#known in the past tense bc i have cut all of them out of my life or have a like minimal contact policy for family that's...

[protoformx]

I go to my first real job tomorrow other than selling little things or working for my dad and idk

feelin jus kind of let down? discouraged? abt myself bc I've known a Lot of people who would make fun of me for just getting here at 22

[stvrchaser]

second chances

( pairing ) : sparrow!ben hargreaves x umbrella!gn reader 

( about ) : the brellies lost ben, but the sparrows lost the reader. the two reunite, but ben doesn’t seem so eager to catch up.

( warnings ) : angst, they actually hate each other – ben is a pain in the ass, the reader is no better, no happy ending bc they never resolve the problem… happy reading!

( words ) : 1800

( note ) : the person who requested this scenario asked for angst and i took that personally… anyway, the dialogue popped up in my head and i just had to write it down. i didn’t specify whether the feelings are romantic or not, so it’s really up to interpretation. also, i think this is the first work i’ve written in the past tense… no clue why i did that but my brain just wouldn’t have it any other way. i hope you guys don’t mind (but please leave your thoughts. i might keep writing in past tense in the future, if you guys prefer it)

*** also im really sorry about any duplicated paragraphs below the cut! i have trouble with this every time but i just can’t seem to get the formatting right :(

People don’t change overnight — everyone knows that. A person is too complex to turn over a new leaf in such a short span of time. Still, you dared to hope.

Things had gone well last night, all things considered. With the influence of alcohol and some newfound optimism for the newly-weds, Ben Hargreeves — the one who seemed to suck the life out of everyone whose oxygen he breathed — had been surprisingly tolerable. You’d hoped for it to last.

A stupid assumption, really.

From the way he stepped out of the elevator, alone, you should have known better than to keep your hopes up.

“Hey. You’re awake,” you greeted him, careful not to sound too chipper. Every second spent with him was calculated; each step held the potential to destroy the progress you’ve made, if any.

“Hey. You’re awake,” you greeted him, careful not to sound too chipper. Every second spent with him was calculated; each step held the potential to destroy the progress you’ve made, if any.

Situated by the kitchen counter, you made the best of what you had to cure a hangover — just a variation of tea, coffee, milk, sugar, and water. You supposed it made sense that your options were so limited. One can’t exactly go grocery shopping when most of the world is in ruins. You poured Ben a cup of tea, anyway. “Is Klaus on his way down?”

“How am I supposed to know?” he snapped. Whatever had been left of you that hoped things would change for the better suddenly retreated. It was as if he’d taken a needle to puncture your hypothetical bubble.

“Oh.” You tried not to sound too bitter. “Sorry. I assumed you guys patched things up after last night. You were practically attached at the hip.”

“There’s nothing to ‘patch up.’ We don’t even know each other.” He was being particularly nasty, spitting words like venom. You refused to stoop down to his level.

“Here. Have some tea,” you offer, setting the cup in front of him. Then, to lighten the mood, you tried to joke. “I don’t think the timeline changed your tastebuds, too.” He didn’t react, at first.

Seconds later, the change in him was almost palpable. It flashed through his eyes and coursed through him with such intensity that you swore you felt something in him snap.

It made him furious that you knew he preferred to take tea over coffee. Even worse, you knew exactly how to brew it. Except, of course, you didn’t know how he takes his tea. He’d never told you that. Well, not this version of you. You knew how to make Ben – the other Ben – his tea. This was just another excuse to compare the two of them again.

“Could you idiots stop smothering me?” He pushed the cup aside, a trail of steam left in its wake. The familiar hint of bergamot was intoxicating. Haunting. It flooded his senses, and while its scent was something he normally welcomed, the circumstance had made it strangely unsettling.

“We’re just trying to get to know you.” That was familiar, too – the infuriating, confounding, expected tone of compassion. One he hadn’t heard in years.

“Take the hint! I don’t want to get to know you. Any of you. I was drunk last night. Klaus kept bothering me. If I was sober, I wouldn’t have—”

Your blood boiled with fury to match his own. The personal jabs at yourself were bad enough, but there was something about the insults directed elsewhere — toward Klaus, of all people — that was simply unacceptable.

“That’s not fair,” you cut him off, your voice suddenly changed. You didn’t sound quite angry, but determined to get your defense across. “Klaus was trying to—”

“I don't care!” His fists slammed against the counter, the teacup trembling as he did. It creates a ripple, resembling that of a storm and the strong wind which might disturb the sea. Had you not been in the eye of the storm, it might have been mesmerizing. “It doesn’t seem like the rest of your siblings do, either. It’s just you and Klaus. You can stop pretending to give a shit. Maybe that’ll get him off my back.”

“Fine,” you surrendered. You meant it this time. “I’ll leave you alone. Just… go easy on Klaus, alright?” But Ben’s mouth kept plowing through your patience, like he didn’t believe you were willing to admit defeat so easily.

That was one thing they didn’t have in common, this stranger and your friend. Your Ben would have been smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“You don’t even know me. I’m not your Ben. I’m not pathetic—”

“Stop it.” Your rage punctured through your patience, bleeding out in continuous droplets, steady like the ticking of a clock. “You can say whatever you want about the rest of us, but I won’t let you ruin what we have left to remember him by. Everybody loved Ben. And the fact that they were trying to get to know you meant they could have loved you, too.” You stopped yourself to draw a breath, to express your disbelief and to keep your voice steady. “Hell, they probably still do. It doesn’t matter that you’ve been a dick this entire time. Right now, you’re the closest thing we have.” The explanation only upset him.

“You sure have a fucked up way of showing it. When you walked into the Academy, what were you planning to do? Erase us out of existence? And now that you can’t do that you’re trying to play nice so we’ll do whatever you say? You don’t love me — whatever that means to you people. You probably didn’t even love your Ben.”

You had the urge to send the steaming cup flying into him so that he might feel the way his words burn. You settle and retaliate in the closest fashion.

“I’m not playing some sort of game here. We’re not trying to manipulate you into believing that you’re better off on our side. You have a family. I get that. But have you considered that, maybe, it’s so difficult to believe that we loved you in another timeline because you’ve never felt loved like that here?” Ben tensed, and you knew he considered the possibility. You knew you hurt him, too.

“You’ll say anything to convince me, won’t you?”

Maybe you would have. Maybe, you would stoop so low to exploit his grief just so he could acquaint himself with the guilt and misery you’ve suffered — agony he couldn’t care less about unless, perhaps, he learned to suffer it too.

“You want proof? All of us left the Academy the moment we could. It didn’t matter that we had nothing to our name or… or that didn’t know anything about the world. We left because there wasn’t any reason to stay. But we fell apart way before that. Do you know why? It’s because one of us died. Our Ben died. It was bad enough when Five disappeared, but at least we could hope he was somewhere out there. We could hope that we might see him again. We buried Ben’s body. And we were so distraught that we let it tear us apart. We would have done anything to have him back, even for just a day. We still want to, to make up for every year we wasted when he was around and didn’t prove to him that we loved him. We would do anything to make up for every year we’ve grieved after we lost him. If you’d just give us the chance, we could show you.”

“No! You leave me out of this. You fucked up the first time around. That’s on you. I’m not gonna be your second chance or whatever to make you feel better about yourselves. You’re just upset because we pulled ourselves together.”

His words struck hard, leaving lacerations the size of rivers in jagged topography. Had the damage been physical, you were sure it would have bled you to death. But it wasn’t. Somehow, that made it worse.

Somehow, bearing the truth in mind prolonged a bleeding heart. And it wouldn’t stop so long as you lived.

“You know what, you’re right. I’m pretty fucking upset about that, too.” Ben looked surprised. You thought it might have been the only expression you’d ever seen on him, aside from bitterness. “I died in this timeline, didn’t I? I died for the same reason you did. But look at all of you.” You might have laughed. Or sobbed. But a noise escaped you for just a split second, and Ben seemed to realize what you were suggesting. “The Sparrow Academy stays standing, even after what happened to me, didn’t it? I’m the one you didn’t care about.”

“Don’t turn this around.”

“No,” you hiss through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to belittle my family because we miss our brother. You don’t get to think you’re so much better when the only reason you’ve gotten this far is because you don’t give a shit about anyone else.” You let your tears fall, but your demeanor never faltered, not even as you approached him, eyes ablaze. “Being cold and heartless might have given you an upper hand, but that does not make you better than me.”

He leaned closer, still seated on the stool. Mocking. With only a marble countertop setting you feet apart, the end of the world wasn’t consuming the rest of the world outside. 

Damn the Kugelblitz, really. The end of the world should have started in that room.

“No, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re all weak. You never stood a chance. You were always going to fall apart.”

“At least I’m trying to get it together. I’m trying to piece my family back together. I tried to get to know you because I thought, somewhere in there, I could find Ben. My Ben. I just wanted my family whole again. But you? You don’t even care that I’m here.”

He shouldn’t, he thought. It didn’t matter that you and the Y/N he knew had so much in common — more than he and the other Ben, anyway. You weren’t the same. Not really. You never would be.

“Because you’re not Y/N. They would have never been so pathetic.” 

You let out a laugh, dispensed in short breaths, each of which seemed to force him to sink lower into his seat.

“And I’m sure they trusted you with their life, didn’t they?” 

Your voice sounded patronizing, but held a greater cruelty than you imagined. While impossible to envision, you had meant to this stranger as much as Ben had meant to you. Suggesting that the sentiment wasn’t returned… 

Well, it would haunt him as Ben’s death haunted you. 

“I’m sure they felt comfortable enough, safe enough, to be vulnerable around you. A cold, selfish bastard.”

“You don’t know anything,” his voice trembled. He looked pale. Undone.

Distraught.

You delivered the final blow.

“I know that no version of myself would have ever trusted, much less loved, someone like you.”

[noyasboxdye]

Notes: Welcome to the first day of kinktober this doesn't have a lot of knife play bc i don't really know how to write for it but i tried my best :)

Word Count: 2,016

Pairing: Tendou Satori x Male! Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, home invasion(?), knife play, CNC (?), death threats, praise, oral sex (reader receiving), power bottom tendou.

Tendou Satori loved you. He thought you knew. You obviously didn't thought with the way you were hugging and laughing with Ushijima. To be fair though he hadn't confessed. But you still should've known! After all the things he's done for you he can't believe you would betray him like this.

Going out to coffee with him and alone at that! Something could've happened to you. He could've hurt you and he still could. But you were to naive. He couldn't blame you honestly nor could he get mad. For several reasons the main one being that he cared to much. The other being that you couldn't help it after all you were just cute little y/n.

So when he'd saw you in that coffee shop with Ushijima letting him touch you like that he'd decided to do something. He had to do something bigger to let you know you were his. Obviously being a gentleman along with the occasional flirting wasn't doing that. How could you know though because once again you were naive.

He'd just have to come on a little stronger. He couldn't do that now thought you both had class. And his class was out of your way so he'd just have to wait till you got home. Oh he was so excited! The day dragged on for the both of you. He couldn't stop thinking about how excited you'd be to see him. He'd decided to wait until you got home to coming in.

You'd gotten home from school hanging your coat in the closet setting your bag down on the table and going into your room. Getting undress and wrapping your towel around yourself taking your soaps into the bathroom. Turning the shower water on and putting your shower cap on. Getting in the shower and sitting under the water.

Your muscles relaxing under the hot water. Allowing yourself to calm down. Tendou on the other hand was tense. He was here now! He couldn't figure out how to get in though. He didn't want to set off your alarm and have you possibly hear him. But he couldn't think of another way in. Your window might work but they were usually closed and he couldn't go through the front.

The neighbours could see and call the cops. Your room window should work though. You usually sleep with them open because sleeping in the cold with the heat on is easier. Going to the side of the house and seeing that the window he climbed onto of the patio table. Climbing his way into the window. Peaking into the bathroom to make sure you were in the shower. Seeing that you were in the shower.

"Perfect they're getting all clean for me." he thinks sneaking past the door as quietly as he can before making his way into the kitchen. Grabbing a (bigger) knife. He was hoping he wouldn't have to use it. He was hoping you would be just excited to see him here as he was you. Because he knew you loved him and you knew he loved you. You just didn't think straight sometimes.

A perfect example would be this morning before class. You went on a little coffee date with Ushijima. You loved him he just had to remind you of how much you did. And he would do just that. He would make sure that you never forgot about either of your love ever again. Going back into your bedroom. Taking off all of his outer wear.

Cleaning himself up a bit wiping himself off and fixing his disheveled shirt. Making himself comfortable on the bed patiently waiting for you to come in. Trying to decide what to say, how to say it, and when. He knew you'd be a little startled by him coming unannounced but you'd also be delighted. After all who wouldn't be delighted to see their love surprise them at home.

Especially after a stressful day at school. It was a while before you'd finally got back into your room and when you did you were definitely surprised. He'd just been sitting there trying to explain himself. While you were yelling at him to get out.

He'd sounded like a mad man to you and to make matters worse he had a knife near him! You'd started hitting and kicking after he grabbed you. Pushing him off of you and running to the bed so that you could grab the knife. But he'd gotten a hold of you and the knife first. He never thought he would have to but he pinned you down and pressed the knife to your throat.

Pushing your hands above your head and into the mattress before putting his thigh in between your legs against your groin. You'd whimpered a bit and prayed that he didn't hear you but he did. A smile grew at the noise you let out. You'd sounded so heavenly. Like music to his ears!

He wanted- no needed to hear more. He had to hear more of those pretty little sounds again. And louder. He wanted to hear you say his name in that way. He had to hear it. He'd do anything he could to hear it again. So he did it again. He pressed his knee into your groin. Another whimper falling from your lips as he pressed into you.

You didn't know if it was because of the pressure or the fact that he had a knife to your throat that was making you feel this way and you hated it. But you loved it as well. The thought of your life being in such danger made your stomach curl. It made you crave him. You unconsciously grind into his thigh as you think about the situation more. More whimpers and now moans leaving you.

Leaning down Tendou kissed you lifting the knife from your throat. Setting it down on your bed and kissing his way down to your neck. Sucking and nipping at the skin. You wrap your arms around him as he makes his way down your neck. Taking your shirt off and immediately finding his way back to you lips and neck.

Kissing down towards your chest. Grazing his hand against your nipple testing the waters. His stomach did flips as he heard you whimper his name. He'd dreamed about this on numerous occasions and he always knew what to do when he'd done it with other people. But now that he'd actually had you in his grasp, and was doing these things with you he didn't know what to do.

You were so perfect with the way you grabbed at the nape of his neck toying with the little hairs, softly moaning his name in his ear, and wrapping your legs around his. He needed more though, he needed to be in you. And with the way you grinder your hips against him you were practically begging him to fuck you. And who was he to deny you a good fucking?

If you wanted to be fucked that's what you would get. Kissing his way back up your body he removes his lips sitting up before taking off his shirt and removing his pants. He'd never been more eager for something in his life! "Tendou- baby please." you moan reaching out for him pulling him back down to you stroking his cock through his boxers.

He let out a deep groan at the feeling. Pulling him self away once again to pull your pants down, dragging your boxers down with them. Throwing them in a random corner of the room and forgetting about them as he strokes your cock. "mmm- Tendou- fuck... please." you say your back arching off of the bed slightly. "Nuhuh you got to tell me what you want hun alright...? Use your big boy words baby." he says as he rests his head back into the crook of your neck, sucking and biting on the skin.

He smiled at the sight. His hand moving faster making you stutter out even more nonsense than before. "Fu- fuck me-! Tendou please fuck me." you say getting impatient, humping at the air as if it'll give you the relief you need. "Good boy! Using your big boy words for daddy!" he says smiling at you. You moaned at his words.

Finally he stood up grabbing the lube out of his jacket pocket and pouring a generous amount onto his hand before strolling your dick once again. Making sure that your dick was wet enough. Straddling your lap and lifting his hips he slowly sunk himself down on your length. A series of moans leaving past his lips as he reached the base, slowly grinding against you as he waiting for himself to get used to your length.

Slowly bouncing on you as he pinched and twisted at your nipples. High pitched moans coming from you as you begged him to go faster, trying to thrust your hips up to meet him. You reached over at nothing his head following your hand as he bounced on your dick. "Oh can't have you getting to this now came we darling?" he says tauntingly as he rolling his hips making a point to grind down harder and fit more of you into him.

You felt him squeeze at the base of your cock and it made you go wild. "Fuc- Tendou! Please!" you moan. He rolled his hips as he bent down to kiss you. You were becoming so desperate for him. You'd try and fuck up into him but every time you tried he'd just press the knife into your neck.

"Mm~ I guess I can give you what you want... just use your big boy words for me baby? Please?" he says sucking on your chest. "Fuc- fuck me! Please- please fuck me." you say. A smile pulls at the ends of his lips as he kisses your forehead resuming his previous pace. "Mh-m shit! You feel so good." you moan.

He rested his hand on your chest while the other held onto the knife, applying pressure to your neck with it every few minutes. "Mm- daddy 'm gonna cum~" you say gripping onto the bedsheets your knuckles going white. "No you aren't baby. You're going to hold it for daddy like a good slut aren't you?

Wouldn't want the knife to slip and cut up your throat now would we..?" he says pressing the cold metal further into your warmer skin. Chills going down your spine, and your cock twitching inside of him at the idea. "N- no sir." you whined as he fucked himself onto you again. "Good boy." he says.

Dragging himself up and down on your length as moans fell from his lips. Throwing his head back as he came to a full stop whimpering as his cock twitched beads of precum leaking from the tip. "Fuck~" he moans softly as he starts bouncing again. Not noticing that the knife was starting to pierce your skin tiny beads of blood making their way to the surface of your neck.

The euphoric feeling of your warm thick length in him while he listened to your pretty little whimpers and moans had him on cloud nine. "Mmpf- fuck i'm gonna cum!" you exclaim. "Ye- yeah me too- fUck~!" he moans as you fuck yourself up into him his movements coming to a halt as his hand grips at your skin dragging his nails down your chest as he throws his head back, his warm seed spilling all over your stomach.

"Daddy- daddy please, please let me cum!" you beg tears pricking your eyes. Getting off of you and immediately going down to put your dick in his mouth. Sucking on the tip while he uses his hands to get to the rest of you. "Fuck fuck fuck-" you say cutting yourself off as you cum. Tendou hums softly smiling to himself as he swallows your cum, licking any extra off of you to make sure it doesn't go to waist.

[4dtk]

pas de deux — gojo satoru

pas de deux [pa•de•de] (french, literally “step of two”), a dance duet. 

summary: striving to become a principal dancer, you’re unaware of the curious blue eyes from across the studio, only knowing of his reputation from rumours. when you have to shadow your seniors to learn a principal role and meet the infamous gojo satoru, what happens then?

word count: 11k lmfao

genre: a bit of angst, mostly fluff

a/n: gojo brainrot done. sorry this took so long lol i’m not used to writing long fics but i’m glad i did bc this is acts also as a place for me to dump my passion of ballet aha :”)

playlist here! most of them are classical pieces and a bit of ballet class music, i hope you don’t mind uwu. personally, i’d recommend watching (before or after the fic doesn’t matter hahah) the crazy talented marianela nuñez and vadim muntagirov in the pas de deux that i reference a lot in this fic. they’re my absolute favourite! (´･ᴗ･ ` )

tags: @fiona782​

it was unconventional to see a ballerino don white hair during rehearsals, let alone in a company; the familiar head of white whizzes through the studio like an angel of the night, with graceful moves and powerful jumps to match those of a faerie's seamless manoeuvers through her flowers.

that was only expected out of a principal anyway.

gojo satoru, a principal dancer of the six eyes theatre. they were part of the three prominent companies that carried the ballet world and industry. behind all the glimmer and glitz lay hours of endless rehearsals and worn-out pointe shoes, as well as smiles behind kitri's fans or even the emotional miming from giselle.

he was untouchable, a leading face that carried the ballets he starred in with immense skill and an aura admired by everyone. anyone lucky to score a pas de deux with him would be torn between a world of conflict. those soft eyes that looked down at you with love were solely meant to portray siegfried's ardour for odette and nothing else.

you sigh, eyeing the confident man giving his all in the company class, no doubt hyping himself up for tonight's last show. you couldn't fall behind, either, knowing your performance was monitored way more now that you were considered amongst the directors to be promoted to principal.

"next group, pay attention, loves!" the teacher for the morning caught your attention, letting the chattering group in front head out first before the next group of dancers took their turn. 

dancing was all you could remember, taking up most of your life even when you were a kid. through competitions and gruelling schedules, you managed to land in the six eyes theatre. sure, it wasn't as popular as the zen'in company or the kamo national ballet but, it still held up a wicked reputation, partially thanks to gojo satoru. 

your feet naturally hail your command, placing it behind the other in a curtsey to thank the instructor for the morning class as you stretch your feet in some simple pointe repertoire. 

"nervous about your posting, (y/n)?" nobara asks, rolling the arch of her feet back and forth with a tennis ball.

you shrugged, "in a way, yeah. i'm getting observed on mainly every move that i make."

the smile your best friend gives you calms you down, at least. megumi chipped in, "hey, you'll become one of the best principals around, i know it."

"yeah! and we'll go to your shows, no matter wha... oh, right, we're first soloists," itadori trails off. 

you laugh, settling down to wipe the sweat from your brow. however, there's an uncharacteristic silence when you start to remove your pointe shoes.

"what if i do become principal? i'll miss you guys like hell." you mutter, rubbing off the skin peeling from your toes. removing the tape and toepads, you sigh again even after nobara lands a hand on your arm.

"stop sighing, you idiot, the company's small. sure, you'll have extended rehearsals, and i will now have to deal with yuji's noisy ass, but i doubt we're going to be separated like oil and water." 

you roll your eyes, chuckling a little through glossy eyes, "true. it's just that we've always been together, through the competitions where we met and going up the ranks. hell, i wouldn't even imagine all of us becoming first soloists when we entered six eyes."

megumi raises an eyebrow, "are you underestimating us?" 

putting your fingers together, you offer a sheepish smile, "just a little."

"and now you're going to become a principal, (y/n). we all know you put yourself to crazy standards that you always reach, maybe even higher than that. you're going to kill it as a principal, i'm sure."

thankful to nobara for the little speech, you pat her arm gently, easing into a stretch to prevent any tensing up later in an afternoon class. 

"(y/n), they're coming over, look sharp," itadori notifies you, turning to the barre to do his own stretching as your friends busy themselves with their phones.

you take another curtsey at your instructor, along with the director of six eyes, masamichi yaga.

why... was he here now?

"(y/n), love, we'll need to talk to you about something. would you mind coming to the office later on? just before the company's afternoon class at 2 would be good."

you were at a loss for words.

was i already raised to principal? no... they wouldn't promote someone who's only danced her first soloist role a couple of times. were they going to remove me for consideration? maybe they found a better dancer to monitor?

"it's nothing terrible, (y/n), i promise." with a smile, masamichi walks away, not before patting your shoulder for reassurance.

the next few hours go by in a flash: eating lunch, lazing around in the studio, filming some tiktoks and then getting ready for another class took up most of your time that you didn't get to ponder over the office visit.

so you were definitely surprised to see gojo satoru himself, a shit-eating grin on his face once he hears you enter. he lays back on both arms to welcome the first soloist, you. 

you curtseyed again to ms ieiri and masamichi. before you got to gojo, however, he held a hand up before standing up himself to bow. you let out a small smile as the familiar step led you to curtsey on the other foot.

it left a weird feeling in your bones to greet a principal dancer, but you two weren't all that close, anyway. plus, curtseying was basic courtesy in the company, where actions spoke louder than a "good morning" or a "thank you".

"nice to see you, (y/n). miss nitta, as you know," masamichi gestured to your teacher and then to the white-haired man, whose beauty never fails to amaze you, as cliche as it sounds, "and gojo satoru." 

"nice to finally talk to you, miss (y/n)," he nods his head, wearing an attractive smile that had you sucking in a breath. you could only manage a smile at the moment, brought back to reality when masamichi's firm voice resonates in the office.

"you've done a tremendous job these past few months, love. we've been watching your roles this season, hopping from one position to the other with no problem at all. i'm sure you were informed that you were being considered to be principal..." you leaned forward in anticipation, "...although you'd have to let your skill shine through more before we promote you to principal any time soon."

bummer, but it's nothing you can't handle.

"we do have something to ask of you, however. your potential is clearly set in the right place, and your talent and determination are not lost. we want you to shadow and learn the repertoire of shoko ieiri and gojo satoru while they rehearse for the next season's premiere."

nevermind, it might actually be something you can't handle.

"me?"

masamichi only lets out a knowing smile. "are you up for the challenge, (y/n)? you'll get to learn and watch how principals rehearse, act and mime out the story in the hands of ballet masters and mistresses like kiyotaka ijichi and mei mei and even tengen hoshi." 

your fingers dug into your thigh at the well-known names, always seeing them in the corridors but never knew how they taught or conducted rehearsals. this was your chance.

