#i was supposed to get better after november ended but i have not

[halinski]

.

[oneforthemunny]

november rain |ex-husband!eddie munson x ex-wife!reader|

prompt: after your divorce to eddie, you try to get back out there. but sometimes, nothing beats what you already have.

contains: smut minors dni. mom!reader x dad!eddie. divorced. mentions to past angst/ fighting. mentions of teen pregnancy. oral fem receiving, pinv sex. slightly angsty. asshole date, angsty ending. kinda a bittersweet fic. based off this ask <3

You could hear him before you could see him, speakers shaking from the noise in his car, leaving your ears buzzing at the vibrations. The swelling of your heart rose above the annoyance you tried to feign, rolling your eyes and hoping he didn’t see through it. 

“You do realize I live in a subdivision? Neighbors and all?” You crossed your arms, glaring at him before he’d ever climbed out of the car, killing the engine and the music with the pull of his keys. 

“Yeah? They don’t like Judas Priest?” Eddie grinned, dimples deep, and you knew under his shades his eyes were bright and wild- the way they always were when they were teasing you. “I have Metallica too. I think I still have that Blondie tape you like in here too somewhere, if they’d prefer that.” 

Your heart skipped, lips twitching in a faltering snarl that was slowly turning into a blushing soft smile. “You better not play music that loud when my babies are with you.” You huffed, hands moving to rest on your hips, the denim waistband of your jeans hugging you just right in your Levi’s- Eddie’s favorite pair. You knew it, and you didn’t miss the way his tongue ran over his bottom lip. 

“Did you hear me?” You snapped, swallowing a grin. You knew he hadn’t, too distracted. “Eddie, I am serious, you will bust their little ear drums-” 

“-I know, sweetheart. C’mon,” Eddie shook his head, pushing his sunglasses up, pinning his curly bangs with them. “They’re my kids too. ‘M not gonna hurt them, you know that.” The sun caught a flash of gold, gleaming just for a moment off his left hand. 

Eddie was still wearing his wedding band. 

Your stomach sunk at the thought, thumb absentmindedly twisting your bare ring finger. The divorce had been final for months- six, to be exact. You’d stopped wearing yours after the first. It was weird, not wearing the small band and ring you’d worn since high school- since Eddie proposed with shaking hands on your front porch after you found out you were expecting. He’d dropped the ring twice, sweaty and nearly sick with anxiety. Your mother told you that should have been a sign, but you found it endearing then- maybe you did even now. 

“Where’s the rugrats anyway?” Eddie hummed, catching your glass door to hold it for you, letting you slip under his arm. You caught a whiff of his cologne, faint from the day, mixed with a cigarette he tried to mask from earlier. 

“Jude’s playing in the backyard.” You stepped into the small foyer. Eddie had left it to you in the divorce, saying you were the only reason they got it anyways. There was always an eerie feeling that lingered when he came inside, a haunting reminder of a forever that didn’t quite succeed. 

“He’s supposed to be watching Lucy.” You hummed, craning your neck to look out the window in the living room. “They’re hunting for bugs.” Your nose crinkled, leaving Eddie laughing. 

“Bug hunting? Oh, they don’t know their Mama is terrified of bugs, huh?” Eddie teased, peeking out of the window to see the two kids, perfect blends of both of your features packed into two tiny beings. 

“I’m not terrified. Well, of all the bugs.” You huff, rolling your eyes. “Spiders, yes, and I told Jude those were off limits or I was giving Grandpa Wayne back the bug catching kit.” 

“You’re no fun.” Eddie shook his head lightly. “Scared of a little spider?” His fingers tapped playfully in a crawling way up your arm towards your shoulder, leaving you squirming away. 

“Stop.” 

“God, do you remember- what was it? Junior year? When there was a spider on your desk in Geometry?” Eddie laughed, grabbing his side at the memory. “And you shoved all your books off the desk in the middle of class?”  

“Yes, and you and Gareth just laughed at me.” You fought back your own smile at the memory. 

“Yes!” Eddie howled in laughter. “And Mr. Browcheski got so fu-sorry- freaking mad at all of us. Did we- That was when we got detention, right?” 

“Yes,” You glared at him playfully, crossing your arms. “And I was about to have a nervous breakdown thinking about how I was going to tell my parents.” 

“That’s right.” Eddie nodded slowly. “That was your first detention?” 

You nodded. “I was a good girl until I met you, Munson. You’re a bad influence.” 

“Yeah, can’t be all bad though, right?” Eddie held your gaze, stepping close instinctively. Your breathing hitched, his hand gliding over your hip, fingertips ghosting the bare skin above your waist band. “We had some good times too.” 

Your head spun, dizzy with a clouding lapse of judgment. Eddie was pulling you in, hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back, holding you so close you were flush to him. His head was already tilting, ducking towards yours, ready to capture your lips and you’d let him. Of course you’d let him, you’d be lying to say you didn’t miss his kiss- miss him. 

Lucy’s high pitched shrill had you faltering, snapping out of the haze, back into a damning reality. “What- Eddie, we-we can’t.” You took a step back, knees a little weak and wobbly from the adrenaline rush that always came with his affection. “We can’t do this.” 

“Right,” Eddie swallowed, hands shoving in his pockets, cheeks blooming with a pink heat that burned through his body.  “S-Sorry. I just- I got caught up in the moment. Talking about that. I just-” 

“-It’s fine.” You muttered, pulling the back door open, a melody of Jude and Lucy’s giggles floating in. “Guys, someone’s here to see you.” You sing-songed in a happy tune, face lighting with exaggerated excitement. You were good like that, Eddie thought, still playing nice for the kids. Maybe it wasn’t playing, Eddie really hoped it wasn’t, though the rational side of his mind (and his friends) begged to differ. 

“Daddy!” A duo of squeals and shrieks blended with bounding feet up the wooden steps into the house. 

Jude came bounding in first, nearly knocking Eddie over at the knees when his small frame collided with him. “Wo-oah, hey, buddy.” Eddie grinned, tousling the boy’s wild curls, frizzy and matted from playing outside. 

“Hi, Dad.” Jude beamed up at Eddie. He’d gotten Eddie’s lashes but your eyes. “We’re catching bugs.” 

“I heard. Catch any good ones? Any centipedes?” Eddie grinned, bending down to hug the boy. 

“No,” Jude’s face fell slightly in a frown. “But I did catch a ladybug for Lucy!” Jude bounced on his toes with excitement. 

Your heart swelled, trying to wrangle the small girl on your hip, passing her off to Eddie- well, passing was generous, she nearly launched off your hip into his arms. “A lady bug?” Eddie repeated in a babble he still used with Lucy. She was still small, in his eyes, though she was growing every single day, she was still his baby. 

“Did Bubs get you a ladybug, Lucy?” Eddie bounced her on his hips, tickling her sides so she shrieked with laughter. 

“Yeah,” Lucy giggled, leaning back to look at Jude in a limp sort of backbend. “Jude’s gots me a ladybug an-and we found a lot of worms.” She grinned, eyes wide and excited. She got her cadences from Eddie, that was for sure, more exaggerated and dramatic with each passing day. 

“Are you going to hunt bugs with us?” Jude asked, pulling on the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt. “Will you? Please?” 

“Yeah, of course, I will.” Eddie smiled, shaking his head softly. “Do you have a spare shovel for me? Can you go find the little red one?” 

Jude looked at you. “I think it’s in the garage with the basketball.” You nodded towards the garage door. Jude ran off, footsteps heavy, Lucy squirming to get down and chase after him. “But- hey! Put everything back where it goes, Jude Wayne! And do not climb on anything!” You called after him, voice teetering on stern. 

“I got it!” Jude called back. 

Eddie’s chest puffed in boasting pride, grinning at the boy. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Hm, wonder who that sounds like?” You said sarcastically, giving Eddie a pointed glare. 

“That’s my boy. What can I say?” Eddie grinned, shrugging lightly. You grinned, shaking your head. “So, uh, where’re you going tonight?” Eddie tried not to sound so awkwardly needy, but it came out exactly like that. 

“Oh,” You could feel your body stiffen, a warm embarrassed heat creeping up your spine. “I, uh, I- Well, I’m going out.” You paused, fiddling with straightening something on a shelf, anything to avoid his gaze. “I…I have a date tonight.” 

Eddie’s heart sank, falling deep into the pit of his stomach. “Oh.” He swallowed the thick lump in his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t know you were… Ya know, um, gettin’ back out there.” 

“Well, I- I mean it wasn’t exactly planned.” Your thumb went back to your ring finger, rubbing the bare skin there. You used to twist your ring when you were feeling anxious, a soothing mechanism. 

“Lydia at work set me up on a blind date with her cousin. The-The accountant guy.” You cringed at your words, spouting in a word vomit that you couldn’t seem to stop. Your heart was racing, stuttering to a halt and rearing back with every fall of Eddie’s face. 

“I-I mean, I just… She’d been asking me since-since,” Since the divorce, the words you couldn’t bring yourself to say. “A-And I figured why not. I mean…” You waved your hand between the two of you, the tension uncomfortable and thick. 

“No, no, yeah,” Eddie nodded, swallowing back a burn of emotions he tried to conceal. “No, that’s- you should. Not that- I mean, you don’t need me to tell you that, but,” Eddie took a breath, finally meeting your nervous gaze. “You’ll have a good time.” 

“Yeah?” You squeaked, wringing your hands anxiously. Eddie had flashbacks to years before, when you two were a lot younger, your nervous demeanor asking for his reassurance before sneaking onto the football field at midnight. 

Eddie’s heart ached at the memory, but he nodded slowly. “Yeah. I mean, he’s lucky to get to go out with you. You’re… You’re the best, you know that.” Eddie reassured you now just like he did then, just like he always did. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, turning just as Jude and Lucy came back in, triumphantly waving the red, plastic shovel. “I, um, I’m going to get ready. There’s a frozen pizza in the freezer. I’ll preheat the oven, if you can just stick it in.” 

“I got it.” Eddie waved you off, forcing a reassuring smile. “You go get ready. Have fun, sweetheart.” His smile was warm, leaving you burning in excitement. Still, when he left, you were filled with a sinking, nauseating feeling of dread, nerves. 

Heidi would tell you that you were co-dependent, that Eddie had made you that way. She never liked him, not in highschool, especially not after the divorce. She was always reminding you that you could do better, that you should do better. 

That always sparked a fight, one of the many that you and Eddie had over and over and over. His accusatory tongue lashing accusations at you, your defenses climbing higher and higher, both too stubborn to let it go. You were reminded of the fight that did it- that caused the divorce. Days- no, weeks of back and forth. 

“You know, there’s times I wish I would have skipped school that day!” Eddie roared, voice hoarse and scratchy from the screaming match you two had been having. “I was supposed to skip with Gareth, but I fucking went, and you know what? I wish I wouldn’t have! Then we would have never gotten paired up and I wouldn’t be dragged into all this shit with you! I wouldn’t be so miserable all the goddamn time!” 

His words rang in your head, stinging just as much then as they did now. You took a breath, that haunting memory was the final push you needed to step into the shower, to get ready, and to try and start something new without Eddie. 

“So, Lydia tells me you have a kid.” Matthew asked, swirling his wine around in his glass. 

The restaurant was obnoxiously expensive, much more stuffy than what you expected on the first date. You felt terribly underdressed, in a sundress you hadn’t worn in years, fitting a little tighter now since Lucy. Note to self, go dress shopping next time. 

“Yeah, I do,” You smiled politely, the tension still a little uncomfortable, unfamiliar. “Jude and Lucy.” 

“Oh,” Matthew’s brows raised, tone clipping in shock. “Two?” 

“Yeah,” You swallowed back that familiar burning in your chest, the one that always came with judgment. Raised brows and pointed glares, being pregnant in highschool, you thought you’d be used to it by now. 

“Uh, how-how old are they?” Matthew asked, fingers tapping nervously on the table. So much tension, and you hadn’t even gotten your food yet. 

“Jude is seven, and Lucy just turned four.” You felt your chest boast with pride. Talking about your kids, that could soothe you, it always did. 

“Wow,” You weren’t sure how Matthew’s brows could go any higher, but somehow they did. “That’s… I’m sorry, you just, you look really young to have kids that age.” 

“I am,” You shrugged sheepishly. “I, um, I had Jude in high school. My senior year.” You tried not to flinch, to steel yourself for the inevitable look- the one that always gave you. 

“High school?” Matthew’s tone skittered on a scoff, leaving you burning with embarrassment- with shame. Why’re you embarrassed about it? Best thing that ever happened to me, Eddie would always say, scoffing nonchalantly when you were younger and  someone gave you a snarling glace in the supermarket, two teens pushing a baby around in a shopping cart. 

“Yeah,” You looked down at your hands under the table. This was what you dreaded, the ‘getting back out there’ phase. You had forgotten how utterly painful it was, worse now than when you were a teen. 

“My ex-husband and I got married out of high school.” You continued, trying to break up the uncomfortable silence. “After- Well, before we had Jude, but after I found out I was pregnant.” 

“Oh,” Matthew didn’t look at you, looking anywhere but you really. “That’s why you divorced then? Makes sense.” 

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “No, no, that’s- that’s not why.” It wasn’t entirely true, at least, part of the reason but not the whole reason. 

“It’s not?” Matthew raises a brow, scoffing with unimpression before downing the rest of his wine. “Look, I’m not trying to offend you, but I’m not dumb. Pregnant in high school, married the baby daddy because it was the right thing to do, right? And then what? Had another when things got rough to try and save the marriage?” 

Your heart dropped, frozen in mortification, fear maybe, in your seat. “I’m right, aren’t I? I mean, it’s a tale as old as time, Sugar.” Your cheeks burned at the nickname. That wasn’t your nickname, not what Eddie called you, and even if he did- it never sounded condescending and mean like it did when it came from Matthew. 

“No shame in it, just own up to it.” Matthew scoffed, leaning back in his seat. You felt small sitting across from him, his lips pursed, rolling over your frame with such judgment it made your stomach turn. “Lying on the first date doesn’t seem like the best option.” 

“Excuse me,” You swallowed, grabbing your purse with shaky, sweaty palms. “I have to go to the restroom.” You didn’t wait for his response, the sinking feeling in your stomach only worsening with every step towards the door. 

The Hideout was only a block away, still standing strong on the outskirts of the newly renovated downtown. You were surprised it hadn’t conformed to the trendy chic wave that was hitting everywhere, but selfishly you were glad it stayed the same. The wooden booths and dollar drafts, just the same as they’d always been. 

The corner booth in the back caught your eye, occupied by a young couple- barely legal looking. Probably snuck in here with a fake, buzzing with adrenaline and the thrill that they might be caught, sharing a pitcher. That was you and Eddie, not too long ago. He’d snuck you in on your third or fourth date. You’d never been so nervous, never felt so alive at the same time. A goody-two-shoes, Eddie called you with a sweet grin, sliding you a beer across the table and slipping in next to you in that booth. 

Your heart ached at the memory, chest heavy with emotion. Why couldn’t he have just been better? Why couldn’t you just have been better? Why couldn’t both of you be better to each other, for each other? 

The heavy weight of regret settled on your chest, mixing with the draining heaviness of the night. You looked at the phone on the wall, digging in your purse for quarters. You couldn’t call Lydia, not after you’d stood up her fix up, left him in the restaurant. Robin was undoubtedly not home on a Friday night. 

Sighing, you cradled the phone to your ear, slipping the quarters in the slot, finger jamming the numbers. The line trilled once, twice, your fingers tapping on your crossed arm. By the third ring, you were ready to hang up, give up and call your sister. 

“Munson residence,” Eddie’s voice was soft, still with that lilt of playfulness that made your heart swoon. He’d been so excited when you two got the house, when you got your own landline. He’d answered the phone all posh and silly, claiming you two were “high society” now, moving up in the world. 

“Eddie,” Your breath shook, chest rattling when you heard his voice, a soothing force after the stress of the night. “It’s me.” 

“What’s wrong?” Eddie snapped on the other end, not missing a beat. “What happened? You alright?” 

“I’m… I’m at The Hideout.” You cupped your hand over the phone’s end, trying to muffle the loud music. “I just- Can you come get me?” 

“I’m on my way.” Eddie didn’t miss a beat. 

“Thank you,” You sighed in relief. “But, hey, don’t bring the kids. Please? I told them I was going out with Rob for a night out, and they’ll want to see her.” 

“I won’t, sweetheart. They’re asleep anyways.” Eddie muttered. You could hear his keys rattling in the background. “Let me call Wheeler and see if he can pop over to watch them. I think he’s home for the summer. Gimme a few and I’ll be right there.” 

“Thank you.” You whispered, nose burning with tears you couldn’t shed- you wouldn’t shed. Not again. 

“C’mon, not a problem.” Eddie waved you off gently. “Hang tight, baby. Be there soon.” 

You waited until you heard the dial line to hang up. Your heart sunk and fluttered at the same time, head reeling with a tornado of emotions that left you dizzy. Sinking onto an open stool at the end of the bar, you ordered a beer, the same one Eddie had ordered you years before. You didn’t care much for the taste now, your palette had grown and expanded since you were fifteen. But something tonight had you craving it, maybe craving the memory, the feeling that came with the first time you drank it. Chasing down a nostalgia that you didn’t want tainted. 

Eddie was there before you could finish your second beer, only a few sips in. He slid into the chair beside you, hand gliding over your shoulder in greeting. He started to lean in, lips moving to brush your cheek, but he stopped himself before he could, waving down the bartender instead. 

“So,” Eddie tapped the sticky wood top of the bar. “Bad date?” 

“The worst.” You muttered, taking another swig of your beer. “Guy was a total ass.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie’s jaw ground tight, flexing with protective anger. “You want me to kill him?” 

You snorted, lips curling in a small grin. “No, he’s not worth that.” You hummed, propping your head in your hand. “He was just an asshole. A total fucking asshole.” 

“What’d he say?” Eddie bit, hands buzzing, though he tried to play it cool. 

“Oh, the usual- teen mom, divorced, so clearly I’m the biggest loser in the world.” You muttered, lip jutting in a pout, looking down at the ring of condensation left behind by your beer. 

“He said that?” Eddie snapped, eyes widening in a crazed way you hadn’t seen in a while. “Fucking piece of shit, I’ll beat the dogwalking shit out of him-” 

“-No, he didn’t. He didn’t say it like that.” You shook your head, placing a calming hand on his arm. “It was implied. He was… He was just not nice, and I felt like it was getting worse, so I left. Came here instead.” 

Eddie nodded, the tension between the two of you a little uncomfortable. The bartender slid him his own beer, saving the two of you from the awkward silence. Eddie took his beer, tilting it toward you with a soft smile. 

“That guys a fucking idiot. Doesn’t know what he’s missed out on.” Eddie’s lips were tight in a pain-filled smile he tried to force, but his eyes gave him aways. They always gave him away. 

“Thanks.” You muttered, cheeks burning with a tingling heat. “How were the kids tonight?” 

“Good.” Eddie nodded, swallowing his drink. “Jude found a centipede. Lucy was not a fan.”

You grinned. “I don’t blame her. You didn’t let him bring it in?” 

“No. C’mon,” Eddie scoffed lightly. “No, I made him leave it outside. He wanted to keep it in his bug catcher, but I told him if it was meant to be his, it would stay. So he put it back in the grass.” 

“Good. I’ll come looking for you if I see a centipede in the house.” You glared at him playfully. “Did you give them a bath?” 

“Dinner, bath, even read them a story.” Eddie smirked at you. “I can be a good dad, sometimes, ya know. Not a total deadbeat all the time.” He teased, shoulder bumping with yours. 

Your stomach twisted. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.” You muttered, looking back at your beer. 

“I was kidding.” Eddie said, setting his beer down. “Hey, I was just kidding. I know you’re just looking out for the munchkins, Mama.” 

You swooned under his cooing praise, heart swelling with adoration. “I didn’t- I would never say you’re a bad dad. You’re not a bad dad, Eddie.” You met his gaze. “You’re the best dad to them.” 

Eddie’s cheeks pinkened under your praise, chin ducking with a blush. “Thank you,” He whispered, fingers tapping the bar top. “Just a shitty husband then?” 

You rolled your eyes lightly. “No,” You clicked your tongue playfully. “Not a shitty husband. Not all the time anyways.”

Eddie grinned, dimples deep, eyes brightening. “You had your good moments.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie hummed, leaning in towards you. “Like when?” 

You’re body burned, electric tingles shooting to your core. The look in his eyes, squinting just barely, lips pursing, tongue rolling over his teeth- a look you were all too familiar with. You knew better, knew so much better than to let him sway you, to give into your urges. 

“Hm, I can think of a few times.” You purred, leaning in closer to him, lashes batting sweetly. “Maybe you could remind me?” 

Eddie’s wide grin stood the test of time. The same wild, excited grin he’d give you years ago hadn’t changed, it still left you spinning, abandoning your better judgment, following him with blinders into anything. 

“Christ, I fuckin’ missed you.” Eddie moaned, breathy and quiet, lips pressing to yours in fever. 

You shuddered under his touch, his fingers circling your clit perfectly, expertly- he was, after all, been with you for so long, he knew exactly how you wanted it. The house was quiet, the drone of the TV on for background noise, hoping the kids wouldn’t wake up. 

“Eddie,” You whispered, eyes rolling back, clawing his shoulder at a particularly perfect rub that had you seeing stars. “Fuck, that felt good.” 

“Yeah? Feels good. I can always make you feel good, sweetheart.” Eddie muttered, wet smooches trailing down your neck, down your collarbones. “Want me to make you feel better? Keep you feelin’ good? Lemme make you feel good.” 

His hands moved, pushing down your dress. Eddie looked, trying to will his mind silent at the sight of your matching, lacy set. It drove Eddie to his knees to see you in it, but his heart dropped knowing you hadn’t picked it to wear it for him. 

He shoved the lacy panties down, letting them pool at your ankles, hands sinking on your hips. You wiggled, stilling your hips to keep them from bucking when Eddie kissed your mound, teasing kisses all the way down to your slit. 

“Spread your legs f’me.” Eddie’s breath ghosted over your skin, a half grin spreading across his features when you kicked your legs open, arching forward for him. 

Eddie’s tongue ran teasingly over your left lip, your right, before licking a long stripe right through your wet folds. In the past, he would have teased you, toyed with you until you whined and begged for him to fuck you. Back when he used to have you whenever he wanted, he’d lived for that, but now, he didn’t have that luxury. He had to make the most of his time now, at your call, at your service. 

You bit your fist, trying to swallow back a moan that threatened to tear out of your throat. Your vibrator, tucked away in your sock drawer, could never replace this- replace him. His touch, the rush of endorphins that came from the pleasure he gave you, always eager to please. 

Finger raking through his curls, you tugged him further and further into you, hips grinding on his face. “Th-That’s it. That feels good.” You whispered. 

Eddie moaned, sending waves of vibrations to your core, knees buckling under the feeling. Your breath caught, head tipping back to silence the moans, ripples of pleasure crashing over you. 

“Okay, okay, stop.” You panted, pushing on the top of his head, trying to writhe out of his touch. 

Eddie’s face fell in hurt, in fear, scanning your features. He knew it was coming, the inevitable that you’d change your mind, tell him you couldn’t do this. “I-I need you.” His heart leapt at your words. “I just need you right now, please.” 

It felt like a dream, having you wrapped around him in every way. Buried inside you, Eddie tried to savor the feeling, really feel you in case this was the last time. Your legs tight around his hips, arms around his shoulders, pulling him into you as he fucked you into the mattress- into the bed that you both shared for so many years. 

