolve unwavering in the face of danger.

But despite your best efforts, the curse proved to be too cunning, outmaneuvering you at every turn until, with a vicious strike, it managed to land a devastating blow.

As the curse's dark energy coursed through your veins, you felt a searing pain unlike anything you had ever experienced before. In that moment of agony, you knew that you had been cursed, your fate sealed by the very creature you had fought so valiantly to defeat.

And as darkness closed in around you, you couldn't help but wonder if it was all worth it, if your sacrifice had truly made a difference in the end. But as unconsciousness claimed you, one thought lingered in your mind: you had done everything you could to protect your comrades, even if it meant facing the consequences alone.

Yu Haibara was killed soon after.

Gojo Satoru had arrived at the scene.

Nanami rushed to you and to Haibara.

It was a horror scene, one from hell.

He doesn’t want to see it again.

Gojo Satoru's usually vibrant demeanor was subdued, his usually lively eyes now clouded with concern as he turned to Shoko. He doesn’t usually drink, but he has a cup of the sweetest alcohol now and then. But whiskey was somewhat a good lullaby for the pain. And Shoko agreed. The weight of the news about your condition hung heavy in the air, casting a somber shadow over the room.

Despite his efforts to maintain composure, there was an unmistakable hint of sorrow in his voice as he addressed Shoko, his words weighed down by the gravity of the situation.

"How long does she have?" he asked quietly, his gaze fixed on Shoko's face.

Gojo's inquiry hung in the air, the weight of his concern palpable as he awaited Shoko's response. His gaze remained fixed on her, searching for any glimmer of hope amidst the heavy news.

Shoko's heart sank as she grappled with the weight of her response. Each word felt like a burden, heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead. "The level of curse on her is extreme," she began softly, her voice tinged with sorrow. "But she's fighting with every ounce of her cursed energy. Maybe a few years, at most."

The weight of Shoko's words seemed to settle upon Gojo like a heavy shroud, his expression falling as the reality of the situation sunk in. A pang of guilt gnawed at his heart, the weight of responsibility pressing down upon him. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret and sorrow for the pain you would endure.

In that moment of shared vulnerability, Shoko's heart swelled with gratitude for Gojo's understanding. She shook her head gently, her eyes brimming with empathy as she reached out to reassure him. "Don't be sorry," she said softly, her voice a gentle murmur in the quiet room. "I'm the one who's sorry that I can't do more to help her."

A palpable silence enveloped them, thick with unspoken emotions and shared sorrow. Then, Gojo's voice broke through the quiet, his words heavy with emotion as he turned his gaze to Shoko, his concern evident in his eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked, the vulnerability in his tone echoing the turmoil of his own heart.

Caught off guard by the depth of Gojo's concern, Shoko hesitated, her facade of strength crumbling in the face of his genuine care. "I'm fine," she replied automatically, her voice betraying a hint of uncertainty.

But Gojo saw through her bravado, his gaze softening with understanding as he reached out to offer her comfort. "It's okay not to be okay," he said gently, his words a soothing balm to her wounded soul. "I'm not okay either. I've cried more times than I ever have in my life, losing Suguru and now... losing my sister too."

In the embrace of Gojo's comforting arms, Shoko felt a wave of solace wash over her, easing the burden of her grief, if only for a moment. Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked, a silent testament to the pain and sorrow that weighed heavily on her heart. "It's not fair," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion as she clung to him for support.

Gojo held her close, his own tears mirroring her anguish as he whispered words of reassurance in her ear. "No, it's not," he agreed softly, his voice thick with emotion. "But we'll get through this together. I promise. So be strong for you. Be strong for her. Even when you can't."

In that moment, Shoko wondered how he could feel like this. She thinks he had a better right to feel worse. He lost the person he loved and now he was about to lose the other half of his soul. Yet Shoko thinks that being enveloped in the warmth of their shared sorrow, Shoko found solace in Gojo's unwavering presence. She was thankful.

Despite the darkness that surrounded them, she knew that as long as they faced it together, they could find a glimmer of hope amidst the despair. And with that realization, a flicker of determination ignited within her, strengthening her resolve to weather the storm ahead, hand in hand with the one she held dear.

As you slowly woke from your deep sleep, the world around you gradually came back into focus. You found yourself nestled in Shoko's dorm room, the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains casting a serene ambiance over the space. With a gentle smile, you turned to face Shoko, who stood by the doorframe, watching over you with a look of fondness.

"I'm sorry for falling asleep," you murmured softly, your voice still tinged with drowsiness from your deep slumber.

Shoko shook her head gently, her smile warm and reassuring. "It's fine," she replied softly, her voice a soothing melody in the quiet room. "You didn't miss much."

In that moment, as you lay there together in the stillness of the night, a sense of peace washed over you, wrapping you in it's comforting embrace. And as Shoko pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, you couldn't help but return her smile, grateful for her unwavering presence by your side.

As Shoko observed your gentle smile, a surge of warmth flooded her heart, filling her with a profound sense of affection. With each curve of your lips, she felt herself drawn closer to you, as if your smile held an irresistible gravitational pull, effortlessly pulling her into your orbit. In that fleeting moment, as she stood beside you, she felt a deep sense of devotion blossom within her, a commitment to preserving the joy and happiness reflected in your smile for as long as she possibly could.

In the quiet intimacy of the room, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, Shoko's gaze lingered on you, her heart brimming with tenderness and adoration. She knew that she would go to great lengths to protect that smile, to shield you from the darkness that threatened to dim its radiance.

For in your smile, she found solace, hope, and an unwavering sense of purpose—a beacon of light guiding her through the darkest of nights. And as she stood by your side, she vowed to cherish every moment spent in your presence, knowing that your smile held the power to illuminate even the darkest corners of her soul.

As you both lay there, enveloped in the comfort of each other's presence, Shoko's voice broke the peaceful silence. "Hey, once we graduate... we should live together again," she suggested, her tone filled with warmth and affection.

You hesitated for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your features. "I don't want to burden you," you replied softly, your eyes meeting hers.

But Shoko shook her head, her expression earnest. "You would never be a burden to me," she insisted, her gaze unwavering as she searched your eyes for any sign of doubt.

You could see the unspoken words lingering on the tip of her tongue, the emotions swirling beneath the surface. But instead of voicing them, you simply smiled at her, a silent acknowledgment of her unwavering support.

"Okay," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll live with you."

Yet, despite the looming specter of heartbreak, Shoko finds solace in the present moment. She resolves to savor every precious second spent with you, to relish the warmth of your embrace and the sweetness of your kisses.

For Shoko, there are no labels, no promises of forever. There is only the here and now, and the simple joy of being with you. And as long as she can feel that magnetic pull, that undeniable connection between you, she'll gladly weather the storms of uncertainty and cherish the moments they share together.

Ieiri Shoko kept her promise.

As you did, for nearly a decade.

That magnetic pull, that decade.

It was eternity to her, that she knew.

This life to the next, she believes it.

87 notes · View notes

split-spectrum · 1 year ago

Text

Pretty Young Thing

One-shot

Pairing: Obi-Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: Explicit content. Just filth. PWP. Listen, I just wanted to give this man a break. He deserves gratuitous sex and alcohol.

"No names."

It was the singular rule he had, in all the years you'd known him.

Was 'known' the right word? Did you consider yourself an acquaintance if you know exactly how slow he likes to fuck, but you don't ask him where his newest scar came from, and he doesn't ask you why you've moved apartments?

☆☆☆

Sometimes he had you repeat it back to him when you first started meeting; a sort of reassurance for him that nothing could follow him back to his life - back to reality. You would whisper it to him without hesitation.

"No names," he would remind you breathlessly while shedding his clothing, one hand remaining on your skin, his mouth inches from your ear.

"Don't worry," you would assure him.

He'd rake his fingers over your shoulders, pulling you closer and pressing his mouth urgently against yours. "Say it- say it back."

You would grin, always uncertain if he was asking to make sure you understood, or just working himself up more. He liked to hear the words, and you always knew by the way his body responded when you said them.

"No names."

Tonight, the words ring in your head as you lean against the bar, replaying the images of past nights in the back of your mind, waiting. You were always waiting on him.

That afternoon you'd heard he was back on Coruscant, and your last meeting of the day couldn't end soon enough. You both knew the time and place. If he was on the planet, you never missed the spot. Some nights he left you waiting until the bar closed, never making an appearance. But you knew if he could come, he would. And he was always worth the wait.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

You're surrounded by pulsing bodies and throbbing music which makes it nearly impossible to hear one individual over all the noise. But that voice will always get your attention.

He leans in closer as you tilt your gaze in his direction. "Or were you waiting for someone?"

You smile. "I was, but he's disappointed me before. I was just about to leave."

His eyebrows raise. "Anyone who would disappoint you must be very foolish." He pauses. "Or exceedingly disappointed, himself. The only thing that could be more important than a night with you would be the fate of the galaxy."

He adds another pause while your mouth twists in feigned displeasure. "...one would imagine."

His mouth slides into a grin, and you can't help but return it, the way his eyes sparkle when they meet yours. He pulls his attention away to signal the bartender, and when you take your drink and leave, he follows you to a dark corner. You turn to face him when you reach the wall, away from prying eyes.

You take a sip, while he downs half of his drink in a single, greedy swallow. He places the glass on a nearby table and stands next to you, first curling one arm around your back, slowly, then following it with the rest of his body to move behind you. He rests the back of a finger against your shoulder and smooths it down your bare arm as you continue to sip.

A shiver runs through you at his touch, and you keep staring forward. "Your hair is so long, now."

You feel him smile against your cheek when he presses himself closer to you. "Haven't had much time for a cut, I'm afraid."

"I like it," you tell him. "Makes you look younger."

He laughs, and you love the way it feels, the vibrations leaving his chest and sinking into your back. "I suppose I need all the help I can get."

A new song begins, changing the atmosphere from loud and fast-paced to a darker mood, more intense. His body starts to move against yours, rolling from his shoulders down to his waist. You lean into him, eyes closing when he lets his head come down to your shoulder and his beard tickles your neck. His rich, clean scent saturates your brain with thoughts only of him, and how much you've missed the feel of him against you.

You both get lost in the music for a long time, enjoying the escape of dancing without thinking. His arms surround you, and you turn to look at his face. The sickly lights of the scummy bar reflect over his features and he's positively radiant, as usual. You lean in for a kiss. His mouth welcomes you as it always does, perfect and soft, the taste of him as sweet as ever, even through the notes of liquor on his breath.

He returns your kiss with a languid swipe of his tongue, only breaking hesitantly away after a long moment to check your surroundings. You know he's looking to see if anyone is staring, but you take the opportunity to flag down someone walking past, carrying a tray of drinks. You exchange a few credits and press the shot into his hand.

"You need to loosen up."

He gives you another grin, his teeth glinting in the dim light as he throws back the shot. He doesn't react, doesn't squint, doesn't pause. It might well have been water, the way he instantly goes back to kissing you.

