#no way I'll be able to sleep sunday

[nerdgirlnarrates]

Had a presentation on the SOAP process today, and now I feel ill

[grinchwrapsupreme]

as a preemptive warning i have monday off which means i will be successionposting the entire fucking day block the tag if you hate my passion

[occamstfs]

Talismen: Beginnings

Nicky emerges with an arcane artifact after a bewildering trip through an impossible shop. In wishing his boyfriend was more confident in himself Nicky performs irrevocable and accidental magic upon the world, building his new form and dulling his mind.

And I'm back! Here's the first story of my planned CYOA series, a little long but I love how it turned out! I'll be posting the poll for Part two on Sunday, the 1st of December, the planned options are at the end of the story and it'll only last a day so if you want to take part be on the lookout! At any rate, hope you enjoy and happy to write for you once more! -Occam

It was barbarian weekend at the renaissance festival. Nicky was dressed as a wizard and his boyfriend, Simon, had long planned to go on theme and dress as a barbarian. Though as the day neared and Simon anxiously stared at his decidedly standard figure in the mirror, he instead opted to just throw on a cloak and call it a day. Arriving at the fair the pair, as expected of the theme, find themselves surrounded by burly men clad in kilts with faux fur draped atop chests beyond impressive.

Gawking at hot men is of course par for the course of this kinda event but Nicky can’t help but read the shame and embarrassment creeping into Simon’s expression as he takes in the festivities. When they eventually step into a tavern for a breather Nicky checks in, “Heyyy babe? Everything good? Seem kinda down-” Simon shakes his head and forces a smile, “Don’t worry about me B, I’m aces!” He tosses a wink out for good measure before pointedly changing the topic, “So what was it you said you’re looking to grab this year?”

Nicky narrows his eyes for half a moment wondering if he should push or challenge his clearly sulking boyfriend before deciding to let the sleeping dog lie for now, “Mmmm, I don’t know actually? Probably just an accessory for the costume? Oh! Or maybe some dice?” Simon’s expression changes into a more genuine smile as he grabs at Nicky’s arm and massages it, “Well here’s an idea. We’re right by the dice shop yeah? Howsabout we split up. I’ll grab us some beers and you go check out the offerings. Meet back here?” 

Wordlessly agreeing, Nicky leans in for a kiss and relaxes at Simon seemingly perking up. Heading off with a nod, Nicky exits the tavern, preventing him from seeing his boyfriend’s facade fade once more as he contemplates getting a drink or two ahead of his partner before his return from the shops. 

Under the impression that Simon has cheered back up, Nick is off to the races. Dice shop just across the way he begins his short trek when suddenly there’s a buzzing in the back of his mind. The sounds of the crowd around him eerily fade as if his ears are waterlogged, he shakes his head from the sudden discomfort and takes a moment to see if anyone else seems to be affected. Before he’s able to inspect his fellow festival-goers he is shocked to see a strange shop he’s never seen before.

Nestled in between a printing press and some soap store Nicky furrows his brow and wonders how he’s possibly missed the shop before now. He’s been coming for years and knows the layout of the festival like the back of his hand. After waiting a few seconds to see if anyone else is entering he takes a cautious step forward and trips as his body tries to take another without his intent. Nicky blushes as he bumps into a brawny barbarian who laughs him off and ruffles his hair, “Watch where yer -urp goin dude huhuh!” Nicky nods an apology and reflexively takes another backwards step towards the apparently new shop. In a sudden need for an expedited retreat from embarrassment, Nicky quickly rushes towards the door and away from the man bumped who eyes him taking a large swig from a tankard. 

He hasn’t the chance to notice that each step towards the shop that should not be there is quicker than the one that came before. In no time at all he tears open the door and is inside the quaint cluttered shop. While his eyes adjust from the bright fall day behind him, he takes in the scene as well as he can. The small space is filled with some bitter herbal scent and the air seems to crackle with something similar to static. Nicky of course attributes the strange prickle on his skin to nerves and continues browsing the curious shop.

There’s no real discernible theme to the shop, really it seems to be more of an antique store than anything else. In any normal situation Nicky would have already dipped back out, but something in the back of his mind keeps pulling him in deeper. Walking past strange dolls and stranger bottled liquids, the almost ticklish sensation continues to assail him with unconscious step forward. His spacial awareness tells him he has wandered further than should be possible but it’s almost as if he has no option to continue forward. Coming up on a curtained doorway Nicky’s hands move as if possessed to part the blinds and his eyes finally lay upon what supernatural, impossible thing must be drawing him inward. 

It would be the perfect accessory for his costume. It would be the perfect accessory to put on and never take off again. It will be perfect. It will be his. He needs it more than anything. His eyes shine with the ruby tinges reflecting off the talisman as he inches towards the pedestal it lies upon. His hand reaches towards the object of his desires and burns as the prickling sensation comes to a head. He grimaces as it turns to an almost boiling heat before his fingers touch it and the impossibly intense sensation instantly disappears. Nicky jumps due to the sudden almost atmospheric change and before recovering he almost has a heart attack as who must be the shopkeep shouts from behind him, “HELLO HELLO YOUNG NICHOLAS!” 

Nicky scrambles to hide behind the pedestal and inspect the mystery man, his vision momentarily tinged scarlet. As the twinges of whatever static sensation filled him moments ago begin to fade totally, he finds himself suddenly able to realize how strange everything about this is. He gulps as he sees a man dressed as a campy wizard adjusting his glasses, “Well it seems you found what you were looking for eh old sport?” Nicky looks down at the still shimmering necklace in his hands, stuttering incoherently as his mind races to understand. 

In the half second his eyes were off the wizardly shopkeep, the man has crept up behind once more. Now throwing an arm around Nicky he helps him to his feet and begins leading away from the curtained room, “Hup hup- Now you must be very careful with your words now young Nicholas. Do tell Simon I said hello hm?” Nicky again looks at the necklace in hand and, hanging to the rational world by a thread, inquires, “P- Pay? Did I pay for this?”  The wizardly man laughs and pats him on the back, “Oh don’t you worry ah ha ha! Hah.” The wizardly man winks, though even doing so there is an after image of a red eye staring into and through Nicky. The younger man opens his mouth to question the clearly mystic magus of the artifact and his intentions though before he gets a chance the wizard shouts.

“Do have fun at the festival my boy!” with that he brusquely pushes Nicky forward and he finds himself outdoors by a printing press and soap shop. Fearful of turning around to see there is no store there Nicky looks down to find himself wearing the talisman. Grabbing at it he finds the same sensation that filled him minutes ago, though muted. Pleasant. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he is again bumped into, this time by someone whose vision is clearly obscured by a mask, “Sho- Shorry!” Nicky sighs and apologizes, though the physical sensation and awkwardness brings him back to reality. Shaking off anxiety and pushing down whatever it is just happened he heads off to meet his boyfriend at the tavern. 

Returning to find Simon housing his third ale, Nicky quickly downs his own to distract from the strange anxiety that remains persuasive in spite of their reunion. Wishing for distraction, it comes swiftly and in short order the pair are out and about enjoying all the festivities that the faire has to offer, various sloppy meats on a stick, bird shows and jesters, and a firework show to cap it all off. The day soars by in short order and Nicky, wanting to forget about his encounter in that place that wasn't, does just that with shocking, almost supernatural, ease. In fact anything Nicky seems to desire almost falls at his feet. With but an imperceptible red shine in his eyes Nicky finds himself wanting for nothing. The same could not be said for his boyfriend.

After sobering up, his dour jealousy for the superior male form returns and as much as Simon tries to hide it from Nicky, the long day has dulled his ability to disguise anything from his boyfriend. On the long walk back to the car Nicky initially avoids bringing it up, but after an eventful day of getting just about everything he desires, he can’t help but try and get to the root of Simon’s sour attitude. “Can you just tell me what’s up babe?” Groaning as he unlocks the car door the weary man answers, “It’s nothing Nick. I’m just- UGH! I wish I wasn’t so self-concious or had actually gone to the gym or-” turning to see Nicky’s puppy dog eyes for not realzing his discomfort Simon groans and apologies, “Don’t worry it’s fine, I um, I had fun!”

Mind flashing back to the barbarian costume that Simon ultimately decided not to wear, love for his boyfriend overwhelms him and he reaches out to hold his lover’s free hand. Hidden underneath his own cloak, Nicky’s talisman flashes red as the sticky staticky sensation returns stronger than it had been even in the shop. He doesn’t whisper or even coherently think the words as he immediately drifts off to sleep in the passenger seat, but the intention is more than enough for the die to be cast. I wish Nicky had more confidence. I wish he was less self-conscious. I wish he was proud of his body. 

Subconscious wish made Nicky’s ruby red eyes remain closed as he falls into an incredibly deep sleep, leaving Simon alone with his thoughts. He squirms slightly behind the wheel as he suddenly feels warm. Mind too muddled to wallow he feels every inch of his body suddenly buzzing with energy, as if an espresso was being dripped into his veins. Looking at his sleeping boyfriend his thoughts shift immediately from self-criticism and body dysmorphia to a lustful, almost primal hunger for his mate. Nicky’s hand still burning hot on his own despite the blaring aircon, he fights the urge to bring the sleeping man’s hand to his cock as it begins to stir. 

Before they’ve even left the parking lot Simon is overwhelmed with a lust for his partner stronger than anything he has felt in some time. Hitting the open road he chews his lip to distract from his cock doing its best to pop the seam in his pants, constantly he’s choking down horny grunts and groans to prevent the sleeping Nicky from waking up. Arriving at their shared home, he struggles to gracefully exit the car with his rod standing firmer than he assumed it could. Eventually making it out, he goes to pick up his still sleepy passenger. 

With a great deal of effort, Simon successfully stills his hips and quiets his lusts to pick up his sleeping suitor. Baring the urges of his body he realizes that the task is far easier than it should be, Nicky’s not heavy but- Any further inquisition is stilled as he reflexively takes a deep breath of his sleeping lover and is promptly overwhelmed. Nicky’s floral shampoo and deodorant mix with b.o. from an unseasonably warm day in the sun and Simon doesn’t have the strength to quiet the grunt that erupts from him as his cock throbs and prods Nicky in the back. 

Eyes blearily open as the sleeping wizard stirs and stretches in the arms of his lover. “Wha? Si?” The self-conscious Simon, embarrassed at waking up his boyfriend quickly puts him down. He blushes as Nicky steadies himself on his arms, still yawning he chastises his boyfriend for letting him fall asleep, “You didn’t *ahwn* didn haf to do tha babe, *awh*” Rubbing his ruby-tinged eyes he can’t quite make out the finer details of his boyfriend, but he would swear he’s looking further up than he usually does to make eye contact. Simon waves him off, “It’s fine, I’m not even tired really.” 

Leaning down to give him a hug, Simon angles his head into Nicky’s nape he takes another deep breath, this time not even trying to mute the groan that spills forth, “MMmhm, y’know now that you’re up the night’s still young…” Nicky tilts his head before understanding as Simon’s cock throbs once more into his abdomen, shaking off the sleep Nicky’s own package begins to stir as he leads his partner into their home, “Well now that you mention it~”

Nicky starts disrobing when Simon grabs his hand, some small amount of discomfort hiding in his expression as he asks, “Would you mind if I, um, topped? This time?” Nicky tilts his head before nodding cheerily, “feeling frisky huh?” Nicky performatively poses before seemingly doing some mental math and continuing, “it’s been a minute haha! Let me just hop in the shower real quick and then we’ll have some fun!”

Already feeling like he’s overstepping Simon doesn’t mention his desire for Nicky to not shower. Something feral need within him forces forward an urge to tackle and fuck then and there but he pushes such thoughts down and waits as patiently as he can. Preparing to bottom on such a short notice, Nicky quickly strips and his eyes land upon the talisman hanging from his neck once more. Pursing his lips he goes to take the necklace off, though as his fingers clasp the chain he shivers as it sends a sensitive pang searing through him. Why would he take it off. Feeling immediately more alert and needy, Nicky swiftly hops in the shower to prepare for some fun.

Outside the bathroom his boyfriend taps his foot anxiously, sending a deep, impatient echo through the room. Irritated at the sound he stands and quickly disrobes himself. After getting the cloak off, the room is filled with slight groans of effort as he struggles to get off his shirt. It’s almost stuck to his skin? Probably from sweat he thinks but each time he wrenches it up it only frees about an inch more room. His irritation prevents him from noticing how it decidedly hugs new weight on his chest or cuts into apparently thicker biceps.

The sound of the shirt straining fills the room and he grinds his teeth as the prospect of being stuck in the top any longer is unbearable. His hands stretch longer and strain shifts to tearing as he rips the tunic off with a grunt. Exposed to the open air is a sweaty body far more impressive than when the man struggled to get ready that morning. Looking at the torn shirt in his hand he blushes as his eyes trail up his forearms and stare at a bicep that’s begging to be flexed. 

Stepping out wearing only a towel and his talisman, Nicky smiles as he stares at Simon appreciating his arms, “Couldn’t have waited for me to put on the show huh?” Simon turns to see his boyfriend drop the towel and he loses control. Any sign of intelligence in his eyes vacates as he manhandles the man onto the bed. For his part Nicky assumes this to be roleplay, almost giggling from delight as the typically meek man ragdolls him onto the bed. Drool leaks from Simon's maw as he grunts and groans, struggling to free the throbbing package still trapped in his shorts.

Being straddled, Nick takes the chance to carefully observe his boyfriend’s body, appreciating the view that he seldom gets. For the life of him he doesn’t understand why Si got so worked up, with arms like that and a chest- or? When did he start working out actually? Nicky frees a hand to touch the man’s powerful torso and Simon shivers, reflexively rutting into him as his cock growing even harder sends the sound of fabric straining through the room. He’s decidedly firmer, heavier. Nicky sees hair begin to grow on the man’s chest and his mind for half a second hears the echoing laughter of a man he wished to forget. Though there’s no time to think as Simon goes for the tried and true method of just ripping his clothes off.

Eyes wide with wonder, Nicky watches as biceps bulge larger with each tug, shoulder span expanding as his hands yank and tear. His mouth falls open as he sees a cock clearly larger than the one that he knows Simon to have. Gulping as he realizes he’s agreed to take this dick that stretches up to his sternum, Nicky blushes and Simon smirks as he leans down to snarl or whisper something in his lover’s ear. 

Nicky feels pre dripping onto his chest as the larger man leans down, his arms land to either side of the man exposing pits dripping with sweat and just before he speaks or growls, the talisman flashes red. Eyes focused on each other neither man sees some shard of light go from the charm into Simon. His eyes roll back and close before he falls down onto Nicky. Immediately concerned for his love, Nicky struggles to shift the man off him and call for help before he hears Simon begin to snore. His body feels like a furnace atop Nicky’s, a cock still erect continues to throb into his stomach and gush pre in between the two of them. He feels patches of hairs thicker than Simon typically carries scratching him. Nicky tries to force the sleeping oaf off him before quickly tuckering himself out.

It was a long day after all. Nicky yawns as he sees the back of the man lying atop him. It’s not right, too wide, too heavy. His ass is not that large his- ughh. With another shove to wake or move Simon, Nicky feels weariness truly overtake him and his scarlet eyes flutter. The sleeping man moves his arms to hug Nicky tight and the seemingly smaller man has no recourse but to give way, his sides tickled by patches of pit hair dripping with sweat. Nick’s head tips forward a few times as he struggles to stay awake though the sound of his lover’s new snores lull him to sleep.

In the morning Nicky wakes to find himself free from Simon’s grasp, though the man’s sweat stains leave a clear outline around him on the bed and his torso remains sticky from pre. His head aches with a hangover though after the faintest wish that it end, so it does. Groaning he gets to his feet and heads off to shower once more, en route he finds a note from Si: “heyyy babe woke up w so much energy!!! gonna go for a run or to the gym idk :) c u soon thooooo<3”  Nicky  rubs sleep from his eyes and reads the short note a few times over, “hmmm. Weird.” Shrugging he goes about his day as usual, cleaning up, brewing coffee, doing the crossword. Something in the back of his mind says he usually does this with Simon, but that can’t be right? He’d never want to do that. His eye twitches as unbeknownst to him, with each step further away his love has truly begun to change from his unintentional intentions into a man who will never feel shame again.

Simon doesn’t know why he feels so compelled to get up and at ‘em. For years he has given himself ultimatums, scheduled gym sessions, dieted and done his best, but there has not been a moment in his life where he has felt more drive, more purpose than his flight from their shared bed. It’s like he’s a new man with nothing on his mind but getting some meat on his bones. He barely had the wherewithal to leave a note for his lover, as is clear by the lack of eloquence.

Nor is that the only aspect askew from Simon’s typical self. As his anxiety at being perceived shirtless may suggest, the man is always conscious of how he looks. Rarely does a day go by without Simon giving himself a painstaking once over in front of the mirror, be it applying makeup or designing an outfit. To simply throw on a tshirt and leave without even rinsing his face is anathema, and yet after doing just that and throwing on his boyfriend’s sneakers, finding his own far too tight, he’s out the door well before the sun begins to rise. 

His feet fall heavy on the sidewalk as his shabby outfit soon enough finds itself straining. Grimacing at the constriction it becomes clear that these clothes are far too tight and getting tighter with each step it seems. Nevertheless he presses onward until there is stinging pain from his feet struggling against their binds. While he’s been content to ignore or misinterpret the sounds of his own tshirt beginning to fray, as well as the pain that such constriction entails, he doesn’t want to ruin Nicky’s shoes. And so scrambling for somewhere to sit down he hops on a bench and begins to struggle with the laces.

Simon’s toes struggle against frontal fabric while the shoes’ tongues press into laces that simply must be cutting into the tops of his feet. Simon’s mind is clearly slowing down as he takes a few seconds too long to simply watch his feet expand beyond containment before, with a gasp, pain jogs him into action. At first he goes to untie them before he’s unable to recall precisely how to do that. Immediately switching to the task already begun by his growing feet he reaches in and simply tears each shoe in two.

His arms bulge with the effort involved in splitting them in twain, biceps that never were begin to appear and push his short sleeves to their limit as new muscle presses onto his chest. Looking down at his hands, decidedly more masc, the man can do nothing but observe his new form as it begins to extol an untenable price on his mind. With each new manly aspect so too will the cogs of his mind continue to slow.

Looking at his boyfriend's shredded shoes, Simon is immediately guilty though he releases a contented sigh as his feet flex free from their confines. His newly one track mind is then thrown off-course and his eyes narrow at the feet bare on cold concrete. They were not simply chafing or something reasonable of the sort, they are too big. They’re larger than his shoes and seem to still be growing larger. And wait- Why did he leave the house without wearing socks!? 

Simon shakes his head to try and focus on one question at a time, though before peace comes there is a searing pain from his legs as his changes continue upward. Calves burst from his bony legs while athletic shorts are clearly strained by thighs that any man would kill for. Thick, perhaps barbarous, curls begin to issue forth from any pore exposed as he clutches with his newly thicker hands into muscle still hardening, still pumping larger. 

Grunting loudly, Simon falls off the bench as ever spreading changes spread towards his glutes. His pert ass hardens and grows to a size that would attract attention no matter what he wears to try and hide it under. His whole lower body cramps with growth as his legs extend, wider feet scratching into dirt as calves and thighs lengthen while his pulse continues to race from the shock of this impossible transformation. Struggling with the new weight of self, his rougher hands pressed into the ground his duller mind is unable to reconcile what is happening to him with reality. The sound of blood rushing through his ears mutes the world around him and at the slightest lapse he simply forgets.

“Why am I on my hands?” Through bleary eyes he stares at hands too wide, fingers longer and thicker. He trails upward and almost scoffs as he sees forearms and biceps not nearly as defined as they should be, after another moment mouth agog he guffaws as he presumes to have put one and one together, “Oh ahuhuh- I must be workin’ out here?” Licking his lips as he is filled with an otherworldly surge of energy, Simon gets started following one of the most common impulses that is to evermore make itself at home in his mind. He starts doing some push ups.

Immediately do his biceps burn with effort as they put on weight at an impossible rate. Simon grunts with the effort of taking the wheel and commanding his body to be more powerful. His heart pounds in his chest as, just like every piece of fabric before, his shirt quickly gives way outright to the progress of growth. To the strengthening of self. With each dip towards the earth his pecs come closer to touching the cold soil before bouncing as his powerful arms rocket him back upwards with precision. 

Simon continues exercising until his arms burn as numb as his new, slower mind. Not only does muscle continue to pack on with every punch upwards, but his impressive form is just as quickly patterned with burgeoning body hair. Sweat drips down onto a chest rapidly peppered with curls and steams off a back which holds hair slowly rising from his lightly furred ass. Sweaty steam trails upwards from widening shoulders and bulky traps into the cold autumn air as heavy breath mists from behind gnashing teeth. Nowhere does the hair grow thicker than under his powerful arms as a jungle of hair grows outward from his pits and sends distinct trails of sweat down his trunk like biceps and across his hulking pecs.

Body hair and brawn are not the only decidedly improved aspects of the man either. Just as he continues to pack on muscle with each thrust upwards, so too is his crotch pulled closer to the ground with every descent. His briefs struggle against a package rapidly growing beyond any tenable containment. Balls bulge larger to supply his impressive form with the hormones required for the growth he demands of it, pubes cascading upward and outward as they strive to assert that Simon’s masculinity shall never be in question. 

So too does his cock throb and push against the confines of his underwear enough to be plainly visible. Not only from growing erect as his heart races, but from expanding to be the most impressive rod either he or his lover have ever seen. With the slightest glance down to see his new cock, he smirks and shivers as he imagines topping Nicky with that beast. 

This of course sends such a powerful surge of lust through him that the bulging cock immediately bursts free from the briefs outright, leaving him clad in nothing. His cock, now free, drips pre onto the earth as he continues working out a few moments longer in the buff, plain for anyone to see were the streets not thankfully empty. Guffawing to himself after thrusting his new cock into the ground a few times in the process of pushing up, Simon’s new bovine mind eventually realizes he’s fully nude and public and quickly stumbles to his feet. “Oh shit huhuh-” He stands and scratches the back of his head and tries to plan some form of escape, in the process he flexes his bicep and can’t help but smirk as he sees the veins bulging along its impressive length.

Feeling his still turgid cock bounce with every slight movement, he continues laughing before looking down to see shredded clothes scattered at his colossal feet. Seeing the pile of clothes outgrown, Simon does everything short of drooling as he for the first time takes in his new form. Massive hands trail across padded muscle as the urgency of covering his dick fades from his mind. 