"of course, director masamichi. i'd be honoured to observe and shadow the company's principal dancers, let alone miss shoko ieiri and mr gojo satoru here. their chemistry onstage is honestly unmatched!"

okay, shut up, (y/n). you're laying your fangirling thoughts on the actual director of six eyes theatre. a simple yes would've sufficed.

"great! you start tomorrow. skip the afternoon class and come straight to the studio on the ground floor. we'll be expecting you."

you couldn't help the grin that appears on your face this time, passing a bow to everyone in the room before curtseying and almost exclaiming a "thank you!"

once you're out of the professional eye, you have a little celebratory dance outside the office, immediately fishing out your phone to text the trio. 

"a...ah! gojo senpai!" you take a step back in instinct, the tall principal looming over you with nothing but an intimidating air around him.

however, nothing screams intimidating on his face, as he shoots you a polite smile and a hand to get introductions out of the way.

all you can think about is his large hand enveloping yours while he tells you his name. you're stuck in a trance, locked on his eyes cut off by the black of his sunglasses. 

how would those hands feel on my hips when he's lifting me? or maybe we'd engage in a kiss in romeo and juliet...? are we doing r&j for the next season's shows?

fuck.

"uh- yes, nice to meet you too, senpai! i-"

"call me gojo, (y/n)."

you're at a loss for words, the man knowing he's left you speechless with the way he's smirking off into the other direction. you manage to get the prodigy out of your head, willing yourself to get to the company class as soon as possible. since your distraction was gone and the air cleared of any tension, you were able to hear the voices in the office.

"are you sure about this, nitta? we can't have any more dancers off their game just because they were enamoured with satoru to the point of confessing their love to him. every time we get first soloists and principals to pair with him, something always comes up."

"i'm sure, director. (y/n)'s mettle and focus on her roles are strong, and her skills are off the charts. if anything happens, we'll just pair her with another principal, like kento or something." masamichi sounded unconvinced, grunting as their footsteps increased in volume.

company class! company class!

you slipped into the studio just in time to avoid nitta and masamichi, carrying your things as you looked for the trio.

"(y/n)!" yuji catches your attention, although a little too loudly for your liking. you were left to greet the other dancers on the way to their corner, dumping your bag with much more exasperation than you expected.

"what's wrong?" megumi asks, doing some plies at the bar to warm up his feet and muscles.

"i think i should text y'all instead. let's wait for after the show tonight."

you get three nods from the trio in reply, dropping into some simple stretches as the next instructor takes over. at least gojo wasn't here...

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

the applause was deafening as you take your bow, thanking the audiences from the balcony and stalls as you gestured to your pas de deux partner, megumi. putting your hand in front of your heart was a big thing to do, giving thanks to one of your best friends and partners for a fun pair such as bluebird and princess florine. 

as you walked back to join the other dancers, the principal roles were taking their bows with no doubt roars and cheers from the audience from yet another electrifying performance from the golden pair as princess aurora and prince florimund: gojo and ieiri. 

as ieiri led the conductor on stage, he was the last to thank the audience, bringing the heart of the ballet to life with the score of tchaikovsky's sleeping beauty. 

with one last bow, the curtain closes, leaving you to let loose from the rigid position you were used to. 

"we're done!" you laugh, hugging megumi as nobara and itadori squeeze their way through the many dancers on stage. the two convey their compliments, prompting you to nudge the two on their puss-in-boots and white cat roles. the two then freeze up, staring at something that was approaching from behind.

"miss (y/n)-" gojo bows, interrupted by ieiri as she crashes into you with a hug.

"oh man, (y/n) you were great out there!" you grin, embracing her as tight as she did. 

"thank you, senpai," you were practically beaming, thankful she still remembered you after being promoted to principal years ago. it was hard to communicate and talk when she had so much going on, a natural dancer who rose up the ranks fast with her hard work. 

ieiri formed herself up into a refined dancer that you wouldn't think she was the young girl at your studio trying on pointe shoes for the first time years ago when you were a kid.

that was if you didn't know her personally, of course. 

"here, first position, just like that!" the curious girl interacted with the kids outside a smaller studio, teaching them the various positions that at least a grade two or three class would use.

she picked up pointe work fast, obviously guided by the mentors at the school with nights of rehearsal and decision making whether she wanted to pursue this professionally.

"oh shush, you, you don't have to call me senpai, see you tomorrow (y/n)!"

ieiri bids you goodbye, no doubt to talk to the choreographers and director. gojo follow suit shortly after your exchange, not before taking your hand to plant a kiss on it.

you retract almost immediately after his lips descend on your skin, the area hot from the lighting, your sweat and your feelings.

nobara tsked, "what's his deal?" you let out a shaky sigh and shrug, hooking an arm around megumi's as you went around to mingle with the dancers.

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

[nobara is typing...]

you're to shadow gojo-senpai and shoko-senpai?! no way???!?!1/!?!?

[itadori is typing...]

no way, that's so cool! 

what was he like? was he in the office that day?

[(y/n) is typing...]

yeah, he was. not gonna lie, a bit cocky... kinda overheard that partners throw themselves at him sometimes too, which makes it a bit troublesome, lol.

and yes, kugisaki i'll need to observe them starting tomorrow. i cant come for the company class :(

[megumi is typing...]

Then what about Shoko-senpai?

you shake your head even though no one could see you, the forgotten tv series playing in the background while you text your friends instead.

[(y/n) is typing...]

she's too good for him, i think. they're long time friends too, but i'm not sure if any feelings blossomed since then tho

[nobara is typing...]

you don't like him, do you? i know you dont like guys that are full of themselves, altho that man rlly is that attractive .......

[itadori is typing...]

LMAOO whos the smitten one now

nobara sends a vibe check sticker, the one with both hands outstretched with a threatening stare into the screen. 

[nobara is typing...]

i'll kill you tomorrow, yuji itadori.

[itadori is typing...]

you'd have to reach my height first, loser

[nobara is typing...]

you- UFGGHKHH

i'll kick your shins, thats what!!!!!! 

you roll your eyes as the two of them get into another friendly banter, leaving the group chat to blow up in messages as you switch off the neglected tv. 

there's a silence that feels almost too foreign, contrasting to the fact that you enjoyed silences daily. it felt criminal, almost, to be in such a quiet space with no one to fill in the gaps.

you look to your black and white poster for some clarity, the young boy standing at 16 with a softness in his eyes and a lengthened extension that conveyed his love of ballet to you.

you never knew who was the boy, getting a poster shoved into your hands in a hurry when you and your mom bought tickets to the local ballet competition. you never questioned the poster, nor had you caught the boy in the midst of his variation either, settling for a theory that his performance had already passed the day before.

"how do you think it's going to go down tomorrow?" you mumble to no one in particular, tossing and turning in your sheets that didn't quell your worries no matter how much you thrashed.

the dreamless slumber welcomes you into its arms almost immediately, although the morning after was the opposite.

"shit, shit, shit," was your mantra, jumping from place to place in your small apartment to get the things you needed for class. you manage to catch the bus in time, heading straight to the studio with no cup of tea in your hand as usual. 

"(y/n)!" nobara grins, seeing you stumble through the door just as everyone finishes their individual warmups. the instructor greets everyone, eager to get into the class as soon as possible.

the thought of the rehearsal shook you up more than you thought it would, leaving you to let out nervous breaths that got worse by the time that class ended. 

ieiri didn't miss the way you'd wipe your hands on your tights in worry, going over the steps more than you usually would. you had a killer memory, but it seemed that today that that ability had melted away at the sight of gojo.

"wish me luck, guys," you muttered, hurriedly packing up your things before heading off yourself. the trio only could give you a small smile, knowing you had wanted time to yourself to calm your nerves.

you had always done this for the many shows you starred in: the music and positions mimicking a recording. it was as clear as day when it replayed in your head, the different orchestral parts and the dynamic changes you apply to your steps to give the best performance, for performing your best was all that mattered. the trio understood instantly, always sending you off on your memory replay with an encouraging smile.

well, almost, for you didn't even know what the rehearsal entailed or what piece they would be dancing to.

"hi," your voice appeared meek in the big studio, the only three people there slowly getting warmed up to each other. your feet carried you into a curtsey.

"ah, mei mei-sensei! miss shoko and mr gojo," you acknowledged their presence, placing your things down right where you stood.

"let's begin then, shall we? for this is a gala event, the pas de deux couple will only be performing the entree and the adagio parts. there might be the possibility you two would have to rehearse your individual variations and the coda. still, the organisers haven't gotten back to us on the duration we'll be on stage for. with the switching in and out of the different repertoire, this year should align with don quixote. before we start, i wish that everyone is honest with each other; that way, we can learn from different views."

don quixote?! you hold in your excitement at the revelation, thinking back to the fiery portrayals of kitri and lively spanish music to pair with it. your excitement was on cloud nine while by fifteen minutes, your feet and body were seemingly screaming at you to take a break.

to say it was tiring was an understatement, at the very least. you were to only shadow ieiri's parts, and the absence of a male partner proved challenging when you were the first soloist mirroring a principal and her partner.

"(y/n) should try too, of course! come, come," mei mei beckons you over from where you went over the steps, fingers fidgeting with the waistband of the sheer skirt you'd just bought a few days ago.

"i trust that you are familiar with the wedding PDD, (y/n)?" mei mei asks.

you nod eagerly, not missing the way ieiri beams at your enthusiasm. 

"good. we'll just try this part on your own. remember to keep yourself lifted and trust your partner," mei mei eyes you while gojo was already getting comfortable with a hand on your back, "would you like to try it without the music first?"

you nod cautiously. you take note of the way it burns like fire, the contact of his skin on yours. oh god, you wished you had wiped the sweat from it, although the other didn't seem to mind it due to the many partners he's worked with before.

with a quick glance, you snuck a look at the tall dancer, never much prepared for the striking blue of his eyes. however, this time, the cheeky gojo appeared to be kept under wraps, bringing forth a more solemn and nervous exterior. he did seem different and quiet, even catching the attention of mei mei-sensei and ieiri herself. they opted not to say anything.

nevertheless, the two of you narrate the lifts and steps, mixing in the counts with the french vocabulary that stuck with you throughout the years. you were surprised at how much leeway gojo had provided you, allowing you to move freely while bringing you back effortlessly for the couple work.

a smile formed on your face at the flow of your steps as the music plays seamlessly in your mind with how much you've watched different renditions of the wedding pas de deux.

"with the music now, my dears."

ieiri shoots you a thumbs-up, noticeably more tired than you, as she massages the bottom of her feet with calculated force.

the piano starts as the pas de deux passes by smoothly with minimal mishaps, save for some off balances here and there. as always, your hand tingles when it comes in contact with the principal's, willing the quick heartbeats away by thinking of his cocky smirk the other day. with the easy beginning completed, the lifts were now appearing more often.

"hold your body up during the fish dive (y/n), hold your back and position!" gojo stumbles a bit at your mistake, but for the second time around, you manage to get it, coming up from the tricky step into a beautiful arabesque. 

a hasty nod, and you're off, pulling away from gojo a tad bit quicker than how you wanted to initiate it. he's taken by surprise at your change of personality, wondering where the flustered soloist had gone to previously. with the same corrections directed at you, mei mei gives you a "good job" before bringing ieiri back in.

"we'll cap you two's pas de deux at that point before the turns. ieiri, you ready to get back into it?" she hesitantly nods, albeit more relaxed than the earlier exchange.

the music starts again, and this time, you manage to gape at the couple's artistry, weaving over and under to fit the delicate notes of minkus' score. with the many turns and tour en l'airs, it now came to the difficult part of the pas de deux: where the woman will wind their hand around the man's single finger, engaging in two turns connected only by that single contact point.

they complete it easily, leaving ieiri to then balance en pointe with one leg suspended in the air. the two repeat it again with no problem, except for the fatigue seeping through their faces at a few moments in time.

as the music reaches its climax, so does the movements with increasing pirouettes and lifts. their chests heave with exhaustion, but their smiles showed that they were satisfied with the run.

it was hard to believe that gojo and ieiri only started to rehearsed this a few weeks ago, especially since these were leading roles with a reasonably complex pas de deux to pair with. nothing seemed to faze them as they received the feedback from mei mei, nor did they have trouble correcting the lift that had gone wrong earlier or the balance that ieiri fell out of.

so this was what it meant to be a principal.

"(y/n)! any feedback that you'd like to give to the two?"

"h..huh, me? i'm not sure if it'd be helpful to-"

"nonsense, hit us, (y/n). rehearsals are always a place for feedback," ieiri grins, taking your hand to bring you closer to the three of them.

"well, i think... i'll comment on the repeated melody where you'll go from the turns into the attitude balance is where it's a bit difficult. since gojo-senpai is tall, he might've put his hand a little too high. i mean, of course, lifting up is ideal, but ieiri-senpai might have some trouble balancing because of that."

they wordlessly try it out without the music, noting how gojo places his hand at a lower height for ieiri. it might've felt foreign, but it looked a tad bit better to you, with a better centre of gravity and stability. 

"yeah! like that!" a smile dons your face, "does it feel better, senpai?"

"tons," gojo simply states, almost too eagerly as blue eyes uncharacteristically boring into yours. opposed to the quick glances he always gave you along the corridor or within classes, this one was a strange, longing one. ieiri's voice snaps you out of the spell, almost not wanting to leave his stare.

"way better, thank you (y/n)," she pats your arm before turning to the sound of mei mei's voice.

"alright, beautiful legs and extensions, but we still have a lot to work on, as well as getting (y/n) accustomed to more pas de deux and principal work. would you like to stay on (y/n)?"

you admired your own determination, but sometimes it was better to take a break. having just attempted the coda, you could already feel blisters forming due to your prolonged use of pointe shoes. with a breath, you let gojo complete his pirouettes, restraining the sigh coming from your lips at the perfect revolutions and momentum he had going.

a little more, and you were close to catching a breath, finishing off a quadruple pirouette and tour en l'air with gojo's help. with a slight stumble, you let out a startled laugh before taking your last step with a knee to the floor. with palm outstretched, the piano does a trill before ending off on a chord.

out of the corner of your eye, you spot gojo smiling down at you, a beam that doesn't come often with how much confidence he carries around the company. 

ieiri applauds first, followed by mei mei's impressed smile.

"you execute your fouettes well, (y/n)," you bow your head in thanks, brought up unconsciously with gojo's hand as it stays linked in yours. 

"thank you, mei mei-sensei. i'm just glad to have tried it out; the don Q coda is one of my favourites," you gush, "the costumes, the music is just everything."

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

"to dance with your partner is one thing, but the connection is another. translate the story of the elation of kitri - her father finally gives his blessing for their wedding, and she's excited to the moon. basilio is marrying the girl of his dreams. know what and who you're dancing for." mei mei speaks over the music easily, giving pointers they go over the steps like always.

"i know it's just an empty stage. there's no set, no scene to show the joy all around the cast, but you still are dancing as kitri and basilio," mei mei says after, "let's try again with (y/n)."

rehearsals carried on like this, day after day. some days longer than the other, and on others, you were paired with another first soloist. however, he wasn't tasked with shadowing the couple every day, so the pas de deux was left to you to master. 

as you wipe your sweat, ieiri waves her towel in front of you, "wanna have lunch with us?"

"i don't want to intrude-" 

"it's gojo's treat," ieiri whispers, "plus he doesn't treat people often."

"is he okay with me coming alo-" she pulls on you, leaving you no choice but to pack your things hurriedly.

"(y/n)'s coming, yea?" ieiri mumbles quickly, hooking her arm around yours in a hassle as you try to keep your things from falling out of your bag.

"i'd like that." gojo says to no one, finally catching up to you two after switching off the studio lights.

"whaaaat, you're leaving so fast?" you pout, eyeing ieiri's neat tray of finished food as gojo lets her pass through in the booth.

"i'm sorry you have to stay here with this dumbass (y/n), but i have a date with the orthopaedic today," ieiri groans.

"like an actual date?" gojo jokes.

"no," she rolls her eyes, "my muscles are acting up a little lately. plus, my arch hurts more often than it usually does. it's best to just check it out, i guess. but yeah, an actual date would be nice, too."

you shrug, "eh, hard to come by when you're a busy ballet dancer in a company. bye, senpai!" you and gojo wave to her as she leaves the diner, now coming to terms with the fact that you were alone with the charming dancer, as much as you hated to admit it.

with his perfect hair and long eyelashes and the enchanting smirk he always seems to wear. not to mention the sheer strength in his leaps in contrast to the delicate grip on your waist-

"thinking about me, love? of course you are."

"what? no!" you stiffen, the blush on your cheeks immediately giving away your thoughts.

"for the record, i've thought of you, too," gojo drops a bomb, leaning over the table to plant a gentle kiss upon your cheek before leaving the booth in a hurry. 

you were thankful that he was gone, at least and thankful for the empty diner, leaving you to melt in a puddle of confusion and warmth. 

just like the first rehearsal, your cheeks feel hot, as does your body. the place where his lips touched seemed to burn a hole through, your gaping mouth failing to close even after a minute of staring into nothing.

fishing out your phone was the first thing your mind sought out from the endless thoughts in your head.

nobara, nobara, nobara... gotta find her contact..!

[nobara is typing...]

he WHAT???!??@

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

"ieiri-senpai, what's a pas de deux to you?" you mumble after rehearsals one day, picking at the tape stuck in between your toes.

"it would have to be what mei mei said, definitely. she still says the same exact thing till today: dance and connection are two different things. and it can't go to the point where two different stories are being told by the male and female dancer. you'll need to go into pas de deux work with a mindset that you come in a pair. every correction and every emotion needs to be felt by both parties for it to reach the audiences."  

"what about you?" the question catches you by surprise, resorting to humming as you think of the answer.

"it's something along the lines of your answer and mei mei-sensei's definition. you'd have to be on the same wavelength as your partner. every extension that appears or a gentle port de bras is meant to show the character's personality. you'd also have to think of the context of the ballet, i guess," you stop yourself, looking at gojo as he finishes a tour en l'air en passe. three revolutions and you realise that a. you're staring and b. you were talking way too much.

"sorry! i'm rambling again," you splutter, going back to your original task of taking out the tape from your toes.

ieiri giggles, "no, no! ramble all you want. i love listening to my juniors talk about how much they love ballet."

"sleeping beauty, just like the show a week ago, is set in the royal court, so it's hard to show aurora's personality. she's a little playful and young, although it's hard to slip that in when the wedding pas de deux for that is so grand. and then you'll compare it to the black swan in swan lake, where it's also in a royal court, but odile's the one deceiving siegfried, so there's an opportunity to include some side-eyeing in it. i personally love zenaida's version," you trailed off, "i mean, of course, there's also-"

"then what about odette?" gojo shouts across the studio, with his hands on his hips. the white of his hair matched the pureness of odette's tutu, something you always wished to wear and dance and master when you got accepted into six eyes theatre.

"don't mind him-"

your words take precedence without effort, "with the white swan, odette has to show the struggle of her spell with the frantic miming that she has to do. 'i'm the queen of the swans, rothbart the bastard turned me into a swan' and so on and so forth. because she's a swan, she has to imitate the gentle way that swans move, along with the technical challenges of the pas de deux. she's very soft and fragile, and the violin makes it all the better in showing the shyness and fear in odette."

two pairs of eyes stare at you curiously as the male's smirk leaves you to break into a nervous laugh as you fidget with your fingers. 

"sorry, i'm talking a lot. too much. do carry on with your jumps," a small apologetic smile appears on your face, failing to note gojo's hesitation to move from his spot and his interest in the way you can talk endlessly about the art.

gojo's smirk merges into a smile even when he accomplishes the many pirouettes demanded of him. he'd want to hear it from your lips next time when you're wrapped up in each other.

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

"don't you think he's a little bit too confident for his own good?" nobara whispers to you. with rehearsals off for a few days, you were able to see your best friends again, munching up the calories lost from the afternoon class. 

"yeah... for all we know, he might be stumbling around in rehearsals and picking up girls," megumi muttered.

you rolled your eyes, "he's... not like that, guys. he is confident in class and seems a bit cocky, but that's because he really does live up to his name."

"we might not know much, either. (y/n) has been in rehearsals with the guy. he's probably more focused when there are lesser people in the room," yuji chats through his food, gaining disgusted looks from the three of you when lettuce and chicken litter the table.

"well... don't go falling for the guy, yeah? i've beaten up too many exes in the past," megumi tsked, devouring the salad bowl in front of him.

"yeah, but i didn't ask you to, plus you'd do it anyway. didn't even have to ask," you grin, leaning back in your chair triumphantly.

"if i beat up gojo-senpai, i'll probably get jailed."

you and yuji stifle a laugh at his comment, but nobara doesn't seem impressed with the joke, instead focused more on you and your reactions. 

you weren't actually developing feelings... right?

the memory and kiss linger in your mind like a stubborn stain, not forgetting the intense stare nobara had given you before you said goodbye to the three. a vibration from your phone snaps you out of the daze, opening your chat group to answer your friends. 

[nobara is typing...]

how was rehearsal today?!???! we jsut finished class

also it's been so long since we saw u :(

[(y/n) is typing...]

so good as always is that even a question luv xx

theyre both so talented as individuals as they r in a pdd... it was rlly insightful too!

gojo-senpai kept staring at me today for some reason tho. he felt different today, a little more reserved and whatnot

[megumi is typing...]

Maybe he felt intimidated by your skill lol

"i'll take my leave first, (y/n)! i've got an errand to run. mei mei's accompanying me," ieiri grins, bringing you into a sweat-filled hug. she's used to soaked leotards, even if the grimace on your end doesn't go unnoticed by the principal.

she lets out a chuckle, "you'll get used to mixed sweat and whatnot, (y/n). see ya!"

curtseying comes easy, bidding goodbye to the principal and the ballet mistress.

you were ready to go back to the conversation on your phone, although a call of your name distracted you from the conversation.

"yes...? gojo?" you mumbled, the last name feeling foreign on your lips without the honorific at the back. you put your phone away as the studio immediately diminishes in size, seemingly putting the two of you in a tight space with nowhere to go. it certainly felt like it, with the wordless prompt of his hand.

"try the pas de deux with me," gojo proposes, pulling up a piano rendition of the score on spotify. it wasn't hard to spot the mischievous sparkle in his eye, along with the attractive grin plastered on his face.

the studio appeared calmer now that ieiri and mei mei had left, yet the conflict in your mind was loud and unwelcomed. it felt like a battle between the angel and the devil, and you were sure the devil was nobara herself, screeching at you to remind you of the shit-ton amount of conceitedness he had.

"are we allowed to? don't other people need to use the studio?" you mumble, standing up with the help of gojo nevertheless.

you're playing right into his hand, yet you took it anyway.

he waves a hand, "it's fine; you do know the pas de deux, don't you? we didn't go over it together much, but i'm sure the past rehearsals served you well."

the beginning was refined, having done it earlier with mei mei's help. it was mostly the only thing the two of you went over when mei mei was around, leaving the more complicated parts to ieiri. the fish dive comes naturally this time, imagining the glowing lights and the striking wedding tutu that kitri sports in the third act. 

there are howls of laughter at the many mishaps after that. knowing you hadn't rehearsed any of it with your partner, nor with the music before, it was only fair that accidents were to happen.

"no, no, if you let me go, i will kill you- ah! gojo!" you threaten, but it's lost in your mouth as he spins you way too many times, letting a loud shriek escape your mouth.

from a failed pirouette to a fish dive where he almost dropped you (he didn't), the laughter spilling from yours and his lips weren't common in a company class with everyone trying to dance their best.

"hey, hey, lay off the hair!" gojo quips, catching your off-balanced pirouette with a secure hand on the waist. you went along with the music, anyway, giving your exaggerated interpretation of kitri just as the music builds up. that earns a laugh from him, skillfully guiding you through even with the light banter in the room

"here it comes," he mutters to you, feeling the support of gojo's hands on yours as he pushes you off the complete the double attitude turn before hearing a loud ‘thwap!’.

"fuck, sorry! oh my god," you apologise, retracting your leg almost immediately after the collision.

"ah, shit," gojo exclaims, rubbing the side of his thigh as he brings you down gently. there's a frown on his face as you take a peek at the place you hit, the only thoughts running through your head being the articles or scandals you might be caught in.

(y/n) attempting to harm six eyes theatre's golden principal dancer? (y/n)'s downfall full of jealousy? (y/n) and the infamous gojo caught in a fight?

a giggle gets you out of the trenches, hands revealed like a finished magician's act. 

"i was kidding; that didn't hurt one bit," gojo jokes, hands naturally reaching forward to place them on your hips, "loosen up a bit, (y/n)."