When his lips meet yours, everything else becomes a blur - the bar, the street outside, the back of the cab, your apartment. Details. Unimportant when he's tugging on your bottom lip, swiping his tongue over yours, parting your mouths to softly brush his thumb over your jaw. Only a brief moment seems to pass, and all at once you're keying in the code to the front door of your apartment.

You tumble through the door, kicking it closed behind you, and he's already pulling off his clothes. He drops his grey cloak at the door, stepping over it to push you toward the seating area of your living room. His hands fall to the waist of his pants, carelessly tugging at the hem of his shapeless blue shirt, pulling it over his head before you can even ask. His mouth is back at your neck as soon as he's free, his bare shoulders crowding you, pressing you down into the couch.

Your arms slide down his back and you suppress a whine at the way his fingers impatiently unfasten the front of your shirt. As soon as you feel his bare skin on yours, your hand plummets downward desperately. His hands have finished their work, pulling the front of your shirt open just as you make contact. He stops, back hunched, and drops his head forward. The way his locks of hair fall forward over his face is immaculate, and you take your time, just soaking in the sight of him.

His eyes are closed, brows furrowed. The shadows of his eyelashes darken his face. You brush your hand over the length of him through his pants. His mouth falls open.

"Touch me," he whispers, leaning in to close his mouth over yours. "Touch me."

You pull your palm over the front of his pants, enjoying the shape of him, then dip your fingers below his waistband and start to stroke him, finally making contact with the warmth of his skin. You revel in the way he instantly thrusts against your open hand. You've barely grazed him and he's already bucking earnestly for more.

"I'm going to put on some music," you murmur into his ear, leaning upward and taking your hand out of the front of his clothes.

"Ngh?" he makes a desperate noise at the loss of contact and you smile at the way his gorgeous blue eyes gloss over with confusion, following your movements as you reach for a remote on the table nearby. You know he tends to lose himself even more when you play music for him.

It reminds you of the first time you did this. Years ago, when he was a fresh knight, barely more than a padawan, and you were just a senator's intern, newly arrived on the planet. He'd been so shy, so unsure of himself. So unsure of what he wanted. You'd chatted all night, and when you'd mentioned your love for music he'd invited you to listen to him play the quetarra back in his quarters. Of course he'd said he wasn't any good, only an amateur, but he'd played beautifully. Since that night you'd met at every opportunity throughout the changing of your respective careers. And never once had he asked your name. He insisted it kept him from forming an attachment, and you were only so happy to oblige, so long as he kept coming back.

The music is playing now, filling the apartment with quiet pulses of bass. No sooner have you put down the remote than he's sliding his leg between your knees, spreading them on the couch, and kissing your neck. His hand deftly unfastens the clasp of your belt and moves it to the side, slipping beneath the waist of your pants. He lets out a soft breath when his fingers drop easily between your legs. You're almost embarrassed at the way his hand is slicked with you, but he makes a quiet "Oh..." sound against your neck and it's instantly clear how much it turns him on.

He pulls back to look down at you, locking his eyes onto yours as he pushes two fingers inside you, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he grins wickedly at your response. You gasp, gripping the side of his forearm, muscles there tight as he starts to work his fingers inside you, brushing up against the perfect spot he knows will melt you into a whimpering mess.

It doesn't take long before you're biting back pitiful noises, writhing against him as he pulls your sanity apart. You're not above begging when it comes to him, and he knows it. He's waiting for it.

"Please..."

He cups your jaw in his hand and kisses you deeply, still pumping his fingers diligently, maddeningly.

"Anything. What is it?"

"Need you. Please. Please, fuck me."

All the lightness leaves his face at once. He's no longer in a playful mood when he tugs the front of your remaining clothes down, pressing one hand into the couch beside your head while the other wraps around his cock. His knees keep your legs spread, and in one fluid motion, he's inside you.

He doesn't even stop to let you process the sensation of him. He's inside you and his pace is immediate and perfect. Slow, steady, gorgeous. The only sound he makes when you're finally wrapped around him is a quiet panting, the usual rigid air about him being incrementally replaced with an animalistic state of zen.

You feel every inch of him, the way he gives it to you as if each movement is an artistic choice, building and building the warmth inside you until you're shamelessly moaning for more. You arch your back, giving him more room to fill you, and his pace finally stutters. You smirk at the way his eyes roll back.

"You feel incredible."

His hips start to snap, his rhythm faltering. "Don't... don't say things like that, or I won't... last..."

You can't help it. A groan escapes you at his admission and you buck your hips upward to meet him. "So good. So fucking... good."

"Stars," he gasps, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut. "Shit-"

He pauses, clenching his jaw as if concentrating deeply, holding back. Finally, he rasps, "Darling, come for me."

He slides a hand between your legs and gently works his thumb over you, bringing you screaming over the edge all at once, your hands flying up to grip his neck, desperately grasping to make sure he keeps pounding into you while you whimper out your bliss.

He keeps his rhythm steady, working out every last drop of your orgasm until you're spent and gasping for air, before he finally begins to lose his composure, raggedly grinding into you. He brings a hand behind your head, fingers tangling into your hair while he finishes, his cock sliding in and out of you as his cum spills out between your legs, coating the insides of your thighs in a sticky, beautiful mess.

He stays inside you like this for a long time, arms shaking, as you both catch your breath. His face is glowing when he looks down at you, catching your lips in a messy half-smiling kiss.

You let out a deep sigh, brushing your hands through his hair when he finally slides out of you and collapses beside you. You're going to lie like this for as long as you can. Breathless, thoughtless, nameless, and wrapped in the arms of Obi Wan fucking Kenobi, you're going to fall asleep.

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan x reader #star wars #fanfic #obi wan #obi wan fanfiction #obiwan #pwp #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi x reader

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crucifiedfaerie · 1 year ago

Text

Gods & Monsters ༉₊˚✧

GodOfDeath!Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader AU

(THIS IS A DARK!FIC PLEASE READ ALL WARNINGS AND THE AUTHORS NOTE BEFORE PROCEEDING !!!)

➴ Summary: Death has followed you like a shadow your entire life. After losing everything, you call out to him in a moment of desperation. Maybe that was his plan all along.

➴ Word Count: 2.2k

➴ Warnings: 18+ MDNI under any circumstances, DARK!FIC, fem!reader, dom!kylo, a lot of angst, BLOOD, major and minor character death, reader is suicidal, kylo is the god of death, kylo is obsessive, selfish, and manipulative, stalker!kylo, reader is naïve, a little soft!kylo bc he loves her but again he's selfish so should i really call it that ??, soul selling, SMUT (manipulation therefore DUB-CON, very rough sex, unprotected PiV sex, sadist!kylo for a second ??, naked sub/fully clothed dom, dacryphilia kind of, light bruising, blasphemy and sacrilege), typos probably

➴ Taglist: ( @enviedear @capitanostella @teapartydreams )

A/N: guys did i just lowkey write a snuff fic? maybe. (yes) its left up to you to decide if this has a happy ending or not. kylo is selfish and manipulative, yeah, but hes also sexy and in love so idek how to feel myself. @enviedear and i have been playing around with the idea of godofdeath!kylo in our dms so special thanks to liv my beloved <3 i hope you guys enjoy and i also completely understand if some of you aren't chill with the themes of this fic.

It appeared that death followed you wherever you went, trailing behind you like an invisible shadow you couldn't escape. It started when you were younger with any pet you would get mysteriously dying, you don't know when but at some point you had given up on trying to keep them. Friends and family followed suit over the years, all of them as tragic as the last one. It was as if Death was puppeteering your life, tugging on the strings that held your heart together... and you didn't quite understand why.

You couldn't seem to remember what it was you'd been thinking about on your walk home. Maybe it was what your mother had decided to make for dinner. You stared at the pot still boiling in the eerily quiet kitchen. Or perhaps it was how you had promised your sister you'd play with her when you came home. Your eyes darted to the toys that had been carelessly scattered over the floor of your family's shared bungalow, noticing how a light mist of crimson coated them.

You tried to remember, but one singular word kept interrupting your thoughts. Blood. All you could smell... was blood.

You tried to scream but it was as if the air had been stolen from your lungs. All you could see was red. Red. Red everywhere. On the floors. On the walls. When you saw them, the shriek that escaped your heaving chest pierced the silence of your home, bouncing off the walls and ringing in your ears.

Your family was dead. Slaughtered and discarded on the floor as if they were simply livestock.

As you backed away, you nearly slipped in the puddle you realized you were standing in. The sticky, wet sound your shoes made as you moved was revolting and you felt acid burning at your throat. You stumbled into the living room, just barely making it to the soft carpet before falling to your knees. You heaved, but nothing happened, your empty stomach having nothing for your body to forcibly expel.

You collapsed to the floor, body wracked with sobs. You screamed and screamed until you thought your vocal cords might tear.

Gone. They're all gone.

You don't know how long it had been. Maybe hours, maybe days. You laid there, your screams subsided to sobs and you wanted nothing more than to be with them... No, you wanted to be them.

Why couldn't it have been me? Why my mother? Why my sister? Please, I just want to die. Please Please.

For what felt like an eternity, you silently begged for death. How ironic, you thought, that you begged for the thing that had taken everything from you. You had already dealt with plenty of loss to last you several lifetimes, and now you had lost the last two people you loved. There was no physical pain on this planet that would ever compare to what you felt now. You only wanted it to be over.

You saw something out of the corner of your eye. A tall, dark figure, lurking in the shadowy corner of the room. You looked up, attempting to blink the tears from your raw eyes, unable to make out any distinct features of the being that stood before you.

"You- Did you do this?!" You sobbed. "Did you k-kill my..." You couldn't even say it. If you said it out loud, that meant it was real.

The figure stepped forward, allowing light from the window to cast down upon him. Your teary eyes widened as you realized who this man... this being, was. The aquiline nose, dark locks, and scar that trailed down his cheek you'd recognize anywhere. Kylo Ren, the God of Death, stood before you. You had only heard of him in legends, but he was even more marvelous looking in person.

"I do not take. I only collect." Ren said firmly, yet a hint of compassion laced his words, making you feel... safe? In any other situation, you would have laughed at the idea of feeling safe around the literal personification of death itself, but you were in no mood for laughing. He continued. "I hear souls call out to me, and I answer."

"My family... who did this? Why wasn't I-" You choked out, weakly pointing to the adjacent room behind you. You began to sob again, feeling hot tears run down your face.

"Raiders..." Ren knelt on the floor in front of you, getting down to your level before continuing. "Sweet, mourning lamb, there's nothing you could have done. They went quickly, I made sure of that." He reached out a large hand to gingerly wipe the tears from your face, and you melted into the divine warmth of his fingers.

"Did you come b-back for me too? Please, I don't want to be here anymore- I can't do it without them, please! I'm nothing!" You begged him through sobs.