When his sweaty pecs begin to glimmer from the rising sun he is immediately thrown back into awareness of his active criminal behavior. Checking the coast is clear once more, he pauses for a moment wondering what the big deal is about public nudity before being chastised by some internal Nicky. Simon turns back to the bench and laughs dumbly as he sees his gym bag lying discarded.

Pouncing like an animal, he quickly tears into and retrieves shorts that will surely leave nothing to the imagination. Nevertheless he throws them on and grimaces as they tightly hug his ass and package. Seeing shirts thrown to the side he scratches his face and his face quivers as he feels stubble grace it for the first time. He purses his lips just to feel a moustache scratch his nose and absolutely disregards the idea that he needs a shirt. Why would he cover up anything beyond what is necessary. Surely the world would be more than grateful at the chance to see his form he asserts, bouncing his pecs and chuckling as he does so.

Finding himself with nothing to do besides appreciate how built he truly is now, Simon uses his phone as a mirror to inspect every angle and uses whatever sparing space in his mind to keep track of the best ones. The massive man shivers as the sweaty steam rising from him briefly glimmers red, making it clear that Nicky’s will has been enacted on his lover and announcing the fulfillment of his will. Nevermore will he be self-conscious, quite the opposite in fact. As morning commuters begin their grind many offer a passing glance to the by all accounts himbo drooling at his own reflection, and never does one escape without receiving a wink or flex from the man.

When a pair of jocks eye him with jealousy on the way to class he holds back laughter, the idea that not twenty-four hours ago he was just like them, smaller even, is inconceivable to the new man. Though to be fair, much now lies beyond the realm of conceivability for the man. He thinks about offering some tips to the pair though refrains as something needles him far, far in the back of his simple mind. There was something he was supposed to do yeah?

Furrowing his brow in as deep a concentration as he can muster, Simon’s eyes close and his hands clench at his head as he tries to think. Laundry? Huhuh as if- Meal prep? Then why would he be out here? Simon starts groaning in frustration and tapping his larger, still bare, foot on the sidewalk. Ephemeral ideas he might have latched onto in a life before this one drift past before he gives up and sits down, crossing his arms. The bench creaks under his new weight as he almost petulantly reclines, head back and eyes blank.

Suddenly he jolts up and almost hits himself for not doing the obvious straight away. Obviously Nicky’ll know what to do! His clumsy hands struggle to get his phone from the pocket of his shorts and he smiles at the lock screen, a picture of Nicky being smothered by his massive arms. Simon then squints and bites his tongue in concentration as now even this requires some degree of effort. Quickly enough he dials up his beau and almost vibrates from the excitement of hearing his voice. 

Back at home Nicky is playing a game though squeezes the phone in his headset as he sees Simon calling, “Hey baby? What’s up, early start today huh?” Would that he had a tail to wag, Simon laughs and answers, “ha uhhh, yeah somethin’ like that- uhhhhh. Yo did you uh, know what I was plannin’ on doing this morning?” Nicky tilts his head, for a moment he swears something is off with his boyfriend’s voice. Then his eyes go blank and his vision flickers red before, no it’s always been like that? Nicky swears something about his long hours at the gym over the years made him drop a few octaves but that’s neither here nor there. 

Nicky shakes off this small stupor, “Yeah Si, you said you were going to the gym no?” an eye twitches, “y’know, like usual?” Excitement once more sets fire in Simon’s veins as he nods and laughs at himself for forgetting such a simple routine, “Ahhh what would I do without you babe huhuh!” He kisses his cellphone and winks at a woman walking her dog who was giving him a side-eye. “Well you have fun dude! Gonna go get a MASSIVE pump in!” Nicky wryly grins and rolls his eyes, “you too, you too b, see you later-” With that he gets back to the game, intentionally ignoring the crimson buzzing at the back of his mind as both men set off to tackle the obstacles of the day, totally unaware of the lives they are to unintentionally change evermore. 

Poll Results:

Grow up you asshole: 36.1%

Getting flamed in game Nicky’s clapback  teaches a gamer to be a real man (Bear/Dilf TF) 

Man you always play him: 22%

Well intentioned words bring his gamer friend far closer in mind, body, and spirit to his favorite character- Fictional character TF

Sorry for the backwash: 21.2%

Accidentally sharing a drink causes his himbofication to spread 

Let’s get pumped: 20.7%

Simon finds work as a personal trainer and is far more effective than he has any right to be 

[stave-writes]

Sunday Oak x GN!Reader

Headcanons

A/N: I am SICK!!! of people making Sunday out to be an asshole who would cut you off from everything and everyone just to be selfish, especially if it makes you depressed. Sunday has more love in his heart for everyone and would let you break his heart just to see your smile, this man is sweeter than sugar. Sunday defender #1 is me fight me in my asks I'll win I've been a Zane MyStreet defender before he was popular  💯 💯 💯 💯 💯

Sunday is a gentle lover, he's always been delicate with you. Ghosting touches over the back of your hand, kisses like the brush of a feather on skin and smiles so soft it's hard to even see them when he locks eyes with you across a room. He's besotted with you, no matter what you do. The worst pain you could ever cause him is your suffering, and refusing to let him ease it for you. Hearing you cry makes his heart ache more than any of his own suffering, and he'll do anything he can to soothe you when you're struggling. Sunday sometimes finds it hard to understand what you want or need, being raised in such a way his own needs come second, so when you insist on looking after him...it's odd. He's never been his own first priority before, and it scares him a little. What if he desires too much? What if he's an issue for you? He loves you too much to risk causing you any amount of strife, so you have to beg him to be a burden. Beg him to be selfish. When Sunday is allowed to be selfish, it's cute. He'll plead with you to curl up in bed with him and sleep "Just a little longer, my love?" with those golden eyes of his shining in the early morning light. One arm will lay over you as he presses his face against your neck or back, unable to keep himself from chuckling due to just how lucky he feels having you right here in his arms. He couldn't ask for more of a blessing in love than to be able to behold you in all your glory (even if said glory is when you're drooling in your sleep or snoring so loud you could wake the dead). One of his "guilty" pleasures (damn catholic angel) is having you fussing over his piercings. He feels almost special when you toy with the little gold studs in his ear or the long dangling ornaments he likes to decorate his wings with. Sometimes he'll even ask you to pick which ones he should wear for the day and buy you something to match. If you don't wear jewellery, it'll be something like a matching set of shirt cuffs or a little keychain to match him. Anything he can do to spoil you just a bit. I'm a clipped-wing Sunday truther and so when he finally feels vulnerable enough, the priest-like coat is off and his clipped wing is shown to you, slightly mangled and clearly still sore and sensitive when you try to brush your fingers along it. You can see the twinge of shame and embarrassment run through him as you regard his incomplete self, the self left destroyed by the Dreammaster. Yet, if you tell him you still find him beautiful? He'll smile. He'll wrap you tight in his arms and cry into your shoulder, so relieved you aren't disgusted by him. That he isn't broken or unlovable, he's just...yours. Being able to read your thoughts means Sunday likes to tease you very lovingly when you're comfortable, he'll reiterate what you just thought out loud, or even listen to what you're thinking before buying you the exact thing you wanted and if you ask, he'll jokingly mention "Oh, a little birdie thought you'd like it." Before grinning and turning away, one arm settled on your waist or shoulder as he enjoyed your warmth.

[marcsburnerphone]

And they were roomates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: kissing, a little tinsy bit angsty, flirtatious banter.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7 - part 8 - Part 9 - part 10

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

“Why’re you putting these up anyway?” You say standing at the bottom of the ladder that John is currently stood on, installing cameras he purchased for outside your home.

“Cause i’ll have to return to work this weekend and i’d like to make sure you’re safe.” you smile to yourself at his protective nature.

“I’ve lived here for ages and nothing has ever happened.” you reassure him as he descends the ladder.

“It’s for my peace of mind.” he says quietly between the two of you in the spring air.

“Okay.” you reply as he places a kiss on your forehead.

“Onto the next corner.” he says gathering the ladder, walking to the other side of the house as his tool belt clings and clangs.

—------------

“Anything you can tell me about this next mission you’re going on?” you ask as the both of you lay on the couch.

“I leave on Sunday and don't know when I'll return, that's all.” He tries to make his deep gruff voice soft it’s a cute attempt. He knew this was going to be the hard part for both of you. You want him to stay and he doesn’t want to go but duty calls.

“Mmm.” you breathe into his chest, trying to inhale him, commit his scent to memory sure it’ll linger but this is straight from the source.

“I'll call you when I can.”

“I thought you weren't allowed to bring a personal phone, that’s what Gaz told me.” you rest your chin on his chest looking up at him.

“Gaz isn’t the captain.” he says, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Ah abuse of power is it.” You quip. 

“If that’s what it takes to reach you.” You look away not being able to contain your blush after that as if he couldn’t feel your heartbeat quicken.

He lifts your chin back up, leaning down almost straining his neck for a kiss. Of course this kiss turns into more, you move further up the couch straddling his waist you’re hungry for him, for his kisses, groans, deep inhales of air, all of it. He’s flipped the two of you over pinning you beneath him with almost half his weight.

“John, why’re you teasing me?” You whimper.

“Not teasing, takin ma time.” 

He kisses down your throat, over your pulse to your collarbone ridding you of your shirt tossing it somewhere to be picked up later. This has been a common occurrence recently thing is he won’t fuck you. No, he will do everything else and give you absolutely anything you want except well what you want. 

“John.” You say as he starts to take your pants off.

“Yeah doll?” He slows the movement of his fingers and simply rests them on your hips.

“Why- why won’t you- you know fuck me?” So you did notice.

“Well because I- I actually-“ he’s a stuttering mess for the first time since you’ve met. 

“Do you not want to?” You begin as you sit up.

“Of course I do, believe me, but I want to savor you in every single way I can, you're irresistible as you are if I have you the way I want it’s all I’ll think about whilst also trying to not get killed.” He admits while comfortingly rubbing your thigh.

“Oh, that’s actually quite hot.” You feel a little bad, I mean who are you to demand something that’s literally a part of him.

“When I’m back I promise I'll give you my cock like you so desperately want.” Well damn.

——————

“Do you guys share a room wherever these missions are?” You ask as he dices up tomatoes for your antipasto Salad. 

“Em there’s rarely time for sleep but sometimes depending where we are we do and other times we don’t. Most times there aren’t even rooms there’s tents or simply no sleep.” He answers before tossing them into the large bowl beside his cutting board as you hum in understanding.

You didn’t know he knew had to cook, well sort of. He can grill, but that’s something that you cannot. So recently he’s been showing you how to smoke and grill different meats, today is what he said was the best of them all and longest cooking time, brisket. 

“Do they snore?” You ask as he laughs at your random questions.

“Yeah actually soap snores like a fucking pig, it’s horrible.” Now it’s your turn to laugh as he nods towards the door for you to follow him outside so he can check on the meat.

“Do I snore?” you ask sheepishly. He smiles looking over his shoulder at you, your arms crossed across your chest to make up for your lack of a sweater. When he sees you this way, so comfortable and raw, hair in your face and pajamas at 6PM, it’s everything and more. 

“You do.” your eyes go wide.

“No, do I really?” you seem so genuinely concerned.

“Doll everynight i've got to spend beside you has been the deepest and best sleep of my life, if you snore I've got no idea.” 

“Thank goodness.” You sigh out as he approaches you.

“Ready to eat?” He asks brushing hair from your face. 

“Yes.” 

Dinner is more talking than eating on your behalf, you want to soak up every second with him that you can. He listens intently wishing his brain was a recording machine so he could play it back when he needed to feel sane. 

“God John that was so good.” You say half an hour after he’s already finished his meal which was also his third serving. 

“I’m glad, you always cook. I'm happy to be able to provide you with this one thing.” 

“You’ve provided me with much more than this one thing.” You say with a soft smile, it’s so sweet it nearly knocks him breathless.

“I don’t want you to leave.” You admit.

“I know, doll.” He reaches across the table for your hand holding it firmly but not tightly as he looks away.

“But I know you have too.” His eyes return to yours.

“How will I spend my days without thee John Price? What will I do?” You say it over dramatically.

“Nothing too risky I hope.” He replies, eyes crinkling at the corner.

“Maybe I’ll skydive.” You tease.

“Please don’t.” 

“Can’t promise.” You joke.

“You’re going to give me more gray hairs.” He said showing you the few already on his head.

“That’s exactly what I want, I love the grays.” And he loves you, but he can’t bring himself to admit it although it isn’t even something he can try to rid himself of at this point it has consumed him whole, sprouting colorful and beautiful things inside him.

“Movie time my darling up we go.” He says as he stands motioning for you to do also. 

This is something that has become ritual, dinner then movie. It’s the perfect unwinding time although sometimes most times it turns into more.

“You pick?” You say as you hand him the remote, getting comfortable at his side tucking your head beneath his big arm. 

“You’ll fall asleep half way through this.” He looks down at your already drooping eyes.

“No I won’t.” 

“You will.” He plays a show you two had begun the other week as he settles in more comfortably moving one of your legs to rest across him. 

He’s laughing unaware of just about everything as his whole body shakes, that’s until he notices you’re not and to his not so own surprise you’re passed out cold. 

——————

When you wake it’s sometime deep into the night. The tv shows its rest screen and John is sleeping. Unfortunately after a weak attempt at falling asleep you’ve decided you're no longer tired so you just lay there, hand beneath John’s shirt rising and falling with every breath he takes. The only noise to be heard is his heartbeat and the clock ticking. 

You begin to overthink the more time passes, you’ll be alone in just two days. The comfort and protection John brings you will be miles away. This warmth that fulfills your soul won’t be in your home any longer. It scares you, how much you want him around how much you love him. You wonder if this is as hard for him as it is for you or if it’s something he’s gotten used to. 

It’s overbearing, too much. You untangle yourself from him, sliding your leg over his body and onto the floor, stepping as lightly as you can onto solid ground.

You tiptoe to the kitchen and open the fridge for water. You lean against the counter before taking a sip out of the bottle breathing deeply to calm your racing heart. You’re zoned out completely so much that you don’t notice John come into the kitchen till he’s placing his hands on your hips. 

“You scared me.” You jump slightly as he offers you a sleepy smile. 

“What’re you doing awake?” 

“Can’t sleep.” You say not meeting his eyes.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He asks. 

“thought you’d need as much good sleep as possible.” You say quietly, leaning your head on his chest.

“That’s not as important as you.” He rubs a firm hand onto your back pulling you close. He holds you like this for what seems like eternity and you relish in it.

“I’m going to paint for a little, please go lay back down.” He looks exhausted as you finally bring your eyes to him. 

“Come paint in my room.” He is tired but he’d rather be sleep deprived than have you anywhere but next to him. 

“What? You’re crazy, all my stuff is in the sun room.” You say with a small laugh.

“Then I’ll move it, I can��t sleep when you’re more than 5 feet away from me.” 

“Okay.” You know he won’t give up so you’ve learned to give in.

You simply watch as he picks up the heavy canvas and its easel hauling it across the house as you grab your brushes and paints and follow. 

He sets it dangerously close to his side of the bed, he even moves the nightstand over to the corner to ensure you have enough room. 

“Perfect.” He says after pulling his desk chair out of his office and over to it.

“Yeah actually it kinda is.” You smile. 

“Well, have at it.” He says giving you a firm kiss then walking over to the bed and getting comfortable. You sit in his very big but very comfortable desk chair and begin to mix colors in the small pallet that rests on your thigh.

“Goodnight.” He says pulling the chair towards him with an outstretched arm for one more kiss which you happily give. 

“Night.” 

—————

Released an hour early as a little surprise

It’s my best lol it’ll get better just getting back into my groove:)

As always love ya!!!

————-

@beebeechaos @ttsbaby01 @arminarlertssword @quakeroaksguy @rafaelacallinybbay @bumblebeesfromvenus @glitterypirateduck @midnights-song @lovelythingsinternal @fruitymoonbeams-blog @kkaaaagt @kit-williams @enfppuff @kythefangirl25 @eviltheleon @here4thespice @dclore22 @raethethey @waves-against-a-cliff @novausstuff @darling006 @vampirekilmerfic @Dreams-of-qian-qian @spngingerbread21 @thepumpkinqueen93 @copiasratscheese @youdontknowe @spyderdoll @angels-gonna-play @viisgrave @lieutenantlashfaz @sunndust @beckythecatqueen-blog @aoioozora @o-birdseed-o @mothmothmothmothmothmoth @ihateuguys @oversensitivitea @spicyspicyliving

[batsplat]

Wait what’s the tea on Valentino’s sleep patterns 👀👀 (fellow insomniac / recent motogp fan always looking for more representation)

oh yeah, if you're looking for representation for poor sleeping habits you've very much come to the right place. his sleep patterns are pretty remarkable you have to say. way too nocturnal for a professional athlete, reliant on naps to get through the race weekend, all power to him for somehow making that work and winning all those titles. pretty sure I've read somewhere that he's still known for doing sim races at ungodly hours these days, just how he lives his life

tbh I can't remember off the top of my head where I'd actually read about his sleeping patterns, but I've cobbled together a decent selection of quotes from the usual sources. the most interesting stuff he's said on the topic is in his autobiography - where he goes into rather a lot of detail about his preference for the night. given that it's quite a lengthy passage, I've chucked it under the cut. he frames his nocturnal inclination as not only suiting his natural body clock better, but also as a way of escaping the rest of the world - of being able to move around in peace and silence and anonymity. plus, he liked to spend his nights in the garage to... *pinches bridge of nose* have some special personal time with his bike, when it was just the two of them. take that as you will

before that, let's just start with a few more general descriptions of his sleeping patterns. from early in his career, jerez 1998 (from oxley's vr files):

The camper only holds two people, but that's okay. I don't like my dad to sleep with me, because when it gets to ten o'clock he starts saying: "Vale, Vale, got to bed!", but I can't go to sleep before one or two. We did share a motorhome in '96 and it made life very, very difficult for me.

and about brno 1999 (from oxley's vr files):

On weekends when I'm not racing, I never go to bed before six or seven on Sunday morning. If it's a party, maybe even later, but going to bed at six in the morning is quite normal for me! Even when I was 14 I used to go to bed at 4am. Quite often I'd be riding around the local minimoto tracks until after midnight! If I go to sleep at 11 or 12 I just lie there, my eyes wide open. Maybe I would be good for 24-hour racing!

and then a few years into his premier class career, valentino says the following (x):

'I have a lot of energy after 2am,' Rossi agreed. 'I like to sleep in the morning. I have some problems at the start of the day.'

we've also got a description of crew chief jb's influence in terms of making sure valentino wasn't slacking off by sleeping in (from oxley's vr files):

Burgess' talents aren't restricted to getting the best out of a 500. The Aussie has been in GPs for decades and knows how to extract the best from riders as well. He expects 100 per cent commitment both on the track and in the pits, and when he doesn't get that, he gives 'em hell. Some other crew chiefs won't do that - they're too overawed by their riders' superstardom. JB laid down the law last summer when late-sleeper Rossi turned up late for practice. Rossi suggested that in future one of the crew should be despatched to his motorhome each morning to make sure he was out of bed. No way, said Burgess, I'll be there to give you your wake-up call. Rossi's not overslept since.

and from 2001, in valentino's own words:

Q: Tell us about your sleeping habits, JB has had to wake you a few times for practice... VR: I never go to bed before 1 o'clock, and there's no limit on when I go to bed, but even when I go to sleep very late I always wake up at 8.30, though when I do wake up I always have a big confusion for the first five minutes, then after that I remember: "Oh fuck, I'm at world grand prix!" So I have a shower and then I'm okay. I never get up too close to riding time because the 500 is a dangerous bike so it's necessary to be awake when you climb aboard. Back in the afternoon after practice at four or five o'clock I'll sleep for another hour.

only semi-related but valentino's also talked about... you know, this generational shift - where the sport has become more professionalised, which is reflected in certain lifestyle changes (from barker's rossi biography):

"The next generation is always stronger. They are more professional, they put more effort in, they make a perfect life, they eat in a good way, they don't drink, they go to sleep early, they train every day from the morning to the night... I come from an era where the riders drank beer and smoked cigarettes!"

also plenty of talk of jet lag obviously... doesn't struggle with it too much headed westwards because he says he basically lives on american time anyway. the other direction is tougher, but in his youth he decided that he might as well try to continue living on italian time. so he essentially went racing at 5 in the morning (about phillip island 1998, from oxley's vr files):

I don't have a problem with jet lag, I always sleep. Last year in Indonesia I stayed on Italian time for the whole grand prix - so I was racing at five in the morning! But the difference is too great to do that in Australia.

how on earth are you racing motorcycles like that. mind you, he won that 1997 indonesia race

so yeah. king of disordered sleeping. given the nature of motogp schedules and how they do kind of require you to actually get up in the mornings, congrats to him for being remotely functional during race weekends. crazy how he even won the odd race

and here's the autobiography passage:

My day, usually, begins in the afternoon. It’s as if I exist inside my own personal time zone. I live at night, because I love the night. Now, this might make you think I do goodness-knows-what in the wee hours, or that I don’t live the life of a professional athlete. It’s true, I don’t live the life of an athlete in the traditional sense — early to bed, early to rise and all that — but this does not mean that I’m not careful about what I eat and drink or that I don’t train. In fact, I train a lot, both in the gym and on the bike. It’s just that I go to the gym in the afternoon, rather than the morning. Equally, when I’m training on the bike, down at the quarry, I always go in the afternoon, never at nine o'clock in the morning. My body has a certain type of metabolism. It is used to living according to a different body clock. That’s why, even if I’m travelling all over the world, I don’t experience jet lag and I rarely go to bed before 3 a.m. It’s much more likely that I’m just tucking into bed as people are leaving for work. As I say, I have a special relationship with the night. I like moving in it, living in it, thinking in it, relaxing in it. The night fascinates me, because it’s the period of least confusion. The world calms down, it goes quiet. And, besides, I’m Valentino Rossi. I’m wanted... I'm a fugitive. Yes, I’m always running away from my _ beloved countrymen. The Italians. I’m proud to be Italian, I'm proud of our merits and I regret our shortcomings. Italians are exceptional people. In every way. Even when they start loving you. Because that’s actually when problems can arise — if it’s you that the Italian falls in love with. Italian people are warm, empathetic, spontaneous. But they can also be excessive, oppressive and disrespectful. I don’t know who said that Italians will forgive everything except for success. Whoever it was, they were right. Because it’s absolutely true. After the 1997 season, I could tell I was becoming popular. Year after year, that popularity turned into fully fledged love. They’re in love with me now and, as a result, since the 2004 season, I’ve been a man on the run. And there’s no escape, no end in sight, because wherever I go they find me. There are simple things, the little pleasures in life, which I simply can’t engage in when I’m back in Italy. I can’t go to the bar and have a cappuccino, because I would not be able to drink it. To be fair, I can do it in Tavullia, but that's the only place. If I go more than a few kilometres in any direction from the centre of town, that's it, everything changes and I become, once again, a hunted man. I can’t walk into a store, look at something and decide what I want to buy. In fact, I can’t stop anywhere, not even at a petrol station. If I stop, I’m screwed. Somebody will recognise me (Italians are exceptionally good at recognising people), make a lot of noise, call other people and then, before I know it, I’ve been swallowed up by the crowd. If I schedule a meeting with someone, we have to meet in a secret, out-of-the-way location and, even then, we can't linger. I can't go to a restaurant if there are too many people inside. And if I do go, I can't go at a normal time, say eight o'clock. I have to go later, much later, when people are leaving. And I can't sit where I like, I have to hide away in a corner, in the shadows. As for places like cinemas or the beach, forget about it. They are just always off-limits.