"i am loose!" your mouth falls into a straight line, "shit that sounded bad, didn't it?" bursting into laughter, your head falls onto his shoulder as your hand reaches up to grasp at his forearm before recovering from the unexpected joke.

as the pas de deux fades off into nothing, only your breaths could be heard in the large studio, blending with the cold air of the air-conditioning and the hot breaths coming from your mouths. strings play softly from the phone, but all you can hear is the echo of the familiar melody as if it was being played in an auditorium. 

gojo gives you a gentle smile that you reciprocate, stuck in that annoying hypnotisation of his blue eyes and the same soft look he gives you whenever you aren't looking. 

you were looking now, though, and you'd like it even better if time stood still for you to savour this moment.

"would you like to go on a date with me (y/n)?"

there it was, the million-dollar question. it wasn't like you imagined this every night before you slept or whether he'd perform a flashy proposal to ask you out.

but even then, you thought back to the smirks he directed at every other dancer, you thought back to the conversation in masamichi's office, you thought back to nobara's advice.

"surely you're not thinking of getting wooed by gojo satoru, are you? it's dangerous, (y/n), i'm sure you know that."

"fuck, i know! but then he kisses my cheek that one time and everything feels right again. he jokes with me in rehearsals and nudges me when mei mei-sensei compliments me. he treats me to lunch and looks at me with so much passion i almost want to believe it. these past weeks of rehearsals have taught me well in dance, but i'm sure it's making my love life miserable with how much he looks at me and then goes back to flirting with the other dancers."

"i'm sorry, i can't, gojo."

you make haste with the way you're scurrying out of the studio, breaking into a jog to make sure he doesn't catch after you.

you should've said yes, right? with how much he's been building up the courage these past few weeks, careful not to let ieiri spot his sneaky glances. even the kiss on your cheek left his heart pumping long after he's left the diner. 

all that to leave him in the dust.

gojo lays in bed that day, eyes fully open as he struggles to get some rest, unaware of the similar turmoil you were going through. the dancer managed to sleep after innumerable amounts of overthinking, departing from consciousness with thoughts of you, just like he always has.

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

there weren't any tears involved on your end, save for some of the glossy looks you've given your black and white poster as you played with your pillowcase in anxiety. 

you dreaded the next rehearsal, knowing you had to face gojo sooner or later, especially with how you reacted to his question.

"mei mei-sensei, gojo," his name was muttered instead, embarrassed with the way you rushed out of the studio the previous day. mei mei looks between the two of you, clapping her hands together to get your attention.

"ieiri pulled a nerve around her arch, which was why we've been going to the orthopaedic more often. it's a minor injury, and she's resting right now, so we'll have to work with the two of you first. we'll stop at where we always do but feel free to continue if you feel comfortable."

great. it had to be on a day where i couldn't possibly face gojo.

he says nothing at that, both you and the pianist unsure of whether you were to continue.

gojo was still in his a game, hitting every leap and lifting you without much struggle. you, not so much, as the words you said to him replayed in your head like a broken record.

you fell off your balances, you couldn't portray kitri well, you felt the weight of your body get heavier with each repeated thought of the day before. hell, even your practice tutu felt heavy. 

he sighs again for the umpteenth time as the music stops, the two of you receiving the same criticism from the previous run. mei mei tries her best to be polite, although you can tell she's losing her patience as well.

"(y/n)? what's gotten into you? i understand every dancer has their bad days, but today appears terrible with the silent treatment you two are giving each other."

you swallow at the question, taking a shaky breath before opening your mouth. you look to gojo for help, but his eyes evade yours by looking at the floor with arms crossed. his head whips toward you with your following words.

"he asked me... on a date. i rejected him, rushed out the studio," you mutter, tracing the fabric of the tutu hanging on your hips.

"you asked her out on a date?" mei mei states in disbelief, looking at the ballerino with a face full of perplexity. 

"yeah, i did, and i would do it again," the last whisper is lost to you, unable to hear because of the distance between you and him.

"wh- why? what's wrong with that?" you ask mei mei-sensei, yet again being pulled in by the sky blue of his eyes before looking to the ballet mistress.

"mei mei-"

"gojo never asks anyone out. ever. i'm sure you're the first one."

you can see gojo deflate at that at the corner of your eye, shoulders sagging forward in defeat while mei mei takes the chance to leave for you to sort things out. 

"what...?" was the only thing you could muster, eyes following your instructor as she exits the space.

"you two are dismissed for now. talk to him about it and resolve your problem," she waves a hand at you, the tension growing by the second as she's entirely out of the studio.

"gojo?" you ask cautiously, stepping up to him to pull him from the position he was in.

"you believe the rumours, the articles, don't you?" he says, completely unrelated to the situation at hand. the look he gives you was something you couldn't figure out, snatching his arm out of your grip as he puts some distance between the two of you. 

"you think i'm some cocky bitch who's just strutting around the company, free to do my own thing?" the other says it in a quiet tone, but it didn't make it less menacing than if he were to shout it. 

"do you think i enjoy the way the female dancers throw themselves at me when i'm trying to focus on my mistakes and corrections? you think i enjoy the annoying ass articles written about me?"

with each question, gojo doesn't fail to intimidate you, taking a step each time until you're cornered against the barre. those questions are left unanswered as gojo's eyes bore into yours, losing its usual spark when he glances at you during the pas de deux or when he's laughing at a joke you made over lunch.

"do you think i enjoy being talked about every. single. time?! when i'm passing in the corridors, in masamichi's office, in the company classes, among the little trio you have going on. when i asked you out, it was because i genuinely felt that i could connect to you: with no wrong assumptions or bad impressions," gojo runs a hand through his sweaty hair, the frustrated emotions he felt seeping through into his speech.

"...everything felt so fake to me while getting to know you were the only real thing i could cherish when i get to hold you during the pas de deux, or when my lips landed on your cheek. it was the only real thing that brought on your blush that i imagine your lips on mine way too much."

you chose to ignore the way your heart flutters at the confession, staring up at him with apparent conflict on your face.

"then why can't you just ignore them? i'd expect someone like you to not give a shit about what people think," you whisper.

"you got to know the wrong gojo, then. just like right now, i can't face what others have to murmur around about me."

"right now...?" you caught onto his words fast, your eyes immediately spotting the curious faces of both your friends and a few other dancers fighting for a spot to watch you two through the studio door's glass.

"c'mon, pack up, let's not talk here," gojo states. within seconds, the two of you were out the door with your hand clasped in his. you were quick on your feet to leave the premises, naturally following gojo's lead to an unknown building. 

letting go of his hand, you explore the space, taking note of every tiny little thing that made the apartment his own.

"sorry for the mess. i live alone and hardly clean the apartment." the nervousness from the studio stayed, the other opting to remain at the doorway in worry. the silence in the apartment grows, your eyes now trained to the floor as gojo suddenly speaks up.

"i couldn't ignore them, (y/n). their expectations disguised as gossip and rumours allowed me to perform properly. i was afraid of disappointment, of getting ridiculed if i were to make mistakes on stage. any slip-up was seen by the company's sponsors, critics, everyone. their eyes were always on me, and i could never let myself get eaten up by the articles." 

"the industry is filled with competition and talent. anyone can replace anyone at any given time; you'd have to have a mind of steel to not get affected by every little thing!"

his eyes meet the back of your head, the fatigue leaking through the lines of his eyes and face. as you turn around, you meet his exhausted ones, and, step by step, you approach the man.

"i can't say i have that mind of steel that i mentioned. i hardly come close to it, (y/n). i'm happy with the company, i'm content with my place, and i'm terribly in love with ballet, but... i'm so tired, really."

your expression of unsaid pity was all you could offer, bringing gojo into a hug as he wrapped his arms around you. the way he relaxed told you of the safe space you provided, while his tight, squeezing arms showed he hasn't embraced in a long time.

a minute or two passes, relishing in the now comfortable silence as the other collects himself. 

"i'm laying everything on you, fuck, i'm sorry."

you shake your head into his chest, "don't apologise, you idiot. i should be the one saying sorry for rushing off like that," pulling away, you were heartbroken to see the shine of his tears waiting to cascade down his cheeks.

"i'm sorry i ran off. i was afraid, for a different reason. my rational side always protects my heart, knowing i've had bad experiences with friends and connections. if i couldn't sustain a friendship, who was i to jump into a relationship?" you hand trails to his nape to mindlessly play with the hair there as a form of habit with your own hair.

"it was brave of you, putting yourself out so vulnerably when i only looked at the surface of what you were. i'm sure it felt like those weeks of getting to know each other meant something to you, and i threw it away in fear that you'd leave me after a few months."

"so please don't apologise, i'm sorry i ever made you feel like shit because i didn't know about the weight on your shoulders."

a smile graces your face, the hand on his nape going back to his cheek.

"and stop crying; it doesn't make your eyes look good," you whisper, wiping the tears before they fall as gojo lets out a chuckle.

"you think my eyes look good?" 

you roll your eyes, "god, who wouldn't? it's like looking at the sky and the ocean all at the same time. and when you stare at me? i always have trouble looking away from you because of how striking they are."

"are they now?" distracted from the emotional vomit earlier, he grins at your description of him. you're lucky to have your hands on his cheeks just so you can feel the effect you have on him every time you offer a compliment.

"are you done complimenting me?"

"i've only commented on your eyes, though. would you like me to continue?"

"i think you should kiss me first."

you're taken aback by gojo's boldness, a surprised expression appearing at the question. the way he looks at you beats the gazes through the mirror as he warms up and the look of interest over his bowl of miso soup. it beats the glances at you during the company classes and the short, fleeting glimpses as you move together during the pas de deux. it beats every single one that your head descends back into his chest, shy at the look of adoration he was giving you.

"can i really?" you whisper in his shirt, refusing to look up even when he pulls away from your embarrassment.

as his arms unwind themselves from your middle, he crouches down to reach your eye and bring you back from a world of uneasy firsts.

"is it your first?"

this was when gojo satoru was at his rawest, with his hands cupped around your cheeks in the slowly darkening apartment as he prepares himself to kiss you.

"it is."

gojo says nothing after that, the moment of silence feeling like forever before his lips meet yours. the sunset coming in from his windows hits at the right time, because then you'd be able to point at it and describe the colours you feel when his mouth moves against yours. you'd be able to sense your heart pumping and blood flowing more clearly than when you've just finished a demanding combination of steps when he encircles his arms around you to bring you closer.

without choreographed steps, nothing feels more fitting than a kiss full of passion that isn't in a pas de deux. ironically, it was the ones you enjoyed more, more than the kisses in romeo & juliet or in manon.

oxygen becomes scarce, then, prompting you to break away from gojo just as your heart fills up with joy, way more than you can fathom.

you crash your lips into his again, now catching him off-guard. he melts into it with no problem, a laugh spilling from his lips at your eagerness.

"i like you a lot, tons, (y/n). i don't say this often, but i like you."

"it's too early to say it's love, right? because i think i like you too, a lot, tons."

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

you agreed to keep it under wraps for now, with you planning to leave half n' hour later to avoid suspicion. the dancer sacrificed his Z's so you could catch them instead, although you continued to lay awake in his bed watching the white-haired man get ready. 

"are you sure the floor wasn't uncomfortable? you could've just used your own bed, y'know."

he only shakes his head, "'s okay. my back was acting up, anyway. it was basically free therapy."

you laugh at that, now sitting up fully to admire gojo's physique. with how affectionate and sweet he is behind closed doors, you swore that he was a different man. he shoots you a finger gun and a wink, knowing the way he's got you wrapped around his finger.

"see you later," gojo whispers, landing a peck on you before taking off on his own. it wasn't long before you had to get up, taking in the room and its decorative spaces. he has ballet posters and photos of his friends; he even had a diffuser.

a yawn takes over you as your hands land on the shirt on you.

fuck, you didn't have anything clean to wear. gojo had provided you with a shirt and pants from his wardrobe yesterday, rejecting his briefs with a laugh. with no bra, you decided to just use a spare leotard you keep in your bag, settling for the clothes gojo had lent you the day before.

the theatre felt different when you entered, heading straight for the studio to avoid any more prying eyes from the younger dancers. 

"hey," you say, rubbing at your eyes to the trio warming up their feet.

nobara gasps, grasping at your hand immediately to pull you down onto the floor.

"are you good?" she mumbles, staring at your face for any signs of hurt or crying.

"do i need to beat him up?" megumi challenges, flexing his bicep as a joke, "i've been working out more."

"i'll go tell him off for you, (y/n)!" yuji grins, preparing to quite literally stand up to head over to the other corner of the room.

"no! i mean, yes, i'm good. please don't beat him up, and... sit down, yuji." you sigh. 

"nothing... happened, guys. i know what it looked like in the studio yesterday but there wasn't any catfights or physical fights," you pause, looking at megumi, your hands instinctively going to the pouch where you kept your shoes, "we figured out our problem and solved it, that's all."

"so why are you wearing his shirt, then?" nobara shoots without hesitation, causing you to halt your movements for a bit. beside you, you can hear yuji choking on his water. 

"i... we.. uhm," you trail off, trying to find the right words to fill in the gaps of your explanation. your eyes flit around the room before landing on gojo's, finding that his were already fixed on you.

"uh... yeah... we cleared up our differences and talked a bit," you mutter, lips breaking into a smile before you break eye contact with him. the trio stay dumbfounded at your word vomit, witnessing the exchange with the principal dancer with puzzlement. 

"oh my god, did you guys fuck?" nobara whispers.

"what? no!" you laugh, whacking her shoulder as you stood up to loosen up your feet, preparing for the class conducted by masamichi himself today.

"i'll explain everything when i get back home, okay?" you say to the three of them, stuck in a side hug with nobara as her arm stay loosely wrapped around your waist.

they can only offer you their  nods, bidding you goodbye with a slight wave.

as you enter the same rehearsal studio, there's only a single lone dancer in it, stretching over in a middle split as he scrolls on his phone mindlessly.

"hey," you call out to gojo, setting your bag of things down while you run up to him. he stands up instantly, pulling you into an embrace that shocks you with the sheer force of it.

"did you already miss me? that's fast."

he mumbles into your hair, "mhmm... shut up, please."

you laugh at that, recovering from the hug despite the other's protests.

"c'mon, i need to warm up, plus we're supposed to keep this a secret, right?"

gojo whines but lets you go anyway, but not before he plants a kiss on your hand as he lets you do your own thing. the next set of footsteps catch you in surprise, eyes widening at her presence when you run up to her in excitement.

"ieiri-senpai! are you feeling better?" you ask, peeking around at her feet, where she limped on earlier.

"yes, i am, (y/n)," she pats your head and realises your choice of clothing. you noticed her smirk, but before you could counter her question, she beats you to it, "and... i've seen that the dumbass finally made a move."

there's no denying the blush that makes its way onto your cheeks, seemingly oblivious to the stares from everyone when in reality, they were curious to know of what happened the day before.

"yeah, i guess he did," you sigh dreamily, giving off your feelings as ieiri could only smile at your situation.

mei mei enters the room with authority, making you perk up at her words as she walks to the centre of the barre with purpose.

"i trust that you've solved everything, yes? because you two have been quite the talk around the studio," mei mei states, braiding her hair into a side braid as ieiri takes a seat.

"i took her hand to get away from the crowd, sensei. if anything, i should be blamed for engaging in contact that might've given off the assumption that we were dating," gojo steps up.

"but you are dating, aren't you?" mei mei grins, putting on her shoes.

"i..." you tried to speak, but gojo interrupts you before then.

"only if she'll have me, then yes, we are."

you fight back a smile, stepping forward to catch his hand in yours. he's shaking, not at all the confident gojo satoru that you've become so accustomed to.

"yes," your single affirmation holds so much weight, looking up at him with as much joy as he did with you in the morning.

"okay, good! i've gone through enough of gojo staring at you from across the room. let's continue," mei mei casually says, "i'm sure (y/n) has heard the news, yes?"

she's quick to pull you out of your thoughts of gojo looking at you during rehearsals with the question of the news that left you texting the trio at 1am.

[nitta-sensei is typing...]

(y/n)? do you have a minute to spare?

[(y/n) is typing...]

yes sensei?

what seems to be the...

you're cut off by the abrupt phone call as gojo brushes his teeth, speaking to you, though incoherently, through the foam and lather in his mouth.

"yes, nitta-sensei? what is it?"

"i'm sorry for conveying this news over the phone, and i was too excited to wait until the next day. you might or might not like it, but... you're to replace ieiri in the gala event for now." by now, gojo had stopped brushing due to your lack in reply.

he peeks his head out of the bathroom as nitta continues, "she has to heed her orthopaedic's advice and take a break for now, but since you've been shadowing the two for a good amount of time, masamichi thinks its best you take up the role of the female part."

your jaw stays dropped even after nitta says her goodbyes, the phone lit up due to your shock. 

"(y/n)? what happened?"

"i'm going to be dancing with you, gojo," you say quietly, "i'm dancing the pas de deux with you!" 

you bow your head in acknowledgement, "yes, i have." 

ieiri sees the hesitation since now the original dancer was seated in front of you. she shoots you a double thumbs-up as motivation while mei mei briefs you on the gala like she did with the couple at the start.

it's short, and within the next moment, you're already flying through the sky with gojo's help. the steps start to become more apparent and distinct to you, letting the pianist lead the way as the lifts and pair work merge together like a seamless thread.

mei mei is firm in her teaching, knowing your weaknesses and strengths by heart with the past rehearsals that she's done. stopping the two of you before letting ieiri take over was routine, but for now, ieiri contributes with her wisdom from the chair instead. 

the rehearsal progresses slowly, opting instead to complete it bit by bit as the weeks turn into days and the days turn into hours. you had to take extra care of your feet, icing them and making sure your blisters don't distract you as rehearsals extend longer to ensure your best performance.

when you had your own commitments, your best friends had theirs, fulfilling principal or first soloist roles just for the gala. there was hardly any time for you to see the trio, but you made up with late facetime calls and online dinners with them.

even with the distance in the company class, gojo never fails to make it up to you with kisses under the moonlight as you watch video after video on don quixote, although taking a specific liking to the pairing of nuñez and muntagirov. 

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

"you ready?" gojo lets out a nervous breath, already hearing the chatter of the gala attendees behind the curtains. beside you, other dancers are warming up for their own parts. some were doing a solo while others were doing a pas de deux like you were, but nonetheless, everyone gathered here was to share the love for ballet.

"hell no, i'm shaking," you laugh, playing with the elastic that was to go over your middle finger. a beautiful, white tutu was tailored just for you with minor tweaks from ieiri's tutu while they were in the midst of completing it. to honour and perform the role of kitri gave you immense joy and excitement, even though you were jittery at the responsibility passed on to you.

"how are you doing?" nobara asks, making you jump at the sudden voice. she lets out a giggle, "sorry."

 "i'm... very nervous. is that even a question?" you ask her, holding onto her exposed shoulder a little too tightly. she dons a breathtaking, flowy costume with puffy sleeves and intricate detail. at the same time, yuji was suited up as nobara's partner in a pair of yellow tights, completing the couple look in the comedy-filled la fille mal gardée.

"oi, hot pants, come here! my partner's here finally after taming his hair," nobara jokes, pulling yuji over. they lean into each other's sides naturally, posing with peace signs and big smiles that they were asked to convey to the audience.

"good luck out there," megumi catches your attention, awkward as can be, as he pulls you in for a hug. his pas de deux partner is smiling at you beside him, taking your hand in hers.

"your rehearsals with gojo-senpai are incredible, (y/n)-senpai! all the best for your performance later," she bows, clearly relieved at saying the things she wanted to say.

"all the best for your le corsaire, too," you grin, waving them off excitedly before joining your basilio at the hip.

"you'll do great out there, trust me," gojo places a peck on your temple, holding you close by the waist as you warm up together. there's shared laughter between the two of you, exchanging jokes to calm your nerves and keep your mind moving. with the rush hour backstage, it was imminent that the show was starting soon, the many dancers continuing their warmup without trouble.

only you seemed to be on edge, performing as the first couple of the night for a role you've always loved and adored while watching from the balcony of auditoriums.

"i will. we will." you nod, hands twined with the other's as the curtains make their way up.

"breathe. we'll nail this like we always do," gojo kisses your linked hands, staring down at you with those same eyes you fell in love with. a smile replaced what you couldn't say out loud, bumping your head into his chest as an affectionate gesture, "let's go."

among the cheers and blinding lights, you could only focus on gojo's hand on the small of your back as he led you out. with practised steps, nothing could faze you except, maybe, his dazzling smile and the gentle eyes he has on you for the whole pas de deux.

living the life of an innkeeper's daughter was what you had to portray. while your 'father' was hesitant at first, he's finally given you the blessing to marry your lover, basilio. the glimmering tutu and effortless partnership was only half the job done, and for the radiant smile you had on at the moment, you hoped at least ieiri and mei mei would be proud of the story you were telling together with gojo.

the feeling from rehearsals is amplified on stage, with the orchestra's power and the costumes, providing you with a feeling like no other. and as gojo approaches with a flawless tour en l'air, you realise that with how much work you put in behind the scenes, the result always pays off. 

as gojo has his hands on your waist, twirling you around like nothing in a quadruple pirouette, you realise that every step was made possible with the help of ieiri and mei mei and your best friends and lastly, gojo satoru.

the golden, treasured prodigy which you somehow managed to develop feelings for. the talented principal who whines when you won't refuse to give him affection and the once-cocky individual who softens just at the sight of you.

and as the music reaches the end, you want nothing more than to stay in this pas de deux with gojo satoru, in a dance of two.

you end off on an incredible note, chest heaving from the demanding technicalities of the pas de deux. nevertheless, your brain shuts out the thunderous applause, with some imparting you with their standing ovations and others who decided to scream 'bravo!' at the stage.

gojo offers a grin, bringing you close with a hand as you thank the audience with endless curtseys. bowing to your partner was next, thanking him for the interminable rehearsals and that hectic day of emotion from the studio right up to his home.

you almost practically run backstage with the adrenaline flowing through your body, the next act already on stage for the gala. 

"oh my god, oh my god!" you whisper-shout in pure glee, hugging gojo close the moment you were out of view of the audience.

"you did it."

"we did it," you reassure, pulling from the embrace to smile up at him. you could feel the dancers' eyes around you, not knowing whether they should look to you or to look away.

his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, "'s okay, let them look. i don't mind it when i'm with you."

"just to confirm, we... shouldn't kiss, right?" you mumble, but you inch closer to his lips anyway.

"no... i don't think we should," gojo grins, indulging you in the very kiss you've waited for, knowing that right now, it wasn't the stage lights, nor was it the general heat after completing a difficult pas de deux.

it's as if the world gave you rose-tinted glasses, because that was all you could recognise now as gojo pulls you from backstage with your hand tightly locked onto his. he wasn't the six eyes theatre's prized principal, he was just gojo as you run past the many costumes being hung with the click-clacking of your pointe shoes.

you could compare it, almost, to running across a field with a billowing dress behind you, but alas, you were satisfied with being his kitri. for when she and basilio have a life of marriage ahead of them, you and gojo satoru have nothing but longing glances and shared laughter over your stumbling slip-ups in the studio as you tackle one act after the next.

the pas de deux was a connection and a story, and the both of you were just starting out yours. 

[tossawary]

I need to know more about “SVSSS - Baby Brother Liu Qingge” bc I love tiny and very deadly baby LQG

I have a 3k-ish Shang Qinghua POV that was supposed to be the introduction to this fic concept! So... ah... baby Liu Qingge does not appear in this, but you can see the setup for how an 8yo-ish Liu Qingge was supposed to be introduced. My hope is that this will someday become a "Shang Qinghua and Shen Jiu go on a mission with Baby Brother Liu Qingge" one shot.

-cut-

Shang Qinghua didn't really have the words to describe what it was like having Proud Immortal Demon Way's characters finally come into his second life.

He didn't have the words to describe a lot of his transmigration experience, honestly! His words had described a lot of this world already, haha, hadn't they? Sometimes a person just had to put up with it and keep going.

And then excuse himself later to go scream into a pillow! Many times!

At first, life was just him in a body that didn't fit and strange memories that slipped between his fingers like sand. His memories of a past life had settled eventually, the System finally came fully online, and his relationship with his second family was fully fucked forever. That was fine, though! That was fine! With some unsolicited prodding from his System, he left to go seek his fortune soon enough and he never had to talk to his character's birth parents or siblings again.

But Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky had never said much of anything about Shang Qinghua’s family or home village, besides saying that the man had dreamed of more than his mediocre origins, so everything had been unfamiliar and original and real. Getting to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, which he had described in great detail, was a real headfuck. There were no words for the experience of recognizing things that he’d written in another life.

He saw the glistening rainbow bridge and the intimidating sect entrance and the majestic meeting hall on Qiong Ding, and he nearly screamed. He definitely squawked. His vision got really fuzzy for a minute there and he had to sit down on the ground before he fell over. What the fuck?! What the fuck?! He’d made a world! The System had really made a world out of his web-novel! He was really stuck in Proud Immortal Demon Way!