Your nails clawed down his back, biting at his shoulder to keep yourself quiet, toes curling in pleasure. Eddie’s hand slid between the two of you, circling your clit as he approached his own orgasm. He knew you were close, knew everything about you. 

“Fuck, you feel so fuckin’ good. The best, the fuckin’ best, baby.” Eddie whispered, breath hot over your ear, nipping at your ear lobe. Your body shuddered, hips bucking with pleasure. 

“Fuckin’ missed you. Missed you- ah.” Eddie whined, nearly cumming when your teeth bit his shoulder, the spark of pain making his slops get sloppier and sloppier. 

Eddie’s lips moved to yours, biting your bottom lip, sucking on it while his fingers slid over your clit until you were shaking, flooding over his length. Your grip loosened, melting into the mattress as he finished, drilling into you. 

“Fuck, feel so good. Fuckin’ love the way you feel.” Eddie looked down at you, eyes glassy and dazed from your own orgasm, lips bitten from him. 

A final pump, a final grunt, and he was spilling inside you, hips still slowly rolling inside you, dropping his face into your neck. You held him tight, muffling his moans into your skin. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Eddie rambled, chest to chest, heaving and clinging to the other. 

A feeling settled around the two of you after you broke apart, laying side by side under the sheets, the house still, quiet, filled with a tension you couldn’t quite figure out. 

“I’m sorry you had a shitty date.” Eddie muttered, voice a little raspy. 

“‘S alright.” You sighed, stretching under the sheets. “Ended pretty good, all things considered.” 

“Yeah it did.” Eddie grinned softly. “Missed you.” 

Your heart ached, sinking in your chest. “I-I think you just missed having sex.” 

“No,” Eddie said firmly, shaking his head. “No, I-I missed you. I missed this, us.” He rolled over, turning towards you. 

“Eddie-” 

“-No, I just- I’m sorry, and I know I was a dick, and I-I did some things, but, baby, we’re good. We’re so good together.” Eddie whispered, reaching for you. “We’re meant to be together. You know we are. It’s always been us, it’s always supposed to be us.” 

“We’re not good together.” You pressed your lips together, shaking your head. “We’re not good for each other.” 

“Don’t say that.” Eddie’s eyes shined with hurt, shaking his head. “How-How can you say that-” 

“-Because, we’re good now. Right now, but… but then it’ll be just like it was, and we’ll be right back to fighting.” You pressed your palms to your eyes, chest tightening with the post orgasm clarity, the realization of your mistake. You’d never learn your lesson, no matter how many times you’d go through this. 

“Baby, we could go back to counseling. I just- We should try. I want to try, I want to be a family again. I want to be better this time. I promise I’ll be better this time, please.” Eddie reached for your hand, pulling them off your eyes. “Please, sweetheart, one more chance? I won’t… I won’t fuck it up.” 

You squeezed his hand, body aching, yearning to lean into him. To agree, to nod and let him love on you, love you. To give him another chance, to see him wake up in the bed next to you, back in the house with the kids all the time. 

But you couldn’t. 

For them. Jude and Lucy had a hard enough time with the divorce, understanding why you two were separating. How did you explain to kids that mommy and daddy were like the weather; good some days, disastrous the other? 

“I-I can’t, Eddie.” You whispered, looking at him with eyes shining. “Jude and Lucy…That’s not- This isn’t good for them.” Your breath shuttered, heart breaking in your chest. 

Eddie’s own heart was breaking, you could see it on his face. “I just need time. I don’t know.” You admitted, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “But now, I just can’t now.” 

Eddie nodded, swallowing around his own heart breaking. “Alright,” He nodded. “Whatever you decide, I’ll… I’ll always support you. I’ll always love you, too. No matter what.” 

Your lip wobbled, squeezing his hand tight in yours. “Thank you.” You whispered. “I just need some time, Eddie.” 

“I’ve got time. I’ll wait.” Eddie nodded, pressing a kiss to your knuckles gently. “Always here for you.” He pulled you close to him, arms wrapped around your frame, squeezing you tight to his chest. 

For a moment, you relaxed, let yourself feel at peace as he held you. Allowed yourself that selfishness in the still of the night. You’d stay like that for a while, until you sent him to the couch. “Things are confusing as it is for them. They don’t need to get their hopes up if they see us in the bed together.” And Eddie would do it, of course he would. He’d do it for you, for them, for the hope that he might one day get his family back to normal. Back to the way it should be. 

[nariism]

*ੈ✩ LAST WORDS OF A SHOOTING STAR

pair. itadori yuji x reader

synopsis. in the 3 days following the shibuya incident, itadori yuji emerges as a husk of his former self. with his immediate execution resumed, you both grapple with the feelings you have for each other and come to terms with his impending death.

content. hurt/comfort (lots of comfort, thank art because i was gonna be mean about this and they convinced me not to), slightly canon divergent (taking place between shibuya and the culling games), fluff and minor angst, yuta is the best wingman

wc. ~4.4k

NOVEMBER 1 2018

You imagine that your face was rather ghastly when you received the news.

"Execution?" You repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. No, that was the wrong description. It tasted of death—like iron and the depths of Hell filling your mouth until you were gurgling on it.

Unlike the rest of the Jujutsu Sorcerers from Tokyo, you had been ordered to stay back with Shoko in case of an emergency. You remember your exile from battle had left a similar rotten flavour in your mouth.

You vanished off the face of the earth after the incident was over. Most probably presumed you died in the aftermath. Devoured by a curse, they would say and shake their heads. You were always troublesome. And then they would move on with the rest of the world, all the same.

Lives were only temporary in the world of curses. Focus on who you can save, not who is already gone. They'll only end up a curse in your sleep. What a horrible notion to have.

The truth is that you'd been whisked away with Yuta, who seemed to be scheming a plan of his own. Perhaps as a middle finger to the higher ups he hated so much, or perhaps just for his own selfish reasons. You wouldn't know until he was finished carrying it through—he's too good at keeping secrets.

He wanted your reverse cursed technique, you knew that much for sure, even though he could do it himself. You were useful by his side, fitting into his plot in a way you could not in Shibuya. Feeling some sort of obligation and satisfaction, you followed him like a lost puppy.

And now here you are, seated by a dimming fire in the abandoned part of the city. Yuta was too clever for his own good. You suppose Gojo taught him some things well. This was their plan after all.

Yuji was safe, if only for this moment in time.

"Now with Gojo gone, it would have been easy for the higher ups to send assassins your way."

Ruthless and truthful, you flinch, but Yuji does not. He remains perfectly still in your hold, with your hands rotating his face around to get a better look at his wounds. You pour your cursed energy into him, hoping to breathe life back into his eyes, but they stay dull and empty.

"We'll find a way to stop this," you assure, reaching over to take a sanitizing wipe to clean an open cut. Yuta was too rough on him, but it was at least believable that Yuji was dead. He doesn't even recoil from the alcohol stinging his flesh, too engrossed in his own thoughts.

"Why?" He asks weakly. You gawk at him, but then it melts away into a softness that finally makes him blink up at you. "I'm evil."

"You're not evil, Yuji."

"I am. I killed those people. I did." His voice comes flat and defeated, nothing like the one you used to listen to over dinner while he reenacted shitty western films.

You never realize what you'll miss until it's gone. It's hollow, the ache in your heart.

"You don't understand. How could you? All this blood on my hands—"

"It was Sukuna," you quickly refute.

"And Sukuna only lives because I do!"

His voice raises at you, causing the flames behind you to flicker and crack. It's enough for Yuta to step in, acting as a barrier between your tense bodies. Yuji seems to shrink at this, realizing his emotions have run amok and that he has yelled at you.

You only stare back at him in bewilderment, like a frightened animal. Your upperclassman shakes his head.

"Enough of this. We need to start making plans."

You lay awake that night, alone and anxious. Yuta has taken the first shift of watching and patrolling while the two of you rest, though hesitant to leave you alone. He told you it’s another reason he dragged you along: having three people to rotate shifts instead of just two would be easier on your bodies and minds. The city is not what it used to be, now overrun with curses of all grades.

You reassured him it would be fine, that you would fall asleep quickly and so would Yuji—his body has to run out of steam eventually, right? Oh, what a fool you were.

The tension is so heavy that it's awkward, even though you're sleeping on opposite ends of the tunnel.

"Sleep," you demand as if you were Inumaki, like you have the power to curse him.

His eyes flutter open. Even in the firelight, you don't see any shine in them, seeming as if they had been extinguished of life. "Why don't you?"

"I can't until you do."

"That's stupid," he tells you.

It's not the first time you've argued like this. Back when the world felt right, you would sneak in through his dorm window well into the hours of the night. Platonic, you had convinced yourself. You snuck into his bed seeking companionship as a friend. That's the lie you gorged on.

A piece of you knew, and you're sure he did too, that the way your hands explored his arms was unnatural for two friends, and that friends wouldn't sneak into each other's rooms like this with such severe punishment on the line.

It was safe in his arms, with the dull hum of his television running an old horror film in the background. You didn't have to think about much other than his warmth when you sat between his legs with your back to his chest. Or when his arm was draped over your shoulder and you were pressed into his side—actually, you think you preferred this one though you felt sorry for his sore arm.

You would bicker about dumb, pointless things. Which movie is better, or which character deserved to be mutilated more. It would go on for so long that Megumi would bang his fist on their shared wall to get the two of you to shut up.

There was no curse strong enough to change time itself, so you keep your thoughts and memories to yourself when you respond.

"You'll be too tired to function on your shift," you reason.

"You both will be fine without me." Better off without me, you know he means. You've gotten good at reading between his lines.

You slowly sit up in your sleeping bag, eyes never leaving Yuji. He seems so frail right now, even though he looks more adult than he ever has before.

"Human Earthworm 4 was better than 2," you suddenly say. His eyes peer open again in confusion.

"Huh? 2 was way better."

"I liked the love story in 4," you argue, slowly getting out of your bag to shuffle to his side of the concrete tunnel. He looks at you as if you've said something outlandish, too preoccupied with his thoughts to wonder why you've come so close.

"2 had the best special effects though."

Your body shifts under his blanket.

"But 4 had a happier ending." (As far as 'happy' goes in the Human Earthworm series, at least.)

His arm falls around your waist as it has a hundred times, pulling you into his chest.

"Whatever," he huffs. The next topic comes fast and you're thrown into a full blown conversation with him. If you concentrate enough, you can imagine your bodies being tangled together in his bed, safe and sound.

Concrete and fire and the stench of curses melt away until he's all you can focus on.

"You have weird taste in movies," he concludes with his eyes drifting shut.

NOVEMBER 2 2018

You think you know how to fix broken people until you find that they are more than skin and bones. 

You learn one thing after the Shibuya Incident: there are wounds residing within Yuji just as much as there are marking his flesh.

Yuta, you realize, had left the two of you alone to sleep and has protected you all night. You'll make it up to him, you reason. Yuji deserved to sleep.

When you wake up to his sleeping face, you think his cuts are healing nicely. But then his expression twists up in terror—a nightmare, if he even had enough energy left in him to conjure up dreams. He murmurs in his sleep, shakes his head a few times and thrashes around so much you're surprised you slept through the night by his side.

"Sukuna," he's whispering. Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna. King of Curses. The second voice tormenting him that lives in his own brain like a parasite. You bury yourself into his chest and hold him as tight as you can. He relaxes, body releasing its rigid form, but the murmurs continue.

He is shattered beyond repair. No amount of cursed energy could fix that, even if you tried.

You had once watched Yuji electrocute himself trying to set up the janky old television in his dorm room.

He fell back onto the floor with a loud crash, head hitting the wood so hard you thought he might have a concussion. It caused such a racket that Megumi came running into the room asking what happened, demon dog ready behind him in case of an ambush.

You rushed to the floor, discarding all the food you had settled in your lap and crumbled beside him to scoop him into your arms.

"Yuji!" You called him. People rarely used his first name. You felt special, like you knew him better than others did and for some reason that was a privilege. "Are you okay?"

He laughed in your arms, seeming unfazed by the fact that electricity had run through every vein in his body. "I'm fine, see? My finger just slipped."

You and Megumi both sighed in relief, though you always thought it was strange when you reflected on it. Yuji was a funny guy, yes. He was equal parts humour and destruction but not a klutz. Mistakes happen, so you let it slide until now, but some part of you was nagging to ask.

"That day," you start while rolling up your sleeping bag. "You electrocuted yourself. Remember?"

He looks at you funny over his shoulder. Yuta has already started cracking open cans of food for breakfast, embers of your dead fire cracking.

"Hmm, yeah. I remember. Why?"

"I just thought..." you trail off. "Well, Sukuna makes you tough to a lot of things. I'm surprised small electric shocks aren't one of them."

Sukuna. A name you'd been avoiding since this morning. Sickening silence settles between you. It's so heavy that you pause in your cleaning to look at him, brow raised.

"Yeah," he coughs. "Well, maybe I exaggerated."

"Huh?" You sound annoyed now. "You scared us half to death!"

Yuji only falters in his own chores. When he looks at you again, there's a longing in his gaze that you don't know how you could have missed. Or perhaps it was never there until now.

"It was nice to have you fawning over me," he admits.

The day goes on and all you feel is a terrible grief.

You become painfully aware of each millimeter the sun glides across the sky, from one horizon to the other. Time slips through your fingers fast as sand.

Horrifically, you can't find anything to talk about to fill the emptiness—Nobara and Megumi feel off the table considering the extent of their injuries. You don't even dare to breathe Gojo's name, let alone speak of him so boldly as Yuta is.

You're afraid that Yuji will spiral again, confused and unwilling to cooperate with his judgement clouded by loss. It's not your fault, you would say. It is, he would argue. It would do neither of you good, so you idle around while he and Yuta devise plans to tiptoe around the higher ups.

A part of you knows that if either of you told him to submit and die, he would. He's already teetering on the edge of self-destruction.

On the outside, he seems perfectly indifferent. Gaze steady, face stone and unchanging as he speaks. He's doomed, ill-fated, someone full of misfortune. He looks so lonely that the air itself parts for him where he stands.

To shoulder so much responsibility, so much death, maybe he truly is alone. Some fraction of him, at least—a piece of himself only he would ever understand.

Your hand snakes into his without a second thought. You don't know why you did it, nor do you have any reasoning that he doesn't yank away from you. His hand trembles, and it's then that you realize his whole body is wracked with tremors that don't match his distant disposition.

The second thing you learn is this: when Yuji self-destructs, he does it from the inside-out.

Itadori Yuji loves chocolate cake.

He loves all food, really, acting like your friend group's personal food dumpster whenever any of you were full. But chocolate cake you knew he had a sweet tooth for.

You used to bring it with you to his dorm, stopping by the convenience stores on the way home to grab a pre-packaged slice from the fridge for him to eat.

"You're making a mess," you would tell him with a frown, using your thumb to wipe up frosting from the corner of his mouth. You would lick the pad of your finger clean after that, and he would watch almost in a trance.

It's the reason why you stop on one of your patrols, poking through the fridge section of a convenience store. The power has been out for a long time in this part of the city, all the food is already room temperature, but you figure this is fine as long as it smells okay.

The way Yuji's face lights up when he sees you is all it takes for the worry to go away.

It briefly feels as though nothing has ever gone wrong—that after this slice of cake the two of you will tumble back onto his mattress and turn on another showing of Titanic. (He groaned about it once, saying he got KO'd too many times during this film. You only laughed in confusion.)

At the end of the day, you know those days will never come back to you, lost forever in the wind.

Fire dances before you and you watch, enchanted by the flames. You remember last night, how not even the firelight could make Yuji look the same as he did before. You turn your head to look at him, to see if it's any different tonight, just for your cheek to be caught in his palm.

His thumb traces your lip, the way you used to do to him. You recognize the pull of his finger against your flesh, the swipe of it to get frosting off, but he still seems dissatisfied.

"What?" You ask.

"It didn't come off," he mutters, leaning in dangerously close to observe. Heat rises all the way to your cheeks and makes your hairs stand on end. His touch is like molten lava. You wonder if it has something to do with the monster living inside of him.

"I can't see it," you whine without a mirror.

He draws a little closer, until he's inches from your face. "Let me..."

You've suddenly been dropped into cold, unknown waters. This is all unfamiliar. He's rushing this, as if making up for all the time the two of you lost pretending you were only friends. As if he can cram all the things he's wanted to tell you into one night.

Recoiling away, you find yourself hesitating. If he kisses you, this all becomes too real. It's an acknowledgment of his impending death. That the thread of his life is finer and further stretched than yours is.

An unpleasant thought rings through your mind. What if I become a curse on him?

"This only ends badly for us," you whisper, but the conviction is missing from your voice.

He doesn't care. At least, it doesn't look like he does. Who knows what he's thinking right now?

"Who cares?" He says. "We're Jujutsu Sorcerers. Everything bad happens to us no matter what."

You don't have any rebuttal to that, no argument that forms in your mind that could challenge his words. He was right. Only disaster befalls Sorcerers. Disaster and grief.

For a while you had forgotten, living these idyllic months watching the days pass by. You feel like you wasted that precious time worrying about stupid things, like what to have for breakfast or what kind of snacks you should pick up for movie night.

(It ended up being popcorn every time. He liked to piss off Sukuna with it, saying the King of Curses would never get to experience the pleasure of picking out kernels from his teeth. You scoffed but bought it anyway.)

Another thought crosses your mind: Yuji is more fit to be in a rom-com, or a television series where the good guys always win. Not this tragedy. Not this massacre.

You wonder if he's ever felt the same way. If he ever wished he could reach into the sky and turn the sun back to a time before he even knew what a curse was.

If you’d met each other under different circumstances, would this have been a different story? The thought makes your heart ache, a part of you so deep that even if you reached into your chest and plucked it, you'd still wail.

"Can I?" He asks you, eager but quiet. Had this been a few months ago, you imagine that he would have had this spark in his eye. That his lips would be crashing into yours with no inhibition.

But Yuji has always been selfless, you think he always will be. He doesn't want to drag you down if you don't want to—an out, they call it. An escape route just before he careens into a ditch.

Hope has drained from every inch of his expression. This is his loneliness talking.

Despite the dread that licks up your spine, you cup his face. You swear he jolts slightly beneath your touch, as if you've reached out to strike him down. A retribution he believes he deserves.

He kisses you like it's his last day on earth. 

You learn one last thing: Itadori Yuji tastes familiarly of death.

Yuta decides to leave you alone for a second night in a row. His presence is so crushing that you know he's alive, but he stalks off somewhere else, leaving just you and Yuji huddled by the pitiful fire you've built.

He once claimed himself jokingly to be a love expert, and then ran off to Kenya for so long that you lost track of how much time passed. You wish you'd asked him before he left what he meant, but at the time it seemed irrelevant. Insignificant. The name Itadori Yuji had not yet been impressed into your heart like a seal.

You're busy setting up the sleeping bags, this time pushing them flush together. They're so close you can barely see the seam between them. Yuji stands on the other side of the fire, watching.

It reminds him of all the times you'd ever scolded him for not making his bed in the morning. I'm gonna crawl back in tonight anyway, he said. Who cares if it's messy?

Idiot, you would call him. But there was no malice behind it. He treated it like a pet name, a badge of honour to be your idiot.

Life felt so simple back then. He was full of determination and life and stuck to his morals as best he could. When he wavered he would text you to come over so you could fall asleep on his chest and suffocate any other thoughts out of his head.

"I've never felt so powerful before," he admits quietly.  You turn to look at him, curious. "Like I could do anything in the world."

There's a negative connotation to that, you know. He could do anything. The world would crumble at his feet and there he would stand, laughing at it all. It isn't his will, not even slightly, but the demon taking refuge in his body would love to see the blood pool.

"Like I could just... reach out and—"

"Yuji!" You hiss, lurching forward to take his hand into yours and retreat from the flame. The skin is already pink and blistering, scorched by the embers. You twist his wrist around, observing where the fire licked the deepest, and pour your energy into him.

When you look up to see if he's crying, or at least grimacing in pain, you find only his smiling face—warm and adoring. For a second it feels like the world isn't burning around you.

It was nice to have you fawning over me.

You wipe that stupid smirk off his face, leaning in to smear a kiss along the scar on his lip.

"Idiot," you say, and he laughs for the first time in so long that it sounds foreign in your ears.

(He doesn't fall asleep that night. He would rather savour the sound of your soft snores, memorize the form of your body in his hold, and try his hardest to burn this into his brain.

So be it if you come to curse him one day. He would welcome you with open arms.)

NOVEMBER 3 2018

The day comes when Megumi sneaks into your hideout, asking for help.

His sister, he explains. He needs help saving Tsumiki. For some reason, resentment boils in your stomach, but then it's snuffed just as fast.

Two days and two nights you've spent pretending Japan isn't collapsing, content with sitting idly by as curses overran Tokyo. You're sure Megumi thought you to be cowards, that you were all hiding under this bridge to wait out the hellstorm that was raining down on your homes.

It was true to some extent. Once Yuji stepped out into battle again, that was that. You're not sure things would ever be the same again, though you suppose you lost the privilege of routine days ago.

"Let me come too," you urge. Three pairs of eyes land on you.

"No," Yuji pushes. "It's dangerous."

"I can fight!"

"You can't," he pauses, then corrects himself, "You won't."

Awkward silence settles over your encampment. Yuta stirs, standing to hold you steady by the shoulders.

"If we need help... if one of us is hurt, we'll need you unharmed. Do you understand?"

Ah, ever so wise, your upperclassman. So easy to persuade you. There's a reason why he's the chosen one only second to Gojo.

You swallow the bile that fights up your throat. "What if you don't come back?"

Yuji steps in this time, knocking away Yuta to hold you by the face. Get a grip, this means. Pull yourself together, don't you dare fall apart in front of me.

"We will."

You once considered telling him how you felt, letting it eat away at you until Nobara groaned in disgust.

“If Itadori starts dating before I do, I’ll puke.”

You remember that you laughed, thinking she was so dramatic. You loved that about her. “I think you would do worse.”

She glared at you, foot lightly kicking at your shin under the table. Still, she made sure to push equal amounts of rice to your side of the plate. “I might burn a village down,” she huffed, placing her chin on her palm.

“You’re fine. Even if I told him how I feel, I don’t think he’d accept.”

“Huh?” Nobara sounded genuinely confused, raising a brow at you. “What makes you think that?”

You didn't know how to answer that. Maybe you were just afraid that you had misinterpreted everything, that the way he held you was protective in a familial manner and that he would slam his door in your face when you tried.

Looking back on it, you can imagine him in the next room ranting about the same things to Megumi.

“He still has posters of Jennifer Lawrence on his wall,” you argued weakly while shoveling rice into your spoon. She watched you take your bite with her lips parted in disbelief.

You wish you had told him, then. Not that it would have changed where you both ended up.

You watch as they pack up their things.

Megumi's demon dog keeps you quiet company, tail thrashing against the ground as you slick back its fur. They talk around the dying flames, devising plan after plan. None seem safe. None would be.

Yuta and Megumi leave first, taking the lead in front of the pack. His dog melts into the shadows and disappears, leaving you sitting alone.

"I want to take you back, but..." Yuji glances over his shoulder toward his death sentence. "Will you make it okay on your own?"

You get up slowly, as if to draw out the time he stands before you. A thousand questions run through your head: what if you never see him again? What if this kills him, not by body, but by his already damaged soul?

He must sense the racing of your mind, so he leans in to engulf you in his arms. In an instant, memories of those days spent lounging in his bed, shoveling your food onto his plate, and purposefully talking louder to tease Megumi come flooding.

A year you would never forget. You're sure it'll become a curse if you dwell, so you tell him: "I'll make it. You go on, they need you."

I need you, too. Stay. If only it were so simple.

