#it's just a natural ebb i'm sure

[mimicteruyo]

okay WOW did this “break” come at a good time. I’m actually struggling to even string together a hundred words when I was writing 1k+ a day at the start of the week. 😱

[hawnks]

Takami Keigo doesn't want to see you.

Of course, he's too well trained to say it in so many words, but when he 'forgets' his session this afternoon, you get the message.

Unfortunately for him, you're stubborn. You show up at his apartment in the dormitories, ring his bell until your fingers numb.

Only then does he crack open the door, just enough for you to catch his forbidding smile, a caustic gleam to his eyes. "What can I help you with, this fine evening?"

"You missed our appointment," you say pleasantly. "This is the third time."

"Oh, must have just slipped my mind," he says with a dismissive little wave. "I'll catch you next time."

The door slams in your face.

Being so curtly dismissed by a top ranking officer should probably send you into a panic, but the stats you pulled up for him after his no-show are even more concerning. This is quickly turning into an emergency, and unfortunately it's your job on the line if he succumbs to corruption.

Who would blame the second most powerful Sentinel alive, when there's a feckless guide as a scapegoat.

"I'm going to ring the bell again," you say, loudly.

After a moment of silence, you think he must not have heard you.

Then the door swings open. "Fine," he snaps.

You follow him to the living room, watch as he drops himself on the couch with a sigh, eyes squeezed shut.

You'd never known guiding to be this much of a chore for Sentinels. Most of your roster is rather clingy and covetous of your time. None of them has ever been late to an appointment with you.

"Well?" he prods. "Get on with it."

You hesitate. The tension he seems to be holding will make this a lot more difficult, strenuous for you both. "Do you maybe want to talk for a bit? Or I could put on some white noise."

He opens his eyes just enough to give you a cutting look. "No."

You surrender with a sigh, coming to sit next to him on the couch. Every Sentinel prefers contact a different way; some want you to hug them, pet their hair, a few have even asked you to kiss them, fuck them, though you've never fulfilled that type of request, your boundaries in this job too firm for it.

You want to ask him what would make this easier for him, but you're sure waiting any longer will only set him off. So, delicately, you take his hand.

The first draw is always the hardest, the corrupt energy being nullified by your own. Some outside force reaching in, invasive despite the relief.

Takami flinches.

You go slower, a soft steady ebb, pulling the poison from him in silken thread.

His hand relaxes in yours.

You reach deeper, welcoming the full flood between you, warmth and light suffusing you both. And it feels how it's supposed to -- natural.

When your watch chimes, signaling the sessions end, Takami blinks out of his stupor. He'd melted during the thirty minutes you worked on him, body curled toward yours, face falling onto your shoulder.

He pulls away swiftly, shocked by his own willingness to lean on you.

You rise, marking off the details of your appointment on your tablet. "I can come back tomorrow, to finish up. You haven't been guided in a long time, so I couldn't get it all in one session. Does 2pm work for you?"

He's not prepared for the question. "Um. Yeah?"

You mark that down as well, then see yourself out.

It takes three more sessions for you to fully clear the corrupted energy from his body. In his haze he admits to you the reason he's so standoffish to Guides, why he dodges his sessions with such fervor.

"It's never felt good. Always felt like I'm being held down, trapped. Made me feel antsy, nervous." He buries his face against your throat, inhaling deeply. You'd started off just holding his hand again, but now he hugs your entire arm against his chest, your fingers twined. "It's not like that with you."

"I'm glad, Mr. Takami," you return. "Please don't ignore my emails from now on."

As you make your notes, you ask him his availability for next month.

He blinks at you. "You're not coming back tomorrow?"

You check your calendar. You'd had to push back several of your regular appointments to make room for the past few days. "I'm booked solid for the next two weeks, at least."

You glance at him, taking in his appearance, his general well being. You reach a hand out to cup his cheek, urging him to meet your eyes. He startles, first, before leaning into your touch.

"You seem fine," you decide, pulling away, already heading for the door. "I'll contact you later about our next session."

He trails after you, linger at the precipice as you take the elevator back down to your floor.

...

He never ignores you emails, after that.

In fact, he sends many of his own. He gets your phone number, somehow. Some days he shows up with coffee, or snacks, sits with you on the couch while you eat.

He's always touching you during those times, brushing hair behind your ears or straightening your shirt collar. Mostly he just holds your hand, playing with your fingers or clutching it in his own lap.

You don't guide him during any of these impromptu visits, too weary from the rest of your overfull schedule -- but you've heard of this type of attachment from other Guides.

Sentinels tend to imprint on guides they have a decent connection with. Part survival instinct, part status seeking. A Sentinel without a guide is doomed. A Sentinel with a high match-rate is likely to be stronger than their peers.

But that's the thing about un-bonded Sentinels, they're always on the lookout for a better Guide, their perfect mate.

Takami is overly attached to you now, but it will pass.

...

Or so you thought.

You're sent out into the aftermath of a battle that rocks the city. Dozens of Sentinels pushed themselves to the breaking point, on the brink of corruption, about to turn into the very monsters they fight to suppress.

You spot Takami in the midst of the wreckage. Exhausted, but giving you a shakey smile when your eyes meet. He limps toward you, so glad to see you, so ready for the safety and warmth of your arms--

Someone calls your name. Urgent, an emergency. Another Sentinel with no one to take care of them.

You turn away from Takami, and you go.

He'd fought hard, but his body has grown used to the abuse over the years. He's in bad shape, but it's not life-threatening like some of the others you help today.

It's hours before you can see him.

Slumped on a curb, hands folded neatly in his lap. Like he's been waiting so patiently for you this whole time.

You come to your knees before him, letting him take your hands, draw you closer. "Why didn't you go to another Guide?"

Surely he could have found someone else, despite the chaos of the scene. If not you, one of the high ranking Guides, slotted exclusively for S-rank Sentinels.

He looks at you, trembling, confused. "I don't want another Guide."

When he asks if you'll hold him, you do. You take him in your arms, let his weight settle on you. Feel his warmth all around you, his breath against your shoulder.

"And I don't want you to guide anyone else," he murmurs.

You stroke his nape. "I know. I'm sorry. You'll find your Guide soon enough, and then you can have each other all to yourselves."

His grip tightens. He braces you against him -- instead of a heady tightness, you're constricted.

"I already found my Guide," he whispers into your throat.

Then he bites.

[literaila]

house rules (roommate au)

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary:

"satoru keeps an infinite amount of space between him and everyone else."

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking, slight angst, mentions of tampons (terrifying), suggestive comments, absurdly long, alternate universe characters

a/n: to all of my frequent readers--i have never claimed to be sane :)

*

in the broad spectrum of things, opening the door in nothing but your bathrobe and a ridiculously bright orange clay mask is not the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you. 

oh no, puking on your first ever date at seventeen definitely takes the cake. finding your seventh-grade friends bent over a table reading your diary--in which you wrote many explicit things about them, not to mention, yourself--might be even worse. riding your bike into the pond by your house in front of all of your--much older, much cooler--neighbors, even. picking up your coffee in your favorite cafe and spilling it, which was not only devastating but humiliating because you managed to spill your mocha on every other drink waiting there (effectively banning you from returning) still haunts your dreams. even walking down the street and trying to pretend like you didn't just trip over air in front of every single one of your peers still lingers in your mind, waiting for a moment of peace before it attacks.

you're used to the feeling of dread in your stomach and the nights spent thinking about all of these moments, like a scrapbook in your mind--just there to make your skin itch. 

but, it does get a little bit worse when you realize the man you've opened the door to is none other than a potential roommate; and when you remember that you forgot he was coming. 

or when you have to pull your robe tighter around your abdomen just to make sure that you don't give this man a show before you even shake his hand. 

"is this apartment 214?" he asks, looking right at you--and your legs, naturally--with a confused grin on his face, but grin nonetheless. 

so immediately you slam the door. 

you turn around, with wide eyes, face crackling from the movement, and check your phone frantically. yes, it is the 18th, and yes it is 11:32, which means he was supposed to be here over a half-an-hour ago. 

and also you've just slammed the door in his--satoru gojo, the only person who's even bothered to respond to your ad about an available room--face. 

oh, fuck. 

so you groan, refraining from knocking your head against the door just in case he can still hear, and open it again. a little bit less this time. 

"gojo?" you ask, voice rough and slightly irritated. 

"the one and only. i'm pretty sure this is the right apartment," he says, and you don't fail to notice his tone of voice as he continues, "but if it's not, then fate must've brought us together."

you narrow your eyes, hoping that he doesn't notice the specks of dust that ebb from your skin. "you're late." 

"and you're less than dressed." 

"i thought you stood me up." 

he snorts. "so you started an impromptu spa day? or was this supposed to be another perk of the apartment?" 

you glower, opening the door a bit more just so he can see the fury in your eyes. "i don't think someone who doesn't even text to cancel has any right to judge my self-care practices." 

"i didn't cancel. i'm here." 

"you're late." 

"so i've heard..." he drawls. 

you blink at him, and he blinks back--or at least, you're assuming. because he's wearing sunglasses even though it's cloudy outside. 

and he's aggressively taller than you. he might not even fit through the door. 

you don't look away, waiting for him to break. which he does because you're well-practiced in men of his standard. "so, are you going to let me in?" he asks. 

"are you going to apologize for being late?" 

"i'm sorry that i'm late," he says, immediately, with an air of fake sincerity. "i got stuck in traffic. i would've called, but my phone died." 

"really?" 

the smile reappears, as if from magic. "no, but did it make you want to let me in?" 

you glare even harder--which is tough, honestly--and begin to shut the door. until your plan is interrupted by a foot. "excuse you," you say, to this man, who you already hate. and his stupid chelsea boots.

"look, i'm sorry. i'm trying to ease the tension--because honestly i wasn't expecting to get an eyeful this early in the morning, and you seem uncomfortable--" 

you slam the door against his foot again. 

gojo doesn't even wince. "and also, you're, like, the only person with a room in the middle of october. and i... could really use a place to put my bed. so, can i look around, at least? i'll keep my eyes closed every time i'm facing your direction. i can even give you my rent money today if it works out."  

something in his voice already implies that it will. 

and, well. despite your very short robe and your very dry face mask, he is the only person who's even inquired about the room. and you desperately need a roommate; someone to clean up with, someone to make coffee for, someone to argue about toilet paper direction with, and, most importantly, someone who has money and can keep you from getting evicted from the only place you've lived since high school. 

so you sigh. think about moving back home and suffering at the will of your parents. 

it takes about three seconds to say, "will you wait out here while i get dressed?" 

an eyebrow peeks out from behind the sunglasses, as white as his hair. "how long?" 

"ten minutes. maybe twenty." 

"do you have a chair?" he asks and moves his foot from the door. 

and so you close it without answering and rush to your room to find something that's still clean. 

there's nothing that you'll actually wear, but satoru gojo doesn't deserve your fresh appearance anyway. he can have day-old wrinkled jeans and a t-shirt you got when you were twelve. 

as slow as humanly possible, you remove the face mask, trying to keep your hair out of the way, and think about putting on makeup--which you probably would have done, had you remembered he was even coming--but decide not to. 

in reality, it only takes about seven minutes for you to look mostly presentable and get rid of the mugs you left cluttered around the dining room table. 

but you wait an extra four, just to mess with him. 

and then, eleven minutes later, you open the door again to the man leaning against the wall, playing what looks like candy crush on his phone. 

you attempt a fake smile. 

"hey," he says, with that same grin, "you have clothes." 

you drop your face. "i will close this." 

he isn't phased, just pockets his phone and leans in to look behind you at the entryway. 

you roll your eyes, but open the door anyway, and usher him in. he rubs his feet against your welcome mat and toys with a keychain you have hanging from a coat rack, then looks to you, like he's waiting for a tour. which, you guess, he is.

"there's only two rooms, one bath. it's not very big, so if you need a lot of space..." 

"i can manage," he says, and follows you as you walk into the kitchen. "did you decorate?" 

"um... sort of." 

"sort of?" 

"i, uh, had a roommate before and he bought most of the decorations before i moved in. but i've added a few things. i'm not picky about aesthetics." 

gojo hums. "why'd he move out?" 

"we were together and he cheated on me," you say, flatly, as you have been for the past month and a half. "and then told me i couldn't use his netflix account anymore after i broke up with him." 

gojo merely blinks and gestures toward the wall behind you. "so you didn't buy that dancing frog thing?" 

you turn around, rolling your eyes. "no. i forgot that was there." 

"okay, good, 'cause that's hideous." 

you snort, but nod your head and walk down the hallway. gojo's footsteps follow you as you open the door to his potential bedroom. "it's the bigger of the two," you tell him, "but the bathroom is next to mine." 

"did you change rooms?" 

"what?" 

"when your ex moved out. why take the smaller one?" 

"oh," you rub a finger against the wall, rubbing dust off of it. "it was his room before we got together. and then we shared my current room. this was his man... den?" you try, shaking your head. "gaming room? slaughterhouse?" 

gojo snorts. 

"what?" 

"oh, nothing," he says, airy like he's teasing you. "just curious."

you step back so he can walk around, check the carpets for stains, or look for drywall you could've hidden a body behind. but he doesn't, only watches you as you furrow your brows. 

"you're not going to look around?" 

"it looks like the pictures." 

"yeah, but what if there are, like, bugs in the carpet? blood on the walls?" 

"are there bugs in the carpet?" he asks. "blood on the walls?" 

"not that i know of..." 

"great, then it's perfect," he says, and steps out of the room again, whistling as he goes. 

this time, you follow him, like he's the one giving the tour. 

he pauses at the door a couple of feet down. "this your room?" 

"yes." 

"can i see?" 

you scowl. "no. what do you mean 'it's perfect?'"

"i mean, i'd like to live here. it's nice. besides the frog." 

you lean against the wall, trying to inspect him for any mechanical parts. is this a ploy? some joke? "you've barely been here five minutes." 

"twenty with all the time i waited outside..." 

"you can't just take one look and say 'yup, this is good.'" 

"can't you?" he asks, challenging. 

"no." 

gojo's grin seems to widen, impossibly. "well, i'm not picky." 

and somehow you doubt that. 

but you don't get the chance to tell him that, or anything else, because he leans against the wall, still smiling at you, and asks, "so, are we roommates now?" 

"you haven't even seen the lease. or heard about the house rules." 

"house rules?" he repeats, dubiously. like you're making this up (which you are). 

"yes." 

"such as?" 

"no..." you pause, 'cause this is a fickle argument. something about his stupid smile makes you want to argue with him. or maybe it's the hair. or the sunglasses. "murdering anyone in the apartment." 

he laughs, unexpectedly, and sighs. "well, i guess i'll take my murdering someplace else." 

"and... you can't leave any utensils in the sink." 

"okay." 

"and i'm not cleaning up any beard shavings, or sharing my tampons with you, or any people you have over." 

"these are very extensive," he says, unserious. "anything else?" 

"i..." your brows furrow. "no hogging the bathroom. hot water is fickle. and you have to recycle." 

"it might be challenging, but we'll figure it out." 

"these are not negotiable." 

he only continues to smile at you. 

eventually, after staring back with a frown that feels slightly permanent for more than a minute, you sigh again. at least you won't have to worry about moving out. 

"fine. you still want to live here?" 

"mmhmm." 

"okay," and you stick your hand out for him to shake like this is a business transaction. 

and it seems that you'll be seeing a lot more of that grin in the future. 

*

living with satoru gojo is not... well, it's not hard. he's a normal enough roommate. 

he pays his rent on time and doesn't touch the coffee you make in the morning most days--coughing when he does. he man spreads on the couch and watches movies way too loud and doesn't hang his bag up at the door, preferring to, instead, set it on the counter like a maniac. he whistles when he walks, and wears his stupid sunglasses 80% of the time, and grins at you when you're irritated, and, honestly, he's not really half bad. 

he doesn't leave any huge messes for you to clean up (mostly because he doesn't use the kitchen or the dining table ever). he doesn't invite people over that keep you up all night (because he's gone most nights). and, actually, he keeps the bathroom quite clean (even if he takes up well more than half of the shower space with his weird face creams and deep conditioning treatments). 

but satoru gojo is hard. 

it's not what he does, but rather who he is. with his infuriating good looks--taking up most of the fair share for the rest of the population--and his subtle charm, which, if you didn't know who he was, might actually work on you, and his morning voice and his messy hair and just the way he lives. 

like breathing is just what he's supposed to be doing. like he doesn't need to worry about a thing because nothing should matter if he decides he doesn't want it to. 

so easygoing and naturally intuitive and far too exhausting for you. 

because, as a fatal flaw of your own, you love to mess with him. somedays you'll hope he shows up just so you have someone to fight with. just so you'll be irritated instead of stressed, frustrated instead of exhausted. 

it's kind of addicting, in a way. and masochistic, but you've never claimed to be completely sane. 

and honestly, gojo's just asking for it. 

after a mere month of living with his aura around, you come to expect his cockiness. you live to take him down a notch.

so when he's up this early in the morning, whistling like it's his god-given right, you scowl at him just as he enters the room. 

"woah," he says, sliding on a bar stool in front of you. "starting early this morning?" 

"you're banned from talking to me until noon." 

"is this about the ice cream i ate? cause there was only a little left..." 

"no it's--" you pause, frowning at him. "you ate my ice cream?" 

he lays his entire torso on the counter, pathetically. "i was dying, okay? low blood sugar was going to kill me, and i couldn't see anything else but that ice cream and it wasn't even very good anyway, so, really, i was saving you from having to endure the rest of it." 

"you ate my ice cream?" you repeat. 

"i'll buy you more. a better kind. and then you'll understand that i was doing you a favor." 

"i might kill you." 

"i thought we banned homicide from the apartment." 

"i was going to eat that," you whine, shoving his hands away from trying to grab your mug. 

he smiles, too bright for so early in the morning. "yesterday you told me sweets weren't an appropriate breakfast." 

you scoff. "yeah, cause that's all you eat. you need a green smoothie or something in the morning just to keep your heart beating for the rest of the day."

"my heart beats very well, thank you. wanna feel?" 

you roll your eyes and sigh into your mug. "i'll be expecting three pints of ice cream as an apology later tonight." 

gojo has already moved on, typing away on his phone, probably to some groupies he manipulated into loving him. "i can't. it's flip night at laurent's tonight, and suguru has already threatened me into coming." 

"why did you say laurent's like i'm supposed to know what you mean?" 

"laurent's," he repeats, looking at you.

you blink. 

"the bar?" he questions, like you're crazy. 

"okay, sorry, i don't exclusively hang out at bars filled with frat boys." 

"it's very sophisticated,” he corrects, his frat boy nature very obvious. “i mean, i frequent there." 

you laugh. 

"clearly you've never been." 

"i'm still expecting ice cream." 

he sits back in his chair. "i have class all day." 

"like you've never skipped a class." 

"encouraging ditching?" he asks, mock appalled. "what kind of roommate are you?" 

"the kind that doesn't steal her roommate's food. just get one of your servants to pick it up.”

gojo waves a hand at you, and that statement, apparently. and then he types another thing into his phone—to said servants you assume—and grins again. his face must’ve missed the feeling. "how about i buy you a drink instead? you can come with me tonight. meet my friends. maybe make some of your own." 

"haha," you cross your arms. "if they're as bad as you, then i'm good." 

"you'd probably love them. they also like to torment me, even though i'm pretty and perfectly nice to them." 

"i seriously doubt that." 

his eyes--oh, yes, this early in the morning he skips the sunglasses--sparkle like gems. "i have to play wingman for suguru, but it probably won't take long. you can mingle. meet someone. i think you could use a way to relieve some of that stress." 

"oh, you mean the stress that you cause?" 

gojo grins and you realize that you've fallen into his trap. "i'm willing to help out whenever you like," he says, deviously, "you just haven't asked yet, sweetheart." 

"nor ever will," you grind out.

gojo hums and taps his fingers against the countertop. the two of you stare at each other, grin matching scowl, and eventually, he loses the contest. "so, can i plan to steal you away from eternal solitude at six?" he asks.

and just because he's right--in his weird, satoru gojo way--you nod. it might be nice to get out of the house; and meet people other than the lost freshman at work. and because you know that gojo will continue to bother you about it otherwise. he’s a very difficult person.

as if proving it, he grins all pleased with himself, so you add, "but you're buying all of my drinks." before he can get too ahead of himself. 

*

it's not nearly loud enough in this bar. as soon as you walk in, you're sure of it. 

because even with a band up on the stage, singing about loving someone or money or drugs, you can still hear gojo as he flirts with every single living thing in his twenty-foot vicinity. 

he's got his grin on, styled his hair all fancy, and his clothes are signature in the way that you've probably seen him wear the same thing fifty times. maybe in a row. 

but the people in this bar don't care. no, they flirt back like they already know who satoru gojo is. and maybe they do. 

you don't really care, but you do have to drag him along so he can show you where you're supposed to sit and tell you the names of his friends before you get drunk enough to forget. 

it takes three minutes of trailing after gojo like a lost puppy to remember that you hate going out. that you hate everything about your so-called roommate and you should've shoved his invitation down the drain along with him. 

as if gojo can hear this thought, he peeks over his shoulder, smirking at you. "enjoying the view?" he asks, and you try to trip him by stepping on his heel. 

unfortunately, he only swings around, walking backward through the crowd like it's going to part for him. 

oh, wait. it does. 

you frown at him. 

"what? you don't like the music?" he pouts because that would personally offend him, of course. 

"where are we going? i think we've passed that table four times already." 

"i have to say hi," he says like this is obvious. "it's rude to just walk into some place without greeting everyone." 

"do you own this bar?" 

"what? no." 

"then find your friends so we can sit down," you grumble, trying not to lose him in the sea of people. it's unlikely that you've ever seen a bar this packed. more like a club, honestly, but you wouldn't put it past gojo to lie. 

eventually, he does lead you to a table, announcing, with a flourish. "don't worry, everyone, i'm here," while he bows--because of course he does. "and," he adds, "i brought a stowaway." 

you peek around his shoulder to meet three people, all staring at him with the same unamused expression. one, suguru--from the many photo albums and 'trips down memory lane' gojo has bombarded you with--gives you a little wave. the other two just continue to stare at gojo. 

"everyone, this is y/n, my favorite roommate. y/n, that one is suguru," he says, pointing towards him, "which you already know. the short one is shoko, and the blonde one is--" 

"nanami," you cut in, "hey." 

gojo frowns, looking between the two of you. "you know each other?" 

"we have analytics together," you answer, sliding in to sit across them, next to gojo, naturally. "i usually cheat off of his notes." 

"she gets me coffee," nanami adds, like this information is imperative. 

gojo grins again. "why didn't you say anything nanamin?" 

"because i didn't realize." 

"who else could i have been talking about? do you know several pretty girls named y/n? you a player?" 

nanami has a very familiar frown on his face, and is about to say something when suguru seems to kick gojo under the table. "satoru, i told you to stop referring to other people as 'players.'"

gojo merely rolls his eyes. "can't fight the truth," he says.

you almost smile. almost. but your eyes drift over to shoko, who sighs. "how'd you get stuck with this one?" she asks, not harsh, but not quite soft. 

"he promised me alcohol." 

she nods knowingly. 

speaking of, you turn towards him. "you and i both know there's only one reason i'm here." 

gojo flicks your forehead, but stands up. "i'll be right back," he says, "don't miss me too much." 

and you all watch as he walks away, conveniently stopping at least four times to talk to several different people. 

you groan. "he's not coming back is he?" 

"he will," suguru says, not quite reassuringly. "probably. in an hour or so." 

you cover your eyes with your hands and listen as the three of them laugh at you. 

*

it probably is an hour or two later that you see gojo again. 

you'd fallen into smooth conversation with his friends, talking about classes, and dancing, and the fact that you all shared a common enemy. it was easy enough, talking to them, like ripples in a pond. but surely if gojo had stuck around, it would've been more of a tsunami. you could see the appeal--at least for someone like your roommate. they all seemed responsible enough. 

but shoko, after a twenty-second lull in conversation, decided she was better off drinking at home, and nanami quickly agreed. watching them, compared to gojo, disappear into the crowd was a different experience. 

you bite your cheek unnervingly, wondering if it made you a bad roommate to want to let gojo suffer here alone and walk home by himself. 

suguru pats you on the shoulder when he stands up a moment later, brushing his pants. "i'll go find satoru," he says, softly. you feel that same irritation when you realize that gojo had probably lied to you about coming here for suguru. it was almost infinitely more times likely that suguru had come here for him. "do you want me to tell him you went home?" 

"how likely is it that he'll go home with someone else and it won't matter if i wait for him anyway?" 

the dark-haired man considers this with a sly grin on his face. "if i tell him you left, he'll find someone to cling to. but if you're here he'll go home with you. probably drunk, though." 

you run a hand through your hair, waving him off. "it's fine. i'll wait, then. but tell him that the homicide clause doesn't apply to outside the apartment." 

suguru laughs, not questioning this, and walks away. 

you sit there, toying with a glass someone had left behind, watching the people around you dance like it really was a club. with absolutely no one watching. not even god, evidently.

as usual, gojo lied--even though you hadn't really believed him when he said this place was sophisticated. the clear air of stale beer and vomit is enough to prove that.

you almost laugh bitterly, but then a mop of white hair appears in the chair next to you, and his grin is wider, larger than you'd remembered. 

how long had that taken? 

"hello hello, roomie," he sings, leaning close to you. he moves his chair, shuffling across the floor so that he's near enough to touch. "i heard you were threatening me again." 