There were upsides and downsides to joining Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. Downsides included: the hard training, the harder workload, the dangerous missions, the disrespect towards An Ding Peak, and being surrounded by arrogant and foolish teenagers looking to look down on someone. It was really something else to look some of them in the eye and think, "Bro, I don’t know your name, but you kind of owe your existence to me. Could you stop being such a fucking asshole about leaving your chores for me to do?! Respect your father!"

Upsides included: actually becoming a cultivator (pretty cool, even though the work of cultivation sucked more often than not), better living accommodations and food, and actually getting to see some of the cooler places, plants, monsters, and magic that were a part of his world. Sure, carting a monster corpse brought in by Bai Zhan Peak to Xi Jiao Peak for butchering was smelly and heavy and altogether miserable, but seeing an impossible animal was still kind of incredible. If this unwilling Shang Qinghua could stop being pushed around and stepped on long enough to appreciate the upsides, he’d really appreciate it!

It was interesting and infuriating to log the differences between what he’d imagined, what he’d written, and what the System had created. What sort of author described every single object in every single room? Who had time for that? Who wanted to read that? The System had filled in all the living details of An Ding Peak - the Leisure Houses, the training grounds, the storehouses, the warehouses, the kitchens, the lesson halls, the leisure gardens, the farming fields, the livestock fields, the stables, the cart lot, the water supply, the sewage systems, and so on - so that people could actually live here. Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky as an author had done many things worthy of complaint and criticism, but wasting his readers’ time with sewage systems was not one of them!

The System had also filled in all the little details and decorations - the paintings on the walls of sect history, the detailing on the rooftops supposedly offering protections from dream demons, the chipped and faded paint of old storehouses that disciples would be tasked with replacing, the statues in the fields to scare off scavengers, the carvings on the doors meant to reduce resentful energy, the childish etchings of bored students the surface of the lesson hall desks, the old bench where the An Ding Peak Lord liked to sit and eat flatcakes - so that it really seemed like people had built this place and maintained it and added to it for generations.

Shang Qinghua had his quibbles here and there. Sometimes the System had made choices that he objected to! He would have done it differently if it had asked him, the author, to contribute. He really felt as though the System should have asked him to clarify the plot holes and the gaps in detail, instead of choosing precedence randomly or building off random implications taken way too literally.

Sometimes he found out that the System had built things out of throwaway lines that Shang Qinghua himself had completely forgotten about. It turned out that Ku Xing Peak made a lot of purification tools and containment vessels because Airplane had offhandedly mentioned that this was their specialty, and now Shang Qinghua had to cart around delicate ceramics to be sold to city merchants or other cultivation sects. He never would have dared to write that if he’d known that it would one day in another life be his job to do things like take inventory and chase down signatures for successful deliveries.

Places, items, and creatures were one thing, but logging the differences between the people he met and the characters he’d created was something else. At first it was okay, because he was surrounded by nameless An Ding Peak nobodies - his fellow disciples, their teachers, the hardworking managers and merchants, even the peak lord - none of them had ever mattered in Proud Immortal Demon Way. If Airplane had been the one to name any of them, he didn’t recognize the names or remember them.

Then he met Yue Qingyuan.

Wow, it was a worse headfuck than first arriving at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, when Shang Qinghua finally realized that this was the young version of one of his actual characters. It took him a minute. As a lowly outer disciple, Shang Qinghua hadn’t received “Qinghua” as a name yet (his name was Houhua, not that anyone ever used it) and the future Yue Qingyuan was still called Yue Qi.

Shang Qinghua was fourteen at the time. Yue Qingyuan must have been around the same age, so he didn’t strike the tall and handsome figure of the sect leader Airplane had described. The boy was broad, but actually a little short. He had freckles. He had acne.

But he also had a warm smile that seemed to go all the way to his eyes when he offered to give Shang Qinghua directions to the right office on Qiong Ding. He had a steady hand when he helped Shang Qinghua up, after the An Ding disciple had suddenly tripped over nothing upon being introduced. Yue Qingyuan - Yue Qi - walked him to the right office and did his best to make small talk, friendly and kind even though Shang Qinghua was having difficulty stringing more than a few words together in his shock.

Even then, it was obvious that the boy was developing the calm surety and the social charm that would make him a greatly admired sect leader someday! It was all Shang Qinghua could do not to blurt out: “Holy shit, you’re REAL?!” Which would be closely followed by: “Hey, is Shen Qingqiu really real too?!” And then maybe closely followed by: “FUCK!!!”

As the years went by, Shang Qinghua met more of Proud Immortal Demon Way’s characters, and it was weird every time. None of them were exactly like he was expecting. He kept expecting… well… he kept expecting them to look like the fanart, like flawless character models, more or less. Instead, he kept getting… people.

Wei Qingwei, head disciple of the sword-focused Wan Jian Peak, was also shorter than he was expecting, kind of stout, with a wide face and a wider smile. Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky had apparently had the man crack a few jokes upon his rare appearances in the web-novel, usually during tense situations, as he was reminded by the System upon thinking to himself: “Why is this guy LIKE THIS?!” So, because of just a few lines, the real Wei Qingwei had a relentless sense of humor and loved telling jokes.

Upon their first meeting, when Shang Qinghua was fifteen and had been sent over to help renovate some Wan Jian dormitories, fifteen-year-old Wei Qingwei had pretended to fumble a sword and, using a packet of dye and a sleight of hand, made it look like he’d accidentally cut off his own hand at the wrist. Of course Shang Qinghua had screamed and panicked! Anyone would panic! But Wei Qingwei had laughed at him and said, “Got you! Shang-Shidi, the sword wasn’t even unsheathed!” Asshole!

Qi Qingqi, the head disciple of Xian Shu Peak, was much taller than he was expecting. Apparently Airplane had once described a group of some of the peak lords by saying something like: “Each one of them was like a giant to young Luo Binghe.” That group had included Qi Qingqi. The System apparently had taken that to mean that Qi Qingqi was of a height with the likes of Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu. Shang Qinghua discovered this adaptational choice when he was almost sixteen, when this giraffe-like girl came to An Ding Peak to complain about an order someone along the pipeline had dropped completely, and he accidentally found himself (still waiting on a really good growth spurt) eye-level with Qi Qingqi’s chest.

Airplane had apparently once said in Proud Immortal Demon Way that Qian Cao Peak Lord Mu Qingfang appeared a little older than his colleagues, by which he’d probably meant that the man was just tired or something, but this head disciple Mu Qingfang appeared to have ten years on all the other head disciples. Which was good! Shang Qinghua approved of their future head healer not being a teenager and having more training!

On the bad side of things, Airplane had also once said in Proud Immortal Demon Way that the Zui Xian Peak Lord Zhang Qingyan liked his drink too much. This was the peak specializing in alcohol, so it had seemed to make sense! It was supposed to be funny, if anything! Well, at sixteen, Shang Qinghua found out that the System had focused too much on the “too much” part of that statement and now the head disciple of Zui Xian Peak was pretty clearly a budding alcoholic. (Sometimes a cultivator’s constitution and ability to “cure” themselves just… made a person drink more. A lot more.) Which was… not good.

At seventeen, Shang Qinghua met Mobei-Jun.

He didn’t know where to get started with Mobei-Jun.

Somehow he’d… forgotten that Mobei-Jun had been originally based on Airplane’s idea of “the perfect man” and not the super pretty, muscular but slim-waisted protagonist type? The real Mobei-Jun was… tall… and big… and thick. Mobei-Jun’s intimidating features were… more striking than pretty. The first time Shang Qinghua had come back to his Leisure House and found this spoiled brat of an ice demon napping shirtless on his bed, and gotten an eyeful of all that heavy muscle and chest hair, he’d nearly knocked himself out on the doorframe trying to turn away before he had a heart attack.

Mobei-Jun really was going to be the death of him, holy shit.

Especially because this ice demon really was a spoiled brat! Airplane had described this character as being arrogant and apathetic, so now Shang Qinghua had to deal with a Mobei-Jun who took long baths and then carelessly dripped water all over the floor and all over fresh sheets! Who ate all of Shang Qinghua’s cooking and ungratefully only demanded more food, sprawled over furniture not really fit for someone of his size, and then watched Shang Qinghua like a fat tiger! Ahhh, this demon really was lucky he was handsome!

Mobei-Jun was also kind of violent, and mean, which was… well, it sucked.

Back to the sect that Shang Qinghua was now actively betraying, however, as far as he could see, there was still one future peak lord missing.

It wasn’t Shen Qingqiu, who Shang Qinghua had thought would be the last one to show up. Shen Qingqiu had shown up and had been advancing through the ranks of Qing Jing Peak before Shang Qinghua had even met Mobei-Jun, which meant that Yue Qingyuan had finally stopped looking like someone had torn out his soul. (Shang Qinghua had been forced to grit his teeth every time that someone mentioned how privileged that Yue Qingyuan was to have been granted that year of secluded cultivation in the Lingxi Caves at such a young age.)

No, of all the peak lords, it was Liu Qingge who Shang Qinghua had yet to meet.

After meeting Mobei-Jun and becoming an inner disciple, the System had given Shang Qinghua three years to make it to head disciple, probably because the deadline for a new generation of peak lords to ascend was fast approaching. He was working hard to achieve that! Not only did he have to sabotage the current favorite, but he had to make sure all his own training, missions, work, and research were as close to flawless as he could get it! All while keeping an intruding ice demon happy! He wasn’t totally sure that he was going to make it at this rate, even though he’d been here for years.

So it was a little concerning that Liu Qingge hadn't shown up yet. There was so much left to do. A world-state that had yet to be established. Liu Qingge had work to do here!

Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu still had to develop a hatred for each other as disciples that would extend to everyone believing that Shen Qingqiu had murdered Liu Qingge as peak lords, after all. Granted, all Liu Qingge really had to do was beat everyone else on Bai Zhan Peak up to obtain the position, and it wasn’t exactly hard to get Shen Qingqiu to develop a lifelong grudge, but the guy was still cutting it pretty close.

It was possible that Liu Qingge was already on Bai Zhan Peak and making good progress, but that he was just so solitary and focused on searching out the next big battle that Shang Qinghua had just never had the opportunity to meet him. Shang Qinghua did his best to avoid Bai Zhan Peak most of the time, honestly! He was curious about where Liu Qingge was, about what the man looked like, but he didn’t let himself sweat at not seeing the future war god, when he already had so many things to sweat about. The System had taken care of bringing in everyone else, so Shang Qinghua was sure that Liu Qingge would follow sooner or later.

Shang Qinghua’s first sign that something was wrong was that, on the day that Liu Qingge finally announced his existence by beating up everyone on Bai Zhan Peak, everyone was saying things like, “I can’t believe some kid managed to topple all of Bai Zhan like that!”

He… may or may not have ignored this sign.

To be fair to this poor writer-turned-disciple, though, he’d been up all night finishing some paperwork catastrophe the An Ding Peak Lord had thrown at him to fix, as some kind of “test” of his logistics skills. Upon hearing the latest gossip, Shang Qinghua thought, “Oh, finally?” And then his overtired brain collapsed from the effort of thinking two words together in a sentence, and all he could manage from there was to feel the intense need to go to bed at a maximum, static-y volume. No words. No more thinky thoughts. Just the need for speedy sleep.

He stumbled through the rest of his day and then passed out for 18 hours straight. In hindsight, this would have been the time when the gossip was at its hottest. He missed all of it.

When he woke up, everyone was still dealing with the aftermath of what had happened on Bai Zhan Peak, but the conversation had shifted more towards replacing Qian Cao Peak’s depleted supplies and the repairs to Bai Zhan’s training grounds. Liu Qingge was the name on everyone’s lips, still, but everyone knew the basic information now. Now, everyone was just exclaiming over and over again how unbelievably young (and pretty) he was to have bested every other disciple on the sect battle-focused peak. This didn't seem too strange.

The System probably would have based the War God's appearance on his sister, Liu Mingyan, a strong contender for the most beautiful woman in all of Proud Immortal Demon Way. Liu Qingge apparently being a very pretty boy fell neatly into line with all the other character design surprises that Shang Qinghua had gotten smacked with so far.

If Airplane had known that he'd be transmigrating into his novel, maybe there would have been even more handsome men! And everyone would have lived happily ever after and nothing bad would have happened ever, probably, but also there might be more sexy guys too.

-

TBC

[4stars-uswnt]

You Take My Heart Away [Kelley O’Hara x Reader]

requested by anon: Kelley O’Hara x reader where reader gets into a fist fight but she’s like I won’t throw the first punch bc I’ll finish it and like she gets teased by the team but Kelley is mad at reader for it bc R could’ve gotten hurt but it was still cool

requested by anon: Can we get another Kelley O’Hara x reader doesn’t have to be anything specific just maybe along the lines of them both being crazy and maybe oblivious

A/N: i decided to combine these two prompts! hope y’all enjoy it. also bonus points to anybody who gets the title reference (there’s a lil connection to a reference within the story)

warnings: homophobic and sexist language, violence, and swearing

Conversation was flowing and music was playing in the background of the bar, as the USWNT finished up their first round of drinks and appetizers. The team had pushed together a couple of tables, where you all were now sitting, laughing at each other’s jokes.

The air was light, victory and celebration filling the atmosphere. Megan and Ashlyn had been the ones to suggest a night out after your win against Japan, not only to celebrate the 2-0 victory but also to celebrate Lindsey’s birthday that was in the next couple of days.

You were currently sitting next to your best friend, Kelley O’Hara, bridging the gap between the veterans and the youngsters.

“Anybody want another drink?” Alex asks, pushing her chair back, as she moves to get up.

A chorus of yeses ring out, the team’s orders ringing out.

“I’ll help you with that, Al.” You stand up from your seat, giving the other woman a warm smile.

Once the two of you had left for the bar, the rest of the team began interrogating Kelley, who let her eyes follow you as you moved through the crowd.

“Kel,” Ash calls out over the noise of the music. “When are you gonna admit to (Y/N) that you’re hopelessly in love with her?”

“What?” Kelley sputters, flustered.

Megan rolls her eyes at the defender. “It’s so obvious that you’ve had a crush on her for the past like six years, and a blind person can see that she likes you too.”

“I- I’m not in love with (Y/N).” Kelley’s face flushes, as she rubs the back of her neck nervously. “She’s my best friend.”

“Kelley,” Christen softly chimes in,, hoping to talk some sense in her friend she’s known since college. “You guys obviously have feelings for each other that go beyond friendship, and you’ve been dancing around them for years. We just want you two to be happy.”

Many of the women nod and voice their agreement.

“But what if it ruins our friendship and I lose her forever?” The freckled defender bites her lip nervously.

“That’s not gonna happen.” Christen gives her a knowing look. “Even if she didn’t reciprocate those feelings, she’s not gonna cut you out of her life.”

“And Kel,” Tobin adds on. “You never know until you ask her. And who knows? The risk of putting your heart out there may be worth it. But you’re just gonna live in the dark haunted by the unknown and what ifs unless you tell her how you feel.”

“I hate that you’re philosophical insights are usually right,” Kelley huffs.

Meanwhile, as the team holds their intervention for your best friend, you and Alex were at the bar ordering another round of drinks.

As you were waiting for the bartender, you and Alex were engaged in your own conversation, when you hear a boisterous voice interrupt you.

“Hey! It’s Alex Morgan!” A large man approaches the two of you, holding a half-full cup of beer in his hand, and you have a feeling he’s downed a couple pints already.

You sense Alex tense up next to you, as she gives the stranger a tight smile. “Hello.”

“Oh, and who’s this?” He turns to you, a leering grin on his face, making your insides turn. You reach for Alex’s hand in search of comfort but also as a protective gesture.

“Is she your girlfriend?” The man looks back at the star forward. “I hear your entire team is full of d*kes, but I didn’t think you were one. You’re way too hot to be a d*ke.”

Alex’s grip on your hand tightens, as anger radiates off of her. “I’m actually happily married.” She raises her left hand to show off her ring.

“Woah.” The stranger lets out a low whistle, his eyes slowly widening before he squinting to get a better look, as his movements impaired by the alcohol. “That is quite the rock. How’d you afford that with your pay? I’ve heard all about your team’s fight for equal pay and all that. I personally think it’s a load of crap. You guys aren’t even that good at soccer, and it’s so boring. The only thing that makes your games interesting is your smoking hot bodies.”

You scrunch your nose in disgust at this man’s blatant misogyny. “I’m surprised you know about our equal pay fight. I’d think it’d be too complicated for your thick skull,” you quip, throwing the insult right in his face.

“Ooooo feisty, are we?” He raises his eyebrows at you. “And where do you get off calling me dumb?”

“I’m just calling them as I see them,” you simply state, letting go of Alex’s hand, as you move to stand in front of her protectively. “Where do you get off disrespecting women and being a bigot?”

“(Y/N/N), it’s not worth it,” Alex whispers in your ear.

“I’d listen to your friend,” the man sneers and stands up straighter, slightly sobering up. “Because I’m not afraid to hit a girl, especially a mouthy one like you. Women like you deserve to be put in your place.”

“Go on then,” you challenge, probably a stupid decision on your part, but the adrenaline is rushing and you are at your wits end with this man in front of you. “I dare you.”

You thank all the gods in the universe that the stupid stranger was actually stupid enough to try and throw a punch with his blood-alcohol level because you can see his punch coming from a mile away.

Before his fist can make contact with your face, you grab his hand and twist his arm, leaning in closely to his face. “Is that all you got? My mom hits better than you.” You smirk.

“Let go of me, you bitch,” he growls, snatching his arm out of your grasp.

“Wait, I have one more thing,” you call out.

“What the hell are you talk-”

Before he can finish, you cut him off, rather your fist cuts him off. The man in front of you had been testing your patience and had used up all your grace, which, in your opinion, warranted a punch in the face.

You can’t help but wince at the sharp pain shooting through your hand upon the contact, but the cracking sound of his nose eases some of your discomfort.

By now, the rest of the team had become worried by your prolonged absence and then had noticed the commotion this stranger was stirring. Hearing the raised voices coming from your direction, many of the veterans, including Kelley, Christen, Tobin, Ash, Ali, and Megan, made their way over to where Alex was currently holding you back from unleashing your anger on this drunk man.

“What is going on here?” Becky asks, surveying the situation in front of her.

“This asshole was insulting Al and then had the audacity to continue being a sexist pig,” you spit out, directing your words at the man, who was still holding his bloody nose, while Alex was doing her best to keep you under wraps.

“I think it’s time for you to go,” Ashlyn states firmly.

As the goalie, along with Becky, Megan, and Ali, coax the stranger into leaving you alone, and hopefully leaving the club, Alex, Christen, Tobin, and Kelley try and calm you down.

“(Y/N/N),” Christen soothes, cupping your face. “I need you to calm down. Take a deep breath.” The curly-haired forward inhales and exhales, motioning for you to mimic her actions.

You take a deep breath, and upon exhaling, you feel the tension, along with the adrenaline, leave your body.

“Shit,” you sigh. “My hand.”

You lift your right hand, revealing your split knuckles on which bruises were starting to form.

“Come on, Sylvester.” Tobin claps your shoulder, letting out an amused chuckle. “Let’s get you back to the hotel, and on the way, you can tell us all about your heroics.”

You amusedly roll your eyes and lean into the other woman’s side.

As the team gathers their things, ready to call it a night after the turn of events, Megan approaches you, holding out a bag of ice.

“Here, (Y/N), the bartender gave me this for your hand.”

“Thanks, P.” You place the cool ice on your knuckles, hissing at the temperature shock.

On the way back to the hotel, many of your teammates were interrogating you about what had happened back at the bar. After telling the entire story, you received many hoots and hollers from the rest of the team.

“Damn (Y/N)!” Ash whistles. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Way to protect our honor,” Rose gushes, as many of the women nod along.

“Thank you, (Y/N), for defending me,” Alex says sincerely.

“Of course, Al. Anytime.” You give the forward a warm smile.

“Who knew (Y/N) could be such a badass?!” Emily exclaims with an impressed look on her face. “Kel, did you know that your best friend was a secret badass?”

While the rest of the girls had been teasing you about your heroic actions, your best friend had been oddly quiet.

“News to me.” Kelley answers shortly, her face hard and distant. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, wondering if the defender was mad at you. You thought she would’ve been proud of you for standing up for the team and putting a sexist douchebag in his place.

Before going back to entertaining your teammates’s jokes and questions, you make a mental note to talk to her once you get back to the hotel, silently thanking Vlatko for rooming the two of you together this camp.

You would never in a million years admit it, but you were harboring a huge crush for your best friend, had been for the past six years, ever since you’d joined the national team. Not only did you not want to ruin your friendship and end up losing Kelley, but you knew she would never return your feelings.

Over the past several years that you’d been friends with the defender, you’d seen Kelley go in and out of relationships, and comparing yourself to her other girlfriend’s, you had a feeling you weren’t her type.

You also had reservations due to the fact that Kelley was your teammate, and you didn’t want to change the team dynamic, especially if the two of you didn’t work out.

Thoughts of Kelley clouded your mind all the way back to the hotel, only further exacerbated by her deafening silence.

Upon arriving to the hotel lobby, before you all disperse to your rooms, Alex gives you another hug and thanks you again, and Becky, ever the mother of the group, gives you a warning.

“Make sure to ice on and off. 20 minutes. You know the drill, (Y/L/N). Kelley, make sure she takes care of that hand.”

“Don’t worry about me, Becks. I got it,” you reassure the veteran defender, giving her a mock salute.

Following Kelley, you cautiously enter the hotel room. You nervously watch the other women move around the room, as she silently goes about her usual nighttime routine. Taking the hint that she wasn’t going to talk to you anytime soon, you go about your own routine and get ready for bed.

After about twenty minutes later, after both of you had showered, you were finishing wrapping your hand and were about to get into bed, when you noticed Kelley discretely staring at your bandaged hand.

Unable to tolerate the silence anymore, you break the tension. “Okay, what is up with you?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Kel,” you sigh, plopping down on the side of her bed. “You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder ever since what happened at the bar. Are you mad at me?”

“Nope. Not mad,” Kelley hums slightly passive aggressively, still not looking up from her book.

You roll your eyes, frustrated by your best friend’s childish behavior. “Kelley, I know when you’re lying, and I know that you’re mad at me right now, so would you please just look at me?!”

Sensing the exasperation and frustration in your voice, Kelley closes and sets down her book. “Fine, you’re right. I am mad at you.”

You thought you’d feel relieved, hearing her confirm your suspicions, but instead, the pressure in your chest increases.

“Why? What did I do?” You practically beg, scooting up the bed, so you’re closer to the other woman.

“As if you don’t know,” she scoffs.

Confused, you tilt your head. “I clearly don’t. Kel, please talk to me, tell me what I did.”

“You literally punched a dude in the face!”

“Yeah, but he deserved it, Kel! You heard the things he was saying,” you defend. “I couldn’t just let him get away with talking about our team like that. I thought you’d be proud of me for standing up to a sexist asshole like him.”

“I am proud, sort of. I mean that was completely badass and totally warranted, not that I necessarily expected that from you, and I’m glad you put him in his place,” Kelley babbles. “But that’s not the point, (Y/N/N). You were reckless tonight. You could’ve gotten hurt!”

Your face softens at her outburst. Taking a deep breath, Kelley confesses, “I love you, (Y/N). I’m in love with you, and I just can’t stand the idea of you getting hurt, especially by some drunk idiot who doesn’t know shit about football or respecting women.”

Your eyes widen and your heart practically stop, when you process the words that have come out of your best friend’s mouth.

“(Y/N), please say something,” Kelley begs.

“You’re in love with me?” You test the words on your mouth.

“Yeah,” she sighs contently, giving you a soft smile. “Have been for the past eight years.”

“Gosh, we really are idiots.” You let out a wet chuckle, shaking your head.

“What?”

“I’m in love with you, too, Kel,” you rasped, your voice laced with pure emotion. “I’ve loved you since my first camp.”

“Wow,” Kelley scoffs, an amused grin playing on her face. “Are we really that oblivious?”

“Apparently so.” You shrug. “But we’re here now.”

“Yeah, we are.” The freckled woman softens. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod eagerly, leaning in to meat the other woman’s lips. The kiss is nothing like you’d dreamed of; it’s better. It’s soft and tender, full of love and passion. You melt into each other, as your lips move together in harmony.

Not wanting things to get too heated, especially not before you’ve talked about what this meant for the future of your relationship, you pull away, resting your forehead against hers.

“Hi,” you whisper, smiling like a fool.

“Hey,” Kelley murmurs softly, returning your smile.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She takes your hand, kissing your wrapped knuckles. “But please don’t be getting into any more bar fights.”

“Hey! I would never start a fight, however I have no problem finishing them.” You smirk, boasting slightly triumphantly.

Kelley rolls her eyes playfully, but then looks into your eyes. “I mean it, (Y/N). I can’t stand the idea of you getting hurt. So no more fights alright?”

“I promise, Kel.” You give her a chaste kiss.

“Good.”

That night, you stay in Kelley’s bed, cuddling into her side. As you slowly drift into a peaceful sleep, you notice the woman next to you is already fast asleep.