He smiles at you, warm like the sun that's hidden behind the barrier. Itadori Yuji looks like a ghost of his former self, battle-worn and covered in scars where his skin used to be smooth. He kisses you again for good measure, making sure he remembers the way you sigh into his mouth.

When he pulls away, there's life gleaming in his eyes.

"Let's watch Human Earthworm 5 when I come back."

Your thumb brushes the corner of his lip. You open your mouth to speak, to finally tell him the truth after all this time. You'd rather not die regretting you never said it, after all.

But you stop.

"I prefer Titanic," you confess. He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. Then he’s gone, taking all the warmth with him.

You'll make up for lost time one day. It won’t be today. You can tell him all about your feelings when he comes back to you.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[cosmousee]

WHAT YOUR HIGHER SELF WANTS TO TELL YOU 💫🌟

Hello my loves!!!

I am back.

Love being MIA (jk jk I miss it so much, but life just has been holy crap) Here's a reading on what your higher self wants to tell you. Which Ive been trying to do since fkn last week of October, and finally here I am!!

Oh I am also going to start doing paid readings I guess, I am so excited!!! (but after November because end term exams are upon me)

Lets get to the reading!!

Choose whatever pile resonates with you, whatever does not, remember to just pass it on🥰

Pile 1>>2>>3

Pile 1

Hello love!

Welcome to your pile!

So starting off, your higher self is warning you about the people who are around you. While I was connecting with the higher self for the messages, it felt like there was this huge bundle of snakes intertwined and you were at the centre of it. You might be surrounded by people who do not have your best interest at heart. 

Since they were so intertwined and you were literally at the core of it, it seems like they have sllithered there way into your closest and innermost circle, but not because they genuinely want to be there, but it may be because they want to get some gossip from you, or they want to reap the rewards for the hard work you have done. You know sort of like, parasitic situation.

For you oracle we have

The Bee and Pomegranate: productivity

This card is making me think that they are either jealous of your productivity and want to know how you are doing it so they can as well, or they really want to piggy back on your success and call it theirs. 

With the Bee I think, it is time for you to identify the issues in your hive, and start eliminating them. You might feel a little suspicious about them sometimes but brush away that thought thinking you’re just being paranoid. But, if your intuition is constantly pulling your attention towards that, and if you’re having a bad feeling, its time to sting that *beep* and cut them out of your life. 

I am getting that you might start having some issues while you’re with them, like getting a headache, your energy levels being drained even though you were fine seconds ago. Having stomach issues after having a meal with them, your electric appliances would stop working, something like that.

I also saw this forked snake typa thing, which had two heads, and basically they are double faced and a snake to everyone and aren’t true to anybody. Just felt like mentioning it here.

For your tarot cards, we have,

Ace of Cups and The Emperor (reverse)

I feel like, because of the people around you, and their negative energies towards you, new opportunities might be blocked from coming to you.

You might feel the energy of something new coming, but then it just does not. Also, you do not have your cup full. Because of all that energy draining by these people, you only feel happy superficially, or because you are supposed to feel happy with your friends. But actually, deep down in reality, your soul knows you deserve better and these aren’t the people who are going to fill your cup.

You’ve got better opportunities waiting for you, you’ve got a whole empire waiting for you with The Emperor, but you need the right people in your court who will help you get there. Community is important, and being alone sucks, especially if you’re in a new place, could be a new school, a new university, a new job and you are afraid of letting them go because what if nobody else is there.

But until you take that risk, you will never find out. And honestly, right now, even being alone for a little while would be good for you to rejuvenate yourself and align yourself with the life that you really want, with the people that you really want.

That’s all I have for you today! Thank you so much for reading 🎀🌻Please let me know what resonated I love hearing from y'all<3

Pile 2

Hello love!

Welcome to your pile!

Idk what it is with this reading, but saw snakes for this pile as well  (I was literally playing slither.io rn), but in a veryyy different light as compared to the first pile. Basically, you know like there are two sides of you, the light and the dark, the yin and the yang sort of a thing. Except, I saw one side more earthy, nature ish and grounded I guess, and the other is just the same thing but… horror ish. You know thorny forest and dark night things. 

I think what your higher self is trying to tell you is that you gotta embrace all of yourself. All the parts, the good, bad, light, dark etc etc etc. It happens sometimes when you realise some weird (dark trait/habit so to say) of yours and then you fixate on that and you end up believing you’re not a very good person (HOLY FKN CRAP the universe just aligned in such a weird way I cannot even, gonna give context in a bit). 

But just because you believe you’re not a good person doesn’t mean that you don’t have the good qualities in you. And vice-versa as well, sometimes when we do light work, we tend to forget our shadow selves, or repress it. Which isn’t…ideal. Ya know?

You gotta embrace everything.. Just like the big snakes circle the little ones in slither.io (such weird analogies holy crap)

Okay so I do use costar (i am aware people dislike it, but its daily messages hit right at the spot. But today’s did not make sense to me, until NOW)

Okay anywho, moving on

Your oracle cards are:

The Caiman and Poppy: dreams

The Hawk and Thistle: graceful persistence

They are going to make more sense with the tarot cards so I am just going to mention them here,

Queen of Swords, 6 of pentacles (reversed), Ace of Wands and 3 of Wands

I feel like there has been some passion project sort of thing you have been wanting to pursue, but not getting the motivation, or you know the nicer way to do it. You may start doing it but then leave it after sometime because it is not providing you the happiness that you thought it would. Its not because you’re doing the wrong thing, its probably because there’s another way to do the thing, where you’ll enjoy it to the core.

This ‘new’ way of doing the thing might be revealed to you in your dreams. Your higher self may come to you in dream state and then reveal what is to be done. Now of course, ain’t that easy, they may not tell you exactly what you have to do, but tell you in some weird ass format which you might have to decode later on.

I am also getting the vibe that do not share this new thing with the people around you, I think. Not until it is successful anyway. I know its fun when you go and be like “Yo I had this epiphany in a dream” and blabber it all out. But for the time being, keeping the thing to yourself would be more beneficial to you. The Hawk from the oracle card has got sharp eyes and is on the lookout. Now its not to say that people are out for you or will take your ideas blah blah, but I think its for your own sake. You know sometimes you tell a person something and the whole excitement just blows away? Think of it as avoiding this scenario. 

Anyways! I hope whatever this new thing is, it brings back your spark for doing the things you are passionate about and this time receiving the serotonin with it as well!

That’s all I have for you today! Thank you so much for reading🎀🌻Please let me know what resonated I love hearing from y'all<3

Pile 3

Hello love!

Welcome to your pile!

SO OKAY! 

Everybody who chose this pile, like fkn immediately go and connect to your higher selves, they have SO MUCH TO SAY and I can only cover so much (sorry higher selves I am trying my best here)

Okay so, gonna explain everything together, your oracle card is:

The Antelope and Wheat: nourishment

What I felt is like, you know, you have multiple personalities, moods and what not. Like one day you’re like Yay Party and then two days later you’re just hibernating happily. You’re being told to nourish all the various aspects you have of yourself. 

Wanna go clubbing. Sure!

Wanna stay in and sleep in your cute pajamas. Sure!

Wanna go on a solo date/trip. Sure!

Don’t deprive any one of them, if you feel like you do not have enough resources to do so, or just because, it is easier to just lie down or do something else instead of doing what you actually want. 

I’ll explain more with your tarot cards:

King of Pentacles, 3 of swords, 7 of swords, The Chariot, The Hierophant, 4 of pentacles and Ace of pentacles

(see I told you they have a lot to say)

Coming back on track, I feel like you wanna reach the King of pentacles before you nourish yourself, you know have absolute abundance of money, energy, health and what not. 

But it is also possible that sometimes, you aren’t the King of Pentacles, you might be the Queen, the Knight, the Paige and this or that, and then it breaks your heart that you know “oh I can’t do this, I am low on resources”.

But that’s just your brain being wacky, and since you aren’t fulfilling all of your needs, it sort of snatches away happiness from other things as well. I mean of course you’ll be happy doing what you can but then you’ll know something is missing and that’s not the experience you wanna have with the things you love.

Your Higher self is telling you to keep moving forward, do not let your wacky brain control you with its weird ass thoughts (easier said than done). Do not reserve yourself from living your life to the fullest, because of minor here’s and there’s. Its pentacles, it’s gonna get refreshed any which ways and you’ll always be in a cycle of receiving it and giving it away.

This thinking might have been ingrained in you since childhood, through your home, or society or the community that you live in. Which is okay, I mean if you were brought up like that, obviously you will live that way. You know, Asian parents being like you can’t have fun for 2 days in a row! Which is makes zero sense (been there done that)

Try detaching yourself from that mindset if you are able to, because there’s a much livelier version of yourself to live as and they are looking forward to you taking steps towards them!!

That’s all I have for you today! Thank you so much for reading🎀🌻Please let me know what resonated I love hearing from y'all<3

[katyaromanoffpetrova]

Is this the end? (part I)

Katya is new at SHIELD. When she messes up during her probation, she thinks Fury will send her away. To ease the pain, she distances herself from Nat.

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC • Wordcount: 2.6k • Warnings: angst, mentions of self-harm (not detailed) •A/N: I couldn't fit everything into one post, so there will be a part two in a few day's time :) Masterlist

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

2007

The Triskelion slowly emerged in the distance. Tall, massive, impressive. A building fit for a strong organization like SHIELD. A statement to scare off their enemies.

It used to intimidate Katya too, back when she worked for that enemy. All Hydra agents were warned to stay far away from SHIELD HQ, unless they wanted to die. 

But in the past few months, it had amazingly become her safe space. A place where she could breathe for the first time in her life. A place she eagerly returned to.

Not right now, though. 

On this sunny, late afternoon in cold November, Katya dreaded landing the Quinjet on the flight deck and getting out. Her hands shook as she pressed the buttons and flipped the switches, forcing her breathing to stay normal so the SHIELD agent in the co-pilot seat wasn't alerted of her anxiety. 

She failed her mission. She messed up. Badly. She let Fury down. 

And she was still on probation. 

Her boss was very clear; make one mistake and she's out. And Fury always meant what he said. Always.

Katya didn't think she could keep going if she was kicked out of the one place that showed her kindness. If she was forced to say goodbye to the love of her life once more. 

That was the worst of it all; her failure would come back on Natasha. Natasha who was responsible for her. Natasha who promised Fury that Katya was fit for duty. Natasha who had faith in her to become a better person.

Not only had Katya let herself, the safety of the world, and her boss down, she had disappointed the woman she loved. And that stung more than anything.

The Quinjet barely wobbled as it touched the ground—at least she could do one thing right—and Katya helped her co-pilot with the shutdown procedure before lifting her heavy body out of the pilot seat. 

She didn't want to go out there. As long as she was in the jet, she was safe from being fired. Or she could pretend that she was safe, at least. So Katya took her sweet time collecting her things, triple checking that the Quinjet was ready for its next use before reluctantly making her way outside. 

Her anxiety was miles high as she crossed the flight deck. She felt like a pig being led to the slaughter. Every step of her booted feet took more effort than the last. Katya kept her gaze ahead and avoided the scared agents that jumped out of her way, refusing to let them see the fear in her eyes. 

She thought about running. It was her first instinct after she managed to escape her mission earlier today. It shouldn't have taken her fifteen minutes to decide to call in a SHIELD pickup, but it did, and she felt so ashamed about it. 

That part of her life was supposed to be over. Done. But it tempted her like a line of coke tempted a drug addict. 

Being on the run, being alone, it was so much easier. The only responsibilities she had were to herself. The only person she could disappoint was herself. If she messed up on a shady deal, they would be hunting her for a while, but only her. 

Having people who counted on her was harder than she thought it would be. Emotions were harder than she thought they would be. Her default setting was to isolate and be alone. To run when things were bad.

But she wouldn't take the easy way out this time. She refused to. With a deep inhale, Katya stepped inside the building.

To her surprise, nothing happened. She expected some agent to materialize and take her to Fury, or for people to stare and gossip about her failure. She had even imagined Natasha standing there, a disappointed frown on her face. But life inside SHIELD HQ went on as usual. They barely spared her a glance.

Without further hesitation, Katya mixed with the group heading for the elevators. Maybe if she blended in, she could hide and avoid having her soul broken for a little longer. Maybe, if she was fast enough, she could make it to her room and hide from Natasha as long as possible. 

The agents around her should know how hard her heart pounded as they shuffled away from her. How scared she was. It could be the last time they saw her face. It could be her last day in this building. Her last time riding this elevator. 

Katya's throat closed up. The tiny room suddenly felt extremely crowded. Panic pressed on her lungs. When she arrived at her floor, she bumped some shoulders in her rush to get out. As soon as she crashed through her apartment door, she sank to the floor, shaking.

The silence inside her apartment was terrible. The thoughts in her head sounded ten times as loud in the silence. They were overwhelming. The angry voices screamed at her, calling her a failure, a loser, that she would be better off dead.

She wrapped her arms around her knees in search of comfort. Comfort that she didn't deserve from anyone else.

How did she manage to mess up this badly? The mission Fury gave her was so simple, nothing she hadn't done before. Infiltrate a Hydra building—one Katya had marked as one—and steal some information. In and out. 

But somehow, they spotted her. Katya still didn't know how. She knew nobody could have heard her, or seen her. But the alarms went off and all the exits were blocked. She was trapped with no way out.

It took her locking herself into a room and hotwiring one of the alarm boxes on the walls, to lift the blockades and escape. She ran for five miles through the hills and hid before calling a SHIELD jet to pick her up. 

Now they had seen her face, knew she worked for SHIELD, knew their facility was compromised, and knew what information they were after.

It was the worst thing she could have ever done. She might as well have sent them an email. Fury would not be taking this lightly. 

Katya only noticed she was hyperventilating when someone slammed a door shut down the hall that made her jump. 

She felt ridiculous, rocking back and forth like a baby on the floor of her apartment, but it was her apartment, her safe space. She felt in her bones that she started to belong here, that this was where she should be. So it hurt a million times more, knowing she herself was the reason she would lose it all.

Katya sat on the floor for hours, digging her nails into her arms until welts started to form. Only when dusk set in did she pick herself off the floor, exhausted and covered in cold sweat. Nobody had come to check on her. 

She did her coming-home routine on autopilot. Shower, unpack, turn on her phone that she couldn't take with her on the mission, eat something—even though her stomach was in knots and she felt nauseous.

She had four missed texts from Natasha, each more worried than the last.

Nat (3:44 PM): Welcome back. Hope the mission went according to plan :)

Nat (3:46 PM): Are you okay?

Nat (4:18 PM): Can't get out of this meeting, so I can't check in. Can you let me know if you're alright?

Nat (5:52 PM): I hope you fell asleep. Dinner later? My last meeting ends at 7. If I don't hear anything from you, I'm taking it as a yes.

Guilt started to pile up on Katya's shoulders. She couldn't tell Natasha what happened. She couldn't handle letting her down. She couldn't handle breaking her heart. She couldn't handle having her own heart broken again.

Katya left the messages unanswered. Maybe Natasha would take that as a sign to not come and find her later. 

She didn't. When she showed up at 7 PM and knocked on the door, Katya pretended to be asleep. She stayed "asleep" for the rest of the night and never answered the texts in the morning.

This streak of avoidance continued throughout the week. Katya woke up earlier on purpose, so she finished breakfast right when Natasha walked into the cafeteria. She changed her workout schedule from early mornings to the late evenings to avoid Natasha, who trained in the morning. She walked the other way when she saw Natasha in the hallway. She didn't answer texts, or answered very late. 

When Natasha did manage to talk to her long enough to make plans, Katya canceled them last minute with some lame excuse. 

It stung. It hurt every fiber of Katya's being to ignore Natasha like that. The woman didn't deserve it. She should be getting angry with her, but instead Katya triggered her insecurities too.

When she asked if Katya didn't want her around anymore, the blonde swore she heard her heart shatter.

But this was necessary. Even though Fury still hadn't called her in, Katya knew her exit from SHIELD was close. She needed to create a distance between herself and Natasha beforehand, so it would hurt less when that time came.

"Stop avoiding me."

It was lunchtime, Tuesday, and Natasha had finally managed to corner Katya. Literally. She'd grabbed her wrist in passing and forced her into a random supply closet in the hallway. Her body pressed Katya's against the wall, a fire in her green eyes.

"I'm not. I'm busy," Katya answered with a hint of annoyance, impatiently eyeing the door. She had places to be, people to avoid. 

"Don't lie to me," Natasha bit back, vulnerability in the back of her voice. "We're beyond that."

"Nat." Katya tried, avoiding her gaze at any cost. She didn't want to do this.

"What is going on? You better tell me right now," Natasha demanded.

Katya scowled. "Nothing. Let me go."

"Kat—"

"I said, let me go."

Slowly, Natasha stepped back, giving Katya enough space to escape. The brunette eagerly took advantage of that and slipped back into the hallway. They may not be in a good place, but they always respected each other's boundaries.

Natasha was at a complete loss. The only thing she knew was that everything changed after that mission. If she wanted to know why Katya was avoiding her, the key lay at that mission.

The problem was; her clearance wasn't high enough to get any information. She'd tried to get into the system, but it blocked her. The only thing left to try was going to the person who knew it all.

"I need to know what happened. And no confidentiality bullshit." 

Natasha stood in front of Fury's desk, her arms crossed over her chest. She was angry. At Katya, at herself, at the secrets. She was tired of the emotional rollercoaster, of being left in the dark. She wanted answers, now.

Fury lazily gazed up at her, unimpressed and calm. "It's simple. Petrova failed her mission."

A wave of nausea hit Natasha. Deep down, she wasn't surprised to hear this. She suspected something like this. But actually having it confirmed was something else. She, too, knew what it meant if Katya failed.

"Lots of us fail our missions."

"Correct. But we've also never had a Hydra deserter join us before," Fury said casually, reorganizing some folders on his desk.

Something clicked for Natasha. She didn't know the magnitude of the mission, or Katya's failure. But if Fury was this calm about it, and if Katya was still here, a week later, something else must be going on. As always, the Director of SHIELD had ulterior motives.

"You set her up," she realized with disgust. "You set her up to fail."

Fury didn't blink an eye at her accusation, only proving that she was right. "Only when they face death do people show their true faces."

Natasha boiled with anger, clenching her fists to keep herself contained. He really sent the woman she loved into a building full of hostiles just to prove her loyalty. "She could have died!"

"I knew she could get herself out of that situation."

Natasha had never felt as protective over someone as she did right now. "Katya doesn't deserve your mistrust. She's been loyal since she set foot inside this building. She hasn't lied about anything."

"Loyalty runs deep. We shouldn't underestimate her ties to her former employer."

Natasha swallowed back some nasty words. To call the Director of SHIELD an asshole was risky, even for her. Maybe especially for her.

"If your goal was to make her terrified of losing everything good she found, then you succeeded."

Fury sharply glanced up at her with his one good eye. "We are not a charity, Agent Romanoff. Petrova needs to understand that her stay here isn't guaranteed."

Natasha clenched her teeth together. What an outrageous way to prove a point. "If she has to go, I'm going with her. Just so you understand that too."

"Message received," Fury said dryly, returning his gaze to the desk. "Loud and clear."

A mess of emotions raged in her body as Natasha left his office and legged towards Katya's apartment. It was false hope that sent her there. Hope that her small, meaningless conversation with Fury would calm Katya down enough to talk to her. 

She was still furious at him. Furious for sending Katya into a trap, for mistrusting her, and for being the perfect director. She was angry because she couldn't be angry at him. In his position, it was a logical move to test Katya's loyalty.

But Natasha's love for the woman clouded her judgment. Funnily enough. 

"Open up." Her knocks were fast and impatient on Katya's door. "It's me, and I'm not leaving until you hear me out." She was determined this time, willing to kick the door in, now that she knew why Katya acted so strangely.

To her surprise, Katya opened the door. Her body shielded Natasha's wandering eyes from seeing her apartment. She had dark circles under her eyes, pale skin, and a slow way of moving about her. "What is it?"

Natasha pushed past her before Katya could stop her. It had been a while since she had been in the apartment, and what she saw broke her heart. "Why do you have everything packed?" Katya didn't answer. All her personal belongings were in bags. "You don't have to leave. It was a test. And I think you passed it."

Katya snapped her head up, her eyes suddenly wide awake. "How do you— Ты говорил с ним (You went and talked to him)?"

Natasha was taken aback by her sharp tone. "I—"

"мне не нужна няня (I don't need a babysitter)!" The brunette raised her voice. "I made a mistake during probation. He has every right to send me off, test or not!"

"But it's not a fair test if he set you up to fail!"

"That doesn't matter! Failing still isn't an option! Test or not!"

Natasha thought she would be easing Katya's mind. But the woman only saw failure, clouded by fear. Katya was too terrified to lose everything to think rationally. "You're being too hard on yourself," Natasha continued gently. "You're an amazing agent. All your other missions went perfectly."

Katya huffed, raising her arm to scratch her head. "You can save 20 people, but we both know you only remember the one you killed."

Natasha barely heard her words. When Katya lifted her arm, her short sleeve lifted enough to show red welts on her arms in the form of nails. Clearly self-inflicted. Pointedly, Natasha looked at that arm, the spots now carefully covered. "Nothing is worth doing that to yourself."

Katya watched her go with a broken look in her eyes.

[maxknightley]

i just don't understand how usa trans folks in my circles aren't afraid for their lives re: the election. i get it. biden has been shit, he's been the main contributor to a genocide. harris will likely be no different. i'm in no way thrilled with them or our establishment as a whole. but trump clearly spells a much, much worse reality for trans people in this country. not only does his supporters' platform outline the criminalization of transness, but they'll have full immunity to do it due to the supreme court decision. this isn't a worst case scenario to get people to vote blue, this is the reality of what trump actively wants to do. am i missing something? because i'd love to believe i'm the crazy one in this case

most of what you're describing has been happening on a state-by-state level. the biden administration has done next to nothing to meaningfully push back against it. even if you're going hard in the paint on voting, you would be better off focusing your efforts on state and municipal elections, where something good could at least conceivably happen

"supreme court justice" is a lifetime position. as such, the supreme court is still going to have a republican majority regardless of who gets elected come november. you could make the argument "oh but what if one of the justices dies within the next four years," except that the democratic establishment has repeatedly demonstrated that they have zero interest in actually securing a progressive majority in the judiciary, so I'm not especially convinced it would make a difference. mind you, the whole fucking institution is flagrantly antidemocratic regardless.

kamala harris is actively campaigning on Bipartisanship and Cooperation with the christofascists she's running against. oh sorry I mean the Moderate Anti-Trump Republicans, like dick cheney, who definitely wasn't part of multiple infamously reactionary presidential administrations within living memory. why should I believe for an instant that she'll fight for me?

I might be biased due to living in a blue state, but the fact of the matter is: after four years of Trump, my life was not materially worse. after four years of Biden, my life was not materially better. under such circumstances, how am I supposed to feel anything but nihilism and apathy about the presidential election?

This is definitely a factor of living in a blue state, but it would be a statistical miracle if my vote for president mattered even the slightest bit beyond "maybe the green party will get some government funding and that will have some kind of positive ripple effect"

as someone who remembers the Bush administration I speak from experience when I say the republicans are constantly proposing hideous, inane social policies that end up dying in committee. that's not to say we should let down our guard, only that "if trump is re-elected he will immediately institute a dictatorship and all trans people will be hanged on the spot" is not actually a sure thing by any means.