"Not to me." Ren sighed calmly, a sympathetic smile resting on his expression. "I do not answer the calls of souls whose time are not up... but you're different, special..." He trailed off, his voice still firm but sounding like he was was pondering something.

"I don't understand..." Your voice was just above a whisper.

Ren paused for a moment, the two of you sitting in silence as his dark eyes scanned yours. He held out his hand to you and finally spoke. "I want you to join me. Let it all die, let everything go, and I will give you what you so wish for."

Your eyes widened at his request, staring into his intense gaze. "Join you?" You croaked.

He nodded slightly. "Rule by my side, little lamb. I feel so drawn to you, I always have... And I know you've felt it too." His tone was soft, but there was a small shred of desperation there.

"And everyone I love? My family and friends?... Will I see them again?" You began to turn your head to look at the door to the kitchen, but a strong hand grabbed your chin at light speed, turning your head to look at him again.

"No- You're still... Holding on! Let go!" Ren raised his voice, startling you. He was inches from your face and his eyes were filled with pure panic, as if he were afraid you were changing your mind.

Memories of your family and friends played like a movie reel in your head. So many moments that you'd never get back. They were gone, and you'd never see them again. What's done is done and you had nothing now.

But as you stared into Ren's wild, dark eyes, you saw an offer being handed to you that you couldn't refuse. An option to never be alone again. To forget every detail of your life as it stands. To not feel the pain that laid so heavily on your heart and soul.

I understand.

You inhaled sharply before placing your shaking and much smaller hand in his. "I'll join you." You said it so quietly, you weren't sure if he had even heard it.

Ren certainly did, however, and within seconds he pounced, closing the gap between you. It was as if your words were an invitation he had been eagerly waiting for and his warm lips crashed into your cold, trembling ones. You felt every emotion at once coursing through your body, and you thought you might spontaneously combust at any moment.

The kiss of death.

He did not pull away though, he only continued to kiss you with more urgency. He pushed you backwards until your back was pressed against the plush carpet. When you touched him, he felt like he was made of marble. As if you needed any more emphasis on the fact that this was no human man that loomed over you.

Ren's large hands began to explore your body, his fingers running along your sides, causing a warm bolt of electricity to shoot through your core. You instinctually moaned against his mouth, and you felt him smirk.

He trailed his mouth down your neck, leaving red and purple marks, before pulling away to admire his work. "You already look so divine in this life... I can't begin to imagine what you'll look like in the next." Ren's voice was low, smooth, and his words dripped with honey. It elicited another moan from you, causing him to let out a dark chuckle.

At near light speed, he practically ripped your clothes off, pulling your shirt over your head first before making quick work of your pants and underwear. You were left naked and writhing on the floor as you watched him work at his belt, kneeling over you.

You couldn't help but think of how morally wrong this all was. This was no simple kiss of death... No, this was blasphemous. Sacrilegious in every sense of the word and you... loved it. You loved how your body betrayed you every chance it got, ignoring every single alarm bell that rang in the part of your brain that clutched onto what little was left of your sanity. It was exhilarating.

With quick fingers, Ren freed his cock from the confines of his pants, causing it to spring upwards. You marveled at him, wondering if maybe this was his weapon of choice. Maybe he would impale you on his dick and literally fuck you to death. You saw him smirk as if he had heard your thought. He most certainly did.

You watched, your body trembling, as he lined himself up with your entrance. Ren did not give you a moment to think before slamming himself into you, bottoming out within seconds. Your view of him was clouded by white-hot stars and he watched as your face contorted from the pain and pleasure of being split in two by him.

Ren's thrusts were erratic, unrelenting as he plowed into your cunt. His fingers dug into your hips, surely leaving bruises... not that it would matter tomorrow. You were completely cock drunk, under some divine spell he had surely cast over you. "Feels... s-s-so.... g-" You trailed off, lost in the violent pleasure he inflicted on your small frame.

He chuckled at your futile attempt to form a sentence. "Look at you, little lamb. Already coming undone at my hand. You want release so badly don't you?" His voice was full of compassion but his words were laced with darkness.

You knew it wasn't only your impending climax that he was referring to. You whined, your eyes welling with tears as you nodded frantically. "Please." You let out in a choked sob.

Ren let out a moan and angled his hips to thrust into you deeper, hitting your g-spot again and again with each erratic snap of his hips. He leaned down slowly, his hair tickling your cheek. "Then let go, sweet thing. Let everything go." He whispered in your ear.

You became putty in Ren's hands as you came, clenching around his cock as he continued to violently plow into you. His lips found yours and he kissed you with wild desperation. After a few more thrusts, he followed suit, bottoming out one last time and letting out a groan as he came deep inside of your cunt.

As you came down from your high, you watched hazily as he fumbled with something on the side of his belt. Ren looked down at you with adoration, and with a swift movement of his hand, you felt ice-cold metal pressed against your naked chest.

When you looked down, it took you a moment to process what had happened. Ren had impaled you through the chest with his lightsaber... yet you felt no pain. Only an intense warmth that radiated through every cell of your body.

Your eyes darted up to his face, illuminated in the crimson glow of his weapon. His expression was soft, attentive. You tried to speak but only a choked whine came out, the air having been stolen from your lungs by the fiery plasma that crackled inside of you.

Ren quickly brought his hand up to hold the side of your face, wiping stray tears and gently stroking your jaw with his thumb. You didn't even realize you had started crying again and you began to taste copper. "Shhh, don't be frightened my mourning lamb. It will all be over soon, just let go... Let go, and you will be mine forever..." His voice was deep but it had a sickeningly sweet quality to it.

You couldn't fully decipher what he was saying, so you focused on how nice he sounded instead. How merciful, you thought, for this voice to be the last one you'd ever hear on this mortal plane.

Your vision began to tunnel in on Ren's face. You thought you heard him call you his mourning lamb. What was it you were mourning again? You couldn't seem to remember what originally got you into this situation. You couldn't seem to remember anything. Anything besides Kylo Ren, that is.

"Finally... At last, you are mine."

The last thing you saw was the smile on his face. There was something... dark about it. His eyes were intense and he looked excited, as if he were finally getting something he'd been waiting ages for. Before you could dwell on it for too long though, everything went black.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfic #star wars #starwars fanfic #star wars x reader #star wars sequel trilogy #the force awakens #the last jedi #the rise of skywalker #saint writes !#crucifiedfaerie #dark!fic #kylo ren dark!fic #god!kylo au #kylo ren au

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cocteaucherry · 10 months ago

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slowburn ༺

summary- slow burn with Nanami

cws- slow burn, tooth rotting fluff, suggestive comments, Nanami x reader, wing man gojo vry brief.

a/n-(inspired by slow burn by infinity song, I recommend listening to it while reading :3

Nanami knew it was stupid to wait for someone

Even more stupid if it was juvenile love

But he was waiting for you.

He wishes he could grow the balls to ask you out after all it’s been how many years , you two could qualify as a married couple with how your routines collide.

Every morning he would walk with you to the subway station, you both got off at the same station going your separate ways for work. He did corporate work, you worked as a pediatrician, you both went to lunch and he’d always bring a singular rose.

He’d walk you home first wishing you goodnight and giving you a hug, once your front door shut his fingers would rub each other relishing in the lasting touch of your soft skin. Even though he had already said goodnight he’d send another one.

kento: goodnight sweetheart, get good rest I’ll see you tomorrow morning ❤️

Sweetheart was a nickname he had given you, something innocent you thought but did you want something innocent?

Nanami had grown love sick, he had also grown insecure, after all these years, would you want him? He hadn’t even had his first kiss or first time yet would you want someone experienced? Then he bought himself back to reality, you were a sweetheart (while petty at times) you weren’t shallow.

Even after all these years your old friends were growing irritated with your years long slow burn, Satoru especially.

“I’ve never been this invested in someone’s life go more than twenty minutes, this is just torture y/n-“

“Well then butt out Satoru.” You huffed crossing your arms.

“I can’t, seeing you both dance around each other and not make moves is awful- you’re both oblivious.”

“Well! If you’re so smart, help me Satoru.”

He sighed lifting his blindfold to rub his eyes, “Ever thought of just asking him out like a normal person?”

“Kento is so much more than a normal person.. I want it to be special.”

Satoru rolled his eyes with a grin, “Well Nanami probably hasn’t had his first kiss which means..-“ he started chuckling looking at you.

“Satoru-“

“I’m just sayin-“

“Satoru please.”

“Be his first good fuc-“ he was cut off by your phone coming in contact with his infinity causing the screen to crack, “Ouhhh.. good luck with that.”

You groaned loudly picking up your phone, great another thing to fix.

It was a Friday evening, it was heavily raining and you and Nanami were taking shelter under the awning of a shop. “I think we should try it tomorrow. It sounds great.” You grinned.

“Really? As cute as a cat cafe sounds it doesn’t sound hygienic,” he hummed.

“Ehh, but it sounds cute.”

“Anything is cute to you.” A smile tugged at his lips as he pulled out an umbrella handing it to you.

“Kento come on, I really don’t need it!” You tucked your hands in your pockets as you glared at his tired eyes.

“I’m making sure you don’t get a cold, your job is basically being a doctor anyway, horrible way to promote business.”

“Orrr, we can just share the umbrella, I’ll just stand close!”

“W-Whatever works for you.”

Huh he stuttered and must be cold.

Your arms found Nanami clinging closely to him, his hands shaking as he opened the umbrella. “Let’s get going.” He smiled a shade of pink creeping up his neck.

The walk was possibly the calmest scenic walk of your life, the rain pattering around the umbrella as you cling tightly to the blonde man’s arm.

Nanami was cracking. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take, your soft touches, your voice, the way you say his name. He wanted to rip his face off from the absolute childish behavior he exhibited towards you.

Once he made it towards your very familiar walkway Nanami didn’t wanna let go, his arm tightening around your hand. “Well I’ll see you tomorrow Kento!”

No no no, he couldn’t stand watching you walk away again he watched you walk away approximately 4,380 days.

Just as you slipped from his grip, a tight hold was bound on your wrist, you turned around frantically to stare at Kento as he gazed at you, his stoic expression replaced with a worried one.

“Y/N please let me speak to you.”

You stood still gripping your coat sleeve tightly hoping this was what you were expecting, “I’m all ears.”

“As you know.. I’m not good at expressing emotions but I've been deeply enamored with you since the day I saw you.”

You couldn’t help the smile, a small giggle that came out your mouth, you saw his demeanor shrink and you immediately shook your head. “No no no! It was just your word choice! No one has ever said that to me.”

Nanami’s hand lightly gripped yours as he continued, “It’s about time someone had, and I wanna be the first.. The truth is, I want to be with you everywhere, I want to date, to marry, to grow old with you.. I want us to have unforgettable experiences-“ he was cut off by a pair of lips on his, you had made a move.