Having said that, I do mix with people. I do it because I like doing it. It’s just that I wish I could do it as a normal person, because, deep down, I am a normal human being. This is part of the reason why I have to live at night. It would be that much tougher during the day, with all those people about. Plus, I don’t like the traffic, the chaos, the noise, all those people running all over the place, stressed out and out of breath. The night is different. Everything is softer, there are fewer people around and you are much more free. It’s like a parallel dimension. The world is different at night. Everything is different. That’s why I’ve assimilated the lyrics of a song by the Italian artist Jovanotti, “Gente. della notte” (“People of the night”). It has become my personal anthem. Jovanotti is one of my favourite singers and I find myself agreeing with him on most things. I love his work. What else can I say? The night is my reality. And I don’t change just because Grands Prix are scheduled during the day. My way of being and living is reflected in what I do during races. I don’t really change. Obviously, I don’t go to bed at dawn, but let’s just say that when I do, finally, go to bed, there aren’t many people around. Everything is better at night in the paddock. There is silence, the people _ have disappeared and, with them, the chaos. I can wander around freely, most of all I can enjoy the empty pit area and my bike. Yes, my bike. Because at night I often slip into the team garage. At some races I do it every single night, because I love being with my bike. My night-time activities can be traced back to the years racing in 125cc, and are directly tied to my passion for aesthetics and the stickers, which would later become my obsession. I don’t leave anything to chance'when it comes to choosing the colour or the stickers for my bike. That’s why I’ve always been central to any and all discussions when we were deciding the aesthetics of my racing bikes. I’ve done it always, with every bike, at every level, with every team. And, naturally, I still do it today. Nobody has ever been allowed to attach a single sticker to my bike, unless it was the logo of a technical sponsor. Until a few years ago I was totally inflexible about this. Now, Roby takes care of the number: he attaches it because then he needs to cover it in transparent paint. But apart - from -this, which is primarily a technical procedure anyway, I take care of everything else to do with the stickers. And this takes time and planning, which is why I started going to the garage at night. During the day it is packed with people. There are mechanics, technicians and others around. I would just get in the way, if I wanted to get near the bike just to check the stickers. As I got older and progressed from 125 to 250 and then to 500 and on to MotoGP, I maintained that passion for aesthetics and stickers, as well as the habit of dropping in on the team garage at night. I enjoy the bike during the day _ obviously, but my relationship with the bike is so special that I can spend hours with it, just looking and admiring it, making sure that everything is in order. Those are very personal moments which I find difficult to describe. The Japanese guys, both the executives but also the engineers never knew this, not the guys at Honda, not the ones at Yamaha. I don’t think they would really understand. They would probably view it as a waste of time, since I don’t actually do anything concrete. I never touch anything to do with the bike itself, beyond, obviously, the stickers. And yet I find it hard to explain to an engineer that I enjoy simply being near the bike, even when I’m not doing anything. It’s a complicated concept to explain: the risk is that people will think that you're crazy.

During the day everything happens so quickly, frenetically, neurotically. However, there is a sacrosanct moment when I need to step away and isolate myself. Once my commitment to the team is over, usually around 5.30 p.m., I retire to my motorhome, relax and take a nap. It usually lasts a couple hours and then I go out. There’s always something to do after dinner. Of course, the range of options depends on how many friends are around. I really start enjoying the paddock around ten o'clock at night. Before going to sleep I check on the bike again and then I go into the team motorhome, which serves as an office. Now that I’m at Yamaha, I have an office all to myself. That’s where I keep all my race gear. I do this for two reasons. My own personal motorhome is an absolute mess, nothing more fits in there and I probably couldn’t find anything amid all the junk. Plus, the office is where I change into my racing suit before going out on to the track. Thus, at night, after going to the pits to see the bike, I go to make sure that all my stuff is where it should be: gloves, suit, socks, boots . . . everything needs to be perfect, because I just don’t have time in the morning to hunt around for stuff. Thus, each morning I have to follow a very precise routine. I’m like a robot, everything is the same each day. Because the truth is that I need to be like clockwork. I just don’t have the time to think. Somebody generally comes to wake me up — usually it’s Jeremy, because he doesn’t trust my ability to wake up on my own! I then get up, wash my face (my eyes are still shut at this point) and try to stay awake as I ride the scooter from the motorhome to the pits. I then go up to the office and get dressed. There too everything is done mechanically. It takes the slightest hiccup to throw everything off, forcing me to be late to the testing.

"I find it hard to explain to an engineer that I enjoy simply being near the bike, even when I’m not doing anything. it’s a complicated concept to explain: the risk is that people will think that you're crazy" well -

[toomuchracket]

caffeine overload (barista matty x reader smut)

promptober. this is so soft!! i almost cried writing!! enjoy <3

you wake up to an aching body and an empty bed.

it's the latter that bugs you most, though - it's 10am on a sunday, matty's day off, you're in his bed, and he's nowhere to be found. wincing as you do, you reach towards his side of the bed, only to discover the sheets - while rumpled - are cold; he's been up for a while.

bastard. what's the point of having a boyfriend with nice arms if you can't wake up in them?

fuck it. you might as well get up and find him. plus, your throat is dry, the kind of soreness that can only be achieved by drinking copious amounts of vodka-based concoctions, the kind of soreness that can only be alleviated by drinking a pint of cold water in one go. with great effort, you pull yourself out of bed and matty's sweatshirt over your head, shuffling out of the bedroom at a snail's pace. when you reach the hallway, you speed up slightly as the smell of fresh coffee wafts its way to you from the kitchen, the promise of both caffeine and matty spurring you on.

stepping onto the tiled floor in bare feet makes you hiss, which in turn makes matty look up. he's at the breakfast bar, reading a book - one you gave to him in recommendation, actually - and he smiles softly as soon as he sees you. god, he's beautiful. “hi, baby,” his voice is even softer than his face. “y’alright?”

“no.”

“no?” he looks panicked, rushing to you and gently holding your face. “you're not feeling well?”

“no, i don't even have a headache,” you wrap your arms around his waist, smushing your face into him. “i'm not alright because you weren't in bed when i woke up,” tilting your head, you give him the sad eyes - slight overkill, maybe, but you secretly love playing into the girlfriend role like this. “wanted a cuddle.”

“oh, darling,” matty's face softens again, and he moves his arms around your shoulders to hug you properly. “m'sorry, sweet girl. i just figured you'd maybe want to sleep for a while, and i could go and make coffee for you waking up.”

you pull back slightly, brows raised in interest. “is there coffee for me?”

he kisses your nose. “coffee and a cookie in the oven.”

“you're a dream, healy.”

“i try. sit down, darling, i'll get you breakfast,” matty drops a kiss onto the top of your head as you oblige, perching yourself on a stool while he faffs about with the fancy coffee machine you think is both slightly pointless (his coffee shop is literally downstairs) and scary to use by yourself (why on earth are there so many buttons?). “so,” he slides you a big glass of water, which you gulp down eagerly. “how are you genuinely feeling this morning?”

“so, so tired,” as if to prove your point, you yawn. “but my head is fine, and i don't feel pukey. my limbs are aching, though. like, proper sore.”

“well, that's what happens when you dance for three straight hours, sweetheart.”

the smile in his voice is obvious. you glare at his (very nice-looking) back. “m'never going anywhere run by your friends ever again.”

“nah, ross said you and the girls were great fun. you're welcome back anytime, apparently.”

still, you grumble. “can't believe you didn't tell me it was his bar,” you sip your water. “or that he was so attractive. i mean, really, one friend group should not contain so many good-looking people. s'unfair.”

matty cackles. “i'm gonna tell the girls you said that.”

“no, they agreed. we had this discussion yesterday. they're all in love with ross, now.”

he winces. “i don't think any of them would be able to handle ross,” matty turns to face you. “even you might struggle, to be honest.”

your eyes widen. “oh, you mean, like…?”

“oh, yeah. he's a proper dom, that one,” matty winks. “not like either of us.”

interesting. “have the two of you ever-”

“fucked? nah.”

you roll your eyes. “i was gonna say shared someone, but alright.”

“haven't done that either,” the oven beeps, and matty carefully removes the delicious-smelling chocolate-chip treat, before smirking at you. “why? you interested?”

you shrug. “maybe. if everyone wants to. i don't mind.”

“i can ask him - careful with that, it's hot,” your boyfriend slides the cookie and a set of cutlery to you, which you excitedly thank him for before tucking in. “he thinks you're fit, so he might be up for it.”

“he does?”

“told me last night that he ‘understands why i've been spending all my time with you,’” matty smiles, pouring espresso and oat milk into a mug. “you know, when you phoned me at half 11 to come and pick you up because you missed me too much.”

“shut up,” you can feel your cheeks burning. “too many people were ordering espresso martinis. it made me miss you.”

he reaches across to caress your cheek. “oh, my sweet, clingy girl. you're so weird.”

“you literally make the cold brew that goes into them. it would be weird if i didn't think about you when someone got one,” you take the final bite of your cookie. “and don't you try to pretend you didn't absolutely love me calling you. could hear you smiling from all the way down the street.”

“yeah, i did love it. i love being your boyfriend, and getting to take care of you,” while you swoon, he places a latte in front of you, foam art designed in a heart shape. “speaking of, d'you want a shower? might help your post-dancing pains.”

“ooh, yeah,” you sip your coffee, sighing happily. “can i hop in now?”

“of course, darling,” matty smiles when you kiss his cheek; his brow furrows when you get up to leave the room, though. “you're taking the latte with you?”

“why wouldn't i?”

he shakes his head. “you really are weird, darling.”

“and you're into me regardless,” you wink, and he giggles. it's adorable. “i won't be long, babe.”

true to your word, you're out in fifteen minutes, body soothed by the combination of hot water and matty’s shower gel. once you're dry, clad in his jumper and boxers, you pad through to the living room and climb onto his lap on the sofa. “hi.”

“hi, baby,” matty kisses your head, reaching to mute the tv before wrapping his arms around you. “feeling better?”

“yeah. still a bit tired, but-”

“oh, i can help with that,” he lets go of you long enough to hand you a full, steaming mug of coffee from the little table beside you. “started making it when i heard the shower turn off.”

“you're so sweet, matthew,” you coo, taking a long drink of the coffee before kissing your boyfriend on the cheek. “making me coffee, putting the fire on, buying me cleanser and moisturiser to keep here - that was really thoughtful, by the way, angel. thank you.”

he giggles, hiding his face in your neck. “i just like making you happy.”

“you're really good at it,” once you've laid the coffee back on the table, your hands find their way onto matty's face. “and you're so pretty!”

“oh, shush,” he rolls his eyes, cheeks warming under your hands. “you're the pretty one, we both know this.”

“mmmm, no.”

“mmmm, yeah.”

“no, you're-”

“cookie, my darling, you're not winning this argument. trust me, babe,” matty leans back, eyes raking up and down your body in a not-particularly-PG-but-very-sexy manner. “especially not when you're wearing my clothes.”

“you like it when i do that?”

“fuck, yeah,” he grins, cheeky. “s'my favourite look of yours. well,” he corrects himself. “second favourite.”

“the first's when i'm naked, isn't it?”

“is it creepy if i say yes?”

“matty, you're my boyfriend,” you roll your eyes. “i want you to like it when i'm naked.”

he presses his forehead to yours. “i love it.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” his lips meet your forehead, your nose, your lips - the kiss is quick, but as good as ever. “you're fucking gorgeous. like, sex thoughts aside… you just look so beautiful when you're not wearing anything. i mean, you're always beautiful, but,” he smiles against your lips. “i think you're really stunning when you're at your barest like that. dunno if it's a trust thing, or just to do with how deeply i feel for you anyway, but… yeah.”

jesus. you're not a believer in the concept of absolute perfection, but matty definitely comes pretty bloody close; you'd give him that accolade for the way he kisses you back alone. detaching your lips when you risk getting too lightheaded, you giggle softly into him, a sound he copies. “you're my favourite, you know,” you kiss him again, smiling against him when he moans into your mouth. “and if you wanted to see me naked right now… i'd be quite up for that.”

matty smiles. “thought you were tired, darling?”

“nuh-uh,” you shake your head. “the caffeine's done its job. maybe a little bit too well, actually,” another kiss. “i want you, matty.”

he groans, burrowing his head into your neck; you join in with the chorus when his lips meet the soft skin there. “how do you want it, cookie?”

“i want - oh, fuck,” you whimper, hand coming up to clutch your boyfriend's hair as he nips at your neck. “want it on the floor…”

“dirty girl.”

“... in front of the fire,” the words come out as a strangled groan, matty sucking marks onto your body sending heat flooding within it. “want you deep, and slow, and filling me up. yes,” you cut him off, noticing his mouth opening as if to talk. “i want you to cum inside me.”

“i thought you didn't like that?”

“no, i didn't like it with anyone else,” you bite your lip, well aware of what you're about to say. “but you… i think you should mark what's yours.”

“god,” matty's voice is shaky, more breath than sound. his forehead meets your shoulder, and you smile as you caress the back of his head while he inhales deeply. sweet boy.

the sweetness doesn't last long, though - he hooks his hands under your arse and lifts you, still biting at your neck as he carries you to the soft rug in front of the fire. you've been obsessed with matty's fireplace since the first time you saw it, fascinated by the crackling flames illuminating and warming up the room; they're very reminiscent of how matty lights you up, and manages to send heat coursing through your body. like now, for instance, as he kneels to carefully lay you down on the fabric and his thumbs find the waistband on your shorts on their way back round to the front of your body… yeah, you're turned on.

and he knows it, the little shit, grinning stupidly when you bite your lip. “alright, cookie?”

you pout. “matty…”

“yeah, darling?” he kisses your nose, and a fresh set of butterflies take off within you. “what d'you want?”

“please take my clothes off,” you roll your hips up into his, biting your lip when he groans softly. “and yours. wanna see you.”

matty coos, leaning back to pull his t-shirt over his head. the fabric is thrown onto the sofa, closely followed by your (well, his) sweatshirt, and he beams at the sight of your bare chest. “perfect girl.”

“pretty boy,” you rake your nails down matty's chest, just hard enough to make him moan, hooking them into the waistband of his sweatpants. “can i?”

“please, yeah.”

“mmmkay,” you slide the grey fabric down, beaming when matty moves to kick it off his legs and you see what's underneath - which is, to say, absolutely nothing. “matthew, you little slut.”

“says the woman begging me to get her naked,” he retorts, pulling your shorts off and pushing your legs back; his pupils dilate at the sight of your glistening core. “fuck, cookie, is this all for me?”

you nod enthusiastically. “all of it,” your voice is breathy with desperation, words turning to a wanton moan as you watch matty stroke himself while he looks at you. “take what's yours, please. put it in, baby, ple- oh, just like that.”

“oh my god,” matty slowly pushes into you, moving to rest on his elbows at either side of your head. his forehead rests against yours, chests pressed together and breathing slowly in tandem as he finally bottoms out; it's the most intimate the two of you have been with each other so far, and - in the best possible way, of course - you're feeling a little bit overwhelmed. matty being matty, lovely and attentive, he notices, shifting his weight onto one elbow so he can softly stroke your cheek. “you alright, my girl?”

you nod. “yeah, angel. just full.”

your heart, too.

“d'you need a minute like this, darling?”

“if that's okay,” you kiss his nose. “like having you close to me.”

matty beams, and it makes your heart feel funny. “so do i. we'll stay like this as long as you want.”

“thank you,” you smile, lightly scratching his scalp the way he likes. “can i have a kiss, please?”

he doesn't answer. instead, matty presses his lips to yours, tongue languid as it traces across your cupid's bow and licks into your mouth when you open it in a soft moan. it's just as passionate as ever, but slow, drawn-out, and just completely ruinous to you; your cunt tightens around him, desperate to be even closer to your boyfriend than you already are, probably as a result of his mouth kissing away any thoughts in your head that aren't him. your hips begin to roll, matty's follow suit, and - still kissing - soon enough, he's fucking you exactly how you wanted him to, slow and deep and so fucking good. 

you're not even sure you can call it fucking, actually, the sex you two are having right now; neither of you have said the important word to each other, yet, but there's really no other way to describe this activity as anything other than lovemaking. not that you've ever done that, or ever actually been in love with anyone, but the word seems like an accurate term for right now, when you feel like you'd die if matty was any further away from you than he currently is, and you’re desperate to make him happy, to make him make those gorgeous little moans that fall from his lips whenever you clench around him or roll your hips just so, to make him kiss you so hard it leaves you both breathless.

he pulls away from your lips slightly after one such kiss, just enough that he can look at you properly; when he does, his face cracks into a gorgeous smile. “hi.”

“hi,” you smile back, caressing his cheekbone. “having fun?”

“s'an understatement,” matty laughs, groaning as he fucks into you again. “only one thing that could make this better for me, actually.”

“s'that?”

he ducks his head down, licking a long stripe up your neck to your lips. “you letting me make you cum.”

fuck. “yes, please.”

another kiss, a smile against your lips. “so good for me. cum whenever you're ready, yeah?”

you smirk. “you don't want me to beg?”

matty shakes his head. “not today, cookie. want you to take what you deserve.”

“okay,” you kiss him, moaning into his open mouth when a calloused thumb finds your clit, circling with practised precision. “fuck, baby, you're so good,” the two layers of stimulation feel amazing, proven by you audibly getting wetter as matty keeps thrusting, slow and deep and sexy. “so fucking good.”

“love feeling you like this,” your boyfriend groans, burrowing his head into your neck. “could stay like this forever. and i would, if you wanted me to,” he kisses your neck, gentle, before moving to look at you again. those pretty eyes of his are hazy, his cheeks are flushed, and he's never looked more beautiful. “i'd do anything for you, darling.”

the overwhelming intimacy of the morning reaches breaking point; so do you, imminent orgasm the only thing preventing you from giving in and saying the word that's been dancing on the tip of your tongue whenever you've so much as thought about matty lately. instead, you cling to him, whispering against his lips. “m'so close.”

matty whines, hips and hand keeping up their movements, despite the fact you can feel him shaking above you. “c'mon, cookie,” his words are punctuated with kisses, desperate liplocks that you can't quite decide are meant to fuel him or tip you over the edge. both, probably. “let go for me, my darling. give in, let me give you what you deserve, perfect girl.”

that's all you need.

“fuck, matty,” you press your face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, whimpering into his sweaty skin as pleasure careens through your trembling body. it's the strongest orgasm you think you've ever had, every little subsequent aftershock devastating to you; when one of them coincides with matty's orgasm, it actually sets you off fully again, moaning in harmony with him as he pulses heat deep inside you. “oh my god.”

“jesus,” matty groans into your hair, fucking shallower and shallower into you as he stops cumming. once he's done, he practically falls onto you, resting his head on your heaving chest - there's silence for a minute, aside from heavy breathing and the crackling of the fire, and then he lifts his head up to peek at you. “how you feeling, cookie?”

you nod, trying to find the words. “like i just had the best sex i've ever had.”

your boyfriend laughs, leaning up to kiss you sweetly. “i'm feeling the same.”

“really?”

“yeah,” he brushes a bit of hair from your face. “that was really special, baby. meant a lot to me.”

“me too,” you reach up to touch his face, mirroring his action with you. “never felt like this before, y'know. so safe, so cared for,” you smile bashfully. “or so beautiful, actually.”

“oh, darling,” matty kisses your forehead. “m'glad i can make you feel so good. all i wanna do, to be honest.”

“sweet boy,” you smile. “can we stay like this for a while?

he smiles back, and you have to bite your lip from blurting out how you actually feel about him. “of course.”

[bvidzsoo]

Love Me Like A Rockstar (12)

ー☆ Chapter 12: Shame On Me

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

ー☆ Warning: cursing ー☆ Word count: 5.5k ー☆ Genre: university!au, enemies to lovers!au, rockstar!au ー☆Rating: sfw ー☆ Summary: Love. You wanted none of it. You had already been heartbroken very badly once, you didn't wish to go through that ever again. But the Universe works in intricate ways and, somehow, you found yourself webbed up in a local rockstar's life, Song Mingi. He was everything you expected him to be, yet nothing like you imagined him he would be. What happens when you find mutual understanding and have heartful conversations? Will he be able to break down your walls? Will you be able to chase away his darkness?

A/N: Hiii, my lovelies! Shorter chapter but you won't have to wait too long, I'll update next week again! I don't think there will be any more updates to my other stories this week because I'm going to visit my bestie on Thursday and I only come home on Sunday (can't wait to see you again Orsi *cries*). You know the drill, please listen to Shame On Me before or while reading, thank you!! So, uh, you all will hate me after this chapter, I'm sorry in advance, but you can go scream at me in the notes and reblogs! <3 However, I promise the angst won't last for too long :D Thank you all for reading and always leaving feedback, I appreciate it a lot! I hope you enjoy this chapter, don't hate me pls. divider

Taglist: @orshii @or5i @lovely-red2 @scarfac3 @juicy-red @sunaswifes-blog @voicesinmyhead-rc @teez-the-time @maru-matt @kyeos4ng @deathbyyeekies @chicksmoothie @mjlbn01 @xhexy @tmtxtf @hwashiningstar @thatfavouritesong @ateez-atiny380 @xciiiomwliah @vixensss @catchingskzzzs @tesssaurrr @ginger-mingi @mingisbbg

⟨Series M.list ↭ Previous Chapter⟩

♫Playlist♫

            It was quite ominous how well I had slept last night, and despite feeling my eyes burn from staying up too late and not getting enough sleep, I felt well-rested. Perhaps the unusual warmth engulfing my body had something to do with the way my muscles seemed to become one with the mattress, and the comfortable weight around my waist also made me want to give in to the calling of another slumber. I had woken up a few times before, trying to find new comfortable positions as I could hear the birds chirp outside and the sweet cologne that clung to my clothes and the sheets tingled my nose in a way I had to suppress a sneeze. But the sun was high up in the sky already, the blinds open as I felt the warmth of the sunlight on my face. I released a content sigh as my muscles begged for a good stretch, making me groan when I felt a few vertebras pop, tension releasing between them. Gosh, I wish I could wake up feeling this refreshed every morning.