"you could hear that over the sighs of your fan club?" 

gojo giggles, like he's in on the joke. his breath falls on your face. "i like it when you tell me you're going to murder me, you know." 

"of course you do. how much did you drink?" 

"it's not the quantity," he whispers, "it's the quality." 

"your friends told me you could get drunk off of hand sanitizer." 

gojo leans back, his long legs knocking against yours. "are they spreading those rumors again?"

you kick his foot away from yours but don't say anything. his eyes seem somehow wider right now, even behind his dark shades. almost like you could see them. 

you blink, and gojo does it back. his lashes fluttering just enough to tell.

it almost makes you smile. laugh a little bit at his innocence--especially right now, when he's clearly not himself--some more unperturbed version of who he normally is (if that's even possible). he probably wouldn't even remember if you did laugh at him. but you refrain anyway. 

gojo gasps suddenly. "oh! let's go to the store. you want ice cream, right?" his elbow slides onto the table as he rests his chin on a hand. 

you kick his foot again. "i wanted a drink," you correct, "but apparently you got distracted." 

"'s not my fault," he almost slurs, sadly. 

"are you ready to go home?" 

"i'm ready to leave. so we can get your ice cream. want to share a spoon?" his grin is unabashed. you could tell him that he is a vile, disgusting creature right now and he would probably agree. 

you don't, for whatever reason. 

"i don't think anywhere's open, and i don't want to drag you around while you're this drunk." 

he taps your thigh with a finger. "hey. i'll have you know that i am a very proficient walker." 

"oh, really?" 

"learned when i was a kid and everything." 

"wow, gojo, i'm very impressed," you deadpan, and look around. "do you need to say goodbye to suguru?" 

he frowns. then points to himself. "gojo," he repeats, and into the crowd, "suguru." 

like he's an actual toddler.

you shake your head and stand up, still looking. "can you text him?" 

"i guess," he mumbles, getting out his phone and almost dropping it. he frowns like this is deeply upsetting. 

so you grab it from him. "what's your passcode?" 

"one one one one." you look at him with a brow raised. "cause i'm number one," he answers, pridefully. 

you scoff, but look through his texts anyway, and tell suguru that you're taking him home--and never ever coming out with him again--and then hand it back to gojo. 

he smiles at you. you roll your eyes. 

then he grabs your hand, and begins to pull. "c'mon before they find us," he says, and it doesn't make any sense. 

but were you really expecting it to? 

*

perhaps the aftermath of drunk gojo is even more entertaining than the actual thing. 

shoko hadn't been kidding when she said he was the worst drunk--and even worse when hungover. 

how do you know this? oh, because you woke up at one in the afternoon--perfectly respectable for a saturday--and as soon as you dared to even open your door gojo was already groaning about the noise. so you slam it a little as you leave. 

there's a grunt, like a dying cat, and two minutes later he is walking into the kitchen with slits for eyes and cotton for hair. you're not sure what he's wearing--some video game shirt--but it's wrinkled enough to match your roommate's appearance. disheveled and slightly peeved, he's almost glaring at you--like he's capable of such a thing.

you try not to laugh. 

"where's the bacon?" he asks, almost slipping off of the counter as he leans on it. his hands rubbing at his eyes. 

"sorry?" 

"wheres the bacon?" he repeats, his voice a different register this morning. "i need emergency bacon." 

"so make some. there's a pan and probably a package in the fridge." 

he whines, falling against the counter again. his natural habitat. "i can't make it, i'm dying. you really want your terminally ill roommate to cook for himself?" 

"i want my overdramatic roommate to act like an adult for a change." 

he blows a raspberry, and his face is hidden beneath the tile of your table. you can only see his hair, which looks surprisingly soft for his state. 

"did you lose some pigment in your hair?" 

gojo snaps up, immediately, gasping. he pulls a strand so he can look at it, blinking rapidly. his panic quickly fades, and he blows the strand out of his eyes. "it's just dirty." 

"from what?" 

"i forgot to buy new bedsheets," he grumbles, once again hiding his face. 

"your bedsheets are dying your hair?" you ask, with a raised brow. 

"they're dirty," he repeats, rolling his eyes as he sits up. "i need to go to the store." 

"um..." you look at him as he slumps against his own body, feeling greatly concerned for his survival abilities. "you buy new bedsheets?" you confirm, "instead of washing them?" 

he waves a hand, blowing you, and your clearly audaious sentence away. "bacon," he says, flatly. 

you roll your eyes. "pan," you point, "stove." 

gojo looks like he might start crying.

and it might be his state or the fact that you don't think you've ever seen him like this--in the month you've known him--all lost and confused and a little bit ruffled at the edges. gojo's snark is usually in its top form when you see him in the morning. 

so, just this once, you grab a pan, and turn on the burner. 

"i'll be expecting payment for my time," you say, as you grab the bacon from the fridge. 

and maybe you get your first real smile from your roommate. 

*

you're lying on the couch reading a book when he appears, swarming like a fly. 

"hello, roommate," he says, uncharacteristically pleasant, and then he sits on your legs. you try to kick him, but it proves futile because apparently he's a giant, so you wiggle your way out from under him and sit up, frowning. 

"don't you have a room?" you ask. 

"i could ask you the same thing," gojo tries to tickle your feet, but you move them away before he can. your frown turns into more of a glare. "what?" he asks, "we can't hang out?" 

"no." 

gojo pouts. "but we're roommates," he says as if it's an explanation. like being roommates binds your souls and forever intertwines the two of you. 

"we are roommates because i had an extra room and you had money. that doesn't seem like thrilling grounds for friendship." 

"well, how about the fact that i let you use my hair dryer the other day?" he lays down on the other side of the couch, smirking at you. "that's a friendly thing to do." 

"that's the polite thing to do. i'm trying to train you. speaking of which..." you point towards the floor, "down boy." 

he takes off his sunglasses, throwing them on the coffee table--which probably explains the broken mug pieces you found in the trash the other day--and lays back with his arms behind his head. his eyes are closed. "i can't be trained." 

"clearly." 

you sigh and relax in your corner of the couch, picking up your book again. his presence lurks like a nightmare, but, you figure, eventually, he'll get bored. 

you just can't entertain him. it's like the advice you'd give to a kid being bullied: they only care about your reaction... 

as if proving your point, after twenty-seven seconds of silence, he opens one eye, peeking at you. "whatcha reading?" 

"a book." 

he plucks it right out of your hands, inspecting the cover. how he got across the couch in 0.2 seconds, you don't know. 

"what is this?" he asks, snickering a little. "word porn?" 

you take it back. "it's called romance, gojo. not that i'd expect you to be familiar with anything of the sort." 

he smirks, laying back down. "i have references if you need proof." 

you shake your head, flipping him off, and continue to scan the words on your page without retaining any information. 

seriously, his presence is impending doom itself. 

"it's okay," he whispers, "you don't need to be embarrassed. everyone craves intimacy." 

"i crave my fist on your face." 

he snorts. "that's not very friendly." 

you sigh, dropping the book again so you can look at him and his obnoxious eyes. "look, i'm tired, it's been a long week, and if you don't leave me alone i'll probably lock you outside." 

"probably?" 

"it's that or throwing you out the window." 

gojo laughs once again, but mimes zipping his mouth shut. you roll your eyes and open your book again. your feet are entwined, but you don't mock this--if only because you're sure that gojo will start an argument about it.

the quiet lasts for two minutes and then he turns on the tv. 

you groan and he laughs at you.

*

you're getting used to having him around, at least. and in turn, his friends. because they seem to be a package deal. 

after that night at the bar, gojo--apparently--feels much more comfortable having them over. trying to bake cookies with shoko or interrupting what's supposed to be a study session between the four of them. 

at least, you think, watching this happen, that you're not the only person forced to endure him. 

but it's kind of... nice to see him act like a normal person, for once. to get teased by someone other than you and pout like a begrudged younger brother. the person who invites his friends over for game night (getting aggressively angry every time he loses) isn't satoru gojo, the man whom everyone is drawn to. he isn't some drunk guy charming everyone around him or a roommate that you just happened upon. 

he's just another college student, laughing along with people who aren't nearly as bad as him. 

and, naturally, you find yourself intertwined with these 'hang-outs' because the apartment is small, and you don't want to be left out--no, you choose not to think about how pathetic it is that satoru gojo has more friends than you do, so please don't bring it up. 

and it's on this night when you're not playing uno with the four of them, but rather, watching behind all of their backs and trying to mess with gojo as much as possible. 

you pretend to be idly cleaning in the kitchen, when really you're standing behind him, mouthing to suguru what color he has whenever he's about to win. 

"hmm," the sly-mouthed man says this time, "green." 

shoko puts down a seven, and gojo groans again. "seriously?" he asks, but begins drawing cards. 

you try--and fail--not to giggle behind him. to which, of course, he turns around with an obvious glare in his eyes. "what are you doing?" 

the sink isn't on, and there are no dishes to be seen in the kitchen. nonetheless, you point uselessly to the roll of paper towels on the counter. "cleaning." 

"you're cleaning air?" 

"sorry, i didn't realize i was banned from loitering in my own home." 

he turns back around, looking at suguru for a moment, then back at you. it's very hard to keep the smile off of your face, especially when nanami looks like he's about to break and shoko is pretending to rifle through her cards again. 

how many times have you done this to him? oh, just a mere eight. 

to be fair, it would've ended a long time ago if gojo wasn't such a sore loser. 

he looks back and forth once more. then he frowns. "what are you doing?" 

"do you want me to go hide in my room, gojo?" you ask, trying to scowl. "because i will. i was just trying to be hospitable--" 

"nanamin," he interrupts. "go." 

so another round of cards is placed, and this time suguru plays normally, keeping his face straight to not draw any suspicion. you lean against the wall, enjoying yourself. 

(don't tell anyone, but this is the most fun you've had in a while). 

and then, after a couple of rounds go by, you finally clear your throat. gojo turns to glare at you through his sunglasses and says "go stand behind suguru if you're going to watch. i don't trust you." 

you raise your brows but do as he says. 

and when shoko has to draw the next time, you smile and tap a couple of times on your thigh. 

suguru does his best impression of gojo's grin, and says, "draw four," to shoko. 

she smiles back. turns to gojo. "draw four," she repeats. 

and he stares at the two of them, then the cards stacked on top of each other, and then to you, right across him. "what are you doing? i know you're doing something." 

"satoru, she's just watching--" 

"no, she's smiling." he looks back to you, "you're smiling. you don't do that unless i'm in pain." 

"so you just assume that you're losing cause i'm... what? drawing your cards for you? shuffling the stack so only you get the bad hands?" you cock a brow at him, willing yourself not to look at anyone else at the table. it would only end in disaster. 

"i--" gojo runs a hand through his hair. then he sighs and begins drawing his eight cards. 

and several rounds later--with gojo losing once again--you've begun moving around the table like you're inspecting each player. gojo doesn't let you look at his cards though. 

and it takes a while before he notices anything. particularly after suguru wins for the third time in a row. 

he looks at everyone--brows pulled together, irritated eyes hiding behind his sunglasses, and his cheeks are flushed from how frustrated he is--and as soon as you start laughing at his face, everyone else does too. suguru throws his cards down and shakes his head. nanami shuffles the deck while trying to keep his laugh muffled--but it's there. and shoko is outwardly laughing at him, pointing at gojo and then at you. 

"are you guys stealing the cards?" he asks, almost disbelieving, his voice so childlike that you start laughing even harder. "look at the deck! it's half the size that it was." 

and then he's standing up and inspecting you, sticking his hands up your sleeves and finding dozens of cards hiding there, falling onto the floor. 

gojo gasps in outrage, but it doesn't even matter to you. 

everyone else is clutching their stomachs and gojo begins to pout. "you're all traitors," he's saying, and "how long have you been doing that?" and you almost can't breathe-- 

so yeah. you don't really mind these kinds of nights. and you don't complain about the messes gojo and his friends leave behind. 

*

you shouldn't have given suguru your number. this much is obvious. 

but, to be fair, you weren't exactly thinking when you were talking to him about a self-help book you'd picked up, and he was mentioning a podcast, and then he was taking your phone and putting himself in it--which, in itself, should not be dangerous--telling you that he'd send you a link and that you should let him know if you liked it, and that was that. 

and really, there shouldn't be any repercussions to this. suguru is your sort of friend, and sort of friends can text on occasion. 

except for the fact that he's also satoru gojo's friend. so when you wake up at ten--silently thanking yourself for taking a day off before a week of back-to-back classes and work--he's already texted you, and it's obvious that you failed somewhere in life. 

maybe when you accidentally invited a demon into your house and allowed him to stay. 

from suguru :p : 

hey satoru is supposed to be in class right now and he won't answer me 

can you please kick him awake? 

but maybe it wasn't a mistake. because at least you have a good excuse to give gojo a bruise. 

so you creep down the hall, reluctantly knocking on his door even though it ruins the element of surprise (you're not a monster) and listening as there's no response. 

gojo must be asleep. or dead. honestly, you might've killed him in your sleep--wouldn't be the first time. 

so you peek the door open, realizing now that you haven't been in his room since he moved in, and watch as a figure slithers under the covers almost before you notice. gojo is completely covered except for the foot he's left hanging off of the side of the bed. 

"get up," you tell him, looking around at the sparse decorations he's put up. there are books, candy wrappers, and socks all over the floor, but it's not the messiest room you've ever seen. which is slightly surprising, considering all that you know about gojo. 

he whines from under the cover, turning so you get a view of exposed skin on his back. "sleeping," he says as if you might believe him. 

so you creep over trash and textbooks and pull the blanket right off of him. 

gojo is already looking at you, pouting. his hair is in his eyes and his mouth is puffy--probably from kissing his pillow in his sleep. "what if i was naked under here?" he asks you, very seriously. "i don't let just anyone see that, you know?" 

"you're wearing the same silk pajamas you wear every night." 

he tries to pull the blanket away from you, his fingers peeling yours away. he huffs. "it's the principle. you don't just wake a man up from slumber." 

you snort. "did you travel a century in your sleep?" 

"yes, now go away." and then he falls back into the blankets, his words muffled. 

"you have class, your highness. i've been sent to fetch you." 

one eye appears from under the blanket. "how do you know my schedule?" 

"telepathy. now get up." 

"i can't," gojo fake coughs. "i'm sick." 

"suguru said you'd say that." 

he groans, turning over and muffling a few explicit words that sound like a curse upon his best friend. 

you poke his back. "did you sleep through your alarm?" 

he doesn't answer. his body has gone limp like you might not notice that he's there if he stays still for long enough. so you pull his hair, turning his head towards you. "you're not usually this whiny in the morning," you tell him. 

"why are you so mean to me?" 

you hum, pretending to consider it. "i think it's the hair. i find it pretentious." 

"i could sue you. discrimination is very serious. i've got a good lawyer, too."

"i'll sue back for mental damages." 

he laughs, and wiggles from your grasp. 

you sigh and finally sit down at the edge of his bed, observing the lollipops he's left lying on his bedside table. gojo's bones seem to crack as he sits up with you, moaning the whole way. 

you're silently observing him--with his slightly red eyes and heinous mouth. you're not used to seeing him like this in the morning; usually, he's chipper and annoying. when he walks into the kitchen in the morning you half expect him to start singing. 

but this gojo is tired. he rubs at his eyes. "did suguru text you?" 

"yup." 

"he's a terrible friend." 

you nudge him, almost like an agreement. "why aren't you in class?" 

"what's even the point of going? it's not like i get a reward."

"i think the reward is graduating, but you might have to fact-check that one." 

he nudges you back and then takes your hand. his fingertips are soft as they trace the tendons and veins he can see on your skin. his hands are softer than you'd have expected. his eyes are wary as they look towards the floor, his mouth twisting in displeasure. but he doesn't stop touching you, he does so idly that you almost don't notice. "i have an a in the class," he tells you, "and i already know most of the material so why would i go to every lecture?" 

maybe it's the way he says it; so sure and nonchalant, in his typical over-dramatic fashion. maybe it's just that he's never mentioned any of his classes to you, or the fact that he's taking any. maybe he's just crazy--that's the most likely option--but you're suddenly curious. 

"what class is it?" 

"theoretical physics." 

you whistle, shaking your head. "and you already know most of it?" 

gojo drops your hand and looks at you. his eyes are wide. maybe he's just realized that he's been talking to you this whole time. "when i was a kid my, uh, my dad had a bunch of textbooks in his office that i used to read through every time i got in trouble," he grins, "which was a lot." 

"i can imagine." 

"well, it turns out you can only read something so many times before it becomes ingrained in your brain." 

you pull at his bedsheet. "do you have a test today, or something?" 

"no, suguru just thinks i'm lazy." 

you laugh, because he is. gojo rolls his eyes at you so you don't say it. you're a little bit surprised, actually. you knew that gojo wasn't stupid (or at least, you might've known) but there's something about the proof of it. like you can't just read right through him. like maybe there's still more to learn about your roommate and maybe there always has been. 

or maybe you're just tired, and he's always had the strange ability to draw irrationality out of you. and also he's an idiot.

"i just..." he starts and his smile fades, but only a little bit. he keeps a layer on while he peels a layer off. "i mean, i like the class. math is cool. but i just don't feel like it today, you know?" 

and there's something about his voice as he says it. steady and true, as always, but softer. but compeltely honest. 

and you've heard him complain about a million things, like every time you and suguru talk about something he doesn't understand or when the door isn't unlocked when he gets home, or when you won't add his one shirt to your laundry. you've heard every whine and every groan come from his lips. 

but he's not complaining about this. just confiding. 

and there's such a drastic difference that it takes you a moment to respond. 

but you do eventually. "yeah, i know," you tell him and rest a hand on his thigh to squeeze. 

and the way that gojo looks at you after--like you might just be saying it to make him feel better--is perplexing. his eyes are blue and maybe you've just noticed this--just started to realize that you're actually sitting with him like a normal person. and that he actually looks grateful. 

you shake your head, willing yourself to look away, because maybe there is something sort of magnetic about your roommate. and it feels impossible to only have noticed this now. to realize how warm he is next to you, and how your muscles tense up when he shifts. gojo is looking at you, and it might be the first time.

so you stand up, flicking his chin. "i'll tell suguru that you're puking your guts up." 

"really?" 

"yup. but next time you sleep through a class i'm going to wake you up by pouring ice water on your face." 

he grins. "cruel." 

"and i'll record it." 

you step over candy wrappers and dirty socks as you leave his room, and as soon as the door is closed you sigh in relief. you're probably better off never opening that door again.

*

it's a ridiculously cold night when he shows up. 

you're sitting at the front desk in the library, pretending to study for a mid-term, and trying to smile at the fifth lost library card you've heard about tonight. you got this job at the beginning of the year, and it pays horribly. but at least you can sit around and study, most weekends it's quiet enough to take a nap, and no one tends to bother you when you're drooling all over the reception desk. 

most weekends, that is, because as soon as he walks in through the door--letting in air so brisk that it has the potential to kill you--it gets significantly louder. 

because satoru gojo is not affected by trivial things such as snow, or blizzards, or the fact that the library is supposed to close in less than ten minutes... 

still, you don't really notice him--a rare circumstance that you will question later that night--until he's right next to you, breathing in your ear. 

"slacking on the clock?" he asks, and just for a moment, you almost disembowel him with the pen you're holding in your hand. 

but then you grunt, used to this sort of intrusion from your roommate, and push his head away. "how did you find me?" you ask him, because, honestly, this job is just an escape from his neverending antics at your house (no, it doesn't matter that you got the job before you knew that such an annoying person could possibly exist). 

"i microchipped you in your sleep," gojo says, smoothly, sitting in the chair right next to yours, swiveling around. "i thought i told you about that?" 

you blatantly look at the clock and ignore him. "you know that the library closes in seven minutes?" 

"...and?" 

"so go torment someone else," you answer, standing up with a stack of fileable papers, "i'm busy until eight." 

"i'll help," gojo says, eager as always, and takes half of your stack. "where to?" 

it is from two months of experience that you know he will not leave you alone. even if you chew off his fingernails and keep them to make into necklaces, gojo will follow you around as long as you make it clear you don't want him to. 

so you walk towards the copying room, smiling at all of the sleep-deprived students you pass by and rolling your eyes when gojo does the same. 

"how did you even find the library?" 

gojo walks like he has absolutely no equilibrium; knocking into you every couple of steps, and then falling in the other direction. it must be a consequence of all of his strenuous leaning. 

so he bumps into you as he replies, "tracker," like it's obvious. 

you snort. "no, seriously. i didn't think you knew that libraries existed. aren't you allergic to reading?" 

"hey!" he tries to trip you. "i'll have you know that i am very studious. top of my class." 

"that's why you pay suguru to write your papers for you, right?" 

gojo makes a small noise in the back of his throat. "he doesn't write them," he grumbles. "well, not all of them." 

you snort and open a door for him to follow through.

"my study group meets here on wednesdays," gojo answers, finally. 

"you're a part of a study group?" 

"where do you think i go all of the time?" 

you briefly consider this, setting the papers down. "cemeteries to mourn all of the people you've annoyed to death, probably. or your girlfriend's house." you shrug.

gojo sets his stack on top of yours, diligently lining them up. "i don't do that every night," he drawls, rolling his eyes. and then he winks at you. "and i don't have a girlfriend. thanks for asking." 

you mess up his stack and turn away from him. "sorry, i meant girlfriends as in plural. girlfriends." 

"nope, again." 

gojo follows closely behind you as you begin to lock up all of the spare rooms, turning off lights and looking for any lost items. "commitment issues?" you ask, fake sympathy clouding your voice. 

"sweetheart, if you want me, then just say that. you don't need to pretend to worry about anyone else." his cockiness is infuriating, but you don't even bother to scold him for it. you turn towards him with sharp eyes.

"do i seem worried to you?" 

"no, but you're a bad actor," gojo hums, fingertips grazing along your skin as he inspects your face. "denial is serious. you might want to see a doctor." 

"you would know," you answer, glaring and pulling away from him. the two of you walk as people begin to trek out of the library, no longer held captive by the idea of studying. 

gojo is much too close, as usual, his sweater brushing against yours. 

"how'd you even know i was here?" you ask him, after a minute of silence. 

"please," he answers, grinning down at you. "i got a PI as soon as you gave me my key." 

you squint. "did you actually?" 

he laughs. "no. you told shoko, and shoko told me..." 

you nod, clearing the desk of your things, tossing your bag at gojo for him to carry. "so why are you here?" 

he clears his throat, unplugging the cord to your computer and wrapping it around his hand. "i was walking by, and i thought i'd see if you wanted to come with me for drinks after your shift."

"drinks?" you repeat, taking the cord from his hands. 

"flip night." 

you groan. "i am never participating in that again after what happened last time." 

"it wasn't that bad." 

"i had to drag you home and you almost threw up in my hair." 

gojo smiles. "consider yourself lucky." 

you push him out of the way and put your coat on. then you turn off the lights and push in all of the chairs, gojo not helping at all. "i didn't even get my drink," you remind him. 

"okay, so let me make it up to you."

and his voice is a bit different. still arrogant, naturally, still smiling and easy--but maybe he means it? maybe beneath his, frankly, soft exterior, he feels bad for getting drunk before you could? maybe he's not actually a complete monster? 

you laugh that thought away as soon as it comes.

you sigh. "are your friends going to be there?" 

"yes, our friends are. they suggested i invite you." 

you sigh--again, because the air is quite thin when gojo is around--and consider it. for just four seconds. but eventually, you shake your head. "i can't," you tell him, looping your arm around his so you can drag him out of the building. 

"why not?" 

"i'm tired, and i still need to study for a test on monday..." 

"do it in the morning." 

you give him a blank look. "i won't want to study if i'm hungover." 

"then don't study." 

you let go of his arm, shivering from the cold. gojo, of course, is not wearing a jacket, or even a little bit bothered by the air. "you're a terrible influence." 

he grins. "i get it from you." 

you shake your head, keeping the smile off of your face. "maybe some other time? when it's not freezing, and i don't have a big test?" 

gojo looks like he wants to argue with you some more--which he usually does--but eventually, his grin ebbs into something simple and he nods. "okay, but you have to come next time i ask." 

"no. what if i'm sick, or something?" you definitely would not put it past him to ask you as a method of torture. 

"that's what alcohol is for." he sticks out his hand, too big and too sly. 

but you relent, shaking with him, and rolling your eyes.

"okay, gojo. have fun. do not wake me up when you get home." 

and you turn to walk away, but his hand catches your wrist. "what are you doing?" he asks, brow furrowed. 

"...going home?" 

he lets go of you and flicks your forehead. "you're not walking back by yourself," he says, like it's a crime. "c'mon." 

and he falls into pace with you, even with his longer legs and fervent energy. 

"this is stupid--" you start to complain, but gojo reaches for the strap of your bag, sliding it off of your shoulder. he then slings it on his own, and pulls you in a bit closer by the hem of your jacket. 

he doesn't say anything, just shoves your hand in his pocket, and whistles as he walks you home. 

*

its a couple of weeks later when you're standing at the door again, trying not to open it more than necessary. 

but, really, how wide is too wide? will a half-opened door signal any longing? will he think that you want him back if you open it more than three inches to pass him his box of stuff that he'd left behind and take your key back? 

how do you navigate the trade-off of a frog statue that will probably haunt your dreams till the end of time? 

"key," you say, without any pleasantries, not bothering to even really look at him. 

even though he looks just the same, your ex. still the lying cheater you'd almost fallen in love with. 

is it wrong to miss his netflix password more than him? 