His calloused hands wrapped around your waist forgetting the umbrella and this being both of yours first kiss it was mostly teeth. When you pulled away the soft assault of raindrops dropping into your hair made you smile, “I want that too Kento..”

“Just wish you had told me earlier before I had my first kiss at twenty-six.” you playfully smacked his chest.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu x reader #x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #gojo satoru #nanami x you #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #nanami kento #kento nanami

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mastermindmp3 · 6 months ago

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1, 2, 3, 4—

The Prophecy opens with the softest whisper, a male voice (likely Aaron Dessner) counts the song in. It's very faint ( I didn't hear it on my first listen through, actually. ) Deciding to record / keep the count in is an interesting writing tactic. Count ins can lend songs a sense of being like, a chant, but it can also lend a sense of vulnerability and rawness, an 'unedited' feel.

Here, it kind of has the same edge of like, an acoustic, live performance, and definitely calls to mind this idea of the singer songwriter, sitting with her instrument and her band mate, and processing her feelings out loud. And god, does the Prophecy deliver.

The Prophecy is a plea, it is hands and knees begging for another chance. There's this sense of defeat in Swift's narrator, as she acknowledges that a "lesser woman would've lost hope," and that "a greater woman wouldn't beg," even as she turns to pray for a different fate. There's something so painful in the speaker painting herself not as great, and not as weak, but as someone too strong to let go and not proud enough to know when to walk away.

It paints this picture so vividly of someone who has had her heart broken so much that the aches all bleed together. She says that she "thought I caught lightning in a bottle, but it's gone again." Gone again. If she were a greater woman, a woman more proud and less willing to suffer at the hands of her lovers, she would have walked away. Instead, she "howls like a wolf at the moon."

I love how.... claws and teeth that description is. Swift, in the bridge, paints her narrator as so desperate she is reverting to all her base instincts, sounding "like an infant" and being so drained that she feels "like the very last drops of an ink pen." Burnt out, hurt, left without even the words that Swift's narrator once donned as armor. All she has left is begging.

The Narrator does discuss the singular loss that has brought her to her knees - describing "poisoned blood from the wound of the pricked hand." A lover whose self destruction has soaked into her, has infected her mind. It brings forward, again, that idea of wanting to help someone through their darkest patches, but being unable to, because they don't want to get better. ( Its sister lyric, if I had to assign one, is You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days. from So Long, London. )

But I don't think that singular loss is what pains her so. The song makes it clear, it is the culmination of years that has brought her here - and by her own hand. I got cursed like Eve got bitten. (Note: My main source of bible knowledge was a Gender Women's Studies class I took in college called Women in Biblical Literature, so my understanding of the story might be... off.) Eve made the choice to bite the apple of knowledge, manipulated by the Snake, and in doing so, is blamed for all of mankind's ills. It's a fitting metaphor for Swift (and in turn, the narrator she portrays,) a woman blamed for something a man also did.

Swift's narrator in The Prophecy has suffered bruises and pains and still has it, somewhere in her heart, to beg for another shot at love. It's painful; how much she wants to be loved, and how little she gets in return. Left feeling as useful as a paperweight - something meant to hold down an important document, but ultimately, put aside once its usefulness is gone.

#ttpdminutes #the cassandra speaks #the prophecy #taylor swift #this song i have a very strong attachment to for. personal and writing reasons skklsdgfds #so yeah its def a top 5

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invisibleicewands · 5 months ago

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“If It’s Not Grueling, It’s Not Worth It”: John Cale, in Conversation With Michael Sheen

Michael Sheen heard John Cale’s singular voice for the first time as a teenager in his bedroom in Port Talbot, Wales. “Someone cool must have given it to me,” he says of listening to White Light, White Heat for the first time. “I knew nothing about The Velvet Underground, I knew nothing about anything… Then I hear this voice on the song, ‘The Gift,’ and I’m like, ‘Hang on, that’s a Welsh voice.’” On his eighteenth studio album, POPtical Illusion, Cale, now 82 years old, is still possessed of that distinct, boundless instrument. Its emotional tenor, as Cale points out, is “snide,” and throughout the record, there’s an air of humor but also repressed rage boiling just beneath its poppy surface. The legendary musician wrote most of the album during the first Covid lockdown, averaging three songs a day. “I was really angry,” he told Sheen on a call earlier this month. “But I didn’t want the anger to really predominate.” To celebrate the release of Cale’s new album, the two Welshman delved into their respective creative processes, Cale’s relationships with Lou Reed and David Bowie, and the transformative power of public libraries.

MICHAEL SHEEN: How are you?

JOHN CALE: I’m good. I’m just delivering an album.

SHEEN: I’ve been thoroughly enjoying listening to it.

CALE: Oh, really?

SHEEN: Yes, they sent me a link.

CALE: That’s good.

SHEEN: It’s absolutely beautiful, John.

CALE: Good. Well, are you in Port Talbot?

SHEEN: I was in Port Talbot until the weekend. I’m in London for a little bit now. I’ve just finished doing a play. I’ve been playing Nye Bevan.

CALE: Oh, that’s great.

SHEEN: For the last three or four months, we’ve been at the National Theater here in London. Then we did a couple of weeks in Cardiff at the Millennium Center last weekend.

CALE: Who wrote the play?

SHEEN: Tim Price, the Welsh writer. It’s a new play directed by Rufus Norris.

CALE: Very good. Glad to hear you moving on. I’m trying to remember a photograph of him when I was growing up in Garnant and he was a political heavyweight.

SHEEN: Oh, yeah. He’d started off working down the mines. He was a draft door boy.

CALE: That’s right.

SHEEN: Both of you had fathers who were miners.

CALE: Yes. My dad was a fitter. You know what a fitter is?

SHEEN: No.

CALE: A fitter is a guy who goes in and puts the wrenches and the bolts and everything together. He doesn’t go down shoveling coal or any of that. He just puts gear together.

SHEEN: Well, it’s funny, because listening to the album, I was reminded of a scene in Nye, where you see Bevan as a young boy going into the Tredegar Library. He had a terrible stutter, a stammer. The library gave him the opportunity to increase his vocabulary so he could use different words. Literally, libraries gave him power.

CALE: Listen, the library in Garnant gave me power. It was a little place stuffed with books, but they have these cards where, if you wanted a book that they didn’t have, you could fill out the form and they’d run off and get it. And not only that, they filled out forms for music. The music was attended to by the Marlborough-MA Public Library. If I put down Schoenberg, they would find the book.

SHEEN: Wow, that’s amazing.

CALE: I learned so much from that.

SHEEN: One of the most moving scenes in the play is this scene in the library because, of course, it gives Bevan his freedom. He’s able to talk. And on your new album, a line that really jumped out at me was on “Company Commander,” when you say “right-wingers burning their libraries down.” You think, “Here are the things that gave the working class in Wales power and now we’ve got people, as you describe, burning the libraries down.”

CALE: As a social activist, I’ve watched you approach that subject not just carefully, but penetratingly

SHEEN: Well, that line really jumped out at me. And I think the album is beautiful, disquieting, but I also found it incredibly moving at times.

CALE: Really?

SHEEN: Well, just seeing a song called “Davies in Wales,” immediately my ears pricked up, especially knowing that your name is John Davies Cale. I’ve listened to that a few times today. What was going on there?

CALE: It’s a laugh. You’ve got to have some of that in your life otherwise you’d die of boredom. “Shark-Shark” was one that really doesn’t have any sense to it at all. You just do it as a goof.

SHEEN: Am I right in saying that the very last word on the album is coal?

CALE: Code.

SHEEN: Code, right. See, my Welsh ears heard coal because I couldn’t help but be tempted into thinking of you floating down a river like a magical piece of coal, John. Is it too late to change it to coal?

CALE: For you? No.

SHEEN: But am I right as well in saying that in the space of a year you wrote over 80 songs and that this album has come out of that?

CALE: Yeah. The lockdown took over about a year-and-a-half ago and I just shut the door and took precautions and got on with some work. When I came out of that, there was an album already. At the end of the day, I had 80 songs. This is about finding poetry in the strangest places.

SHEEN: Did the lockdown color the nature of the songs in terms of their tone?

CALE: Yeah, I had a lot of energy. I was really angry. I didn’t want the anger to really predominate. It was really about trying to find out what else there was around you that you considered as part of your persona. If you’re writing lyrics, you start with a lyric and then you go to the music. Or you start with the music, then go to the lyrics. You really don’t want to obey too many of the laws of poetry and rhyme too much. You don’t mind tripping over your own shoelaces. Making mistakes is really important sometimes, and I’m still growing.

SHEEN: Have you carried on writing at that kind of pace since then?

CALE: Yeah.

SHEEN: Wow. That’s an extraordinary creative explosion. Is that just to do with the lockdown conditions or is it also where you were at in your life?

CALE: I think so, yeah. I’ve had enough of certain things. But the whole process welcomed me like, “Hey, why don’t you do this?” You find the rest of your ideas by rifling around all the ideas you’ve had to the beginning of that lockdown and eventually, you don’t have a lockdown.

SHEEN: Well, it clearly wasn’t a kind of creative or imaginative lockdown. Did you know they were always going to be for a solo album?

CALE: No, the collaborations happened on the first of the albums. The rest of it was just me playing with my instruments. I just had a pile of instruments in my studio and off I went.

SHEEN: But this album feels so crafted and so textured. It’s interesting you said that you were very angry because maybe that’s one of the “poptical illusions” of the album, because it doesn’t immediately feel like an angry album. It feels incredibly lush. Even at its most lush, it’s never comfortable. There’s always disquiet there. My hearing is getting worse, and I’ve never been able to hear lyrics very well, so I have to listen over and over to get to the lyrics. As I listened to the songs more and more, you do start to hear the anger. It’s so rich and lush and textured and yet there is a darkness in there as there always is in your work, John.

CALE: Yeah, I appreciate that. “Snide” is an appropriate word.

SHEEN: It’s a good word.

CALE: It’s handy.

SHEEN: We were at a very particular time when we were in those lockdowns. You start to think about the western world over the last 10 years or so, and not only were we in that bizarre situation of being locked up in our homes, but we were also at a time in the world where things were and still are obviously unhinged in all kinds of ways. Is that what was feeding that sense of anger that you were talking about?

CALE: Well, people don’t want to be lectured. You don’t want to say anything because then you’ve got the responsibility of answering the questions. You want to see if you can get away with as much humor as you possibly can.

SHEEN: That’s where snide comes in.

CALE: It’s a good to have a sense of humor with some snide.

SHEEN: Well, it’s funny you talk about your sense of humor. The very first time I heard your voice, I was a young teenager in my bedroom in Port Talbot. I had my first record player. My musical tastes were fairly conservative when I was younger. But somehow I’d got hold of White Light, White Heat. An older cousin must have given it to me or something. Someone cool must have given it to me. I put it on and I’m listening to this album and it seemed like the epitome of the exotic for me. It’s American, it’s the coolest thing ever. I knew nothing about Velvet Underground. I knew nothing about anything, really. Then I hear this voice on the song “The Gift”, and I’m like, “Hang on, that’s a Welsh voice!” I couldn’t believe it. That’s when I discovered you and who you were and where you’d come from and all that kind of stuff. But that dark humor, that was my first introduction to you and dark humor itself.