You sigh contently, and you can’t help but feel extremely lucky that even after all these years, and everything that’s happened, life still led you to this woman and a love worth fighting for.

[cazimagines]

Let me treat you (ZemoxTransReader) (Ftm)

Request from Anon: Zemo x Reader where they start to fall in love, but the reader gets hurt super badly in the stomach and Zemo has to like examine the wound. The reader keeps pushing them away bc they’re trans (ftm) and wear a blinder and they’re afraid that Zemo won’t like them anymore

Word count: 2k

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of guns and blood, slight angst, mainly hurt and comfort

Please don't upload this anywhere else

This is being cross posted on my ao3 account under the same name

Authors note: I hope this lives up to your expectations. I’m happy to get requests for one shots as people have such unique ideas like this.

Your back pressed against the wall as you glanced around the corner, waiting for the right moment to shoot. You could see down the road the figure of three men with guns pulled around ready to shoot if you ran past. You had to get them by surprise. Sam, Bucky and Zemo had all split up from you so you were on your own as you tried to work yourself back to them. You clutched the gun in your hands as you counted the moments down.

3...

2...

1...

Your legs moved quickly as you ran across holding the gun and pressing the trigger randomly. Your eyes were focused on the hiding spot ahead. Without stopping to see if you had hit them or not, you disappeared down the next road. Feeling your heart beat heavily against your chest you slowed down, gasping for breath. Your chest hurt from needing to breathe and your binder clung tightly to you, making you gasp for more air. Your hand grasped onto the wall beside you, supporting you as you learnt over to recover.

Footstep sounds rang in your ears, coming from behind you. You quickly spun around, aiming your gun at the person behind you. Your eyes were blurred with tears from your lack of breath but as they focused, you lowered your gun realising it was Bucky who was jogging up to you.

“Are you okay, y/n?” Bucky asked, taking in your worn out appearance.

“Yeah, just” you pant, stopping every few words to breathe, “Catching my breath, that’s all”

Bucky puts his hand on your arm gently pulling you down the road, “Sam and Zemo are ahead of us with the rest of the enemies. They need all the help they can get”

You nod, picking up speed at the thought of Zemo defending off everyone. You weren’t with the Avengers when the civil war had happened, so all you knew about Zemo was from what everyone had told you about. Specifically Bucky, who hated Zemo and with good reason. You pictured him as a man who was psychopathic, with an icy glare and fierce eyes, yet all the time you have spent with him was completely different. Dare you say it he was kind, funny, thoughtful. He gave everyone food, clothes, a place to stay. Yes, it was for his own advantage as well, but you couldn’t help but feel part of it was because he wanted you all to be okay. You enjoyed conversations with him as well, you always had a fondness for learning languages. Zemo indulged your interests. In the spare time you had together, he had taught you Sokovian his mother language. You were picking it up quickly, much to his surprise and Bucky & Sam’s annoyance when you two have your own conversation, which they can’t understand. At the safe home you were staying at, it had a massive library. One night you had asked Zemo to read you a book. Sitting opposite him on an armchair, you closed your eyes as you listened to his sweet Sokovian voice slowly lull you to sleep. The next day you had awoken somehow on the sofa with his coat draped around you. You had been too embarrassed to bring up that evening with him, and it seemed the same way for Zemo who hadn’t mentioned it again after.

You and Bucky jogged around a corner to see Sam and Zemo hiding behind a wall. As you caught up with them, their eyes flicked to you and Bucky. Zemo turns to you and briefly nods. His hair was slightly messy, stands fell over his forehead not in their usual position pulled back by hair gel. His chest heaved slightly as well, and his hand clutched the gun harshly. “Five men, ahead” he mutters

“Nice of you to join us” Sam says sarcastically, his mouth tugging up in a slight smile as he looked at you and Bucky.

Bucky shot him a dirty look while you focused on the five men ahead. They knew Zemo and Sam were there, but they didn’t know about you and Bucky, meaning you could take them by surprise. Bucky counted, making you all ready for the attack. You could feel a sweat bead drip down your forehead in anticipation.

“GO” Bucky shouts as you grab onto the top of the wall, pulling your body over and starting shooting instantaneously.

But then you felt something hit you. On your right side, just under your chest.

A yelp of surprise tore out of your throat, which quickly turned into pain as your body tensed up from the shock. The pain felt immense and spread throughout your body quickly. Your nerves feeling as if they had been lit on fire. Your legs gave out, and you watched as you slowly tumbled down onto the ground, but before you could reach the floor, you felt a body push into the side of you. It pushed you down and covered your exposed side with itself. The smell of cologne overwhelmed you, and you could feel his champaign stained breath on your face. His fur part of his coat tickled your face slightly. Zemo placed his arm beside your face to prop him up just above you as he used his other arm to shoot at the opposition.

With Bucky, Zemo and Sam all shooting at them, all the enemies eventually ran away. Zemo’s head turned to focus on you. His eyes were glazed with worry and his eyebrows furrowed as he focused on the blood that was leaking through your shirt. If it was any other time, you would have been blushing like mad. But you were trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall from your eyes because of the pain. You bit your bottom lip, slightly drawing blood as you stopped yourself from crying out.

“We need to get him back to the house,” Zemo tells Bucky and Sam urgently. He wraps his arm around your back, pulling you up onto your feet. He and Bucky have you wrap your arms around their shoulders and support you as they quickly rush you home. His hand presses on the wound to hold the blood in. You tried to stop him from staining his glove with your blood, but he refuses to listen.

Thankfully, the house wasn’t too far away from where you had been fighting, so you arrived there in no time. They carried you in and laid you on the sofa just inside the door.

“I need you two to rush to the shop and grab some bandages and antiseptic wipes. We don’t have any here” Zemo orders Sam and Bucky. They eyed each other, shocked at Zemo taking innovative for once but they don’t argue back and head towards the door. Bucky glances back as he reaches the door and you nod to him, letting him know you were okay with being left with Zemo. Zemo notices the exchange but just bites his tongue, choosing not to comment on it.

“I need you to take your shirt off,” Zemo says, refusing to meet your eyes as he tugs his gloves off. Your eyes widen and you shake your head at him.

“No, I- I can’t,”

Zemo glances back to you frowning, “What? I need to check the wound y/n and put a bandage on it”

“I-I can do it, or maybe Bucky can,” you say, looking away from Zemo.

You hadn’t told Zemo you were trans. Bucky and Sam knew. They had known you for a long time, but you never really told Zemo and the thought of telling him scared you silly. You didn’t know how he would react. You liked him; you liked him a lot though you shouldn’t, and you didn’t want to ruin it by telling him and him reacting badly.

Zemo’s face hardened as he heard your words, and his eyes dropped from yours. “You don’t trust me” he states

“No Zemo that’s not-” you try to say but Zemo cuts you off,

“No, it’s okay Y/n, I understand. I’m not a good guy, we all know this. Why would you even give me a sliver of your trust? I don’t deserve it.”

“Zemo…”

“I was a fool to think of you any differently”

You tried to sit up to move towards him but you felt a shock wave of pain as you moved your wound making you cry out and collapse back into the sofa. Zemo was instantly by your side, kneeling down, his eyes full of worry. He grabs a hold of your hand and clenches it tightly to help with the pain.

“Don’t move. At least do that for me y/n”

The doors slam open with Sam and Bucky rushing in, “They’ve followed us here. Me and Bucky will keep them away while you treat his wound” Sam says pushing the medical equipment into Zemo’s hands.

“Wait-” Zemo tried to say, letting go of your hand to grab one of them but they had already left the building again.

He glances down at the stuff in his hands, then back up to you.

“Seems like you have little of a choice”

“I can attend to my wound”

Zemo’s jaw tenses and his eyes flash with anger as he looks at you, “Do you really hate me that much?”

“No, that’s not it, Zemo,” you exclaim

“Then why! Why are you so determined to refuse my help y/n,” Zemo says raising his voice

You look away from him in shame, and he stands up, groaning. He brushes his hands through his hair angrily as he paces around. He split off his coat and chucked it angrily onto the chair beside you, making you flinch slightly. You watched him walk around, though you are upset and in pain you couldn’t help focus on how good Zemo looked in that purple turtleneck.

“I like you y/n” he finally says, turning to look at you. Your throat runs dry and your eyes widen in surprise as those words slip out of his mouth and nestle deep in your heart.

“You are intelligent, funny, handsome. Everything you do I adore. Who you are, I adore. And I never thought that I would love someone after my wife, especially a guy. I’ve never felt this way about a guy before and it scares me, but I love you y/n. And I know you don’t like me back but please let me treat your wound, you are bleeding out and I don’t want to see you in pain”

You were left speechless at Zemo’s confession. Your heart swelled and beat rapidly against your chest, but your throat was dry like the Sahara Desert. With the more time gap between where you say anything, Zemo stares to get palier thinking he has fucked up.

“Zemo...you idiot, of course I like you!” you finally exclaim

He moves his mouth wordlessly, looking intently in your eyes as if trying to see if you were lying, but slowly the realisation breaks over him. His mouth turns up in a smile, but then something crosses his eyes and he frowns at you again.

“But then why don’t you want me to help you?”

You take in a deep breath and finally tell him, “Take my shirt off”

He cautiously walks up to, unsure of what to make of the situation. You feel his fingers gently brush against your skin, making you shudder. He slowly lifts the shirt off, careful to make sure it doesn't stick to the wound. As he lifts it off, your binder becomes plain to see.

His mouth opens slightly as he takes it in, then gazes at you in the eyes.

“Oh y/n, I don’t care about that. I like you for who you are”

“Really?” you question still worried.

His lips turn up into a slight smile as he looks down on you, he reaches forward gently brushing his hand against your face. You lean into it, closing your eyes slightly as you enjoy the contact.

“Really”

You grin happily at him, making him smile back as he sees how happy you are. He gathers the bandages and wipes and attends to your wound as you relax, enjoying the feeling of the man you love and loves you back, treats you.

Taglist: @multiyfandomgirl40 @ineffablebean @freyjasamael @avgravy @jayxkelsi (Not sure why it won't let me tag you) @huntheimpossible @checkurwindow @there-goes-thefighter @bunniwritesx @montypythonsholysnail

[novelconcepts]

I’ve always wanted a first real date after bly scene. Light and right.

Where Dani is thirsty AF bc Jamie wore a dress

Where Jamie feels like she’s in an oven under Dani’s 👀.

Where Jamie wants to remark on Dani maybe using that weapon *👀👄* sparingly, but remembers her complete lack of autonomy in the past and is just like ~yes love, look. It’s for you.

Does it count as a date, Jamie wonders, when we’ve not been apart in four months? Hard to imagine, but it’s true--the time has very much gotten away from her in Dani’s company. Not that she’s complaining. Not that she can find much at all to complain about, with Dani at her side.

Nervous, Dani may be. Uneasy about planning for the future. Sometimes, she turns her head and finds Dani gazing back with a chillingly blank expression, and thinks, She’s going. She’s going already. 

And then Dani will blink, and she’ll smile, and Jamie can’t fathom how she’d ever thought the worst. Even for a second. There is so much life to Dani--different now than the woman who had pulled her close in a hallway, maybe, but full of life all the same. Dani’s eyes are different these days, beyond her newfound heterochromia, and her dreams are darker, but she is in all other ways the most alive person Jamie’s ever known. 

Particularly the way she tends to stare.

“What?” Jamie asks, grinning. There’s a certain steady pleasure to this moment, how Dani’s eyes snap to her the second she enters a room. “Why are you looking at me like...”

She hesitates. Like you want to take a bite. She doubts Dani would respond well to that phrasing. Four months in, Dani still tends to dart away from her when caught staring, her posture tightening up. Blatantly pointing out exactly what her face is doing just now is sure to send her into a mild tailspin.

And yet--hard to deny the truth of it. Dani, perched on the edge of the couch they’ve only recently hauled up the stairs to this very-new apartment, is gaping at her like she didn’t expect Jamie to even be home, much less stepping out of the bathroom. The surprise is etched into every angle of her, partnered with something Jamie is inclined to call naked desire. 

Bit much, she thinks, heartbeat increasing tempo, but if it walks like a fuckin’ duck...

“Like what?” Dani is shaking her head, smoothing out her skirt, fingers tightening around the fabric like she doesn’t entirely trust her own hands. “I’m not lookin’ at you any special way.”

She’s right about that much--if only because Dani has a tendency to look at her this way always. Doesn’t matter where they are, or who’s around, or how Jamie’s dressed. Turtleneck, battered jeans, or this, her eyes always darken the exact same way. Her jaw tenses, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips, and every single time, Jamie thinks, No one. No one has ever looked at me like...

Like it’s second nature. Like she’s been doing it all her life. Like Dani has forgotten how to even begin to tame her own expression, so long as Jamie is standing in front of her.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t like it.

“I didn’t even know you kept a dress,” Dani says. She’s still staring just over Jamie’s shoulder, as though the only thing holding her in check is the blank wall.

“Didn’t,” Jamie says. “Recent acquisition.”

To see what would happen, she doesn’t add. To see if it would make a difference to the way Dani looks at her like she can’t get enough. A part of her can’t forget how Dani had lit up the day of the funeral, as though the sight of dress and lipstick and flirtatious little grin had been powerful enough to keep the monsters at bay.

Truer than Jamie could have realized, then. Still true now, she thinks, as Dani slowly rises and allows her gaze to take in the full picture once more. Dani is, she can tell, being as careful as she can. Dani is trying not to be too��much. Like they haven’t been spending endless hours together, strolling through states, watching the seasons change. Like they haven’t spent all these weeks learning one another in motel rooms, and--as of very recently, in this flat. Like Dani is still, somehow, embarrassed by her own inclinations. 

It’s okay, she wants to say. You can look. You can do anything you like. Dani believes it, in the dark. Dani believes it when it’s Jamie at the wheel, guiding her hands. She believes Jamie wants her then--naked and pressed into a mattress, under the pulse of a hot shower, even in the backseat of a car. There are places, Dani seems to think, where she is allowed to want and be wanted.

But Jamie has to start it. Jamie has to expressly grant permission. Somehow, Dani still hasn’t quite realized it is her want--wherever it comes, whenever it comes--Jamie most prizes. 

Look, she thinks. Touch. Do what you want. No one’s ever told Dani that before. No one’s ever been able to make her believe it. Understandable; some things can’t be resolved a few months in. Some trunks have been locked too long.

She offers her arm, pleased when Dani hooks a hand through the bend of her elbow. “Shall we?”

Dani glances at her, glances away again, swallows. For a moment, Jamie wonders if she might tilt them back against the front door, taking the date off the table entirely. Wouldn’t be so bad. Would, in fact, be a glorious way to spend an evening with this woman.

But date was the plan, and date Dani seems committed to. Even as her fingers trace the soft skin of Jamie’s wrist. Even as her hip presses lightly to Jamie’s own. Even as they make their way to the restaurant, to a table near the back, and order. 

“This feels strange,” Dani says quietly. “Being out like this.”

“We go out all the time,” Jamie points out, knowing what she means. Knowing there’s a difference between lounging in a booth for dinner and going out like this--hair up, makeup done, Dani trying so hard not to take her in with hungry eyes. Is it really a date if you’re always together anyway? It would appear the answer is very much yes.

And it would appear Dani is just as out of practice with the whole idea as she is. Her hands are twining on the tablecloth, her head bent. Every so often, her eyes flick up to Jamie’s face, and it’s like having a campfire turned directly against her skin.

“You can do that,” Jamie says after the third or fourth time. She can feel herself grinning--the old flirtatious good humor, which has grown to encompass so many private moments. She may not be able to resist Dani’s big doe eyes, but Dani’s never been good at turning away from this particular breed of smile, either. Well-matched. And fucking lucky. 

 “Do what?” Dani isn’t feigning innocence, she’s sure. Dani is genuinely trying not to do this very thing. Dani is trying to be polite, and proper, and in public, and Jamie’s heart clenches a little to think of how often she’s done the exact same thing with any number of women she’d felt she couldn’t even glance at.

“Look at me,” she says. Dani’s eyes rise, her lip pulling between her teeth. “You can do that. However long you like.”

“We’re in--”

“It’s just looking.” Jamie smiles. “No one can stop you.”

Dani shifts in her seat, fingers knotting together. Jamie would bet her life she’s gripping her own hands that tightly to keep from reaching across the table.

“I don’t mean to.” Dani pauses. Smiles a little. “I don’t mean to look at you like--like I--”

“Want me?”

Dani makes a small noise under her breath, something Jamie suspects might be a groan. She laughs. 

“Poppins, you do know the idea of a date.”

“Yes.” Dani has this predictable way of huffing words out in irritation when she’s embarrassed. It’s entirely distracting in its own right. “But you’re--I’m not--”

Jamie waits. Things like this take time, she reminds herself. Things like this are not instantaneous. What Dani is comfortable doing--being--in private might never quite look the same out in the world. That’s all right. What matters is that Dani gets to choose. That Dani knows she’s allowed to.

“I don’t own you,” Dani says in a low voice at last. She’s looking Jamie in the eye now, and there’s so much happening on her face--an embarrassed pull of her mouth coming up hard against the heat of her gaze. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m always ten seconds from...from...”

“Tearing my clothes off?” She can’t keep the amusement out of her voice, and suspects it’s the only thing holding Dani here. That, if she were to say the same sentence with no humor at all, Dani might actually burst into flames right over the nearly-full wine glasses. “Can’t see a problem with that.”

“Jamie.” It’s nearly a whisper. She sounds so ashamed, even as her eyes flick from painted mouth to the low cut of the dress’ neckline. 

“It’s not ownership, wanting the person you’re with,” Jamie says, as gently as she can. “It’s...welcome. Very.”

“We’re in public,” Dani repeats in a strangled sort of voice. “And you’re wearing that, and I...”

“Do you like it?” 

Dani nods, very quickly. Jamie glances around, and, finding the waiter absent, slides a hand beneath the table to cover her knee. 

“I like that you like it. Might surprise you, but I did put it on because I hoped you’d like it.”

Dani swallows. Her leg is rising and falling in an unsteady tattoo under Jamie’s palm, the skirt riding precariously up her thigh. Jamie smiles. 

“You are allowed,” she says, “to look. And to tell me what you think. And, shocking though it might be, to respond according to what you want. I like that you want me.”

“I know,” Dani says, in the kind of voice that says she doesn’t entirely believe it, even now. Jamie shakes her head. 

“No, don’t think you get it. It is the best goddamn part of my day, watching you watch me. Knowing you’re thinking what I’m thinking. It’s...” She hesitates, her thumb stroking along Dani’s kneecap. “There’s nothing wrong with it. Or you.”

Dani is breathing a little less sharply with every pass of her thumb, her cheeks pink. She closes her eyes--and then, with the air of a woman turning a particularly stubborn key, opens them again. It is the memory of the funeral dress turned up to eleven. It is the moment she’d stepped out of the bathroom doubled, tripled, almost too much to stand in the middle of a populated restaurant. 

It is perfect. 

“See,” Jamie says, taking her hand back and settling it beside her fork. “That. With me, you never have to tone that down.”

“I do,” Dani mumbles. “I really do.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Dani says, leaning across the table, her voice pitched dangerously low, “we haven’t even been served yet, and I want to drag you home already.”

Jamie grins. “Going that poorly, would you say?”

She’s a little surprised Dani doesn’t kick her under the table.

She’s not surprised at all when Dani’s hand appears on her own thigh, intentionally driving her dress up. Dani is, she’s pleased to find, grinning. 

“Ah,” she says breathlessly, “now you’ve got the idea.”

[one-boring-person]

Dumb request but. Uncle Bob gets jealous bc someone hits on thee reader. (It's a funny idea tbh. Also change your name. you're not boring!! you're absolutely awesome!!)

Hehe, thanks for the compliment!😂💛 I loved this idea, so I hope you like this!😊❤💛

Total Strangers.

T-800/Uncle Bob x reader

Warnings: some bad language, some light sexual implications

Masterlist

The terminator goes stiff almost as soon as we enter the store, the unusual behaviour making me lift an eyebrow at him, looking over his perfect posture in curiosity. His imposing frame easily stands out amongst the other shoppers around us, but his new discomfort puts me on edge, aware of his ability to determine and assess threats before I even know they're a problem. With this in mind, I place a hand on the cyborg's arm, looking up into his face in confusion.

"Everything alright?" I ask him, meeting his emotionless stare as he turns it on me.

"Yes." He replies bluntly, still not having quite grasped the balance between using relative information and speaking as briefly as is necessary. 

"You sure? You're very tense." I probe, heading further into the shop with him, going to the section I need.

"I am positive." The terminator responds, following me, his eyes scanning the aisles as we move, the careful turn of his head still not quite natural yet, still a little automated.

"If you say so." I roll my eyes at his answers, choosing to ignore his obvious tenseness and start rifling through the racks of clothes, needing to find something to replace a couple of my old shirts.

"I did." Uncle Bob intones, standing over me, his large build hovering over me like a worried mother might fuss over her child.

It's not long before I get fed up with his presence so close to me, the terminator watching my every move, the precision in his gaze making me antsy. He shadows me around, staring at the people around us until they hastily walk away, his unnerving glare usually quite welcoming, though today it is just irritating me. After ten minutes or so, I turn to him, a small scowl etched into my face.

"Can you drop the hostile act? There's no need for it." I tell him, looking him in the eye.

"I am not sure what you mean." The T-800 frowns, cocking his head, a habit he picked up from me a few weeks ago. Usually, I find it flattering, cute, almost. But now it annoys me.

"I mean you need to stop acting like my bodyguard. It's totally safe here! You don't need to scare people off when they come within five metres of us." I clarify, gesturing to the area around us.

"Why? There is a possibility they may pose a threat to you. It is my objective to keep you safe." Bob recites, face going blank again.

Sighing in exasperation, I briefly close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose frustratedly.

"There isn't any threat, Bob. We're fine, ok?" I try to reassure him, "Just back off a bit, yeah?"

Frowning again, the cyborg nods and steps back, standing by a display of mannequins, his body going still, almost as if trying to blend in with them. Letting out a breath, I turn back to the racks and continue browsing the items there, picking out a shirt and inspecting it, my head cocked to the side, a frown playing at my expression as I consider it.

"Not your colour." A voice behind me suddenly speaks up.

Frowning properly now, I turn to face the newcomer, lowering the shirt as I give them a once-over, checking for any danger they may pose. Finding none, I relax slightly as the red-head smiles at me, showing me he means no harm, his blue eyes straying over my form with no particular subtlety.

"Oh? And what makes you say that?" I reply guardedly, my body moving to face him properly.

The guy shrugs, grinning at me.

"I don't think it will work with your hair, that's all." He tells me, coming to stand beside me, picking out another shirt from the rack, "This, on the other hand…"

Eyeing the garment, I lift an eyebrow as I realise he is right, though I'm far too stubborn to admit it, so I simply place the original shirt back and start moving away.

"Aw, come on! Please don't be like that! I'm only trying to help." The guy follows after me, dropping the shirt and catching up to me.

"I don't take clothing advice from total strangers." I inform him, trying to ignore him as I flick through some more clothes, jackets this time.

"Ah, well in that case, I'm Caleb." The guy offers his hand to me, still smiling, a glint of mischief in his eye.

Glancing at him, I don't react, waiting for him to drop his hand. After a moment, he does, only to instantly pick something off the rack.

"This looks like it would suit you. Wanna try it on?" He looks me over again, holding out the jacket to me.

"Not really."

"Aw, why not?" Caleb pouts, shoulders slumping slightly.

"I told you, I don't take clothing advice from total strangers." I try not to roll my eyes, picking out a different jacket entirely.

"Hey, you know my name. I'm not a total stranger." The smirk is back on his face as he says this.

"You have known her for exactly four minutes and forty-eight seconds. You are a stranger to her." A familiar voice interrupts us, the monotone sounding words muchly appreciated now.

Holding back a smile of relief, I feel my eyes flick up over Caleb's shoulder to meet the hard blue ones staring at the guy's head. The terminator stands over us, his imposing body easily dwarfing both of us, his expression blank, though his jaw looks oddly clenched, something I've never seen him do. Caleb turns to face the cyborg, his expression falling.

"Who the hell are you?!" He bites out, the words flat as he eyes over the much larger newcomer.

"That is not relevant information for me to disclose." Bob replies evenly, staring the guy down, "Now leave. You are not wanted here."

"Fuck no, I got here first. Wait your turn, asshole." Caleb snaps at him, though his tone is a little shaky.

"You are not needed here. Leave." The cyborg intones, disregarding the previous statement.

"How do you know I'm not needed? Think you are?" The redhead snorts, "As if."

"Your presence is very clearly not welcome. She has reciprocated none of your advances, and has been blunt with you to deter you. You have ignored all of this and have continued to pester her for no reason. You are not wanted or needed, so leave." Bob begins, clearly wanting to say more, though he stops at a look from me.