"thanks," he says, and you've probably been standing there with him for thirty seconds when a head appears on your shoulder. 

white hair gets in your eyes, and you try to push gojo away, but he's already intruded on this exchange and you know he's not going to leave. 

"go away," you tell him, not very softly. 

"hello," gojo holds his hand out over your shoulder, because, again, he is ridiculously tall. "i'm--" 

"key," you say again, swatting his hand away. 

your ex looks at your new roommate--with all of his charm and irritating sunglasses and perfectly shaped teeth--with obvious disdain. you want to push both of them out the door and live here by yourself forever, but unfortunately, living prices disagree. 

so you grab the key from his hand, give him a bland smile, and slam the door with gojo's fingers still in between. 

he pulls them back just in time, still almost on top of you, and smiles when you turn around with a scowl. "a friend of yours?" he asks, slyly. he's about as subtle as a third-grader.

"no." 

he messes with your hair idly, pretending to fix it. "i noticed an obvious absence where our dancing frog used to be." 

"i told you, that's not mine." 

"so you gave it away?" 

you cross your arms. he is far too close to you. "you told me it was hideous." 

"it was," he nods, vehemently, and you know his eyes are grinning at you behind those dark shades. "but now there's an empty spot on that shelf." 

"we can put your tongue there when i cut it out," you give him an innocent smile and walk past him to sit on the couch. your pocket burns with the key you put there, metal like an obvious stain on your skin. 

it's not that you care about him anymore, really. you don't, not even when you lay alone at night and think about him. it's more that... he doesn't think about you. he didn't, and he wouldn't have, even if you were still together. 

is it wrong to be wanted by someone whose opinion is worth about as much to you as a penny you could or could not pick up on the street? should you crave being cared about by someone as awful as him?

you want to throw his key in bleach. maybe take a dip yourself.

gojo follows you, throwing himself down on the couch, and brushing you as he does so. he is very used to this kind of proximity, and the annoyed look you give him. "so that was your ex?" 

"yes." 

there's a brief pause, and a nice person might leave it like that. might try to console you, tell you better off. but satoru gojo is not nice, and he probably never has been. "really?" he asks. then clicks his tongue. 

you interrupt whatever obnoxious statement is supposed to follow: "if you're about to say that there are a lot of more eligible bachelors, including yourself, then i'm going to say that you should probably make a zillow account." 

gojo pinches your thigh. "i would never say something like that." 

you look at him, just barely able to make out the shape of his eyes when he's this close. "you told me that last week when i was complaining about dating apps." 

"well, it was true then." 

you roll your eyes. 

"i wasn't going to say that anyway." 

you hum, relaxing into the hold his legs begin to have on yours. despite his abrupt and terrible personality, gojo is very warm. and he's already intruded into so much of your space--your home, your head--that it almost feels normal. 

with his thighs pushing against yours and his fingertips trailing up the back of your neck. 

you should slap him away, but you don't. 

the last person you cuddled with was the same man who gave you the greasy key in your pocket. 

you look at gojo with inquisitive eyes. "really? no bad pickup line? you were going to say something meaningful?" 

"would've blown your mind, but you interrupted..." he teases, and pulls on a strand of baby hair. 

"whatever will i do now?" 

his hand falls from your neck, and if you weren't as comfortable as you are currently, you might think about what he's doing. 

like the fact that you haven't even questioned this, or his following you around, or the fact that he knew you needed someone to pull you away from that door. 

you don't think about that, but maybe you should. 

still, his hand wraps around your shoulder, and you slump against him without question. 

"i was..." his voice is softer, calmer than you've maybe ever heard it. it should jolt you away from him. it should do anything but keep you planted on the couch right next to him. "i was just going to say that i'm glad he's an idiot." 

"getting turned on by my pain?" 

he laughs. "no, but, i mean, your pain my gain." 

you don't even notice it when he slips off his glasses, his fingers curling around your forearm. 

"where else would i find a roommate that threatens me with bodily harm?" he asks, right in your ear. 

it's true enough, you guess. and at least for a moment, you don't want to rip off his arms. 

and gojo mutters something that sounds like "stupid," but you aren't listening.

*

gojo has called in your agreement; that is the only reason you're sitting at the bar, watching him dance around with shoko--purposefully stepping on her toes--and sipping on some drink he ordered for you.

it's terribly sweet and reminds you of lotion but you drink it anyway. it's not like you bought it, and you're sure that gojo wont buy you anything else until finish it. plus it's giving you a light buzz, just enough to feel comfortable sitting there, and not like you want to run away.

it's not as busy as it was last time, the music slightly quieter, the air in the room less stiff. gojo seems less energized tonight--considering that he hasn't abandoned any of you to talk to the houseplant in the corner--even with the dancing. 

which he is terrible at. it's like watching an eight-month-old learn how to stand. or a man trying to impress absolutely no one. his limbs move like they aren't even attached to his body.

"is he drunk?" you're asking suguru and nanami--who have been sitting there longer than you have. "i didn't see him order anything." 

nanami laughs and suguru ruffles your hair. "that's satoru completely sober." 

"...are you sure?" 

"yeah, he doesn't usually drink. even that," he nods to your drink which you're sipping with a wince, "is too bitter for him." 

you raise a brow, watching shoko frown at him, and then nudge him away. "he drank last time i came, though?" 

suguru nods, looking away like he knows something you don't and nanami snorts.

"what?" 

"he was nervous last time," nanami answers. he's got less than a smile on, but it's better than the frowns you've observed sitting next to him in class. 

your brow furrows. "about what?" 

suguru is about to answer, nudging nanami not very subtly, when the very topic of conversation pops up, bumping into you as he squeezes himself in between you and suguru. his presence is an interruption in itself, but he's smiling like he always does, acting like he's been there the whole time. 

you might've pushed him away a week or two ago. now you just sigh and move a little so he can fit.

"did you miss me, sweetheart?" he asks you, leaning against suguru. "don't worry, i'll dance with you next."

"no, and i don't dance." 

gojo rolls his eyes. "everyone dances." 

you look pointedly between him and the group of people dancing in the middle of the room. an image of him almost tripping over shoko makes you smile. "well some people shouldn't." 

suguru laughs and gojo grins even wider at you--his hair is slightly sweaty and his eyes are peering at you over the glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. "let's test that theory," he says, taking a step back. his tone is nothing less than suggestive. and his fingers wiggle towards you, beckoning for you to follow.

there's a twinge in your stomach and you adjust in your seat, frowning at him. "i told you that i don't dance." 

"well, i do. and you owe me for last time." 

you balk. "owe you for what? making sure you didn't get murdered on the street?" 

gojo pouts, his face so unserious and completely genuine at the same time. "you made me dance all alone. you didn't even come watch." 

"you left me--" 

"just one dance?" he asks, leaning in towards you. his eyes are sparkling. "i'll get you another drink." 

"you'll get me that anyway." 

"i'll let you pick it this time." 

"that's usually expected, you know?" 

he ignores that, "c'mon," he pleads, "you know that you want to." 

"i don't know that, actually." 

and then someone coughs behind gojo and you realize that your friends have been listening to this entire interaction and that you'd completely forgotten they were there. how long has he been standing like that? just two inches away from your face? 

"just go, y/n," shoko says, "put the rest of us out of our misery. i've been listening to him whine all night." 

"hey--" gojo turns, his voice defensive. 

but you take another sip of your drink, sighing as you stand up. "fine," you tell him, rolling your eyes when he turns to you with a smile. "one dance, and you can't ask me for anything else tonight." 

his teeth are like rows of knives. sharp and inviting. "okay." 

he holds his hand out for you again, and you take it, feeling that strange pull in the pit of your stomach. 

it's probably just the alcohol, though. 

*

you don't know how long you've been dancing with gojo. 

it started with one dance where he didn't do anything except twirl you around and sway with you, like he'd accepted the fact that you weren't exactly light on your feet, singing along to the music in your ear, making snide remarks about where you'd placed your hands. moving them like pieces on a chess board.

his breath was hot on your ear. condensation on a glass. 

and then you'd gradually moved to letting him lead you, after who knows how many songs, following his steps and not apologizing when your foot slammed against his, or when you bumped shoulders with him, probably creating marks on your skin. 

and then his hands were on your hips, his chin resting against your shoulder, and it felt almost nice to be dancing with him. almost relaxing to forget momentarily about where you were and who you were with. it shouldn't surprise you that you're comfortable with him, but it does. there's no worry about the way you're looking at him or if anyone is watching the two of you--but then again, you might be slightly drunk. 

gojo hasn't commented on how long the two of you have been dancing, and evidently, you've let the alcohol sway you into staying for more than just another song. 

so now, with his lips on your ear, you're almost smiling into him. your heart is fast, and the adrenaline rush you're experiencing is a pleasant thing; if someone ripped out your heart right you wouldn't even notice.

"see?" gojo says, his voice just a murmur with all of the music swimming in your ears. "you're not so bad." 

it sounds like something else to you.

"you won't be saying that in the morning," you tell him, stepping on his toes, but he doesn't pull back or move too quickly. if you thought rationally about his movements you might notice that everything he's doing is slow; like you're an animal he's trying not to scare. 

"i'm used to it," he pulls back a little bit. "shoko does that too." 

"'cause you deserve it." 

he laughs and leans in, so you follow him. 

are you just swaying now? or is he leading you in something more complex? a dance you've never heard of, or a simple in and out? 

you don't know, and you really don't care. 

after a moment, you sigh. "i've never danced with anyone before," you whisper to him, almost like not saying the words at all. it might be a lie, you're not quite sure. 

your words are just thoughts now with no sort of intervention between your brain and your mouth. intoxication fills your lungs. 

"really?" 

"mhm," you hum, "no one's ever asked me." 

"i don't believe you," his voice might be teasing, or serious, or he might be barking at you.

you laugh anyway. gojo's hands are firm against your skin. he feels kind of hazy, like a dream. so you laugh again. 

"you okay?" 

"i think i might be a little drunk." 

he snorts, his breath short. "really? i didn't think you'd be a lightweight." 

"you're a lightweight." 

"yeah, but you already knew that. i only drink when we come here, anyway. nanami doesn't like having to drag me home." 

"you're heavy," you agree, looking up at him. you can see his eyelashes from under his glasses. you can see his tongue as he moves it, and the tip of his nose. you can almost feel it when he swallows.

"sorry," he teases. his face looks different under these lights. it looks different when you're looking at him this close. 

"you're kinda pretty," the words fall from your mouth as you think them, and you grin. "huh." 

it shouldn't be an odd realization, but it is. his skin is almost translucent, and his mouth is sinful. his eyes are wide and bright and satoru gojo could be a sculpture if he wasn't a man.

gojo looks down at you, his brows raised. "you just noticed?" 

"i don't look at you a lot." 

"oh, please," he shakes his head. "i've caught you staring." 

"i only stare when i'm worried that you're a robot planted by aliens or something. you say weird things." 

he laughs, and his hands squeeze your waist. he could stab you in the back right now and it wouldn't even matter. you're not even worried about it. he could flirt with you all night and you don't think you'd quite mind.

you giggle at the thought, heart beating fast with every breath that comes from him. 

"what?" 

"you're not a bad roommate, you know?" you ask him, but maybe you're asking yourself.

"i'm not?" 

"no. you're actually... kinda considerate. my old roommate--my ex--he never wanted to go anywhere with me. he wouldn't have asked me to dance." 

"why not?" 

"i think he thought i was stuck up. or embarassing. or not worth it," you breathe, almost airly, the words are true but they don't matter to you. not like this, pressed up against him. "i don't know." 

gojo's brow furrows. "how?" 

your brows furrow. "how what?" 

"how could he think you're not worth it?" he repeats, and you laugh back. because it's a joke.

"you'd have to ask him." 

"i don't think i'll ever be talking to him," he answers, voice rough. "it wouldn't be good for either of us. and i don't trust people with such terrible taste." 

you giggle at the thought of the frog sculpture, the disgusted look on gojo's face. you can almost see through him.

"you shouldn't," you answer, not even thinking.  

there's a moment where the room is quiet, everyone inhaling at the same time, and then exhaling. you feel like you fit here, somehow. like everything is moving at just the right place. this silence is a comforting feeling, the bubbles bursting in your stomach reiterating it. 

"hey," gojo says, interrupting that feeling. 

"what?" 

"you're a good roommate, too. you're not stuck up. or embarassing." 

"i'm not?" 

he smiles at you. "well, you're a little mean." 

you smile back. "only to you, satoru." 

his face drops, but you don't notice. you lean against his chest again, your eyes fluttering shut. if you were focused enough, you could feel his heartbeat. but you don't. and you don't watch as he swallows. as his voice falters, for only a single second.

but you do look at him when he says, "my friends like you." 

"they do?" 

he laughs, pushing his sunglasses back up on his face. "wasn't it obvious?" 

you shake your head. you're not sure how long you've been standing with him, or if it even matters. you're not even sure if you're still in the bar, or your bed, being covered with your blanket, tucked in by gentle hands. 

how long has it been now? 

"i like you too," gojo whispers, "just so you know." 

and you could be at home, with your roommate. you could be right next to him. it doesn't matter, because you only whisper, "good," and then it's all gone. 

*

when you wake up the next morning, gojo is already laughing at you. 

your headache is a curse. your mind is in shambles. and your body aches with the manipulation of only one person. 

you hate your roommate and his terrible taste in drinks and that he doesn't even say anything when you slump against the counter, not even bothering to make fun of you or complain about how terrible you are when you're drunk. 

he just smiles easily, ruffling your hair.  

and when he starts to cook some bacon in the pan, you don't say anything, but you go and stand next to him, letting him hold you up. 

there are no words. only the popping of oil in a pan. 

and that feeling, of course. because it wasn't the alcohol. 

*

so maybe satoru gojo is your friend. you will not admit this to anyone aloud, but you concede a little bit in your head, because it's a fragile place there, and you're a terrible liar. 

and so maybe you hang out with him sometimes. 

it's not just the game nights or study sessions anymore. you sit on the couch and play with your phone and he sits down next to you. he'll rub your feet, or massage your legs and you let him. 

only because he's kinda good at it, of course. 

and sometimes you'll turn on a movie and he'll appear out of nowhere, complaining about whatever you picked, but laying down nonetheless. and after several minutes he'll move closer to you, resting his head on your thigh. and you might play with his hair, but only because it's unreasonably soft. 

and some mornings when you wake up and make yourself breakfast, not even trying to be quiet, you'll make a little extra. but it's not for him, it's just a coincidence. 

and he stops by the library on his way home from suguru's, or some girl's house, and the two of you will walk home together, talking about class, or the weather, or whatever gojo wants. you let him do this, because it's usually dark outside, and you don't like walking home alone. 

and if he barges into your room sometimes--obviously not knocking--you only complain a little bit. and then you let him lay in your bed and mess with your things. 

but only because it's the easier option, of course. 

and you've missed the feeling of having someone near. and satoru gojo is easy to be around. 

*

"gojo," you gasp, as soon as the door opens in your face. and then you scowl. "don't you knock?" 

he pushes you so he can move past, raising a brow at you. "i live here." his hands are empty, and he's not wearing a coat again. just a weird button-up probably more expensive than your share of the rent. how he's survived over two decades, you're not sure. 

your brows furrow at him. "well, you could give some warning if you're going to kick open the door. what if you broke my nose?" 

"well, why were you standing right in front of the door when i kicked it?" gojo mimics, flicking you away, then looking down to your hands where your wallet and keys are piled up. "you going somewhere?" 

"to the store." 

"it's eleven." 

"why thank you for that update, gojo. i really appreciate it," and then you move beside him to open the door. 

but gojo grabs your hand, making sure to roll his eyes at you where you can see it, and pulls you away so he can step in front of the door. "what could you need from the store right now?" 

"i need stuff." 

he crosses his arms, uncharacteristically stern. "like what?" 

"stuff. girl stuff. you wouldn't get it." 

he gasps, mouth dropping. "oh no, did i steal too many of your tampons again?" 

"first of all, that's against the apartment rules, so you better hope not. second of all, please move," you glare at him. "i need to hurry." 

"you can't leave right now." 

"i believe there's such a thing as free will..." you try and push him away, but he doesn't budge. "and you're not the boss of me." 

"it's too late for you to walk to the store. go tomorrow." 

you cross your arms. "when have i ever listened to you?" you ask him, feeling that familiar irritation crawl up your skin. 

but then gojo is pulling your arms apart and resting them at your sides and saying "stop that," as a gentle chide. and that irritation molds. you push his hands away. 

you want to push his hands off of the edge of the earth just so that he'll never touch you again.

"seriously, gojo, i need to go. they close at midnight." 

"you can't walk to the store by yourself in the dark." 

"i can do whatever i want." 

"then i'm locking you in your room until tomorrow. you're grounded." 

you poke his shoulder. you can't decide if he's serious or not. his voice is always teasing, and you can't see enough of his eyes. and you can't trust a single thing he says. "when did you become so overbearing?" you ask him, trying not to grind your teeth. 

"when i realized how weak you are." 

"weak?" you balk at him. "i'm not weak. please retract that sentence before i accidentally punch you." 

"you can't even push me away from the door. i'll take my chances with your fists." 

"that's because you're irritating me," you tell him, as you try to do it again. "anger distracts me." 

he laughs at you, leaning even further against the door. 

"gojo," you whine, trying to pinch him away instead. "stop being an ass. just get out of the way." 

he holds a hand to his chest, offended. "i am showing concern about your safety," he claims, shaking his head at you. 

"you are ruining my mood." 

"oh, good." 

you scowl. "move. right now." 

"that was very intimidating," he grins at you, "but maybe try again." 

you groan and try to stab him with your key, which he pushes away, still smiling, still completely the worst. 

"i--" you sigh, "i don't like you very much." 

he snorts. 

then you pout at him, fluttering your eyelashes. "please, gojo. i'll be back in fifteen minutes." 

"what is that?" 

you frown. "what?" 

"what's wrong with your face?" 

you throw your arms up, shaking your head. then you mutter another thing about hating him under your breath and finally turn away. you set your keys and your wallet on the counter, pouting as you sit down on the couch. 

gojo is there a moment later, laughing at you. "was that supposed to be convincing?" 

"don't talk to me. ever again." 

you shake your head, fed up with him and everything about this living situation. how are you locked in your apartment right now?

gojo tilts his head back, and then pauses for a moment.  

"then how am i supposed to ask if you want to come with me to the store?" he asks, nonchalantly. "i need some stuff." 

and you should be angry at him--you should probably break one of his fingers or cut his hair off in his sleep. you should tell him that you hate his company and that if he ever tells you what to do again-- 

but instead, you jump up from the couch, smiling at him. "let's go," you say, quickly, before you change your mind. 

and you don't get to see it when gojo smiles back at you, softly. 

*

"hey," he whispers, "you shouldn't sleep here." 

gojo is shaking your shoulder gently, his breath on your face, his voice soft--even in the haze of disrupted sleep. there's a warm feeling in your belly as he speaks to you, an unknowing smile on your face.

"hmm?" you answer, trying to remember who you are and why you're here. who he is.

"it's almost midnight. what are you doing on the couch?" gojo is helping you sit up. his hands are ridiculously warm, and you don't think about how nice they feel on the bare skin of your back. 

"gojo?" 

he laughs. "the one and only. c'mon, i'll tuck you in." 

"did you just get home?" you must still be sleeping, because his hands are so soft right now. and his voice is so quiet--like the creaking of an old house. 

"yeah. are you going to get up?" he's kneeling in front of you, and his face is bare. you almost want to laugh at how bright his hair is even in the dark. 

"where were you?" 

he shakes his head, smiling up at you, and moves from the floor. "c'mon, sit up," he beckons, trying to get you to move your head from its place. you wince. eventually, he gives up and your heart almost disappears when he picks you up, tapping your legs so that you'll wrap them around his waist. 

you do it, but only because you don't want to fall. 

"why are you so tall?" you complain as he carries you to your room, feeling much more awake when you're this high in the air. 

gojo snorts. "i'll take that as a thank you," he whispers in your ear and sets you on your bed. then he sits on the edge and takes your socks off, pulling the covers out from under you. his movements are slow as he covers every inch of skin he can see, his breath the only sound between the two of you. 

it's colder when his hands move, and he looks at you for a moment as if trying to make sure he's satisfied with his job. 

"are you going to make fun of me for this in the morning?" 

gojo grins, squeezing your leg as he stands up. "probably. but only a little." 

"okay," you yawn, blinking as he backs up towards the door. 

"night, sweetheart," he whispers to you, and then a flash of hair is all you see before your door is closed and you drift back to sleep. 

and in the morning you wake up and can't remember how you got in bed. gojo doesn't say a thing. 

*

satoru gojo can say so much without saying a single thing. 

when he burst into your room--surprising you because you hadn't realized he was home--throwing himself on your bed and mumbling something about hating his life, you didn't say a word. 

and he'd sat there for ten minutes while you typed out a paper on your laptop, glancing over to him every couple of minutes, slightly worried because he hadn't moved an inch. 

you've seen a lot of his moods recently. you've seen him excited about some movie you didn't understand, exhausted after a long day of classes, angry when suguru and you leave him out of a joke. but most of that, you assume, is just him being himself. every feeling he has is probably seven times larger than the average person's.

but now that he's groaning into your bed, you can tell, just from the way his body deflates, that there's something wrong. you could see it when he walked in the room, and felt it because he'd told you he was getting dinner with his parents tonight. 

but if you know one thing about him, it's that he won't talk about it if you ask. 

because after a couple of weeks of spending more and more time with him, you'd quickly realized that you didn't actually know much about his life. he doesn't tell any stories about his childhood, or high school years--minus the ones that he tried to suffocate suguru for letting slip. he doesn't mention his parents much, and when he does, it's nothing but the bare minimum. he mentions classes so offhandedly that you hadn't even known how extensive his studies were until suguru was teasing him about an award he'd gotten a couple of years ago. 

he could talk to you for hours on end, but he wouldn't say anything. 

so after realizing this, you'd resorted to asking suguru about it.

that night, gojo was asleep on the floor between your feet. his hand was under his head, and he was snoring loud enough for you to notice. you'd sat down to watch a movie with him after he'd claimed that you and suguru were losers for being tired at this hour and that he was the youngest of you all. 

suguru only smiled a little bit at your question.

"satoru keeps an infinite amount of space between him and everyone else," he'd said softly, into the warm air of your apartment. "even with me, and i've known him since we were kids. his family..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

you'd frowned. "what?" 

"he's always been too much for them, in a way. i mean, you know, he is too much most of the time. but he does all of it purposefully; the arrogance, the bravado. i don't know... i think he just wants to control whatever image everyone has of him. to the extent that his personality is based on pushing people away, just so he can figure out who's actually going to stick around." 

you'd watched him then, with his fluttering eyelashes--his sunglasses lying on the ground next to him--and his bright hair. the gentle movement of his lips as he dreamt. he was softer like this, less forceful, less of a burden, and more of a boy.

and beautiful, of course, but that's an offhanded thought you wouldn't acknowledge.

"so, he doesn't talk to you about--" the words felt wrong, and you almost felt guilty for talking about him like this, with his best friend. but still. "--important stuff?" 

"he talks to me about a lot of things. but, no, not really. i get a long-winded rant sometimes, but not often." 

"then how are you supposed to know anything about him?"

suguru smiled at you, looking between you and gojo like there was a secret he didn't want to tell. he sighed. "satoru doesn't really tell me any of the important stuff because we've known each other for so long. i understand how his family is because i've watched him deal with them. i can guess how he's feeling based on his expression. but for people he hasn't known as long, like you, getting to know him is like i-spy." 

suguru didn’t need to elaborate. you got it.

like trying to find little hints of him hidden between all of the mess. you'd snorted and agreed. 

and it feels even more true now, with him cowering in your blankets. but still, you say nothing. 

you get it, to a certain degree. vulnerability was one of the feelings you liked to push away; secrets were only supposed to be coveted by you. getting close to people was a dangerous thing, risky in its own way. 

but, thinking that gojo doesn't trust you--couldn't trust you... it's more irritating than it should be. and maybe that's just because you're arrogant, and think yourself to be trustworthy. or maybe it's because you trust him, in your own unique way, even with all of his too much and extremeness. 

you don't say that to him though, just like he doesn't say anything to you. 

"hey," you push him with a foot. "are you drooling on my comforter?" 

there's a moment of silence, then gojo rolls over. "not a lot." 

you roll your eyes at him and type another sentence--a collection of words that have nothing to do with the actual essay you're writing, naturally--waiting for him to say something else. 

and, predictably, he does. "why aren't you paying attention to me?" 

"i'm busy, gojo." 

"no, you're not." 

"i am doing homework." 

he looks up at you. his sunglasses are somewhere on your floor. "well, then you're definitely not busy," he grins. 

you swat away a hand that tries to steal your computer. 

"aren't you supposed to be at dinner?" you ask him, trying to seem like you don't care about the answer. 

he sighs again. "canceled." 

"why?" 

"my dad had a meeting or something." 

"oh." 

you let the silence wade for a minute or two, trying to be discreet when you watch his face for any signs of discontent. but gojo just has his eyes closed. his hands above his head. 

eventually, you nudge him again. "did you eat anything?" 

he shakes his head. 

"do you want me to make you something?" 

an eye opens. he turns over and rests his head on his hands, squinting at you. "are you being nice to me?" 