The covers were thick, and thus, the non-existent melody of the bed calling out to me to stay for longer won as I melted back against the pillow, licking my dry lips as I was mildly surprised that there was no impeding headache. I would usually feel hungover even if I drank only a little—hence why I preferred staying away from alcohol—but maybe that hot chocolate I had last night was some magic drink. There was a low groan next to me and I smiled for a second, feeling thick fingers tangle into the waistband of the sweatpants I was wearing, definitely not mine as they rode a little too low on my hips. The strings must’ve come undone in my sleep as I kept shifting around. Not really thinking as I was still under the blissful grip of a good night’s sleep, I sneaked my right arm underneath the covers and gently traced the warm skin of the arm pressing against my torso. There was another low hum and I smiled as I turned my head to the left, eyes protesting as I tried to peel them open. Perhaps that can wait until my brain is fully functioning.

“Good morning.” Mingi’s voice was husky and it covered my arms in goosebumps as I felt butterflies in my stomach, the heath of my cheeks unnatural once again.

“Morning.” I whispered and bit my bottom lip, feeling the bed shift again as Mingi’s hand now held my waist firmly, fingers rubbing circles into the skin where his borrowed t-shirt had ridden up. Feeling eyes on me, I opened one eye and chuckled as I saw Mingi’s puffy face, halfway hidden into his pillow as he lay on his stomach, red lips swollen and platinum blonde hair disheveled in every possible way. Mingi’s cheeks tinged pink and he grumbled something intangible as he hid his face into the pillow, feigning a tickle at my waist as I squirmed and pushed his hand off, heartbeat picking up as Mingi caught my hand before I could pull it away and interlaced our fingers. My eyes were painfully dry but I rubbed them with the heel of my left palm, rubbing my face afterwards as the haze of sleep slowly had started dissipating.

So, turns out all of this wasn’t a dream. I did go to Outlaw to watch Mingi perform, I did get drunk and got into a tiny argument with Mingi, and he did drive me home afterwards. And apparently, I did sleep over wearing his clothes and using his toiletries and we did—we did kiss. I gulped and licked my dry lips again, feeling the butterflies dissipate in my stomach as instead a lump formed in my throat. I released a shaky breath as I felt Mingi caress my knuckles underneath the covers, and then he turned his head to look at me. He looked—content. He looked happy. His face was serene and he looked like he has been waiting for this moment for ages. Something in my chest ached at the thought and I gulped, feeling the blissful morning daze dissipate completely and get replace by a slowly impeding dread. I released a shaky sigh as a heartbreakingly beautiful smile graced Mingi’s lips, mouth forming a boxy shape that showed all of his teeth—the protruding front ones that I grew to adore—his nose wrinkling and eyes creasing. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so good anymore, I felt like I wanted to cry.

Why was Mingi so perfect? Why was he so kind to me? Why did he treat me so well? Why was he so patient with me? Why did he stick by my side for so long? What was it about me that he liked? What did Mingi want from me?

I froze as suddenly Mingi pushed up onto his elbows and started leaning over me, that smile still present on his lips as he released my hand to caress my cheek. My hands trembled as I tried to hold his eye contact, but all of a sudden I felt sick. I felt dirty and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Everything smelled like Mingi, everything felt like Mingi—it was too much. Perhaps he saw the subtle shift in my expression as he stopped for a second, eyebrows slightly furrowing, but then his warm lips touched the corner of my mouth and it made my muscles tense up and send my mind off into an alarmed frenzy.

I couldn’t be here, I had to leave. No. What was I doing? How could I do this when I knew Mingi is Yunho’s best friend? How could I hide something like that from him? Why did I let him kiss me and why did I kiss him back? Why have I—why the hell have I started liking Mingi so much that having him next to me suddenly felt right and being away from him made me anxious, made it feel so wrong?

Unable to control myself anymore, I sprung up from the bed, trying to keep my breaths labored as Mingi sat up alarmed, eyebrows furrowing as he watched me scramble around his room looking for my clothes. I couldn’t remember where he had placed them last night—whether I had left them in bathroom or had brought them to the living room. I heard the sheets crinkle as no doubt Mingi was getting out of bed too, I could feel his piercing gaze follow my every move.

“You—” He hesitated for a second, “You don’t have to leave so early—I mean, it’s not that early, but I want to make us breakfast. I promise I’m not a bad cook.”

I bit my lower lip as my eyebrows furrowed, my body freezing as my heart clenched. I wanted that, I wanted to stay with Mingi and eat breakfast and laugh and just let go of everything and forget every single one of my worries, but I couldn’t. I felt so guilty, I couldn’t even turn around and face him. I had to leave and I had to get rid of him, it would be best for the both of us.

“I’m not hungry.” My voice was barely above a whisper, cold, and distant. I finally spotted my clothes sitting neatly folded on Mingi’s desk chair and I leaped towards them, my fingers curling tightly into them as I cradled them into my arms, somehow hoping that it would bring any sort of comfort. It didn’t because I could still feel Mingi’s eyes on me and hear the way his steps faltered.

“Oh, then…” He fell silent and I felt my hands’ tremors worsen, making me bite into my bottom lip to try and keep myself level-headed. It was hard, and I was failing at it, “We could grab some coffee and—”

“I’m going home, Mingi.” I snapped, cutting off his rambling because I was unable to listen to his warm and soothing voice anymore, now laced with obvious hurt and dejection. I wasn’t only hurting myself anymore, I was hurting him too. And I hated myself. He deserved better. Mingi deserves someone who cherishes him and makes him happy, not someone who brings his hopes up and then stomps on his heart like it means nothing. I didn’t want to do this, but I felt like I had no choice. I had dug my own grave by indulging into his little games—they weren’t games, Mingi has been genuine from the get go—and now here I was, suffering the consequences of my own actions.

“I—Y/N.” I froze as my hand reached for the handle to open the door, I couldn’t face him, “What we did—what happened last night, I—no, the kiss, we can’t just glaze over it, I can’t—I can’t do that anymore. Please, what are we?”

I squeezed my eyes shut at the sudden tears in them and inhaled a long breath, slowly twisting the handle of the door so that I could flee easier, “The kiss was—a mistake. We were both caught up in our feels and I—I didn’t mean to do that. I never wanted to kiss you. I don’t—it means nothing. We are nothing, Mingi.”

If the same words echoed in my mind but sounded a lot more masculine and venomous, puppylike eyes narrowed and glaring down at me, I gulped and repressed the memory, rushing out of Mingi’s room in a panic. I didn’t want to hear the way Mingi gasped nor the way he called out in confusion after me as I made it towards the shoe rack, finding my boots placed neatly next to his. It took everything I had in me to keep it together, to swallow the tears that wanted to escape my eyes, to keep my voice firm.

“What do you mean it meant nothing?” Mingi didn’t even sound angry, he sounded so utterly hurt, that a tear unintentionally trickled down my cheek, “It couldn’t have meant nothing, Y/N, we’ve been dancing around each other for too long for it to mean nothing. You’ve—I’ve kissed you before, not like this of course, but we did kiss and we’ve held hands and you—you can’t just fucking say it means nothing when it means everything to me!”

Fuck.

Perhaps it was good that he was finally showing any other reaction than disappointment and hurt, perhaps I pitied myself less if he was angry at me and shouting—I deserved it. I really did, every mean thing he’d hurl at me, I deserved to hear them because he was right. He was, he had always been. I’m a horrible awful being and I played with his feelings just like Yunho had played with mine. How could I hate Yunho so much when I was just like him?

“We’re both honest and blunt people, Mingi, there’s no reason to dance around this.” My voice sounded leveled, calm, almost as if it was mocking Mingi’s despair and I felt like complete shit, “Quite frankly put, I don’t want to see you again. This everything—whatever the hell we’ve been doing for the past three months, it was a shitshow. I don’t know what your purpose behind your actions was but I know mine and it has nothing to do with—whatever we’ve done last night. There’s no such thing as friendship between a girl and boy, it never works out, somebody always gets heartbroken and that’s exactly what’s happening right now. I think we both mislead each other, which led to this misunderstanding, so yes, it means nothing because I don’t want anything from you, but you clearly want something I cannot give you.”

The deafening silence felt like a slap to my face and it almost made me whirl around to apologize for my harsh words, to tell him that it was all a lie, that I liked him more than who I thought was my first love. I had always thought I loved Yunho with my whole being, that I gave him all of myself, but that wasn’t true. Yunho had never seen me at my lowest, Yunho never tried to fix the issues between us, he never reached out if he knew he did something wrong, he never even tried to pursue me—it was all me, all along. I was the one fighting for us and Yunho just went along with it because it was comfortable, because I was a stable point in his chaotic life, somebody he knew he could come back to. And I was treating Mingi as if he did the same thing to me, as if he was just another replica of Yunho—when he wasn’t. Mingi was so much more than Yunho would ever be, and I ruined everything in the span of five minutes.

I didn’t even bother lacing up my boots as I stepped into them, afraid to look back, but unable to stop myself when the silence just continued to stretch on. I didn’t expect to see Mingi’s eyes bloodshot, nor his bottom lip red and swollen from getting chewed on too much. Fuck, why did my heart ache more than when Yunho left me?!

“I never wanted to be your friend, doll.” The way his tone was emotionless yet his lips uttered the nickname, it made my lungs constrict as the lump got bigger and bigger in my throat, “But I knew you needed time, so I gave it to you. Perhaps—perhaps I shouldn’t have, maybe I should have been cleared with my intentions—”

“Mingi.” I snapped, eyebrows furrowing as we made eye contact. I couldn’t listen to him anymore; I couldn’t bear to hear him make up excuses for the sake of me. Why was he not screaming at me, why was he not hurting me? This is why he was too good for me, why I didn’t deserve him, “Delete my number.”

“You know your way out.” And I did know it. Without saying anything else, I unlocked the front door and ripped it open, slamming it shut behind me as I raced towards the stairs, hissing as my eyes got blurry and obscured my view of where I was stepping. But I had to get out of the building as fast as possible, scared that Mingi would race after me, that he’d try to reason with me one more time because it would work. It would work and I would give in. I would tell him the truth and then everything would be more painful. I was saving him from the betrayal he didn’t deserve, I was saving him from me, who never treated him right. I thought he was an asshole, an arrogant guy who yearned for attention and validation from every breathing female. But that wasn’t true, Mingi was a selfless and hard-working man who put others above himself, he wasn’t greedy and he wore his heart on his sleeve, ready to offer all the love his body contained without expecting anything in return. And I was a horrible human being because I took advantage of his kindness and goodness, because in the process of trying to get rid of him—I fell for him.

I was gasping for air by the time I stumbled out of the building, the wind harsh and cold as I scrambled to wear my jacket over Mingi’s thin t-shirt. It did nothing to shield me from the harsh weather and perhaps I deserved it, perhaps I deserved to be stared at by the passerby people with questioning or judgmental stares. I had no idea where I was, but thankfully finding my phone in my pocket, I was able to walk myself to a bus station and wait for a bus that would take me home. Mingi lived almost thirty minutes away from my place, but that was fine, I could keep it together for so long. I wouldn’t cry, I refused to cry, this was my own punishment. As I sat on the bench at the bus station, the heather above head lessening the chill that seemed to bite at my body, I closed my eyes and wallowed in the tumultuous emotions I felt.

This was far from how I wanted things to go, I thought I was better, that I could control myself and keep everything in check, but at last, I failed. I failed and now I hurt the guy I had fallen for. I was scared, I was afraid of getting left behind like it previously had happened, and so I wanted to protect myself. I struck before he could. I thought I would be protecting my heart and getting the upper hand, but then why was my heart aching and my stomach clenching so hard that it made me feel nauseous? Why do I always mess things up when they finally go right? Can’t I have something good for myself? Is it so hard to believe that not all guys are like Yunho? But Mingi is his best friend and it started getting easy to spot similarities between them the longer I hung out with Mingi. So could he really be much different from Yunho? I wouldn’t know, now, I would never find out.

            I felt numb, both physically and emotionally, by the time I made it home. The house was empty and dark, rainclouds had gathered outside and I was thankful that I made it home before the downpour. It reminded me of Mingi, everything seemed to remind me of Mingi. I hated it, it made breathing harder as I peeled his clothes off myself and went into the shower, probably staying underneath the spray of the hot water for too long. My skin was all wrinkled by the time I got out and the rain came down heavily against the roof of the house, forcing me to dress up warmly and wear the hood of my hoodie as I was too tired and lazy to dry my hair. I was craving something hot to drink, but when my eyes fell on the hot chocolate in the cupboard I suddenly felt sick to my stomach and had to rush to the bathroom, heaving and heaving without throwing up anything. I felt like I was borderline dying, and I deserved it. I knew I did.

And when I was feeling my utmost worst, there was only one thing that could help. Drawing and painting. I stared at my sketchbook longingly, but decided to use a different one as that one was filled with sketches of Mingi’s eyes, and him performing on stage, him driving or him laughing with his boxy and gummy smile, his hands that were littered with rings, his peaceful face when he had fallen asleep once in the library while we were studying. But something that hasn’t happened before did happen now. No matter how much I stared at the blank paper, nothing came to me. My mind refused to conjure up any images, my hands refused to move. My grip on the pencil turned painful and I hissed as I pushed the sketchbook off my lap, throwing the pencil against the wall in frustration. I pulled my knees up to my chest as I listened to the heavy rain, staring at the window, watching as big drops rolled down quickly. The silence, the darkness, the numbness…it was beginning to be too much. I wished to see Mingi, I wished to talk to him, I wanted to fix this, but I couldn’t. I was an asshole and going back to him just hours later after being a dick and probably hurting him beyond forgiveness was an even bigger dick move. I just couldn’t do it, so, I closed my eyes and waited. For what, I didn’t know until my phone rang loudly, making me jump out of my skin.

I was stupid for feeling a flicker of hope that it was maybe him, but my heart settled when Seulgi’s smiling face greeted me once I grabbed my phone. I sighed and picked up, beyond grateful that she probably had a feeling that things weren’t going so well anymore. I could feel the small smile stretch onto my lips, the greeting on the tip of my tongue, but Seulgi beat me to it.

“What have you done.” I froze, heart falling into my stomach at the harsh tone of my best friend, eyebrows furrowing in worry. Seulgi never spoke like that to me—to anyone—she was a ray of sunshine and she never got angry, she was never disappointed, she never treated anyone roughly, “Y/N!”

I jumped at the way she yelled my name, gulping down nothing as my mouth had gone dry, “I—nothing. I did nothing—”

“You’re full of shit.” Seulgi snapped and I felt my lips tremble as her voice raised in anger, “How can you say you did nothing when Mingi has been at Wooyoung’s ever since noon and hasn’t stopped bawling his eyes out?! He’s not speaking, he’s not eating, he’s not even moving, Y/N. What did you do?”

“I—” I gulped, voice faint as I felt my eyes fill with tears, “I didn’t mean to, I—I told him it was nothing. That I—didn’t want to see him again. I just—I’m scared, Seulgi.”

“You’re the fucking worst, Y/N.” Seulgi’s tone didn’t soften, if anything, it got harsher and I heard someone in the background call out her name in a quiet warning, “How could you say that to Mingi out of all people?! Are you seriously joking right now?! Did you feel good playing around with him when he has made it so fucking clear that he was into you? That he likes you? That he wants to be with you? You aren’t even dense not to see things like this, Y/N, you straight up played with his feelings and then crushed his heart like it meant nothing.”

“I’m sorry.” I whispered, sniffing loudly as Seulgi scoffed. Hearing everything out loud and getting scolded by my best friend probably was the worst feeling ever. I knew I had fucked up colossally if she was taking Mingi’s side, rightfully so.

“I can’t believe you treated him like nothing,” A slight pause and then her voice dropped to a low whisper, “Like Yunho has treated you. You said the same thing to him, Y/N, aren’t you ashamed of yourself—”

“I fucking hate myself, Seulgi!” I exclaimed, frustrated and panicked and annoyed and wounded, “I didn’t mean for this to happen, but I’m scared! I can’t—what if he leaves me? What if he’s worse than Yunho’s ever been?!”

“We were teenagers back then.” Seulgi sighed and her voice softened the slightest, “And Yunho was an asshole from the very beginning, you just refused to see it. Mingi has always been genuine with you, fair, and kind. Yet you saw that and still threw him to the curb.”

“I’m sorry.” I felt a tear trickle down my cheek and I quickly wiped it away, refusing to cry. I didn’t deserve to cry.

“You should be saying that to Mingi, not me.” There was light shuffling in the background and then I heard different voices talking to Seulgi, “Seonghwa is here too now, I have to go. You better fix this even though I don’t know if you deserve his forgiveness at this point.”

“Don’t say that.” I whispered, but Seulgi hung up without saying goodbye, and suddenly I didn’t know what to do anymore. The phone fell from my hand as I stared with tear filled eyes at my mother’s guitar, flashes of Mingi’s excitement upon seeing it fresh in my mind, making my throat close up. I couldn’t breathe. Mingi wasn’t talking to anyone and it was because of me, I did that. I made him feel like that and I didn’t even know how to fix this anymore. Could I fix it? Or have I fucked up so badly that he’ll never forgive me? I knew for a fact that if I were Mingi, I wouldn’t forgive myself no matter how much he would’ve begged or tried making things right. Just as my head fell onto my knees and I squeezed my eyes shut, annoyed that the unshed tears kept persisting, there was a knock on my door. I hadn’t even heard my mother get home.

She gently pushed the door open and peered inside with a curious look on her face, looking excited as I turned my head to look at her. She grinned and suddenly stepped inside, holding up a small box in excitement. My eyebrows furrowed as I watched her grab a paper out of it, giving me a cheeky smile as she cleared her throat, “‘I hope every time you drink your hot chocolate out of this mug you’ll be reminded of me, doll – S.M.’”

I suppose that was all I needed for the cup to be full, to be tipped over the edge as the tears suddenly sprung free, ripping loud sobs from my throat as I grabbed at my hair, yanking on the strands harshly. My mother gasped in fright and I heard movement behind myself, then I felt hands untangle my fingers from my hair, placing them in my lap with one hand as with her other hand she cradled my head against her chest. She smelled like the sanitizers they used at the hospitals, infused with a little musk as it was my mother’s favorite scent, and I was suddenly so grateful for having her. I turned my body to hug her tightly, crying into her chest like I was a little girl once again. My mother sighed as I felt her pat my head and rub my back up and down, humming a song I knew all too well as we used to listen to it a lot while I was growing up. The weight of her chin felt comforting against the top of my head and I gripped her work clothes perhaps a little too tight, but I didn’t care. I have missed her embrace, I missed laughing with her and crying with her, I have missed talking to her. After Yunho left me, I became closed off. I didn’t let anyone know how I felt or what I was going through, and despite my mother being a nurse, she could only help me if I let her—and I didn’t. I was repulsed by any closeness and I needed to be on my own. Days turned into months and those into years, and it took me this long to realize I wasn’t doing as well as I thought I was.

“Mom,” I was still crying, but my sobs have stopped, “I messed up so bad.”

She hummed as her fingers tried to untangle the knots in my hair, “Does it have to do anything with whom the mug is from?”

I nodded wordlessly and she hummed again, tapping my thigh for me to pull back, “Is it that tall boy with sharp eyes, cute glasses and sweet smile, fluffy dark hair?”

“He’s blonde now.” I muttered as I sniffed loudly and disgustingly as I pulled back, letting my mom wipe my tears off my face.

“You hate blonde guys, though.” She muttered with her eyebrows furrowed as I sheepishly looked up into her eyes.

“I know.”

A beat of silence passed and then she started giggling, prompting me to giggle along, my heart still aching but the relief of being in her arms made me feel like I could breathe once again, “Well, that is no good then. I hope you aren’t crying because this S.M. boy went blonde—”

“Song Mingi, his name is Song Mingi.” I whispered as I chewed on my bottom lip, averting my eyes, “I can’t believe you already forgot his name.”

“Well, I’m particularly bad with names, starlight.” My mother chuckled and I felt a smile tug at my lips. She always found peculiar nicknames to call me by, “And he never came over for dinner, that was my trick to remember his name and well—get to know him better, I suppose.”

“He’s not coming over for dinner—like ever.” My tone was grim as I grumbled, picking at my cuticle as I looked down at my lap, avoiding the look of confusion on my mother’s face.

“So, things didn’t work out…” I hummed and sighed, pulling away completely from my mother’s embrace.

“I’m a fool.” I muttered as I pulled my knees up to my chest again, staring at my socked feet. My mother placed her hand on my shoulder and massaged it softly, “I hurt him and now he hates me. I said what happened between us meant nothing, but I was lying. I think I’m in love with him, mom.”

“Has he said that he hates you?” My mother raised her eyebrows in question and I shook my head, “Then he doesn’t hate you. Yes, you hurt him with your harsh words but if you really love him—what’s holding you back, my starlight? You’re a smart woman and you know how to fix your mistakes, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you. So don’t just sulk and wail and make him hurt for no reason—”

“He’s Yunho’s best friend.” I whispered, peeking up at my mother’s face, surprised to find a smile that looked both comforting and amused.

“And does he know that?”

“What?” I asked confused, making my mother chuckle, “Of course he knows he’s Yunho’s best friend.”

“That’s not what I asked, starlight.”

“No, he doesn’t know.” I muttered and grimaced as my mother shook her head at me, “I never found the right moment to tell him, actually, things were never supposed to get this far, mom.”

“I see,” My mother hummed and leaned closer, “You know, I’m speaking based on many years of experience, but this Mingi boy doesn’t seem like the type to hold grudges for too long or judge you for your past. Sure, it must feel weird knowing your current girlfriend has dated your best friend, but that was like ages ago—and you’re still making a big deal out of it—”

“Mom.” I groaned, giving her an unimpressed look, but she only giggled.

“You know, you didn’t take after me for being so dramatic.” She pursed her lips and suddenly pushed me over, making me fall to my side with a loud gasp, “It’s one of the few reasons your father didn’t stick around for long—he was too dramatic.”

“I thought he left us.” I muttered as I sat up straight, making my mother roll her eyes at me.

“He certainly did after I told him I didn’t need a junkie in my house while I was trying to raise my child—” She rolled her eyes then stood up, extending her hand out for me, “And then he thought I tried to baby trap him—huh, what an idiot. Who wants to baby trap a broke dude who’s doing nothing with his life while I was in school learning to be a nurse and girlbossing my way through life?!”