CALE: When we did that album, people were wondering, “What is this about? What are these guys doing?” I thought to myself, “I have to wait until the end of the album to have a clear idea of where I stood in the European world and where I did not stand in the European world.” Most of the songs on a lot of those albums were reflections of what I was missing about Europe. Those were a lot of loose songs, granted, but a lot of the songs I came up with at the end of that period, like “Paris 1919,” for instance, were written from California.

SHEEN: When you were in New York in the ’60s, did you feel like a European in America?

CALE: I did, but I didn’t have time for it. It’s a weird position to be in. You’re sitting in New York and you’re hanging out with Andy [Warhol] and the factory and all those other characters, all just amazingly brilliant in their own way and full of ideas and kind and gentle. It was a nonstop fountain of inspiration. What am I trying to say? It was an artistic revolution in New York. A lot of it probably came from the sexual revolution that was going on. There was so much of that going on. I was really interested in a very specific kind of music that happened to have been started in 1963 in Stockhausen. But all of a sudden, I was with LaMonte Young in California, where he was a jazz saxophone player. He was moving to New York and he was interested in totally different things about drones. He took that influence with him across the water. Then Viola Monte Young starts introducing droned violas to the Velvet Underground and we have modern music, essentially.

SHEEN: Part of your extraordinary career has been about connecting and working with younger artists coming up, whether it’s The Stooges or The Modern Lovers, right up to Kelly Lee Owens and Nirvana. How do you stay plugged into that? How do you watch out for what’s going on and see who you want to work with?

CALE: It’s pretty easy. It’s all over. With the new technology, you can’t avoid it.

SHEEN: But if you’re writing songs, how have you got time to listen to other people’s music as well?

CALE: That’s one of the problems. It’s just one of those things that you run into in life. You can’t do it all the time. You can’t do it for very long. But it’s just knowing what’s going on, where and when. But the other stuff is, I can just keep going. I’m not fragile yet.

SHEEN: No, you don’t seem fragile in any way, John. Although I have to say, in some of the lyrics and some of the music on this album, there’s a vulnerability there.

CALE: An important characteristic of your creativity is how fragile you are in the process. You reveal more of yourself in that way. I think revealing more of yourself has no limit. I think it’s something you’ve got to recognize in the process.

SHEEN: I was talking about this recently, but when I was a younger actor, I thought good acting was essentially about showing off. I thought it was about working out how to be really entertaining and clever and funny and smart. Then, as I got older, I realized that the more uncomfortable I was when I was acting, that’s actually where the good stuff is.

CALE: Yes, absolutely.

SHEEN: That’s where the magical pieces of coal are.

CALE: Don’t tell anybody.

SHEEN: So a lot of people came out of lockdown having watched a lot of box sets on TV. You came out of it with multiple albums and god knows how many songs. I don’t know about this album, but certainly on the last album, you have a song like “Night Crawling” where you’re going back over stuff with David Bowie. Was there a lot of that happening in lockdown as well? I don’t mean reminiscing in a nostalgic or sentimental way, but a sense of drawing from the past?

CALE: Only when I wrote the song. It was something that happened. I was a little embarrassed about having to have a character in my songs that you can really appreciate for other reasons. I was trying to be kind and generous about it.

SHEEN: You’re bound to be aware. If you are writing a song about something that’s happened to you, and it involves someone that everybody knows, there is an awareness of the weight of that, isn’t there?

CALE: Yeah. You try to be generous with everybody.

SHEEN: If it involves going back to working with Lou Reed and everyone else, do you feel a need to make it slightly more cryptic?

CALE: That happened already. That’s part of history. I dealt with it and I’m satisfied with it. I’m glad that we wrote Lou’s Drella together. When we finished the whole piece, I said, “Lou, we’ve written all these songs and they’re all about all these characters that we know and we love and lived through. But you didn’t write a single verse about the Velvet Underground.” He went away and wrote one and came back.

SHEEN: Well, I suppose it’s difficult. If you’ve lived a life like you have lived and you’ve been around the people, it’s going to be difficult to write any song without somehow involving people that everyone knows in some way or another. Do you remember when I came to New York and when there was that exhibition about the Velvet Underground?

CALE: Yes, that’s right.

SHEEN: You were surrounded by people the whole time, so I didn’t want to bother you too much. But before I left, I wanted to come up and say hello. As I was with you, Laurie Anderson came up to us and I totally embarrassed myself by suddenly going, “Oh, ‘Superman’ was such an amazing song for me.”

CALE: She deserves it.

SHEEN: She quite rightfully paid me no heed and walked off.

CALE: Really? I’m surprised.

SHEEN: I felt so embarrassed.

CALE: No, she’s a kind soul. I’m glad you did it.

SHEEN: More and more now, actually, I feel like I want to tell people when they’ve had an amazing effect on my life. There’s so much shit in the world. There’s so much stuff that makes you feel shitty. And that’s another reason why I find listening to your new album moving, because you are one of those people for me. Are you going to be touring this album?

CALE: Yeah. It’s starting in January. I’m doing a couple of gigs in Mexico. It’ll be interesting now that they’ve got a new Prime Minister.

SHEEN: Indeed. Touring and playing live, is that something that has become more important to you, or maybe less?

CALE: Oh, it’s always been important. It’s been like a life-giving source. You get an audience out there. There’s nothing better than that.

SHEEN: Is it grueling?

CALE: If it’s not grueling, it’s not worth it.

#Michael Sheen #interview #Music #John Cale

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imgeekgirlfan · 7 months ago

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I Will Follow You Into The Dark

Pairings: Astarion x Original Female Character(Named Tav) [From Baldur's Gate 3]

Tag/Warnings : Canon Compliant, Post-Endgame, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Tragedy, Mentions of past abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, References to Depression, Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Synopsis : Astarion returned to the city of Baldur's Gate, following the final request of his beloved, who asked him to bury her next to his grave. As dawn approached, Astarion held the lifeless body of his love, reminiscing about the countless memories they shared together.

A/N : The story started when I came across this tweet: 'do you guys think your tavs/durges stayed with their love interest long term or not?'

I got the idea to tell the story of my Tav and her love interest, Astarion. What would happen to them after the end of Baldur's Gate 3? I've been thinking about it a lot and it's quite heartbreaking.

From these little headcanons, I developed this one-shot about them.

My Tav is a human bard with a noble background. So, I imagined her as the daughter of a noble Baldurian,which contrasts with Astarion's background. Their initial relationship was more of a adversaries before blossoming into love in the end.

Listening to the song "I Will Follow You into the Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie gave me a lot of inspiration for this couple. (At first, I wanted to use the song "Take Me To Church" as the title, but it's too popular. I thought a song that many might not have heard of would be fitting for this tale.)

Read in Ao3 : here

"Jones," Astarion whispered, calling his beloved, but she didn't respond.

Her eyes closed tightly, her body growing colder with each passing moment.

Astarion pulled her closer, hoping his slight warmth might warm her. He knew it wouldn't help, and she would never wake to look into his eyes again.

Human lives are fleeting, from young maiden to old crone, from crone to spirit.

Her entire life was a blink of an eye compared to his cursed immortality.

Once, Astarion had both disdain and curiosity about this human. A race so fragile and feeble, never wielding a sword to harm anyone, raised in a noble family, spending half a comfortable lifetime in a grand mansion in Baldur’s Gate, surrounded by obedient servants bowing to her every whim.

He couldn't make sense of her. For a vampire like him who had struggled to survive amidst enemies and a cruel world for centuries. He was nothing but a bloodthirsty creature, a servant under a master's foot who got treated worse than a common slave, struggling to sustain his life with the taste of filthy rat blood that almost made him vomit.

Astarion envies her for an ideal life in the gilded cage he could only dream of. envied the short-lived human existence. While he had no right to die willingly if his evil master didn't want him to die,

And he wondered why she had fled her high-life in the capital city of Baldur’s Gate to suffer with them. why someone so inept at fighting would risk her life battling monsters, from goblins and evil undead to even gods, to aid them and help everyone unrelated to her.

He thought Jones was foolish, and he didn't like fools.

Ironically, eighty years later, he found himself shedding tears at her death.

"I wish to be buried beside your grave, Astarion." That was one of her last wishes before she breathed her last in his embrace. This led Astarion to make the singular decision to step out of the Underdark and return to Baldur’s Gate, the city where he once hated heavily, to fulfill the last wish of his beloved.

The black sky began to turn deep blue. Astarion knew he should hurry to bury Jones properly before the sunrise. As he contemplated, his eyes caught withered flowers left on the ground near his own grave marker. For a brief moment, Astarion reminisced about the memories he shared with her. He had once brought Jones to his own grave, recounting his life before turning into a vampire. and then visualizing a future where he wished to live with her,as his past had died over two centuries ago and she was the only future he desired.

Astarion remembered his overwhelming fear that Jones might refuse him. She was the highborn daughter of Baldur’s Gate's noble families. Why would she choose to endure the hardships of life with an elf vampire like him?

Yet his fear vanished instantly when he saw the soft smile on her smooth face. She placed flowers on his grave and embraced him, accepting his love wholeheartedly.

That night was the night he died and was reborn in her embrace. Not as the enslaved Astarion, not as the villainous Astarion, but as Astarion the redeemed, never to be alone again because he would have her by his side forever.

But the words 'forever' don't really exist, especially for humans and vampires.

Still, Astarion couldn't help but secretly hope.

Sometimes, darker thoughts overshadow his mind, eclipsing all the goodness he has left. Astarion often secretly pondered that if he chose the path of power, performed an ancient ritual to sacrifice seven thousand souls to a devil, and transformed himself into a vampire ascendant, he would have enough strength to walk in the sunlight with her and enough power to turn her into a vampire like him. Then they could live together forever without the fear of death taking her away.

But it was Jones who restrained him then. She persuaded Astarion to see that these powers offered him nothing but the dark legacy of the Vampire Master, an inheritance of wickedness that would never end. She told him he could be better than Cazador, his former master, and he didn't have to continue killing others to sustain his existence anymore.

Astarion trusted her, though he couldn't deny feeling deeply regretful. And Jones sensed his feelings. She gently grasped his cold hands and earnestly vowed, "Astarion, I will find a way to cure you of vampirism, so you can walk under the sunlight with me again."

And she kept her promise. After successfully helping Baldur’s Gate city fend off the threats of the Mind Flayers and Nether Brain, she and him began a new adventure together. They journeyed across the entire continent of Faerûn, from Waterdeep to Athkatla, Neverwinter, Luskan, and even the mysterious realm of Feywild, all in pursuit of finding a cure for him.