"not intentionally." 

he snorts, poking you, almost in awe. "you are." 

"i'm just trying to make sure you don't die, okay? who knows what you've eaten today." 

he crawls up your bed, sitting right next to you so he can rest his head on your shoulder. and you should push him off, but you don't. "it's okay. i'm not very hungry." 

"that's not what i asked." 

gojo laughs against you, his hair brushing against your neck. 

you shouldn't say anything more. you shouldn't even entertain him and his antics, and you shouldn't even care (but you do. for some, stupid, infuriating reason). 

so you look at him, and your voice is soft when you ask, "you okay?" to him, hoping that it doesn't seem too intrusive. wishing that you didn't actually care if he was or not.

gojo's eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, you get that feeling again. 

that feeling in your stomach that makes you want to jump away from him. that makes your hands want to shake, and your voice fade. that feeling that you know--too well, too much--but can't get rid of. 

like an itch you're not really supposed to scratch. 

gojo swallows. "yeah," he answers, with no grin, no conceit. "i'm okay." 

and it shouldn't feel like a relief to hear, but it does. you nod, look away, and go back to your computer. back to your actual life, which shouldn't have any satoru gojo in it. 

but a minute later he adds: "i'd be better if you made me dinner, though." 

and you pull on his hair a little. you try to pretend like his smile doesn't fill you with butterflies. 

*

this shouldn't be happening. 

it's the only reasonable thought running through your brain at the moment. the only echo you can discern, the only words you can make out in the jumble of anxiety and horror running through your mind. 

he should not be this close. 

gojo had only picked you up from work once again, his easy smile meeting yours as soon as he walked through the door--you'd been waiting, wondering when he was going to show up. 

at seven-thirty he was there, letting in the cold air and sitting in the seat next to yours, complaining about the fact that you had a job that diverted your attention away from him while you rolled your eyes. 

he sat there for the half an hour remaining in your shift, distracting you. 

two months ago you would've kicked him out. would've called some make-believe security. 

but you just listened while he talked to you about space theories that didn't make any sense. 

and then he'd grabbed your bag for you, turning off the lights before you could, pushing in chairs while you organized the reception desk. 

and his hand grabbed yours before you thought to notice--swinging along while the two of you began the walk home. 

and halfway there, gojo stopped, looking up at something. "hey," he'd poked you. "look at the stars." 

you'd done it, begrudgingly, squinting. "i can count, like, three." 

"there's at least five." 

"why did you stop me to do this? it's cold." 

"because they look nice," he argues, looking down at you. "you have no eye for beauty." 

and, really, you might've agreed with him. you might've pushed him away from you and told him to hurry up and you might've not cared at all. 

but you could see his eyes, just a little bit, behind his sunglasses. and his smile was alabaster, and that feeling--that gasping for breath, trying to hold on to anything feeling--was there again. 

and it was poking you. like a push in some direction. like a laugh telling you that you were too afraid to do anything. 

you were looking at him. right at his face and the only thing you wanted to say was that he was wrong. 

he was wrong because at least you knew that he looked beautiful. 

but those words wouldn't leave your lips--that thought couldn't leave your head--so you were only staring at him. wishing that you'd never let him into your apartment and that he hadn't started becoming a person to you. 

it wasn't fair like this. 

"what?" he whispered, his smile dropping, like he could tell there was something wrong with you. like he knew you that well. 

if he'd kept on smiling, you wouldn't have done it. you wouldn't have pushed up on your toes and leaned into him, and you wouldn't have kissed him like you did. 

like you're doing. 

and it would've been fine because you never would've started this knowing that it would eventually have to stop. 

and even though it takes him less than a second to kiss you back--his lips molding to yours like an automatic reaction--you know that you shouldn't be doing this. 

that you can't be doing this. not with him. not like this. 

so when gojo's hands move to your waist, his breath even in your mouth, you push at his chest. and you want to run away. 

"i'm--" you swallow, trying not to taste him, the bubblegum flavor of him, and almost flinch away. "i'm sorry." 

gojo's mouth is frozen from where he stands two feet away. his hands are in the air like he doesn't know what to do with them. "you..." 

and you've never heard him speechless before. just the idea of it makes you blurt out whatever comes to mind. "i shouldn't have done that," you tell him, and, "i didn't mean to--i don't--" you shake your head. "sorry. i'm sorry. can we forget about this? can we get home because i'm really cold?" 

"you kissed me," gojo says, so simply. 

the words are another blow to your heart. you were hoping that he wouldn't have noticed. 

and wince and watch him, his face as it shifts, moving with each thought in his head. 

"gojo, i'm really--" 

"no," he interrupts, taking a step towards you. 

"what?" 

"that's not my name." 

you frown. "yes it is?" 

he shakes his head. "no, it's satoru. you've said it before, you know. you should keep saying it." 

"when have i said it?" you ask, momentarily blinded by how he demands this. who is he to demand anything? 

"when you were drunk." 

you scoff. "i'm not just going to call you by your first name cause you want me to," you tell him, "who do you think i am?" 

and then satoru laughs, shaking his head at you, his grin full-force on his face. "are you serious? you kissed me and now you don't want to call me by my first name?" 

you freeze. "i said i was sorry about that," you say, weakly. 

you feel like who you've always felt around him. not as easy, not as cool, never as smooth. you feel like a child caught doing something they're not supposed to. you want to run away from him, but he knows where you live. 

"you're sorry?" 

"i didn't mean to." 

he quirks a brow. "you didn't mean to?" 

"it was an accident?" 

he takes another step closer. "it was an accident?" 

"are you just going to keep repeating everything i say?" you ask, voice hard. this must be a dream. 

satoru shakes his head at you. "no, but i have a question." 

"...okay." 

"if i try to kiss you right now, are you going to try and murder me? i know that we're away from the apartment right now, but it would really ruin the mood." 

you stare at him. 

it must be answer enough because he steps forward and he kisses you again. but this time, it feels less mechanical. his lips are soft and smooth as they push against yours--and he pushes like he's demanding something from you. like he knows more about what you can give than you do. 

and he grins against you like he's doing everything exactly right. 

but when satoru pulls back, your eyes stay shut. you try and banish the feeling in your stomach from your body, but it doesn't respond to idle threats. 

"we shouldn't do this," you whisper to him. you don't open your eyes. you don't want to see his face and fall victim to another one of his schemes. 

"why not?" 

"the last time i kissed one of my roommates..." you imply, hoping that you don't have to tell him that you're scared. 

"oh, right," he brushes some hair from your face. he has not moved an inch away from you. "i forgot that you're experienced." 

"wasn't it obvious?" 

he laughs, and then nudges your cheek with a finger. "look at me." 

you shake your head. 

"c'mon, just a little." 

his voice is so soft. satoru is whispering like it's just for you. and you've never heard him like this and you don't think you want to see him. 

"please, sweetheart?" he asks, one last time, and you have to. if only to put yourself out of your own misery. "good. now listen--" 

"don't tell me what to do." 

he rolls his eyes. "listen," he repeats. "i know you don't like me very much. and i know that you only keep me around for my rent money and my pretty face--" 

you kinda want to hit him. 

"--but i've wanted to kiss you for weeks. and i'm not good at the..." he swallows, blinking just briefly. "all of the telling stuff, but i want to be. with you. for you." 

you're not sure if that's the end, or if it's the beginning. your eyes are stuck on his smile, and you're not listening to anything he said. 

he's very close right now. so accessible. and it's just another reason to want to push him away. 

satoru clears his throat, nudging your head with his nose. "and i'm tired of shoko and suguru calling me a coward, so it'd be great if you'd mention that you kissed me first." 

your brows furrow. "you told shoko and suguru?" 

"i didn't say anything," he almost swears. "they tricked me into admitting it." 

"when?" 

"...the day after i introduced you to them." 

you pull away to observe his face. "really?" 

he groans. "stop looking at me like that," he says, "it's mean." 

you almost smile at him again. then close your eyes. "okay."

"havent you listened to anything i've said to you?" he asks, rhetorically. "i flirt with you every day." 

"you flirt with everything." 

"mmm, true," he leans his chin against your head, breathing you in. "now that i've poured my heart out for you, can we go home? it's cold out here, and i'd rather make out on our couch than that bench over there." 

"who said anything about making out?" 

"please," he wraps an arm around your shoulder, and smiles down at you--with all of the typical swagger--and maybe this time you let him. 

*

[thelastwalkingsoul]

Curse you, big bang, for stealing all my brain worms! But I do have something new today. I don't think I've ever shared my little headcanon for steddie rings, so here you go :)

(Now on AO3!) ----------- "Eddie, I'm home!"

Steve closes the door with a weary sigh. It'd been a long day at work, but his special errand had almost made up for it. Steve was really just aching for a cuddle with his wonderful boyfriend.

"Eddie?" As he walks into the living room, he sees the man in question slumped on the couch with a book. He looks comfortable (and adorable) in his hoodie and sweatpants, but Steve can tell something is up. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Eddie pouts, eyes meeting Steve's. "I still can't find it."

"Oh, babe," Steve sighs, feeling a spike of guilt. "It'll turn up soon."

"You said that yesterday," Eddie whines.

Steve can't help but chuckle. "Exactly. It's only been a day."

Eddie crosses his arms. Combined with his jutting lip, he's a spitting image of a pouting child. "That's a day too long," he grumbles.

"It'll show up," Steve promises, bending to kiss Eddie's forehead. "Now, what do you want for dinner?"

It only takes a couple more days for the ring to show up. Eddie almost gives Steve a heart attack from the sheer volume of the yell he lets out. He's bouncing on the spot when Steve enters the room, grinning wide and sliding the ring onto his middle finger. Steve's barely prepared as Eddie launches across the room and slams into him, forcing all the air from Steve's lungs. He steadies them both and wraps his arms around his boyfriend. "I'm happy you found it, love."

What Steve didn't anticipate (but absolutely should have) was Eddie spending the rest of the day and night insisting, "Yes, Steve, I did check the couch. I checked the couch at least a million times. How is it there now and not before?"

Steve simply agrees with a smile, secretly happy that Eddie's smart brain hasn't yet connected the dots.

When the day finally comes, everything is going to plan. Steve gets out of work early, runs his special errand, and is home well before Eddie. He wants tonight to be special, but not too much. Just enough effort for his prepared gift. As much as Steve is excited, he's also incredibly nervous that Eddie won't like it. But he pushes that aside to get ready.

Steve picks out a favourite dinner of theirs that Eddie especially likes. He gets to work chopping and seasoning, setting up their small dining table, and lighting the few candles they have. By the time Eddie's due home, their apartment is filled with the aroma of dinner and illuminated by soft candlelight.

Steve's whole body feels like it's vibrating in anticipation as he hears Eddie's keys in the door. He tries his best to relax in his chair, nerves humming.

"I'm home, sweetheart!" Eddie calls, closing the door. Steve can hear him moving closer. "God, that smells amazing, Stevie. Why did you-" He stops, face melting from surprise to a soft smile, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight. "What's all this for?"

Steve can't help the excited grin that slips onto his face. "It's a surprise."

"Oh, is it now?" Eddie drops his bag and comes to sit across from Steve. He looks beautiful, with his big eyes and kissable lips pulled into a smile, hair pulled half up and escaped strands framing his face. Steve wants to kiss him.

So he does. Leans over the table and kisses Eddie softly. "It is. Now eat up."

They talk softly over dinner. Eddie tells Steve about his day, and then Steve tells Eddie about his. It feels domestic and nostalgic, and it's everything Steve never knew he wanted until Eddie. His nerves slowly ebb away as they eat, his love for the gorgeous man in front of him replacing any and all worries he'd had. Steve's not sure why he was so scared in the first place; Eddie will love it.

He waits until they're both finished, until there's a natural lull in the conversation and pushes their dishes aside. Steve places both hands on the table and doesn't start until Eddie puts his hands in Steve's. It gives him confidence, so he speaks.

"Eddie. I wish I could show you to the world. I wish we didn't have to hide. I wish I could hold your hand on the street without fear. And I know we can't, and that's fine. But I want you to be mine and I want to be yours." Steve pauses. He can see the adoration in Eddie's eyes and hopes he's showing his too. "I wanted something for us. Just us. So it can be a promise, or- or a wish. But I got these for us. And I hope you like them."

He hands Eddie the open box before he can psych himself out of it. It's a wooden box and inside sits two rings. One is dark silver with a band of gold running through the middle, and the other is the opposite, gold with a dark silver band. They're a matching set, simple enough to be passed off as just a ring but to anyone who looks closely, they're undeniably a set.

"Steve," Eddie breathes, hand hovering over the rings. He doesn't say anything more, and before he knows it, Steve's rambling. "I wanted to get them engraved with something, but I wasn't sure what, so I haven't gotten that done yet, but we still can, so just let me know and-"

"Steve. I can't even- They're amazing."

Eddie's smiling that gorgeous smile of his. The same one Steve fell in love with several years ago. He watches that smile as he picks up the box, pulling out the mostly dark silver ring and sliding it onto Eddie's ring finger. Eddie does the same to him, and they link their hands together, admiring the sight. Steve's sure they're both a little teary now. He'd spent far too long agonising over the rings, but seeing them sitting together in the candlelight, he knows he made the right decision.

It takes Eddie a few hours before he finally connects the dots.

"Wait. Is that why my ring went missing last week?!"

Steve laughs so hard that he cries.

[perfectsunlight]

22 ⸺ SCARED OF MY GUITAR

warnings: angst, self doubt, infidelity, substance use, relationship strain, mental breakdown, emotional distress

word count: 7.5k

part of the series: LOGICAL

perfect, easy, so good to me

so why's there a pit in my gut in the shape of you?

kazuha couldn’t stop thinking about what yujin had said to her. did she really like her girlfriend? sure, sana was the perfect girlfriend. she was kind, thoughtful, and always there when kazuha needed her. they didn’t fight, didn’t argue over petty things. sana knew how to make her laugh, how to calm her down when her nerves got the best of her. 

she was the kind of partner anyone would dream of having—sweet, supportive, effortlessly beautiful.

yet, every time kazuha looked at her, a hollow sensation gnawed at her. a sensation she couldn’t quite explain. she hated it—hated that yujin’s question had lodged itself so deep in her mind. now, the younger girl was questioning everything she thought she wanted.

it was 3 in the morning and even in complete darkness, zuha could make out every detail on her girlfriend’s face. the soft rise and fall of sana’s chest, the gentle curve of her lips, the way her hair fanned out on the pillow like a halo. she looked peaceful, content—everything kazuha should have felt lying next to her. but instead, that same hollow sensation gnawed at her insides, leaving her restless while sana slept soundly beside her.

kazuha shifted slightly, careful not to disturb her. her thoughts raced, yujin’s voice playing on a loop in her mind. the question echoed and screamed, haunting her even now. she stared at the ceiling, trying to understand why something so perfect felt so wrong.

sana had never done anything but love her—truly, deeply, and without reservation. yet, every time kazuha thought about their future together, that gnawing doubt crept in. why wasn’t this enough? 

why wasn’t sana enough?

distract myself, say it's somethin' else

maybe i'm just overwhelmed, maybe i'm confused

she bit her lip, the taste of guilt bitter in her mouth. it wasn’t fair to the older girl. she deserved someone who didn’t feel this constant void, someone who didn’t have to question whether or not they were happy. kazuha wanted to be that person—wanted so badly to be the kind of girlfriend sana thought she was.

but lying in the dark, she knew she was far from it.

at first, kazuha thought maybe it was just a new sensation—something unfamiliar that would pass with time. maybe she was just overwhelmed by having such a seemingly perfect lover, someone who gave her everything she could have ever asked for. sana was the type of person who made even the mundane feel extraordinary. every day with her was filled with affection, warmth, and security. 

but that comfort soon became stifling.

kazuha tried to convince herself it was just the natural ebb and flow of relationships. maybe she wasn’t used to being treated this well, maybe she didn’t know what to do with a love so steady and unwavering. she had heard stories of people sabotaging good things out of fear, and maybe that’s what was happening to her. she wanted to believe that. she wanted to believe that the pit in her stomach would disappear once she got used to this new, perfect reality with sana.

and for a while, she forced herself to push through it.

sana had always been easy to love—too easy, even. her smile could light up a room, and she had a way of making kazuha feel like the center of her universe. on paper, everything was ideal. they were ideal. sana cooked for her after long practices, left little notes in her gym bag, and never failed to cheer her on from the stands. when zuha felt exhausted or overwhelmed, sana would pull her into bed, wrapping her in soft blankets, and make the world disappear.

so why did it feel like something was missing?

barely sleep when you sleep next to me

but i keep thinkin' i'll find a cure

the younger girl wracked her brain, trying to figure out an answer to her questions. she had to find a cure for this gnawing feeling, for the suffocating guilt that hung over her like a cloud. was there something she could do to make it better? to feel the way she was supposed to feel about sana?

she didn’t know how long she had been staring at the ceiling, her mind racing while her body stayed still. her eyes drifted back to sana, whose chest rose and fell in gentle, peaceful breaths, completely unaware of the turmoil right next to her. sana had given her everything, had loved her in ways kazuha had only dreamed of being loved.

so why did it feel like she was lying next to a stranger?

kazuha knew she should be grateful. sana was perfect. she was sweet, attentive, and everything kazuha could have ever wanted in a girlfriend. she ticked every box—more than that, she went above and beyond. and yet, as she lay there, she couldn’t shake the suffocating feeling of emptiness, of being disconnected from the person she was supposed to love.

the younger girl kept searching for an excuse, a reason why things felt off. maybe it was the stress of training, the endless routines and expectations placed on her shoulders. maybe she just wasn’t used to being treated this well. maybe she was afraid of being loved so fully because, deep down, she didn’t believe she deserved it.

it has to be me, not her, kazuha thought desperately. i just need to figure it out.

i say that i'm fine, i tell you all the time

i've never felt so happy and sure

sana would always ask how she could be a better girlfriend or if she was not filling any needs that the younger girl had. and kazuha would smile, press a kiss to her forehead, and say the same thing every time. "you’re perfect, sana. i’ve never been happier."

but those words felt heavier now. more like a shield than a truth.

sana never missed a beat. she made sure zuha was well-fed, well-rested, and never went a day without feeling loved. if kazuha had a bad day at practice, sana would surprise her with her favorite meal. if she was stressed, sana would pull her into a long, comforting hug until the tension melted away. every need kazuha could have ever voiced, sana met without hesitation.

but deep down, kazuha knew the truth she could never say out loud. it wasn’t about what sana did or didn’t do. it wasn’t about needs being unmet. the problem wasn’t sana at all. it was her. her heart, twisted with confusion and guilt, couldn’t embrace the perfection that stood right in front of her.

sana was giving her everything, and yet, she still felt like something was missing.

every time sana asked, every time those worried brown eyes looked into hers, kazuha would swallow the lump in her throat and say she was fine. that she had never felt so sure, so secure in her relationship. 

even though, in reality, she had never been more uncertain.

but i'm so scared of my guitar

'cause it cuts right through to the heart

there were many times where nakamura kazuha could have confessed to cheating. she thought about it more often than she'd like to admit. in their intimate, quiet moments—when sana would smile at her with that radiant, genuine warmth, or when she’d make her favorite breakfast without even asking—kazuha's chest would tighten with guilt. the words would bubble up in her throat, i’m sorry. i’ve been lying to you. i’ve been with someone else. but they never made it past her lips.

there were so many moments when she could’ve come clean. sana deserved to hear the truth, straight from the source.

like the time they sat together on the couch, sana's legs draped over kazuha's lap as they lazily watched a movie. sana had looked over at her then, her hand brushing through kazuha's hair with a gentle touch. “you're everything i’ve ever wanted,” sana had whispered, her eyes filled with sincerity and love. and kazuha, heart pounding in her chest, had opened her mouth to respond, but the words that came out weren’t the truth she needed to speak.

“i love you too.”

the lie tasted bitter, yet it slipped out so easily. the guilt followed her everywhere, shadowing every tender moment they shared, every smile they exchanged. it clung to her like a second skin, suffocating her.

yeah, it knows me too well so i got no excuse

i can't lie to it the same way that i lie to you

she had mastered the art of lying to sana, weaving together a story of love and commitment, smiling through the guilt, and telling her everything was fine. sana believed her every time. maybe she wanted to believe that kazuha was still the girlfriend she thought she knew.

but the pit in her stomach knew better. 

the guilt that gnawed at her, the restless thoughts that kept her awake at night—it knew her too well. it was a constant, nagging reminder that she was living a lie. she couldn’t hide from it the way she could hide from sana. every time she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw the truth reflected back at her, the shame carved into her expression.

no matter how much she told sana she was happy—that they were happy—there was no escaping the fact that deep down, kazuha wasn’t. and pretending otherwise wasn’t going to fix that hollow ache inside her.

the more she tried to shove it down, the more it resurfaced when she was alone. she couldn’t keep lying to herself, and it was only a matter of time before she wouldn’t be able to lie to sana anymore either.

kazuha’s chest tightened as she stared at the ceiling. she had no excuses left. she knew what she was doing was wrong. and yet, she hadn’t stopped.

how long could she keep lying before the truth shattered everything?

i'm so scared of my guitar

if i play it, then i'll think too hard

when sana’s alarm went off, it was around 5:45 am. they both had morning practice to attend, so naturally they just shared an alarm. kazuha felt the older girl curl into her side, her soft cheek resting against her collarbone as she breathed slowly. 

it was moments like this that should have felt safe, secure—like the perfect life everyone wanted. but instead, they filled her with dread.

the alarm had only been on for a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity as she lay there, paralyzed by the weight of her thoughts. sana stirred beside her, wrapping her arms around kazuha’s waist in that gentle, instinctual way she always did in the morning. she was so sweet, so perfect, and it made kazuha feel even worse.

if she let herself think too hard—if she really examined her feelings—kazuha knew she’d unravel. the truth was there, buried beneath every forced smile and every moment of affection, but she didn’t want to face it. not yet. not today.

she swallowed thickly, her hand absentmindedly tracing circles on sana’s shoulder as her mind wandered back to yujin. the way things had spiraled, how one kiss had led to something more, something she couldn’t take back. sana trusted her, believed in her, but kazuha wasn’t sure she deserved any of it.

sana shifted slightly, her voice soft with sleep. “morning,” she yawned, nuzzling into her girlfriend’s side. “ready for practice?”

kazuha forced a smile, even though the knot in her stomach tightened. “yeah... just give me a minute.” her voice cracked at the edges, but she hoped sana wouldn’t notice.

still half-asleep, the older one hummed in response, her eyes fluttering shut again for just a few seconds before she slowly pulled herself up, stretching. “baby are you okay?” she asked, her brow furrowing with concern, as if sensing the unease in her lover’s voice.

“yeah, i’m fine,” kazuha replied automatically. she had said it so many times by now that it almost felt natural—almost.

once you let the thought in, then it's already done

so i'll lay in your arms and pretend that it's love

she wasn’t ready to face it. not yet. not while sana was still curled into her, trusting her.

but for how much longer could she keep this up?

the dark harried girl pressed her lips to sana’s hair, breathing in her familiar scent, pretending for a few more seconds that this was enough, that it was real. they moved through their morning routine in comfortable silence, the kind of rhythm that came naturally after sharing so many mornings together. sana hummed softly as she made coffee, and kazuha found herself lost in the sound, momentarily distracted from her thoughts.

“do you want your usual?” the older girl called from the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder. the sight of her, hair tousled and wearing one of kazuha’s oversized hoodies, brought a small smile to kazuha’s face.

“yes please,” kazuha replied, trying to keep her tone light. she leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms and watching sana move with effortless grace. this should be enough, she thought, still trying to convince herself.

if i was brave and noble like you

i'd have the nerve to just stop stringin' you along

they walked hand in hand to the gym, enjoying the early dawn together. at least, kazhua was trying to enjoy it. the cold nipping at her skin was nothing compared to the icy grip of uncertainty in her chest. the taller girl stole glances at sana, her face lit up by the soft morning light. soft shades of pink decorated her cheeks and nose, making her look even more adorable. it was in moments like these that made kazuha feel both elated and tormented. 

how could someone so perfect be standing beside someone so broken?

as they reached the gym entrance, kazuha’s grip on sana’s hand tightened involuntarily. the moment felt somewhat significant, almost like it was a tether connecting her to the reality she was desperately trying to escape. the laughter and chatter of their teammates echoed around them. 

zuha took her usual seat on a nearby bench, pulling her court shoes out from her backpack. sana sat beside her, their shoulders brushing together, and kazuha tried to focus on the excitement of practice rather than the tumult of feelings swirling in her chest. she could hear sana chatting animatedly with their friends, her laughter ringing like a melody that usually filled kazuha with warmth. but today, it felt distant, muffled by the weight of her internal struggle.

as the team began to warm up, kazuha’s gaze drifted across the gym, her mind elsewhere. she could hear snippets of conversations, the playful banter of her teammates, but all of it faded into the background.

her girlfriend, the outstanding captain she was, noticed immediately. 

sana jogged up to her girlfriend, gently putting a hand to her cheek and jaw. “hey,” she whispered as she looked up at her. “what’s going on?” she asked softly, scanning her girlfriend’s body up and down. kazuha smiled and gave her hand a quick kiss. “just tired. i’m going to use the bathroom, i’ll be back.”

but i'm not half as decent as you

i'd rather be tied to someone, even if they're wrong

sana nodded, her expression still laced with concern. “okay, but don’t take too long. we’ve got to run our new plays.” kazuha forced another smile, though it felt more like a grimace, and turned away, heading toward the bathroom. as she walked, she felt a mix of guilt and confusion swelling within her. she didn’t want to worry sana, but the weight of her secret was becoming unbearable.

once inside the bathroom, kazuha leaned against the cool tile wall, taking a deep breath to steady herself. she splashed some water on her face, hoping to wash away the swirling thoughts. but before she could gather her thoughts, the door swung open, and in walked yujin, her expression brightening the dull space.