I am a petty, angry person, and when people try to browbeat me into doing something - especially something that strikes me as pointless - it makes me less likely to do it.

tl;dr it's going to be bad either way; meanwhile, voting for a cheerleader of genocide would disgust me enough on a personal level that I'm willing to get uncharacteristically Kantian about the whole affair.

call me when they return to the obama playbook of "at least pretending they will try to make things better"

[fangirlika]

I know it’s not November anymore but imagine

Charles wants to do NNN but fails after 4 days because reader teases him so much he literally gives up and ends up fucking her (🤭)

I Love your writing keep up 😽💋

omg omg omg okay but I see Charles would definitely make a stupid bet with like Pierre or Joris and I mean, of course, Pierre would lose eventually (“Tripod”) but god forbid Charles loses before him.

Nope, that couldn’t, happen. Wouldn’t happen.

At least that was his determination at the beginning of the month.

But Charles is also incredibly weak when it comes to you, that man can’t go days without having to have you in one way or another - how was he supposed to stay abstinent for a whole month?

It was doomed from

The beginning on but you were definitely not helping his situation at all. You were probably just as insatiable as he was. I mean, look at him-

You had told him it was a dumb idea but stubbornness got the better of him and he agreed to the challenge anyways. So, you had to take matters into your own hands in order to get him to fail.

It began with subtle touches that lingered a little more than necessary, you would wear his favorite clothes on purpose and also not hesitate to purposely get dressed and undressed when he was in the room.

You noticed his gaze on you, he even let out frustrated groans or started verbally complaining when he realized that he can’t act upon your teasing.

“You have a hard-on, love”, you would just say reluctantly with a smirk, pointing at his crotch area. “If I were you, I would maybe wait a couple more minutes before leaving the house…”

Charles had a hard time since the 1dt of November but by the time it was the 4th of the month, he was so frustrated and had so much pent up list that he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

His breaking point came when you would excuse yourself to “handle your lust on your own” “since he couldn’t do it” and he had watched you leave the living room to go get yourself off, without him being able to do the same.

He felt his pants get tighter just with the thought of you masturbating and at first he tried to not think about it, but failed miserably.

It was a matter of a minute that he bursted into your shared bedroom and practically jumped you at the sight of you naked on the bed.

“I knew this would be your final straw”, you whispered against his lips and pushed down his joggers with a smirk. Charles just let out a groan but didn’t dare to stop.

“You’re in for it now, chérie“, he just moaned out.

[scorpioriesling]

Please Please Please H.C.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Xaden x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: You have your sights set on bad news, you just don’t know how bad. You can only hope your friends aren’t right about how dangerous he truly is.

SR’s Note: Obviously the pairing features the reader as I usually tend to write, so we shall pretend Violet isn’t a character in this fic (: Although she is an absolute queen, she’s just not featured in this one. Peace & love, enjoy

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

At first, you weren’t too sure if you actually liked him, or just thought he was handsome

(But after some time, you figured out it was more than physical attraction)

As for Xaden… he knew right away. Like, the moment he saw you, he was absolutely down bad

You actually saw him first, you both happened to be in the same bar at the same time one November night and once your eyes found him, you couldn’t help but simply stare.

“Listen sister,” Imogene said. She wasn’t actually your sister, but being a year older, she felt like she was. She was always looking out for you in a sense, anyway. “That’s Xaden Riorson. He’s absolutely bad news,” she said, but you just kept watching, fully entranced by him. “For you, anyway.” she added.

You rolled your eyes and asked her what that was supposed to mean. She only looked you up and down — over the mini skirt, corset top, and chunky heels — and back at him, his brown hair ruffled and leather clad black outfit reflecting the neon of the overhead lights.

“You don’t think I’m up for a challenge?” You raised an eyebrow. Quinn was approaching from the bar, and you all but snatched your shot glass from her and chugged it before meeting Imogene’s eyes again. Quinn only gawked at you.

She threw her hands in the air. “Absolutely not, I know you have balls, I just don’t want you getting hurt-“

“I can handle it.” You shot her one last look before weaving a path through the crowd, the handsome guy your pot of gold at the end. You were getting so close, you were mere inches away; but your foot caught on someone’s shoe and you stumbled-

“Easy there, short stack,” you heard a voice as smooth as whiskey from above as two strong hands whisked you up, setting you upright again on your platform heels. Your eyes met the deep brown ones of your target — just who you’d been looking for.

Turns out, your pot of gold was more than that, his eyes had reflected it too.

“Oh, uhmmm,” You fumbled nervously. The handsome guy only smirked, and you blushed nervously as his eyes roamed over your body.

“You have a name, short stack?” He asked. Your eyes flew wide. What a rediculous nickname, even in heels you couldn’t help your lack of height.

“Y/N.” You said shyly. He nodded, slowly glancing over your frame once more.

“Cute. Buttttttt I think I like short stack more.” He shrugged. You rolled your eyes not thinking better of it, and he laughed a little, his fingers finding the curve of your waist.

“Mhm. Should I come up with a rediculous nickname for you too?” You asked mockingly sweet as he hovered closer to you. The smell of Earth and mint eminated from him, and you tried to school your face into an unamused expression as you stared straight up at him.

“Oh, absolutely not. It’s Xaden.” He said, grinning down at you. You pursed your lips, and his other hand made its way to your opposite hip. He leaned in close, talking lowly so you could hear.

“Need me to help you stand, or do you think you can handle it?” He asks. You furrow your brows at him, heat tinging your cheeks once more as he chuckles at you. He lifts a hand and runs his thumb over your cheekbone.

“You know what short stack, you’re kinda cute. Feisty too,” your expression softens, and a genuine smile graces his lips. “I think I’ll keep you around, if you’d like.” You grin mischievously at him, and he leans in closer. You don’t care, you’d kiss this man right here and now, the drinks you’d had didn’t help that, but the way he halts at the last second leaves you a bit confused.

He glances to the left, and you follow his gaze to the back door of the bar where three beefy guys in black shirts filter in, scanning the crowd. Xaden sighs, and a flash of uncertainty crosses your mind.

“What’s wrong?” You ask. He smiles gravely at you, pulling you close to whisper once more.

“Listen short stack,” he starts. You peer around his shoulder, catching Imogene’s eye as she slowly shakes her head at you. “We may have to get outta here if you wanna continue this, that alright?” With that seductive voice, he could tell you to rob a bank and you’d do it for him.

You meet his eyes once more and sigh. “Xaden what… who are you?”

He all but winks at you, lacing your fingers through his before ducking to your height and wading through the crowd toward the front entrance. You can’t see around his broad shoulders, so you don’t realize you’re in the clear before the crisp November air hits you and you shiver. He straightens, and pulls you close to wrap an arm around you.

“I’ve got an extra jacket and helmet, I’m parked just around the corner, alright baby?” He coos. You stiffen in shock, but he only rubs his hand up and down your chilled arm soothingly.

“Helmet? For what-“

“HE’s OUT HERE!”

You glance back just to see the big guys from the bar running straight for you, a few bar attendees filtering out the front door behind them.

“Uhmm- Xaden-“

You squeak as he effortlessly whisks you into his arms, breaking into a jog down the street and you bury your face into his neck as the breeze whips against your face. Within minutes, he’s slowing, then stops to gently place you on a leather seat.

“Here, sweets,” he hands you a helmet, and you finally open your eyes to realize you’re on a motorcycle. This won’t go well with the alcohol you’d already consumed this evening.

He puts his own on, quickly strapping it and making quick work of adjusting yours to fit. His calloused fingers send thrills of excitement through you as he tightens each strap, and shucks on the extra leather jacket over your shoulders.

“Hold onto me short stack,” he orders. You wrap your arms around his waist, feeling just about every ridge of his abdomen underneath and adjusting yourself against the leather seat below. What the fuck did you get yourself into.

He revs the engine twice, and speeds past the men running down the sidewalk toward him. He keeps going, ignoring your panicked squeaks as you pass the bar once more, Imogene’s pink hair and grim look the final notion that you’re in for a wild ride.

You could only hope, only plead, that she wasn’t right.

ﾟ:* ✧

[sugrhigh]

HOTBOX - ( m.s )

part two

summary- matt finally decides to smoke with his best friends for the first time, and he finds that it’s impossible to keep his eyes off of you

warnings- drug use, swearing, tiny bit suggestive

bff!matt x fem!reader

a/n: WOOOO finally a real piece of writing! i hope u guys enjoy. will possibly do a part two but idk, so if you have requests just ask!

he can’t stop drumming his fingers against the wheel as he steers the car along, desperately trying to relax a little bit and focus on the music that’s blaring through the speakers.

chris sits beside him in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard as you guys speed toward your destination. he can hear you and nate conversing in the back, practically shouting at each other over the song.

the waterfront comes into view through his windshield a moment later, moonlight shimmering against the glassy surface. matt takes the next left, swerving across both lanes of traffic to pull into the deserted lot.

there’s nobody on the beach of course, considering it’s almost midnight in the middle of november. he throws the car into park and lowers the volume, shifting in his seat so he can actually see everyone.

“i think that’s the fastest i’ve ever seen you drive, grandpa.” you tease him, unbuckling so you can lean forward in your seat.

he rolls his eyes, though he never actually minds it when you’re the one chirping at him.

“you’re gonna wish it was me once nate gets behind the wheel, i promise.”

“wow, so i volunteer to stay sober and this is the thanks i get?” his friend asks, arms crossed over his chest defensively.

“thank you nate.” you reply in a sing-song voice.

“yeah, yeah. whatever.”

matt watches as you claw through your bag, finally digging out a small blue pouch after a few more seconds of searching.

the moment you unzip it, the all-too familiar smell of weed fills the interior of the car. chris cheers when he sees you pull out a perfectly packed joint, holding it in between your middle and pointer finger with precision.

“you know, it’s really upsetting that you can roll better than me.” nate shakes his head with a sigh.

“aw, you gonna cry about it?” you puff your bottom lip out at him.

“i swear i’ll fucking walk home and leave you guys stranded.”

“sure you will. hold this.” you pass the joint to him before retrieving the lighter.

matt tries to play down the smile that’s beginning to take over his face as you hold it in your palm. he got that one for you on your last birthday. it’s a silver zippo lighter with a big winding dragon engraved on the side.

it was kind of a gag gift just because he knows how much you smoke, but you ended up genuinely loving it way more than he had ever expected.

chris smacks him in the arm gently, and he finally tears his eyes away from you.

“you sure you want to?” his brother double checks, though he doesn’t do a very good job of containing his obvious excitement.

“yup.” matt replies simply, his gaze darting in your direction again.

he’s never once felt pressured to smoke before, but he’s always been a little curious. he’s hung out with the three of you while you’re all stoned enough times to realize that he at least wants to try it.

and sure, maybe a tiny part of him is doing this because he wants to impress you. but what’s the harm in that?

“i’ll start her off, but then it’s coming your way matty b.” you nod at him with a smile, taking the joint back from nate.

his heart is already pounding and all you did was look at him.

you put the filter between your lips and spark his lighter, holding the flame to the end. he watches it burn as you inhale, trying to figure out exactly how he’s supposed to do this when it’s his turn.

you blow the smoke over your shoulder, careful not to do it in anyone’s face. no cough. matt doesn’t even see you flinch.

you take one more quick drag, and he’s already entranced by your fluid movements.

then you stretch your hand out, offering him the next hit as you silently exhale once again. it’s impossible for him to ignore the way he fumbles with your hand before he finally pinches it between his fingers.

it feels awkward, like he’s somehow already doing it wrong.

“just put your lips on it, suck in, not for long though because that’s real shit. then hold it in your throat, inhale it, exhale it.” you instruct him, and his mouth is already dry from the way you’re talking.

there’s something about the commanding edge to your voice that’s driving him crazy. he kind of likes that you’re the know-it-all, the one in control.

“sounds dirty, but you get the point.” chris states with a shrug.

yeah, sounds fucking dirty.

“you got this, don’t even think about it too much.” nate adds encouragingly.

matt bites the bullet, curling his lips around the end and inhaling. he definitely feels the smoke fill his lungs, so he pulls the joint away quickly and practically tosses it to chris.

“exhale, exhale.” you instruct, and he does so all at once.

it fogs up the car, smoke flying back up in his face instantly. then he feels it. the burning in his throat. the desperate need to cough.

he sputters, and chris is already motioning to one of the waters in the cup holder.

“keep holding your breath and drink that.”

he tries to do as he’s told, but it’s impossible to hold it in. he lets out a loud hacking cough. then another, and another. matt tries to sip on the water in between them, though it’s hard.

you rub his arm gently as the cough attack begins to die down, and the feeling of your fingernails scratching him lightly through his sweatshirt almost makes him shiver.

“i personally like a good cough everyone once in a while. humbles me.” you joke, removing your hand and sitting back in your seat once you’re sure he’s alright.

he misses your touch immediately, and it’s embarrassing.

chris has been keeping it lit, so he passes it back to you once you’re ready. matt is left out for a moment, and he doesn’t mind the brief break.

the music stays on in the background, a curated playlist of stuff that you all like. he sees you bopping your head along to baby keem, and you turn to him with the joint still burning between your lips.

“you want more?” you say as the smoke curls around your face.

in many ways.

matt nods and reaches to grab it from you, trying to be careful where he positions his fingers. he repeats his actions from earlier, breathing out slowly this time.

he still coughs quite a bit, but it’s not nearly as bad. the high is definitely rushing straight to his head, and it makes him feel like a balloon full of helium.

his brother guides the joint out of his hand gently. even he wheezes a bit as he takes his fair share, which makes matt feel better.

“how do you feel bro?” nathan asks him through the haze that’s filled the car.

“good. i feel good.” that’s all he can think to say.

and it is nice. everything seems just a little bit lighter. his body feels…loose. matt blinks, and he swears he sees stars behind his eyelids.

you reach up to open the sunroof, letting some fresh air into the car. there’s not a cloud in the sky tonight, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore calms him.

“one more baby hit, then you’re done.” you pass it to him for the last rotation.

“so bossy.” matt smirks at you, and there’s a humorous glint in your eyes as you watch him take a drag.

he tries impossibly hard to make it look cool, despite almost hacking up a lung and choking on his water. you laugh, but matt somehow understands that you’re not making fun of him by doing so.

chris snatches it from of his hand. “gimme that, it’s almost out.”

it’s like a game of ping pong as matt watches the two of you bounce back and forth, hit after hit. the joint dwindles and finally dies a minute later. you toss the burnt remains into a dunkin bag from god knows how long ago before slipping the lighter back into the pouch.

“alright, matt. time for you to switch with me big boy.” nathan reminds him, turning to open his car door.

matt follows his lead. his body feels like it’s three feet behind his brain, like his consciousness is just a few seconds faster. his legs wobble as his feet hit the ground, but he manages to steady himself, hand against the car as he moves.

nate walks him to the door just in case, and matt stumbles into his new home in the back, laughing at himself under his breath. you help him sit upright in the middle seat, reaching across his body to get to the belt.

“lift your arm.” you tell him, and even though he doesn’t want to, he listens.

you pull the buckle around and click it into place so he’s properly strapped in, doing it for him like he’s a toddler or something.

this is an action he’d normally protest, but he’s solely focused on how close together you are. he can feel the heat radiating from your body as your shoulder presses against his, knees knocking together as he gets comfortable.

“how are you doing? everything okay?” you ask lowly, looking up at him through those long lashes.

he can see the red tinging your eyes, and his own feel droopy as he continues to stare. matt just can’t help it. you look so gorgeous, somehow even more so when you’re both faded.

“cat got your tongue?” you joke, head tilted back to rest against the seat as nate puts the car in reverse.

“you’re pretty.” it slips out before he can stop it, and yet he’s too high to care.

your eyes go a little wide, and your lips part slightly as you suck in a breath. he wants to kiss you so bad, to get rid of the centimeters of space between you and just press his mouth to yours.

“and you’re stoned.” you smile a bit and look away, trying to play it off.

“but i’m serious.” he doubles down, and you glance at him once more with those fucking bambi eyes.

you shake your head and place your hand on his thigh. “i promise you’re not.”

it ignites a fire in his stomach, one that won’t die down. he wants to move his hips, to feel some sort of friction against your palm. but he holds still, even despite how much he needs you.

“you don't know me.” matt hears his words slur together slightly as he speaks.

“i definitely do.” you argue.

“fine, but you can’t possibly guess what’s going on in my head.”

matt’s still not sure where any of this is coming from, or why he’s saying it to you now, but the word vomit won’t stop.

you shrug, squeezing his thigh lightly. he shifts a little bit, trying not to get too worked up over the pressure.

“i guess that’s true. so what are you thinking?”

matt glances up front at his brother and his best friend, and he knows neither of them are paying attention to the two of you. they’re too busy singing piña colada by yung pinch to care.

he hears you hum a little bit of the chorus under your breath as you wait for his response.

“i’m thinking about you.” he finally admits, leaning over so he can say it directly into your ear.

he can smell your rose shampoo, the fading hints of flowery perfume on your skin. it’s intoxicating, being near you like this.

you move your hand off his leg to shove his chest playfully. “shut up.”

the city blurs by as nate continues to drive, and matt admires the way the light from the street lamps dance across your face.

“why don’t you believe me?” he mumbles, barely audible over the combination of the breeze and the music.

“because you’re high as a kite, i can see it written all over your face.”

“doesn’t mean i’m lying.”

you study his face like you’re trying to find the truth in it. he can’t help but grin, because you’re so fucking clueless, and it makes you smile right back.

“touché.”

[rivalsforlife]

pardon me if you’re tired of discussing this but. we know aa7 is on capcom’s radar on some level. and now they’ve rereleased every game right?? they’ve finally run out of backlog material after almost yearly releases since 2019…. Not to put the clown wig and nose back on too early but do you think we’ll actually get news about, or get to see, aa7 next year?

Never tired of discussing this!! This is right around the time of year where I'd be preparing to make my yearly AA7 Speculation Post anyway so this is great timing. (TGS, my enemy, is approaching.)

So just to make sure everyone's on the same page, here's a quick recap of where we're currently at:

In November 2020 we got internal Capcom leaks which included a calendar from 2019 with the roadmap for the AA series the next couple of years. This included:

DGS1&2 collection, which I did not think was going to happen ever, releasing April-June 2021

AA7, releasing around October-December 2021, right around the 20th anniversary.

Through late 2019-mid 2022, reconsider porting 456

We got DGS1&2 (a bit later than in the plan, but by like a month), we got the 456 ports, we got bonus AAI ports, we have nothing for AA7 nearly three years after it was supposed to come out. The pandemic is an obvious feature that could contribute to its delay, but at this point with 456 ports out I think we can safely say that this was not the only cause.

Some other things that may or may not be contributing to AA7's delay include:

Yamazaki, the previous main writer for 5&6 and the AAIs, left Capcom in 2020. If he was involved in AA7 at all, that could throw a wrench into things, but I recall hearing he intended AA6 to be his last AA game (I AM STRUGGLING TO FIND THE SOURCE THOUGH SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME), so I don't think this contributed very much. It does, however, mean that we're unsure about who the next main writer is - depending on what Takumi's up to or if they had to bring someone new on, there could be complications related to that.

I think TGAA did way better than anyone expected, which I covered in this post. It's possible that this could have shifted Capcom's priorities to porting more old games / porting to all modern consoles. It may have made people at Capcom think "damn everyone loves Takumi" so they tried to lure him back to AA7, and I have no idea how well that would have gone or if Takumi is even interested in continuing mainline AA right now. (I do think this at least contributed to the Ghost Trick ports.)

In my first ever AA7 speculation post I talked about how the ending of AA6 kind of wrote them into a corner re: how to continue with the series and which protagonist to use. I still stand by that argument even if a lot of that post aged badly.

Console ports! Previously new AA games were for whichever Nintendo handheld is out now (GBA, Nintendo DS, Nintendo 3DS). But now that the series is doing really well on all consoles, they may have decided to try to make their next mainline entry on all consoles, which would take more development time. Adding to this is that the Switch is near the end of its lifecycle with the Switch 2 (or whatever the successor will be) being announced soon - meaning that, if AA7 is coming out soon, Capcom is in the position of "do we try to squeeze this into the end of the Switch's lifecycle" (which, I'll need to find sources for this, is speculated to be some of the reasons behind why AAI2 and DGS2 sold badly when they were first released, and they can't make the same mistake thrice... right...?) or "do we try to time it with the release of the Switch 2"?

Also, a lot of this depends on how far AA7 was into development whenever it was derailed. If it was derailed from the pandemic, then according to the calendar, it would likely have still been in the prototype stage. It may be early enough that they would have had to start from scratch whenever they picked it up again. I don't work in the gaming industry so I have no idea how long it takes them to make a game or how easy it would be from what stage they're in.

One thing we can compare to is some of the comments about the recent AAI ports: in this interview, Shunsuke Nishida, the producer of the AAI collection, says that development on the collection began in 2022. He also mentions that this began once development on 456 was concluded. This leads me to believe that (contrary to my previous assumptions) 456 and AAIC were not developed concurrently (or if so, had very minimal overlap), and that the process of upscaling graphics, porting, and localization took them... about a year, maybe? So that takes time, even without taking into consideration how long it would take to come up with a new idea + write the script + the bulk of the programming that would have to be done that isn't considered with porting + probably way more than I can think of because again I do not work in the gaming industry.

There's also the question of why 456 and AAIC weren't developed concurrently. The calendar from 2020 shows that TGAA and AA7 were meant to be developed at least somewhat concurrently, and the staff from TGAA would eventually merge into working on AA7. Once again, we don't know what happened to the staff that were supposed to be working on AA7. It's possible pandemic complications meant they got shuffled onto other projects. It's possible the AA-related team is smaller now than it was in 2020, so they only have enough people to work on one project at a time. It's also possible that there's a team that was working on ports, and a team that was working on a new game, and now the "port team" is freed up to work on the "new game team".

Either way though, pretty much every interview with the staff for the 456 or AAI ports are all saying "look forward to the future of the series", which is definitely Corporate Speak, but unless they're bringing the ports of the Layton crossover (fingers crossed) that can only mean one thing. (AAI anime?) Plus, like I've discussed in this post, AA is having fantastic sales in general. They've seemingly either hired a new social media manager or changed the strategy so there is much more engagement on twitter. And AA is getting on bigger and bigger announcements - though AA trilogy ports were announced at TGS (at an AA-specific panel), TGAA duology ports were announced unceremoniously on twitter. Afterwards, 456 ports got announced at the Capcom Showcase during Summer Game Fest. And now AAI collection got announced at a Nintendo Direct, which I imagine is even more expensive, so the series must be going in a good direction for them to think that's worth it!

That's a lot of rambling for me to say I definitely think it's coming.

When are we going to see it though!!

Coming up in September is my eternal enemy Tokyo Game Show. Since AAI collection is being released at the beginning of September... it might be a bit too soon to announce a new game, but who knows. They might think it's profitable to ride the hype they're building now for AAI collection to announce a new game. Or they might let it sit for a while.

With AAIC getting announced at a Direct, I'm thinking they'll want to make AA7's announcement a) big and b) global. AA6 was announced in Famitsu, but the problem with that is that it's a mostly Japanese audience, and some interviews have been talking about how AA's global audience is particularly contributing to how big it is right now. So I'm expecting AA's next announcement to be at something major and something that will get attention from overseas audiences.

If they have been working on AA7 concurrently -- and honestly I do think there has at least been some progress on it since 2019 -- we could definitely see an announcement within the next year. I was also saying this in 2020, though, so don't take my word for it. There's been two year gaps between ports up until the AAI collection, and they seemed pretty proud about releasing 456 and AAI in the same year, so... maybe they'll want to keep it going and announce AA7 within the next year, especially if they'll have a longer announcement -> release period than they normally would for ports.