"I'm not going anywhere, and you can't make me." Caleb folds his arms, planting himself in place.

Brow twitching, Bob steps forwards, moving as if to grab the smaller man, hand already outstretched, only stopping when I intervene.

"No, Bob, it's fine. He's not worth it." I stop him, ignoring Caleb's somewhat triumphant look.

Bob halts, staring the other man down, a scowl starting to creep onto his face, staying in place for a good minute, before he finally moves, reaching out to pull me into his body, marching the two of us from the shop. Goosebumps spread out along my skin where he's touched me, the hand at my waist heavy but not unwelcome, the feeling of his hard body pressed into mine making me swallow tightly. We go straight to the car, leaving no room for conversation until we get there, at which point he breaks away.

"What was all that about?" I ask him, confused by his actions, "I mean, I'm grateful that you stepped in, but you didn't have to-"

I'm cut off by the feeling of his large hands on my waist again, yanking me into his muscular body, pressing me flush against his hips. Surprised, I barely register what is happening as he smashes his lips into mine, kissing me roughly, his tongue already slipping out to trace along my lower lip as I gasp into the kiss. My eyes widen momentarily, only to fall closed as I relax into the kiss, my hands coming up to run through his hair, pushing myself closer to him, his muscles right under my touch. The terminator steps forwards, shoving me up onto the hood of the car, still kissing me, his mouth ravaging mine hungrily as his hands start to move, pushing up my shirt to caress my back, one slipping down to grip my ass, tightening around me as he presses his chest tighter against mine. Moaning, I arch my chest into him, allowing him to slip his tongue into my mouth, the synthetic muscle exploring and roaming everywhere it can reach, only pulling back when I tap his arm, needing to breathe.

Heads staying close together, we stare at each other, our breaths mingling with each exhale, his hands still rubbing over my skin. It's only when a wolf whistle from somewhere nearby sounds that I remember exactly where we are. Eyes widening, I pull back further and look around, noticing the group of men walking past, three of them waving and jeering at us, leaving my neck exposed to Bob. Instantly, his mouth attaches to the skin there, sucking a mark onto my pulse point almost immediately, his tongue smoothing over the area, followed by a wet kiss. 

Trying not to moan too loudly, I gently push him off, already craving his touch again.

"Not here, Bob. It's not appropriate." I gasp out, lightly running a hand down his face.

"I apologise. I was unable to withhold myself." He replies, helping me down off the car, adjusting my clothes for me. 

Lifting an eyebrow, I smile at him in curiosity.

He simply smirks, having learnt the action from John, doing his impression of a shrug and helping me into the car.

[undercoveravenger]

Warmth

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Original Request: “Iiiii wanna request one of the wolf boys of your choice in Twilight imprinting on Bella’s younger brother and how the Cullens were involved cuz they all baby him so much. Thank you & I love your works a lot btw, hope you have a nice day”

A/N: I went with Paul, bc that gives Emmett reason to go angry brother bear mode lol, hope that’s okay!

__________________________________________________________

“Why am I here again?” You asked, looking over at your sister. The two of you, along with the entire Cullen family, were hanging around in some snow-covered clearing in the woods, waiting for the Quileute wolves to show up so that they could renegotiate the treaty, so that, hopefully, the Cullens could turn Bella without causing a full-on war to break out. “I get that this is important to you and all, but Bells, I’m human, and I don’t really want that to change, so I don’t see how this involves me.”

“Because you’re an honorary Cullen, human or otherwise.” Bella grinned at you, reaching over to shove you playfully, “And Emmett wouldn’t shut up about seeing his future brother-in-law again, so I figured this would be a good time to bring you to visit.” She shrugged, looking back out toward the wall of trees in the direction of the reservation, “Besides, having another normal person here might help convince everyone to keep a level head.”

You snorted, crossing your arms over your chest, “Bells, you’re a lot of things, but normal definitely isn’t one of them.” You waited with your sister for a few more minutes before getting bored and going to go talk to Alice and Jasper.

---------------

Time seemed to have been passing even slower for Emmett than it had been for you, since you’d barely even greeted the dainty vampire and her mate before the brunet’s arms snaked around your waist and dragged you up against his chest and you barely had enough time to close your eyes before he was suplexing you into a snow drift.

To mess with him, you remained perfectly still once he’d let go of you, even going so far as to hold your breath. There was a lot of shouting, far more than if it had been just the Cullens to witness your little prank, meaning the wolves had undoubtedly arrived just in time to see you get pitched into a snowbank. There was the expected moment of arguing but before you knew it, you’d been hauled up out of the snow by a pair of arms so warm that you had to wonder whether hypothermia had set in upon impact.

“What the hell, leech?!” The chest you were being held against rumbled as it’s owner growled, “Not enough to have to kill things to exist, now you go killing your own sympathizers!”

You could hear Emmett snarling and you knew that you needed to intervene before things got even further out of hand. You jerked against the stranger’s grip, forcing yourself out of their arms and back to your feet. “Don’t get your fur in a bunch, Fido,” you grumbled, stumbling a little as you tried to regain your balance. “I’m fine, just a little colder than I’d like to be.” It was then that you looked up at your ‘rescuer.’

His hands were still extended out toward you to help steady you if you needed it, but now you’d been knocked off balance for an entirely different reason. He was tall, towering over you easily even though you really weren’t all that short yourself, and he was built, with thick arms and a defined chest and abs and the rich russet color of his skin only made his musculature all the more appealing. Suddenly you were a little regretful that your playing-dead act had ended so soon. He had close cropped black hair that nearly matched the pitch-dark eyes that were fixated on you, like the two of you were the only people left in the world. 

His lips twitched up into a tiny grin, like it was meant for you and you only. “Hi,” he said, voice small and breathless like he’d just run a marathon. “I’m Paul.”

You’d opened your mouth to respond when you were cut off by the celebratory whoops and hollers coming from the rest of the wolf pack. Your brows furrowed and you turned away from Paul to see what all the commotion was about.

You could see Edward murmur something quietly to the rest of the family, dark amber eyes flickering warily between the two of you. Emmett bristled, storming over and planting himself between the two of you. “No way in hell,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Any of the other mutts I could’ve learned to live with, but you? Fat fucking chance.”

The werewolf’s shoulders straightened and you could tell he was trying to hold himself back. “It’s not really any of your business anyway.”

“Not my business?” Emmett hissed, tensing at the insinuation. “(M/N)’s my best friend! It’s definitely my business if some mongrel thinks it’s his place to come try and steal him away!”

It was fair to say that you were incredibly confused, but you knew that your first step needed to be defusing the situation. “Emmett,” you said, putting a hand on his shoulder as you spoke, “You wanna tell me what’s got you so pissy?”

Rosalie was the one to answer you, stalking forward to stand beside her husband and glare at Paul. “This pathetic little puppy imprinted on you.”

“Imprinted?” Your brows furrowed and you glanced toward the rest of the pack for an explanation.

Jacob, the only one of the wolves you’d actually met before now, nodded at you, “It’s, uh, kind of like soulmates. When a wolf imprints, it’s like their person is the only thing that matters anymore. Like they’re what’s holding you to the planet, not gravity.”

“Oh.” Well. That hadn’t been what you were expecting. You turned back to look at the vampires blocking you from Paul’s sight, nudging your way past them with a sigh so you could look up at Paul. “Is that true? Did you imprint on me?”

You could see him swallow hard before he forced himself to speak, “Y-yeah.” He was quick to backtrack, “But it doesn’t have to be r-romantic or anything, if that’s not what you want or you aren’t into guys or anything. We could just be friends? Or, uh, whatever you want me to be, really?”

You couldn’t help but smile a little; he was cute when he got flustered. “Tell you what, after this, if negotiations go well, I’ll let you take me out to dinner and we can talk about it, okay?”

Paul brightened, a wide grin taking over his features, “Yeah? Yeah.” He paused, seemingly getting lost in thought for a second, “Yeah-” He pulled a face, “I said that already. Um, sure. Anywhere you want is fine, I’ll just be happy to be there,” he grinned at you sheepishly, ducking his head to hide the faint blush coloring his cheeks.

Carlisle chose that moment to interrupt, “Well, with that excitement settled,” he started, shooting the two of you an amused grin. Esme smiled at the two of you from her place beside him, “I believe we have a treaty to discuss?”

Emmett and Rosalie headed back to the rest of the Cullens with a huff, but the rest didn’t seem all too bothered about your new bodyguard/soulmate. Alice even looked excited, bouncing up and down on her toes and speaking quickly to Jasper, probably already planning your wedding even though you and Paul had just barely met. 

You took a few steps toward the group before a thought struck you. You turned to look over your shoulder at the werewolf, “Hey, Paul? You said you’d be anything I needed you to, right?”

He perked up as you addressed him, grinning back at you. “Absolutely.”

“Well,” you started, smirking mischievously, “I’m still pretty chilly, so I could really use a space heater?”

Paul smiled as he realized what you meant, waiting until you turned back to listen to the negotiations to drape himself over you, slipping his arms around your middle so he could pull you flush against his chest. He pressed a barely-there kiss to your shoulder before setting his chin there so he could still see what was happening. He may not have known what you’d want from him in the future, but right now, with you in his arms, Paul was perfectly content.

[tsukkiboii]

hi bby! i said i was gonna leave an ask and i meant that. can i ask for a tsukki, kenma or kuroo? maybe they about an argument and then they make-up? maybe they fought about fans flirting with them or video games or whatever! ill let you decide! love you ❤❤❤❤❤

my first request sjhjshshsj🥺🥺

bea bb thank you i love n appreciate you so much <3 i decided to go with kenma and arguing over a video game bc i vibed with it the most hehe, i hope you like it!! this fic is so much longer than i had intended it to be im sorry-

and i apologize that this took so long :( life has been really messy and all over the place :((

fights, tears, and make-ups

pairing: kenma kozume x reader

word count: 1.4k

genre: angst (but i honestly can’t tell if it’s super ansty-), fluff, hurt/comfort

synopsis: kenma shouldn’t have taken you for granted, but he did. 

“Kenma, you need to eat dinner.”

“In a sec,” you heard the blond-haired boy reply from his gaming room, undoubtedly with his eyes still glued to the screen.

“Kenma. You haven’t eaten all day. You need to eat.”

Seconds pass with no response. With a sigh, you grabbed the bowl beside you and walked towards his room. Sliding open his door, you find him completely focused on the game. He’s pale, dark circles under his eyes drooping and anyone walking in would see he’s exhausted, needing rest, but he can’t. The only thing on his mind is that he has to pass this level.

Walking over gently, you place the bowl onto his table. Kenma jumps at the noise, not having known you were there, the motion making his screen character go a little too far left and being crushed by a falling rock.

He throws his console onto the desk and gives you a stare burning through your skin. “I was about to pass that level. I’ve been stuck on it for a day and you just had to enter right then.”

“Kenma, you haven’t eaten a single thing today-”

“Oh, shut up.”

You tense up under his harsh words, about to speak when you’re cut off by more of his rambling.

“Kenma this, Kenma that. It’s annoying. Quit acting like I can’t take care of myself. Things were so much quieter and calmer without you anyways.”

His tone is barely above a whisper, almost as if he thought it was too much of a bother to talk to you. Taken aback by his words, you take a moment to fully absorb what he had said, every word cutting a slash into your heart. 

“I hope your life goes back to calm and quiet” were the last words you left him before you left the apartment with tears streaming down your face. 

Kenma’s eyes linger on you for a moment before going back onto his screen. He instantly regrets what he said, but doesn’t go after you. Instead, he restarts his game and his character dies again, at the exact same place.

The bowl of food on his table goes cold. 

The first day with you gone passes fine for Kenma. As usual, he goes to sleep at way too late and gets up at noon-ish and scrambles together some food to prepare for his stream. His viewers tell him he doesn’t seem as energetic, and isn’t smiling as much. He says that he’s a little tired and didn’t sleep too well last night, which was only half the truth. He feels a little empty, mind often tracing back to your smile and then immediately to your tear-stained face. He eats two bites of bread for dinner and decides to go to sleep.

“I’ll be fine,” he thinks, “I don’t need y/n to live.”

The days only spiral downhill from there. Snack wrappers thrown all over the apartment and laundry piled up into stacks. He hasn’t eaten something actually cooked in days. Having no energy to do anything, he calls off streams for a whole week. Most of his time is spent lying on the sofa with his face towards the ceiling, replaying his last conversation with you in his head over and over and over again. 

“Things were much quieter and calmer without you anyways.”

I’m sorry. Please come back.

He contemplates so many times on whether or not to call you, to text you, to try and get in touch with you. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was the one who hurt you, told you you were annoying when he didn’t realize how much you matter to him. 

Kuroo checks in on Kenma every single day. By the fourth day, he’s determined to make him talk to you.

“Kenma, you can’t keep living like this.”

Tired eyes glued to his screen, the pudding-head boy grumbles in response, Not enough energy in him to do anything else.

Sighing, Kuroo unplugs his entire monitor and forces his chair to spin towards him so that he’s staring Kenma right in the eyes. 

“Kenma, I’m serious. You need to talk to her.”

“And then what?”

Kuroo staggers a little, taken aback from the question.

“And then what, Kuroo? I hurt her. She deserves so much better anyways.”

The rooster-haired boy takes his phone and throws it onto his lap.

“You need to call her sooner or later. I don’t know when, but you need to.”

Kenma gently holds his phone with two hands with his thumbs hovering over the screen, constantly switching between the keyboard and the delete button. He debates himself for fifteen seconds before giving up and pressing the call button.

The phone has rung seven times and you have yet to pick up. He’s certain that you won’t pick up at all. Yet on the eighth ring, you pick up.

“Kenma?” He hears from the other side.

His voice hitches in his throat. A thousand thoughts are crossing his mind and his breath is suddenly stggered. He tries to say “I’m sorry”, “Where are you”, and “Please come back” at the same time, but none of them seem to be coming out. 

“Kenma, you there?”

“Yn.”

His voice is so empty, dull, tiring and you almost drop your phone out of shock.

“Where are you?”

Coming back to reality, you swallow and reply, “Friend’s house. Why?”

“Can we, uhm, can we talk?”

Your side of the line goes silent for three whole seconds before you take a deep breath and reply, “Sure. Give me a time and place.”

“If you don’t mind, can you just come home?”

HIs voice quivered at the word home, like it wasn’t really home to him anymore. Not without you. You couldn’t help but tell him you’ll be back in a bit.

As you reach closer to your building, the more your heart threatens to jump out of your throat. There’s a knot in your stomach that you just can’t get rid of, and even though you know this was all his fault, your mind can’t stop racing. None of this was your fault, was it?

Before realizing, your hand was on the door handle and without thinking too much, you push the door open.

To say you were shocked from the state of the apartment is an understatement. Yes, Kenma wasn’t the tidiest person in the world, but you knew he’d never let the apartment get this messy. The moment you walked in you knew he would be in a bad state too, which confused you. But he didn’t want you here, did he?

Suddenly, you hear footsteps coming towards you. Frozen in place, you wonder if this was a bad idea. If you should just leave and tell him you couldn’t make it, but it’s too late. By the time your head has gotten back into reality, he was standing in front of you, eyes full of guilt and regret. 

“Hey,” you try to say, which turns out to be nothing more than a whisper. 

Hesitating for a second, he stumbles towards you and falls into your arms, leaning into your touch, burying his face into your neck and mumbling “I’m sorry” and “please forgive me” again and again. 

“I was stupid. It’s all my fault. I was frustrated and took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. Everything is so much better with you and I was being dumb. I’m so sorry please don’t leave.” His eyes were brimmed with tears, threatening to spill out any second. He’s rambling, words that he had meant to say to you over the past days all spilling out. He can’t seem to be able to stop. You’ve never seen him so scared, so vulerable. 

Holding him tight, you take a deep breath, swallowing the many things you wanted to say to him, to blame him, to yell at him, to tell him it’s all his fault. 

Instead, you hold him tight against you. 

“Shh, Kenma. I’m here now. I won’t leave, okay? I’ve got you, we can talk this out.”

He grabs onto you even tighter. “Thank you. Thank you thank you.”

You were going to have a lot to talk about, you both knew that for sure. And maybe things aren’t going to go back to how they were for a long time. But right now he was in your arms and you were in his, and he was never more determined to fix what he broke. 

[masonscig]

stay

pairing | mason x detective sofía olmos

word count | 3.3k

warnings | discussions of mortality, mentions of sex, lots of angst. but like. in domestic situations

tags | @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @natesewell, @masonsfangs, @agentsunshine, @tuagonia, @pixelsandkink, @crackerdumortain, @echohauville, @admdmrtn, @bravomckenzie, @durogatorymortain 

author’s note | well i’ve been toying with the idea of sofía choosing not to turn, so i thought i’d flesh that out and ruin my own day :-) so... here’s all the times mason tried convincing sofía and every time she turned him down. i’m not exactly 100% satisfied w how this came out but i’m still not sure how mason would react in this situation so i’m making things up as i go tbh. the title is inspired by 400 lux by lorde specifically the “i’d like it if you stayed” line bc whew!!! and i’d like to clarify that she’s not like ancient by the end of this she just greyed early LMAO

read it on ao3

•─────────────────•

The first time was casual. She had a knack for musing her thoughts aloud, tossing her harmless opinions out for anyone who’d catch them.

She was good at starting conversations in that way – while he’d never been one for talking.

She never did it with heavy topics, though.

He could sense a shift in her before she said a word. Squirming just a bit in her seat, shifting from thigh to thigh, jaw clenching, shoulders tensing; all telltale signs that she was on edge about something.

He assumed it was the nightmares. Or the disease seeping its way into the town of Wayhaven, its rot afflicting its citizens, her suffering taking a quiet backseat to her duties.

She surprised him, and that was rare.

“I don’t think I’d turn, if given the chance.”

“You really think that’s in the cards for you?” He said, a bit rudely, scoffing.

He didn’t intend to be that mean, but she couldn’t understand the complexities of immortality just yet. She wasn’t ready to deal with that – she could barely handle her life as it was.

“I know…” she winced, trailing off. “I’m just saying. I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it.”

At least she felt the same.

––––

The second time, it came as a question.

He’d all but forgotten about her bringing it up. For him, it was out of the question. He didn’t care if she wanted it – he couldn’t do that to her.

It was one of the first times he stayed (was compelled to stay, like he sensed she actually needed him there).

She kind of tipped her chin up at him from below, staring like she always did.

He’d known her for her impulse – quick to assist, quick to support, quick to fight, even if she knew she was outmatched.

But with him, she always held back, and he knew that. He wasn’t quite sure if he was grateful or jealous that she reserved the wild parts of herself for him and the emotional parts for everyone else.

She reached over and pushed a strand of his unruly hair away from his face, fingertips lingering on his temple.

“Would you want me to turn?”

This time, he bit back the snarky retorts that threatened to burst out of him. “Not sure.”

She nodded, content, settling against his chest again. “That’s okay. There’s no rush.”

He couldn’t agree more.

––––

The third time should’ve counted as the first – he was the one to initiate it, surprisingly. And it wasn’t easy.

Her hair was tied up in a sloppy bun, a few strands of hair clinging to the sweat on her temples. She was using her chin to fold the fresh towels she’d just grabbed from the dryer, a relatively easy chore compared to the deep cleaning she’d given the cabin.

Fold, plop, fold, plop, fold, plop.

The fragrant smell of lavender in her favorite detergent didn’t bother him as much anymore. It kinda relaxed him. He was up to his neck in folded towels, just watching her hum to herself and hand them over one by one, smiling at him every single time.

When she got to the sheets, however, she jumped on top of them, rolling around the mattress until she was wrapped up in them.

“Mmmm. I could live in warm sheets forever,” she smiled up at him, laughing when he tossed the stack to the ground, opting out of being helpful, instead climbing over her body and pressing his weight onto her.

“Hey, I just washed those,” she pretended to pout through her giggles, her arms trapped in the tangle of sheets, his arms tightening around her to hold her in place.

“S’not a big deal,” he murmured, pressing kisses to the scarred skin at her neck, smiling into her skin when he heard her sigh contentedly.

“It’d be a big deal if I made you wash them. You’re lucky I like you,” she squirmed, freeing a hand from the covers, a hand brushing softly over his hair.

He normally couldn’t stand the feeling of his strands being tugged – his hypersensitivity made it feel identical to the sensation of something crawling and biting his scalp until it bled.

He fucking hated feeling that way. But when Sofía tangled her hands in his hair, whether pulling on them when he was buried between her thighs, or stroking it absentmindedly in the most innocent way (like in that moment), he endured it. It honestly wasn’t half bad.

“What’s on your mind?” She asked, running a thumb over his cheekbone.

She’d learned how to read him over the years.

“Nothing urgent. Just thinkin’.”

She grinned, stuck a leg between his thigh, and pushed herself upwards, trying to flip him over. She was fucking awful at anything combat-related, so he just rolled his eyes and went with it.

She flopped on top of him, nuzzling into his chest. Her body was draped over his, which he normally hated, but the weight of her didn’t drive him up the fucking wall anymore. So he allowed it.

“Well, you know I’m always here to listen.”

They laid there for a while, and he was silent, unsure.

“How long do you plan on living?”

“What do you mean?” She pulled back and stared at him, loose hairs a wild frame around her face.

He huffed in frustration. “I don’t fucking know what I mean.”

“Hey, hey, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

Her gaze was soft, tender, understanding he’d never quite felt from anyone else nestled in her warm hazel irises.

She was so patient – way more than he deserved. No matter how many times he pushed her away, she was always there, waiting for him to come back to her.

“I’ve been thinking about how long you’ve got, is all,” he said, pulling her tighter when she tucked her head underneath his chin.

“How long we’ve got,” she whispered, running a palm over his chest.

“Yeah.”

She was quiet for a while, so long that he thought she’d fallen asleep.

“I’m not sure how long I’ve got, but I know I want you there.”

She leaned up, pressing a long kiss to his lips.

He wasn’t much for romanticism, but even he could admit that he enjoyed softer kisses from her.

Sofía always kissed him like it was the last time. Granted, it might’ve been because of their rocky start, but she poured everything into them, regardless of if it was a “good morning” kiss or a “see you later” kiss or a “fuck me until I can’t walk” kiss.

He pulled back with a smirk. “You want me for my body.”

“Oh, shut up. You know there’s more to it than that,” she rolled her eyes, slinging a leg over him to straddle him.

“Oh?” He quirked a brow at her.

“Yeah, it’s just a perk,” she teased, tugging him in for another searing kiss, and that was the end of that.

––––

The fourth, fifth, and sixth times were all him.

Once on the rooftop, once when she was sick, and once in the afterglow.

It got both easier and harder with every time.

The sensation of the wind against his cheeks struck him like a blade slicing at his skin, the smoke dulling it to a pinch instead of a cut.

She sipped her coffee next to him, tugging her side of the blanket underneath her chin. Her bangs had grown out, the soft edges of them grazing the plush material.

Her cheeks were flushed, the wind drawing out the rose of her cheeks.

She was his favorite garden.

It wasn’t his job to nurture her, but he wanted to. He hadn’t admitted it out loud before.

In every sense of the word, he was her guardian. Self appointed, but hers nonetheless.

It was hard to get the words past his lips, but when he did, his shoulders lifted with relief.

“I think you should stay with me.”

She swallowed her mouthful of coffee, brows furrowed. “I am. This is our house.”

He eyed her, mouth tugging up at the side. She was still figuring him out. Hell, he was still figuring himself out. It was fun to watch her detective skills in action.

“Oh…” she trailed off, heart racing. He could practically see the blood pumping to her heart.

“I, uh, don’t know.”

“Don’t know? What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shook her head, staring into her mug. “I don’t know how I feel about… forever.”

“Forever with me,” he said, taking a deep drag of his cigarette, his other hand fisting the blanket at his chest.

“No, no, not that. I just don’t have the best track record with being… satisfied with life.”

He chose not to respond, glad he knew how to refrain from saying things he’d regret.

The cigarette was gently pulled from his lips, and she was right there – face even closer to his despite them being huddled under blankets.

He blew out a thick plume of smoke from the corner of his mouth, away from her face. She laughed, swatting it away, before tossing the cigarette off the roof.

“Hey, I wasn’t done with that,” he smirked, eyes flitting to her mouth.

“It’s not you, I promise. I just have to sort through some things,” she said, the sincerity in her tone enough to make him believe her.

“I believe you.”

It wasn’t that he ever didn’t trust her – he trusted her more than anyone he’d ever known – it was that he never felt compelled to verbalize it. They just… knew.

Those three words softened her gaze and pulled her to him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips that he quickly deepened (after throwing her mug off the roof).

The first time she got sick, Mason wasn’t equipped to deal with it.

She looked weak, broken out in cold sweats, the warmth drained from her features. The first twenty four hours were torturous – despite it not being a life threatening illness, she’d never been this way.

He knew humans got sick (of course) but it wasn’t like they ran into battle with their weapons raised and he could anticipate the fallout – one day she was fine, and the next she was hospitalized.