“hey, stranger,” yujin said casually, her voice teasing. she quickly took in the look on the other girl’s face, eyebrows raising at the sight. “you look like shit, dude.”

kazuha shot the basketball player a half-hearted glare, trying to mask her turmoil with humor. “thanks, just what i needed to hear,” she replied, her voice a little shaky as she wiped her hands on her volleyball shorts.

the taller girl stepped closer, her expression softening as she leaned against the sink beside the japanese girl. she folded her arms against her chest, staring straight ahead. “seriously though, what’s up? you’ve been acting off lately.”

the volleyball player sighed, running a hand through her hair. “i don’t know. everything feels overwhelming right now.” 

“is it sana?” yujin asked, her tone casual but laced with genuine concern. “you two are still good, right?”

zuha hesitated, the weight of her secret hanging in the air between them. “i mean, yeah, she’s great. perfect, actually,” she said, the last word tasting bitter on her tongue. 

yujin narrowed her eyes, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “but?”

“but i don’t know if i deserve her,” kazuha admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. “i keep thinking about what you asked me the other day.”

“the thing about the cheeseburger? i’m still telling you, we need to—” “no, not the cheeseburger, idiot.”

yujin raised an eyebrow at the quick interruption, her teasing demeanor faltering. “oh, right. that thing.” kazuha felt her heart race as she continued. “you asked me if i even liked sana. i thought i did, but now i’m not so sure.”

the basketball player leaned back against the sink, arms still crossed, studying kazuha’s face with a mix of concern and curiosity. “why not? you’ve been together for a while now, and she’s a perfect girlfriend. i mean, it’s literally sana.”

“maybe i’m just scared of losing something perfect,” kazuha admitted, biting her lip. “but at the same time, maybe i’m not ready to let go of the thrill that comes with being with someone who isn’t perfect.”

i make excuses, my friends know the truth is

i'm not as alright as i claim

“you look like shit,” chaeyoung said casually as she poured the younger girl a drink. kazuha chuckled, rolling her eyes as she accepted the glass from her. the japanese girl had asked her teammate to hang out for drinks, knowing that out of everyone on the team, the blonde would be the most likely to accept. “thanks for the vote of confidence,” kazuha replied, taking a sip of the drink. the bitter flavor hit her palate, momentarily dulling the weight on her chest.

it was also convenient that lisa opened her mouth for once, because chaeyoung knew about her situation with yujin, courtesy of ygu’s star player.

the blonde leaned against the bar, her expression shifting to something more serious. “seriously though, what’s going on? you’ve been acting off lately, and it’s not just the dark circles under your eyes.”

kazuha sighed, staring into her glass as if it held the answers she desperately sought. her eyes briefly flickered over her shoulder to glance at her teammate before speaking.

“have you ever loved someone? like fully, all the way, no mistakes and regrets?”

the older girl paused, her own drink halfway to her lips, caught off guard by the question. she slowly set the glass down, leaning in closer to kazuha. “why do you ask?”

zuha shrugged, avoiding chaeyoung's sharp gaze. “i’m trying to understand what love really is. i thought i knew, but now i feel like i’m just running away.”

“love is complicated,” the korean mumbled, her tone surprisingly soft. “it’s not just about the good moments. it’s messy, full of doubts and regrets.”

“exactly,” kazuha replied, frustration creeping back into her voice. “i don’t want to feel like this. i want to love sana the way she deserves, but i keep thinking about someone else. someone who makes it easy.”

chaeyoung’s expression shifted, a hint of something bittersweet flickering in her eyes. the japanese girl didn’t know much about park chaeyoung’s love life, but she did know that a certain basketball player was always around her.

“sometimes we use people to escape our feelings. it’s not fair to them, but it feels safe at the moment.”

zuha looked up, surprised by the honesty in her teammate’s words. it was almost comforting, in a way. “you understand that?”

“yeah,” chaeyoung said quietly, her gaze distant. “i’ve been there before. using someone to mask what i really feel. it’s tempting because it’s simple, but it doesn’t fill the void.”

“do you love this person?” kazuha asked quickly, a hint of curiosity in her voice. “the one you keep running to?”

the blonde’s gaze sharpened, and she hesitated, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging in the air. “love isn’t just about the person, you know? it’s also about the timing and circumstances. sometimes, we fall for the wrong people at the right moment.”

kazuha felt a pang of empathy for her friend, sensing that there was more beneath the surface. “so what do you do? just keep pretending?”

i say that i'm fine, i tell them all the time

as they watch all the light fade away

the older volleyball player shrugged, “sometimes you just go through the motions,” she replied, her gaze drifting to the dim lights of the bar. “it’s easier that way. you wear a mask, smile, and act like everything’s fine even when it’s falling apart inside.”

the japanese girl nodded, understanding all too well. “but it doesn’t change anything, does it? pretending just makes the loneliness worse.”

“no, it doesn’t,” chaeyoung said quietly, her voice tinged with sadness. “but facing the truth is terrifying. you risk everything—your comfort, your stability, even the relationships you care about. you won’t always feel better once the truth comes out, either.”

kazuha raised an eyebrow, surprised by her friend’s bleak perspective. “what do you mean?” she asked softly. the blonde shrugged, her gaze distant. “honestly? sometimes it’s better to just keep things to yourself. if it’s not broken, don’t fix it, you know? why rock the boat when you can just enjoy the ride?”

she frowned, feeling a mix of confusion and frustration. “but is that not fair to someone you love?” 

“do you want to see the person you love with someone else?” the korean girl asked slowly. kazuha felt her heart sink at the question. “no, of course not,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “but keeping it all in doesn’t feel right. it feels like i’m lying to her.”

chaeyoung leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “is it really lying if you’re just not saying everything? sometimes silence is just self-preservation. you can love someone and still have your own struggles. it doesn’t mean you have to lay it all out on the table.”

“but what if she finds out?” zuha’s mind raced with images of sana’s hurt expression, the tears that would follow. the way her girlfriend’s smile would fade and she’d fall apart at the sight. “what if i end up destroying everything?”

“then you destroy everything,” she replied with a shrug. “but you have to think about what’s best for you, too. you think sana would want you to be unhappy just for the sake of her feelings? wouldn’t she want you to be content, even if that means keeping a few things to yourself?”

yeah, i'm so scared of my guitar

'cause it cuts right through to the heart

whether it was the alcohol, or the emotions that had been bubbling beneath the surface, nakamura kazuha felt a rush of impulsiveness as she left the bar. the night air was cool against her flushed cheeks, and the echoes of chaeyoung’s words lingered in her mind. 

she arrived at yujin’s place quicker than she ever had before, her heart racing with both anticipation and anxiety. the door swung open, and yujin stood there, casual and relaxed, her hair slightly messy from showering. she likely just finished practice not too long ago. “hey, zuha. what’s up?”

“can i come in?” kazuha asked, her voice a whisper. yujin nodded, stepping aside to let her in. the apartment was dimly lit, a stark contrast to the lively bar she just left. kazuha felt a sense of comfort wash over her, but the heaviness in her heart was still there. once inside, kazuha leaned against the wall, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “i don’t know why i’m here,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “i just needed to get away.”

yujin stepped closer, concern flickering in her eyes. “are you okay?” she asked, glancing over her friend’s body for any noticeable injuries.

the japanese girl shook her head quickly, ignoring her heart feeling as if it was falling apart. “no, i’m not okay.” she took a deep breath, the vulnerability hitting her hard. before she could overthink it, kazuha closed the distance between them, reaching out to pull yujin closer. 

their lips met in a messy kiss, the contact making zuha’s stomach flutter for a moment. she never got butterflies when sana kissed her. but just as quickly, yujin pulled back, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“dude, you’re crying,” yujin said softly, brushing a thumb under kazuha’s eye to catch the tear. “what’s going on?”

kazuha felt her heart sink, the weight of her emotions crashing down on her. “i need you to stop talking.” the volleyball player whispered, her voice barely above a whisper as she leaned in closer, desperation evident in her eyes. she pressed her lips against yujin’s again, trying to drown out the chaos swirling in her mind.

yeah, it knows me too well so i got no excuse

i can't lie to it the same way that i lie to you

kazuha's hands trembled slightly as they came up to grip yujin's shoulders, holding her close. her heart raced wildly, a mix of excitement and anxiety coursing through her veins. she knew she was crossing a line, but at that moment, she couldn't bring herself to care. all she wanted was to lose herself in yujin, to find some semblance of peace in her arms. but even as she deepened the kiss, she was acutely aware of how wrong this felt. 

her mind kept going back to sana. sana, who loved her. sana, who was unaware of everything kazuha was doing. sana, who was too perfect for her.

tears streamed down kazuha's face as she finally pulled away, her chest heaving with labored breaths. “i’m sorry,” she whispered over and over as she pulled her hoodie over her head. “i’m sorry, sana.” the alcohol and the emotions overwhelming her caused her mental state to currently become even more suffocating.

yujin knew the best thing to do right now was to just let her friend use her as the distraction. the basketball player gently kissed the japanese girl’s neck. "shh," yujin whispered, her breath hot against kazuha's ear. "it's okay. we don't have to think about anything else right now. just focus on me." 

she pressed another soft kiss to kazuha's neck, relishing in the way her friend shivered beneath her touch. yujin's hands roamed over kazuha's body, tracing the curves she had come to know so well. she could feel the tension in her friend's muscles, the way she was clinging to her like a lifeline. it made yujin's heart ache, knowing that kazuha was in so much pain. but for now, she pushed those thoughts aside. she wanted to make kazuha feel good, to help her forget about everything else, even if it was just for a little while. 

i'm so scared of my guitar

if i play it, then i'll think too hard

physically, yujin’s body was nothing like sana’s. and yet, despite this, all kazuha could think about and feel in the moment was sana. as yujin's hands explored kazuha's body with a mix of desire and tenderness, the scent of sandalwood enveloped them both. but instead of finding comfort in the familiar aroma, kazuha was overwhelmed by a wave of guilt and confusion. 

the more yujin touched her, the more vividly sana's image flooded kazuha's mind. she could almost feel the gentle caress of her girlfriend's fingers on her skin and hear the soft whisper of her voice in her ear. the scent of sana's perfume, a delicate floral fragrance, seemed to linger in the air, mocking her betrayal.

every brush of yujin's lips against her skin, every husky whisper in her ear, only served as a painful reminder of what she was giving up, of the trust she was shattering. tears stung kazuha's eyes as she buried her face in yujin's neck, her breath coming in ragged gasps. she wanted to scream, to cry out her anguish and confusion to the world. but she couldn't, not while she was in yujin's arms, not while she was betraying everything she held dear. kazuha knew that no matter how good it felt, no matter how much she tried to lose herself in the moment, the guilt would always be there, eating away at her from the inside.

she was making a mistake, one that would haunt her for the rest of her life. and yet, she couldn't seem to stop herself from falling deeper into the abyss of her own desires.

kazuha was tired of thinking, tired of the guilt and confusion that seemed to consume her every waking moment. in yujin's arms, she could pretend that everything was okay, that she wasn't shattering the foundation of her relationship with sana. she could lose herself in the heat of the moment, in the pleasure of yujin's touch, and forget about the consequences that would surely come.

once you let the thought in, then it's already done

so i'll lay in your arms and pretend that it's love

it was almost midnight when kazuha went home. the alcohol had long since worn off, leaving her with a pounding headache and a heart that felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. the walk home was a blur, the streets empty and silent save for the occasional passing car. kazuha barely registered her surroundings, her thoughts consumed by the events of the night. as she finally reached her apartment, kazuha fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking as she tried to unlock the door

sana wouldn’t be home until tomorrow since she went to study and sleepover at miyeon’s place. 

the tears she had been holding back began to spill over, cascading down her cheeks like a relentless storm. she turned away from the window, feeling the walls of her small apartment closing in on her. the familiar space felt alien and suffocating, reminding her of the joy that had once filled it—joy that now felt painfully out of reach.

she stumbled back to the bed, collapsing onto the sheets that still smelled faintly of sana’s perfume. as she buried her face into the pillow, the scent enveloped her like a warm embrace, and kazuha couldn’t help but cry harder. the tears soaked into the fabric, mingling with her longing and despair.

“why can’t i just be happy?” she sobbed into the pillow, her voice muffled as the weight of her confusion bore down on her. she felt so lost, caught in a whirlwind of emotions that she couldn’t untangle. the thought of sana brought a mix of warmth and guilt that twisted her stomach in knots.

kazuha’s hands trembled as she clutched the pillow tighter, feeling the desperate need to escape her own skin. she wanted to be someone else, someone who didn’t carry the burden of conflicting feelings. frustration surged within her, and before she could think twice, she ripped off her shirt, feeling the cool air against her skin.

yeah, i'll lay in your arms and pretend that it's love

i pretend that it's love

she needed more. she needed to feel close to sana, to wear her essence like armor against the chaotic storm inside her. in a feverish panic, she reached for sana’s clothing, pulling out a soft hoodie from the closet that had been left behind. it was a comfort, a reminder of the moments they had shared—snuggling on the couch, late-night talks, and the tender kisses that had once felt so right.

kazuha slipped it over her head, the fabric enveloping her like a second skin, but it only heightened her sense of loss. the realization that she couldn’t just have that feeling back broke her further. she fell back onto the bed, sobbing into the pillow once more, the soft fibers absorbing her cries as she gripped the hoodie like a lifeline.

“it’s not fair,” she cried, her voice raw with emotion. “i just want to be happy with you, sana.” the tears flowed freely, each sob racking her body as she let her pain pour out into the night. the room felt heavy with her anguish, the shadows lengthening around her as she struggled to breathe through the overwhelming tide of her emotions.

with each cry, kazuha felt a small part of her unravel, a knot of pain and confusion that she had kept so tightly bound within her. she clawed at the sheets, feeling the weight of her heartache crashing down like waves against a rocky shore. “i don’t want to feel this way,” she gasped, the words escaping her lips between sobs. 

“i just want to feel you.”

'cause what if i never find anything better?

the doubt always creeps through my mind

the japanese girl knew she could never get anyone better than sana. the way she laughed, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about her dreams, the warmth of her embrace—it all felt irreplaceable. but with that knowledge came a crushing sense of fear. if she couldn’t make this work, if she continued down this path of uncertainty and pain, would she be left with nothing but regret?

the japanese girl buried her face into the pillow once more, letting the tears flow freely as the realization hit her like a wave crashing against a rocky shore. she didn’t want to hurt sana; she didn’t want to be the cause of her sadness. but each time she thought about confessing her fears, the image of sana's smile made her heart ache.

how could i ever hurt someone so perfect? kazuha thought, squeezing her eyes shut. the ache of her heart felt almost unbearable, the conflicting feelings swirling in her chest like a storm threatening to consume her whole.

she wished for a sign, something to guide her through the fog of uncertainty. but all she could feel was the sharp sting of doubt clawing at her heart, whispering reminders of her insecurities. what if this was all she would ever have? 

what if letting sana go meant losing everything that mattered?

so we'll stay together 'cause, how could i ever

trade somethin' that's good for what's right?

her breaths came in shaky gasps as she pressed her face deeper into the pillow, wishing for a moment of clarity. all the doubts, the questions, the unspoken fears—they wrapped around her like chains, holding her captive in a prison of her own making.

kazuha gripped the sheets tighter, her emotions boiling over as she felt the cool fabric beneath her fingertips. she had to make a choice, but the thought of losing sana was unbearable.

tears streamed down her cheeks, and she let out a choked sob, feeling as though the weight of the world was pressing down on her. in that moment, she knew. i can’t lose her. i don’t want to lose her. the realization crashed over her like a wave, washing away the doubts that had plagued her.

even if she no longer felt in love with sana, she still wanted the girl to stay. it was selfish, it was cruel, it was messy, and it was all built on a lie. 

oh, i'm so scared of my guitar

it cuts right through to my heart

kazhua fell asleep on the bed, sprawled out in a tangle of sheets and remnants of her own emotional turmoil. the darkness of the room wrapped around her like a heavy blanket, but it did little to shield her from the tempest of thoughts that raged within.

a few hours later, the soft light of dawn seeped through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. kazuha stirred, the sound of familiar footsteps approaching pulling her from her restless sleep. she felt the mattress dip slightly as sana sat on the edge, her voice gentle and soothing. “baby, wake up. i made breakfast.”

kazuha blinked, her eyes still puffy from crying. she turned to face sana, who looked as radiant as ever, her hair cascading over her shoulders like sunlight spilling over the horizon. “morning,” kazuha mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and remnants of tears.

sana’s face lit up with a smile, the kind that always made kazuha’s heart race. “i hope you’re hungry! i made your favorite.” the older girl stood, pulling kazuha’s comforter off and revealing her disheveled state. “get up, sleepyhead!”

with a soft groan, kazuha sat up, her mind still foggy from the emotional breakdown of the night. as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, she caught a glimpse of sana bustling about the kitchen, a flurry of energy and love. it made her feel sick. she felt nauseous.

but as the smell of scrambled eggs and toast filled the air, kazuha felt the tears threaten to return. she quickly blinked them away, pushing down the overwhelming wave of emotion.

“c’mon, i made extra just for you,” sana called cheerfully, glancing back with a playful grin. “and i even added some of that cheese you like.”

kazuha forced a smile, standing to join her girlfriend at the table. as they sat down, sana poured her a glass of orange juice, her movements tender and caring. zuha picked at her food, every bite a reminder of the love that sana poured into these little acts of kindness. but the warmth in her heart was tinged with guilt, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being untruthful.

sana reached out, placing her hand over kazuha’s, concern etching her features. “hey, are you okay? you seem a bit off.”

kazuha felt her throat tighten, the weight of everything crashing back down. “i just had a bad dream,” she said quickly, the lie slipping from her lips. “that’s all.”

“really?” the older girl’s brow furrowed, her voice softening. “do you want to talk about it?”

kazuha shook her head, forcing a laugh that felt hollow. “no, it’s silly. just stupid stuff.” she wanted to believe that was enough, that she could bury her fears beneath the surface like she always had. but the truth hung heavily in the air between them, and kazuha couldn’t help but feel that her words were a betrayal.

sana squeezed her hand, her eyes filled with concern and affection. “if you ever want to share, i’m here for you. i promise.”

it knows me too well, i got no excuse

i can't lie to it the same way that i lie to you

at that moment, the dam inside kazuha broke once more, tears pooling in her eyes as she fought to keep them at bay. the love sana offered felt like a lifeline, but the younger girl was terrified of the truth, terrified of the thought that she might be the one to hurt the person who loved her so deeply.

“i’m sorry,” kazuha finally whispered, her voice trembling. “i just don’t want to lose you.” she put her head in her hands, the weight of her emotions bearing down on her. she felt horrible, both physically and mentally.

sana’s heart ached at the sight, and she quickly wrapped her arms around kazuha, pulling her close. “you won’t lose me,” she promised softly, rubbing soothing circles on kazuha’s back. “i’m here, okay? we’ll figure it out together.”

kazuha nodded but didn’t lift her head. she felt so lost, so tangled in her own thoughts, and it scared her to think that her confusion could hurt someone like sana.

“let’s take a break from all this,” sana suggested gently, pulling back slightly to look into kazuha’s eyes. “we have the day off from practice, remember? how about we just cuddle up and watch your favorite show? i’ll make popcorn, and we can binge-watch as much as you want.”

kazuha hesitated for a moment, the idea of escaping into the familiar comfort of their show appealing but also intimidating. yet, the thought of being wrapped up in sana’s warmth, of forgetting the world for a little while, was enough to coax a small smile onto her lips. “that sounds nice,” she murmured, her voice still shaky but more hopeful.

“great!” sana beamed, her smile brightening the room. she stood up, reaching out a hand to help kazuha up from the chair. “come on, let’s get cozy.”

i'm so scared of my guitar

when i play it, that's when i think too hard

kazuha wiped away the last of her tears and took sana’s hand, feeling a sense of calm wash over her as they moved to the living room. once there, sana grabbed a couple of soft blankets and set them up on the couch, arranging them just right for maximum comfort.

as they settled in, kazuha curled up against sana, resting her head on the older girl’s shoulder. the familiar theme song began to play, and for a moment, kazuha allowed herself to get lost in the show, the laughter and drama distracting her from her inner turmoil.

sana glanced down, noticing how kazuha seemed to relax into her side. “see? isn’t this better?” she asked softly, tucking a strand of hair behind kazuha’s ear.

“yeah, it is,” kazuha admitted, feeling the warmth radiate from sana. she felt safe here, cocooned in the blankets and the quiet comfort of their shared space.

as the episodes rolled on, kazuha found herself laughing at the antics of the characters, but underneath it all, her mind was still racing. the doubts and fears lingered like a shadow, whispering to her that she was living a lie. but with sana’s heartbeat steady beside her and her girlfriend’s laughter filling the room, kazuha found solace, if only for a little while.

i let the thought in, it's already done

but i'll lay in your arms and pretend that it's love

they had binge watched around 1 full season of her favorite show before sana fell asleep against the younger girl. kazuha glanced down at her, a soft smile tugging at her lips. the older girl looked peaceful, her chest rising and falling gently as she snuggled closer, instinctively seeking warmth.

kazuha felt a wave of affection wash over her as she brushed a finger along sana’s cheek, her heart swelling with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. how had it come to this? here was the world’s best girlfriend, offering her everything, and yet zuha was still trapped in her own confusion.

as she watched sana sleep, kazuha’s mind began to wander back to her thoughts from the previous night. she knew deep down that there was nothing more insulting than holding onto someone out of fear—fear of being alone, fear of change, fear of losing the only person who ever made her feel truly safe.

but what kind of love was that? it felt selfish to keep sana tethered to her when she wasn’t sure if her feelings were genuine or just a desperate grasp at familiarity. kazuha felt her heart twist at the thought. 

sana deserved better.

naturally, this left the younger girl with one decision; she had to be better, to do better.

she knew there was a chance that it wouldn’t work, and that it would all fall to pieces, but she had to at least try.

tears pricked at her eyes again, and she felt the familiar sting of helplessness. just then, she felt a slight movement beside her as sana shifted in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. kazuha wiped her tears away quickly, not wanting to disturb the moment.

instead, she leaned back against the couch, trying to focus on the warmth of sana’s body against hers. as kazuha closed her eyes, exhaustion began to take over, and for the first time that day, she felt the weight of her worries lift, if only just a little.

kazuha drifted off to sleep with sana beside her, holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to navigate the tangled mess of her feelings. she would try and fall in love with her girlfriend again, somehow, someway. 

and for now, that was enough.

yeah, i'll lay in your arms and pretend it's enough

TAGLIST ⸺ ✭ @silantryoo @rosiehrs @niniwhiskers @cwpiqwon @jisooftme @1luvkarina @scarfac3 @santasbitch @lisas-earlobe @wallfl9wer @aerihiltonn @unforgivenangel @uzumakioden @skydreamed @haerinfangs @la-douleur-ne-finit-jamais @haerinkisser @giginings @lilsvx @milanlaia @pandafuriosa60 @wifey-badalee @slowlyturninggay291 @dreamingst99 @7daysronnie @thefckghost @drawing-into-the-night @xszn

[buckgasms]

Once upon a time - Kinktober

Hello!!!

Thanks to everyone who voted in my poll! The winner by far was 'Beauty and the Beast' so I will be starting with that one!

I will be writing some of the other popular ones too so don't despair if this wasn't your favourite!

I'm doing this in two parts because it's just too huge otherwise, so please enjoy and I hope to see you for the next part!

The village of Swanford had once been a prosperous village, lead by the Barnes family, who had not only made their fortune there, but had also been generous benefactors of the town.

But after the wars of Europe and the death of their patriarch, the family and the village had descended into disrepair.

The Barnes residence, once a shining display of wealth and fashionable architecture now stood, imposing and delapidated on the edge of town. It's owner, the reclusive James Barnes, was never seen in the village. Rumours swirled of a beastly nature about him.

Cruel and unkind, a monster returned from war, more metal than man.

You had little interest in the life of James Barnes and his sad house. Your life, and it's problems were far more pressing.

You lived with your father in the poorer part of the village, his health would ebb and flow, keeping him out of secure work, and much of the financial responsibility falling onto your shoulders at a young age.

Since you were able to, you took jobs wherever you could, sewing, serving and occasionally teaching at the local community school. That had been your favourite, but was naturally short lived.

One September afternoon you had been informed by the headmaster that you would no longer be able to work. They hadn't received their usual funding and could only afford two teachers.

You were devastated but swallowed your pain and smiled. Perhaps another year?

🥀

You had just finished a day of sewing that left your fingers red and throbbing, when your father burst in the front door.

"Darling, I've had an idea..."

You strained a smile. These were never the start of a good conversation with your father. As he approached you could smell the scent of liquor on his breath.

"The Barnes mansion... It must be abandoned now. No one's seen sight of the miserable lad for years..."

You shrug and raise your eyebrows. "So? What does that have to do with anything?"

He chuckles and pinches your cheek.

"Tonight... I'm going up there. There must be something I can sell. Then you can forget these silly embroideries and I'll buy you a lovely dress!"