“Don’t ever again say girlbossing, mom.” I groaned embarrassed as I let her help me up.

“What?!” She chuckled, holding my hand gently, “It’s cool, everyone at the hospital says it—well, the younger generation. Anyways, we’re going to cook yummy dinner together, and then I’ll magically make some ice cream appear from our fridge and I have some really nice wine hiding in the cupboard, waiting for us to consume it while you tell me everything about this Song Mingi guy. We haven’t had a girl’s night in so long, I missed you, Y/N.”

“I missed you too, mom, but,” I frowned as I let her pull me after herself, “you do realize I’m suffering and am on the verge of having another break down, yet you still want me to talk about Mingi?”

“It’s called therapy, honey, even if I’m not a therapist.” She shrugged as we walked down the stairs, “Besides, I’ve got some bomb advice to give you to win this boy over. I can’t believe I managed to raise a strong and independent woman that’s emotionally constipated!”

“Oh, my God.” I muttered under my breath, wondering just how many of her coworkers were too young for her to be hanging around, and why on Earth were they teaching my mother cringey slang.

But she was right. I did need her advice, desperately so, and having a girl’s night while I can talk about Mingi without feeling embarrassed to admit I am into him sounded nice—especially now that I have successfully fucked everything up.

『You run away when you just can't face it

Hide in the dark, but you know you hate it』

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[silkscream]

CHAPTER 1: I'LL BE YOUR PLASTIC TOY

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

Satoru Gojo was a lot of things, but he would never be yours. Sleeping with him in his bed as a child didn’t grant you that kind of closeness anymore. Within these halls, you walk past each other like strangers.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: angst, suggestiveness, making out, light bullying

ੈ✩ wc: 5.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: i am here to ruin everyone's lives. apologies in advance

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

March, 2008

“Hey, Twigs. Wanna see something cool?”

His honeyed voice chills your spine, his breath warm right by your ear. You roll your eyes as you turn to face Satoru, grinning with all his teeth as he tugs at your wrist. 

“What is it, Satoru?” you sigh.

“You have to follow meee,” he sings, pulling you away from the table you’re setting and towards the side of the porch. It’s secluded. Private. “Bring the spoon.”

With furrowed brows, you oblige. It isn’t like you have a choice. You had followed him around like a puppy ever since you’d met him as a child. You continue to, regardless of your determination to separate yourself from him.

His favorite shadow. His little pet.

The two of you aren’t as close as you were when you were children, but it’s still impossible to refuse him when he has a request. You blame it on your mother and her professionalism. You figure you had inherited it from her. That hyper-politeness. You find that you blame the ocean blue of his eyes more often. Always sparkling. 

He walks a few feet away from you, still grinning. You blink at his tall figure. He's currently dressed in a baby blue dress shirt (sleeves rolled up, of course) and black slacks. His Sunday best for the fancy brunch at the Gojo Estate. Every April, your mother summons you to help set up, then rewards you with a plate and time to play with the other kids. She would continue her work, serving the family and their guests. You would pretend that you weren’t part of the staff.

There hadn’t been a point in you staying for the afternoon in years. Only if Satoru begged you to, and even then, he hadn’t bothered to do so since junior high.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” you huff, crossing your arms. You wipe your sweaty hands on your smock.

“I’d never let you get in trouble, you know that,” he smirks. “Now, throw the spoon at me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“I want to throw way more than a spoon at you right now.”

“Relax, Twigs. Do this for me. Please?” he pouts. You can see his bright blue eyes peeking out of his black sunglasses, framed by snow-white lashes. It was unfair how pretty he was. How easily he could persuade you. 

Sighing, you throw the spoon in his direction. It stops right in front of his face as if there’s an invisible wall. He laughs in victory when he sees your confused expression. 

“What was that?” 

“My Infinity. I’ve perfected it so that it’s automatic. Took me a lot of willpower before but now it’s as easy as breathing.”

“Congratulations,” you reply dryly. 

It was typical of Satoru to be invincible. Untouchable. It had been a quality of his since birth, now manifested into a literal power to aid him against threats. You’d been on the outskirts of such threats when you were younger, but Satoru would always spare you the details.

Watching him grow in his adolescence had been like watching a sprout bloom. It shot toward the sky exponentially until it became a tree in record time. You, meanwhile, were still a sprout. A window, they’d called it. Able to see the horrors produced by human nature but unable to do anything about it.

Your head snaps up, alert when you hear your mother yelling your name from the porch. She points a hard gaze at you, then softens it when she sees Satoru.

“Satoru-kun, do you mind if I steal her for a minute? I need some extra hands for the tamagoyaki.”

Satoru nods, expressing his courtesy to your mother in his usual charming poise. It used to work on you before, but it often irks you now. The way he dazzles people to get what he wants. You would rather die than admit it was a characteristic of his that you envied.

He tugs at your braid before you walk away.

“See you later, Twigs,” he calls after you. A playful lilt to his voice. 

“You won’t.”

Satoru has you memorized. Since the two of you were five years old, he considered you his mirror image, though you never believed him. 

Often, when he sees you now, his heart leaps the tiniest bit in his chest the same way it did when he was thirteen. He’s gotten better at ignoring it. He’s perfected the art of ignoring you ever since high school started.

He likes to indulge during times when you’re not looking. At the moment, you’re concentrated on a flower arrangement, a blush painted on your cheeks from the heat. He’d watch you do this when you were kids, too. Your face would be in a concentrated frown, tongue peeking out. Nimble fingers perfecting an ikebana arrangement. 

Sometimes he missed it. He decided long ago that it would be better if he didn’t.

You two had been inseparable since the day the Gojos' hired your mother as a maid. He remembered you hiding behind your mother’s legs, chewing on the end of one of your braids. You would stay in the guest house of the Gojo estate with your mother, and you would become Satoru’s best companion. 

Both of your mothers would arrange playdates. Satoru’s mother wanted him out of her hair. Your mother wanted to work without your constant interruptions. You were needy, an only child, but Satoru would always please you with his company. It was why you adored him.

He’d show you all his toys and teach you all the games that his extended family would show him to make you feel included. He’d have you sleep in his bed, which would go under the radar until the two of you were fourteen. It would be innocent and wholesome. Satoru would show you the stars he’d learned about and you would look at him as if he’d hung them in the sky himself. 

Satoru often reminisces about the shape of your body to this day. Sometimes, he misses it when he’s alone in his king-sized bed in the winter. Even with the heat on, there’s still something missing, and then he thinks of you.

When you were kids, you’d sleep together, legs and arms intertwined. Drool on the same pillow. Wake up to an abundance of pancakes from your mother.

You had been half a friend, half a plaything. Satoru’s counterpart. Feet kicking each other under the breakfast table. 

At age five, you’d seen the same curse together. A harmless thing, chameleon-like, with eight legs on each side. It had a nasty face, one that you had recognized from your nightmares. It had been exciting at first, knowing that you shared the same ability as your best friend. You believed that you would grow with him and become as talented as him.

But that was an exaggeration. Satoru's parents knew how isolating it would be for their son to be the strongest. Your technique never came.

Satoru acted as your protector, then. Expelled the small, vicious curses in the corners of your room like they were bugs. You’d watch him train, his body overgrowing with knobby knees as you sat on the sidelines. And while you grew up with him, you only got smaller in his periphery. Always lesser. Always weaker.

It’s the reason you’d grown apart. At least that’s what he tells himself. 

Satoru had grown into a tall, arrogant child. He treated school as a hobby and still made the highest marks, which angered you to no end. It didn’t matter to him, anyway, knowing that he’d become a company's CEO or the best jujutsu sorcerer in the world. He had his future in the palm of his hands. You were not a part of that. You weren’t even sure of a future of your own.

Sometimes he would have nightmares of you dying in his arms at the hands of a curse too big for him to control. During adolescence, he experienced many threats to his safety. He knew he couldn't live with himself. He couldn’t bear to see you endure the same. 

So, without explanation, Satoru Gojo pretended you didn’t exist. He exchanged the necessary niceties in school and when you'd come over with your mother, though he'd never ask you to stay the same way he had when you were kids. He was often occupied with new friends, anyway. Often busy working on his technique. Nothing that was your business, of course.

You resented him for it. 

Now, you’re enduring your last year of high school with him, and you are trying so badly to be good. You should aim to make good enough marks to attend a decent university on a decent scholarship. God knows you aren’t fit for the world of jujutsu sorcery. 

In a way, you’re okay with the mundanity of your life. Satoru’s absence in your heart convinced you of that. 

Satoru’s attendance at school is only an illusion of normalcy for his parents. His mother insists on it. Barely a sorcerer herself, she had wanted to give her son the option of living a normal life. With his grades and wit, she knew that he could easily be successful as a businessman or a doctor. 

Despite this, Satoru knew he would enroll in Tokyo’s Jujutsu Technical College with Suguru. He had met Suguru when he was fifteen, trying to exorcise a curse that only got snatched by a dark-haired thief, one who would end up as his best friend. 

Satoru saw Suguru as his only equal. He had no one else to relate to about jujutsu sorcery. 

Certainly not you.

But still, he was closing another year of high school, his last. Then he could be free from his parents’ restraints. It was easy for him to be the best and make the most friends. It was a shame that he’d have to leave them all behind. 

You’re a ghost in Satoru’s wake. Always near, never faltering yet never consuming too much space. As the school year progresses, he ignores you like a mosquito bite. Harmless but still itching his skin. Always reminded of your presence even when you do nothing to draw attention to yourself. 

And then there are times that you do.

“I’m sorry, sensei,” you mumble, stunned in the doorway of the classroom.

It’s a nondescript weekday in May, one that’s wet with rain, which explains your damp hair and clothes. Your appearance conjures a succession of snickers. The sound of low laughter taunting you and whispers gossiping about you.

You’re too tired for it. You don’t want to be here at all.

“I’m disappointed,” your teacher relays. “You’re usually never tardy.”

“It won’t happen again,” you muster.

You hear more whispers. It hangs on your shoulders as you sit in your seat, still and heavy as you attempt to take notes.

Should’ve worn something more sheer, than she’d get the attention she wants, huh?

Nah, not like her tits are even good enough to be seen like that.

Bet she’s hiding something from all of us. Maybe we can get her to strip in the girls’ locker room and give us a show later.

“Shut the fuck up,” a voice growls. You hear it, turning your head, and your eyes fall on Satoru’s fiery blues. 

You wonder if the feeling of his gaze searing into the back of your head is worth mentioning. It makes your face hotter, the flush of humiliation warming your neck as your peers snicker at you.

You manage to get through class without crying. Haru, a boy you were closer with in previous years, offers his sweatshirt to you as you collect your things. 

“She’s good,” Satoru interrupts as you strip off your damp sweater. Within seconds, he has you under his arm. He ushers you out the classroom door. His oversized jacket drapes over your shoulders.

“Gojo,” you hiss. “He was just being nice.”

“Or he wanted to see you in a wet t-shirt. I don’t think white was the best move for today, by the way.”

Your face heats up when you look down. You realize the extent of skin that’s visible from the sheerness of your damp white shirt. It mortifies you more when you realize that Satoru had caught it first.

“Right. Thanks,” you mumble, hiking up your bookbag tighter on your shoulder. 

“So helpless sometimes,” Satoru sighs. He shoots you a devilish smile that combats your scowling frown. “Why don’t you call me by my first name here?”

“Because we’re in school and it’s polite.”

"Twigs, are you scared of being associated with me?"

He blocks the door of your locker, leaning against it and towering over you. Satoru had always taken up as much space as possible without a care in the world. You were the opposite -– always compartmentalizing yourself to be smaller. Malleable. Amicable.

He’s too close for comfort, nearly breathing down your neck. He only moves when you kick him pathetically in the shin.

Satoru’s smile only grows bigger as you ignore him. He wonders if he could get your fuse to blow in front of him right now. This place is usually where you’re composed, regal, and expedient. One of the school’s top students. 

He knew you had an edge to you, wild as you were when he had known you as a child. But you had only grown to be responsible and sensible. He thinks that his mother would be relieved if he acted more like you.

“Coming home with me or what?” Satoru quips. The way he says it makes your stomach stir. It's an almost salacious suggestion despite its innocence. Satoru always made everything sound more exciting than it was.

“Why would I?” you raise a brow.

“My mother would like to see you. She told me she had some hand-me-downs for you to try on." You know I’d love nothing more than to see you parade around my house dressed like my mother in the 70s.” He grins in amusement.

“Okay, sure, whatever.”

“Yo, Satoru!” 

His head whips around to see one of his buddies, crowded around other jocks. Satoru is quick to leave you without so much as a goodbye. 

July, 2008

After your semester, you end up second to Satoru. It’s no surprise to you despite how much it infuriates you. You are never anything more or less. 

"Congratulations, Twigs," Satoru murmurs to you. He startles you from your thoughts. You slam your locker closed.

“Why are you still calling me that?”

“Because you’re my Twigs,” he pouts.

Yours. It’s a funny lie. Satoru Gojo was a lot of things, but he would never be yours. Sleeping with him in his bed as a child didn’t grant you that kind of closeness anymore. Within these halls, you walk past each other like strangers.

He pouts childishly like he always does. There’s a devilish spark in his blue eyes underneath his sunglasses, though you can barely make out his irises from his height. Satoru’s growth spurt had him at over six feet tall by the time he was sixteen. It was obvious that he’d only grow taller. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes at the nickname. If you were in middle school again, the notion would warm your heart. It had been a stupid nickname he’d tease you with ever since you were both ten. You had been angry at him for reasons that escaped you, climbing up the tree in the backyard of his estate as high as you could until he begged you to come down.

You wouldn’t, of course. You were always stubborn like that, and Satoru loved it. 

You were also much clumsier when you were ten, slipping your foot as you attempted to climb a different branch and falling into Satoru’s arms. It had been a miracle you didn’t break any bones, but thanks to Satoru’s freakish strength, you were unharmed. Only disheveled with leaves and twigs stuck in your frizzy hair. He had called you Twigs ever since. 

“I’m not your anything. Even if my mother is still your fucking maid.”

“Aren’t you my maid, too? My little servant?” he teases. 

You wonder if he knows how cruel it is, even if it’s a little joke.

“I’m nothing to you,” you mumble. You attempt to hold a faster stride on your walk home. Maybe you’d advance enough to leave him in the dust. You could be the best runner on the track team if you managed that.

But you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t leave him, couldn’t. Not a chance.

“What was that?” Satoru calls after you.

“Nothing!”

“Slow down,” he whines, running fast enough to follow your stride, much to your annoyance. Him and his stupid, long legs. His taunting smile. “Don’t you wanna come over?”

“Why would I?”

“Your mom’s probably there. And we can celebrate the end of exams.”

“I have… stuff to do,” you stammer.

“No, you don’t,” Satoru chuckles. “The semester’s over. Summer’s here, baby.”

“Don’t call me that!”

He laughs again, the sound twinkling in your ears like a beloved song. It makes your cheeks warm. You don’t want him to see it. 

Yet, he wraps his arms around you, chin nestled to your collarbone as if you were joined together. In a blink, the two of you are in his kitchen, with whiplash only an after-effect. You still hadn’t gotten used to his ability to warp.

“I hate when you do that.”

“You like it, I know you do,” Satoru taunts. “It excites you. I can tell because your cheeks get all flushed.”

“They do not!”

“Sure, they don’t, Twigs.” 

“You’re annoying,” you huff, dropping your school bag on a chair.

Satoru greets your mother with a kiss on the cheek as you follow behind him. She has tea prepared in the sitting room for you and him, along with dorayaki and matcha Swiss rolls.

“Your mom’s the fucking best,” he muses as he gobbles down a third roll. You watch him in feigned disgust. Sipping your tea, you mumble something unintelligible in agreement.

“What, you aren’t hungry?”

“No.”

“Try this.”

“I have. She’s my mom.”

“C’mon, Twigs, open up.” 

Satoru leans over the table with a Swiss roll between his fingers, waving it in front of your face. There’s no point in protesting -– he’d probably knock something over from his eagerness to annoy you. You part your lips to take a bite, and at the same time, he shoves it into your mouth.

“Satoru!” you groan.

“Stay still.”

You swallow your bite and he wipes his fingertips on the corner of your mouth. He’s close enough to feel your breath on his face, licking up the frosting on his thumb nonchalantly. He chuckles at the flustered look painting your face into a scowl.

“I’m done. I’m going to do the dishes.” 

You excuse yourself to retreat to the kitchen before you can so much as make eye contact with Satoru again. He has to be teasing you with his small touches. It’s something he would’ve done when you were twelve, yet the notion now would be different. 

The two of you were in completely different social spheres. He had separated himself from you years prior. It would be a rare sight for him to be so touchy with you in public, acting as if you were like him. 

Someone who had a big kitchen. Someone who didn’t have to think about expenses.

It’s a miracle that he leaves you alone as you clean the kitchen, washing dishes to keep your mind occupied. After you’re done, you decide to cut up a bowl of strawberries. You knew they were Satoru’s favorite. Knowing him, he’d still crave something sweet after demolishing all the desserts.

You nick yourself. A careless act — you aren’t paying attention, mistaking the sharp side of the knife for the dull one. It slices the inside of your thumb. Cursing under your breath, you hover your hand over the wound. You heal it within milliseconds without so much as a second thought.

This is when Satoru kicks at something. The wall or a potted plant, you don’t know. But it’s a plea for attention and it brings your focus to him, your head snapping up to meet his gaze and his childish pout. 

“I saw that,” he says, lowly.

You freeze under his scrutiny. You don’t say anything.

“So you’ve been lying to me.” It’s a seething accusation instead of a question.

He gets so close to you without you even noticing. He towers over you again, swallowed by the whole of his shadow, and his betrayed frown is petulant like a child’s. 

“Satoru—”

“You said you didn’t have a cursed technique.”

“I—I didn’t. Not until later—”

“When?”

Your eyes are wide as you look up at him, hands trembling. He takes a step forward, taking up more space. It reminds you of your worth. The mere fact of him belittles you in that way.

“When I was thirteen. My kitten, Aki. The stray. You remember him, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“He got hit by a car one day, and I couldn’t stop sobbing. And I was holding him in my hands all bloody. And then, I brought him back to life. It just happened.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You search Satoru’s face. There’s a bit of betrayal in it, mostly surprise. It boils your blood in the slightest bit — because why is it so shocking that you ended up with a cursed technique? You may have hidden it from him for a few years, but was it something so unimagined for you?

You assumed that you would always be a plaything in Satoru’s eyes. Something so easy, so useless.

“It wasn’t enough,” you exasperate. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it does, Satoru. It’s so—”

Insignificant. Small compared to you.

He waits, swallowing the lump in his throat. Eyes flaring like comets.

“It doesn’t matter,” you repeat. “I don’t even want to be a sorcerer, and even if I wanted to be, I could never keep up with you. I don’t see the point in pursuing this if I’m better off just studying at a normal university—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Your technique is amazing. It’s like Shoko’s! You could’ve —”

“Satoru,” you emphasize. Your tone shuts him up, your hardened gaze, the lightning in your eyes bright and sharp. Menacing, even. You can sense the sound of him swallowing, a lump lodged in his throat loud enough for you to hear.

White lashes flutter. A frown is still displayed on his face. It’s now that he notices the slight bags under your eyes. Evidence of burden, of nights spent awake under the unforgiving moonlight.

You look at him in a way that feels damning — like you’re coaxing something from him. He knows better — knows that his anger is misplaced, that you’re right.

You having a healing technique is nothing compared to him. Even then, he knows that you probably aren’t interested in combat or the world of jujutsu sorcery in general. It doesn’t affect him so negatively. So what is he so angry about?

The question is in your eyes, pleading. He already knows the answer despite not admitting it to himself. He knows that the prospect of you having a cursed technique doesn’t mean you’re stronger than him. He assumes you wouldn’t surpass him, and wouldn’t think you to be someone who would even think about it. 

Satoru knows he’s angry because he feels very close to you. He had at least thought he was close enough with you to know about your cursed technique. It was finding out that you were hiding it from him that made him angry. Learning that you had it manifest in front of you and didn’t bother to fucking tell him about it.

He can’t voice any of these frustrations. He knows you’d yell at him, and criticize him for thinking he’s entitled to you. It’s inappropriate and unfair, but in his younger years, he often felt that he was entitled to you. He’d known you since you were so very little, so vulnerable. He had protected you from all those curses, hadn’t he? He held you in his arms in his bed for years. That had to have meant something to you. It certainly meant something to him. 

“Sorry. I just wish you told me earlier,” he says softly. 

You apologize. Meek beneath him, eyes avoiding him. 

“I know,” you sigh. “I have to go. I’ll see you later, Satoru.”

You don’t see him for a week and a half. It should be typical to you. It’s not like him to reach out or go out of his way to see you. He’d always been like that, giving you no expectations. And yet, his radio silence had crawled under your skin.

It’s stupid to expect him, anyway. There’s no reason for him to show up at yours, much more of a reason for you to show up at his, but you don’t need to. Your mother does that for her job and it has nothing to do with you.

There’s a Tuesday that’s so quiet, so plain that even the rain falters after two hours to only grant the town wet pavement. You’re curled up with a book in your living room when you hear a succession of knocks on your door. An erratic rhythm, the same as the special knock you would use with Satoru.

It’s him, of course. He smirks at you, an oversized t-shirt loose off of his lanky figure. You try not to fixate on the sweat of his exposed collarbone. You look him straight in the eyes through his pitch-black sunglasses.

He has a large bouquet in his hands. He grins at you. For the first time in a little while, you feel brave.

“Confessing your love to me this afternoon, are you?” you pester, a brow raised.

Something like that, Satoru thinks.

“You wish.” 

He walks past you, brushing your shoulders much to your annoyance. He sets the bouquet on your kitchen table in its little jar, peonies drooping despite how hard he tries to fix them.

“It’s from my mom to yours. As a thank you and a birthday wish and stuff.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “That’s very sweet of her.”

He hums in agreement, rocking his heels back and forth as his eyes roam your house. It isn’t his first time here, but he acts the part, hands buried in his pockets as he observes you like a wild animal. 

“Will that be all?”

“Dunno,” Satoru shrugs. “What were you up to before I showed up?”

You shrug, too, attempting to mirror his nonchalance. You had long ago buried your paperback in a drawer, promising to return to it by the time Satoru left. But still, he lingers, in front of you, taking up unnecessary space in your childhood home. Too tall and too pretty.

“Just cleaning my room,” you lie. 

“Can I see it?”

“Why?”

“Been a while,” he shrugs. “I’m just curious.”

“Well, it’s a mess right now. I didn’t get very far.”

“Like I care,” Satoru chuckles. 

He stares at you for a bit, heartbeats passing the time in your head. Fuck, he’s serious. He’s already leaning towards the staircase.