He was supposed to take care of her, but instead he stood by, helpless, as the nurses poked and prodded and doped her up until she was comatose.

His mind was reeling with possibilities, mulling over what would happen if she was ripped from him.

I didn’t give her a kiss before I left. I didn’t take her hiking like we’d always planned.

I didn’t tell her I loved her.

I mean, he had, hadn’t he?

Living with her, sleeping with her, being with her was more than enough… right?

She stirred after a while, trying and failing to sit up.

“Don’t get up. You’ll hurt yourself,” he almost barked, adjusting the pillow underneath her head. “You’re not supposed to be moving.”

She laughed weakly, barely pushing the bangs away from her face. “You worried about me?”

“Of course I am. What kinda question is that?” She chuckled a few more times, morphing into a cough. “Just teasing. You’re sweet.”

He grabbed the cup of ice water and adjusted the straw, bringing it to her lips gently, letting her sip it.

It was a different experience considering he hadn’t ever taken care of her like that before. She was fiercely independent, so she never really needed him like that. Still didn’t, even as she was shivering uncontrollably in the hospital bed.

“Thanks,” she breathed, settling back against the pillow.

“You shouldn’t have to worry about this,” he mumbled, setting the cup down with some force, the plastic clacking against the tray.

“It’s not a big deal. I should be back to new in a couple of days,” she said, wiggling until she was on her side, facing his seat at her bedside.

“It is a big deal.”

“Mason, I promise, I’m fine –”

“I want you to turn.”

He didn’t mean for it to come out so demanding, but in truth, he was desperate.

She chewed her lip, tucking her pillow underneath her chin. “Do you really want to have that conversation here? With me doped up on medication?”

“No.”

She was silent for a while. Her gaze raked over his face, flitting from his eyes to his nose to his cheeks to his hair back to his eyes again.

“I don’t want to argue,” she said finally. “My brain isn’t even functioning properly to argue my case.”

“Doesn’t have to be an argument.”

“It’ll be one.” Her voice was sure. Weak, but unwavering.

He figured he had time to convince her – plead his case, make an undisputed argument, and win her over. Something. But he could never find the right time. Or rather, he was never driven to do so.

The one time he felt compelled to bring it up was in the early hours of the morning, the first rays of sun slicing underneath their dark curtains, gold streaking across their crumpled clothes long since abandoned on the floor.

He hated the way the sun made him feel, but seeing it catch the silver strands in her hair changed his mind. Just a bit.

He drew patterns across the smooth skin of her back with his fingers, smirking at the shiver he elicited from her body without even trying.

Her head was tucked underneath his chin, arm and leg curled around him, face buried in his chest.

“So needy,” he murmured into her hair, watching her back rise and fall.

Her chest rumbled against his, her laugh vibrating up through him (one of his favorite sensations).

“‘S’cause you’re warm,” she mumbled, squeezing him tighter. “I’d stay in this position forever if I could.”

“You could.”

She tensed against him, her grip loosening. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that, Mason…”

“Will you ever be?” He asked, a bit sarcastically, regretting his tone almost immediately.

“I… don’t know.”

“It’s been a long time since we’ve talked about it.”

“Why do we have to talk about it now? Can’t we just… I don’t know, sleep? And talk about it tomorrow?”

He sighed, dropping his arm from her back. “At this rate, we’ll never talk about it.”

“What? No, we will, I just need more time –”

“Sofía.”

She pushed away from him until she was on her side, staring up at his stern expression.

“I know,” she said, voice low, pressing a kiss on the crook of his elbow. “Honestly, I’m fucking terrified.”

“What’re you scared of?” He asked, brows furrowed.

“Disappointing you, mostly. And the process. And living forever. I feel like I’m upsetting somebody one way or the other.”

“Are you really worried about what I’ll think?” His laugh was curt, cutting. He didn’t really mean it to come out that way. It was just baffling to him that after all these years she still cared about what others thought of her.

“Well… yeah… you’re the only person I’m worried about disappointing in the first place,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“I’m flattered you think so highly of me, sweetheart, but I’m the last person you’d disappoint,” he shrugged, mouth lifting at the corner.

“You say that, but I know you’d be upset if I chose not to turn,” she sighed, rolling on her other side, folding her pillow around her ears.

“Damn right I’d be upset.”

She scrambled to a sitting position, swinging the pillow at him, hitting his chest with a soft smack. “I know you’d be sad. But more than that… you’d be disappointed.”

“You’re going on and on about my disappointment but I’m failing to see why that’s important here.”

“Because if I choose not to turn I’m essentially a ticking time bomb and you’re gonna treat me differently and everything we do is going to be tainted by that because I’ve let you down –”

Mason cut her off with a kiss, palms cupping her cheeks – no, cradling her face – like she was fragile, precious.

He was never much for words, nor was he one for meaningful sentiments. He was never good with words like his counterparts.

But just then, in that moment, seeing his girl ramble on and on about how her eternity boiled down to those she cared about – he had to say something.

“I need you to stay with me.”

He breathed the words into her, lips grazing her own, like in his own way he was pouring how he felt – what he wanted – into her.

She curled her fingers around his palms, which were still gently holding her face, and pulled back so she could see his eyes.

She was misty-eyed and trembling, like whatever she needed to confess was ten times harder than what he’d just said.

“I would be turning for you, not for me.”

His first reaction was anger.

He could feel his body heating up, his jaw working, his muscles tensing underneath his skin. But she didn’t deserve his immediate reaction. She was better than that.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

She rolled her lips together, pursing them, anything she could do to hide her bottom lip quivering. “You’re the only one I’d do it for.”

“And… that’s a bad thing.”

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, blinking furiously to try to keep the tears back. He still held her, as gentle as ever.

“I’m just starting to figure things out and – and I think I’d disappoint myself if I stayed alive and couldn’t live up to all the good things I did when I was human.”

“There you go with that fucking word again –”

“I can’t think of another word for it. Just disappointment.”

“You mean with yourself? Because I’m sure as shit not,” he joked, getting a small part-sniffle-part-laugh from her. He ran a knuckle underneath her eye, catching a tear there.

“I don’t want to sound rude –”

He laughed, a genuine laugh, so much so that he dropped his hands and fell back against the headboard.

“Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“The rudest person on the planet,” she said, still sitting up, reaching back to tie her hair in a sloppy bun.

“Hit me.”

“I don’t want my existence to hinge on another person’s.”

“It’s not. And that wasn’t rude. It was honest.”

She squirmed, tugging the sheet up to tuck under her arms and cover her up like a makeshift shirt. “I’m not making this decision for me anymore. It’s for us.”

He shrugged. “Sure, I guess, but if you ever get tired of me you could just, I dunno. Bail.”

“Isn’t this life… enough? Won’t you get bored of me? I don’t know if I’m interesting enough to keep you preoccupied for… uh, ever.”

He shook his head. “No.”

She leaned back against the headboard, arm pressed against his. “How are you so sure about everything?”

“I’m not.”

“I wish I were more like you,” she sighed, scrubbing the back of her hand against her cheeks, wiping away any stray tears.

“You could be,” he joked, this time a bit more pleading than the last time he’d said a variant of the phrase.

He slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him, hand rested on the plush skin of her stomach. She nuzzled into his skin again, breathing deeply.

“I don’t know if living forever is in the cards for me,” she mumbled into him.

––––

[disclaimer at the end bc i am still very ... ab this fic but !!! this is the first time i’m really writing domestic mason x sofía so i’m not even sure if i nailed the dynamic bc i’m so used to them never being on the same page .. which if you think about it they’re really not on the same page here LMAO but you know what i mean!! and tbh im not even sure i wrapped it up well... because like... how DO you end a conversation like that SJDFKSKDF like i racked my brain trying to figure it out and i just let it fizzle out bc i think after all the years of fighting they know they’re both too stubborn to change each others’ minds... i think. i might revisit this in the future bc this concept is very pleasing (sick and twisted i know) to me]

[vegalocity]

The Tinkerer (Red Groom AU)

It took me a hot second to decide who i wanted to be Miracle Max because there was no way I WASN'T gonna put that scene in this AU

I decided on Syntax bc the other spiders haven't shown up yet and so why not

--

The house was little more than a glorified workshop; there were shelves of research notes and half finished odds and ends puled up on an open wall near the back, and Xiaojiao was unsure of whether they should be approaching the front door or coming in through the workshop area. Especially since the front door had a very clear 'No Longer In Business' sign hanging from it.

All the same it seemed like Sandy had all the confidence in the world in this 'Tinkerer' as he was known. As his usual grin didn't waver as he shifted his grip on the Not-Monkey King's body and approached the front door. Xiaojiao fell into step beside him of course, and upon Sandy's polite knock stationed herself between her friend and the question of what will be coming next.

A small peek window opened and Xiaojiao was suddenly making eye contact with a pair of very bright green eyes, nearly bioluminescent in their vibrancy, surrounded by a pale purple complexion not unlike the late Spider Queen's.

“We're closed.” The Demon stated firmly.

“Are you The Tinkerer?” She asked in reply.

The demon at the door snarled with a mouth of sharp teeth. “I was. And thank you for reminding me of what that wretched Prince did to my reputation, Why don't you throw a handful of dirt in my face while you're at it! Scram.” he shut the peek window. And Xiaojiao was far less polite when she knocked.

“I said beat it! Or I'm calling the brute squad.” The Tinkerer opened the little window again and glared her down, but Sandy leaned in at the offer.

“I'm on the brute squad.” he waved.

“You are the brute squad.” The Tinkerer agreed.

“Look, we heard you were one of the best healers in the region with your experiments and we're in desperate need.” Xiaojiao tried again.

“What part of 'was' did you not understand? Past tense. I'm Not in that business anymore. Besides-” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Why would you want a disgraced tinkerer to have a look at whoever you've got in mind anyway? I might kill them.” he said that last part in a mocking tone, clearly imitating the Prince in the false posh accent. The only thing stronger then The Tinkerer's sarcasm seemed to be his bitterness.

“He's already dead?” She tried one last time, and this time the Tinkerer seemed interested. He leaned forward a bit to peer at the Not-Monkey King.

“He is, hm?” He paused for a second, eyes flicking into nothing as he thought something over, before eventually shrugging. “Sure, bring him in. I'll take a look.”

The little home indeed was as small as the door implied, and in the living space there was in fact an extra door that lead to the outside workshop area.

Scanning the room for anything flat enough to lay the Not-Monkey King down on, Xiaojiao eventually started to clear the table of books—and there were many books in this house.

“Careful with those!” The Tinkerer chided but as she turned to hand them off instead of a more average demon aggravated and ready to take the tomes from her, she was met with a pair of metallic prongs infront of her, not dissimilar to the legs of a spider demon, and peering to the side a bit she saw that indeed, they were sprouting from The Tinkerer's back.

...Huh... Spider Queen had let on that she was the only spider demon in the area, to think there was another of her kind so nearby without her knowledge before she'd died... The Tinkerer's spider legs sprouted from his back which WAS a little odd since she'd always been told the hips were the usual area for spider legs, but he was using the other pair to better arrange the table for Sandy to put Not-Monkey King down onto it, so it didn't seem like they were a hindrance. She placed the books in the spare two prongs and said tomes were carefully deposited on an empty chair.

The Tinkerer strode over to the body and hemmed and hawed for a moment. “Well I've certainly seen worse.” He continued to prod at the body, and the running clock began to hold over Xiaojiao's head.

“Sir we're in a rush here-”

“Never rush a scientist, Miss.” The Tinkerer responded evenly. “Nothing makes an experiment go wrong quicker than rushing the scientist.” He fretted over the body a little longer, and his attention was on the corpse still as he spoke again.

“So how much is this worth to you both?”

“All we've got is Sixty-five.”

The Tinkerer scoffed. “I never work for so little.” He paused for a moment, considering. “Except for that one time, but that was a very noble cause.”

Xiaojiao thought fast “Sir this is a noble cause.” Though no one ever said she was any good at improvising. “His wife cannot leave the house after the accident, children on the brink of starvation-”

The Tinkerer was unmoved. “You're not a gifted liar, are you?”

Fine, if she couldn't make this happen with sympathy she may as well tell the truth. “I need him to help me avenge my father. Murdered these last ten years-”

“Your first story was better.” The Tinkerer cut her off with a scoff. “Probably owes you money, doesn't he?” he turned away from the body to rummage through a crate of strange looking devices. “Now where did I put the- Ah.” He pulled out a pump looking thing. “Well if you're not going to be giving me a straight answer I'll ask him myself.” Her thoughts spluttered for a moment.

“He-... He's dead he can't speak-”

The Tinkerer chuckled. “Oh, so now you're the expert, miss?” he shook his head. “No, your friend here is only mostly dead.” He began to turn a few knobs on the device before gently prying the Not-Monkey King's mouth open. “There's a very distinct difference between mostly dead and all dead you see.” He began to turn the crank on the device and slowly the Not-Monkey King's chest began to inflate. “If he were all dead there'd only be one thing to do.”

“What would that be?”

The Tinkerer smirked “Go through his pockets and see if there's anything worth selling. But Mostly Dead, is Slightly Alive. So there's far more options.”

Soon enough he stopped turning the crank and lifted the device from the Not-Monkey King's mouth. After handing the device off to Sandy, whom helpfully carefully set it back inside the box, the Tinkerer leaned in close to the body.

“Hey! Hello in there! Hey- What's so important? You got anything here worth living for?” he then placed both hands and two of his spider legs onto the Not-Monkey King's chest and pushed.

At first the wheezing noise didn't sound like much of anything, but then Xiaojiao was able to make out-

“'True Love'! You heard him!” She leaned forward to examine the body herself for a moment, but other than the faintest moving of his words, the Not-Monkey King remained still. And peeking back up at the Tinkerer he looked pale, mauve skin suddenly more of a sickly lavender. “You couldn't ask for a more noble cause than that, sir.”

“Well Miss, true love certainly would be a noble cause of all noble causes.” He agreed, before blinking once and shaking his head. “But that's not what he said! I've been hearing mostly dead groans for the better side of thirty years now, and I know 'To blave' when I hear it.” He waved a hand dismissively as he turned away from her. “And since you seem like those whom may not know 'To Blave' is an archaic way to say 'to bluff'. So here's my read on things, you lot were gambling on something or another and he was cheating so-”

“Oh for the love of- You CanNOT be serious, Syntax!” a raspy voice piped up, and emerging from one of the small rooms was another spider demon, this one looking far more traditional, with the obvious mandibles and four green eyes instead of The Tinkerer's two.

“Huntsman I am in the middle of something can you just-”

“You're in the middle of making yourself look like an obstinate fool that's what you're in the middle of!” The other spider, Huntsman, approached and grabbed The Tinkerer (Syntax apparently) by the arm. “What kind of coward has my brother turned into that he can't even say the truth when he refuses to do what he poured his life's work into?!”

“You have no idea what you're talking about-”

“You head him,You know what he said-” Huntsman turned to the two of them and were it not for the sadistic gleam in his eye Xiaojiao would have thought he was honestly trying to help them. More likely he just wanted to see his brother squirm. “He's turned into a coward ever since the prince fired him! He's been stuck in a rut for months now!”

“Hey! You said you wouldn't bring that up! You swore you'd let that drop!” The Tinkerer's voice went shrill with anger, and the smirk on Huntsman's face widened, showing off his far more pronounced fangs.

“What? That you got fired? You got fired!” and then in a routine Xiaojiao would more expect out of a play than from a pair of fully grown brothers, Huntsman began to chase Syntax around the little room, loudly crowing 'Fired' over and over again while Syntax made vague noises of distress. Eventually Huntsman got hold of his brother again, and this time he maybe actually looked concerned.

“What would mother say if she saw you puttering about like this?! You know how much she went on about 'True Love' and all that ilk! And Sure Goliath was the only one who ever believed her, but you don't even have the decency to say why you won't help?!” Syntax had his hands clapped over his ears and seemed to be trying to loudly tune Huntsman's words out. “What, one good for nothing Prince gives you the boot and you don't have a reputation anymore?! Where in the world did your Spider Pride run off to because sure as anything else it ain't here anymore!” Wait he meant THIS prince, right?

“This man is Red Son's lover!” she cut in. “If you heal him he'll stop at nothing to stop the Prince's wedding!”

That gave both spider brothers pause, and something sparked to life behind Syntax's expression, he took a step away from his brother and leaned over the Not-Monkey King's body to lean in close to Xiaojiao.

“Hold on, hold on. I heal him and the Prince suffers?”

Xiaojiao leaned in and shot him as big a smirk as she could muster. “What's more humiliating than having your groom run off on the day of your wedding? He'd be mortified.” Syntax smiled back at her, and cackled.

“Now that is a noble cause.” a pair of his spider legs rummaged through the bin again before pulling out a set of adjustable glasses. “Give me the sixty-five, I'm on the job.”

“You're welcome.” Huntsman sarcastically called out before sitting down in a nearby chair and crossing his legs.

Sandy seemed to take an interest in him, wandering over beside the spider and striking up conversation, but Xiaojiao had her eyes on the Tinkerer, and her hopes.

–

“So that's gonna heal him up?”

“Something along those lines. He'll be more alive than he is now.” By this point all three of them were leaned in watching The Tinkerer put his last touches on the cure pill.

“Huh, chocolate coating and everything” Huntsman chiming in every so often for color commentary. “Of course you're enough of a petty bastard to pull out all the stops for revenge.”

“You should wait about fifteen minutes so everything's got time to settle.” Syntax continued as though he hadn't spoken, finishing up the pill and sliding it into a leather pouch. “Oh, and don't let him go swimming for awhile, about an hour or so.” He handed the pouch to Xiaojiao whom quickly slid it into her pocket, and Sandy lifted the body beneath his arm again.

“Thank you so much for this Tinkerer.”

Syntax rolled his eyes. “Just make sure someone sees the Prince suffering so you can send me a letter detailing it.”

And then they were off.

“Don't die!” Huntsman called out as they left.

“Have fun storming the castle!” Syntax added on.

–

“Think it'll work?”

“Do I look like a miracle worker to you?”

–

But soon enough they were at the mouth of the mountain entrance. A small wall the only separating Xiaojiao, Sandy, and their only hope from what was supposed to be about 30 demons.

Key word, 'supposed to'.

“Xiaojiao there's at least sixty men there.”

“What?!” She hissed and poked her head out the side to confirm Sandy's observation. And sure enough-

“I could probably take about ten on my own, how about you my friend?”

“Twenty, assuming we're fighting to incapacitate.” Sandy added on very carefully.

“Damn it all.” She hissed. Before glancing back down at the body. “Well, no matter, we've got him. He'll think of something.”

“Has it been fifteen minutes?”

“We can't afford to wait any longer. The wedding's in half an hour!” She shuffled with the body until he was propped up against the wall and took the pill out.

It slid down his throat quickly and concisely, possibly aided by whatever swallowing reflex remained in his mostly-dead state.

“How long do we have to wait, before we know the experiment works?”

“Your guess is as good as mine-” A voice between them interrupted Xiaojiao

“I'll tear you both apart! I'll take you both together-!” Sandy covered the Not-Monkey King's mouth to cut off his desperate threats.

“I guess not very long.”

“Hey, glad to see you awake!” She went for the friendly approach, he seemed sympathetic to her plight when they were about to duel after all-

When Sandy uncovered his mouth the man remained quiet. “Why won't my arms move?” he finally settled on.

“You've been mostly dead all day, friend.” Sandy calmly explained, Xiaojiao quickly adding on that they'd taken him to The Tinkerer to heal him up before Sandy cut back in.

“You know I feel kinda bad just calling you 'The Man in Black' in my head, but now that we know you're human it feels kinda weird to call you Monkey King too, so do you happen to have a name for us to call you by?”

The man paused again glancing between the two of them. “... Who are you two? Are we still enemies?” He glanced behind him. “Why am I resting on this wall?” but the his expression hardened over. “Where's Red Son?!”

“Okay I can explain-” Wait- “...No there's too much. Let me sum it up, but Sandy's right I'm gonna need that name first.”

"Xiaotian. Now tell me.”

“Well Xiaotian, Red Son's marrying the prince in about half an hour, so what we've got to do is break in, stop the wedding, steal your fire demon back, and make our escape. After I kill the Six Eared Macaque.”

Xiaotian's expression tightened and his fingers began to twitch nervously.

“I'll admit that doesn't leave a lot of time for hesitating.”

“Oh hey Xiaotian! You just wiggled your fingers!” Sandy chirped. “That's great!”

“I've still got something resembling the immortality Monkey King loaned me I guess.” Xiaotian agreed. “What are we facing against?”

“One mountain entrance, guarded by sixty demons.” She grabbed hold of his shoulders and lifted him just enough that his head lolled back and he could see the gate.

“Okay, what do WE have?”

“Your mind, my sword, Sandy's muscle.” …. well that sounded pathetic now that she said it outloud-

“That's it? That's pathetic."... but he didn't have to SAY it-

"Maybe if I had a WEEK I could think of a plan but this?” he shook his head slightly.

“Hey! You shook your head too! You're getting better!” Sandy was clearly nervous, with how bright and sunny he was trying to be. Xiaotian tilted his head to the side just enough to turn to see him.

“Your strength, my mind, and her sword against sixty men to stop the love of my life from getting married and then assassinated by a power hungry tyrant-to-be and you think a little head jiggle is worth celebrating?” He hissed and Xiaojiao was about to throw out a hand in Sandy's deference, but as usual the implied insult did little to dampen Sandy's hard earned chill.

“I mean I'd hardly consider it asking for a lot to have a little more to work with! if we had a wheelbarrow that would be something!”

Wait...

“Sandy what did we do with that Wheelbarrow those demon twins had?”

“I think we just left it there after they ran off.”

Xiaotian's expression pinched. “Why didn't you mention that earlier?” But nonetheless she could see the gears beginning to turn in his head. “Ugh... Maybe if we had a dark cloak I could do that plan but-”

“Yeah no, sorry about that, friend.” But Sandy it seemed had other ideas.

“Will this work?” a long dark cloak was pulled from behind him.

“W-... Where did you get that?”

“At the Tinkerer's! That Huntsman guy said it was made for his brother but it was too big and it fit me, so he said I should just take it!”

“Alright alright. Long Xiaojiao was it?”

“Just Xiaojiao is fine.”

“Can you pluck one of my hairs for me and hold it up?”

“Uhhh?”

“Trust me.”

So she curled a finger around a strand of hair and plucked it from Xiaotian's head before holding it up before him.

He blew gently on the piece and directed her to toss it forward.

There was a shower of golden sparks and the hair had turned into a staff much like the one he'd been wielding when they'd met.

“Alright help me up and I'll explain things.” It was a bit of a struggle, Xiaotian had to be sandwiched between Xiaojiao and Sandy “Can one of you attach that to my back?” Sandy reached down and did so.

“You can't even lift it!” Xiaojiao huffed.

“Yeah but they don't know that.” Xiaotian countered, and... she didn't have a counterargument. “So it's going to be a mess when we start this whole thing, one problem after another-”

“I'll say.” She huffed. “I've got three off the top of my head, when we're inside how do I find the Macaque, when I'm done with him how do I find you again, and when I find you again how do we all escape?”

Sandy whom had been basically holding Xiaotian's head up for him during this exchange, tilted the man's head to rest against his chest. “Come on Xiaojiao, lay off the guy, he's had a hard day.”

“Right, Sorry.”

Sandy bobbed Xiaotian's head in an approximation of a nod.

“Hey Xiaojiao?”

“What is it?”

“I hope we win.”

[thewhumperinwhite]

ATTD: The Hunting Party (2)

ATTD Masterlist

I agonized over this for ages bc everybody knows prophecies rhyme, but i am deeply Not A Poet, so like... be gentle with me lmao

@whumpitywhumpwhump @favwhumpstuff

Ongoing TW for this series: the Big Bads here are bug related, so tread carefully if you you have any level of entomophobia. It’s mainly referenced here, but it will absolutely get worse. If you have specific bug-related triggers, you can always message me for a more detailed description of what to expect. So.

TW for: body horror (relating to mummification, and, separately, Bugs); blood-drinking; referenced/implied possession (of a sort); captivity; implied magical torture; lady whump; referenced murder. Also, uh... evil flies. Like not giant. Just evil

----

Awake, at least, Middle Sister had seen nothing but this room for three long months.

The room was of a respectable size—high-ceilinged, not wide but long enough to be properly called a Hall—but far enough underground that the air felt close and stale regardless. The walls and ceiling are polished marble, black with veins the color of old bone. The furnishings—richly carved but sparse—were the same. An altar, bare. Two benches, never occupied. A high-backed throne for her to sit upon, slumped and unmoving.

Middle Sister did not know how long this room had been here. The past was her Sister’s business; for all that Middle Sister know, they might have carved the chamber just for her. Her mark, upon the throne—a sun, inlaid in gold, above her head—would seem to show that it at least had been custom-made.