Your stomach churns. Both at his idea and his painful misunderstanding of you and the situation you are both in.

"I don't think that's a good idea..."

But he's already flopped down on the bed, unconscious to your protests, a victorious smile on his sweaty, boyish face.

🥀

You woke in a start, not sure what made you so terrified in your dreams but feeling uneasy as you panted in bed.

It took you a moment to realise the usual sound of your father snoring was absent and that the front door was left ajar.

You groaned and scrambled out of bed, pulling on a shawl and a pair of worn out shoes. Perhaps you could catch him before he made it to the mansion.

In a few minutes you were out the door, surprised to find the early dawn light breaking. How long had he been gone? Your stomach churned again. A familiar feeling when dealing with your father's escapades.

You were panting and out of breath when you arrived at the gates of the Barnes' home. You shivered at the prospect of walking through the overgrown garden but a shout from inside the normally silent house pushed you on.

Ignoring the clawing branches and weeds that tried to trip you until you were at the big wooden doors. Before you could knock the door swung open and you were met with a huge man, hair and beard giving the appearance of something like a wolf and piercing blue eyes burning into you.

"Come for more stolen goods?" He growled as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into he house.

You cried out in protest until he released you, yanking you into a large parlour. There you found your father standing, looking terrified and sober. Beads of sweat were pouring down his face, and behind him a pile of shattered glass and porcelain.

"What did you do?" You strained as you walked to him, taking his hands in yours.

"He's a thief" a harsh voice spoke and you turned to face the owner of this dark, terrible home. James Barnes.

"His foolishness and avarice has cost me several hundred dollars in damages. Priceless family heirlooms, lost forever..."

You squeezed the eyes shut, hoping just briefly you might still be asleep, but you opened them again, finding yourself still in this nightmare.

"Sir, please forgive us. My father, he...he doesn't always make good decisions, but he means well. He was just trying to support us. It was a mistake..."

"So like everyone else in this village, it is someone else's problem to fix. Forget doing something useful, just hold out your hand and someone else will provide?"

You flinched at the venom in his voice. You had never once complained about your lot in life, it felt awful to be at the brunt of his fury. Despite your fear you step towards him, placing yourself between the two men.

"How dare you... As if you know what it's like to live in discomfort or poverty..."

At your words he holds up his other arm, heavy silver metal and scoffs. "I know something of living in pain....I just refuse to make it into anyone else's problem."

You blink. Shocked at both the appendage and his confession. The silence hangs heavily in the air for a moment.

"I will not let this go unpunished. This is my home and he has caused damage. I will have to report this to the police..."

You whimpered, knowing that this was probably your father's final strike. If he was arrested again, he would be sent away for hard labour. A sentence that would probably kill him.

Your father gripped your elbow and squeezed. "It's ok my love, it's what I deserve..."

You shook your head and approached James, dropping to your knees grabbing at his hands, both to his surprise.

"Please? If they arrest my father.. I'll never see him again. And.... He's all I have left. Please? There must be something else..."

Tears fell from your eyes, but you refused to break your eye contact, gripping his hands as hard as you dared. His face was unreadable, but you hoped there was a good man there somewhere.

"Very well. He can go home."

You heaved out a sigh, moving to release his hands, but instead he gripped you tighter.

"But you have to stay."

Ah perhaps not a good man at all....

You gasped and tried to escape his grip but he held fast.

"You will work off your father's debt to me. You will stay here so I know you aren't gossiping about me in town, or stealing from me. Once the debt is paid, you can leave."

He releases your hands and you scramble to your feet. You turn to your father, standing uselessly in the mess he has created. Your shoulders drop and you turn back to James.

"Ok."

🥀

Spending time in the Barnes household wasn't as torturous as you had envisioned. Bucky, as he preferred to be called, spent most of the day alone leaving you to your various tasks.

The house was a mess, so you were busy dusting, cleaning and tidying. You spent your first week in the kitchen, disgusted by the dirt and mouldy food you found there.

Each morning ready made meals were delivered and you would store and serve when appropriate. Around midweek you were handed three bowls of mushy oats, you recognised as gruel. It looked odd amid the rich soups, stews, bread and cheeses that were stacked next to it.

"Well this looks almost good a new"

His deep grumble of a voice made you jump as you were scrubbing dishes and made it slip from your hand, smashing in the sink.

"Hmm that must be another week's work at least" he chuckled, walking over to you, brushing past you to grab a drink of water.

You scowled and began collecting the shards to put in the bin. He leaned against the counter as he watched you work.

"There was some gruel delivered today. What's that for?" You asked briskly as he slipped slowly.

"Ah yes. That's your's"

You looked up at him and stared. The twinkle of amusement in his eyes was enraging.

"I have a proposal. If you would like to dine with me in the evenings, then we can share a meal. If you continue to eat alone, then it only seems right you should eat just enough to sustain you."

"Why would I wish you eat with you?" You tried to dial down the venom in your words, but he seemed unbothered. A simple shrug and a flash of a grin before he turned to leave.

"I'll leave it with you to ponder, Beauty..."

That was another thing. Despite the fact you had told him your name several times, he insisted on refering to you as Beauty. Perhaps it was some sick reference to a fairytale?

You were beautiful, despite your often disheveled appearance, but it felt more of an insult when he said it.

Either way, you were never going to share a table with such a brute. You were made of tougher stuff that just a bit of gruel.

🥀

By the weekend you were starting to break. The gruel was exactly as he said, just enough to sustain you, but not enough to make you feel good in any way.

Saturday morning came and he had a huge roast delivered, with all the trimmings. You groaned as you set it in the oven to roast for a few hours. It looked so good.

In the afternoon you had some time to yourself and decided to read, finding some of his books left lying around too hard to resist. You didn't care what you read, you just loved it. Losing yourself in a fantastic world, or learning about real life places that you would probably never see.

As you were learning about the rainforests of the Amazon, Bucky appeared, and you did your best not to react as he sat on the couch where you had curled yourself up.

"Dinner already smells divine Beauty. Are you sure you won't join me tonight?"

You closed the book slowly. "Why are you so persistant about me joining you? Servents don't normally dine with their masters..."

"I don't consider you a servant. You are working off a debt, yes, but I still consider you a guest of sorts. If we are to share a home, we could at least share a meal..."

You narrowed your eyes but your treacherous stomach betrayed you, growling loudly.

He chuckled. "That settles it. You must join me. Oh! I have another delivery coming this afternoon. It's for you..."

And with that he left with your rainforests.

🥀

A dress.

It was a dress.

No in fact it wasn't a dress. It was an entire wardrobe of clothes, fit for a woman of a far higher status than you. Annoyingly they were all to your taste and fit like a glove.

You were mortified to find he had also purchased undergarments and threw the parcel of lacy items into the drawer to ignore them for the time being.

You decided on a pale green dress for dinner, throwing it on and brushing your hair through before rushing down to the kitchen to dish up.

He was in his usual simple black trousers and loose white shirt that he always wore, making you feel a bit of a spectacle in your shiny new dress, but he complimented you in a way that felt genuine so you smiled and allowed him to serve dinner.

He was quite handsome, but he was hidden behind a thick scraggy beard and long lank hair. The beard covered scars that you noticed drifted down towards his chest, more on his left side.

His metal arm, made of some mysterious metal called vibranium was surprisingly nimble. Occasionally he would knock something with it but it was hardly the terrifying limb the rest of the village made it out to be.

His eyes were the most wonderful though. Glittering blue that seemed to change with his emotions. Sparkling with joy, or turning grey with his anger.

You wondered what he must have been like before the war. There was definitely a sense of humour there, gentleness and generosity. But like so many men of his time, the things he had seen and done had buried those attributes beneath a surface of blood, mud and pain.

You ate mostly in silence because you were enjoying every single mouthful of delicious food. It was heaven, and even as the cook, you had to admit that this was the best roast you'd ever had. He seemed similarly impressed, mmh-ing at each new bite. It was almost sweet.

Once the plates were clearing he poured you a wine and started probing you. He wanted to know about your life, everything....

You answered briefly and without inspiration until he asked you about books.

"Oh yes I love to read. My mother insisted I learn and I'm so glad I did! I'll read anything I can get my hands on!" You laughed and he smiled, cogs turning in his head.

"I used to teach actually, I loved it. But they had to let me go..."

"Why? That seems crazy?"

"The money. There wasn't enough. I don't understand how people could take funding away from a school. It's so selfish..."

He stopped smiling.

"Maybe these places should learn to save better, and spend more wisely..."

You eyed him. "Well how can they with nothing? Don't be so naive, just because you have enough. Life is miserable enough without more selfish people in the world."

He threw his knife on the table and stood up.

"I knew it. You are just the same as the rest of them... Just waiting for a handout."

You also rose, fire burning in your chest

"I have never in my life asked for anything. I have worked all my life, harder that I imagine you ever have! I think its about kindness. It costs nothing to be kind James. And I'll stick to gruel if this is what dinner with you looks like."

You tore from the room before he could throw another barbed word your way, slamming the door and running to your bedroom. You refused to shed a tear until the door was firmly locked, collapsing on the bed, wishing this would all just end.

You heard a door slam in the distance before more tears fell until you finally drifted off to sleep.

🥀🥀🥀

[againstacecilia]

Because You Left

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Rating: This one's for anybody, but the whole blog is 18+ for sure.

Warnings: Lovers to strangers, fighting, angst, swearing, both of them are probably idiots but *shrug*

A/N: Holy wow it's been a minute! I've had this one in the vault for a while but just never did anything with it. There's a happy ending as well, so I can post that if there's interest, but I'm pushing myself to not tie everything up so nicely and let the tough emotions sit so you get ✨angst✨. We also don't need to talk about how I'm working through some things about an old flame with this one soooo hush. Unbeta'd, no use of y/n.

It’s an unusually quiet night on base, lamplight flickering through the hallways and muffled laughter sneaking under doors as people take advantage of the stillness. Your footsteps echo loudly, an intrusion in the calm as you hurry to your post, breathless by the time you arrive.

“Sorry I’m late,” you begin, not looking at your watch partner, “I couldn’t find-”

“Not like you to be late, Captain,” a familiar voice interrupts.

Your stomach flops as you meet Poe’s gaze. “I… I’m sorry, Commander.” Your words falter, the memory of your last encounter momentarily clouding your mind…

“Find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” Poe says quietly at the door, not looking at you, “I’m busy.”

“Of course you are. Seems like you’ve been busy a lot these days. Busy with everything but finding time for me.”

Poe doesn’t say anything as he turns his back to you, pressing the button to close the door to his quarters. The click of the door sliding into place echoes deep in your bones as you’re left alone in the hallway…

That was months ago. You’d immediately requested a service change to a new squadron and done everything in your power to avoid seeing him again. Night shifts and dangerous recon runs, anything to make sure your paths never crossed again. 

“No need to apologize, I won’t tell anyone.” Poe winks at you with a grin. “So, it’s been a while, how have you been?”

Shaking the memory from your mind, you begin preparing for your watch. “Fine. You?”

“I’ve been okay.” He watches you gather your things, eyes trained on your every move.

“Mmm,” you respond non-committedly, shoving a flashlight and spare battery pack for your blaster into your bag before tugging the straps over your shoulders. “Well, I should be off. Being late and all.”

“Actually, we should be off. Your shift buddy called out so I’m his replacement.”

Fantastic. “Commander Dameron on night patrol?”

“Everyone pitches in where they’re needed,” he responds, hoisting his pack. 

Six hours on watch with Poe was the last thing you wanted to do, but he was right. Everyone was expected to, and for the most part did, pitch in where they were needed. If this was how you were expected to help the Resistance then you’d grit your teeth and get through it. 

“Let’s get going then.” You’re out the door and making your way to the watchtower before he can reprimand you for speaking to your superior like that. 

Luckily, the calm seems to be holding and the watchtower is nearly serene in the clear night. Stars twinkle above you in constellations you were still learning and the breeze was a song you never tired of. Lost in the ebb and flow of nature around you, you don’t notice the time pass.

Poe’s voice breaks the silence for the first time in hours. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you nod, keeping your eyes on the wilderness beyond the base.

“What happened? With us?” 

Heat creeps up the back of your neck and the breeze seems to stop at the question. Like the whole base was waiting on bated breath for your response. “We just… Grew apart. That’s all.”

You hear Poe shift in his seat. “No, I don’t think that’s it. Not entirely.”

“What do you want me to say, Poe?” “I want you to look at me and tell me the truth.”

“I told you the truth.” Your clipped response is bitter on your tongue and you keep your body facing away from him. “We grew apart and the war got in the way of everything else.”

“This isn’t just some distance thing, tell me what happened.”

“I have nothing else to say.”

“You’re still not telling me the truth. I know you, why did you suddenly-”

“Because you left!” The words rip out of you and you finally stand, whirling around to face him. “Because you left me, Poe.”

Indignation blazes across his face. “I never left you, not any longer than a mission required of me!”

“That’s not what I mean!” Both your voices are too loud for the quiet watch, but you don’t care. Emotions flare and dance in your veins, demanding to be released. “You stopped giving a damn and then kicked me out of your room and told me you were busy. You stopped fighting for me. For us. You left one day and never really came back.”

The silence seems to echo as your words fade from the lone tower, open to the night sky. “I’d been trying for weeks at that point, Poe, and you kept pushing me away. So I stopped trying because you obviously didn’t want me around!”

“When have I ever said I don’t want you around?” He’s also standing, stepping into your orbit with his hands extended to his sides.

“You didn’t have to say it.” Stomping away from him to the rail of the tower, you lean against the weathered wood, “It was painfully clear.”

He follows you and grips your shoulders, spinning you to face him. “I’ve been out of my damn mind trying to be a leader in all of this. You know what Leia expects of me, you know what’s at stake-”

“Of course I do!” You shake his hands off you and push him away, “But I thought it would be exactly because of those reasons that you’d give a fuck about me. I thought, for a moment, that I was one of those things you were fighting for.”

“You were! You still are, and you always have been!”

“Just stop.” Your voice is trembling with rage and pain; searing white flames lick through the marrow of your bones. “Whether you meant to or not, you made it very clear where your priorities are and I’ve made my peace with the fact that this,” a sweeping gesture to the sleeping base below, “is your priority. Not me. And I shouldn’t be. I mean, hell, what am I compared to the entire Resistance?”

Needing to put any amount of distance between you, you make your way to the other side of the tower and settle into a chair, facing away from Poe. The noise from the breeze and insects comes back into focus as you curl your legs against your chest. 

After a moment, Poe’s voice reaches you from across the tower, “Do you know why I told you I was busy that night? Why I told you to go sleep somewhere else?”

You don’t respond, hugging your legs tighter as the anger starts to fizzle into sadness.

“I told you to leave because Leia had informed me that we had just lost an entire squadron to an ambush in the Mid-Rim. I had gotten some intel that there was going to be an unprotected shipment of weapons in the area and that group was sent out to get them. It was a trap, and my bad information got them all killed.” Poe stayed away from you through his explanation, his voice drifting by more quietly with each word. “None of them made it home. Because of me.”

The urge to go to him, to wrap him in your arms and comfort him, nearly overwhelms you for a moment before he continues. “I told you to leave because I didn’t want you, of all people, to see me break. I shattered that night, and when the sun rose and I realized that I’d made a huge mistake, you had already transferred and I didn’t see you again for weeks.”

Silent tears fall from your eyes at his admissions; the truths he laid in front of you. “So I let you go,” he whispers, “because it felt like some sort of karmic justice to lose you for what happened to those fighters.”

You find your voice again and say, “I’m sorry about the mission, I didn’t know… But that doesn’t make any of this better. It doesn’t excuse the fact that you didn’t even try.”

“You haven’t let me try.” His quiet voice begins to turn to ice.

“How was I supposed to know you even wanted to? You knew where my quarters were, you have access to all my orders; you could’ve come talk to me at any time and yet you didn’t.”

Heavy footsteps move away toward the edge of the tower. Without turning, you can picture his face in the starlight: his eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, muscles in his jaw and neck jumping as he clenches his teeth. “You said I didn’t try. That I made it obvious I didn’t want you around. Well, Captain,” he spits your rank into the night, “you made it pretty clear as well that you didn’t want to be near me. Switching squads and dodging me at every turn.”

“You have no right-” you begin, but Poe cuts you off.

“I have every right!” His yell echoes off the gently rolling hills surrounding the base. “I have every damn right when you throw accusations in my face like this. You wanna talk about someone leaving or giving up? How about we talk about how all it took was one bad night for me for you to completely push me away?”

Rage begins simmering in your gut again, bringing you to your feet and back across the tower. “You never gave me any indication that you were dealing with more than the normal amount of stress. I tried everything I could to ease that stress for you; bringing you food when you were drowning in paperwork in your room, letting you fuck me every night even when you couldn’t look me in the eye, ignoring every red flag just to try and prove to you that I was there through it all. And it was never enough.”

“Well, I guess that’s our answer, then.” Poe keeps his gaze locked with yours, eyes gleaming with fury and sadness.

Your heart shatters. “I… I guess it is.”

“I’ll send someone else up here.” Poe lingers for a heartbeat, fists clenched at his side, before turning and heading down the stairs, leaving you alone. 

You stare out over base, watching Poe’s form disappear from view in the night, each step a death knell in your bones. Any future you daydreamed about fades with each passing breath. By the time Poe’s replacement makes it up the tower, the early morning wind has dried your tears and frozen a thick casing of ice around your heart.

[amournoir]

ello ello! i'd like to request a rafe fic, he takes y/n on a date on valentines? 💌 can’t help falling in love w you: sfw oneshot w/ rafe

- 🖤

Chaos & Calm

pairing(s): rafe cameron x f!reader

count: 1.2k

warning(s): none just fluff

author’s note: hi hunny, thank you so much for the request! i hope you enjoy it 🤍

Rafe had always been the reckless Cameron, known for his wild antics and questionable choices. Yet, when it came to Y/N, his usually fearless demeanor melted into a mix of nerves and uncertainty. Days before Valentine's Day, he found himself haunted by the idea of asking her out. 

One afternoon, in the sun-drenched chaos of the Outer Banks, Rafe approached Y/N. Surprisingly absent was his usual cocky grin; instead, he fumbled over words. "So, you know, V-Day's coming up, and uh, thought maybe we could, like, grab some grub or whatever." 

Y/N, amused by the unexpected vulnerability, smirked, "Grub, huh? Sure, why the hell not? Just don't make it fancy, Cameron." 

And just like that, in the mess of Rafe's less-than-smooth words and Y/N's easygoing response, a date was set in motion. In the days leading up to their not-so-typical valentine’s day date, Rafe found himself navigating unfamiliar waters. Gone were the days of carefree recklessness instead he was entangled in a web of genuine emotions. Y/N, with her easygoing nature had become the unexpected muse for this transformation. 

Their interactions, once centered around banter and playful teasing, now bore the weight of unspoken words. Rafe who was usually the master of evasion, felt an unexplainable pull toward Y/N that left him grappling with this new and uncomfortable vulnerability. Y/N, perceptive and patient, seemed to understand what he was going through. She didn’t push or prod but instead, she let him unravel at his own pace. Late-night talks on the beach and shared glances during the chaos of the islands’ parties became the canvas upon which their connection painted itself. 

Whilst Rafe stumbled through the intricacies of emotions, Y/N provided an anchor in the storm. Her laughter would echo through his mind like a calming melody, a stark contrast to the chaos that usually defined his world. In those moments, the layers of bravado peeled away, revealing a side of Rafe that even he hadn’t fully explored. This uncharted territory would become a shared exploration, and Rafe for the first time, found himself wanting to willingly navigate the emotional depths of those waters of vulnerability with her. 

Valentine’s Day dawned with an air of anticipation and curiosity as Rafe prepared for their unconventional date. The chosen venue wasn’t a high-end restaurant or a lavish setting but it was a local diner that had witnessed the ebb and flow of countless stories in the heart of the island. As Rafe and Y/N entered inside, the atmosphere was a blend of classic rock tunes and the clinking of cutlery. Booths with worn-out cushions and flickering neon signs set the stage for a date that defied expectations. The not-so-fancy date was a testament to the authenticity of their blooming relationship. 

Rafe smirked as his eyes drank in Y/N’s attire and her figure. “Well, you clean up nice.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, “Takes one to know one, Cameron. I see you put in some effort tonight.”

“Only for special occasions, and you're looking at one right now.”

“Oh, am I?” She asked playfully. “What exactly makes tonight so special?”

With a smug grin, he replied. “Because I'm here…” Y/N scoffed and rolled her eyes but he continued, “...with the most beautiful person in the room.”

“Nice save, Cameron. But I'll take the compliment.” 

Rafe led Y/N to their table, holding her chair out with a confident yet playful demeanor. As they settled in, the banter continued. He leaned back in his seat as he looked across at her in the booth. “So, what do you think of this place? Impressed?”

A waiter quickly placed complementary glasses of water on their table, dropping the menus off and scampered off elsewhere. Y/N took a long drawn out sip then smirked, “It's alright. I've seen better.”

Rafe feigned his offense. “Ouch. Tough crowd. I thought you'd appreciate my refined taste.” 

She giggled and placed her glass back on the worn out mahogany table. “Don't worry, Rafe. I'm sure it'll be unforgettable.” 

As the night progressed, the flirtatious banter continued, each comment escalating the playful tension between them. The older Cameron leaned in closer to Y/N, elbows perched on the table as he held her gaze. “You know, after dinner, I was thinking we could take a stroll on the beach. I hear the stars are out tonight.” 

“A beach date, Cameron? Trying to impress me with clichés?” She teased, a small smile playing on her lips. 

He admired that beautiful look on her face and released a chuckle he wasn’t aware he held, “Just setting the mood, sweetheart. But if you're not into it, I'm sure I can come up with something more original.”

Y/N drummed her manicured nails on the four-legged furniture, her left hand resting on it whilst her chin was cradled in her palm. “Alright, Mr. Smooth Talker, beach it is.” 

“You know, I wasn't sure how you'd feel about going out with me. I've been wanting to ask you for a while.”

“What, the great Rafe Cameron nervous about asking someone out?” Y/N playfully teased him. 

Rafe scratched the back of his neck as he nervously glanced at her with his boyish smile. “Hey, it's different when it's someone you really like.” He was stunned at his own admission. He quickly tried to busy himself with the menu but after a moment, he peeked over it just to find her smirking at him. 

In that corner booth, amidst the diner’s timeless chaos, Rafe and Y/N engaged in a dance of laughter and shared stories. The menu, worn and stained, served as a backdrop to their unfiltered conversation. Rafe found comfort in the simplicity of the moment or perhaps it was her presence that brought out that peace within him. The food, far from gourmet, was a medley of local specialties; it wasn’t about the extravagance, it was about the shared experience. Y/N made him forget the weight of his usual reputation. 

The waiters and waitresses ran amok from one end of the tiny wooden restaurant to the other. Dishes and glasses and cutlery clattered as they crashed either on the tiled kitchen floors or the countertops. It was a bit chaotic but somehow still comforting. Amidst spilled drinks and mismatched silverware, Rafe’s nerves gave way to a surprising sense of ease. This date was not about impressing or performing; it was about two people, curious to explore their unexpected connection  in a place that made them feel seen and heard. Here in this diner, it was easy. It was simple. It was calm…with a bit of chaos. 

As they left the diner, the neon lights casting a warm glow on their silhouettes, Rafe and Y/N realized that sometimes, it’s the unconventional moments that leave the deepest impressions. The aftermath of their not-so-fancy Valentine’s Day date would usher in a new chapter for Rafe and Y/N. In the weeks that followed, they found themselves caught in a dance of shared glances and stolen moments. 

Rafe, the untamed Cameron, discovered solace in Y/N’s presence. She, with her serene nature, held him steady amid the storms of his own making. Late-night beach walks turned into shared confessions, and within the whispers of the ocean, they forged a bond that surpassed the superficial layers of their social existence. As the days rolled by, the tension between them slowly dissipated, leaving them standing on the precipice of something significant. Neither knew where this newfound friendship, each hopeful for a relationship, would lead them. He desperately needed calm in his otherwise turbulent life but she could do with some chaos to ruffle those feathers of hers but one date certainly wasn’t going to fix that.

🏷️ taglist:

⤷ @catmikaelson20 @elijahmikaelsontrash @hopes-wife @klaustopia @klausysworld @loverswillowed @moremaybank @miasmultifandomdump @mrs-maximoff-kenner @multiversediaries @mxacegrey @original-siphon @onlyfreds @panic-at-the-fiction @ranising @slinthoex @spike-and-angels-gf @spnandtvdudeservedbetter @thatfanficstuff @thatfictionalwh0re @wholoveseggs @drewstarkeyslut @drudyslut @jjsbank444 @moremaybank @rafetopia @sweetestdesire @tinyluvs {lmk if you’d like to be added to the taglist!}

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[nathaniel-underwood-is-an-intj]

Looong rant about chapter 16 Ptolemy's Gate and how being passive can add to the cycle of ab*se.

oof so I just read when Nat goes to see Ms Lutyens and I can't help but be absolutely furious at her??

I know that's maybe a little bit unfair given she's frightened of him as a magician and is obviously angry when she finds out the department he's responsible for, but honestly it kinda brings up the problem with inadvertent bystanders to child ab*se in my mind.

And I'm definitely not blaming her solely for who Nat becomes but it makes me think of all those people in huge child ab*se cases who give interviews to press about all the things they noticed that were wrong but they just...never do anything?