Those times were special, building strong bonds and beautiful memories between them. They laughed together, danced together, fought together, and held each other close under vast skies and twinkling stars as witnesses.

Until Jones began to age and couldn’t continue the journey. That was when they both realized how little time they had left. And no matter how much time and effort they put in, there was no way to find a cure for him anymore.

Facing the harsh reality was incredibly difficult. Astarion had to hide his deep sorrow while he tried to persuade her to stop the adventure and live out her remaining days in the Underdark, the dark and sunless realm, the only place where he could be with her.

He knew what the near future held. Nothing would hurt as much as watching his beloved age continuously, waiting for her time to pass while he remained unchanged.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you as I promised. Please forgive me," she said during their time in Underdark. Her bright blue eyes, the very eyes he fell in love with, overflowed with guilt.

Astarion wanted her to know that he could never be angry or hate her.

The shovel still lay untouched on the ground, with no sign of being used anytime soon. While the vampire elf sat silently in front of his own grave marker, letting old memories flow through his mind once more,. Both his arms cradled her lifeless body as if she were still alive.

"My beloved, please continue to live on for me. I wish to see you happy for a long time," another of her last requests echoed in his mind. The gentle touch of her frail hand on his cheek still lingers in his heart to this day.

"Jones." Astarion whispers her name again. Tears, which he had not shed for a long time, now streamed down his pale face. "I can't do it," he murmured to her lifeless body. "How can I find happiness without you?"

A golden beam slowly crept in, chasing away the darkness from the vast sky. Yet Astarion's body remained unmoving, just like the eyes of the vampire, which refused to leave the withered face of his beloved for a second. He memorized every detail of her, keeping it in his memory as best as he could. She still looked as beautiful as ever in his eyes—always and forever.

"I wish the next life was real. I hope we'll meet again, live together, and build a family," Astarion whispered softly, planting a tender kiss on the edge of her lips. "Wait for me, darling. I'll follow you soon, no matter where you choose to go."

Finally, he tore his gaze away from her, looking up at the sky once more. For the first time in centuries, he had the chance to gaze at the nearing dawn with full eyes. As the sun peeked over the horizon, followed by the warm rays starting to seep through his skin, cracks began to form, turning his skin into tiny specks of dust.

Before his final consciousness faded, Astarion's thoughts remained vivid.

This was the most beautiful dawn he had ever witnessed.

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doomandgloomfromthetomb · 26 days ago

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Shellac - 7th. Street Entry, Minneapolis, Minnesota, October 29, 1994

Guest post! This one comes from friend-of-the-blog Xopher Besinger — a loving tribute to Shellac of North America and the late/great Steve Albini ...

When Steve Albini passed away this past spring the underground music world lost a champion and a crucial resource, both technological and philosophical. But he wasn’t only an engineer, studio owner, and opinionated online presence Albini was also a singular guitar player and for the last 33 years member of the power trio Shellac along with Bob Weston of Volcano Suns and Todd Trainer from Rifle Sport & Brick Layer Cake. The band carved out a special niche, where Wire and Gang of Four overlapped with AC/DC, shearing away all unnecessary elements until the music was compressed down to a single razor blade guitar spinning off coruscating shards of metallic sound over a massive, unstoppable rhythm section and sometimes some yelling.

They made several studio albums, but Shellac was primarily a live band, part comedy act, part blistering noise unit, always conducting shows with the laid-back ease of a long running house band. Toward the end shows were as full of familiar bits and gags as much as new songs but this show, from October 1994 in front of a rowdy home turf crowd (c’mon everyone knows the 7th St Entry was their home) approaching Halloween the band is still very new, a couple of singles had appeared the year prior and the first full-length, At Action Park, came out that month but not everything had completely settled just yet, even the infamous Q & A sessions appear here in nascent form as Albini just fields specific questions about Montana.

This show probably isn’t a holy grail to anyone except for me, I remember seeing the show flyers up around Dinkytown when I was briefly attending the University of Minnesota, but I was still 18, not old enough and without a fake id. The sound is a bit rough on this audience tape, plenty of dance music bleeding in from the First Avenue main room next door (a normal hazard throughout the 90s) and drunken crowd chatter but the band is clearly in their element, teasing Minneapolis icons Morris Day & Arcwelder’s Bill Graber and battering the hell out of the songs. Albini has obviously been listening to the also recently released Jon Spencer Blues Explosion album Orange as he exhorts “blues explosion! number one blues singer!” several times. The setlist draws mainly from the singles & first LP but there are a few surprises, such as the mellow coda to “Rambler Song” from their split single with P.W. Long, an early version of “Disgrace” and of course “Spoke”, which was the normal closer in the early years but didn’t appear on an album until 2007.

As always there is a healthy amount of back-and-forth between the band and crowd and even amongst the band onstage, but Shellac always made it clear that those interactions were as much a part of the gig as anything. This holistic view might be one of the reasons the shows were so memorable, it wasn’t just a band playing music to an audience, the talking, the tuning up, the waiting for the show to start, the lines to the bathroom, the obnoxious people in the crowd, the songs you had never heard before, were all given equal weight as components to the experience. And that to me is what this recording captures, the full weight of seeing them, with all those other things included.

I am going to miss seeing them dismantle the hecklers, I am going to miss the way they could flip from goofy to visceral to transcendent in the matter of seconds, but more than anything I am going to miss that biting, clanging guitar at the start of “Billiard Player Song” cutting straight through everything. Everything. So, grab a cigar, a match, and people who don’t care if you smoke it and loudest speakers you can find. Requiescat!

#shellac #steve albini

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mar3ggiata · 3 months ago

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professional help, c13. I found a mountain.

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs.

song to listen to when reading this: Pulaski at night, Andrew Bird.

abstract: Simon. it was alright. it's nothing, I'm not impressed. really, reading this back, I don't know what got to me, I don't know I wasn't even thinking. pretend this is not me, pretend is someone else I swear I don't think this actually happened. Alba's lying as usual. I'm out.

Her eyes lit up. A kid on Christmas morning. 'Really, you wanna know?' she asked, straitening her back. He imitated her, sitting back on the chair and crossing his arms. That position made him look huge and intimidating. She felt her lips curl into a smile. His annoyance with her amused her. 'Tell me what you found', he said, his voice deep and warm. It was the hottest thing she had ever heard in her entire life. He was even more handsome and attractive now. Tell me about your investigation? Tell me about what you found out from your hours of researching like a fucking FBI agent? Dirty talk. Her smile grew wider.

She fixed her posture. 'Okay, so… You remember the stages of the journey in the book? The first one is the River in Jordan, which let's say you guys have already covered.' She kept her tone low, she was secretive. 'The second challenge is a long trip through the desert. When they reach the exact middle of the desert the main character has a revelation or some shit, but it happens right in the middle of the desert.' She stopped because the food had arrived. She took a bite if her burger and wiped her mouth with her napkin before continuing. He was mesmerised by her. 'Sorry, I'm starving… anyways, I went on Google Earth. I measured the distance between Al-Jareena and the closest city to the Persian Gulf, it's 1765 kilometres.' She quickly realised she gave away a crucial information about herself and she hoped he didn't notice. He did. Got you, European. Fuck it I don't care, she thought and took another bite before continuing. He didn't start eating yet. 'I looked right in the middle, 882 kilometres and a half.' she stopped and smiled again. She waited for a few seconds, a pause to build suspace.

'I found a fucking mountain.' She let the words linger in the air. 'And…?' he asked, wanting her to keep going. She had a theatrical way of speaking, probably because she had a eureka moment at her apartment alone, and she wanted to share her excitement. 'I found a fucking mountain, better, it's a crater, look.' She got out her phone from her pocket, opened Google Earth on her phone and looked through the app. The screen illuminated her eyes, making them seem white and light green and made of crystal water. When she found what she was looking for, she passed him the phone. 'It's not labelled, probably not geolocalized. These craters form when volcanoes essentially cool down and collapse on themselves, they can be very deep, they can have water inside. They're all over the world, America, Egypt, Russia… This one is 4 kilometres wide.' He looked at the image of the little dot on the map, a singular circle in the middle of nowhere. 'What's weird is that the closest city is more than 10 kilometres away, it looks like the outer part is quite high, making the centre more secluded,' she clicked the 3D option on the phone, 'and there's something inside.' He looked at her, then back at the phone. He zoomed in, trying to get to the middle of the circle. He could see something, he could't say they were houses. He could see construction for sure, he counted seven buildings. 'I looked through the years to see if they were old. In the images from 2019 there was nothing there. Nothing, there was grass. It were updated again in 2021, nothing again. It was last updated about 90 days ago, that's when the buildings start to appear.' She took another bite, eyes still fixated on his. He was looking at her with her phone in one hand, burger in front of him, his head racing. When she said she had something to say he didn't think about this for sure. The Alba Crater.

'Simon, eat', she said softly and he felt that if he was standing up he would have fainted. His name didn't belong to him when she pronounced it. Not with that tone, that caring tone. He put down the phone without saying a word and peeled his mask over his mouth. It was the first time she saw his lips. A long scar on the left side. It looked like he had more on his jaw and neck. No beard. They ate in silence for a few minutes. She tried to look everywhere but his face, she sensed it made him uncomfortable. She finished before him, she was going to get a stomachache from eating so fast. She waited for him to finish, wipe his mouth and roll his mask back down before looking up again. He noticed she kept her eyes on her plate. He wanted to thank her for being understanding and, at the same time, felt fucking stupid for wearing that mask all the time. Why could't he just be fucking normal for once? He pushed back the thought and focused back on her.

'You're saying this crater is being used as a hiding spot for Khorram.' She nodded, so he continued. 'They started building a sort of little village, the place is secluded, no one really knows about it…' Except you, Alba. 'Yes, the cities are far, there are nearly no roads close by, and I don't think it's a coincidence the building appeared barely a month after your mission was announced. It's in the middle of nowhere...' He sighed. It sure made sense, it was a good story. He didn't understand why she kept having all that information to give them. Because she was good at doing research, and it made him furious. Did he want to tell Price with the risk of making him waste time on a stupid mountain? Was it all just in Alba's fantasy? 'It could be a coincidence…' he reflected and she jumped in. 'It's still something! You have no idea where he is, don't you?' She noticed she raised her tone a little too much and calmed down. 'When Arash gave me that book he looked like he had just met God, for fuck's sake. What if he's following the steps of the book, what if Khorram is inside the crater?' She kept pushing. 'What about the Persian Gulf then?' he asked 'The story is supposed to finish there.'