“Okay.”

You’re hyper-aware of him behind you, eyes exploring the length of your body. If you had known that he would show up unannounced, you would’ve changed into one of your long dresses or a pair of jeans. At the moment, you feel too bare in your tank top and corduroy shorts. You feel like a child outgrown.

Satoru takes up as much space as usual, long limbs splayed over your tiny twin bed. You don’t permit him to sit on your bed, but he does it anyway. He looks at the pictures on your wall, takes in the sweet smell of your sheets. It’s similar to your clothes, your flesh. Your hair. He’d live in it if he could.

“How cute.” He gestures to a cat plushie by the head of your bed. 

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not!” Satoru laughs. “It is cute. It’s so you.”

A certain fervor blossoms in your gut at that. The image of him stretched out on your little bed. Despite your closeness with him when you were younger, he had never spent much time at your house. It took you a few years to understand why.

“You should invite me over more often.”

“I don’t invite you over ever.”

“Well, you could start.”

“Why?” You stand by the wall, shifting your weight towards it as you lean backward. You cross your arms in defense, even though he hasn’t said anything to provoke you yet.

“It’s comfy here. I like it.”

“Thanks?”

He sings your name, beckoning you to him. You take three steps at most, holding your breath. Standing in front of his knees.

“Come sit, Twigs.”

“Told you not to call me that,” you breathe.

“Don’t care,” he grins. 

He reaches out to you, pulling you between his knees with a hand on your waist. He smirks at the sound of your gasp as he tugs at your wrist. 

“In my lap. C’mere.”

It’s difficult to refuse Satoru Gojo. His eyes drink you in, ocean blues glimmering and reflecting the afternoon sunlight. You’re still between his thighs. He tugs you without much effort, making you stumble into him. Your hands hold onto his shoulders as you settle into his lap. He holds the small of your back as you straddle him.

“Wanna try something.”

You say nothing. Your eyes flutter closed when you feel his fingertips grazing your jaw.

There’s a softness against your mouth. You don’t dare open your eyes.

You sense a sharp inhale behind the lips that kiss you, but they stay. Wetting between your mouth with the slight of a tongue. Tasting sweet like honeysuckle.

You whine, opening your mouth a bit more. You swallow down divinity. It's misguided affection that you had wished for when you were so much smaller. It might mean something bigger to you now if you thought about it for longer. You don’t want to. You refuse to.

But Satoru kisses you hard, excited and eager. His tongue peeks into your mouth and you taste strawberries. Lips soft and supple and melting against yours.

He groans, fisting your hair in his hand as he deepens the kiss, falling more and more into you. He smiles against your mouth as he coaxes a small sound out of you. It crawls out of your throat for him to taste with satisfaction. He’s always dreamed of you in his lap, but he could never tell you that.

You’re breathless, weak, and melting into him as he wraps his arms around you. Caging you in so that you can’t escape. So fucking warm in his embrace. 

It takes a second for you to notice the hardness growing underneath you. It prods your center as you mindlessly grind into Satoru’s lap. When you realize, you squeak in embarrassment, and he clutches you harder.

You sigh into each other, eating the other up. Heat surges through you, from your forehead down to your core, to your weak, sensitive legs. Hot from the feeling of him in your mouth. Hot from the proximity of your core to his.

You pull away, exhaling unevenly as you try to catch your breath. You’re shy under his gaze, unwrapping yourself and covering your body as if you’re naked.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re so cute,” he chuckles. “Acting like that was your first kiss.”

“What if it was?”

He raises a brow as you look away with flushed cheeks. You’re still on his lap and he takes the opportunity to remind you of this, shifting you in his lap and causing friction. Your eyes are wide as you quickly attempt to untangle your limbs with his.

“That was your first kiss?”

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes at the sight of his leering smile. God, you knew this would happen. Satoru would never let you live it down.

“I’m going to kick you out—”

“No.” 

He grasps your wrist in his hand. It’s small compared to his palm, engulfing you. His other hand grips your hip firmly but softly. He only moves it to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin.

“How was it? Tell me.”

“Good,” you breathe. “Felt good.”

For the first time in a long time, he looks at you like you have invented something new. There’s a bit of astonishment. Wonder and admiration. Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself. You were easily deluding yourself with the expression of his sapphire blue eyes. 

“Felt good for me, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you do that?” you ask, giggling nervously. 

“Just wanted to.”

“I want you to kiss me again,” you whisper.

“I want to do more than that,” Satoru mumbles. But he knows better. It’s the best decision for him to get you off his lap right now before he loses composure.

You both hear the sound of your front door opening as if it’s timed -- your mother. 

“I’ll kiss you later, okay?” Satoru murmurs.

“You will?”

“My parents will be gone this weekend. To Okinawa. You should come over on Saturday.”

“Okay. I will.”

[bingwriterxo]

first time

pairing: vada cavell x reader

summary: in which you and vada have your first time together

warnings: smut (character is 18+), 18+ (minors DNI), fingering

word count: 2200+

author's note: here she is: awkward, rambling vada. also (slight spoilers but...) [insert booksmart scene here]

"Mom?" you called out mid-yawn as you made your way downstairs, rubbing your eyes to try to wake yourself up more after the late-afternoon nap you had taken. When you were met with silence, you tried the other parent. "Dad?" Again, no response.

You shrugged as you walked into the kitchen, and your eyes narrowed as you caught sight of a piece of paper laying on the counter. You picked it up and read it over quickly, excitement surging through your veins.

Work trip this weekend. See you Sunday night. 

- Mom & Dad

vada can come over :)

The last part was scribbled on like an after-thought, and you knew your dad had written it. 

You dropped the paper onto the counter and pulled your phone from the pocket of your hoodie, immediately dialing your girlfriend's number. Leaning back against the counter, you waited for her to pick up. 

"Hey." Her voice was groggy, like she had also just woken up.

"Were you sleeping?" you asked. 

She hummed. "Yeah. Figured you were asleep when you didn't answer my texts so I thought I'd nap, too." You heard some shuffling on the other end and then Vada yawned. "What's up?"

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to stop yourself from grinning. "My mom and dad are gone for the weekend. They said you could come over. I've got the house to myself, so..."

"Movie marathon!" she shouted excitedly. You listened as she scrambled out of her bed, hopping around her bedroom in search for things to pack in her duffle bag. "I'll leave in, like, ten. Put something good on the TV!" You could hear her smiling through the phone.

"Okay, see you soon. Love you." 

She squealed. "Love you!"

* * *

The movie playing on the television was boring you half out of your mind. You had chosen a random one that you knew Vada had been wanting to watch with you, and you had tried to focus on it for the first half-hour, but something kept distracting you. Well, something aside from your girlfriend's nonstop rambling. 

"I used to have the biggest crush on Blake Lively as a kid, you know," Vada said, her eyes trained on the screen. Her hand was digging in the bowl of popcorn that was resting between the two of you, and you giggled as she shoved some of the snack into her mouth. "But, man, is Anna Kendrick hot," she mumbled around the food. "I mean, obviously I know she's hot, 'cause, like, I'm not blind, but something about her in this movie just hits different."

You weren't ignoring her, per se, but you definitely weren't fully listening, instead choosing to stare at your girlfriend's side profile as she munched on the popcorn and talked with her mouth full--a habit of hers that you had hated at first but now couldn't help find somewhat endearing (as long as you weren't looking at her face-on). 

"And, well, Blake Lively is Blake Lively, and who doesn't have a crush on her?" Vada continued. If you had been paying attention to the movie on the screen, you were almost sure you wouldn't have been able to hear any of it over the girl's talking, anyway, so it was better that you weren't watching, right?

When she realized she hadn't heard from you in a few minutes, she glanced your way, and you smiled softly. She offered you a confused grin. "Are you not watching?"

You hummed and turned back to the television. "No, no. I am," you lied. You could feel her eyes on you, and you knew that if you looked at her, she'd be giving you that damn lovestruck look she always had on her face when she was around you, the one that made you weak in the knees and had your heart beating rapidly.

"Y/N," she said, calling your attention back to her. You had been correct--she was staring at you with a half-smile, like she didn't even realize her lips were upturned, and soft eyes, 

"Yes?"

Her eyes flitted down to your lips quickly, then back to your eyes. "Can I kiss you?"

You giggled. "You don't have to ask, Vads. We're dating."

She shrugged, hiding in her shoulders for a moment. "I know," she said, voice shy and slightly embarrassed. "But I just wanna make sure every time. Because, like, what if one day I don't ask, and you don't want a kiss, and then--"

You pressed your lips to hers, effectively silencing her, and sighed when she kissed back eagerly. You reached down, pushed the empty popcorn bowl to the floor, and then easily maneuvered onto Vada's lap. She grinned against you, hands flying to your waist. 

"I always like when you're on top when we make out," she began, "because I like the weight." She paused, eyes wide. "I'm not, like, saying you're heavy or anything, not that that would be a problem if you were, obviously, but it's like a weighted blanket! You know, like how they can help anxiety and--"

"Vada," you said softly, eyes flickering between her own. 

She gulped, and her fingers twitched against your sweatshirt. "Yeah?"

"Could you just kiss me?"

She bit her lip. "Yeah. That I can definitely do." 

Vada stretched her neck up, and you leaned down. You met in the middle, lips moving feverishly against each other. Your arms were wrapped around her shoulders, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of her neck, while her hands slipped beneath the hem of your sweatshirt, her skin warm on yours. 

Her tongue swiped over your bottom lip at the same time as her fingers rose upward, the tips of her thumbs beneath your breasts. She pulled away quickly. "Are you not..." She moved her hands up a little more, feeling nothing except skin. "You're not wearing a bra."

You shook your head. "Nope." You grinned. "Is that a problem?"

"Definitely not," she breathed out, pulling you back into a bruising kiss. You groaned at the feeling, and she took it as an invitation, her tongue smoothing over your own. Vada's touch rose higher until she was palming your breasts softly, and you hummed against her.

After a moment, you nipped at her bottom lip and pulled away, your breathing heavy as you stared at her. Her pupils were blown, her lips were swollen, and you gulped before reaching down and pulling your sweatshirt off. Her eyes widened at the sight.

"Woah," she said as though she had never seen you topless before. You rolled your eyes with a smile because she had the same reaction every time the two of you did this, and then you leaned back in.

She seemed to still against you, and you reached down, urging her hands to keep moving. She took the hint, her thumbs beginning to circle your nipples, and you whined, your hips bucking up before you could stop them. 

Vada pulled away and dropped her head to your chest, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your sternum until she reached your breasts. She took one of your nipples into her mouth, and you threw your head back, a soft moan slipping from your lips. Her tongue ran along the bud while her lips sucked on it.

"Fuck, baby," you groaned, arching your back to push yourself into her touch more. 

Her hands dropped to your waist, though her mouth didn't stop, and she played with the hem of your shorts. "Do you wanna...?" she asked when she pulled back, staring up at you, her fingers dipping. 

"Yes," you said quickly, nodding to emphasize your agreement. "Yes, please."

Vada grinned, circled her arms around your waist, and then carefully laid you down on the couch, resting between your legs. Her mouth was quickly on your chest again as one of her hands slipped beneath your shorts, her finger running over your clothed slit. You squeaked in delight, hips canting up. 

"I can feel you through your underwear," Vada said. "You're really wet."

You nodded shyly, glancing away. "Yeah, well..."

She frowned and reached up, her free hand resting on your cheek and making you look at her again. "It's not bad. It's good. Really good, actually." She grinned, and you couldn't help your own smile. "Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, I have no idea what I'm doing, really. Well, I kind of do, since, you know, I also have a vagina, but, like, I've obviously never had sex with anyone else, so I don't know if I'll do it right, and I want your first time to be good."

"Vads, baby," you cooed. "It'll be great if it's with you."

"Okay, okay," she said. She leaned up and kissed you again, her hand slipping beneath your panties. You both groaned, you at the feeling and her at the feeling of you. She rubbed your clit experimentally and you moaned.

"Shit," you cursed. "Yeah, that's--that's good."

Vada started circling it softly, and you couldn't help your whimpering. She was careful, a little too careful, but you weren't going to rush her, especially since it felt amazing.

"You can..." You gasped as she sped up a little. "Yeah, I was gonna say--"

"That's good, then?" she asked. Her eyes were on you, watching all of your reactions, trying to make sure she was doing the right thing.

"Very," was your short response. 

"Can I...well, should I...go in?"

"Yeah," you murmured. "Yeah, okay."

Her hand pushed down just a little bit farther, and then--

Oh.

You gasped at the feeling. Vada glanced up. "Is that...okay? Or was it better earlier? Or--"

You gulped and looked down at her, offering her a half-hearted smile. "Babe...I--I don't think that's the hole you were going for..." you whispered, trying not to embarrass her. Her eyes widened, and a blush immediately painted over her face. She pulled out and then pulled away, even though you reached out for her, trying to bring her back in. 

"Oh my god, oh my god. I am so sorry," she rushed out. "I just...I didn't even realize that I had gone down that far, and I just went for it, and--oh my god, I am so sorry, baby."

You grabbed at her shirt, pulled her toward you again until she was hovering above you. "It's okay, Vads," you promised. She was fidgety, clearly anxious, and you reached up, cupping her cheek. "Baby, I swear, it's okay."

She bit her lip. "I just fucked up our first time having sex. Oh my god, it's our first time having sex and I just...I just put my finger--"

You giggled a little. "It's okay. I'm fine; we're fine." You leaned up and kissed her gently. "Do you wanna try again?"

Vada looked at you hesitantly. "Can I?" she asked. "I kind of feel like I need to try to redeem myself and get my finger in the right place. Because, I swear, I know where it's supposed to go. I promise."

"Vada, please try again," you said, the pleading in your voice clear as day. "I really want you to."

She nodded. "Okay." She leaned down and pressed her lips to yours, a little rough in her nerves. You didn't mind, accepting the kiss happily. 

Her fingers started to roam down your body again, and you inhaled sharply at the feel of her slipping beneath your panties again. Her fingers started at your clit, rubbing quick circles, and you moaned into her, her mouth catching the sound. 

"Okay," she said, determined. "This time I got it." Her finger slipped downward, and you felt her pressing against your entrance. "That's right, right?"

"Yes," you said. "Yes, baby. Please, just--"

She pushed her finger into you and you groaned, back arching. "God, you're tight, baby. Feels so good."

"Fuck," you mumbled as she started thrusting. She curled her finger whenever she was fully inside, and it wasn't hard for her to find the rough spot of your walls. "Shit, shit, Vads."

She grinned and dipped down to your neck, lips hot against your skin. You could feel her kissing and nipping and sucking, but you could only pay attention to the fact that she was in you. 

"You can," you started breathlessly, "you can add another one." 

Vada hummed into your neck and slipped a second finger in you. You gasped at the stretch, hands flying to grip her hair. Her thumb reached up to play with your clit, and she quickened her pace. You were rolling your hips against her, whimpering.

"You're so pretty," she said, voice muffled. "So good, baby."

The praise pushed you to the edge. "Vads, I'm gonna cum," you whined. She thrusted into you hard once, and then again, and then you were cumming around her fingers.  At the same moment your orgasm washed through you, her teeth nipped at your pulse point, and you shivered, fingers tightening in her hair and a moan of her name falling from your lips.

She pulled out of you gently, grinning smugly as she did, and you watched as she brought her fingers to her mouth, licking them curiously. Her eyes widened. "Okay," she said decidedly. "Next time, I'm going down on you."

You chuckled and bit your lip. "You think there's gonna be a next time?" you teased.

Vada frowned. "I thought I redeemed myself pretty well," she huffed. 

"I dunno. We might have to do it again...just to check."

She grinned. "Not a problem with me." And then her lips were on yours again and her hand was sliding down your front. 

[nariism]

the voice in my heart — i. sae

forced proximity + "oh no, the power went out, however will we stay warm?!" (/s)

synopsis. itoshi sae doesn't like how mushy you make him feel, but the warmth is nice. kinda.

wc. ~600

— for @saetoshi / @yoisagi my love 💗 | event masterlist ✉️

you didn't think it was possible, but somehow itoshi sae gets infinitely more irritable when he's cold.

he scowls more, hands permanently stuffed into his pockets, and sulks like there's no tomorrow. and he shivers, too. an embarrassing amount. (his pride is always severely injured when you ask him if he wants your help to warm up).

your grouchy roommate always found something to complain about when the weather dipped. whether it be the fact that his heater was always running, or that he has to scrape the ice off his windshield every morning, sae has never been able to see the beauty of winter.

"beauty?" he scoffed when you pointed that fact out one day. you were at the kitchen table and he was on the couch waking up from his midday nap—a typical sunday afternoon that he had long since added to his routine. "yeah, i'd rather admire it from inside. thanks."

"come on, don't be so pessimistic," you scolded, sauntering over to him to shove a pillow into his face. he knocked it away with a frown.

"i'm not pessimistic. just realistic. being cold sucks."

and that should have been the end of it. after that, you had stopped bothering him and purposefully trying to tease him with snide little comments about his disdain for the cold.

well. the universe has always had a funny way of fucking with him.

it's the coldest night of the season thus far. the snow storm raging outside has knocked out the power for the entire building and now the two of you are stuck pressed together under the warmth of your combined blankets.

"quit squirming around or i'll kick you out of my bed."

you make an undignified noise. "you wouldn't."

"i will if you don't stop that and go to sleep. i have to be up early tomorrow."

"this was your idea in the first place!"

sae had been the one to text you, after all. he hadn't even asked nicely, only sending you the word HELP in all capital letters as if he were going into cardiac arrest. you had rushed in to see what was wrong only to get dragged into his bed.

his greed for warmth was nothing new to you, of course, but he was careful to be gentle with you. to make sure he wasn't crushing you or making you uncomfortable. it was his way of being nice and somewhat apologetic that you were being treated as some sort of personal heater.

"i hate you," you tell him when he unceremoniously throws his leg over your entire body to keep you still.

"yeah, whatever. sleep before i kick you out."

"you're the one who asked me to share our blankets," you remind him again.

there's a long silence that follows that statement. it's so quiet that you assume he just ignored you and went to sleep without replying. but then he rolls over until his back is to you and he utters out, strained: "we don't speak of this, ever."

you raise a brow, shifting to face his back. "oh? are you embarrassed that i had to keep you warm?"

"i'm not embarrassed," he quickly corrects, even with the waver of his normally dead voice.

you reach around him, back of your hand resting on his cheek. you feel him tense up beside you in bed and you can't help but burst out laughing.

"your whole face is warm."

he groans, pulling the blankets closer to his side and up over his head so you can't observe him any closer. he's worried that if you did, you might have noticed how incredibly red he was growing. something so out of character would absolutely garner a new game for you and he would never hear the end of it.

for someone with an attitude problem about everything, he was surprisingly easy to shut down. maybe it was just you who had that talent, though.

itoshi sae doesn't like how mushy you make him feel, but the warmth is nice—

"i know you're trying to hide from me! if you just wanted to be held i'd be happy to help."

—kinda.

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

[newyearseve1979]

Cool Niece, Cooler Aunt

Or, Lilia and Alice spend some time together.

Content warnings, brief mentions of death and grief, allusions and mentions of malicious drug use. It’s pretty tame, generally

Lilia stared at the boiling teapot. The stove glowed gently under it, the sun lit up its shiny metal surface, but the water itself seemed unchangeable. If her stare bore into the kettle hard enough, the water would boil faster (or something like that.) “You could just use magic,” Alice said, leaning against the kitchen counter. Her hair was still messy from sleep and the orangish red streaks in her hair definitely needed re-done. She had an old Le Tigre band shirt on. Lilia vaguely remembered going to one of their concerts.

“It's the little routines that keep a girl together,” Lilia shrugged.

Alice nodded, smiling. She could appreciate the sentiment.

Lilia’s own robe was burnt orange and one of softest things she owned. Sun streamed through the window, lighting up the spacious kitchen. It was a far cry from her old apartment, Lilia knew, and she wouldn't have been able to afford it without the rest of the witches. After the road, after she’d fallen, she’d been stuck in a weird kind of Limbo. Alice had been there too, but that's all they could remember. Turns out the road had been made up so they didn't really die, even though Rio has still arrived to take them to that little inbetween world. Lilia didn't want to think too hard on that, because they’d gotten out when Jen completed her trial. What mattered was that she and her fuck ass coven (as described by Lilia herself) had bought a house together, roughly an hour’s drive out of East View, in the woods. It was close enough to other people for the working witches to keep up with their lives, and far enough away for Agatha to… what was she up to again? While the two waking witches assumed everyone else was asleep, Agatha had already gone out for a walk in the woods before the sun rose.

The teapot whistled, and Lilia took it off the stove. Alice had already set out two mugs and the honey pot. The house was quiet. Lilia and Alice were the only ones in the kitchen, and since it was a Sunday, no one had work. Not that there was much to do; Jennifer’s business was largely remote until she felt like returning to her shop, and Alice was still on the job hunt. Agatha was… well Lilia didn't need to touch that until she felt like it.

The quiet was interrupted by the music Alice had switched on. Bikini Kill, Lilia recognized it, Reject all America. “Good band,” she said, turning off the stove and mixing honey into her cup. Alice only looked slightly surprised. “I saw them live a few times.”

To Alice’s credit, she didn't let her jaw fall all the way down. “You Lilia? Really?”

Lilia smiled to herself. “Oh yeah,” she pointed at Alice’s shirt, “them too.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I’m not!” Lilia insisted, amused. She hugged her soft rope close, and sipped on her tea. Riot Grrrl had attracted plenty of witches in her area, and yeah, Lilia had been pretty into it. Alice shook her head, still smiling.

“I'm trying to picture you at a punk concert.”

Lilia rolled her eyes. She thought about a time when she’d straightened her hair and her old thrifted jacket. “Get me that leather jacket of yours, doll,” She smiled. Memories of stitching protection runes into the inside of her jacket came back to her. “I'll try it on and that’ll give you a pretty good picture.”

Alice gave Lilia a once over. Her robe was snug and secure, her curly hair was piled on her head, and an amulet hung from her neck. Lilia looked like a classy broadway star, not a Riot Grrrl fan. Still, she could almost picture it. Lilia with a shaggy haircut, leather jacket, and punk shirts, cursing out some moron. “Come on, don't tell me you think I'm too old,” Lilia huffed, half kidding.

Alice waved her off. “I’d sneak into concerts when I was younger. My um, well you know my mom died when I was thirteen? I wanna say that was the same time the movement was getting traction.”

Lilia nodded. “The years blended together for me after a bit. All my big losses happened -oh god- forever ago.” She finished her tea and put the cup in the sink. “How long did you keep up with it?”