Potential candidates include:

Tokyo Game Show: As previously stated, it's very close to the AAIC release, so I don't think it's the best timing for it. I would not want my favorite AA game overshadowed by whatever the hell they're going to do with AA7. Likelihood: depends on how fast they want to follow up on the hype.

The Game Awards: is the next major gaming event, but that's already massive in terms of the type of games that get announced there, and it's expensive! Nintendo Direct is one thing since AA has always been a Nintendo-first series, but I don't think it's big enough to justify putting in a Game Awards ad. and I already have my clown wig on for persona 6 there. Likelihood: pretty low tbh

Next Year's Summer Game Fest-related Shows: I think this is the most likely, considering both the 456 collection and the AAI collection were announced around this time. For AA7 I'd say a Nintendo Direct to get lots of eyes on it, especially if AAIC sales pay off. Likelihood: pretty high!

Which leads me into my wildcard answer:

Switch 2 Announcement Stream: If Capcom decides to go in and make AA7 one of the first games for whatever the switch successor would be, it could be announced here. I regret to admit that I am a very bad gamer and only like two things, and therefore have not ever been present for one of these things to know how many games get announced as launch games for a new console, but, like, it's possible.

In the above scenario, I'm not necessarily saying that AA7 would be a Switch 2 exclusive - because I think that would be stupid after so much of the support they've gotten from the ports has been from playstation and steam - but I am definitely the kind of person who would buy a console for one video game. Shoutout to me buying a switch in part anticipating that aa7 would come out on it and that is not looking likely

Anyways, that's my speculation!! Reminder that this is mostly uninformed and that I have no knowledge of anything related to sales or marketing or video game development, and as a result of that, I have been wrong (aside from the one time I accurately predicted AAI ports as a joke) for four consecutive years.

[wordsofelie]

Chapter 8

🌅Don’t you dare run away (A Phoenix and Ashes Sequel)

Miya Osamu x f!reader

Summary: Miya Osamu thinks some things will never change— Atsumu will always be annoying; his Ma’s food will always be the best and you will always be his favourite sunrise.

Content Warnings: Timeskip Setting, Manga Spoilers, ex!Suna, Swearing

Words count: 5k

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7

Osamu doesn’t talk about what happened.

The main reason is that he wants to believe it was only a one-time thing. You were simply surprised to see your ex after who knows how many months or years; your relationship with Osamu is only starting even though you’ve known each other for a long time. Osamu wants to respect your boundaries; he wants to give you the time you need to get used to this new life. He’ll be patient (for once, his mother would say).

But that one-time thing lasts longer than expected.

Four months pass, you’re well settled in Tokyo, well integrated into your new team and Osamu has become a regular on the Omiya-Shin Osaka shinkansen line. He alternates between his shop in Osaka, where he has taken on a new full-time manager (Sato and Nagisa love her), and his new premises in Tokyo, which are still in the restoration phase. Osamu opted for a smaller place close to a university and a business district (strangely close to Akaashi's offices), the goal being to focus on takeaway food rather than a familial restaurant. Kita is getting ready to supply twice more rice and he’s just waiting for his former teammate to open the new shop.

By the time the Olympics end, everyone is aware that you’re dating. Bokuto couldn’t help but tell Hinata and Akaashi, Hinata couldn’t resist sharing the news with Kageyama during their game against Argentina, claiming it just slipped. And, from there, the secret practically ran itself through the team. By the time it got to Atsumu, he’d almost passed out from shock. The setter had cornered Osamu one evening. “Are ya serious? My own twin, my own flesh ‘n blood, and ya didn’t even tell me?”

But as soon as he finished his tirade, he sighed heavily and clasped Osamu on the shoulder. “Ya know, ‘Samu, I’m glad it’s ya though. She deserves it. Just... don’t mess it up, alright?”

And Osamu promised he wouldn’t. They went out to have dinner that night and Atsumu’s eyes got wet when the waiter served the plates.

“Yer leavin’ me again,” he whines to his twin.

Osamu groaned, “Stop bein’ such a crybaby for fuck’s sake. How am I supposed to beat ya if I get stuck in the same place? It’s like we're runnin’ a race but with our shoelaces tied together. One of us has to get past the other.” Because it sounded too serious, or maybe because his eyes also got wet, Osamu stretched out his arm on the chair and his voice turned to tease mode again, “and I guess, I'm just better with women than ya.”

Atsumu got mad and they acted like themselves again, as if nothing happened, as if they weren't on the verge of tears at the idea of being away from each other. 

His mother, of course, was over the moon. She’d even sent a few of your favourite treats because according to her, this announcement warranted a full family celebration. “We always hoped, ya know,” she’d told Osamu with a soft smile, “that you’d end up with someone just like her. Maybe even her, actually.” She winked, and before Osamu could stop her, she was already planning the next family gathering (and a wedding.)

No need to mention Umi who was the first to know. Osamu received a text from her early one morning, saying how happy she was for you and hinting at his potential murder if he ever broke your heart. He didn’t know whether to laugh or hide.

The only person still completely out of the loop remains Suna.

For some reason, the thought doesn’t worry Osamu. Wordlessly, you both agreed to let things settle naturally. It’s only a matter of time before you tell him, or at least, that’s what Osamu believes.

But it’s now almost November and the guys from Inarizaki High have organised a team reunion in Tokyo when Osamu officially opens his new restaurant. Your boyfriend tries to ignore the feeling, but it does sting when you seem to avoid his gaze whenever Suna is nearby. At some point in the night, Gin—who’s the only other person not aware of your situation—wraps his arm around Osamu’s shoulder and asks him, “So, what about you, man? Got anyone special?”

Osamu pauses, his hand lingers just a little too long on his glass. He catches your eye across the table, but you look away. Something twists in his chest.

That evening, you fight for the time.

When you return home, Osamu is quieter than usual, barely meeting your eyes.

“Are you mad?” you ask, watching him from the doorway as he sits on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap.

But he doesn’t look up. “That you acted as if I didn’t exist in front of yer ex, again? Huh, nah.”

You move closer to him. “Osamu…”

“Look, it’s fine,” he replies, and it breaks his heart not to look at your face. You’re probably hurt right now, but if he lands his eyes on you, he will probably just want to apologise and kiss your lips and your eyes and your cheeks to make the sadness go away, “I’m just tired.”

“Let’s talk about it.”

He huffs a sigh through his nose, “I said it’s fine.”

Then he gets up, his back is facing you now. Osamu feels his blood rushing through his veins, both out of frustration and guilt, “I get it if yer disappointed in this relationship.”

The words cut deeper than either of you expected, and for a second, you stay silent. A bitter laugh leaves your mouth.

“Disappointed? You’re not the one who’s felt neglected these past few weeks,” you reply, and your voice raises just slightly higher. “Whether you’re in Osaka or here, it’s like I barely exist to you. I mean, at least when we were just friends, I felt like I had some part of you. Now… I don’t know, Osamu...”

Your shoulders slouch and your brows furrow. When he takes a glimpse at you, the frustration is fully replaced by guilt. 

“My love…” he begins, reaching for you, but you cover your stomach as if to shield yourself from him.

“No, I… I guess I should’ve seen it coming. Maybe it was a stupid idea to let you follow me to Tokyo. I was selfish. And if you want to leave me, I understand-”

Miya Osamu has heard some stupid things in the past (especially coming out of his brother’s mouth), but leaving you has to be the craziest one. How in the world could he want someone else other than you? Now that he had a taste of what it’s like to be by your side, how could he ever think of leaving?

It’s been a decade, ten full years, that Osamu has been watching you from the sidelines. He saw you being almost chosen, half-loved by Suna. He watched you break and then pick yourself up before falling into the arms of your good-for-nothing ex again. It was unfair, it was infuriating to see you look at him with stars in your eyes when you obviously deserved so much more—the whole universe even. And then, without trying, he fell head over heels for you. He started yearning after you, desired to be the one you go home to every day, the one who makes your heart flip in your chest.

Now, in all modesty, Osamu can say he is no longer on the sidelines; he’s with you and he’s yours.

But words aren’t enough thus, he moves toward you, so quickly that it startles you. His hands find your neck delicately, his fingers get tangled in your hair and before you can pull away, he says, “Hey, I’m not goin’ anywhere. Ya understand? Yer it for me.”

You can’t help the tears that well up in your eyes. “But I don’t want to be a burden,” you respond in a murmur. “You work so hard, and I’m so proud of you. I don’t want to be just one more thing you have to worry about.”

“But that’s exactly my role.” His forehead meets yours, “listen here, sweetheart, I would burn down the restaurant for ya.”

“But I don’t want that.” He makes you smile wide through your tears.

“No, me neither.” He chuckles but after, his voice softens, “What I mean is that startin’ today and for all the days that come, yer the one I’ll choose over everything. If I had to relive my life, I’d choose ya again and again, I’d probably choose ya earlier. Please, now tell me when something is wrong because nothing could ever make me fall outta love for ya. I’m not him.”

You put your hand over his, and squeeze tightly, “And I don’t want anything else, Osamu. Just you.”

“Then that’s what ya got. And promise me one thing.”

You nod and he brushes a tear from your cheek. “Anything.”

“Let’s just tell each other when something’s wrong. It’s shit to argue like that. I’m sorry if ya felt like I wasn’t here enough, I’ll make it up ya, okay?”

Your arms wrap around him tightly, as if letting go would make all of this disappear. “You don’t have to, I didn’t mean what I said… I was just hurt, and I guess, I just miss you. We don’t see each other as much those days, but I know it’s for the better. As for Rin,” you look up at him and Osamu realises he forgot what the argument was about in the first place. He gulps loudly. “I’ll tell him, soon. But I just need a bit more time. I guess I'm just worry it'll make things awkward between you too...”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Take all the time ya need. And ya know, we're grown men, okay? No one’s gonna punch the other... he’d get hurt anyway.”

You laugh, (and avoid reminding him that Suna Rintarou is a professional athlete, probably for the sake of his ego) and only hug him more.

Feeling your skin against his as you slip under the sheets, is the only thing that matters now. You chose him, not Suna, and the thought is enough to make his whole body shiver.

You fall asleep first and Osamu, in an unusual moment of gratitude, wants to thank the gods for being able to see your pretty face everyday. Make it last forever, he wishes to ask them. When he closes his eyes later, he is convinced that they heard him.

The gods are funny entities. Maybe they did hear him and maybe they’re trying to impulse your relationship on the right path.

At least, that’s the conclusion your boyfriend comes up with when on a calm Saturday morning, as he is making breakfast while you’re taking a shower, someone knocks at the door.

Osamu sets down the bowl of batter he is holding, turns off the stove to prevent the baking pancakes from burning, and walks to the door.

The door swings open, and he has to take a step back in surprise when one Suna Rintarou appears in front of him.

“My mum wanted to give you – Osamu?”

Both men seem to be equally surprised. Osamu tries to hide his displeasure. He just wanted to spend a quiet morning with you, eating breakfast and cuddling, so why the hell is your ex in front of him right now?

“Oh Suna, hi… hm…”

“Dearest are you-” your voice chimes in but stops as fast. “Rin?”

Osamu widens his eyes and looks at you, he scratches the back of his neck nervously. “I’m- hm- thank you for letting me sleep here yesterday. I’ll leave now.”

His excuse doesn’t seem to ease Suna’s doubts as the man with his usual sharp-eyed self, throws Osamu a side-eye. But soon enough, his attention falls on you and he crosses his arms, waiting for an explanation.

Osamu’s face swings from you to him a few times. It’s clear that you’re speaking to each other without words. Whatever space he takes in your heart now, Suna has been here before and the string that once led you to him could never truly be severed.

“Osamu lives here.” You take his hand, “we are dating.”

There’s a long silence. It’s awkward and heavy. Osamu suddenly wants to pinch his arm, hoping none of this is happening. The man understands why you kept putting this moment off for so long.

But you’re brave enough to continue, “Did you come here for something?”

“My mum found that bracelet you lost.” He takes the jewellery out of his pocket. It’s discreet but Osamu and Suna gazes meet, probably to prove to your boyfriend that he didn’t just come to see you out of the blue.

You take the bracelet from his hand, thanking him a several times and claiming you were still hoping to find it, even after all those years.

“Please Rin, enter.” 

Suna is quick to take his shoes off and step into your living room, “She also baked you this.”

Your eyes shine when you see the box he is handing you, “Auntie’s cookies? Gosh, they’re the best. I’ll warm them up.”

You turn to your boyfriend with a smile. “I can’t wait for you to try them.”

Osamu clears his throat, “Yeah, me too…D’ya want a cup of coffee or-”

“I’m fine,” Suna replies with nonchalance as he passes past Osamu to follow you in the kitchen. The latter has to hold back a groan. It’s a good thing he started meditation because right now, he really needs to keep his calm.

Suna only looks at you as the three of you stand in the kitchen, waiting for the cookies to be savoured, “my mum didn’t put any peanuts in the cookies, you still think it tastes like soap, right?”

Osamu raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, I do, it’s so considerate of her.” You give Suna a cup of tea.

“Lemon tea, my favourite, you remember.”

You smile gently at him in response, but Osamu can see that your lips tug into a thin line after. Suna is acting out of character, and it’s confusing you as well as your boyfriend.  

“Angel,” Osamu starts and from the corner of his eyes, he can see Suna’s shoulders tense. “I also made pancakes; we can share it together if ya want. I went to the market this morning to buy raspberries. I’m sorry, I know ya love blueberries more but- ”

“She prefers strawberries.” The middle blocker mumbles, though it’s unmistakably aimed at reaching Osamu’s ears.

“Wait, wait, guys, what are you doing?”

The boys look at each other and just when they both open their mouths, ready to justify their actions, your phone rings.

“I have to take this, it’s for work – Hi Kuroo-senpai.” You say as you escape to your bedroom.

Osamu wishes he could follow you, but instead, he sighs. He, who waited all week to spend this morning with you, now wants it to be over.

He turns to Suna, but your ex doesn’t move even with those two eyes staring at him, as if deadpan. He’s not going to talk first and Osamu summons up all its courage to start the conversation.

“Listen man I-”

“I’m not really surprised.”

Osamu blinks a few times.

“You guys always had that weird relationship. Ever since high school, I tried to keep her away from you, when we used to walk home together, she wanted to wait for you, but I often said you wanted to stay to practice more. I never told her that but when I moved to Hiroshima and she started spending all her days with you, I hated it. I tried hanging out with girls to make her jealous-”

“That’s a shitty move.”

“Oh, shut up, we were nineteen.” Suna’s voice sounds frustrated, it’s a first, Osamu thinks. He never saw that look on his face before, even when they shared defeats together. Maybe, he did truly love you? “And I regretted acting like that… anyway, she dumped me in the end. I guess that’s what you call karma.”

“Yer the one who dumped her first.”

He rolls his eyes in response, “I know. Biggest mistake of my life. But I’ve moved on now. I’ll go.”

Osamu is taken aback by his last words but realises he heard it right when Suna makes his way to the genkan again.

“Dontcha wanna wait til her call is finished?”

“You want me to stay?”

Osamu hesitates and it makes Suna chuckle. 

Once he’s done putting his shoes on, he looks behind his shoulder at his former teammate.

“You’re a lucky man, don’t you dare run away.”

A warm feeling spreads through his stomach, and something clicks in his brain as if he just remembered a happy memory from his childhood. He has no idea when and where, but Osamu feels like he heard those words before. Maybe from a dream.

“I won’t. I really love her.”

“The first match of the season is next week, I’m playing against Atsumu, if you guys want to come.”

“We will.”

“Don’t be jealous if she supports me though,” Suna smirks slightly and it pisses off the other man who can’t help but grin wider.

“Ya? Against the team she works for. When her brother-in-law is playin’, I didn’t know ya were so delusional dude.”

“Brother-in-law.” Suna laughs, but it’s scornful this time, “Don’t act like you’re engaged man. I’m going now, see you.”

This is the last thing Suna says before he gets out of your shared apartment.  

Engaged?

For the second time, a warm feeling hits him. It feels good, even if the thought sends a rush of nerves along with it. He doesn’t have the time to analyse it because you go out of the bedroom and scan the kitchen.

“He left,” Osamu explains as he wraps his arms around your waist. His nose finds your neck, breathing in your scent as if you’d been gone far too long—as if he’d been waiting for ages to feel you again.

“What was that about?”

He knows exactly how you’re looking at him right now, he doesn’t even need to meet your eyes. That's why, instead, he stays nestled in the crook of your neck, pretending to be oblivious.

“Hm?”

“With Rin?”

“Suna.”

“Rin.”

He clicks his tongue and finally looks at you, “Rintarou.”

“Alright, with Rintarou.” You’re holding back your laughter at his childish jealousy, “Why were you acting all ‘I know her more’ like two prepubescent teens?”

Your impression of him only makes you look cuter. His fingers trace light circles against your waist and with a side smile, he replies, “What can I do? I’m a weak man sweetheart, I love ya so much.”

“I love you too.” You kiss his cheek and just when you’re about to get away from his grip, he pulls you closer, “I have to work a little bit.”

“But it’s Saturday.” He pouts.

“Kuroo needs me for a project,” your phone rings again. Before you can reach it, Osamu puts his hands under the back of your thighs and lifts you.

“Osamu, put me down, I need to take this call.”

“Mister bedhair can wait.”

“That’s rude.”

“But I wanna take care of ya.”

He starts kissing your neck once you’re sat on the counter. You don’t stop him.

You spend your first Christmas as a couple at his parents’ house. You insist on helping his mother prepare dinner, pushing Osamu away every time he dares sneaking into the kitchen to ensure everything is going fine. “It’s better to fry the chicken like that,” he says, or “I’d recommend a pinch more salt in those mashed potatoes.”

Finally, his mother sighs and shoos him away. “Osamu, let her breathe, for gods' sake!”

You can’t help but grin as you catch his eye, pleased to have his Ma’ on your side.

The dinner is great. Your relationship with his mother is clearly turning into an effortless connection. So, when dessert is served, and she starts telling you awkward moments of his childhood, that Osamu would rather leave forgotten, the man eventually excuses himself to “go to the restroom.” (Even if you both know he’s just escaping the spotlight.)

As he wanders down the hallway, Osamu glances into his old bedroom and spots Atsumu fiddling with an old suit. “Ya don’t want dessert?”

“Am on a diet,” his twin says.

“What’re ya doin’?”                           

“Am tryin’ on one of Pa’s suits. Got Meian’s wedding next week.” He gives the blazer a tug to smooth it out.

Osamu leans against the doorframe, “Didn’t ya just buy a new one like a month ago?”

“Yeah but…” The blond grins as his gaze meets his brother’s reflection in the mirror, “I’d rather keep the new one for yer wedding.”

Osamu is left speechless; he doesn’t even try to contradict the setter—why would he anyway? Wedding isn’t something the man even thought about in the past, but when it comes to you, it seems evident, right—like something he didn’t know he’d wanted all along blossoms in him. He can’t pinpoint why, but loving you always feels new, like he’s constantly discovering pieces of his heart he hadn’t known were there. He’s so in love, and maybe this love does deserve a proper ceremony.

The idea doesn’t leave his mind, even as you’re on the doorstep, ready to go home. You’re bidding goodbye to Atsumu when his mother tells him to drive safely.

“Ma’?” He tries to pipe up with confidence, but his mother discerns his discomfort with ease, “Would ya…I mean- d’ya still have yer mother’s ring?”

A smile blooms on her lips, it’s almost as wide as when she congratulated them for winning the Nationals a few years back. In a subtle move, she disappears inside and comes back with a bag.

“She would have adored her,” she simply declares in a murmur and it’s enough to create a wave of emotions in the man’s heart—sadness, nostalgia, pride, and above everything else, happiness.

So he takes the bag claiming later that inside his mother put “her favourite cooking book”, when you ask what she gave him. He’s not lying though, the older lady did put a cooking book in the bag, to avoid arousing suspicion, but what you don’t know is that it is accompanied by a small, black box tucked discreetly at the bottom, and that it contains a delicate gold ring. Later that night, before going to bed, Osamu opens the box in the soft light of your bedroom lamp. The ring is beautiful, but it’s also intimidating, even for a guy who has never shied away from a challenge. He’ll ask you one day, but it’ll take courage, more than he’s ready to muster right now (a little voice inside of his brain also wonders what he’ll do if you reject him).

For now, he’ll keep it safe, hiding in his nightstand, under an Onigiri Miya cap (you never asked questions on why there was a cap in there, much to Osamu's relief), so it’s close enough to reach whenever he finds himself ready to shut down the little voice. It's easier said than done, but someday—he hopes—he’ll find the right time to make it real.

And just like that a year passes and the box remains hidden.

It’s winter again when Osamu decides that if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll just keep on delaying the moment. He’s in Osaka for work when he calls to ask you to spend the weekend with him in Hyogo. You are quick to say yes and buy the train ticket.

The cogs can be set in motion and the first knot in his stomach releases.

You arrive the next morning with a packet full of cannelés to offer Sato, Nagisa and Tano, their new manager. Everyone’s excited at trying the pastries but Osamu refuses to try one.

“We should go,” he informs you and takes your hand. You’re confused but follow him inside the car anyway.

The three other employees’ wave at you with wide smiles, it’s a good thing that their enthusiasm to see you leave doesn’t alarm you. Only Osamu knows why they’re so eager to see their boss get out of here, after all, they know what he’s about to do since they have been his trusted confidants this past week. In truth, Osamu has been practising his speech for days, first with Tano, the calmest of the three, who listened quietly as Osamu stumbled through his words. And then with the other two, who were more than happy to help him prepare for the big moment, his private rehearsal quickly turned into a bit of a group affair. They even spent the entire morning insisting that never in a million years you will refuse his proposal.

You spend the first twenty minutes of the ride trying to guess where you are going.

“Kobe?” You first ask, “Or Kyoto? Oh, that would be so nice, I’ve not been in Kyoto in ages.”

You seem convinced that it will be a city, but instead, he drives you to the countryside.

The road becomes familiar, Osamu can see in your eyes that you’re starting to recognize the landscapes; the fields of rice or matcha or flowers (he still doesn’t know which one it is, even in the daylight).

“Are we going to Kita’s farm?” You finally figure. “Don't tell me, I know it is Kita's farm. See, told you I’d guessed.”

You look so sure of yourself, cute, he thinks, and it makes him want to leave kisses on your grin and all over your face.

But the surprise only begins and when he pulls over to the side of the road, near a cliff, you start assaulting him with questions again. Osamu doesn’t answer, he just gets out, opens the passenger door and gently leads you out of the car.

“D' ya know where we are?” He says a few minutes later.

You glance around to look at the view and open your month, but he trails you off.

“This is where I feel in love with ya. Well- I guess I feel in love before, though I was very slow, but this is where I realised I was in love. Since then, I’ve not stopped falling for ya and for … well, everything about ya.”

“Osamu?”

He keeps going even though his heart threatens to explode in his chest, “I’m kinda nervous, but I really wanna do this. Yer the one for me, and I know I don’t always give ya the time ya deserve and I’m jealous sometimes… but I love ya and I’d like to laugh with ya for the rest of my life. So…”

He takes a little box from his pocket and gets on one knee (a little bit too harshly, he'll probably get a bruise tomorrow). The look of surprise—or rather shock, to be completely honest— on your face tells him you hadn’t realised what was happening until this moment.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this for like a long time, and I really hope ya would accept to become my fiancé and perhaps my wife someday… if you’ll have me.”

You jump into his arms and Osamu fears he’ll fall down—not that he would mind. He would drown in oceans with you, get into a tornado, jump off a cliff, just to feel you against him.

“Dummy, idiot, argh you-”

“Why’re ya insultin’ me woman?”