She bit her lower lip and let her eyes wonder around for a few seconds, lost in thought. She hadn't thought about that, to be honest. It made her insecure about her whole research now… He was right though. 'When do you leave?' she asked. 'Three days.' He sensed the air getting tense between them. Or rather, sad. She fixed a strand of hair behind her ear, 'I have to go walk my dog', she explained, he was already putting on his jacket. He got distracted for a second, for a single second. The waitress appeared next to them and Alba handed her card with a smile. 'Wait…' he tried to protest. She raised her eyebrows 'What?' she asked. She knew exactly what he was thinking, because, well, men. She was disappointed to see he was almost more impressed by the fact she payed than by her research on the crater. 'I would have paid', he said with embarrassment in his voice, and she chucked. 'No, I invited you, I'm paying.'

Truth is, where she was from, paying for meals and offering food was a form of hospitality. Plus, she never did anything fun. He tried to repress internal panic, seeing her buy him food. He wasn't used to it, at all. It made him feel weird, a state he could't describe. Vulnerability maybe. It was stupid, this whole night was fucking pointless. She was silent in the car, he took her back to the ballet school, she had her Polo there. 'Thank you for paying, you shouldn't have', hearing him say that made her smile again. 'You'll pay next time, let it go.' She replied without even looking at him. Her words were rose petals, she brushed it off like it meant nothing. Next time? The fuck do you mean next time? Stop fucking playing with me I am not your fucking friend, he wanted to scream. He couldn't. She was funny, he had to admit. I am leaving in three days I might even fucking die in Jordan and you're saying there will be a next time? If I survive, count me in, I guess, or don't, cause I'm not your friend.

While Simon could not process an answer, Alba knew exactly what she was doing. She liked putting people in difficult situations, she did therapy to deeply damaged army soldiers for a living. He was different from every guy she had ever met. It was nice to talk to someone different, to have interactions and see how people's minds processed. She had always had a love - hate relationship with men in general. Where she was from, boys only ever showed her affection through violence, control and manipulation. Dating was part of deals, part of negotiations. Women were prizes, she had belonged to someone in particular for a few years. I don't use the word belong lightly, she really had been a possession. She hated the Brits she met at university, loud, messy, always drunk and just disgusting as a whole. He was the exception. He wasn't loud. He talked to her softly. Maybe because he was older, he had to be at least 30. He blushed when she talked. He was probably panicking right now and she kinda liked it.

'You shouldn't walk your dog at night, it's dangerous.' He said, and she stopped in her tracks. 'I'll be careful', she said, ready to turn around.

'I'll meet you outside your place.' He drove away before she could say anything and she looked at him go away in pure shock. Her mouth open and eyes wide, what the fuck? She got in the car, turned the engine on. She sent a voice message while reversing to drive away.

'Oi Salvo…indovina con chi ho cenato stasera.'

notes: the crater story is inspired by a true weird crater found on Google Earth with a proper village inside. I changed the distances and some other details. also, what the fuck is a kilometre?? translation: 'Oi Salvo, guess who I had dinner with.'

taglist:

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me

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nothingtoseeherebyeexx · 2 years ago

Text

Delicate, Chapter Two: …Ready For It?

same disclaimer as last time this is just for funsies and i’m not a writer !! also we’ve unlocked cissa and lily povs!!

CW: a bit of alcohol-related struggles

< prev chapter next chapter >

“Lily that was mental! You can’t just say things like that, especially in your situation! What if you get sued?”

“The money you waste on PR teams, I invest in lawyers!” Lily replied, dropping her keys on the table, an exasperated Alice following her inside their home.

“She brought up Snape,” Lily justified herself with a sigh, “You know how I get when they bring up Snape.”

They had just come back from Rita Skeeter’s show, and of course it had been a complete disaster: that woman loved to pick the touchiest topics during her live shows, banally exploiting private matters for views and publicity. That was one of the two reasons most celebrities refused to be her guests, the other being that she was generally a very unpleasant woman to interact with.

A right bitch, if you will.

However, Lily’s situation was…singular.

About a year before she had upset a few (many) big shots in the music and acting industries, gaining a lot of enemies and getting terrible backlash. It had been a horrible year, and thankfully her friends were there for her, but she wanted to get back on the scene. She wasn’t going to let some rich assholes dim her light.

So, of course, when Rita Skeeter had offered her an interview, she had accepted out of desperation. Like an idiot.

“She read one of Avery’s Tweets and you went crazy!” whined Alice.

“I didn’t go crazy-“

“‘How is Lily Evans still relevant? She only makes songs about Snape, he basically made her famous’ And what did you say, Lily?”

Lily bit her lip, remembering the moment with just the tiniest bit of shame. The smile Rita had on her lips while reading that stupid Tweet, the blind rage it had caused.

“Please remind me, what did you say?”

“Something mature and responsible, i’m sure-“

“You said, and I quote, ‘Just to let Avery Jr know, I was the one who made that bitch fucking famous’” Alice countered, eyebrows raised.

Lily swallowed. “…I didn’t say anything else though, did I?”

“Because they cut the cameras!”

“Listen,” rebutted Lily, sitting on the sofa in their living room and pulling out her phone.

“I may have implied that he’s gay but it’s not my fault if he finds that offensive! It’s his problem, really, and he can’t bring that up to court.”

“I think you should focus on the fact that you called Severus Snape a bitch, and that he would be a nobody if it weren’t for you,” countered Alice, taking a pot of peach yoghurt from the fridge. “I pity Longbottom, really: lately being your manager seems like a fucking nightmare.”

“Good thing he’s good at his job, then. He’s like part of the family now.” Lily looked up from her phone smiling, “You are the mum, he’s the dad, Marlene is the reckless younger sister and i’m the angry teen full of hatred for this world.”

“We’re both too young to be your parents, and he might be suspicious of his wife writing about women in her love songs, you know.” Alice smiled, taking a spoonful of yoghurt. “What are you watching?”

“Oh, it’s Narcissa’s last show,” explained Lily with a shrug, “She performed a few songs for a festival last week and I heard great things about a certain performance…apparently she’s been working with this girl for a few months, singing together. She’s been hiding a gem, that’s what her fans have been saying.”

“And how come you’re suddenly so interested in Narcissa Black? Didn’t know you were a fan of hers.” Alice got closer, leaning over Lily’s head to watch the video on her phone. She carried the faint smell of peaches and the weight of past personal issues in her voice, but Lily wasn’t going to pry. Much.

“I like her music, actually. But it’s this new girl that really piqued my interest. New blood, always exciting.” Lily paused the video and decided to push her luck, just a bit. “They remind me of us, you know: a younger singer, guided by a-“

“I’m not like Black. And you were already popular when we started living together with Marlene, so I don’t think it counts.” Alice cut her off, harshly, and started walking away. “I’m going to my room, see if I can write something.”

Lily silently accepted her defeat and swiftly changed topic. “Pizza tonight?”

But Alice had already gone up to her room, so Lily took it as permission to order whatever she wanted.

She had no clue what Alice’s issue with Narcissa Black was: in the three years she had been living with her, Alice had never given a sign of knowing Black, and Lily could’ve easily thought Alice had absolutely no connection to her.

However, the way Alice became quiet whenever Narcissa showed up on TV and how she’d turn off the radio when Black’s songs were playing indicated otherwise: in Lily’s opinion, Alice was trying really hard to hide her…hatred? No, not hatred-distaste for Narcissa, but her indifference was a too-long practiced craft for it to be genuine.

Lily thought that constantly trying to ignore someone counted as actually thinking about them, and she had therefore concluded that Alice Fortescue was mildly obsessed with Narcissa Black.

Marlene and Frank agreed that there was something going on between the two, or at least there had been, so Lily supposed she wasn’t just jumping to conclusions.

However, whenever they tried to bring it up, they were always shut off by Alice, and, as childish as it may sound, it hurt: Lily, Marlene and Alice had known each other for years, they had shared fears, hopes, secrets. They had never broken each other’s trust, and that was one of the fundamentals of their friendship.

So why was Alice so incredibly jealous of the corner Narcissa occupied in her mind? Was she ever going to let them in?

She would, eventually.

Or at least Lily hoped so.

In the mean time, she had a new singer to focus her attention on: an unknown girl named Mary Macdonald, who performed for the first time with the Narcissa Black, as the closing act of a festival that had sold out probably because of Black. The piece they were going to sing was a fan favourite, Born to Die, so the crowd’s expectations were extremely high.

This Mary Macdonald was either exceptionally confident, or completely mental.

But when she started to sing, Lily was immediately captivated. From the way she walked on the stage, to how she swayed to the music, to the bright smile on her lips when she wasn’t singing, it was impossible for Lily to take her eyes off her. For a few minutes, Mary’s voice seemed like the only real thing in the world, making everything else feel mundane, unworthy of attention.

Narcissa let Mary steal the spotlight, looking at her proudly like she was showing the world a ground breaking discovery. And she wasn’t wrong, because the girl sang for barely five minutes, and yet Lily was already starving for more.

How could Mary fear the eyes of a few thousands of people when she sang like the whole world was watching? How could she feel the pressure of being a guest on another star’s show, when she shone just as bright?

Lily didn’t need much more after that.

She opened her chat with Alice and Marlene.

lil evans: i’m going to sing with Mary Macdonald and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.

lil evans: and we’re having pizza tonight.

“Making her sing during that show was completely mental, Cissa.” Amelia was leaning against the desk in front of Narcissa, arms crossed.

It had always been hard for Narcissa to find her intimidating, since they were similar in both age and personality, so she was one of the few who weren’t affected by her signature Amelia Bones Glare. In addition to that, her mischievous eyes and Narcissa’s satisfied smile made the whole conversation feel more like two friends chatting casually, rather than a lecture about Narcissa’s…surprise song. Introducing Mary to a crowd like that had been a bold choice, but neither of the singers regretted it.

Narcissa and Mary had been working together everyday for two months now, 6 hours of practice daily. Narcissa was aware this rhythm was probably unbearable for Mary, who had another job, but the girl had been set on working her ass off to start thinking about her own album as soon as possible, and even when she eventually started working on it, she still spent a quarter of her day singing.

They even spent part of their free time together: considering how much Mary seemed to dread staying home and how discreet she was about her private life, Narcissa had the suspicion her family situation wasn’t exactly the best, so she had been inviting her over to her place as often as possible with the weirdest excuses to give her a distraction.

It’s not like Narcissa could have helped it, she knew what a shit family could do to a person, and she genuinely appreciated Mary’s company, too.

So much, in fact, that she had taken her to perform live for the first time as soon as she had the chance.

“You’re right, Mel, it was crazy. It worked, though,” replied Narcissa nonchalantly, bringing a cigarette to her lips. Thank God Amelia was also a smoker and allowed the occasional cig-breaks indoors, as long as Narcissa had to share. “It’s all the media has been talking about for the past two weeks. Besides, we are going to drop her album in, like, less than a month, some extra publicity can’t hurt.”

“It was her first time singing to an audience, and you made her jump on a stage in front of live cameras,” Amelia cocked her head to the side, eyes wide in amazement. “She could’ve fucked it up, and I wouldn’t have blamed her.”