Alice hummed, and hugged herself. “Till college. It kind of fell off a bit after I graduated you know? But freshman year was intense. I dated this girl who I thought was big into Team Dresch, so we’d gone to a few concerts. Turns out she’d been more into the story about my mom. That wasn't the whole reason we stopped going out though. But the movement had been this part of my life, in a massive way after mom died. She’d made sure music was always important to my life. I needed away from the magic shit, and it was a good place to be angry. I really needed to be angry; you know I stayed that way for a long time.

But after a few years, when I'd put in my old cd’s and records all I could think of was how… upset I was as a teenager. You know I didn’t deal with my grief until recently, so, I guess that’s something else. ” Lilia watched Alice, nodding at the right times. She definitely knew. She wasn't about to forget Alice’s trial on the road, or what she’d said later.

“Sad is better than angry.”

Alice’s head was tilted down, but Lilia saw her eyes getting misty. She moved over to Alice’s side of the kitchen. She put a hand on her shoulder. “I got back into it recently,” Alice added, "the music. It's way easier to find the old music on the internet, especially when Jen pays for my subscription.” Lilia knew what she meant; she was also on the plan.

“Well I don't know how to tell you this, but punk attracts all kinds of outcasts, witches included. Even if they tended to uplift white middle class girls over other groups.” Lilia patted Alice’s arm before stepping back again. “Trust me doll, you were where you needed to be.” The speaker had switched over to Dyke March by Le Tigre. Their singer was the same one from Bikini Kill. “I met her once,” Lilia mused, tapping on the speaker,“Kathleen Hanna.”

Alice wiped at her face. It was early enough that she hadn't put on her usual makeup yet. “Yeah? Do you think she remembers you?”

She chuckled. “No, probably not. But I know she’s touring right now with Bikini Kill again.”

“I saw that.”

Lilia didn't hesitate. “We should go see them. Tonight. They’ve got Eastview stadium for the week, and it's cheapest tonight.”

“Lilia Calderu is inviting me to a punk concert?”

“Lilia Calder is offended at this disbelief,” Lilia huffed, “you know twenty years ago I was getting more comments about my age when I was getting pins and patches than I bet your thirteen year old ass was. Compared to me, you’re practically a child. I should be asking if it's past your bedtime.”

Alice swatted Lilia’s arm. “You’ve been around Harkness too much.” Lilia shrugged. The pair made plans to go to a punk concert once the sun went down.

That evening, Lilia went through the boxes in her room that she still hadn't unpacked. “I know where it all is, there's no point in reorganizing!” She’d say, but it was really because part of her still wasn't certain the roommate situation would last. Either way, she found some dark, flowy clothes that were probably more Stevie Nicks than anything, but honestly, who was going to care. Lilia dug around for a few protection rings; the ones she always took, and the few extras she took to this kind of scene because she’d been around long enough to see some messed up shit.

A vision flashed to Lilia. Crowded room, packed venue. Sweaty bodies pushing her around. Someone yelling, Piss off Lilia! And harsh hands jerking her to the side. Too loud, too loud, too loud, so loud that it blurred her vision. She swayed. She dropped her drink; the mussels in her hand betrayed her. Was it the crowd or was it- no shit shit not again. When is this? Last time-

“Lilia!” Soft hands shook her gently, and Lilia put her own up in self defense, pushing back against a pink clad body. Soft hands held her in place as she pushed, letting Lilia have something to physically resist.. She found herself sitting, then, black skirts piling around her, grey curls falling in front of her face. Lilia was coming back to herself when Jen said her name again. “Hey? Kooky?” Lila looked around. She'd knocked over the box she’d been rifling through. Bobbles scattered around the floor, thrown about like whatever timeline was trying to speak to Lilia. Alice stood in the doorway. Lilia’s brow produced little beads of sweat as she tried to determine if she’d visited a vision or a memory. Jen nudged her again. “Lilia?”

Lilia shrugged Jen off. She rubbed her temple. “I just…”

“You went away for a minute,” Jen nodded. She tilted her head, with a rare Kale smile. “Anywhere good?” Definitely not.

Lilia chuckled dryly, using Jen to help her to her feet. “Somewhere loud.” She looked over at Alice. “You look… concert ready.” She nodded approvingly. Alice’s orange streaks had been re-dyed, with the help of Jen earlier that day. Her outfit was pretty close to what she wore the first time Lilia had met her. Only this time, it was a slightly different jacket with a list of different feminist punk bands painted onto the back. Her makeup was a bit bigger too. She tossed Lilia a pair of ear plugs.

“We’re good to head out in ten?”

“Give me twenty,” Lilia said. It wasn't a question. Alice nodded and went back downstairs. Jen smoothed out the shirt on Lilia’s shoulders. Then she went over and sat on Lilia’s bed. Lilia settled herself into a plush chair she’d picked up back in Vienna, right in front of her mirror.

“Where did you go this time?” Jen asked when Lilia didn't ask her to leave.

Lilia pursed her lips. “A concert.” She flexed her hands in front of her face. They did not fail her as she applied lipstick and mascara, or when she clasped talismans around her neck and wrists. They would not fail her again, and they hadn’t that night. It had been a close call, Lilia remembered, but that's all. She didn't tell Jen and Jen didn’t push. Oddly, she’d stopped pushing since the trial. But she had started watching Lilia. She’d stay in the same room a little longer, stay up a little later, all little things Lilia noticed, but wouldn't ask about yet. What right did she have to anyway, to tell her to leave. Not after she sent Jen down the road without her, and Lilia knew that.

Alice had the car running and music already playing. “What’s this?” Lilia asked as she slid into the passenger seat.

“Mommy Long-Legs,” Alice smiled. They pulled out of the wider part of the driveway and started down the road that wasn't necessarily a private road, but might as well have been because of how long it was, and the fact that there were only two houses on it, both perfectly crafted for woodland semi-isolation. As far as Lilia knew, their neighboring building was largely uninhabited. She’d never seen it though, as it was hidden so far back that the trees blended together into black before you could hope to see a house.

“What else do you listen to?” Alice asked, breaking Lilia from her thoughts.

Lilia hummed. “Jazz, older Italian songs, but seventies and eighties rock was a pretty good time for music too, I suppose. Stevie Nicks is wonderful.”

“Mom performed with her and Fleetwood Mac.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. I was pretty young, but I remembered it being a huge deal.”

“I remember that,” Lilia reminisced, “that was a good show.”

They got themselves out of the woods and started driving along a series of fields. Houses slowly started showing up, becoming closer and more clustered the longer they drove. The lights of civilization began to shine down on them, and suddenly the road was a bit less empty. When they made it into Eastview, approaching the venue, Lilia could start to guess who was on their way to the concert. She smiled-

Fuck off Lilia! She’s pushed to her knees, or has she fallen on her own. Help! Who needed help! The picture is fuzzy. Wrong. It’s not as clear as it should be. She’s inebriated. No, she's… she’s…

Her body slumps down, and before she can catch herself, Lilia hits her head off the dashboard. She curses herself, looks at Alice who drives calmly, and sits back up in her seat. “Um,” Alice starts slowly. She turns into a parking spot and shuts off the music. “Are you… back?”

Lilia looks at Alice, searching. Who’s voice had told her to- “Say something,” Lilia said.

“Something? Lilia are you ok? Do I need to call Jen or…?”

Lilia’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need a babysitter, baby. I’m fine.” But she wasn’t fine. Time was not linear and she was actively jumping around. She couldn't hold herself, couldn't find where she needed to be like she had on the road. She looked at Alice. She needed to ask for help. She needed her sisters for the craft.

“I dont…” Alice bit her lip, “I don’t know how to help you.”

“Well I'm sure that's really hard for you,” she snapped. She rubbed her temples. In the vision… she couldn't get a grip on reality. It was like something was infecting her.

“I’m not taking your shit old woman,” Alice snapped right back, not missing a beat. Lilia barked out a humorless laugh. She nodded approvingly. It confused Alice.

“You’re into punk, right doll? Right. So why the hell are you a cop?” She gave Alice a hard stare. Alice didn't flinch, but regarded Lilia with suspicion. “I’m not, ok, that sounded judgemental. It was.”

“I wanted-”

“To help people? That wasn't intuition, that's common sense. The Protection Witch wants to protect people. So why not get into security? And don't give me that mall security bullshit, that wasn't your choice.” Lilia had successfully deflected back onto Alice. For now. Divine Mother, she really was spending too much time around Agatha. That thought made her shiver, so she softened. “You could be anything, baby,” She reached over for Alice’s hands, “embrace it.”

“Oh fuck off Lilia,” Alice groaned, “fuck that. I’m glad you had your enlightenment moment on the road, but you’re not ok!You still haven't even told me what happened after I died, so unlike Jen, I still don't have a damn clue what's wrong with you! And that's fine! But how am I supposed to protect you?”

“Don't protect me then!” Lilia shouted, “Protect yourself, baby! I’m not senile, I don't-”

“Need a babysitter! I know! You’ve fucking said Lilia, youve fucking said.” Alice slammed her hand down on the horn of the parked car. A group of punk girls, in their early teens, late twenties, cheered. “You’re smart and you can take care of yourself because you've been doing it for centuries. You and everyone else in the house, ok, I've got it. No one taught me how to be a witch. I never made a habit of spending time with women literally centuries older than me.” Her eyes welled up with tears, even as her face contorted back to the familiar anger she’d lived with for so long.

Her mother holds her hand, showing her how to spread the tarot cards. How to read people like reading cards. She will see her mother’s death, and her mother may not see the truth in it. “Please Mama, please won't you listen? Let me help, let me help,” and then in the dark of the night after vision after vision-

“Just let me help you! Don't leave me alone!” Lilia cries out, her hands flying to her hair and pulling her curls out of place, like she’d done as a girl. She shakes as her lungs try to puncture themselves on her ribs, expanding against the shell of her body. She looks back to Alice, ashamed. “That wasn't,” she started, “that wasn't for you.”

Alice nodded. She had unbuckled her seatbelt and was sitting against the inside of the door, her feet pulled up to her knees. Her head was tilted on her arms like they had been at the campfire on the witches road. Alice wasnt smiling though, she was waiting. Lilia handed her a ring to fidget with.

“My mother,” Lilia confessed quietly, “well. I lost her too. I couldn't protect her.” Lilia glances at herself in the side mirror. Her hair had been pulled into disarray. Her makeup should just be wiped off at that point. “I do not want to talk about it. Jen knows. But I knew it would happen, and I couldn't stop it, and I was alone and no one wants to be around a woman who sees their deaths-” her voice cracked, “so I was run out of everywhere. I apologize if I don’t know how to fix you, doll-”

“So don't try to fix me,” Alice said. She started out firm, then paused. She reached over for Lilia’s hand. Lilia took it- hesitantly. “Don’t try to fix, try to help. Advise. Ok?”

Lilia nodded. She pulled the curls out of her face and readjusted the neck of her shirt., fixing her posture. “And you don't need to protect me… just, oh Divine mother, just, support me. Sometimes.”

Alice nodded. A silent agreement passed between them. They did not, in fact, hug it out. They didn't go to the concert, either. With a peace made between them, Lilia saw a worse future. Her abilities were not deteriorating, she was visiting a time where she was drugged. Roofied. After Alice would tell her to fuck off, again, the protection witch would be separated from her. Neither would reach for their powers in time, because they would both be incapacitated. So instead, they went to an old vinyl shop. They left with some Grateful Dead, Billy Joel, and Alice turned Lilia onto the Crane Wives.

The shop owner, an older man, didn't peg them as mother and daughter, like his assistant had asked Lilia. Of course, Lilia said no. The shop owner, who knew and sensed more than his young apprentice, immediately saw them as Cool Niece, Cooler Aunt.

Sisters of the craft. He charged them extra.

They had yet to really understand each other, but certainly, they were getting there.

[angelizs]

[Club Activities - part 2]

Summary: Crowley keeps knocking at your door, quite literally, wanting to hear your club choice. You might as well get this over with.

Notes: gn!reader, humor, it's kinda long, reader is oblivious, mentions of minor injuries but in a funny way dw, it's the looong overdue pt2

Part: 1.0 / 2 (you're here!) / 2.5 (soon!)

"So, have you decided?"

Crowley stands by the doorway. He looks completely normal, a pleasant smile plastered on his lips. You blink, sluggish, resisting the urge to slam the door on his face.

"It's five a.m. on a sunday."

"Yes, that's correct, good to see you're keeping up with the passage of time."

You feel there's a jab aimed at you for taking your time on choosing a club. Or on answering the door. In your defense, Grim was sleeping on top of you and you didn't want to disturb his sleep. Nor yours. You were hoping the Headmaster would just give up and leave you alone, but instead he only knocked louder. 

"Well?"

"Uh..." You take a bit to remember the first thing he said. "No, I still have some meetings to go to."

"Were the sports clubs not to your liking? I'm sure you'd do well in one, should you put your efforts on it."

"Nah, I'll pass."

"I see. Then, you'll tell me your decision by the end of the week, yes?"

"Since when did we agree on this." It was a question, but with your drowsy state it just fell flat.

"Since now, of course! I was very kind to let you take so much time to chose a club, but you must understand I'm under some pressure as well to make sure you'll have the best possible education here. We can't afford to lose too much time!"

You blink again, your brain still sleepy. "Oh. Alright."

Crowley claps his hands in an excited manner. "Wonderful! I'll be eagerly waiting for your decision, then!"

Only as you watch his retreating back getting farther away that it finally registers just what you agreed on. You groan, closing the door and leaning against it.

Well, nothing to do about it now. You should really get onto it, anyway. Still, your break will be missed.

Film Research Club (Vil, Ortho platonically)

You had finally left the sports clubs behind, time to try something new, like arts!

Since you've worked with Vil at the SDC, you were already used to his strict personality and thought you'd be able to handle yourself pretty well. You might not have that much experience with acting but you did know how to pretend everything was ok and your life wasn't falling apart, so you think you might have potential.

It was quite surprising to see Ortho there, but the sight of your friend's welcoming eyes and cheer made you feel relieved, relaxing amidst the Pomefiore students. They were intimidating, though in a different way the guys from the Spelldrive club were. The latter looked like they could easily beat you to a pulp, while the former looked like they'd give you a disgusted stare and call you a peasant in such a condescending tone you'd implode on spot. They were all very pretty as well, but you wouldn't let that make you self conscious since you knew no one could beat Vil anyway.

Speaking of, Vil himself comes to speak with you and explain about the club with a professional conduct as he says that Crowley had warned him of your special situation and that he'd let you help out, since they always needed extra hands on deck. You got hopeful at that, perhaps it was time for you to shine and discover a hiden talent of yours! These daydreams are soon crushed as Vil puts you on backstage duty and turns around, having something or other to talk about with the other members.

Well. That was... not what you were expecting. Ortho explains that in order to enter the club as an actor, you must audition beforehand and prove yourself worthy. That makes sense, you guess, so you accept it with grace. Backstage work might not be as exciting as being on the actual stage, but you had Ortho by your side to make sure things won't be too dull. And a side of you wants to make Vil proud of your work, so you suck it up and ask Ortho to lead the way.

Ortho shows you around the set you'll be working on for the day. It's one of Pomefiore's dorm ballrooms, and it's huge. You look in awe at everything, even though it's a bit plain in terms of furniture, it's quite detailed. In moments like this you remember Pomefiore's dorm is a castle, as you feel the royalty emanating from the ceiling, with it's luxurious chandeliers, to the walls, with it's intricate golden patterns, even at the floor, by it's quality.

He teaches you how to operate the lights and sound for a bit while the actors decide on what they'll film that day. You feel just the tiniest bit of jealousy at them, especially because Vil seems to be very focused on everything they say. Ortho must notice this (of course he would), and tries to cheer you up. After all, you're his friend! He doesn't want you to feel bored at the club when there are so many insteresting things to do!

You move from the more technical parts and go to the storage room, where they keep most of the props and extra accessories. You explore it, looking at everything but not touching, not wanting to get in trouble if you break anything on accident. As you're looking at an old mirror, Ortho picks up one of the pink cowboy hats and puts it on your head. It looks goofy, not matching with your uniform at all, and it makes you laugh.

You retaliate by putting a pirate hat full of colorful feathers that's way too big on him. It slides down and covers his eyes, making him look like a little kid trying on their sibling's clothes. Not to mention the feathers, that also clash with his body's design. You both laugh and go to different directions, trying to find more things to put on.

Ortho ends up with a vivid red sash wrapped around his waist and a wooden rod in hands, while you've got a pink feather scarf around your neck and a hollow steel rod in hands. You stare down at each other from your sides of the room, pretending you're on one of those western cowboy movies, even acting like it too. You drawl out something about the town not being big enough for the two of you. Ortho goes along, putting up the worst pirate accent with his robotic voice and telling you to prepared to be boarded.

Between giggles, the two of you meet at the middle, your rods clashing as if they were swords. You make exaggerated moviments that would be impratical in any fight while dropping the most cliche lines you can think of. Ortho dodges your attacks in slow motion and retributes with his own, making it seem more like some funny dance than a sword fight.

You were having so much fun you kind of forgot you were there to do a job. You're quickly reminded as the door suddenly opens and you, startled, let the steel rod slip from your hands mid attack and hit the wall with a loud clang. There stands Vil, hands on his hips as he stares at the two of you with one arched eyebrow, an unimpressed look on his face even after almost being hit right on it. You're not looking the most dignified, with your whole attire. Nor is Ortho, which helps you to not feel alone on the receiving end of Vil's judgment.

The three of you leave the props behind and return to the main area. More precisely, to the actors' dressing room part. It's not an actual separate room, but rather a space of the ballroom reserved for this. Most have put on their costumes and are adjusting the finer details, Vil instructs you to help them while he sets up the stage.

You try your best, but every actor sends you a glare as you approach them, making you turn on your heels and try another one. And another. And another. You're not feeling very helpful. How you wish you could just ignore it like Ortho does. The only thing you actually do is helping zip up some clothes when they can't reach their backs and do it themselves. You don't dare to touch their hair or you feel they'd explode you with their minds. There is one instance when you have to lace a guy into a corset, but you get a bit confused with all the laces. Maybe it's like tying a shoe? You pull on it with too much force at first, leading him to complain at you the entire time. In your defense, you've never done this before! You tie it up with a cute lace at the end to make up for it and scurry away before he could release more of his wrath upon you. You settle on following Ortho around like a lost puppy.

Finally, everyone finishes up and you move to the middle of the room, where the scene will be taking place. From what you gather, the movie they are making is about a royal family that's having their heir assume the throne, but there's a plot against him going behind the scenes. The main character seems to be corset guy, who still glares at you whenever you pass by his camp of vision, much to your (un)luck.

Ortho leads you to the first place he showed, since they'd start recording soon. You watch him work with the lights, turning them on dramatically as they start the scene and making it follow the main lead as he monologues about his woes of assuming such a big responsability and how he feels between the sea of people present. The actor does a good job, good enogh to appease Vil, who watches attentively near the camera. The thing is, he's trying to replicate a foreign accent and that, combined with his melodramatic lines, makes you have to stifle a laugh.

You try your best to stay quiet and pay attention to the story, but some of the lines and the way they dramatically deliver them sound so silly you can't help but giggle in your palm. Ortho looks at you inquisitively, tilting his head and trying to understand what you found so funny. You whisper an explanation to him, making him see the words in a different manner. As you laugh, he laughs along discretely, both of you having fun again.

Vil motions for you to keep your volume down, as to not disturb the actors and break their concentration, and you send him a thumbs up. Still, you keep on reacting, even mouthing their words with exaggerated facial expressions. Ortho seems much more interested in what you have to show than the lights, since he misses some of his cues and gets it later or sooner than intended. Which is also funny, since the confused looks on the background actors' faces are very entertaining. 

It comes to a point in which you're holding in your laughter so much you're a bit out of air, and you end up bumping into one of the controls, making the background music change suddenly, from a calm waltz to an action scenesque one. Your startled eyes meet Ortho's, and in true friendship fashion you both burst out laughing. Vil cuts the filming and strides up on you two, reprimanding you once again, and you feel like a guilty puppy being scolded by their owner. You must look like that too, since he sighs like an overworked mother and takes pity on you, deciding on something else for you to do and leave Ortho to do his job without distractions.

Vil gives you the role of an extra to play, just for you to have an idle conversation with the protagonist that won't last even five minutes. He shows you exactly how the scene should go, taking hold of your hand to conduct a dance and dropping casual chatter with you, looking you in the eyes, with a conduct that's so charming you're sure you feel your heart skip a beat (too bad it's just acting though). You feel like you can do that as well, so you hurry to change into one of the formal outfits and repeat the line Vil told you over and over again in your head, heart beating way too fast.

There is just one thing you didn't count on: you apparently have a bad case of stage fright. Or perhaps it's happening especifically because you know Vil will be watching you like a hawk. As you position yourself amidst the other extras, you feel your heartbeat accelerating and your hands start to sweat. You try to relax your tense shoulders and clear your throat, looking at the floor to steady yourself.

As your cue approaches, you move closer to the corset guy, whose attention snaps at you as soon as you enter his vision field. Even if his face looks polite, like a prince, you can feel the glare he's still sending your way, just on a more subdued level this time. You can also feel the stares of the others on your back and your tongue seems to have been tied. Your head comes up with a blank when you try to remember what Vil told you to say. Oh, this is not good. Why did this have to be so nerve wracking?

Time passes slowly, seconds feels like hours as the protagonist waits expectantly for your words. Trying to not disappoint, you blurt out a joke improvisation line, like the ones you see on movies sometimes. Unfortunately, your sense of humor is vastly different from Pomefiore's students', and the joke falls so flat everyone has to take a moment to recover. You wish for the ground to swallow you as Vil yells a "Cut!" and the other actors look judgmentally in your way. Maybe if you close your eyes it will go away? You can still hear the other's whispering, and although you don't understand what exactly they're saying, you can only guess they're mocking you. Welp, guess it's time to become a hermit at ramshackle and never show your face at school ever again!

It takes only a minute, but as soon as Vil has recomposed himself he commands everyone to be quiet. You open your eyes again, gathering all your courage to see the disappointed look on his face, but you're surprised that's not what greets you. Instead, Vil's got a nasty glare that's sharp enough to cut a man, and it's not directed at you at all! Vil procceds to reprimand the rest of the cast for being so inelegant as to make fun of a begginer and even mocks their need to feel superior. You've never felt more grateful for him in your life, maybe you can still go to classes after that, since no one will dare to mess with you and risk his wrath.