She stood up for him against Lovelace, and when Nat thanked her- "I wanted to say that I know you were trying to save me, and-"

''Yes, and I'm sorry I didn't" Like girl be for real did you really think that alone would undo the years of indoctrination and abuse he's already suffered and prevent years worth of the same in the years to come? And she won't take responsibility - "My job is with children, not the adults they become" and again while it seems harsh to blame her for who Nat becomes, it's so much easier to pass the blame to people who are more directly responsible rather than acknowledging you also play a part.

I think it hurts so much more because it's her specifically- Nat goes to her in sheer desperation, it almost seems like a goodbye- he wants to thank her, tries to set her up in a job that will pay well and struggles to communicate he's trying to help. At this point he thinks Bartimaeus has been summoned by another magician and his birth name will be revealed. He's sure he's about to die and if not he'll be stood on trial and lose everything.

He goes to her because she represents the peaceful moments from his childhood when he got away from his master. He's scared and feeling lost and really it's call for help; but he doesn't ask for anything he just wants to make her feel proud of him- he's looking for that validation that he's been chasing since childhood.

And that shows he still does have that little bit of childhood innocence in him; he thinks she will be proud, thinks she'll see him as the same little boy in the garden gazing up at his teacher in adoration. He can't quite grasp why she's separated the man stood before her from that little boy. Because in that moment the child inside Nathaniel is seeking comfort AND THAT'S WHY it makes me so angry. She's completely given up on him when he's at his lowest ebb, because she doesn't want to be associated with the magician he's become. As if it isn't a massive step in the right direction that he saught her out in the first place- what other magican would bother? I wonder if that's why she reacted so strongly to seeing him again? Before that moment she could go about her life wondering if /pretending her attempt to protect him was enough, and now she realises it wasn't, of course it wasn't, and the image she had of Nathaniel's childhood innocence is completely ruined in her mind.

Or was her contempt for him even grater than Nat realised? She was naturally disgusted by the rhetoric he'd started to repeat from a young age, and gently tried to correct him although she was clearly angry- was she just resigned to the fact that there is little else she could do to change his future? I always thought- couldn't she have looked for him? The Underwood house fire was in the papers and they mentioned the apprentice was being searched for. Did she ever worry about him? Surely something must have been in the papers since- an announcement of new ministers, ANYTHING! Look at how much research Kitty did to find out about Bartimaeus and Ptolemy. I just don't think Rosanna Lutyens cared enough, realistically Nathaniel wasn't hard to find- but he was no longer her responsibility so she could turn a blind eye.

And sadly it's not just her- I know everyone loves Martha Underwood including Nat; but I think her submissiveness to her husband has a negative effect on Nathaniel as well. In AOS when Nat is locked in his room for ages after setting the mites loose, and is forbidden to have any contact with anyone and she won't talk with him. I know she's been told by Mr. Underwood she can't, but it still boils my blood. She's an adult and going along with ignoring Nathaniel because her husband told her to...I can't even begin to imagine the psychological damage that would do to a 10 year old child. (It could be argued she's frightened of the consequences if her husband finds out she's disobeyed him which is fair, he could always be watching through magic- but this is Arthur Underwood we're talking about. He's lazy, oblivious and weak I doubt he'd expend all that energy each day to check up on her.)

And It's even more painful that Nathaniel is often described as fiercely loyal to her and I think to Ms Lutyens as well- he doesn't expect to be treated well by Arthur Underwood but he loved Mrs Underwood and Ms Lutyens so much he started to view them through a rose-coloured lense. He never feels betrayed by either of them, even though they absolutely let him down, because the pedestal he's put them on is too high AND THAT ABSOLUTELY DESTROYS ME.

Would things with Nathaniel have been any different if Mrs Underwood hadn't died? I don't really think so. Do you think she'd see Nathaniel's temper at 14 years old and be reminded of Arthur Underwood? He was awful, absolutely awful to Nat and to her; but he was under so much stress in an underfunded departement, where pressure was being put on him by superiors to accomplish far more than they knew him to be capable of, and he took it out on the easiest target. Nathaniel ends up in exactly the same place and he starts to take it out on the only person around him- Bartimaeus. Would he snap at Mrs Underwood all the time if she were still there? Because he's learnt that behaviour from his father figure, and subconsciously learnt from his mother figure that she'll put up with it. He learnt from the woman he loved so deeply, that if you don't resist, people will walk all over you. So you have to maintain control even if it ends up hurting people you care about because no one will step in to stop the suffering no matter how much you love them, no matter how much you want them too.

It's easy to blame Arthur Underwood and Simon Lovelace and the magicians that actively hurt Nathaniel but I just feel like it's a bit disingenuous not to acknowledge the role of those doing passive harm. It's really mean to say it but even Bartimaeus plays a role- he knows Nat is clinging on to him because he can't 'bring himself to break this last connection' (to his childhood) but instead of bringing it up properly he 'taunts' Nathaniel- a boy who has been taunted for his weakness by his master for years. And even in AOS when Nathaniel tells Bartimaeus he was beaten for the mites incident Bart just kinda shrugs it off. Like I get it, why should Bartimaeus do anything, he's suffered way worse due to the system so he doesn't owe Nat anything right? But from Nat's point of view this is the first and only time he's mentioned to anyone what has happened to him and nothing changes. It's like another lesson learnt: telling someone about it doesn't help. Another nail in the coffin.

And I like all these characters, I feel bad for them. They're all victims of the system, I think the chapter with Ms Lutyens is just the straw that broke the camel's back for me. All of those little opportunities that are insignificant to the narrative over all; the commoners have it worse, Nathaniel is in a privileged position in society, exerting control over others. He's very morally grey, crossing over into objectively bad person territory but I love him with my whole heart and all of those insignificant moments would have been massive to him whether he was conscious of it or not.

And it goes all the way back to the beginning with Nat's parents giving him up to the magicians at 5 years old. I can't get the image of that little boy sat crying all alone in the government building. And he's not going somewhere safer, or somewhere he'll be happier and more loved. Giving your child over to a total stranger, oh he'll be totally fine won't he? He'll grow up to be a magician and far richer than you'll ever be, he'll be happy and comfortable and be grateful he got to grow up in luxury. There's no way a stranger you've never met, who the majority of society is terrified of would ever hurt a vulnerable little kid right? And if they do? Well you aren't responsible anymore, how could you know? What could you possibly do against the magician taking care of him?

Every little thing is another grain of sand tipping the scale. Did anyone else have to analyse An Inspector Calls in school? It feels like that to me- those BIG moments and all the little moments in between that add onto the pile.

And it goes on to cause problems in wider society too- ab*se is so normalised to the magicians, they casually ask Underwood if he hits Nathaniel like it's nothing. Because to them it is nothing, they've all grown up in the same circumstances and are repeating what they've learnt as children. I can't help but feel a little sorry for them all, especially when they aren't looked at through the black and white lense of 'argh these people are the evil arseholes look at how they treat everyone around them, screw these guys.' When we see those little glimpses of humanity like Simon's anxiety with the amulet; looking to his master and father figure Schyler for reassurance, and what's sad is that Nat is "reminded...of his own master's cold impatience" It's clear Simon looks up to his master, wants to make him proud and loves him. But it seems like Schyler has just trained Simon up so he can get power through him later on. I love the little hints of similarities between Simon and Nathaniel; the anxious mannerisms like fiddling with his hair that Nathaniel starts to develop, the way their master's talk to them. Even though they're actively working against each other in AOS and Simon is placed firmly in the baddies category and Nat in the goodies category at this point in the series; these things always hinted to me they had similar childhoods, how was Simon treated? When he had the imp beat Nat into unconsciousness, was it because he'd had the same punishment used against him? Did he know the magicians in the room would do nothing to stop him because no one stopped it from happening to him? Did he ever have a teacher stand up for him only for it to change nothing in the end because all the negative influences were so much stronger? Is the reason he loves Schyler like a dad because he's almost developed Stockholm syndrome? It looks like love because he's never known anything else.

And Arthur Underwood- who doesn't think his upbringing, and being taken away from his family ever did him any harm- doesn't realise the harm done is that he doesn't even know another way of raising Nathaniel, because he was never shown another way. His childhood may also have been filled with people who hurt him and the people that didn't do enough to intervene.

There are so many psychology studies that show children copy everything they see the adults in their life doing. Nathaniel copies the magicians behaviour towards spirits and on a subconscious level I think he copies all the submissive people in his life. How many times does he end up upset and frustrated with the fact he seems to be going nowhere and how many times does he just hope things will be different rather than taking postive action.

I dislike the actions the magicians end up taking but I also find them fascinating to analyse. I tend to prefer villains in media because they're usually slightly more complex individuals and I love to think about how they ended up that way. They can all be seen as victims of their circumstances in a way, despite all the power and privilege they have had terrible and traumatic childhoods, and if the commoners had no valuable worldy possessions at least they had a sense of togetherness; of love and understanding and selflessness. I wonder if the magicians hated them at least partly because of that. Because out in the sea of faces of the commoners talking about nothing important, doing nothing great and noble- could be the parents that abandoned them. And when your life is on the line daily because of working with spirits, and your colleagues want to stab you in the back, sometimes not being responsible for anything important looks good. But you can't leave your life as a magician, it would be too difficult; you have nowhere to go, no real friends, no one who really loves you. So it's better to stay and be a submissive bystander in your own life because it's so much easier.

Doing nothing is doing something- being passive can be just as harmful.

[halsinningiswinning]

Have you got a favourite BG3 headcanon to share? :D

I actually have quite a few, but I couldn't pick a single bloody one. So instead you get a delirious pain fuelled rambling about a few HC's I have~ Some, mind you, are gonna be sexual.

Thank you SM💞 This was a lot of fun!

1 ) Lae'zel is the most likely to earn her Red Wings. Sorry Astarion, but she's built different. His complicated relationship with sex would delay him having that chat I think, but maybe he can take the second place.

Lae'zel on the other hand always seems into her lover, and as a Githyanki would not have the same cultural understanding of menstruation. Why would it gross her out? She's seen her lovers blood before, on rare occasion spilled it herself. Finding out that they just bleed, casually, on a fairly regular basis as a part of their fertility cycles would both amaze and disturb her. We know her opinion on pregnancy and birth, so she'd find the reasoning behind menstruation to be pitiable, but the physical reality of it would be no less fascinating to her. Pour one out for any lover she has who isn't as comfortable with it as she is, because she fully will not understand their discomfort.

2 ) Gale isn't very good at sharing a kitchen. He's all too happy to cook for those he loves, be it romantic or platonic. In many ways it's an act of love and devotion, and it never feels like a chore to him even when he doesn't get much thanks.

He's less happy to have people cook for him, but he's mature enough to step aside. It'd be selfish of him to deny others the pleasure he sees in cooking, so as long as it's not too often he can accept it. Tho, in his youth I do imagine he was a picky eater, and his preference for cooking started there. Boy genuinely felt he was the best cook since he liked his food the best. Genius that one is.

His grace collapses when he's forced to share a space while cooking. Unless you remain out of arms length from him at all times he will make an annoyed little huff every time he sees you. It's not personal, you're just throwing off his groove. If frustrated enough he will simply grab your shoulders and move you out of his way. His ideal form of cooking together is him doing all the cooking, and you simply sitting in the corner talking to him, occasionally trying whatever he presents. It's a good thing.

3 ) Wyll actually has an unhinged story for just about every part of Baldur's Gate. I firmly believe we only got to hear a sliver of his stories in the game. I'm sure he knows not everyone wants to hear every detail, so he only shares what he thinks are the good bits. However, all you need to do to find out more is to ask him if he's been to that location before.

Oh to wander around the city with him on a lazy afternoon.

That fence? He was 12 when he climbed it, fell from near the top. His father was nearly beside himself, but a bush broke young Wyll's fall so he suffered no real injury. Just to his pride.

That tower outcropping? At only 8 years old young Wyll had wandered off, amazed at the view. Curled up in a little window hole, he fully missed the Fist hunting for him. Poor Ulder thought he'd been snatched away. Florrick found him asleep on the ledge, hours after he wandered off.

Keep him talking and you'll get nothing done. Wyll would thrive as a bard.

4 ) I think Halsin has large ebbs and flows in his libido. He's very sex positive, but I don't think that means he's hypersexual. He's had phases of his life where he certainly was, both before and after his drow capture, but it's not his baseline.

On the other hand he's had just as many phases of hyposexuality, sometimes lasting decades at a time. While I've used clinical language, he would not. To him his libido is simply obeying its own natural cycles, even though his highs and lows are more extreme than the average person may experience.

[deathodil]

Romanticize Your Weightloss

Dear Diary,

Writing to you today because life has been a whirlwind lately. You were so stressed making that cross-country move, and I know you gained back some of your weight loss. But guess what? It. Is. Okay. Much like the ocean that you left, your life will have ebbs and flows. Now that you are settling, how do you want to go about losing the weight you lost? I know it's been hard, but a great tip of advice you received was to romanticize your weight loss. Date yourself. Learn to love yourself through this process.

On to the tips:

1. Buy cute workout clothes: Scour the thrift shops, sales at Target, sites on Amazon. Just because you don't look the way you want to yet doesn't mean you don't deserve to look and feel good.

2. Esthetic food: Don't eat ugly plates. Make them pretty, full of all the good foods you should eat. Pretend every dish is going on Instagram even though you would never post your food.

3. Manifest who you want to be: This one is fun, almost like creating a Sim. What does your future healthy self like to eat? Is she a gym girl? Yoga fiend? Write down all of her attributes and then pick one or two of those attributes you could do now. Next week pick one or two more. Practice and build up those traits until they become second nature to you.

4. Imagine You're Somewhere Romantic: I often long to walk the cobblestone streets of Paris or be deep in the woods like a fairytale. When I can't I imagine my walks in much more luxurious places, imagining what it would be like. Maybe I'm a skinny Parisienne woman walking to a local Cafe, maybe I'm wood nymph connecting with nature. It not only helps you go further but stretch those imagination muscles in the process.

5. Treat yourself like a Queen: Celebrate your progress along the way. Whether it's tea at sunset, a relaxing bubble bath, a new book, or sleeping in, make sure to reward yourself for your hard work.

Remember, this journey is about more than just losing weight. It's about nurturing yourself, inside and out. Embrace the process, and soon you'll find yourself blooming like never before.

With love,

Deathodil

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS: 🧝‍♀️MYSTERIOUS HALF-NYMPH DEMIGOD (?) 🧝‍♂️ (PART 2)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is PART 1 of the Mysterious Half-Nymph Demigod Headcanons. Due to the size limit of Tumblr, I had to split the entire work into two. [LINK TO PART 1 HERE] This is just 1 out of the 4 works I have planned and written for, and these works will be categorised as the MISCELLANEOUS GODS due to not the fact these gods are minor or anything, but because I did mention this in an ask before and it's easier to think about due to the canon PJO worldbuilding. These works will be a bit more loose since I'm taking a shot in the wild so hopefully you guys like it. Thanks for reading!!

You merge yourself into camp life, doing the same activities as the other campers like you’re one of them. The days go by relatively normal as you start following the wishes of your parents; with you even making friends along the way. By then,  the reaction of people knowing you’re probably half-nymph ebbs and flows; some still whisper as you walk by, and some simply do not care. 

You find things you’re good at and the ones you’re bad at. Though without anything definitive that may help you with who your parent is; given being nature spirits. Even as you help out with the children of Demeter and Dionysus with the strawberry fields, they don’t particularly flourish under your care. Meg very bluntly tells you unless your parent was a strawberry nymph, then you’re just tapped into having a green thumb. A boy with brown hair and freckles on his face quickly slaps his hand over her face before giving you a stammered apology for his friend before his eyes land on you. You swear you see his eyes flash an unearthly blue in surprise before his breath hitch. You attempt to ask what’s wrong before the boy excuses him and Meg, dragging away from you. You only see Meg kick his butt, yelling at him in the distance and the boy hurriedly apologising but also gesturing wildly at you. 

Yet between the camp activities and almost mundane acts, you find yourself being pulled to the side occasionally to be asked questions on your parentage. No one’s sure if you’re ever going to get claimed considering that regular nymphs don’t have a claim, nor your deity parent would have a claim that they would recognize. That dose of reality dampens your spirit and you always find yourself in a rut. In those moments, you find yourself either being drawn to the water down by the shore, sitting on the ground and letting the water lap at your bear feet as you stare out at the horizon; or finding your feet taking you towards Cabin 3, The Poseidon Cabin. As if you’re being pulled towards it. You never tried entering in, just staring at the strange familiarity of it. 

Eventually, one particular night, you were having a dream. You know it was something from your childhood and your nymph parent. You were so close to getting that detail but before you could grasp it, you’re startled awake by the foot kicked in your side. You let out a gasp, torn out of your dream as you look at the offender in anger to only see the person next to you hanging in a strange limb covering in what looks like to be military grade sticky string. Grumpy, you decide to take a little walk outside, cooling your nerves. Again, you find yourself at the Poseidon Cabin. You sit at the steps, letting its presence wash its presence over you and calm your nerves.  

“So…uhh, can I help you?” you hear as you jump out of your skin and whip your head towards the sound. There in his glory, you see Percy Jackson. You haven’t seen him before, only hear of him but you feel that strange familiarity. You quickly stammer out your explanation and while Percy seems confused, he listens well before you start to see something like understanding in his eyes. 

There you eventually see Percy more often as moral support. You find yourself easily talking to him as he sort of helps you, teaching you how to fight with a sword and recounts his tale of his own attempt to figure out who his godly father was. You’ve heard the story before but not as detailed and personal from the source. You find yourself enamoured. 

It’s not long after you learn who your nymph parent is.

Everything comes to a head when its time for Capture the Flag. The Hermes cabin are on the Blue team, with Athena leading the charge. Percy pats your back as a teammate and tells you it’ll be fine. He told you how he got claimed but something about it seems like deja vu. The game continues on as it does but eventually you find yourself cornered by a couple of demigods who have taken it their personal mission to bully you for being half-nymph. You fight 1 vs 4 and then you find yourself pushed to the edge of the cliff. Your feet dangerously close and cornered. Yet you hear a voice calling to you to the waters below and you fall back. The water catches your fall, enveloping you like a mother’s hug and then you find yourself being rushed with power.

You rise out of the water, with it swirling beneath you while raising you upwards like a pedestal. You watch your bullies look up at you with awe and fear, as you look down at them. You lost your sword but in your hand was a trident. 

The game came to an end with a win to your team and your enemies washed up on the shore. You find yourself walking down the steps of water and then reality hits you.  You see Percy and everyone else staring at you. You hear people whispering that you’re a child of Poseidon but as you look at Percy, you see him come to the same conclusion, you both know…you’re not. 

Then everyone gasps, yelling at the dolphin claim over your head in confusion before you hear some others curse. You feel the earth start to shake in anger and the waters crash and rumble, causing people to shriek at the rising tide. Your head is desperately looking around as people are scrambling to get out of the rapidly rising water with the ground shaking beneath their shaky legs. You can hear Percy yell furiously at the water, grabbing you to his side protectively as the water takes over.  As the water swirls around you, you can hear two people yelling in the water but your ears are ringing. Percy has you close to his side, making sure you don’t get swept away and you can make out him yelling at a man before you. You see a tall woman with long black hair, pinked back in a net of pearls and silk with eyes dark as mocha; her flowing white gown looked like seafoam, paired with a circlet of polished red craw claws. By the woman’s side, you saw a man who you saw so much Percy in him. The man and woman seemed to be having an argument, their hands gesturing to you and Percy. The son of Poseidon stood beside you with his sword being held limply before you saw he was getting more and more irritated before he let out a New York whistle, gathering the two’s attention. He started saying something to them with both gods looking a bit meekish before nodding along with whatever Percy was seeing before the two couple seemed to reconcile. The woman leaned down to you, gently brushing your hair gently as you remembered who she was. The man gave you a weak smile and nod, patted Percy’s shoulder.

Your ears are roaring with adrenaline and confusion, and with the swirling tides, you can’t hear anything. So you focus on what’s in front of you. Then it hits you that the woman looks familiar to you, then you see your features on the woman…then you realize, no you’ve been seeing some of her features on your face in the mirror. 

The water recedes and you hear people call out your names. You turn as Chiron gallops in front of you as Percy curses. People ask what’s going on before he sighs as he puts a hand on your shoulder, gathering the crowd’s attention with a New York whistle before addressing them. 

“The bloodline is determined. Queen and Goddess of the Sea, Consort of Poseidon. Hail, [y/n] [l/n], child of Amphitrite.”

SILENCE

Then,

Chaos.

You see the child of Hera and Persephone look at you with a dumbfounded look before they walk over to you, patting your backs in sympathy as you are revealed to be Amphitrite’s demigod child. Completing the Big Three’s Wives’ Demigod Children.  

 🌊 AMPHITRITE: QUEEN OF THE SEA, GODDESS OF THE SEA, MEMBER OF THE NEREIDS 🔱

A/n: So it turns out I forgot I had Rick Riodan and Rocco's Percy Jackson Greek Gods book this entire time that I bought YEARS ago, so I dusted it off and read a couple bits and BOY, I should've read it this sooner. I'm now using the knowledge from the canonized information perspective of the PJO's of the gods so here's one of them! So yeah, turns out out of the Big Three Wives, Amphitrite is the only goddess out of them that has no problems with Poseidon having relationships outside of their marriage and treats his children pretty well. In fact, Amphitrite made Percy cookies, and both of them have a pretty good relationship actually.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Tethered to You" Chapter 2

Masterlist HERE.

"There's somethin' about you I'm likin'

Bit too much, is a bit frightenin'

Got a bit of bite to you like python

Got a bit of fight to you like Tyson

All my things sound like they sin

Never planned to be in like I'm in

How you could put this cherry on this cake and make it icin'?"

Normani – "All Yours"

Osha couldn't shake the coiled tension in her dumbstruck body. It wound its serpentine hold around her limbs and torso making it impossible to think the impossible for hours.

Mae was alive.

Her twin sister was alive and responsible for assassinating two Jedi masters in cold blood.

The pungent afternoon air on Olega cooled her heated face. She kept pace with the Jedi who stalked through the dusty streets past mercantile shops and a few boisterous cantinas far from the Jedi Temple. A Jedi Master she hadn't seen in nearly two decades was having his lifeless body prepared for cremation as they searched for clues about Mae.

Her sister had taken the yellow leaves from the bunta tree —a tree from their long lost home planet —and created a poisonous elixir to aid her killing spree. The shock of it all pressed down on Osha's shoulders. An ache of shame nestled at her nape too.

Sixteen years.

Sixteen years since she rested eyes on her other half. The anger and cold bitterness that numbed her so long ago because of what Mae had done to their family and coven gripped her movement making her muscles tight. She wanted to see her sister desperately to make sure it was all real. But she wanted to throttle her too. Beat the bones out of her selfish body. Hell, she was still in a tizzy over reconnecting with Master Sol, her father-figure and savior, the man who kept his promise to protect her after the fire burned down her home-world fortress. She couldn't ponder the ebb and flow of clashing emotions for too long though. They were on a mission to find the nearest apothecary that sold bunta leaves. It had a short shelf-life for potency and Yord's Padawan narrowed it down to a shop located on a busy market square with heavy foot traffic. It was the most logical spot to begin their search.

Yord's young Padawan had done reconnaissance for them earlier. The man posted up inside the shop was not the regular known shopkeeper, and the Padawan ascertained he was Mae's partner-in-crime. The plan was for Osha to enter the shop and pretend to be Mae, get a confession from the suspect so that Sol could record it, and then suss out Mae's location. All without causing harm to innocent civilians wandering the area in case the stranger turned violent. She ran scenarios in her head of how she'd react once they captured her sister. None bode well for her twin.

Master Sol slowed his stride toward the apothecary and turned to her. Those kind eyes still showered her with quiet affection. He kept a reserved manner probably to keep her from freaking out at the circumstances.

"Are you ready, Osha?" Sol asked.

His calm stoic nature gave her courage to face the task at hand.

"I'm ready."

The Jedi watched her stroll into the crowd away from them. She blended in well looking like a salvage worker who just clocked out and sought a place to drink and hustle a new gig. Her neck swiveled to observe if anyone odd followed or watched her too closely.

She stopped in front of a garment-vendor's open-air shop and lifted her repair droid Pip from the snug holster on her hip, and stuck him on the front pocket of her meknek uniform.

"I hope you guys can hear me," she said into the top of Pip's head.

She purchased a long black shawl from the two-horned gray-skinned garment vendor and carefully draped it around her body and head. It covered Pip completely and she tossed a long lose end over her left shoulder. Inhaling a deep breath, she crossed a wide-open street and headed directly for the apothecary.

Her mouth became dry and she tried accumulating enough saliva to keep her tongue loose and voice from cracking. The apothecary had a wide clear window and she took a quick glimpse inside. She couldn't see anyone at first until she noticed a shadowy figure moving in the back. Standing taller, she slowed her pace and took another galvanizing breath. Osha kept her face neutral and entered the shop.

A strong odor of boiling peppery herbs struck her nostrils first before other scents caught her attention. The shop looked orderly if not a bit dust-laden from customers tracking in the powdery red dirt from the street. There was no sign of Mae anywhere, and the shop was devoid of customers. Scanning the layout again, she clocked the suspect carefully.

The man in the rear of the shop wore dark goggles and held something in his hand. A piece of fruit. Osha cleared her throat to get his attention.

"Hello," she said.

The stranger looked up.