He looks at you, there’s tears in your eyes, in this light, they look like stardust.

“I really want to be your fiancé and your wife and your everything.”

You already are, he wants to say but you shut him up with a kiss and he thinks you’ve never tasted so good. All the knots in his stomach can relax (because you said yes!)

The colour of the ring on your finger, golden, suits you. It reminds him of the sunrise and of the promise that you’ll be here next morning, and the one after, and the one after.

For the rest of his life, Osamu can fall asleep at peace because he knows you’ll always be the first thing he’ll see when he wakes up.

The wedding is planned for the following summer. You opt for something small and intimate, with family and close friends. His mother and yours help with the preparations, Umi chooses your dress, Bokuto does his bit too by ordering a cake from the patisserie  that's just opened next door to Onigiri Miya (this is entirely out of friendship for you, and not because he has a huge crush on the shop's owner), and finally Atsumu helps his brother find the wedding venue.

Everything is perfect, except for…  

“You said you wanted to invite the guys from high school.”

A sigh escapes from his nose and he avoids your gaze, “I know but-“

“The guys from high school that also means Rin.” He raises an eyebrow and his jaw clenches, “-tarou.”

“Alright, alright… Let’s invite Suna. It’s just, ya know, I want a very small weddin’, I’m not like ‘Tsumu.”

You cup his cheeks, “My love, I’d feel bad if I invited your team and not him. Don’t tell me you’re afraid I’ll leave with Rintarou just before the wedding, huh?”

His ears suddenly feel warm, and he tries to hide the shade of red that invaded his face by lowering his cap, you burst into laughter.

“Oi!” he barks, offended, “stop makin’ fun of me or ya'll never hear my vows.”

Your teasing smile turns into a pout, and you look at him with puppy eyes. With that face, Osamu knows he’s screwed. “I’m goin’ to bed now,” he informs.

But before he can run away, you grab his arm and with your other hand, you trace a line from his cheekbone to his jaw. He can feel the coldness of the golden ring against his skin. He closes his eyes for a second and lets you whisper a few sweet words in his ear.

"You make me happy,” you tell him in the end.

“So do ya,” he breathes. His lips find yours; you quiver helplessly beneath the touch. He smiles, “And it’s only the beginnin'.”

a/n: I may or may not have shed a tear haha

I hope you guys are happy with this ending, if you're interrested to read more I can always write some short extra stories about them

thank you for reading, liking and commenting, it means a lot to me <3

taglist: @wolffmaiden, @teyvatsunsets, @obibiwan, @sugacor3, @sunahsvt, @iluv-ace, @cinnamonruts

[woahjo]

bird of prey (tendou x reader) - chapter 3

series masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Tendou x Reader, Bokuto x Reader

Series Summary: Satori Tendou is your best friend, but you fuck for fun.

Chapter Title: Act I, Scene 3 — Pomegranate

Chapter Summary: Work is a nice distraction sometimes. Satori uses it as his own personal way to forget the shit he doesn't want to think about. It's a shame that said shit walks through the front door.

Chapter Content Warnings: afab!reader, tendou's pov, college au, friends with benefits, no strings attached, angst, jealousy, competition, insecurity, tension, sexualization of a fruit (my bad), dirty pictures / suggestive conversation, multiple partners (not cheating)

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: After many moons, she's back and in the same exact outfit she wore 6 months ago. crossposted to ao3 ofc.

< prev |next >

“So what if they're seeing someone else?” Wakatoshi says, tossing him the small, round figure they’d been throwing back and forth. “Has that stuff ever really bothered you before?” 

Satori is a contradictory person, he thinks. There is a lot about him that he feels defies definition. An unplaceable sense of desire that radiates from every crevice in his body. Something about him that he can both hide, but never hope to conceal. 

“Not really,” Satori responds. 

He’s reclined on his bed, his neck craned at an awkward angle against the headboard. Wakatoshi sits across the room at his desk chair, one foot pushing him absentmindedly back and forth. 

“So what’s the issue?” Wakatoshi questions, his baritone voice bouncing lightly off of the walls. 

“Not really sure,” Satori says, turning the object over in his hand before tossing it back. “I just don’t… like it.” 

“But you don’t wanna go out with them?” He raises the question like it baffles him, which Satori supposes that it does. Wakatoshi has always been… monogamous, for lack of a better term. When he likes something, he goes for it without thinking about anything else. 

Satori isn’t quite like that. That’s not to say that he’s considerate, because consideration requires a sort of awareness for others that Satori lacks in a very abstract sense, but he’s calculating. What Satori does, he does because he wants to and because it feels right, but he considers the dynamic of it. He thinks often about what “could be” in an extreme sense and then seeks out that thrill with whoever he has in mind. 

“It’s not really in the agreement,” Satori laughs dryly and with no particular disdain. 

“It could be,” Wakatoshi says, his ideal state of mind peering through. 

Satori just gives Wakatoshi a pointed glance before turning his attention to the window. 

Late November this time of year sees the beginning of snowfall and as December begins to get going in full swing, snow comes down often. Thick, powder-like clusters flurry past his window outside, clinging to the small divots on the outside of the window. It begins to crowd his view and if he were to glance out of the window, he’d see that the streetlight outside is hazy and looks somehow distant. 

“I like what we have going though,” he says, not with any particular sort of conviction. “It works for me and it’s nice. The sex is good and their company is great. It seems like a shame for it to end.” 

“They haven’t said anything about ending it yet though, have they?” He tilts his head. 

Satori shakes his head noncommittally, shrugging his shoulders briefly. 

It’s true that you haven’t. The two of you tip-toe carefully around the subject of your relationship to Bokuto, but you never break it off. Each time you finish and lay sweat-soaked and panting in each other’s company, Satori gets the distinct feeling that it’s coming, but it never quite does. The ball never drops and he vaguely feels like there’s a space there for him to speak. To maybe be the bigger person and do it himself. He doesn’t think he will though, he likes this far too much to end it. 

“Not yet,” Satori says. “But they’ve been seeing each other for more than a few weeks now and from what I know, it’s pretty regular, so… you know… matter of time, I guess.” 

Wakatoshi doesn’t really say anything. He’s never been a man of all too many words. Satori shouldn’t find his silence unsettling, but for some reason he does. It’s like a quiet confirmation. 

Satori is an idealistic person at times. The world, for him, is played in saturated color. It’s vibrant and it glitters. He’s never been all too preoccupied with the negative side of situations because when things sour, Satori is exceptionally good at cutting his losses. There’s fun and then there’s not fun and they exist in two completely different universes. Satori happens to exist in the fun one, where he never has to take anything all too seriously. 

Maybe it’s a negative quality of his. He sometimes thinks that if he never takes anything too seriously, he’ll never have to worry about getting hurt, and if he’s always having fun, there’s no room for pain. Satori doesn’t like pain or discomfort. He has a very low tolerance for it and he’s never been too keen to stick around and see where the limit is. Of course, the flip side of this is that Satori inadvertently causes pain wherever he goes. Carelessness acts as a sort of medium for it, one that he himself manages to circumvent. 

You have been the first arrangement where he’s avoided that particular discomfort. The discomfort of causing another person pain. You just get it and in the process, you get him. 

“The futon is in the closet,” Satori says, sinking down into his bed and pulling the comforter up to his chin. 

He hears Wakatoshi get up from the chair and it gives a distinct click as it moves back into its fully upright position. There’s the gentle squeak of the thin closet door, the soft sound of a blanket rustling, and then the click of the closet latch. Satori listens as Wakatoshi lays the futon out on the carpeted floor beside his bed, the distinct ruffle of it as he throws it out and slowly lays it down. As Wakatoshi crawls to lay down, Satori glances over at him, watching his friend’s broad body get under the blanket he’d laid out with it. 

“You know that it’s really impolite to make your guests get out their own futon, right?” Wakatoshi says absentmindedly as he settles in. 

“You’re more like family,” Satori grins, the corners of his lips curling up. “And since I’m older, you should do it yourself.” 

Wakatoshi blows a quick puff of air out of his nose and Satori gives a small chuckle as he settles in. There’s a long beat of silence as Satori turns out the light and they lay in the dark room. He can hear as Wakatoshi turns over and then finally settles and lays on his back. 

“I think it’s worth talking to them about,” Wakatoshi adds, picking up the previous conversation as if it had never stopped. “You’re stupid if you don’t.” 

Satori lets out one quick laugh. “Maybe I’m stupid, I don’t know.” 

Wakatoshi groans a little and Satori is a bit surprised to see him show that sort of frustration over something other than volleyball. He laughs a little and stares at the ceiling. 

“What?” 

He hears the sound of Wakatoshi shaking his head against the pillow. “Nothing. It just sounds to me like you like them.” 

“Well,” Satori muses. “I do. Obviously. They’re one of my best friends, how could I not?” 

“Like that?” Wakatoshi emphasizes.

Satori just sort of hums noncommittally and it isn’t long before the room has settled into silence, evened out by Wakatoshi’s breathing. 

Satori supposes that there may be love there. There has to be. Maybe it’s not the kind Wakatoshi thinks he’s looking at, but Satori is near certain that it exists. 

—

Satori works part time in a small izakaya. It’s an out-of-the-way, run down place, but he likes it. At first, he only picked up the job to help pay for his car, since the shit-mobile’s expenses were dipping a little too far into savings, but now, he finds that it’s a nice escape. For some reason, the space feels like he’s just walked into a picture. 

It hasn’t been redecorated since the place opened and it’s dressed in a classic Japanese style. The space is small, no more than 8 tatami mats for the sitting area, giving it a pleasantly stuffy and crowded feel, and it always smells vaguely of barbecued meat and beer. Satori thought the smell was unpleasant at first. He didn’t like the way it clung to his clothes, giving the impression that he’d spent the evening drinking, but now he’s grown rather used to it. It’s become one of the many smells he sometimes carries with him. 

The outside of it is modest, just down a step from the sidewalk, with a small sliding door that is always open during daytime business hours. There’s a glowing neon sign just outside, protruding from the side of the building and into the alleyway. It’s the most marketing this place does, but that suits it fine. Most of its customers live in the neighborhood anyway and tourists are infrequent visitors, as there are far trendier bars in Sendai. 

The inside is homely and gives the distinct impression of having walked into somewhere familiar. Just inside the doorway, there is a small area to remove your shoes, along with cubbies lining the wall. As Satori enters, he sees a few pairs of shoes already inside and he slips his own off carefully and puts them in the staff section along the other side of the entryway. Haruna’s shoes are already in there. A pair of neat black flats, worn at the toes and creased just behind where the balls of her feet would be, tucked squarely into the left middle cubby. She stands on her tiptoes a lot. Akio’s shoes are also in the cubbies. He wears a pair of old white sneakers with soles so worn that they’re completely smooth in the center. 

His work shoes, the uniform ones meant for the kitchen and behind the bar, are just beyond the main room and around the corner. Satori enters the izakaya without a bow. He’s so accustomed to being here that he no longer does it and Haruna just tosses him a pointed look from where she’s rounding the corner to the staff area. 

“You’re late,” she comments. “Your shift started ten minutes ago.” 

Haruna has a pointed way of speaking. Her words are sharp on her tongue and almost nothing slips past her. 

“You keepin’ track of my punch card now, Runa?” Satori laughs, breezing past her to punch it in the old fashioned machine by the wall. It’s not even automatic. Satori has to physically push the stamp to make it work. 

“No, I’m keeping track of when I get to go home,” she scoffs. “We only have a thirty minute overlap today and I can’t leave if you’re not here.” 

“But I am here,” he teases. 

“You’re lucky Daisuke likes you so much,” Haruna scowls, scrunching her nose. 

Satori shrugs his shoulders and fastens his apron, walking behind the bar without a proper response. Haruna just shakes her head a little. 

She’s really not a bad person. Haruna is actually really enjoyable and Satori likes working with her, she’s just… particular about how she works. She doesn’t like working longer than she’s scheduled. It fucks up her mojo as she would put it. Satori finds it endearing, despite her being nearly six years older than him. 

Haruna actually works two jobs, one in a retail office and another here at the izakaya. Her other job is what the flats are for. He only ever sees her actual shoes on weekends. 

“What are you even doing here?” She says, coming to stand next to him behind the bar as she gathers small plates on a tray. “You don’t usually work Thursdays.” 

She’s right. Satori usually works on Sundays, Mondays, and Fridays. 

“Yasu called out, so I’m covering,” he states plainly. 

“Why are you doing that?” She pulls a face. 

Satori places a beer in front of a customer at the counter and then leans one hand on the bar. He lets his weight rest on his shoulder, causing it to rise to his ear as he tilts his head. 

“Are you not overjoyed to see me?” 

Haruna doesn’t dignify his tease with an answer and he clicks his tongue with mock-disappointment. 

“Needed a break,” he says. 

“So you came… to work?” She laughs, a plate topped with sprouts in her hand. “Yeah, right.” 

“Yeah,” he smirks, “I needed a break so I came to work. You gonna keep grilling me and wait for those bean sprouts to become full-blown mung beans or what?” 

“Smartass,” she mutters. 

Satori hums again and it’s not long before she’s back around the corner and serving a table on the far end of the izakaya. 

He falls quickly into a rhythm, calling back orders to Akio in the kitchen. Satori disappears a little when he works. It’s like he goes on autopilot. Satori doesn’t like rules, but when he goes into work by choice, especially when he feels he has a lot on his plate, he seems to appreciate the work flow a little more. Besides, his job is relatively relaxed. As long as Satori serves drinks and food, he’s golden. 

Of course, another one of his stress relief methods is photography. Pictures of the things he likes, beautiful things that some people find ugly or without taste. Usually sexual things—pornographic, as his classmates might say. In his second year, Satori did a photo series in his film photography course centered around a pomegranate. He only used one and he carved it up over the course of many days. He let the fruit bleed, nearly rot, and photographed it throughout the process. He liked the color of it, so red and inviting, and the photos seemed to give off the distinct tarte smell of the peel. His classmates said that it made them particularly uncomfortable and that the pomegranate, which was really just a fruit, no longer felt like something inanimate by the end of the photo series, but rather something alive—or something that was once alive. It’s a little abstract, but that’s exactly what Satori was going for. 

He can’t really take photos in this situation. Lately, you’ve been a bit of a muse to him. There are aspects of you he’d like to photograph and when Satori wants to photograph something, he can’t seem to stop thinking about it. He thought about that pomegranate for weeks. About the roundness of the juice-full seeds, the way they began to dry out and the ones that survived long enough to shine amongst the bunches of dried pulp. A small part of him regrets not eating it. 

Ideally, he’d like to disappear into the lens of his camera for a bit. Look at the world through the little window at the top of it and enjoy the December season behind glass. Maybe it was a bit of a hasty idea to make you the central point of his project for his self study class. After his conversation with Wakatoshi earlier this week, he’s afraid that the pictures will chronicle his marvelous, long overdue downfall. By the end of it, the photos will no longer be of your back from a few inches away, but rather of your face in a crowd of people he’s never met, surrounded on all sides and taken from feet away. He never wants to use a distance lens on you. He’d take your picture with a microscope if he could, if only to see the cellular composition of your skin. 

He’s deep in these thoughts when the inner paper door of the izakaya slides open with a thud and a raucous composition of three voices. His coworkers welcome them in, but Satori is so caught up in the thought of you and the pomegranate that he forgets, idly wiping at a glass in his hands and staring blankly at the shining, translucent rim. 

“Tendou?” A voice calls, baritone and confident. They sound almost surprised. 

He looks up from the class and is greeted with eager, gold eyes and thick expressive eyebrows. 

“Bokuto,” he says, his lips curling into a faux smile. So much for getting his mind off of things. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

“Well, we were in the area,” he laughs a little, motioning his head to the people who begin to seat themselves at the bar near him. 

There are two other people with him, a girl and a boy. The boy he recognizes as someone who usually hands around Bokuto, but he’s never seen the girl before. She’s got a mid-length, reddish-brown bob and calm eyes. She doesn’t look up as she peruses through the menu and Satori gets the distinct feeling that Haruna might like her. 

“You gonna drink, Akaashi?” Bokuto turns to his friend with a raised eyebrow. 

“Maybe,” he says, “If I get a beer are you gonna pressure me to drink four more afterwards?” 

“When have I ever done that?” Bokuto questions. 

“You do it every time we go out to drink,” the girl chimes in. “Why do you think you always have to beg him?” Then, she turns her attention to Satori. “Three beers and two orders of beef skewers, please.” 

“That’s so not true,” Bokuto responds indignantly. “But also, why end the party just ‘cause your glass is empty. Might as well get more.” 

“Here he goes,” the girl laughs. 

“Yukie, don’t just order for me,” Akaashi chides the girl for getting him a beer. 

“You know you’d have caved eventually,” she says calmly. “Let’s not go through all the back and forth this time. Bokuto’s a hard person to say no to.” 

“Hey, woah,” Bokuto turns to Akaashi and gives his friend a genuine look. “You never have to do anything you don’t want to. I’m just saying that I’ll be so crushed and sad and depressed if you cancel the order. That’s all.” 

Bokuto speaks earnestly, like he doesn’t realize how hypocritical he sounds as he talks and his friends chuckle pleasantly at his airheaded demeanor. It’s too late to cancel the order anyway. Satori eavesdrops on their conversation as he fills their glasses with the house beer. He’s already pouring the third. Akaashi is getting one whether he likes it or not. 

“Three beers,” Satori sets them down in front of each of them. “Skewers’ll be out in a second.” 

“Thanks man,” Bokuto says, pleased as he takes a sip of the amber liquid. “Drink up, Keiji.”

The grill is just behind the bar facing the guests. Since the izakaya is rather homestyle, Satori prepares and grills things like skewers directly in front of guests, though it’s not really for performance purposes. Right now, he wishes that Akio were in charge of cooking things like this. That way, Satori wouldn’t have to stand directly in front of Bokuto and his friends for all too long. No matter, he can deal with it. It’s not like he particularly dislikes Bokuto. 

“I thought you’d be with ____ tonight,” Bokuto says brightly as Satori places the first of the skewer sets on the grill. Akaashi gives him a somewhat mortified, sideways look. 

Satori smirks down at the grill and flips a skewer with one hand. His lips curl at the corners and he pleasantly takes in the idea that Bokuto had assumed you’d be with him. 

“What makes you think that?” He smiles, his words a little slimy. 

Bokuto shrugs his shoulders, leaning up to look at the meat on the grill. He doesn’t spare Satori a glance as he watches it. 

“Well, they’re usually with you no?” He says evenly. “Otherwise they’re with Yuki. Maybe Alice or Keiko. Oh, not this Yukie, though.” He jostles the girl’s shoulder and she lets out a huff of air as she struggles not to spill the drink held up to her mouth. 

Satori shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head briefly at the assumption that he wouldn’t have noticed that this Yukie is an entirely different person from the one he met at the party. Then, he gives Bokuto a slick grin and returns his attention to the meat on the grill, satisfied with Bokuto’s relief.  

“You know,” Bokuto starts, “I’m a little relieved they’re not with you right now. The idea was making me jealous.” 

Satori furrows his eyebrows and lets out a small laugh. Bokuto looks almost bashful, though not in an insecure way. Instead, the statement almost gives him an indiscernible look of unknowing confidence. Bokuto doesn’t have to worry about divulging this information to Satori because he doesn’t even view it as a competition. Neither does Satori really, but it irritates him that Bokuto is so nonchalant about his confidence. It’s almost like he’s sure that things will work out for him. Satori isn’t sure if that’s something with his personality or something that you told him, and the idea unsettles him. 

“Well, I’m here,” Satori says, plating two skewers of meat and starting on the next two. His eyes dart up to look at Bokuto over the tops of his cheeks, tone dipping slightly with the next part of his statement as his lips curl up in the corners. “And so are you. No harm, no foul.” 

Bokuto nods his head a little at the slight. He picks up on it, Satori can tell that much, but if it bothers him, he doesn’t let it show. The comment rolls off of Bokuto’s broad shoulders and he moves on to the next topic with an almost unintentional ease. Yukie glances up at Satori briefly, her expression closed and unreadable before she returns her gaze to Bokuto. 

Even the steam from the skewers gets caught up in Bokuto’s social pull. It floats towards him evenly, almost as if it’s drawn to the openness of his expression. Satori idly works on the second plate of them, turning the wooden skewers with his bare hands over a crosshatch grill. Bokuto’s voice carries and as Satori busies himself with the remaining order of skewers, he can see the way other patrons of the izakaya glance at where he sits at the bar. He passes the plate over the counter, setting it down in front of the group. 

“Let me know if you need anything else,” he offers before starting off to the other end to help a few other patrons. 

Satori briefly studies the sort of looks Bokuto receives, his eyes slinking across strangers’ expressions. Most of them, it seems, are admiring. They look at him as if there is something there to be desired, something they’d like to take for themselves or experience. Bokuto carries on with his loud conversation obliviously and Satori wonders if he truly doesn’t notice that people are looking at him or if he’s so accustomed to it that it no longer phases him. It’s likely the latter and Tendou furrows his eyebrows momentarily before setting down a glass of dark beer in front of an older patron. She thanks him with a practiced smile, curling her shoulders forward as she takes a sip.

“Hey!” Bokuto calls from across the bar. His voice rises above the conversation in the room and if the whole room weren’t already aware of his presence, they certainly were now. “C’mere for a sec.” 

Bokuto waves Satori over casually and he obliges, slinking over and leaning forward on the bar with a raised eyebrow. Bokuto raises his glass of beer to his lips with open posture, tilting his head up slightly and taking a large gulp. There’s not a hint of shyness in his movements. All of it is executed with an oblivious, admirable confidence. 

“Yes?” Satori questions, glancing at the half empty beer in front of him. “You wanna prematurely order another drink?” 

Bokuto swallows and sets his glass down, shaking his head and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Akaashi makes a face at him. 

“Nah,” he says, leaning forward a little. “I wanted to ask you something.” 

Tendou raises an eyebrow and Bokuto offers him a broad smile that feels too friendly for their relationship. It’s all teeth, surrounded by full and round lips. 

“You and _____,” he starts. Yukie sighs heavily and glances at Akaashi, who shrugs his shoulders in a defeated manner. “What’s going on there?’ 

Satori is caught off guard by the question, though he really shouldn’t be. Bokuto has proven time and time again to be so forward that it borders on stupid. 

“Why do you ask?” He grins lightly. 

Bokuto gives Satori a bashful look, running his hand down his face to cover the expression he wears. It does little to hide it and the gaps in his fingers and color of his cheeks betray a recklessly confident emotion that makes Satori wonder through what light Bokuto even sees him. 

“Ah, well, you know,” Bokuto says. “We’ve been talking.” 

Satori nods slowly, subconsciously chewing the skin on the inside of his cheek. What he wouldn’t give to be able to leave this conversation. 

“So?” Boktuo presses. 

Satori’s lips curl up in the corners, his expression twisting into something cat-like and aware. It’s not quite friendly, but Satori’s never had that sort of face. 

“We’re friends,” he offers. 

“Friends?” Bokuto says, perking up a little. “What kind?” 

“Good friends,” Satori says, sticking his tongue in his cheek so that it rests over a sharp canine. 

Bokuto nods, his body language opening up a little bit. Satori examines the way he moves, the confidence in the breath he lets out, as if the idea that Satori might be lying has never even crossed his mind. That, or it betrays the idea that Bokuto doesn’t even view Satori as being in the same playing field. Both are irritatingly casual and he rolls his head over his shoulders as if to rid himself of the tension. 

“So you don’t mind?” Bokuto adds, his words a little more measured. “If I ask them out?” 