The chains, hammered into the arms of the throne, and ending in manacles around her wrists, were the same muted gold as the inlaid sun. She was held immobile by other, crueler means—could not move without blood in her veins; the gold cuffs hung loose on her dry and leathered wrists—so the chains were just for show.

She was going to kill everyone responsible—from her captors to whatever craftsmen carved the sun and forged the chains—but she could, at least, respect the commitment to aesthetics.

To keep an Oracle in one’s basement, one needed chains. To leave her without them—even as a dried out husk upon her throne—would be positively gauche. Someone might think they’d left her corpse here by mistake.

The old man—the Emperor’s Advisor—who had no other name than that, and who always brought with him the buzzing of flies, right at the edge of her hearing—was the only living thing she had seen in months.

He was halfway through his usual ritual now. He brought a candle and a golden chalice with him from upstairs, and now he was holding the chalice over the candle and half-chanting in his scratchy buzzing voice, a stream of nonsense about the sun, how it knew all and saw all, and now he wished to know and see all as well.

The ritual was exactly as practical as the gilded chains. The chalice was full of blood, and blood was all she needed.

The old man finished chanting, and stepped around the altar, approached the throne. He put the chalice up to her desiccated lips and carefully poured about a tablespoon of blood down her dry throat.

Middle Sister breathed in, as even this tiny helping of lifeblood wet her tongue and throat and lungs enough to take in the first air she’d had since the old man’s last visit, more than a week ago now. The blood soaked into her heart and filled it out, like a raisin turning back into a grape. The first few beats were always painful.

Part of Middle Sister always hoped that he would measure wrong—bring her two tablespoons someday, instead of one. This blood is enough to bring life back into her mouth and tongue and lungs and throat and heart. Another gulp would bring life back into her arms, enough to tie these stupid soft-gold chains into a pretty bow around the old man’s neck, and drag herself upstairs, to find enough blood to fill her wings with life as well, and away from here, at last.

It wouldn’t be that easy, of course. She was going to have to wait. Sit here like so much salt-dried meat, until she’d gathered enough cards to make a meaningful play.

Then, when she was out, she’d spill enough blood to bathe in.

“I hesitate to wake you so soon after the last time,” the old man was saying, with a hint of irony. “However: It seems we’ve had a bit of a setback.”

With a tablespoon of blood, Middle Sister could lift her head, and raise and eyebrow at the old man, too, with a little effort. Her dried skin wrinkled with a sound like old paper, but thankfully it didn’t tear.

Oh, she said, her voice made more of magic than of air. We have, have we?

The old man smirked, and bowed his head. “Your meaning is well taken,” she said. “The miscalculation was not yours, my Lady. We attempted to act on the information you so generously provided—”

Middle Sister snorted. She had been accused of many things, but rarely generosity. Is that what we’re calling it, she asked airily—her voice dry wind against the old man’s ears—I provide you—generously—with prophecy, and you—generously again—replace enough of the blood you stole, to let me move my lips?

The old man almost laughed. “Again, Lady: Your criticism is understood. I apologize once more for the lack of—creature comforts.”

She didn’t waste energy on rolling her eyes, however much she might have liked to. It’s true that I am accustomed to indulging in pleasure such as blood, and life. She sighed, tipping her head back to see him better. What is this setback ‘we’ have suffered, My Lord Advisor?

“We’ve lost the boy,” the old man said.

Middle Sister blinked at him. Then she half-crumpled forward, using up most of her borrowed blood in painful, dry-heaving laughter.

Lost the—you lost him? You found the boy from Future’s Rhyme and then you lost him?

The old man watched her laugh with bland amusement. Middle Sister collapsed back against the throne, wheezing, already half a corpse again.

Oh, my lord Advisor, she croaked, almost with affection. Your masters mustn’t be very pleased with you, eh?

The old man’s mouth twitched slightly. “They are not thrilled,” he allowed. He did not sound especially distressed.

He was a funny old riddle, the Emperor’s Advisor. There were flies in his head, certainly. But they seemed to have left behind an unusual amount of brain.

The old man bowed his fly-ridden head, with his wrinkled hand over his heart. “Thus, I am instructed to ask you for further direction, my Lady. Any further words from you would be a blessing.”

I’ve none to give you, Middle Sister said, with real pleasure. And I am hardly in a position to be offering blessings, my dear, she added. She was fading fast now, but there was just enough blood left in her dried-up veins for another pointed arch of her brow.

Advisor squinted at her. Clearly he was thinking hard, and—though maybe this was wishful thinking on Middle Sister’s part—he seemed to be looking with own old man’s eyes, and not with the faceted compound ones hidden behind their sockets.

“Perhaps,” the old man said delicately, “in return for further prophecy. I can persuade my masters to come up with some sort of reward.”

And then he gathered up the chalice—empty, now, of blood—and gave her a sly little smile.

The offer was clear enough.

I’ll see what I can do, my dear, Middle Sister told him, and that was all she had the blood to say.

For now.

----

The dream, when it comes again, goes like this:

There is a hall, with carved alabaster columns and tile the color of the sky, or the Wolf-Killer’s eyes, beautiful—but blown open at the sides, to reveal a sky that is not blue, but is a roiling bloody red as though the clouds themselves were cut open and bleeding to death in the dust.

In the center of the hall there is a tree, and the tree grew from a seed, and the seed was born in blood.

Will be born in blood.

The problem with riding Little Sister’s dreams is that it is hard to keep track of one’s tense.

The other problem with Little Sister’s dreams is that they are starting to repeat, which Middle Sister has never known them to do before—

In spite of herself, she thinks of Little Sister, watching this, over and over—how Little Sister always hurt, how it always hurt Little Sister to dream.

(Middle Sister breathes out, in her sleep, relieved: last time, Little Sister was wild with fright, the dream patchy and confused, as Little Sister snatched fitful minutes of sleep; Little Sister was always frightened of small spaces, and the cage was much too small, twisted her wings in around her little body; now she is sleeping out under the air, and her wings are sore but whole, and at least one of them is free.)

Focus, now, Middle Sister tells herself.

In the center of the hall there is a tree, except that now it is not a tree, it is a door, and the door is shut, but—

(a flutter of fear in Middle Sister’s dry and bloodless chest)

She is not sure the door is locked.

Behind her she hears the fluttering of enormous wings and whirls toward the sound, jealousy sour in her belly; she wants to fly again so badly—

Black birds scatter everywhere; although she is not really there she imagines they kick up quite a breeze.

She watches them go, and thinks that as omens go, this is not traditionally a good one. Last time she rode piggyback on Little Sister’s dreams, when she squinted to see past Little Sisters real-life-present fear, it was almost the same—the hall and the tree and the door—but instead of crows she had heard the howling of wolves, about a thousand great grey monsters with sharp teeth and sharper eyes, and ugh, why can’t Little Sister’s dreams just say what they mean.

As she is thinking this she hears, behind her—the clearing of a throat, simple and quiet. She turns on her nonexistent heel to follow the sound.

There is a girl standing in front of the door-that-is-closed-but-is-not-locked. She has long black hair, covering blunt human ears, and—behind the hair she does not have a face.

The words, when she speaks, are the same as last time, but last time Little Sister was too frightened to properly see the speaker. And Middle Sister can see nothing Little Sister doesn’t see.

The black-haired girl speaks solemnly, although she has no mouth. Her voice is full of—sympathy, perhaps. Middle Sister isn’t sure who for.

She says it again—the same rhyme—which seems to so excite Advisor, or at least the bugs that live inside his skull. It doesn’t mean much to Middle Sister, but she listens carefully.

She wants to know what the words mean, properly, before she gives them up.

----

Fatherless brother

Where did you go?

Does your mother miss you?

Does your sister know?

Little boy lost,

Little boy lying,

Little boy scared,

Little boy hiding.

Little boy hurt,

Little boy crying,

Little boy cold,

Little boy dying.

In two worlds a brother,

In one world a son:

You’ve opened the door, boy.

How fast can you run?

[notgonnarememberthis]

find your way (back to me) - chapter thirteen

Closing in on the end now!! I’m excited but nervous for this to end bc I honestly don’t know what I’ll do with my time next. Most of my free time has been dedicated to this fic so I’m going to be looking for new ideas here soon. Hope y’all enjoy and buckle up cause this chapter is a long one!

Watching Ainsley back on the newscast is a welcome normal to Jessica’s monotonous day. With Malcolm and Gil throwing themselves into investigating officers, she was put essentially on complete lockdown in Gil’s apartment. With Dani and JT cycling as her watchers, they feel more comfortable leaving. It’s irritating but the way Malcolm relaxes, knowing she’s safe. She does it for him.

“The search for the Needle’s Eye continues,” Ainsley rattles off, eyes disconnected from the words. It’s a tactic Jessica admired and feared when she was able to talk about such horrific things when not letting them in at all. Once on camera her face would clear, a determined one carrying over. “The officers in charge of the case are investigating a possible lead into Beverly Construction, where a body has been discovered. Police believe the man, identified to be Jason Carter, is one of the killers.” Ainsley stops, suddenly getting a far off look. Jessica knows she’s listening to someone in her ear. From the emotions that flash over her face in that split second she already knows what comes next. First is the bitter anger, then curiosity that blossoms into interest, all before she schools her face again. “Hold on a second, we have Dr. Martin Whitly, otherwise known as the surgeon dialing in. Dr. Whitly has provided insight into multiple investigations so it will be interesting to see what he makes of this new killer on the scene.”

Jessica braces herself for the impact that his voice will bring. It doesn’t help. Not for what happens next.

“He’s coming.” The voice on the other end of the call sends ice down her spine. It’s gruff, far from the animated speech of Martin. Ainsley’s face pales on the screen. She knows just as well as Jessica who is on the other side of this call.

“Who is this?” She tries to ask in her best investigative tone but the tremor shakes. It’s the first time she’s even seen her phased. Jessica must have made some kind of noise, deep from the back of her throat because the door opens behind her.

“Mrs. Whitly?” Dani stops in the doorway, eyes falling on the television.

“You brood of vipers, how can you, being evil, speak what is good?”

“Is that?” A few more steps and Dani is beside the couch, her phone in her hand frantically texting.

“Who is this?” Ainsley asks again, firmer.

“Do you know where your son is?” Just like that the floor goes out from under her feet. The call ends abruptly with Ainsley staring at the camera in horror and fury. The blonde curls bounce when she snaps her head around to someone off screen and the channel cuts to commercials.

“Mrs. Whitly.” Dani whispers, like she’s ready approaching an active bomb. Jessica’s heart thuds too quickly in her chest and they both jump when her phone begins ringing.

Claremont Psychiatric, the screen reads. Before Dani can make a move for it Jessica answers. She swallows, ready to do anything the person on the other line tells her. Anything to protect her son. He doesn’t deserve to face what she had. He’d been through more than enough.

“Jessie.” Martin’s voice calls out from the line, tense and thin. He begins rattling but she can’t hear him over the static filling her mind. All the words he spits out at rapid speed don’t even reach her as she stares blankly at the TV. Only one thought comes to her, so lost among the white noise.

He sounds terrified.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dani clutches the wheel tight in her grip, eyes casting to Mrs. Whitly. The silence in the car is a far too familiar one. Picking up the Whitlys when something terrible happens to Malcolm seems like it’s a part of her job description. Normally it’s Ainsley who fills the quiet with the unending questions one would expect from a journalist.

This is heavy, oppressive. She can see Mrs. Whitly pulling the bag closer to her with every turn of the car.

She doesn’t blame the anxiety. They’re on their way to Claremont. The Surgeon made her own skin crawl the first time she met him. But Claremont employees were the last ones to see Malcolm, according to the calls. She needs to talk to Dr. Whitly, he could have seen something. If Malcolm was nervous before, had he known he was being followed, anything. She almost feels sorry for her watching dread turn her face pale.

But something doesn’t feel right.

Her suspicions are confirmed the second her ringtone blares again. To Mrs. Whitly’s credit, she doesn’t immediately reach for her phone to answer it again. Rather, she looks to Dani after she reads the number holding it to her.

It’s marked as unknown, but in their area. It could just be a spam caller, but something tells Dani the Whitly’s don’t really have that problem. When you have enough money you can make the small nuisances of life disappear.

“Put it on speaker.” She tells Jessica, only diverting her eyes from the road for a second to make sure she understands. “We’re tracking the calls on both your phone and Ainsley’s. Keep him talking. If we can get a location pinned on him, we’ll be able to find Malcolm.” She nods, swallowing. 

The line crackles to life with a monotonous threat. “8640 Westshire Avenue. Come alone.” The call ends and Dani can see Mrs. Whitly’s hands shaking. Her mind flashes to Malcolm and she switches lanes. Abandoning the path to Claremont she speeds up towards the address. Westshire Avenue is a line of mostly abandoned warehouses, they’ve gotten calls there more than a few times. It doesn’t make her feel good about Malcolm’s chances. It’s remote. Quiet.

And the way Mrs. Whitly holds herself sitting a little too straight, she knows exactly where they’re going too. Her eyes fall to her lap, her hands white knuckled on the bag again. She recognizes the grip, having seen it too many times in suspects weighing their chances.

“What’s in the purse?” Dani asks slowly. She dreads the question but the way that she guards it, being extra careful that it doesn’t tip or shuffle. She knows. Out the corner of her eye she watches her flinch. She feigns innocence, not well. “How’d you get it?” She thinks for a moment, and the realization settles. “Malcolm.” It makes sense. They know she has a registered firearm. Malcolm would have grabbed it the night he and Edrisa went to pack her things. Extra protection. He wouldn’t take the chance if something went wrong with her or JT. That’s why he was more willing to leave back to the precinct without taking her with them. Knowing that she can protect herself would put him at ease.

He should have told them.

She pulls the car over turning to her. “What are you doing?”

“Give me the gun.” Dani holds a hand out but Jessica’s cover her purse. She tilts her head with a sigh. “Please. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“Doesn’t it.” She straightens, a furious look shining in the dim light. “He took my son. Malcolm had nothing to do with this.”

“Neither did you.”

“But it had all to do with Martin.” She shakes her head not meeting her gaze. Dani knows she’s blinking away the tears. “I should have gotten it over with when I had the chance.” Dani’s head tilts, eyes widening for a split second. It was a small confession but one that set off so many alarms in her head. She almost asks what she means by that when she remembers.

The surgeon had been stabbed, supposedly by the woman across from her to protect an innocent’s life.

Looking at her now, Dani knows that isn’t what happened.

“I could turn this car around. Take you back to the station.” She threatens.

“You won’t.” The woman’s voice wavers with uncertainty. “Malcolm, he’s your friend. You won’t take that risk.” Dani runs her tongue along the back of her teeth, setting her jaw with determination. They are running out of time. “If Gil hadn’t seen the news, if he didn’t know. You’re telling me you wouldn’t run in as soon as you got there to save my son?”

She can’t answer that. Not truthfully, at least. She has, a dozen times, run after Malcolm. Running the numbers in her head. Calculating every single risk to grab his ass after he’s rushed in. She’s seen his anger, his panic, the desperation unfurling at every scene.

A needle full of poison, his hands pressed on a landmine, an axe raised high above his head with a wild look. Ready to do whatever it took.

Staring at the woman across from her it pains Dani to know she ever thought he got that from his dad. Not when Jessica’s eyes shine with the same bitterness towards the world who has kicked them a few times too many. Her voice draws, a deep rumble in her chest. “I’ve been married to a serial killer, dated another who stabbed maybe the only person who gave a damn about my children, I’ve pushed my daughter into a window to stop her from being hit by an axe. I’ve done everything in my power to protect them.”

“Will this protect him?” She sucks in a breath. “His dad is already a killer, Ainsley’s self defense plea almost ripped him apart and this? He will blame himself.”

“He can’t.”

“But he will. He will think about every single thing he could’ve done differently. To stop you from losing a part of yourself. Gil too.” 

“He has Ainsley, Gil, Edrisa, his team. He will be fine.”

“But he needs you.” Dani’s throat constricts emotion threatening to betray her. “He needs his mom.” That must get to her because her face begins to twitch. Her anger falls away to what truly lies beneath the surface, fear and grief. She lets go of the bag and Dani reaches inside securing the firearm.

The silence lapses again as they start back down the road. It’s different, less foreboding and more solemn. It takes a few minutes before Jessica speaks. “How do you get past this?” She casts a quick look over but she’s staring out the window, eyes not seeing the scenery flying past them. “You’ve seen dozens of horrors. The gruesome things we do to each other. How do you do it?”

Her hands grip the wheel tighter. “You don’t. Every case takes something. Some take more than others but they all do. I’ve tried shutting it down, leaving everything at work. But it doesn’t help.”

“No kidding.” She laughs bitterly.

“You have people. They push you past it.” Jessica looks to her, eyebrows furrowed. “Going at it alone, it’s too much. When you have people that care for you,” She sighs. “Well, it’s easier to do it when you’re doing it for someone else.”

“I did.” Her voice is thick, Dani looks away pretending not to see the tear that slides down her cheek. “I got out for them.”

A few more beats pass. She taps an even rhythm as she realizes they’re creeping closer to their destination. She should text Gil. “Find something that grounds you.”

“What does that even mean?” She swipes at her face looking away again. She needs to calm her down before she makes the connection herself.

“You pick something that keeps you here. And when everything feels like too much you think of that.”

“Like what?”

“A person, a memory-”

“A dream?”

“Yeah, I guess that could work.” Her eyes focus on the street signs, watching carefully for her next turn. “You find what you’re looking for, it stops. It keeps you from falling into your emotions. It’s a lot harder to be angry when you’re thinking about it.”

“And this is a memory for you? Isn’t it a little counterintuitive to move forwards when looking back?”

“Aren’t we all looking back?”

“No.” Dani’s eyes jump to her, clearly having struck a nerve. She curses herself in realization. Her happiness was also her greatest downfall. The person she loved was her ruin. No wonder she doesn’t want to look back on that. “You said a dream, you mind if I ask?”

“The first night when I was taken. I dreamt of Christmas, this year. Having my family all together. No cases, no Martin lingering in our minds. Gil put on music and we danced.” She sighs, shaking her head. “Truth be told, I don’t remember the last time I danced. It felt…”

“Like healing.”

Her eyes shine with tears, her voice barely a whisper. “I suppose so.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The turn into the warehouse brings the foreboding feeling back tenfold. Jessica’s anxiety settles in her stomach because they have no idea what they will find inside. Honestly, they don’t even truly know if he’s the only one left. There could be another partner. Malcolm could be hurt, he might need an ambulance.

Dani’s face firms when she looks at her phone. She knows what that look means in a second.

She can’t call for backup. They’re alone on this.

She parks the car gathering all she needs. “Stay here.” It’s more of a command than anything as she steps out. “I’m going to look for a payphone. He had to have used one to call you.” She disappears in the other direction, only her shadow from the overhead lights showing where she went from Jessica’s limited view.

Her eyes fall back on the door. The metal looms before her and she knows in her gut that this isn’t a trick. Her son is inside, alone and scared. God, he could be hurt and bleeding for all she knows. She wishes for only a moment that she didn’t give the gun over, that she could just end this without feeling the slightest bit of remorse.

She could still end this.

Her head whips back to where Dani went. It wouldn’t take long for her to find something to call Gil. She had to move quickly and quietly. She climbs from the car, the detective’s voice still ringing in her mind. He needs you. She’s absolutely certain this isn’t what she meant but she’s right regardless.

The metal door slides noisily and she knows she’s lost. The second she steps in she could be killed. But she pictures her little boy, slumped from being stabbed with his hand held close to his chest having smashed it to save her and his sister. The smell of blood and dirt from the memory washes over her harshly.

She pushes herself inside.

[thekidsarentalright]

PLEASE explain why they are depressing. i love reading your analysis :')

ahh ok ur wish is my command!!! i'm gonna put it all under the cut tho, just so it isn't too long <3!!

miss missing you- miss missing u is so depressing to me for multiple reasons, the easiest one to explain being the music vid. To go deeper than that, the song was originally something Patrick started to write for solo music but thought it sounded like a fob song, meaning that the lyrics are a mish-mash of patrick's voice AND pete's which is like . ah. and then its my belief that the song is Very Very much so a song about the hiatus like talking about missing the feeling of missing someone? on the album right after the hiatus? feels very hiatus-y to me! and emotionally destroys me! it's just disguised as a romance-y breakup song. that aside, the lyrics themselves are just so sad, "sometimes before it gets better, the darkness gets bigger / the person that you take a bullet for is behind the trigger / oh, we're fading fast" is just . very obviously sad . and then the 2nd pre-chorus "I will sing to you every day / If it will take away the pain / Oh, and I've heard you got it, got it so bad / 'Cause I am the best you'll never have" strikes me as particularly devastating bc the whole song is painted as like this person is finally moving on from this relationship but clearly still thinks abt whomever they left and still Misses that person in a way . they would Still sing to them every day to make them happy!!! they WERE their picket fence i mean . feelings like that don't vanish!!! it fucks me up!

fourth of july- fourth of july is sad for similar reasons to mmy, i think. it's about a fleeting relationship, possibly a summer fling, that is obviously over at the time of the song. the relationship was just a 'what-if', though, that the narrator obviously felt Deeper about than the other half did. and the narrator knows this, questioning what that summer meant to the other person and Admitting that they miss their company, as if that's a bad thing to be honest about. but then the narrator goes back and says they didn't mean it, they were just being dumb and young and well, it was just a fling! it wasn't meant to be! the narrator says they'd never miss them, but it looks they were wrong. the second verse flips it and the narrator suddenly sounds Very cocky, talking about how the Other person must miss them and need them bc the narrator is holy water and stuck in their ex's head. the narrator Knows the other person cried about the relationship ending. But once again doubles back and says it means nothing UNTIL the bridge where they say "I wish I'd known how much you loved me / I wish I cared enough to know / I'm sorry every song's about you / The torture of small talk with someone you used to love", showing that they wonder if they were actually holy water to the other, that they regret not making feelings clear before and feel bad for writing about them. the entire song is just. my god. my fucking god i don't have words. the relationship was fleeting and yet meant the world to the speaker. thats so sad.

favorite record- fav record is awfully depressing to me bc it follows similar themes as the last two? the first verse is all a question, right? the narrator is asking if the other person remembers driving under purple skies, listening to rancid, if they remember when the narrator confessed to them and they danced. it seems like a lovely recollection of a love confession that the narrator remembers SO well, every detail is laid out. but then the chorus reveals that maybe the confession didn't go so well, where the narrator is talking about the person in the past-tense, you WERE the song stuck in my head, every song that i ever LOVED... it paints a very sad picture of the outcome of that relationship. the narrator felt so strongly for this person and loved them so much, associated them with all their favorite music and it just... didn't work. The second verse is super sad too bc they then say, 'i Cant remember just how to Forget' which is like... the opposite message miss missing you is sending. The narrator can't remember how to forget this person, or how they danced and how they were asked how they were doing by their old love as if they Know their doing better now or something? but the narrator isn't. they still miss them. All of that is just so... the picture it paints is so sad. Especially the lyric 'you can get what you want but its never enough'... the relationship might've worked for a bit, as the narrator wanted. but it didn't work.

heaven's gate- so this is like fobs most romantic song but also simultaneously SO sad bc . the whole idea of the song is that the narrator is so in love with this person that they want to be with them forever, even after death. And they're convinced their lover will make it into heaven no problem, but are equally as sure they themselves won't get it. No, they'll have to sneak in, they want their lover to sneak them in so they can be together. but the narrator is just so sure they themselves are heaven bound but are SO in love, their lover is just the one habit they can't kick, after all. It's sad and romantic all twisted up in such a beautiful package, thinking about the song for too long gives me brain damage <3

jet pack blues- to me this song is really like . about one side of the relationship dying which is off the bat So fucking sad ok so go w me here: the narrator is dealing with grief of their partner dying (could be considered a real or metaphorical death of the relationship idk), they're walking around the city thinking of their love and the relationship... if the relationship was real, if they were ever in love or just lonely, how they remember the person begging for them to come back n now it's just all gone. their the last one their love will ever remember. "Don't you remember how we used to split a drink / it never mattered what it was, i think / our heads were just that close / the sweetness never lasts you know" is very retrospective, very much telling that the narrator has a lot of regrets in the relationship and is aware now that the sweetness of a new relationship is fleeting. So fuckin sad.

just one yesterday- this is the most obvious sad one i think? the entire song is just the narrator having guilt and regret about Something, and wishing they could just go backwards in time to relive Before things went wrong, before the person they're singing about thought they were bad news which they Know! they know they're bad news but still would save everything for the person they're singing to, and just... wishes so deeply they could go back and have just one more yesterday. i think the bridge might very well be the Other person singing to the narrator, saying they could spill everything they know about the narrator but that it'd be devastating to them and their reputation. clearly this is about a relationship that ended poorly, with one person resenting the other while the narrator recognizes what they did was wrong and wants it all back- but will never get it back. ow <3