Under the ill-fitting charcoal-gray tunic, trousers, and goggles, Osha couldn't discern what she was dealing with or what type of relationship her sister had with the man. Playing it cool seemed to be the right move in that situation and she waited for him to acknowledge her.

"Oh…hello."

"Hi."

Osha grimaced internally. She sounded unsure of herself and struggled not to fidget. Keeping her composure, she watched him take off the goggles and walk toward her. As he drew near, she noticed the intensity of his jet black eyes scrutinizing her. She flicked her gaze all around his face, preferring not to look directly at him. Her nerves ratcheted up and her feet started rocking back and forth. She stared at him to keep her focus but dammit! He kept moving around, slithering closer to her. Nothing bulky showed through his tunic and she was relieved that he carried no weapon on him. He appeared a good eight to nine inches taller than her from the quick guestimation she made sizing him up from the step-down floor section he stood in. One step up and he would be directly in front of her. She needed to keep a sizable distance between them in case he tried a sucker move with a hidden blade. He just wouldn't stop that slow lazy amble toward her and it brought a shiver to the back of her neck. She couldn't break eye contact with him again without looking suspicious.

Those sultry eyes burned into her retinas and caused her breathing to slow down. Had he turned her into prey that quickly?

"Hi? Hi…you alright? You're back so early," he said.

Think. Quick. Say anything. Keep him talking.

"I wanted to see you."

Ugh! No…that sounded weird. It wasn't a gruff bossy tone that she imagined Mae would use like when they were children. His eyebrows rose up in confusion.

"See me? Oh…Mae…uh…are you okay? Did the poison work?"

There! They had him. He admitted to using poison with her. Where was her sister?

"You're acting so strange…"

He tilted his head to the side and those hypnotic eyes narrowed. A fluttering in her stomach signaled for her to stay focused on gleaning any information he gave up now. The steam from the bubbling pots throughout the shop gave the warm undertones in his tawny skin a moist sheen. His hair was tousled in messy black waves that were so glossy that they looked wet. It was obscene to be a vicious murderer and look that attractive.

"Wait…you killed Torbin without the poison. He will be sooo pleased…"

Why couldn't he be still? His body moved like the dance of a slow waltz, gliding forward on the balls of his feet, ready to spring on her if she didn't stay alert. She kept a hand on the stun blaster under the shawl. Sol allowed her to carry it for her protection. In the blink of an eye his head lifted to scrutinize her attire barely a foot away. He glanced at her lips and back to her face and she would swear on a holy book of Brendok that he wasn't the same man as before.

A trickster.

The stranger had become a changeling right before her besotted eyes. His gaze mimicked quicksand and she spiraled down into the pit of its murky, dreamy depths. A wolfish smile curled his delectable lips and she wanted to pivot and flee. His hold on her turned her body sluggish and unfocused like drinking Nightshade wine for the first time on Coruscant when she left the Jedi order. She lost hold of herself. Her breath...her limbs...and the deliberateness of it was uncanny.

Take control! Quickly!

"No…I used it. I just wanted to thank you."

She still sounded like a poor representation of her sister. Osha chose to gaze at the puffiness of his lips to keep from drowning in the covetous pools of his eyes. She would surely fold like bed linen soon. Focusfocusfocus.

She gripped the stun blaster tighter.

His eyes dragged down her entire body like she was naked and waiting for him to ravish her right there on that dirty apothecary floor. She tingled from the top of her head and down between her thighs not knowing if she needed her fight or flight instincts to take over…or that other primal thing she hadn't done in so long and craved. Fucking.

He openly eye-fucked her, watching her mouth speak words as if he never saw anyone do that before. Every inch of her face was scrutinized by him, like he was storing it to memory. She bounced in place on her heels awkwardly not knowing what else to say.

His rapacious gaze settled on her parted lips before he stepped up to her, crowding the space between them until he towered over her, his warm breath touching her skin. He smelled like the peppery floral scents swirling around the shop. His side-swept hair tempted her to touch it, wondering how the texture would feel rubbed between her fingers or falling down on her face lightly brushing against her cheeks.

He knew a secret about her. Those dark eyes twinkled with the knowing.

Busted.

"You look…exactly like…her…"

His breathiness on the last word made her eyes well up with tears. It was too intimate, too suggestive of something deeper than her twin sister. His words said one thing to her, but his eyes were speaking another language. He knew her…knew about her…no…this was something else…

Something tiny and insistent gnawed at her core where the remnants of the force still rested within her. Mother Aniseya, Mama, had taught her long ago about the Thread of Destiny. One could pluck at it and use it at will over time. The Jedi described the force in similar terms although in a more conservative and dogmatic fashion. Mama said she and Mae were part of the Thread…one made into two, and they were always supposed to be together.

This stranger plucked at her internal Thread and it sparked a desire that was beyond carnal. Soft feathery threads clasped at the electrical impulses in her brain. Cloyingly seductive. Shadowy. Dark.

Passion. Lust. Rage.

His Thread intertwined with hers and braided their spirits together like Mama's silky midnight black fingers on her locs after wash days with Mae. Oh, how she missed Mama and Mother Koril.

Spice creams.

The emerald green forests of Brendok.

The giant bunta tree with its dazzling yellow leaves…

Yellow leaves…bunta—

Osha blinked, snapping herself from his mental hold. She whisked the stun blaster out and aimed it between his sinister eyes.

She blinked again.

The stranger threw his hands up all wide-eyed and shrank back from her like a frightened coward trying to cover his tracks. Yord stormed in brandishing a lightsaber with Sol on his heels. Osha stayed back by the entrance, confused as to what happened.

Cowering and meek, the stranger gave up Mae like a double-crossing Hutt in the outer rim territory. He shared no real information about who taught her sister how to fight like a Jedi and the only useful tidbit was that she would return for something later. The Jedi stomped past Osha at the entrance. She paused to take a final look at the stranger.

The meekness had vanished.

With his back straight and eyes blazing into her, the stranger stirred something primal and transcendent in Osha.

He was forbidden fruit she was not supposed to taste.

But she wanted to.

Chapter 3 HERE.

A.N.:

I'm going to shoot for dropping updates every Friday. Right now I'm going to power through to as many chapters I can churn out quickly while the irons are hot, but once I start leveling out, it'll be every Friday night.

My Black Panther readers know this already but FYI, I don't edit or make corrections as I write. I type it out and post it as soon as I'm done. That keeps the writing fresh and fun for me. Any typos, spelling/grammar errors etc. are squarely the fault of Qimir. Take it up with him and let me cook!

I'm not going to do a taglist for now. Just check every Friday for new drops. If there's enough interest on here, I'll think about doing a taglist later.

[writingjourney]

I’m in need of some advice and kind words. As a fellow writer I’m really struggling to believe people will and want to read my stuff. There’s no real engagement anymore and I’m worried that if I post my long-form fic that no one will give it a chance. It’s really bringing me down because I love it so much but it feels like no matter what I try to do my stuff just doesn’t get seen or liked? I’ve even thought about changing my entire way of how I do things since I don’t think the way I write is working for the masses. How do you keep up the motivation as a popular writer and do you have an advice?

Hello anon!! I feel like this is something many of us currently deal with. And first of all I seriously hope that you do share your story!! ♡

To be completely honest with you the lack of engagement in the fandom has for sure impacted my own motivation which is why I haven't been putting as much time into longer fics (nor the Friday Nights series or IKNBS, I do write but I refuse to force myself). I don't feel any urgency because uploading fics hasn't made me as happy as it used to. It feels like only other active writers are reading fic atm and it creates a lot of pressure on creatives to stay super active.

I'm aware that I'm insanely privileged to have the engagement that I do have, that the type of stories I want to write are also the type of stories that generally seem to appeal. However, engagement tells you NOTHING about the quality of your work, only how many people are active in a fandom or like a specific pairing/character/trope. Your own unique voice matters more than numbers.

I also notice that a lot of people who used to read my works have disappeared which I completely understand. The fixation can ebb away during times of inactivity or when a certain hype dies down. People just don't get that dopamine hit anymore and move on. It's also entirely possible they get tired of a certain style of writing and prefer other writers at times, what do I know. I definitely don't blame anyone for that. First and foremost people should read for their own enjoyment and engage with fandom in a way that makes them happy. It makes no sense to pressure people into engaging. A huge issue right now is people overthinking these things which makes support transactional instead of genuine.

I don't care much about notes but I REALLY miss the feeling of sharing a fic with people who are excited for it, that sense of an active community. BUT the activity will come back – the movie will come out, new music and videos, heck even a whole new Papa!!! That's the natural flow of things. We can't be excited and super active all the time, we need phases of calmness as well (which is an act of rebellion in the capitalist hellscape of overproduction and churned out content. I am honestly glad Ghost is taking it easy).

Now, I recommend you write your story exactly how you want to!!! do NOT change it for the sake of popularity because it will lose its very soul and you will struggle to be happy with it by the end. You know how you want to tell your story and nothing else matters. It will find its readers or you can wait and share it at a later point. I recommend that you approach other writers and readers and intensify that contact, make friends and talk to them about your stories, hype each other up, share snippets. It's even more meaningful to know people you like enjoy what you do. I am currently working on super niche fics for non-Ghost characters and I'm honestly having a great time chasing that dopamine by just writing what I'm really into and sharing it with friends. Fandom is community, fandom is fun and we can work to make it better for everyone.

A few general tips when it comes to making stories accessible: Format them to be readable (paragraphs!!), add a "read more" break, add proper content information and a nice summary to draw people in, add some visual appeal like a banners or stock image edits (like i do for IKNBS) and then tag the fics with relevant tags (and only those). Also make sure to tag the OG post, tags on reblogs do nothing for reach. Engage with the community when you feel like it and it's likely that the community will engage back. Being supportive is worth it, being kind is always worth it even if it amounts to nothing.

[dumbslxtclub]

let me put my lips to something | e.m - part two

eddie munson x fem!reader

content warnings: fem!reader, adult language, adult themes, angst, hurt/comfort, some canon divergence/au, reader is 19, anxiety, ANGSTY angst, fluff, no use of y/n, mentions of cheating (eddie kisses reader while with chrissy)

word count: 2.1K+

a/n: big thank-you to @sidthedollface2 for this request! can't believe how many requests I received for a part two! and of course I'm gonna give you what you want, because I love ya x

taglist: @1paire2vans @spear-bearing-bi-witch @81rain @casmosmoon @eggo-segual @jazzycurls @bibieddiesgf

part one / part two

Guilt. 

It’s a funny thing, how cyclical it is in nature. 

A snowball effect, coming to terms with the ramifications of your actions, rendering you paralyzed with anxiety. Your friendship with the two people closest to you in the immediate blast zone, your guilt, a grenade without its pin. You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. Trapped by circumstance.

You know you should tell Chrissy, she has a right to know. If the roles were reversed, her pure heart couldn’t take harboring such a secret from her best friend, needing to make things right. But, unfortunately for you, you are not Chrissy. Selfishly, you don’t know how you’d cope with that. It’s almost unfathomable, the image of her Bambi-eyes widening, heart breaking in front of you as you confess the truth. Why couldn’t it be a different truth? Mistakes happen, and surely she could forgive an intoxicated kiss between long-time friends, unattached and purely platonic. But the truth is, you have feelings for Eddie and he feels something for you. Something he doesn’t feel for his girlfriend, a missing piece only you can give him. 

Eddie was right. This is so fucked up. 

As you bypass hoards of your peers in the school hallway, you feel as though you’re running on autopilot. Keeping up appearances, despite wanting nothing more than to seclude yourself and pray that this situation never happened. Sometimes, doing nothing is the best option. And that’s exactly what you’ve elected to do today. Keep your space from the both of them, withdraw and hope they can settle whatever differences lead to last night’s events. Distance yourself, at least for the moment. Let the wounds scab over before you pick at them again.

Successfully avoiding Chrissy for the first two periods, you’re thankful you don’t share every class together. You need time to rehearse your withdrawal. And withdrawal doesn’t have to just be physical, you pray you can get away with just nodding and smiling during your inevitable conversations. Her altruistic nature means she could see through any facade, and you need time to stabilize before hard questions are thrown your way.

Eddie, on the other hand, is nowhere to be found. His homeroom seat remains empty as it has countless times before, you deduce he must have skipped school today. You should feel relief. Instead, you feel a sense of longing. It’s terrible, you shouldn’t want to see him after everything. But last night, with the ebb and flow of your guilt complex, you experienced moments of clarity. A cruel irony, the sudden lack of guilt breeding more of the same. Recalling the plush lips brushing against yours, hitched breathing tickling the nerve endings of your cheeks, setting your skin alight. And then, cognisance around your apathy hits you like a freight train, a new wave of culpability causing you to double over. It’s useless denying how you feel about him now, it would barely make a dent in the whole situation.

You pass through the morning like a specter, there but not. Scribbling notes onto blank pages, hoping if you scratch hard enough it might alleviate the dread lingering in the pit of your stomach. Floating from class to class, cementing yourself to a quiet corner of the school for your morning break. Your apple tastes rotten, your muesli bar far too dry. Nothing digestible right now, it seems. Less than you desire, and more than you deserve.

Eddie remains unseen for the rest of the day, as does Chrissy. It’s not until you unlock your bike from the rack at the end of the day that you spot them. Or rather, the end of them.

Eddie’s van speeds away, leaving Chrissy in the dust, still in her cheer uniform. A striking image, something so perfect stock-still like a statue frozen in time, it doesn’t take much to deduce that what’s transpired isn’t good. Betraying legs carry you towards her before your mind can catch up. 

“Chrissy?” Words escape shakily, crossing the short distance between you. She doesn’t respond. You know a shell-shocked look when you see one. Like approaching a stray dog, you tread carefully and prepare for a bark or bite. 

“Chrissy-” 

She spins on her heel, the white’s of her beautiful eyes red with unshed tears. Anger. Heartbreak.

“Don’t come near me.”

Your stomach lurches, an ache penetrating your core, you feel as though you could collapse in on yourself. Willing that, at this exact moment, the earth beneath you might open and swallow you whole.

“I’m sorry-“ Is all you manage to get out before Chrissy retreats, beelining for the last school bus of the day. You’re smart enough to not follow her, knowing it won’t do any good right now. Teeth grinding together, your grasp on the handlebars tighten as you mount the bike and set off in a familiar direction.

Your knuckles rap against Eddie’s trailer door with such ferocity you’re sure it could break the fragile structure. Every inch of you is shaking, blood running cold with dread. You need answers, to start the Golithian task of fixing what you’ve broken.

The door swings open to reveal Eddie, standing in sweat pants and a very worn band tee. He looks like shit. 

“What did you say to her?”

“Good day to you, too.” His voice is weary, complimenting the dark circles beneath his eyes.

He always knew how to get under your skin. Shoving past him into the living room, the air is stale in the stuffy room.

“Don’t start with me. What happened?” Your tone is demanding, causing the taller boy to shrink into himself. His gaze shifts around the room, uncertainty rendering him speechless. “Eddie, what did you do?”

“I ended things. With Chrissy, after school.”

“Oh my god.” Running your hands along your flushed cheeks, you pace aimlessly around the room. “Why did you do that?”

“I just couldn't, anymore. The whole thing felt like a lie-“

“To you, it was real for her. Did you ever consider that?”

Eddie winches physically, bearing the brunt of your apathy towards him. Leaning on the kitchen bench, he needs all the support he can get right now.

“I never should have said yes to her in the first place.”

“Then why did you?!” Your emotions betray you, seeping into your words. You’ve played that day over and over in your head like a broken record, when Chrissy practically skipped towards you to announce her new Homecoming date. Relationships blindside you, rendering you incapable of seeing a world without your person. You knew things could have been messy, but never anticipated just how bad it could be. But it scared you even more to imagine a world in which everything went well. 

“I don’t know.” Eddie’s reply is mumbled, running his hands through his mess of curls. 

“Bullshit.”

Vulnerably, you are poking around for his truth. The silence that follows hangs thick, your gaze pressing on Eddie knowing you can crack him. 

“I thought if I couldn’t have what I wanted, I’d go for the next best thing.” His words are mumbled, shameful.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

For the first time since letting you in, Eddie’s sheepish gaze meets yours. He holds it, eyes softening with a sense of pleading. Communicating so much without uttering a word. And it hits you like a bullet to the head. It’s painful, the way you want to run and hold him, and the tension you experience from keeping yourself in place. You understand what he’s saying. And you refuse to accept it. You can’t.

“No…”

“Sweetheart-“

“Eddie, don’t-“

Surprisingly, Eddie chuckles, shaking his head. “Didn’t know it was possible to care about someone so much ‘til I met you.”

The pair of you remain perfectly distanced, neither daring to move a muscle. Two stars stuck in orbit, the only force keeping you together is the fact you’ve been doing it for so long. Biting the tender flesh of your cheek as you have so many times before, it offers little relief. You’d love to say something, anything, to stop what’s about to be disclosed. But you’re numb, quietly despondent.

“Thought you’d leave sooner. I mean, here’s this girl. Pretty as hell, loads of friends, treating me like a person? Felt too good to be true. Thought the day in the library was a one-off, was sure you’d never stick around. I mean, why would you? And then you did and- I just didn’t want to fuck that up. Didn’t want to lose you, even if that meant caring about you from afar. And then Chrissy-“ He signs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “- I dunno, I guess I thought I could convince myself to care about someone else. But I just- I fucking couldn’t. I tried, I really did. But, It just never felt right. It never felt like you. I always wanted you, and it fucking killed me. You don’t know what that feels like.”

Eddie’s vulnerability dries up your mouth, leaving it incapable of formulating a response. But your expression betrays you in ways you were oblivious to. Eddie studies your expression, desperate for validation. Wide-eyed like a baby cow, big and helpless. And something shifts. A quiver in your lip, an exposing softness in your glossy eyes. He sees it. Finally.

“You feel the same way, don’t you?” There’s an air of finality to his statement that sets you on edge, backing you into an emotional corner.

“No.” You lie through your teeth, and Eddie doesn’t believe a second of it. It’s vile, the way guilt transforms to pining. Undeserving.

“You do.” Eddie takes a pace towards you, and you don’t move. You don’t think you could if you tried.

“Eddie-” Voice barely a whisper, Eddie closes the gap between the pair of you. Running a hand through your scalp, you can’t help but melt into his touch, electricity coursing through his fingertips. It’s embarrassing, really. The effect his touch has on you, rendering you drunk, right there for him to bear witness to. Wrapping you in his musky scent, the marriage of cigarette smoke and cologne. Deliciously Eddie. There’s no use lying, not now. Fingertips trace their way along the frame of your face, snaking around the crook of your jawline. It’s heavenly. Lips ghosting above yours, breath intermingling as a sigh betrays you, causing Eddie’s grip on your jawline to tighten slightly.

“Tell me you don’t want it, and I’ll stop.” His tone is firm yet sincere, the trust between you palpable. No inebriation to scapegoat your actions now, the burden of blame is purely on you. You say nothing. And your silence is a response in itself.

Agonizingly slowly, Eddie lowers his lips to yours. A suggestion of skin on skin, so many unseized moments to back out, to stop. But every fiber of your being, every screaming nerve ending on your sensitive lips, cries out for more. Muscles soften at his touch, sinking into him. His lips catch you, warm and soft, finding yours with tenderness. It’s different, without the haze of a high numbing your senses. You feel him fully. The brush of his hair, curls falling around your face, tickling receptive skin. How his exhale feels like a caress, nose bumping against yours as his lips embrace yours. The expertly subtle flick of his tongue exploring your parted mouth, an invitation of more. But what buckles you, causes a coil to tighten in your belly, is the groan. Subconsciously emitted from deep in his throat, an unintentional byproduct of mutual wanting. Laced with hunger. Relief. The sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.

And you know, right then, you need to stop. The temptation is beckoning, Eddie’s grip providing much needed comfort, solace between his lips. You could stay there eternally. Which is precisely the problem.

Before a moan can expose your neediness, you find the courage to mutter the only word flooding your mind.

“Eddie.” 

He breaks away, lips feeling suddenly entirely too empty, buzzing from his touch. He sighs, holding the minute distance between the pair of you.

“I know. You can’t have it all.”

As if to keep him locked in place, your hand wraps around his, relishing in the cool sensation and grooves of his rings. 

“Just- let me try to fix things with Chrissy first. She deserves that.”

Eddie nods, forehead pressed to yours. In another universe, the two of you could remain there, witnessing each other for an eternity. But you need to try to make things right, regardless of whether your guilt is absolved.

“Sure. You know where to find me.”

[whiskeyswifty]

What’s your favorite thing about folklore?

oh my god what a question. I'm just gonna riff off the dome here because if i try to go at this in any kind of organized way, i'll write a deranged thesis paper. (this is about the album proper, sorry to the lakes. too bad she never released it and we'll never know what it sounded like)

Gut reaction to this question is just how complete it is. It's an idea and concept, a writing prompt if you will, compiled neatly and cohesively in a way that's the perfect digestible length for it's form (music/an album) and also all killer, no filler. All the vignettes are not a "story" (save for the love triangle which i largely ignore because it's shoehorned) but come off like an anthology; that is to say that they're a series of emotional vignettes across a range of life experiences, but explored through the motifs and styles of one writer. I cannot jump around with folklore, i must press play on the 1, which has never happened before with a taylor album. It has no skips, every single one flowing smoothly but efficiently with the ebb and flow pacing of a babbling brook. (i do skip mad woman occasionally cuz its not what i wanna hear at the moment or epiphany cuz it's too heavy and too soon to go back to that mental place, but they're both excellent and fit perfectly within the album when i'm casually listening)

The sound is also just so perfectly aligned with my tastes. I contain multitudes, but unfortunately one of those is being a sad indie white girl lol. I love soft rubber bridge guitars, and whining violins and piano and minimal but expertly layered textures. atmospheric ones that carry the mood and the fill the space like fog but let you feel close to the artist, as i've said once before, as if she were sitting next to you and talking directly to you. There's a lushness to live instruments played softly and as pieces of a whole, and it makes any additions from a moog softened and supplementary. It just, for me anyway, really helps to hear the tactile nature of the instruments and mistakes and the breaths and the pedals on the piano and all the rest. it's the perfect mix of what i love musically from that genre, akin to Sujfan or Lucy/Phoebe or imogen heap or the xx or lana at times. even as way back and like dashboard, which shows my age a bit. you know the vibes. And i love how jack leaned into his more orchestral side, which he doesn't often do with taylor, still to this day. august in particular is just outstanding and he's great at stuff like that and i wish they would do more like that together!

I think its the PERFECT use of her voice. it's not blasphemous to say of all her artistic talents, she does not have a voice that can stack up against her peers vocally. But, as i've also said a million times before so sorry to bring it up again, she has a very emotive voice when it comes to the tiniest and most nuanced of emotions. maybe because she's less focused on vocal runs or hitting notes, but this album has her voice really shine. it's textured and rough and soft and smooth at the same time, fully bringing you whatever raw emotion is on the page. its the voice of a scribbled journal entry if that makes sense, off the cuff, unpracticed (even though i'm sure it is), and so intimate. you can hear her smile and hear when her throat is thick, it's just a showcase of her voice like nothing else. the pared down sound really lets all those tiny moments rise to the surface.

visually, i mean what can i say. her second best album cover ever. Fully removing herself from the center of it, diminishing herself with the trees for scale. Trees that have existed before her and will outlive her, as if to say this, the act of making art and ultimately the art itself, is so much bigger than me. my life and my problems. but everything is bigger than me, and it's important to not lose sight of that. which, if you were an adult at that time, particularly of a similar age to her at least, you commiserate with that sentiment. the black and white isn't actually black, but more of a warm gray, which i also love. i also know it was mainly out of necessity, but embracing how dressed down and simple her styling was. wrinkled dresses and limp, unruly hair. really suited the look of someone who's going to spin you a tale. NO TEXT TOO LIKE YEAHHHHHHHH god it's perfect and so well designed.

rapid fire now, lets see. i love that peace was done in one take, and you can tell, in a good way! and it's her HEARTBEAT???? i'm a sucker for that, no matter how played out that trick is, and imo it's justified because they disguise it with a dissonant tone of sorts. i love the PERFECT knee jerk answer opening of "i'm doing good" and then proceeding to delve into some of her darkest emotions she'd explored thus far (and in some ways since). i love that illicit affairs is missing it's final chorus, a song that is structurally unfinished and just peters out, the way doomed affairs always do. the way she never mentions the location or even the event, but the soundscape and the lyrics of my tears ricochet paint a perfectly clear church and funeral in your mind!! i love the word ricochet and i love how easy it is to spew it with vitriol. as corny as it is in the context of the rest of this more subtle album lyrically, i love the swiftian turn in the bridge of tlgad like.... damnit it's always so delicious. that harmonica in betty is just like a glass of sweet tea on a muggy summer night, it's SO bright and fun and puts a smile on my face every time!

But all that to say I think my favorite thing is seven. seven is a perfect song. her best song. the best version of a taylor swift song. a song so emotionally poignant and transcendent it wins over, however begrudgingly, even the biggest haters of her and indie music as it pokes at that one spot that will always be soft, and it's blank space's spiritual successor and therefore foil in that way. incredible feat to use the motif of your childhood self and not come off trite, like most other attempts by other artists can be. the most opaque she's ever been lyrically, which is a huge risk to take. small in scale but massive in it's implications and intentions. a song where the meaning and gravity exist in your reaction to it and not the song itself. perfect art. an opus of a song on an opus of an album.