Satori momentarily grits his teeth, raising an eyebrow as he returns Bokuto’s gaze. On either side of him, Akaashi and Yukie are suspiciously minding their own business. 

“Why would I mind?” Satori answers, hiding the way his stomach clenches unpleasantly. He greases up his words with a curled smile, as if the idea is amusing to him. 

Bokuto looks at him for a moment before setting both of his hands on the counter and leaning back with a wide grin. 

“That’s good,” Bokuto says, his tone returning to the light and somewhat airheaded tone he usually maintains. “Probably would have made things awkward if you did when we start goin’ out.” 

Bokuto says this with his head angled down, picking up a skewer and taking a bite out of it. 

“Oh, this is good,” he says to Akaashi, putting the skewer in front of his face. “Try it.” 

Satori comes to the quick realization that Bokuto hadn’t been asking for permission. He’d been letting Satori know that he’ll be asking you out. It wasn’t a question of if he can, but rather a warning that it will happen regardless of what Satori wants. The arrogance of it makes his skin crawl. 

There’s a confidence about Bokuto when he talks about you. Something intrinsic within his person. A haughty, unabashed confidence that things will just work out for him, so much so that he hardly seems to notice when he says something arrogant. Even worse, his arrogance comes across as justified.

It’s rare that people genuinely get on Satori’s nerves, but Bokuto does. Bokuto grates on him like sandpaper and Satori can’t help but click his jaw as he turns around and returns to his duties. There’s something in the way he talks about you, as if you’ve already handed yourself over to him, that makes Satori feel uneasy. It would be unfair to say that you’re Satori’s. After all, it’s just sex, but he can’t help but feel some sort of possessiveness over you. You’re not just a fuck buddy either, you’re a friend, someone he connects with on a very real level. To have Bokuto reduce the relationship between the two of you to something as definable as “minding” provokes him. 

Of course, this sort of thing is likely inevitable. It’s not like Satori plans to put any sort of ring on your finger. Shit, he doesn’t even intend to put any sort of label on it. For Satori, this is fun. It’s fun he’s not exactly eager to give up. It’s his. This discomfort, however, toes the line and he can feel the way the urge to just let go creeps up on him. Satori’s never been all that much of a fighter, even when it comes to the things he adores. Boredom follows displeasure quite quickly with him. 

Bokuto and his friends linger for the larger portion of his shift, chatting idly. Like Yukie said, Bokuto pressures Akaashi into quite a few more drinks and by the time they leave, the two boys’ figures are swaying as if thrown softly off their axis, pushed and pulled by imaginary breezes. They settle their tab with cash on the counter and clamor out with a final wave. Yukie, the soberest of the group, stops in the doorway to give Satori a look that he can only interpret as apologetic. The sort of look you give someone who has started a losing battle. 

He laughs to himself at it, lowering his gaze as he clears away their plates and wipes down the counter. None of them even know the half of it. Not the way you whisper to him, the way you look at him, the curve of your body in his camera lens. What do they know about the two of you? 

—- 

The air outside is cold when Satori steps out of the izakaya and shuts the sliding door behind him. It makes his cheeks and nose feel like they’re being pinched and as he exhales, he can see the billow of clouded breath that leaves his open mouth. The street is calm in the way city streets get on weekdays in the late evening and the streetlamps create a familiar glow across the black pavement. He pulls his phone out of his coat pocket, studying for a moment the way his knuckles redden in the cold. 

Satori: Saw your boyfriend today. 

You: Not my boyfriend. 

Satori grins at your message, exhaling through his nose and shaking his head. He’s unable to hide his pleasure at the quickness of your response. 

You: Where? 

That’s a little less funny. 

Satori: Work.

You: I thought you didn’t work today? 

Satori: Someone called out. 

You: Sucks lol 

Satori tucks the device and his hands away in his coat pockets after liking the message, stepping further out into the street and starting off in the direction of his apartment. He focuses on his breathing, distracted by the way his breath comes in clouds that he leaves behind. His cheeks burn and his lips are chapped from the delicate nip of the cold. A thin layer of snow tucks itself away at the edge of the street, fading out into puddles on the road. 

Some part of Satori regrets the answer he’d given Bokuto. So noncommittal and careless. He’s never been one to give the whole truth, but it’s obvious to anyone that the two of you are fucking. Even his photography class knows it. 

For some reason, it makes Satori feel worse that Bokuto didn’t even squirm. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that maybe he’d lose. What Bokuto would be losing, he isn’t sure, but he knows that it never even crossed the other man’s mind. 

Satori hates losing. He’ll stop competing if it means he doesn’t have to admit that he did. He’d rather not play at all than get burned doing it. Even when he played volleyball, he’d been noncommittal. When his team lost in his final year of high school, he’d let it roll off of his shoulders because it was just for fun anyway, the thrill of the game. What’s fun about a game where he loses? Or worse, a game that he wasn’t even considered to compete in in the first place but thought he’d been playing all along. Yukie had given him a look like that, like he was only on the team to be kept from being left out. Satori likes high stakes, but he’ll take the bets he knows he can win.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he gets back to his apartment, vibrating quietly in his pocket when he slides the key into his lock.

You sent an image 

You: How about something like this for your photography project? 

It’s a dimly lit photo of your legs, cut off just before the apex of your thighs where they meet your center. One knee is bent, leaning against the other outstretched leg, and in the mirror across from you he can just barely make out where your bare ass rests on your duvet cover, shadow hiding the place on you he most wants to see. He stares momentarily at the photo, feeling the way blood rushes to his lower half. 

Satori: I’d rather keep something like this for myself. 

You: Good, that’s who it’s meant for. 

[perpetualexistence]

Alenoah Hypnosis Corruption AU, where after Alejandro hears Noah call him an 'eel dipped in grease', Alejandro makes a deal with Noah... If Noah lets Alejandro hypnotize him into not saying the truth about Alejandro to anyone again, then Noah won't get eliminated... However if Noah refuses to get hypnotized, then Alejandro will hypnotize Owen instead, after Noah's elimination... Noah hesitantly agrees to be placed in a trance by Alejandro... Alejandro tells the hypnotized Noah to be loyal to Alejandro! 🍥

So, funny story anon. I don't really have any more ideas I could add to this lovely idea you've presented...because you've accidentally (I hope) recreated the wheel.

You've also accidentally awoken the essayist that has realized she has the opportunity to share things she knows. So, with that in mind:

(I don't mean for Lisa to be mad. I am genuinely excited to share these things with people who potentially don't know them. I just couldn't find a better meme.)

Feel free to read under the read more for fanfic recs followed by my own personal thoughts about the Alenoah hypnosis corruption and why I love it so. I'm basing my knowledge on what I've seen on Tumblr and on Ao3. If you feel like I've missed anything, please let me know!

First the elephant in the room: the horny fics.

Yes, the earliest examples of Alejandro using hypnosis on Noah were smut. No, I'm not about to link them for what I would hope to be obvious reasons.

To be clear, I've got no problem with people who do have hypnosis as a kink. Everyone's allowed to have or not have a kink so long as it doesn't hurt anybody. To each their own so long as consent's involved.

The problem only starts when you do things like bringing minors into the mix. For what, again, I hope are obvious reasons.

Hypnosis is something that can be used as a great plot device when used for non-horny reasons too, and that's the context we're looking at them here.

So now onto the more palatable dark, horrible things you can do with hypnosis! /aff

The one who started the most recent trend was Creative_Creatures with their fic To Reach New Heights. It's a NoCo fic they started in November 2023 and was discontinued in April 2024.

Alejandro tricks Noah into letting himself get hypnotized, and Noah starts getting more and more corrupted as he grapples with his sense of self and the version of himself Alejandro is imposing on him. Cody starts noticing something's up, and Alien Cody also gets involved in the plot.

There are some moments of OOCness that the author has admitted to. They've also stated that they no longer like the work, hence the fic being discontinued. However, I still think it's worth checking out at the very least as a fic to learn from. It still deserves the credit for being the first to try tackling the subject, even if the result didn't end up as expected.

After Creative-Creatures came Total-drama-brainrot, aka Ophe. For Ophe there's actually a linear timeline for how their fic, Snap, Crackle, and Pop, came to be.

The seed started on January 14th, where Ophe made a stray comment about how the fandom doesn't really address the fact that Alejandro hypnotized Owen, and received a response regarding the negative side effects of hypnotism that Owen could have hypothetically dealt with: https://www.tumblr.com/total-drama-brainrot/739512421490835456/i-was-thinking-more-along-the-lines-of-how-messing

About a month later, Ophe made a seemingly random ask regarding how one would write hypnosis. I may or may not have a footnote in this history as I made a comment regarding To Reach New Heights: https://www.tumblr.com/total-drama-brainrot/741634477880754176/how-the-fuck-am-i-supposed-to-write-hypnosis

A day later they unleashed Snap, Crackle, and Pop, a fic where Alejandro convinces Noah to make a bet regarding hypnosis, and takes advantage of Noah's forced compliance from then on. Though Noah is by no means helpless and finds his own ways to fight back.

The fic only has three chapters written so far with no clear idea of when the next chapter will release. Still, I highly recommend it for the writing and the exploration of the concept.

About a week later, Ayawilliams came into the picture. For those of you who don't know who Ayawilliams is, I'm going to assume you're new to the fandom. In which case, hi! Glad to have you here! They've been shipping Alenoah as far back as 2016 on Fanfiction.net from what I can tell. This was way before it started taking over as the main ship in 2021. They're still consistently writing fic every few days, and through all of this have made a name for themselves on AO3.

If you look through the comments for the first chapter of Snap, Crackle, and Pop you can see that AyaWilliams definitely did take note of the hypnosis fic, and of To Reach New Heights. Almost a week later they delved into their first foray into hypnosis fic: Passive. (Though the main inspiration for the fic is credited to a role-reversal genderswapped fic called Hexxed by lonelybrachiobrute (triceratroops)).

Passive's a role reversal one-shot where Noah is actually the one hypnotizing Alejandro to be better at the competition for just a small, tiny price.

AyaWilliams liked the idea so much they made a sequel fic set in the same universe during the London episode called Unrecognized Yearnings.

The hypnosis trend of fic came full circule on March 5, 2024 when AyaWilliams wrote A little persuasion. After London, Alejandro threatens Noah into letting Alejandro hypnotize him or else he'd do it to Owen.

Since that fic, there haven't been any new additions to the hypnosis trend for Alenoah.

Which I think is a shame, because I do rather like hypnosis as a plot device. It's a branch of mind control that needs one party to trust the other in order for it to work. It's an exploration of power dynamics, and how they can be exploited and taken advantage of.

And although none of these fics explore it, I also like considering the other side of hypnosis. With the idea that the trust is warranted, and the hypnotizer uses a power that could so easily destroy and corrupt to instead help the hypnotizee achieve a state of calm and peace they didn't know was possible. Or to help them work past their own inner demons by detaching in a safe way, with the ability to ground themselves to come to a better understanding of themselves.

Or as another, more specific, certainly not something I have in mind for one of my own AUs example: Having Alejandro who starts off with using hypnosis merely to get what he wants from people, only to transition as he grows as a person to use it to do something like bring a certain cynic out of a dissociative state induced by personal trauma. And possibly becoming open to the idea of allowing said cynic that same amount of power over him, creating a more balanced relationship founded on trust between the two.

But you didn't hear that example from me.

Hypnosis can be used in multiple ways, and how specific characters use it and react to it speaks so much about who they are as a person. Every way is neat, and I hope to see more of it!

Thanks for coming to my TEDtalk.

[scribbleseas]

Straight Laced, Chapter VIII: To Be A Keen Observer…

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, allusions to non-consensual sex, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

Author’s Note: I have nothing to say for myself, besides thank you so much for reading! And thank you so much for sticking with me. I’m sorry about that last cliffhanger. (Kind of.)

Dan

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

MASTERLIST

November 10, 1895

The British Museum

The Yard. The press. Throngs of pedestrians fleeing from the museum to catch a glimpse of the chaos. Flashing lenses immortalizing Maisie Stannard’s bleeding body, craning necks, overlapping questions.

“Lord Phantomhive, Lord Phantomhive, who’dunnit?” someone demanded, sick comedy in their voice.

Now the public knew. They no longer had the benefit of a quiet investigation.

The Same Night, Hours Later

Ciel’s Estate

The evening’s fiasco was practically the worst-case scenario for any crime scene, Ciel thought, staring into the lively orange licks of flames in his fireplace. The contained inferno crackled, demolishing the kindling Finny packed inside moments before their return.

The fall night was brisk, the draft blowing against his window, causing balding tree branches to scream.

Finally left alone, the Earl of Phantomhive loosened his tie, slouched behind his desk, and allowed his fingers to knit in his dark hair. He released a frustrated groan he’d long been holding, spat out a curse he’d long bit down in the face of the curious public. They wanted to construct a story that would attempt to broadcast Ciel’s shock, but he would never give them the satisfaction of witnesssing a Phantomhive plan go awry.

Still, the predicament was an embarrassment. He wanted the killer to be William, but the suspect never truly felt proper—even as he watched the Yard escorted the man in handcuffs. He’d merely convinced himself William was completely guilty because it was the most convenient solution, and that was worse than a confident response being wrong.

Ciel’s eye strained from analyzing the list of guests from the gala. The names and titles were forged into his brain, and yet, how could he stop? Another person was dead because of his shortsightedness. It was a smear on his name and reputation, one far worse than courting a prima ballerina.

At the end of the day, he should have known better. It was too convenient for the killer to be William. Ciel doubted he had much of a capacity to kill—not the intellect, not the bravado, and not the motive.

Was he a violent criminal who took what he felt he deserved no matter who he hurt? Certainly. But was he intelligent enough to poison a young woman slowly using dimethylmercury? To lure a young woman to a bridge and dispose of her in the river beneath? Not to Ciel. He had to be missing a significant part of this investigation. What could he be missing? Who could he be ignoring?

Someone had to have known William’s crimes against members of his company, and plotted to frame him. The death had to be connected to the rest of them—too convenient to be a coincidence. Y/n knew her. They were both part of the same company— rivals, even. All of the dancers were a part of this company, at one point in their short-lived careers. Even the victims who were working somewhere new during their time of death or the last day they were seen, worked under William at one point in time.

Y/n said that the incidents all seem to take place on Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays. Days where the full company rehearsed The Nutcracker in full, and Natasha was occupied with costume fittings. The company was in its last two weeks of playing Swan Lake and now it was preparing to welcome the holiday season with the festive ballet. It always had a popular run, causing it to start at the end of November until the weekend after Christmas.

That couldn’t be a coincidence, either. Ciel thought it incriminated William because it ensured that his company— including his wife — would be at their most distracted. Perhaps, the real killer assumed Ciel would draw that conclusion. They would have needed to break into William’s South Hampton home to plant the weapon used to kill Janet Fischer, as well. It seemed that estate was the only property William left unkept.

“I’ve brought your tea, my Lord,” Sebastian said, his habit of breaking Ciel’s focus entirely too common. The Earl knew better than to be startled by his demon butler. After all, the being was at the mercy of his orders. They both knew the terms of their contract intimately well: Sebastian obeyed all of Ciel’s commands and once they apprehend those responsible for the deaths of the previous Phantomhive heads, Sebastian could consume his soul.

“How damned am I, Sebastian?” Ciel asked, half pressing for what the butler made of tonight’s accident and half assessing the damage dealt between him and Y/n, given that the butler had just delivered her a night snack. She was never one to hide her feelings, surely giving Sebastian an earful about how Ciel managed to offend her. Uncovering just what had sent Y/n into her tirade beckoned at Ciel more than he liked, distracting him even more than the investigation was. The prima ballerina was so nonchalant about her promiscuity; could their relations have truly meant that much to her?

Did she feel an inescapable sense of dread and thrill around him, too? A spark so addicting that all she could do was be near him? Just like a good sip of that sweet wine she adored.

“What are you referring to?” While the butler poured a cup of tea, he lifted an eyebrow at the Earl, questioning him. A knowing smile pulled at his lips.

“Don’t you play dumb. You know whom I speak of.” The irritation in Ciel’s voice filled the room.

Sebastian merely chuckled at him. “How do you think making an enemy out of the Norfolk duchy by refusing his only daughter would end for you, sir?” His question was anything but accusatory— amused at most. Curious to get an idea of Ciel’s honest priorities: the wise match, Caroline and her presumptuous mother, or the correct match. The prima ballerina. His prima ballerina, as they worked so hard to make the public believe.

Except, they didn’t understand how much Ciel was just as much her Earl of Phantomhive.

All there was in polite society was Gwen, insisting she and Caroline come to his estate for tea. A meeting he was far from in the position to reject, out of respect to the current Duke of Norfolk. Ciel should have put a formal end to the slow beginnings of courtship he’d hinted to Caroline. At the time, he felt there was nothing to end, since nothing had really begun.

Had the Norfolk line not been in jeopardy, Ciel doubted Gwen would have continued to pursue him for Caroline with such insistence, especially after he announced his courtship of Y/n. Without a male heir, the duchy needed to secure its new duke by marrying Caroline to a suitable noble. The position had been attractive at the time, but now, Ciel hardly felt the appeal. Instead, he intended to tell Y/n that Gwen invited herself to the estate for tea after she forced him to share a cordial dance with her daughter, but Y/n fled the ballroom before he could.

“I could withstand it. And if I could not, you would see me through,” Ciel insisted, turning his gaze back down to the names on his newest list of names— a compilation of suspects with motivation to either kill company ballerina Maise Stannard or the wife of a plagiarizing artist with a legion of enemies. “Unless something changed in our contract within the last seven-some years?” Ciel prompted, scowling at the supernatural being.

The side of Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “Of course not,” he confirmed, “though I may not be able to shield you from the wrath of a woman scorned. Those dangers are entirely different from one another, you’ll come to understand.”

Such reflecting over his personal life was a painful waste of effort. He needed to prioritize his thoughts. Another person died, dammit.

The distinction between company ballerina Maisie and wife of conman Maisie was critical because it decided whether the serial killer was bold enough to kill in front of a high-end gala lined with security or if one of Stannard’s enemies was sending him a message.

Ciel’s eyebrows knit together, unsure if Sebastian was referring to Y/n or Caroline. He cared significantly more about the former. Though, it was only fair to note that Y/n never made her intentions clear enough to be shunned in the first place. She was enigmatic, and beautiful with a puzzling charm— Ciel would’ve had to be daft to ignore that about her. But that didn’t translate to wanting him beyond physical companionship… at least it hadn’t until she confronted him.

Though he couldn’t help but wonder: didn’t Y/n know better? Didn’t she understand that she was deserving of someone who could love unconditionally. In what world could he? Ciel couldn’t even promise never to lie to her.

All relationships and promises in Ciel’s life were conditional. He was a self-serving man—the remnants of the disturbed boy who returned to the land of the living seven years ago with a ravenous demon counting the days to the end of their contract. If Ciel couldn’t even promise to never lie to Y/n—how could she expect him to love her? Did she love him?

There was no loving him. Not without letting it destroy her life. They both knew that. And yet… he had already given into his passionate whims with her. He’d already decided to throw his reservations to the wind, the last of his resilience shattering like glass when she broke into sobs caused by him.

“I thought I was protecting her,” Ciel replied simply, taking a drink out of his hot tea. He welcomed the scorching burn as it traveled down his tongue. The warmth filled in his empty chest. ”I did not scorn her.”

It didn’t matter if she loved him, nor did it matter how he felt about her. The consequences of anything more than a partnership between them would be immeasurable no matter what, but he was more than equipped to handle them.

Could Ciel justify trapping a ballerina in a life where the rest of society would remind her that she was an outsider every day? Gwen and Caroline were the least destructive instance of the social persecution Y/n would face for climbing the social ladder so ambitiously as the rest of the world would see it.

When the world looked at Y/n, they didn’t see her natural aptitude for investigation, her intelligence. Her humor. They saw the misdeeds put upon her by forces much greater than herself. They saw the reckless apathy that was placed on all ballerinas, and assumed that it was their own fault.

No one would see the regard in Y/n that Ciel took so long to notice. They misread her. And they would never care to read her properly until it was too late.

Until she condemned them in a tearful diatribe across the street from the British Museum. That spirit was what convinced Ciel that she had the potential to feasibly manage. If such was the life she truly desired for herself.

“Go get another history on Maisie Stannard,” Ciel ordered Sebastian, wanting to be left alone again. He felt the demon attempting to dissect him, and it was suffocating. Sebastian hadn’t even deigned to reply, merely looking at him with unconcealed amusement. He liked watching Ciel wrestle with such foreign conflict, provoking him for sport to further insult the injury— there was nothing insightful he wished to add.

“Yes, my Lord.” After a disingenuous bow, the demon was gone.

November 11, 1895, The Next Morning

Y/n’s Rehearsal Studio

“No,” Y/n’s irritated voice snapped the moment Ciel opened the door of his own estate’s practice room and let himself inside.

Rehearsal studio, rather.

He released a sigh that he’d been holding from the moment Mey-Rin told him that Y/n would be absent from their breakfast table. He knew she would make a childish effort to avoid him, but in all honesty, he lacked the time and the patience to entertain it.

Y/n sat in the middle of the room in a nude leotard, her legs fanned open on either side of her. Her back was straight and elongated, forming a perfect line with her neck. It looked effortless. All of her movements looked light and easy, despite the rage that her pursed lips and creased forehead displayed.

She didn’t need to turn around to look at him. Instead, she ignored his image in the floor-to-ceiling mirror’s reflection in front of them. Ciel had to read her expression from the glass, since she purposely kept her back to him.

Ciel caught the variety of materials sitting between her spread legs, several pairs of newly broken in pointe shoes in a row, scissors, adhesive, and a needle and yarn for sewing. They were the same items Y/n used to break in and darn new pairs of pointe shoes for balance and comfort. Ciel knew this routine well— it cost him hundreds of pounds a week to purchase Y/n five or six new pairs weekly.

“Y/n, we have much to discuss. Skipping meals with me will not put an end to the investigation… nor our personal differences,” Ciel told her, carefully stepping closer with the caution a soldier would in a minefield. He supposed a rehearsal studio was just that for Y/n: a battleground.

“All I wanted was a few hours away from you and your investigation. You cannot even give me that?” Y/n corrected coldly, giving the shoe in her hand a hearty smack against the expensive flooring to further break it in. Apparently, all ballerinas had to make their own custom alteration rituals to break in their shoes the exact way they needed it. Y/n liked to eviscerate her shoes’ insoles and shave down the bottoms, stretch the shoe, repair it with adhesive, and darn the flat bit of it.

His investigation? So now it was only his?

“It is not a crime for a ballerina to break in her shoes—I hardly have time as it is, and Nutcracker opens next week,” she continued, still refusing to look at him. She seemed satisfied with the amount of pressure she put on the shoe and squeezed adhesive into its stretched interior.

Of course she wouldn’t look at him. Ciel embarrassed her because he let his preconceived notions about her professions blind him to the extent of her feelings. Ballerinas like Y/n were not inherently promiscuous, and he, despite having one functioning eye, missed that she felt more for him than lust. In what world does a principal dancer fall for a jaded Earl, anyhow?

And he was somehow even more blindsided by his own intricate feelings for her. It was most likely too late. And that was for the best, wasn’t it? It was supposed to be, but the guilty discomfort that sat in his stomach insisted otherwise. It was simply too late.

“The last time I checked, a certain prima ballerina always insisted it was our investigation,” Ciel replied, watching Y/n’s eyes roll in response.