“But she didn’t,” countered Narcissa, resting her head against the armchair. “Because we talked about it beforehand. Listen, that girl was born to perform, her place isn’t inside a small recording room. I wanted the people to see her for the first time at her best.”

Amelia shook her head with something vaguely resembling fondness. “You really do care about her, don’t you? Pass it.” Narcissa inhaled and handed her the cigarette. She exhaled and watched as the smoke floated in the air, light under the sun rays like a bride’s veil.

“Why did you even agree to introduce her to me? I didn’t know you had such a kind heart.” Amelia commented, eyes squinted towards the window. “Not that I’m ungrateful. I have a lot of hope in Mary. However, you didn’t strike me as the type of woman who wanted to be…a mentor, I guess.”

Narcissa was still watching the smoke leave the cigarette, head tilted back.

She still didn’t know why she’d let Mary into her home that night, months before.

She knew, however, that she hadn’t hoped to make it past 27, yet there she was, not too far from her 28th birthday.

Leaving her parents’ house and throwing herself onto new projects hadn’t magically changed Narcissa’s life for the better, and she’d also found herself completely alone. There was also the fact that she ended up high or drunk way too often to not consider it a problem, although in the past she hadn’t worried about it too much: many great stars died like that, and Narcissa wasn’t too bothered by the thought of joining them.

But then Mary showed up, with her determination and stoic audacity, so set on really owning her life, and made Narcissa realise how scary her indifference towards death was.

In truth, that night Amelia had answered her email almost immediately.

“The album is promising, but there’s a lot of work to do, Narcissa.”

“I know, but I swear, she has it. The spark, I-I felt it. I could help-“

“You have to be able to help, Narcissa. You know what I mean, right?”

She didn’t drink for five days, after that call. And on the fifth day, Amelia gave her a chance, and Mary officially became part of her life. Since then, there had been highs and lows: sometimes she went to Edgar (who was much more empathetic than Amelia, though Narcissa would never say that to her face), and he’d go to her house to throw away her remaining alcohol. Other times, when Mary was willing to drink with her, she let herself take a glass or two: Narcissa’s rule of thumb was drinking one glass less than Mary, and considering that the girl was still wary of drinking more than a few glasses or a couple of shots, Narcissa hadn’t gotten tipsy in two whole months.

“Narcissa? Are you there?” Amelia waved her hand in front of her eyes. Narcissa noted that the cigarette had disappeared somewhere.

“Yes, Mel. Was just thinking.”

“About?” Amelia asked, eyebrow raised, but Narcissa didn’t say anything. She didn’t like talking about her struggles, but Amelia Bones always seemed to read her mind, which was equally endearing and annoying. So, at the silence that followed, she said, “You’re doing better, by the way. Have you told-“

“I’m not going to tell her-“

“NAR-CIS-SAAAA” Mary barged into the room, eyes bulging and breathing heavily. Her arms were open wide, phone in hand.

“Ma-ryyyy?” Narcissa replied in confusion while raising her arms, mimicking the girl. Mary rushed to her and shoved the phone in her face with an excited smile.

“Som-someone just contacted me and you won’t believe-oh, Amelia, you need to see this, too!”

“Stay still, child, you’re moving too much.” complained Narcissa, squinting at the bright screen and wrapping a hand around Mary’s wrist to steady it. Amelia quickly moved closer, read the first few words, and immediately frowned. “That’s a name I haven’t seen in a while.”

Dear Miss Mary Macdonald,

This is Lily Evans, if the email address wasn’t a dead giveaway. I just saw a video of your performance with Narcissa Black, and I must say, you’ve instantly enchanted me. I could spend many words praising your incredible singing, but perhaps it would be more efficient to get straight to the point.

You may already know this, but because of certain circumstances last year, I completely disappeared from the public eye. I will soon make a comeback though, and I was wondering if you wanted to write a song with me to put in the album. Or we could write a single, however you prefer: to be completely honest, this is just an excuse to sing with you.

I’ll leave my phone number, in case you wish to reach out to me <3

Have a delightful day,

Miss Lily Evans

“What do I do, what do I do?” Mary asked leaving her phone to Narcissa and Amelia, their eyes still glued to the screen.

“Well, Evans has a big fan base, a collaboration with her would be great.” Amelia said, still analysing the email like it was a cryptic message from an alien.

“Do you also sense a flirty undertone or am I seeing things?” she whispered.

“I don’t know, maybe she’s just very informal and frien-no okay, now that you’ve mentioned it, I can kinda see it.” Narcissa replied just as quietly.

“Shoot your shot Mary!” she said, smiling fondly at the girl, who was covering her face with her hands.

“But first, consider that Evans has been in the middle of some drama lately. Despite her loyal fans, her reputation has gone to shit during the past year. You know that, right?” Amelia asked, standing up next to Narcissa’s chair.

“…Actually, I don’t.” Mary replied.

“How do you-“ Amelia whispered, appalled. “Well, I’ll send you some links so you can get what I mean. I had the chance to speak to her a couple of times, she’s a good person. A bit fierce and isn’t afraid of speaking her mind, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Amelia got closer and put a hand on Mary’s arm.

“I bet she’ll be a pleasure to work with. If you want I can contact her manager.”

Mary chewed on her lip, deep in thought.

“Fuck it, I’m doing it.” she snapped, getting her phone back from Narcissa, who let out a small ‘ooooh’ as encouragement.

“But I’ll text her myself. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

“I agree. You should also meet her in person, first,” intervened Narcissa, knowingly. “You don’t want to work with someone you don’t get along with. Two artists need chemistry.”

“Mhm…” Mary agreed, distractedly. “I’ll go, then. I just wanted to tell you first, I was absolutely freaking out-“

“Of course you were, it’s Lily Evans we’re talking about,” said Amelia understandingly, “Everyone knows at least one of her songs.”

“…Yeah,” commented Mary, with an unsure smile. “Yes, of course I do. Well, thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The two women watched Mary leave the room, practically bouncing instead of walking.

“So, Mary and Lily…” started Amelia once the room had gone back to quiet, still eyeing the door.

“Apparently.” Narcissa already knew where this was going.

“You know she’s Fortescue’s girl, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“…Interesting.”

“I’m not even looking at you but I can feel your stupid grin. Stop it.”

The phone was ringing when Lily got out of the shower: it was rather late, and she wasn’t really expecting any calls. She didn’t recognise the number on the screen, but it wasn’t the usual Unknown Number that meant Snape was trying to get in contact with her, so she accepted the call.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, is this Miss Lily Evans?” greeted a voice on the other side, and Lily recognised with a smile the old-fashioned welcome.

“Well yes, could this be my dear Miss Mary Macdonald?” she replied, just as charmingly. So Mary wanted to work with her, despite everything…maybe Marlene was right, things were getting more promising.

“My my, it may just be her,” then she laughed softly, and it was such a pleasant sound Lily wanted to put it in a song, somehow. “Sorry, I broke character. Anyway, am I disturbing you?”

“Not everyone is born an actor, darling, and no, not at all-“ Lily scrunched her curls with a wet towel.

“Good, because I wanted to tell you I would love to write a song with you,“ Lily saw her smile widen as she looked at herself in the mirror.

“-But I’m afraid we’ll have to wait at least three weeks.” Mary concluded, sounding so sorry Lily couldn’t manage to feel too disappointed.

“Oh, it’s fine, I can be patient. How come we have to postpone our meeting? If I can ask, of course.”

“Well, you see, I’m working on-“

“LILY!” Marlene barged into her room screaming, her brown eyes open wide and blonde hair even messier than usual.

One thing about Marlene is that she never banally entered rooms, she always barged in, slamming doors open and announcing the motifs of her intrusion. It was a rather dramatic habit, but it always made Alice smile when Marlene appeared on top of the stairs, shouted “HUNGRY!”, and set the dinner-making process in action. Lily was just grateful someone in the house never forgot about meals.

“Marlene-“

“PETER IS BACK IN TOWN!” she continued, grabbing Lily’s shoulder.

“Excuse me, Mary, can you hang in there for a minute? I’ll be back shortly.” Lily explained, widening her eyes at Marlene, who quickly covered her mouth with her hands, surprised but not really apologetic.

Mary laughed, “Sure, no problem.”

“I’m sorry…” Marlene smiled as Lily muted herself, although she seemed more enthusiastic than sorry.

Marlene, Peter and James had known each other since they were kids, and being all separated for work matters (Marlene and Peter had always worked solo, while James had formed a duo with Sirius Black when they were sixteen), they were all overexcited when they had an excuse to see each other. The four of them together reminded Lily of those puppies that are perpetually either jumping, running or barking.

“It’s okay. So, Peter is back?” Lily smiled.

When Peter was younger, he used to be really quiet and shy, always getting dragged into trouble by James and Marlene first, and then Sirius, too.

Or at least, that’s what Marlene had told her. Lily found it hard to believe, considering how Peter acted now: he was comfortable on the stage, always ready to joke, in front of thousands of people or with his closest friends alike; he wasn’t necessarily the loudest at a party (that honour went to Sirius and James), but he was still a pleasure to have a conversation (and especially talk shit) with.

“Not yet, actually. He’ll be back this Saturday,” Marlene answered, biting back a smile.

“I bet Effie is hosting a welcome-home party as soon as he gets in town,” Lily continued, remembering how Mrs Potter always found opportunities to gather all her “kids” (as she had nominated James and all his friends) under her roof.

“Oh, it’ll be a big one this time,” Marlene confirmed. “She has already asked me to invite every living being I know. Wait, are you on the phone with Mary Macdonald?”

“Shit, I’m making her wait. Can we talk about this later?” Lily asked, bringing the phone to her chest. Nice first impression, idiot.

“Wait, wait. Invite her, too.” Marlene suggested, wiggling her eyebrows.

“I can’t ask her to come to a party all alone with a bunch of people she doesn’t even know-“

“Then ask her to bring Narcissa, too,” Marlene wiggled her eyebrows more aggressively.

It took Lily an instant. She gaped.

“You sick, sick bastard. Alice will be there. Shit will go down, you know?”

“Why? Alice and Narcissa don’t even know each other,” Marlene batted her eyelashes with an innocent shrug. “Besides, Sirius hasn’t spoken to his cousin in forever, they need to catch up.”

Lily licked her lips thoughtfully and brought her attention back to the phone. A formal party wasn’t the best setting to talk about work, but it was perfect for getting to know someone. And Lily really wanted to get to know Mary. She unmuted herself and brought the phone to her ear.

“Hey, before we continue, are you free this Saturday?”

that was all, hope you liked it and let me know if you want to be tagged when i post updates bc it won’t be that often lmao

#lily in her rep era #there’s another chapter before the party chapter(s) but i’m writing them rn and i’m having a lot of fun ngl #anyways #marauders #marauders era #marylily #mary macdonald #lily evans #narcissa black #alice fortescue #alicissa #nobleflower #marlene mckinnon #i need to find a title asap #so i can make a tag #fic: delicate

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