“Clearly, she did not know what she was talking about,” Y/n put her sewing materials and pointe shoes to the side once she was satisfied with the layers of adhesive applied. She continued facing the mirror, spreading into a center split and pushing her torso to the floor in a deep stretch. “Being wrong about so many things makes a person a true lavette, no?” Her stretching position muffled her voice somewhat, but the vitriol was clear to him.

She was comparing her intellect to a dish towel? Honestly? Ciel fought the urge to reflect the prima ballerina’s scornful eye roll to her.

After all, she purposefully referencing both their investigation and their personal matters— enough to show Ciel that there was little to be achieved with the stubborn ballerina at that time. The blows were too fresh.

“What is there for us to discuss, anyhow? That guest list will take ages to sift through, and Sebastian’s interview notes…” Y/n rolled her shoulders back and sat back up only to inhale and bring her torso back to the floor. Her arms stretched in front of her, showing off the sculpted muscle she forged through dance.

Her leotard clung to the trained muscles down her back and arms, causing Ciel’s mouth to run dry as he adjusted his trousers. (Unintentionally recalling her body’s warmth and strength under his fingertips did little to help.)

That realization caused Ciel to moisten his lips, quietly thankful that Y/n was pointedly averting her gaze from him. She would’ve caught and translated that pensive— scandalous — look in seconds, and rightfully called him out for it.

“I want to visit William today,” Ciel managed, barely maintaining his stable tone in the face of his straying thoughts. “The Yard said the bullet found in Maisie was consistent with his Winchester collection. And I still dislike that the Southampton house is William’s only unstaffed possession.” It was all too convenient. Too connected— down to the murders matching the company’s rehearsal schedule.

Even the gala was on a Nutcracker rehearsal evening: a night where it was guaranteed Natasha Wood had her hands full and the company was half alive after such a rigorous day.

“That sounds like the perfect plan, Lord Phantomhive,” Y/n answered bitterly, extending an arm over her head while she leaned to the side. She still had her legs parted in a center split.

Lord Phantomhive was a gut punch. It took all of his composure to hide his crawling discomfort. That had to be the first time he recoiled from the weight of his surname.

To her, he was Ciel. She had seen to it— demanded it, even.

“You can handle that on your own. He will not talk with me there, surely,” she added, her bored tone causing his fingers to curl into a frustrated fist at his side. Finally catching her stare, he noticed that her eyes were bleary as if she had been crying. Even her lips seemed bitten.

Ciel had to ignore the striking urge in his body that begged him to kiss her. Now that he knew her prowess, the way she moved her lips with the same elegance she did the rest of her body, it made her allure all the more intense. So much so that they forced Ciel to skip several heavy seconds before replying to her poor excuse for not wanting to be in the same room with him. He had been occupied with admiring her.

“I would prefer—” he started to object, only for Y/n to interrupt.

“Please see yourself out. I must rehearse, I am running on borrowed time as it is. The last Swan Lake showing is tonight,” Y/n said expectantly, assuming Ciel didn’t know her performance schedule. He merely happened to have committed it to memory.

Y/n rose to her feet. She was already wearing an older pair of pointe shoes, suggesting that she had been practicing before deciding to break in new shoes.

Having risen from the center of the floor, she took graceful steps closer to the mirror, fully turning her back to him as she put herself in the starting position for the Sugar Plum Fairy Variation. After putting in hours of labor as her unpaid pianist, Ciel could recognize those soft, exaggerated steps anywhere.

His stomach only twisted into a tighter knot, offended that Y/n would prefer to rehearse in complete silence than in his piano playing. After all, she once told him that she couldn’t keep time without it.

In unexpected surrender, Ciel closed the door behind him, softly letting the knob click back into place.

It was simply too late.

The Same Day, Hours Later

Scotland Yard’s London Headquarters

Even for a man living in a holding cell, William Wood did not look well. His facial hair, what was formerly a tasteful goatee, was now untamed and slightly overgrown. Deep exhaustion carved bags under his eyes. His sudden fall from grace seemed to age him years, even though it was only a week or two since Ciel made the arrest.

“They told me you’d be coming to see me today,” William grunted, dressed in plain clothes. He wasn’t formally charged yet, but Ciel and the Yard agreed that the threat of allowing an arrested serial killer to remain free before his sentencing was too great to risk. Ciel also needed easy access to William in the event they were wrong.

The criminal’s gray eyes attempted to bore into Ciel’s soul, but really, they were tired. Unfocused. Desperate. He reminded him of a cornered tiger— too proud to submit, but too exhausted to finish the fight.

“Yes… I have questions that demand answers. From you.” Ciel answered carefully. He exchanged a look with the officers guarding the door, silently urging them to clear their throats and seeing themselves out, guarding from the outside of the room. William’s holding cell sat in an isolated room from the rest of the headquarters. The basement was fortified with cement, making the area drafty and dark.

He wouldn’t reveal the news that there was another murdered ballerina, but there were other means to extract the information the situation required.

A condescending smirk twitched at William’s lips, unsurprised. “And you expect me to talk? To you?” He asked, his jubilant tone dripping with malice. “You’ve ruined my life, my wife’s…our livelihood.”

“No one forced you to cheat on your wife. Or assault defenseless young women. Or murder them in cold blood,” Ciel snapped, raising his tone. Natasha, from what Y/n said, was running the entirety of the company without William in the first place. She didn’t need him— he was a pathetic excuse for an heir to a business. That had to be clearer to her than anyone.

Only now, he made her work infinitely more complicated. Especially since the body of Maisie Stannard was plastered all over the front pages of most newspapers that morning, each depicting the mysterious murder that occurred near one of the side entrances of The British Museum.

“You don’t talk about my wife to me,” William’s fingers curled into fists at his sides as he took a step closer to the cell’s bars that separated them. His complexion was shades lighter. “I never killed anyone, either,” he was sure to remind Ciel.

“You will answer my questions, one way or another. How much of your blood gets spilled depends entirely on you, William,” Ciel replied, appreciating the cell wall that separated them. One of them was vulnerable, and it was certainly not him. It would never be.

The Earl pressed the nose of his Nanget Revolver into William’s hip, sliding the nose of the weapon between the bars. He smiled at the defeat that fought the stubborn ferocity in William’s colorless irises, placidly putting the weapon back into his jacket pocket just as smoothly as he’d taken it out.

“Do we have an understanding here?” Ciel asked impatiently. “I am only interested in the truth.”

It was exhilarating to watch the desperate fire extinguish in William’s face, the fighting militance in his shoulders dissipate. His fists unfurled as he sighed, coming to terms with his defeat. He was just smart enough to understand that concept— a lesson Ciel and Y/n fought hard to teach him.

“It’s not like I have a choice,” the former businessman crossed his arms, ignoring the weapon that Ciel threatened him with.

“Your Southampton house,” Ciel started, “why is it unstaffed? When was the last time you were there, before you instructed Y/n Y/l/n to meet you there?”

“I told Natasha I sold it, but it’s been my family’s for generations. I used the place for… meetings I didn’t want her to know about,” William sighed, choosing his words cautiously. “That time with…Y/n… was the first time I’ve been there since my trip to France. So I haven’t been since the end of September. Do I get to know why you’re asking?” He asked sarcastically.

The last time Janet was seen was September 27th.

“When did you leave, William?” Ciel asked with a newfound sense of urgency overriding his frustrations with the man. His mouth was dry, his heartbeat picking up. “Do you know the exact day you departed?”

William shrugged, either not noticing Ciel’s pique or not caring. “September 28th, probably? Early morning.”

Is that enough time to murder a woman— she was projected to have died late that night — hide the murder weapon in Southampton, and return to the London ports by dawn to leave the country? It wasn’t.

”Did anyone have access to your property? Anyone?”

“No one should have. I only… asked my wife to dispose of hers, after I told her I sold the property,” William frowned. It seemed it was only dawning on the careless man that his wife might have lied to him, curious as to the lack of official documentation from the sale, any shift in finances, given the major role in managing their company, according to Y/n.

“She wouldn’t… think I still use the property…” he mumbled the afterthought slowly with disbelief.

The more Ciel asked of William, the more of him and Natasha he understood. They fell in love because she transferred from a ballet school in Russia and starred in a company production of Sleeping Beauty. William was still learning how to run the company, one of the investments out of a larger corporation, but he fell in love with Natasha, the prima ballerina, at the time.

Natasha overworked herself in the role, causing a hip injury to end her professional career only a year into it. And that was two years ago. Now she was the company’s director—nothing like the inspired dancer she once was, William insisted.

He lost sight of his love for the young ingenue because the injury killed her. What was left was a completely different woman. Tired, bitter, frustrated from what she lost...only for her marriage to slowly decline the more she lost herself.

Opportunity, motive…was there a means? It was now of the utmost importance that Ciel found the answer to that question. No matter how Y/n would feel about his investigating Natasha, her mentor. Ciel trusted his instinct—the tugging in the pit of his stomach. The alarm that he felt.

How could he not have seen it sooner? He needed to leave. He needed to stop her before she left for her performance.

It took a frenzied carriage ride through the crowded London streets, but Sebastian’s demonic carriage driving managed to put Ciel in front of his manor just as Y/n was leaving for the opera house. He was always chasing after her, it seemed, but he didn’t care.

For her, he would. She would, for him. Or before he broke her heart, she might have. He was too late, in that regard, but he could stop her here and now.

“Y/n, stop, this is important!” Ciel stumbled out of his carriage, having stepped out of it before Sebastian could stop entirely. He had to intercept her.

The ballerina scoffed at the nerve of him, begging her to stop in her tracks and hear him out for the second instance in a row. At the same time, Ciel demanded that Finny keep Y/n’s carriage stationery for the moment through a brief look, causing his gardener’s superhuman grip to tighten on the horses’ reins. He gave Ciel a resolute nod, his jaw firm.

“What? Is this chasing a daily occurrence?” Y/n quipped bitterly, just as Ciel expected her to. “You have never cared to attend one of my performances before,” she accused, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. Her hand fell still on the carriage door’s handle, frowning at him.

“I have reason to suspect that Natasha is—“ he started gravely, pronouncing his words carefully. He knew what Y/n would say, but he could only prove this theory with her help. If Ciel was right, one misstep could make them the adversaries of one incredibly violent, envious, and dangerous criminal who played the role of a wistful, wise mentor. And played it well.

Immediately, Y/n’s face reddened, defensive. “Stop,” she insisted, her voice hoarse. She turned the handle on the carriage door, causing Ciel to reach out and grab it himself, his hand engulfing hers.

He needed her to approach this logically.

Y/n’s face jerked to look at him, her hand attempting to move with the same speed, but Ciel’s grip kept hers stagnant. She gave their hands a long, hard look.

“You have no idea what Natasha has done for so many of us, how little I would have without her. She would never do this to any of us,” Y/n’s voice wavered.

And what has she done for you? She allows men to abuse you. She encourages you to skip nourishment to maintain some shallow aesthetic. She hasn’t reported any of these missing cases to any of you—

“—She does not know about them!” Y/n interrupted, wide eyed, tears threatening to fall. He had said that out loud. “I would not have this opportunity without her. I have known her for years. You, I have known for? A month? You care about me as much as she does? At all?”

“I care about you more than you know, Y/n,” Ciel replied, trying to keep his voice measured, in spite of his pounding heart. He could feel his pulse racing.

“You do not.”

“I do.”

“Then you show it by dancing with another woman in front of me? By inviting her to your home where I live as a guest the night after we were intimate?” Y/n asked, tears rolling down her cheeks. Ciel’s stomach sank. That was what had caused her outburst at the party: Gwen had lied to her. He didn’t invite the duchess; the duchess had invited herself.

His crime was failing to properly refuse her at the gala. Ciel intended to send his regrets the following day by insisting he had an overseas meeting.

“I did not invite the duchess and her daughter. Gwen seems to have lied to you,” he said, the force behind his words extinguishing. “I realized… that… I don’t want my marriage to be a business venture. I don’t want Caroline to be my Countess—I’ve hardly ever spoken to her! I would want…” he let his next word hang in the air. It filled the few centimeters that separated them.

You.

“I need to leave now or I will be late,” Y/n’s free hand wiped away another tear that escaped her tired eyes. “This is my last Swan Lake performance, Ciel. Please.”

She didn’t believe him. And he didn’t blame her. He had warned her about himself a long time ago.

Every instinct in Ciel refused, but he released the hand that he held stagnant on the carriage door handle. “Fine. You may,” he sighed, exchanging the same look with Finny. Y/n opened the carriage and sat inside, closing the door in his face. Again.

“Sebastian, this is an order. You will protect her as you would myself. Now go. Stay out of sight unless the situation demands it.”

In the meantime, Ciel could escort himself to the performance. He had a chance. No way in hell would he let himself squander it.

The Same Evening

The Royal Opera House

For the entirety of his life, Ciel was a keen observer. He could see through a liar’s carefully constructed facade by a glance, the bravado and charismatic grace that Y/n enlisted to maintain her confidence. The Phantomhive empire was as prosperous as it was because of his ability to read and interpret those around him… and manipulate them accordingly.

Now, all of his expert focus fell on the prima ballerina, just as blazing and intense as the spotlight that illuminated her.

Until this point, Ciel avoided attending Y/n’s performances because they knew they were spellbinding. He was more than aware of her talents—even watching her mumble through her moves as she rehearsed was enchanting. He had pointedly refused to allow himself the indulgence necessary to freely watch the woman act in front of an audience, encapsulating a character through mood and movement when he had grown so accustomed to admiring her individualism.

Rather than tell her so, he’d only insinuated that he was too occupied to attend these performances, despite her frequent invitations. Selfishly, he used to prefer her subdued look of disappointment than run the risk of her noticing the way he fell for her. Without meaning to. In fact, while actively trying not to.

Her raw pain was clear as she depicted Odette grieving the prince’s betrayal, having fallen for Odile’s impersonation of her. It wasn’t unlike her face moments before she stepped in the carriage in order to fulfill this very performance, or even her expression in the studio, or in front of the museum the night before. She channeled her hurt into her work—just as he did. She evolved with each step, every twist, in spite of him. Because of everything he put her through.

The bouquet in his tightening grip crinkled, the decorative paper around it crumbling from the frustration he let out on it. Ciel could hardly hear it over the orchestra in the pit, the assortment of musicians and their quality instruments masterfully recreating Tchaikovsky. But that wasn’t the most impressive aspect of the show— that recognition belonged to Y/n entirely.

He had to correct this gnawing worry in his stomach. The feeling that he was, once again, on the brink of being too late.

The moment the curtain drew after the company’s final bows, Ciel sprang from his seat.

He wouldn’t be too late. At the very least, he owed Y/n that.

[aphrodeiities]

i've returned to post about a particular subject i've been fighting to or not to post, because i used to consider this person the closest person in my life and i even considered her as a best friend and a sister.

and we have fallen out and apologised to each other many times, but perhaps whenever we argued it was life telling me that she is not supposed to be in my circle. and you could be wondering why am i bringing this up and telling tumblr this but im telling tumblr this to be aware of @couerardent and her scamming behaviour.

couerardent also known as MYSTIICWINTER OR MYSTICWIINTER.

talk about WORSE SERVICE I HAVE EVER GOTTEN MY ENTIRE LIFE.

[other people have come to me and spoke about how bad her services were, but i tried to overlook it because i really cared for her, lessoned learn]

i have always been empathetic towards ardent and her money situation, but there are moments when excuses turn into reasons to not do something. on august, i sent alex money because she needed it, but she also said in return she will give me 4 packs she usually gives her clients and she told me she would give me my money back.

first pack is "tell me your story."

second and other packs she hadnt told me what they were but she informed me that i'll be receiving them weekly since august, and now its november.

at first i was empathetic, since i used to be close to ardent, i knew she went through a lot of stuff at home, so i was patient. until august turned into september, and september turned into october and then october turned into novemeber.

and slowly i became annoyed, [as i should] because her services arent even long or good, as someone who gives chart readings to other people that consists more than fourteen pages, the effort to write that would take long, but ardent doesnt even give five pages for her services, three at most, so why is it taking her so long?

previously, she has joked to me about scamming other people, but would put the blame on them and not want to take accountability until they start using threats to expose her, i think she deleted the making fun of scamming them but here is some of it:

and when i would message her for updates about my reading because it'll take months, she would ignore me and even change her pfp on tumblr or discord, until i reach out to her on more platforms to get her attention.

and what would annoy me even more is that she would talk about how she never has something to do or would focus on other stuff knowing she needs to get my reading done lmao and this would be like 1-2 months after i was supposed to receive any of it lol.

worrying about the layout for almost 3 months PLEASE.

i have received 1/4 readings, and that was now almost 2-3 weeks ago, we should've been on my 2nd or 3rd reading by now, the only reason i have received 1 reading is because i did threaten to expose her if she didnt send the money or reading my way, because even i had some issues because living in london has gotten really difficult and i have been trying to support my family as much as i can, but im doing better right now.

its all about the principle. and she has none of that. and even attempted to victimise herself and behave like she was in distress whenever she got called out about her behaviour.

she lost track of time, the time being 3-4 months lol.

and when i was speaking to her she ignored me for a bit again ha, it was almost comedic. for almost two weeks she didnt try and check what i was speaking about.

she has gotten ill, but this was still months after.

and i have remembered, she has used much of her earned money to fund for her nose job but also uni, but during the moments it was best to pay me back was at the job she said paid her well, she informed me that when she gets paid by her job she'll pay me back, and she never did and ended up quitting the job.

[the unfairness i was speaking about is how uni her country dont do student finances, she's from romania, because they do in the uk it was just a surprise].

i asked her recently on how i was supposed to receive a reading but she didnt reply but change her pfp on whatsapp and discord, again.

if there is any confused people comment please because i did this half asleep lmao

[missgryffin]

lying in wait

Randomly listened to some Hamilton over the weekend, ended up with "Wait For It" stuck in my head, and wrote this in a couple hours today. I think it's angst, but with a nice dash of crack? Idk 😅 But I hope it makes you smile! 🫶 below + AO3

November 3, 1981

The cottage is silent, save for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hall, and it’s already pitch dark, with only the faint glow of street lamps and budding moonlight shining in through rain-slicked windows. 

Lily draws up her knees to her chest where she sits on the sofa, peering mindlessly into blurry windowpane. She doesn’t remember the last time she walked aimlessly down a road, or went into a shop. Sometimes, on stormy autumn nights like this, she wonders if she ever will again. 

Footsteps tumble down the stairs, then come to an abrupt halt. 

“Lil?” She can see his shadowed outline, one hand in his hair. “You just…sitting in the dark?”

She shrugs, though he probably can’t see, and asks, “Harry went down alright, then?” 

James chuckles to himself as he crosses the room, picking his way around the furniture until he drops onto the sofa next to her. “After reading every book twice and playing the Snitch game for thirty minutes…yes.” He leans closer, grinning. “Our son is asleep.” 

She rests a hand on his scruffy cheek. “It’s only supposed to be ten minutes of the Snitch game,” she teases him. 

“I know,” James sighs. “But he asked for ten more.” 

Lily snorts. “What, and then ten more after that?” 

He throws his hands weakly in his lap. “Wha—am I supposed to say no to the kid? He looks just like me!” 

She falls into him, a laughing heap, and for a moment, they simply giggle deliriously together. It’s nice. It’s normal. Or at least a sliver of it.

James cuddles her into him, and Lily breaths him in. They’ve lost so many over the few years since Hogwarts, but they still have each other. She clings on to that, to him.

“I love you,” she says into his chest. 

He kisses the top of her head. “I love you, too.”

A stretching silence; a heavy sigh. “It’s his birthday.” 

“I know,” James murmurs. “I can’t stop thinking about him.” 

Lily peels herself off his chest and swings a leg over his lap, sitting with her arms looped around his neck. How many conversations have they had over the years while sitting just like this? How many more will they get? 

“He said he’d be in touch by today.” Her mind won’t stop racing. “What if this was a bad id—” 

“It wasn’t,” James cuts her off. “Besides.” A heavy sigh. “It was…our only idea.”

“Do you think…” She pauses, plays with his hair. “Do you think we…did the right thing?” 

He sits up straighter, pulling her closer against him. “You’re the only two people in my life I know I can trust completely,” he says. “So yeah, I think we did.” 

There’s no use rehashing it again; they’ve done that enough. Yes, he now has a target on his back, but it’s not like he wasn’t already a target before. No, it couldn’t have been anyone else—not Albus, who knows more than he’s saying; not Remus, whom Albus and Sirius both suspect; and not Peter, who’s been looking exhausted and strung-out from the night-shift reconnaissance he’s been assigned. Yes, he had to leave. And no, it wasn’t cowardly to do so.

Granted, that last bit had taken a not insignificant amount of convincing (damned Gryffindor), but he eventually came around to their idea. Staying around in England with Voldemort sure to be onto him was certain death. But why not take advantage of being top of Voldemort’s mind? Why make it easy, when instead he could make it hard? Give the Order a leg up? Let them use him (or rather, the idea of him) as bait to lure and manipulate all the Death Eaters looking for him, and maybe even root out the spy in the process? And really, if anyone was going to lead Voldemort on a wild goose chase, setting traps and lying in wait, who better than Sirius Black?

Still, she worries. She can’t help it. And she knows James worries too, even if he does do a better job of hiding it. 

There’s only one thing left to do, really; only one way to pass the time sufficiently distracted from racing thoughts. James must read her mind, because he’s all eager hands and excited tongue when she kisses him. Maybe it’s unhealthy, how much they’ve used sex to cope the past year. But when his mouth feels like this and hair’s in her hands…she’s not sure she cares.

“Prongs!”

They jump, springing apart like they’re fifth years caught after curfew. James swears under his breath as they fumble to right the clothes they’d started shoving aside before he reaches for the small mirror sitting on the coffee table.

“Padfoot!” 

Lily frantically feels around the sofa for her wand. 

“Why’s it so dar—oh, don’t tell me you were just—”

“We were waiting for you,” James covers. 

“Mate. That’s worse. Just say you were shagging.” 

“Well, we weren’t yet.”

“Hi, Sirius.” She brandishes her now-glowing wand, recovered from the seam between the cushions. 

“Lily! Looking rumpled as ever!” 

She yanks her cardigan back up her shoulder as she scolds, “Shut it.”

“I miss you, too.” 

They can only see Sirius’s chin in frame, and it seems like he’s moving around. 

“Happy birthday, man,” James says.

“Thanks.” 

“Where are you?” 

“Hang on—I have to show you—ready?” 

“Yeah?” 

His face comes into view and Lily instantly gasps. 

Sirius grins. “Like it?” 

His once shoulder-length hair’s been chopped off stylishly short in a fresh cut that makes him look like old Hollywood charm in that loose button-down he has on. 

“Damn, Pads!” 

“I…barely recognize you,” Lily stammers. 

“Well.” He adjusts the mirror closer to his face. “That’s sorta the point.” 

A heavy pit settles in her stomach. 

“How you been?” James asks. “Travel go okay?” 

“Yeah, fine.” Sirius shrugs. “I’ve been doing things the Muggle way—that Muggle Studies N.E.W.T.’s finally paying off, who woulda thought.”

“Where are you now?”

The mirror turns around, panning over an ocean-side city lit up with lights through a set of patio doors. “Cannes,” he says, and Lily hears the grin in his voice. The mirror turns back to his face. “I have access to money here, dad’s side of the family, in the French bank. And I figure…” He flops back atop a hotel bed, one hand beneath his head. “If Voldemort wants to come get me, he’ll just have to bring his snakey arse down to the beach, won’t he?”

They all bust up into snorting, wheezing laughter. It’s not normal; none of it’s normal. But laughing with her husband and their best friend like this is the closest to normal she’s felt in a long time, and she thinks, if this is how life has to be for awhile, she can live with it.