As the others look ashamed for being yelled at by their leader, Vil pulls you aside and tells you that maybe it's better to try something else if your stage fright is going to affect your performance so much. He sounds strict as always, but he has an almost soft look in his eyes as he congratulates you for trying to overcome that fear and that you did well enough for someone with no experience. You feel a lot better after that and thank him sincerely, promising to give it your all at whatever other job you can do to help! He smiles at your enthusiasm and it's as if the clouds have parted ways for the sun to shine. (The other club members look amazed, as they've never seen such a soft smile on Vil's face before.)

He then asks you if you know how to work with a camera. If taking pics with Cater to post on Magicam counts then yes, you do have some experience with it. Vil says he's got the perfect job for you: being part of the camera crew and helping to film everything. You accept, after all, how hard can it be, really?

Apparently, a lot. Vil had just left out a little detail from this job: you'd be filming the aerial angle of this scene. Which meant using Kalim's magic carpet. As you recall, you're not the most adept at riding it, flashbacks from winter vacation entering in your mind. Still, you had promised Vil you'd help on this, and you weren't sure if he'd find you another thing to do or get your complaining the wrong way, so you decide to give it a try anyway.

You wobble on it, camera propped up on your shoulder and secured by a sling strap just in case you losen your hold on it. (Which is very likely). Surprisingly, you manage to get the carpet off the ground without many complications, so things are looking up (quite literally)! And then comes the part where you have to guide it and you're almost thrown out of a window with the force it makes a turn. Your grip on it tightens and you try to wrestle it into submission, with little success.

Things procced like this, you trying to learn how to drive the carpet while making turns on the air and holding on for your life. (And making sure the camera is safe. You don't want a repeat of the chandelier accident from the start of the year, so you're not taking any chances). Anything you might have tried to film is probably so shaky and blurry it isn't even usable, but you have more important matters to worry about.

That goes on until you make a particularly sharp turn, causing the carpet to lose control and go spiraling straight to the floor. Luckly, you manage to land on a convenientely placed couch (has that been there before?) and doesn't get much hurt. You're clutching the camera to your chest in a protective manner, so it isn't damaged either. At least, not much, but it isn't anything the Ignihyde guys can't fix.

Vil and Ortho are by your side in an instant, asking if you're alright. Vil extends his hand and pulls you up like a gentleman, fixing your hair softly. He's really close to your face and you can feel your heart beating faster, though you're not sure if it's due to that or the adrenaline of the fall. Ortho reassures you that not even him got the hang of piloting the carpet, as it seems to only actually obey Kalim, and that you did your best!

You really did try, so you can safely say you won't discover any hidden acting talent any time soon. Time to check out other clubs. 

(Ortho tells you to drop by another time at practice and watch the recording with him, since he had a lot of fun! Vil tells you that should you wish and work hard for it, you may have potential and he'd be willing to help you reach it. You agree, since it was very nice to visit and, most of all, to get to see Vil on his element like this. There's an added bonus of you not having ended up at the infirmary as well, which is enough to put the club on a positive light in your books. It's a bit sad that's the standard, but oh well, nothing to do about it.)

Science Club (Trey, Rook)

Alright, art may not be for you, but maybe science is! Or... whatever it is that they do in this club.

It's a bit intimidating since there are way too many people there, more than you've seen in any other club. What could they possibly be doing to attract this many people?

Rook, as observant as ever, notices you before you've even set foot inside the lab, coming close to greet you and ask if you were going to join them for the day. You relutanctly agree, staying close to his side as he leads you deeper into the room, opening the path. You make sure to not bump into anyone and cause an accident.

Trey is at one of the work tables at the back, sharing it with Rook. He sends a calming smile your way and explains that it's a club with a vast variety of activities, as long as they're not of the physical sort. You sigh in relief, listening to him reciting things such as plant cultivation and chemistry experiments. You already have to do those things on your regular classes, so you're confident in your ability of succeding for once. Rook adds that this flexibility in activity has attracted many people, creating a beauté diversity of members. (Trey explains that there's a lot of odd people as he side eyes Rook).

You sit with them, since you don't know anyone else. Rook goes on about the experiment he'll be doing this time, something that will leave a beautiful impact and stay on the mind of anyone looking. It sounds a lot like what happens when you partner up with Ace and Deuce at alchemy class, that is, stuff is about to be blown up. You scoot closer to Trey.

Taking pity on you, Trey reminds Rook that there's an ingredient missing, since they had used all from the lab's storage on their last class, and offers to get it at the botanical garden for him, inviting you to come along. You jump at the opportunity, agreeing and getting up to follow him. Rook thanks his generosity and explains that there's no way a gentleman like him would leave all the hard work onto the two of you, so he follows along. Trey looks a bit annoyed, but you only wanted to get out of being roped into a crazy experiment so you don't mind much, as long as you keep Rook away from any potential explosive plants.

The fresh air from the gardens is much better than the stuffy feeling from the crowded lab, and you take a deep breath to appreciate it. Trey takes you to the temperate zone, the path filled with beautiful flowers of all colors and scents. The sound of the little river below you only adds to the pleasant atmosphere, the sun rays warming up your skin and soul. It's wonderful. You'd like it if your club classes were to take place there. It might be enough to convince you to join, the nature so full of life energizing your mood, a smile blooming on your face.

You pass by an area that has thicker vegetation and stands out from the whole, attracting your curiosity, so you ask Trey what could be there. He warns you to not wander to that side of the garden, as there were carnivorous plants being cultivated by the third years. You wave him off, saying you had those back in your world and they were pretty harmless. Trey looks at you in doubt, but decides to not question it, aceptting your answer and going back to his search for the missing ingredient. 

Since you have no idea what you should be looking for, you leave the boys to it, deciding to observe the flowers instead. Distracted, you end up getting farther away from them, the flora enticing you and putting you under a spell, demanding your attention. It's not until you bump into a tall... something, that you realize how far you had gone. You lift up your head, wondering if you had bumped into a tree, only to find two open hinged lobes dripping with sap closing on your face.

A scream gets caught in your throat as you take in the gigantic carnivorous plant in front of you, that's only coming closer. You didn't know that when Trey had mentioned them, he didn't explain that they aren't like the one from your world at all. Not only were they huge, but also seemed ready to eat a human at any given chance.

You're pulled by someone behind you, falling into a secure chest and feeling strong arms embracing your waist as the plant's jaw's close into the air where you were just a second ago. The sigh you let out shakes your whole body and you let your weight be supported by your saviour. You find out his identity soon enough, as a familiar voice by your ear calls you chéri and asks if you were fine.

After thanking Rook, he guides you to the main area of the garden with a protective hand behind your back, making sure you wouldn't stumble into any more potential dangerous plants, as he goes on about how they were "the hunters of the natural world" and how "such danger has it's own alluring charm, non?" You don't catch the glint in his eyes as he asks the question, too busy trying to get your heart beat back into a normal rhythm. 

Trey scolds you lightly for ignoring his advice, but he seems busier trying to equilibrate the plants he harvested in his arms and glaring at Rook, probably for leaving him alone to do all the work. Rook stays unbothered, putting his hands on your shoulders and staying close as he directs you to the exit, his usual smile stamped on his face.

As you put the fresh ingredients near the others that Rook had selected earlier, you notice some strawberries in the mix. You shot a questioning stare at Trey, making him laugh and explain he took the chance to harvest some of his hand grown special strawberries. He takes some from your hands, brushing your fingers together before lifting them up to inspect closely. The strawberries are a beautiful shade of red, making you salivate only by looking at them. Trey has a contemplative expression as he murmurs he should use them as soon as possible in order to make the best use of their ripeness.

You suggest him to make a strawberry tart with them and offers your help, on the light price of getting to eat it as well. He smiles and agrees to your proposal, telling you to follow him to the kitchens. You do, happily so as you carry some of the strawberries in your arms, leaving Rook to take care of the potions experiment. Really, you feel like you've killed two birds with one stone, so you pat yourself on the back for doing a good job.

Back at the first month of classes, you remember cooking with Trey, Ace, Deuce and Grim, and how much fun you had, despite the circumstances. With the group reduced to two, it might be more toilsome, but you were confident it would be worth it.

Trey finds an extra apron for you, tying it himself to make sure it would stay in place. He gently explains the steps to prepare the ingredients, helping you whenever you didn't understand something. It was quite nice, seeing Trey look so in his element, an unconscious soft expression on his face, as if he was enjoying himself. It's domestic, even, how you dance around each other in the kitchen, passing bowls and cutlery back and forth. He is good humored as he recalls stories from the club, making you laugh whenever he bemoans Rook's experiments.

The stories he tells are very captivating, so much so that you don't look at the recipe book, doing the steps on automatic. Once or twice you almost spill what you were mixing or use too much force to cut something, but it's salvageable every time, so you don't comment on it. You leave the crust on the oven for a bit too much, but it's only slightly charred, so you're pretty sure it's still edible. One of the flour bags slips from your hands and falls on the sink, covering your face in flour powder. Trey helps you clean up, but he's laughing at you and your now white hair. It comes to the point in which you're mixing the crème pâtissière and you get too close to the stove, making the ends of your sleeves to catch on fire. Trey quickly puts it out and runs your arm under cold water. The crème ends up a bit too lumpy, since neither of you were stirring it for a while, but it's not too bad.

Alright, maybe you're not the best at cooking. Still, arranging the strawberries in a circle on top of the tart was pretty fun. The last thing left to do is to let it cool. You lick your lips thinking about eating it once it's ready. You're about to help Trey clean the mess you've made in the kitchen when Rook bursts through the door, looking excited. He tells you there's no time to explain and takes you by the hand, dragging you back to the laboratory. You send Trey your best regards and wish him luck in cleaning everything alone. He sends you a pitying look back.

You should wish yourself some luck as well, since the motive for Rook to have brought you to the lab was for you to help him with the new formula he thought for his experiment. He explains that the one he was trying didn't have it's desired effects, as you could clearly see from the scorch marks on the table you were sitting before. He says that for the new formula, he'll need help to get the ingredients prepared and handed over, since he couldn't stop stirring it until everything was added in. You don't know how he came up with this solution, and honestly? You don't want to know.

Having no other choice, you agree to help him. He reminds you to put your gloves and safety googles on before starting, making a comment on how your cute apron would do as your lab coat. After getting into place, you follow all of Rook's instructions, preparing and handing over the ingredients he asks for. You have no idea what it is that he's going for, as your potions classes are still on a basic and more theorical level, but you decide to trust that he, as your upperclassman, knows what he's doing.

Dread pools on your gut as you watch the ingredients going into the cauldron. There's a hissing sound and bubbles emerge from the deep purple concotion. You have no time to react as Rook thows his arm in front of you just in time for the explosion to take place. You grip onto the table tightly and manage to stay upright, thanking the Sevens for your safety googles. If it were not for them, your entire face would be covered in a sparkling purple powder, some getting into your hair as well. Rook laughs and tells you that you shine bright like the sun. You look on unamused. Trey appears, having heard the explosion, and sighs, clearly being too used to this happening. He tells you and Rook to clean up as he starts to clean your mess, bless him.

Rook takes you to the nearest bathroom available, both of you trying to wash the explosion's results off. It has stuck like glue, and you have to splash your face with the cold water over and over for it to go away. You think there's still some of it on your hair, but can't bring yourself to care much. The apron wasn't enough to cover your body, so your clothes weren't spared either. Rook doesn't comment on it, but you can see him looking at you funny by the corner of your eye.

As you enter the lab, you see that the students that stayed after the first explosion had left. Rook wonders out loud on why they didn't like the innovation of his experiment, sighing as he goes on about the beauty of curiosity. You and Trey exchange glances as you clean everything together. You feel like you stayed way past the club's scheduled time and your arms hurt from moping the floor. At least you get to share your wonky strawberry tart. It doesn't taste as good as Trey's usual ones do, but you like it. You can't decide if it was worth all the trouble though.

Grim laughs at you once you get back to Ramshackle, your face is itching for the rest of the day, there's some sparkles in your hair for the rest of the week, your slightly burnt arm won't stop aching, you sent your clothes' laundry bill for Rook to pay. As much as you respect scientific advances, you feel that being involved in the research isn't for you (nor the cooking). Time to check out other clubs.

(Rook keeps approaching you at the halls to update you on how he's thought of possible changes to make the potion work. Trey comments he liked having company in the kitchen and help for cleaning up for once. They aren't very subtle. You don't even have to agree to visit the club again another time, as Rook has already volunteered you as his lab assistant and Trey has gifted you a recipe book with markings on which recipes you'll try to bake next. Guess you have no other choice but to go back now.)

Pop Music Club (Cater, Kalim, Lilia)

And back to the arts you go. But this time, instead of performing, how about playing some music? Joining the school band might be fun!

You're surprised to only find three people in the club. All the others had a bunch of people, but in this one, once you enter the classroom you're met with three of your friends hanging out in a couch. Why was there a couch in this classroom in the first place!?

It's not just three random people, either. It's the chillest and most extroverted people of the school, the ones that got along with everyone and were very popular. They whip their head so fast to the direction of the door once you enter you get a little worried for their necks. They seem elated to have a visitor, so you suppose this won't be so bad, even if you don't feel confident enough to play an instrument in front of other people.

Kalim jumps at you and envelops you in a big hug, a smile shining on his face as usual. Lilia pats you on the back, pushing you closer to the center of the room and welcoming you. Cater takes out his phone and takes a selfie with everyone, declaring it would go viral to have the cutest people of the school all together in one place and gushing over how many likes he'd get. They sure are a lively bunch.

Lilia plops you down on the couch, telling you to feel at home and winking. There's a center table with food containers in front of you, Kalim offers you a bite, explaining they made the snacks to bring to their club meetings, and Cater proposes to make it a culinary competition, in which you'd judge which one was the best. You were pretty sure you had left the cooking behind at the science club, what did it even had to do with music? Well, you weren't going to complain about getting free food!

Cater insists you try his first, a round tupperware with fried corn tortilla chips and guacamole in a dipping bowl at the center. It looks amazing, making your mouth water a bit. You take one of the chips, lightly lower it on the dip and take a bite. It's overall very good, the consistency and the crispness are wonderful, there's just one little problem: it's very spicy. Very spicy. Not the "oh no there's a tiny bit of spice in my otherwise bland food" type but the "my eyes are burning my thorat is burning my stomach is burning I'm going to burn from the inside out" type. And that's how you feel as you fan your face and drink the water Kalim brings you, though it only makes the burning worse, spreading it throughout your mouth and making your eyes water. Lilia appears upside down, hanging from the ceiling and scaring you, and offers you a glass of milk instead. You gratefully take it and chug it down as quick as you can.

Once you've calmed down, Lilia explains how he keeps milk around for Cater's food, that's way too spicy for his liking. Cater looks at you with puppy eyes, asking if you liked the chilli peppers he added to the recipe. You didn't, not really. It would be one thing to add some, sure, but it's like there's more pepper than anything else. You weakly smile at him and explain apologetically that it might not suit your tastes so much. Cater seems a bit down, but he only shrugs and jokingly says that not everyone can have good taste.

Kalim bounces up to you next, shoving his container in front of your face and telling you to try it. He proudly says he made it all without Jamil's help and that he hopes you'll like it. You look at the fried dumplings, remembering it's a sweet called awameh. It looks good as well, although a bit burnt, nothing that would stop you from eating it. You take one, getting surprised by how crunchy they ended up being, the sweetness exploding in your tongue. It would be very good, but you have the impression Kalim must have used the wrong measure of the ingredients. Yes, it was sweet, but it was way too sweet. Not only that, the sugar mixed with the cinnamon on the syrup also left you thirsty, as you downed another cup of water. It was like cinnamon was impregnated on your mouth, there was definetly too much.

While you accept your tongue will never be the same after the combo of strong flavours, Kalim reveals he tried to follow one of Jamil's mom's recipes for it, declaring it to be the best he's ever proved. He just got a bit confused when taking the measures for some ingredients, but he was proud of his work! You make a mental note to try to eat one of Jamil's awameh later, sure that it would taste delicious, and compliments Kalim on his efforts, suggesting gently to ask for help next time he has trouble with it.

The last one is Lilia, and you start dreading what might be hidden on his container. He seems preppy that someone will get to try his food, telling you that he's the one that cooks dinner at Diasomnia and how Silver and Sebek love his food. Cater and Kalim look at you with pity, shaking their heads. You've heard of Lilia's infamous cooking skills before, so you have to mentally prepare yourself before looking at what he prepared. It's... uh... something alright. Though it's unrecognizable, a dark glob that just looks sticky and burnt after the point. Your desperate look does nothing for Cater and Kalim to try to save you, as they look away furtively.

Aceppting your fate, you take one of the spoons Lilia brought and take the smallest bite possible while he stares at you attentively. It tastes foul, as expected, as if something had died in your mouth. You resist the urge to gag, trying to go for a smile and ending up with a grimace instead. It's horrible, there's no other way to describe it. All the rumors don't do it justice, it's way worse than what they say. You suspect you will get food poisoning later, as you down another glass of water. At least you're keeping yourself hydrated. Lilia seems to either not notice or pretend he didn't, as he keeps his cheery attitude and asks if you liked it. You nod weakly, hoping it would be enough for him to not force you to take another bite. He mercifully looks satisfied with the answer and you sigh with relief.

In the end you tell them you don't know which one was the best (you side eye Lilia's, thinking on how you knew which one was the worst at least). They don't look disappointed, content in having you prove their food as each munchs on their own snacks happily. You wonder how they manage to do it. Suddenly you miss Trey's baking and the wonky strawberry tart you've made.

As everyone sits together, Cater puts on some electropop song on the background that reminds you of the famous vocaloids from your world. You have an epiphany that Cater would listen to Hatsune Miku. You're not sure what to do with that information, staying quiet in shock as the other three talk between themselves. You remember him mentioning something like it when you went to do the SDC auditions, but you had other things to worry about and it must have slipped your mind. Once you've recomposed yourself, you ask what the food had to do with music, since the question had been burning in your mind for some time (not as much as your tongue burned tho).

They explain that the pop music club doen't really do much music, as the name suggests, they mostly just hang around to chat and chill. It has gotten them in a bit of trouble with the Headmaster, as they don't do anything that could actually be considered a club activity, causing him to have threatened to disband the club. Not to mention there's no new members for a while, no matter how much they try to attract more students. You consider joining this one just to spite Crowley. They clarify that they do play their instruments every once in a while to cover some song, but with their different music tastes they never reach an agreement on what to play most of the time.

You're curious on how they might sound as a band, sure it would be a chaotic but entertaining sight. You would ask to see this, if it was not for Cater excitedly declaring it's "gossiping time". They put on elevator music to play at the background and huddle close together, leaving a spot open for you to join their little circle, as if you were about to be in into the school's secrets. And that's exactly what happens, as the three of them seem to know about everyone and everything that goes on Night Raven College. There's so much drama you've never heard about, and you feel you know way too much about the lives of people you've never even met, but it's nice to create conspiracy theories about what would happen next in the soap opera that was other people's lives.

The topic changes to Magicam, since you were lowkey stalking the boy that had caused a ruckus in the cafeteria the past days. Cater likes his account's aesthetic, saying it passes the bad boy vibes he has, and whines about their club's magicam page. You weren't aware they even had one, so you ask to see it. It's... not what you were expecting. They might as well not have an account, since there are no photos other than their icon, which was the symbol of the club. Cater complains that they couldn't come to an agreement on how the page should look and were too lazy to try to work something out, so it has stayed like that for months.

Since you know how much he cares about this stuff, you offer your help! After all, it could be a lot of fun, and it'd feel as if you're the manager of the club. Cater lightens up with joy, throwing his arms around you and bringing you close to affectionately rub his cheeck on the top of your head, thanking you for being such a prestative underclassman. You enter your business mode, thinking on how you could go about this. It makes sense to promote the club doing something other than hanging out, so you tell them to pick up their instruments and pose.

You go around them and try many different angles. Kalim and Lilia have fun doing weird poses that makes very clear they aren't playing at all, but there's a charming genuine smile on their faces. Cater poses with his guitar like a professional, making captivating facial expressions that make even you swoon, only encouraging him to make different ones. He could be a model, you think, with how he knows all the right ways to smile at the camera and tilts his head just so to make him look cute and alluring at the same time, fingers skillfully positioned at the eletric guitar's chords, eyes lidded, hair messy deliberately, body facing forwards with confidence. He has everything to ace the rockstar persona, at least in looks.

You try taking some of them together as an unit, but none pleases you enough. There's something missing, but you can't quite put your finger on what. You give his cellphone back as you ponder about it. Cater looks through the photos, commenting how one looks "super cool~" and in the other he's "slaying". He decides it'd be a great moment to take advantage of his cuteness streak to take a photo with everyone together, yourself included. Cater drapes his arm around your shoulders and keeps you close to him, cheek coming to rest at your forehead. Kalim and Lilia make poses behind you two, laughing at how silly they look with all the filters Cater tries on. 

He ends up telling you to decide which photo looked better, as he couldn't chose just one, something like: "any photo with you would look cute, of course I can't chose!" You look through all of them, but only one gets your eyes, the only without a filter. Everyone looks genuinely happy, making your heart warm. Cater's is not looking at the camera itself, but slightly to the side, where you are, with such a soft expression you can't help but be endeared by it. It's him, not a forced smile and exaggerated pose, just Cater, happy. That's what the other pictures were missing. 

You show it to him, insisting it's the best and should be the first photo on the club's Magicam page. He pouts about the lack of filter, saying how the other ones look much cuter, but you explain that you like the real him much more than any filter, since nothing could ever come close to the real deal, no filter in the world could make him justice. You're very genuine with it too, since it's the truth. Cater stares at you, caught by surprise, and turns his face away from you, ears tinted pink, taking a minute to recompose himself, leaving you confused. Lilia looks on knowingly, smirking at him. You weren't alone in your confusion, as Kalim seemed to be just as clueless as you.

Your argument manages to convince him, though, as he soon comes up with an eye catching description and posts it, grumbling that you should be happy now. You are, actually, so you simply smile at him, giggling at his playful eye roll. Only after the picture was already posted and you entered on your own account that you notice your eyes were closed. You yelp and try to convince Cater to change it to another one, but he refuses, telling that you were the one that chose it so you should stick with it, sticking his tongue out at you in a childsh manner. You whine some more before giving up. Cater seemed really content with the choice, if the soft smile on his face as he glanced at it meant anything, so you let it be, resigning to your fate. You weren't even a member, so you hoped you wouldn't attract that much attention. (You really hoped Ace wouldn't find it, otherwise you'd never hear the end of it.)

He suddenly gets an idea to decorate the classroom to make it look more "magicamable", dragging Lilia with him to get the decorations. Lilia whispers something to him that makes him glance back at you with a red face, quickly scurrying away and leaving you and Kalim to look on in confusion. How weird, what had gotten into him? 

At that moment, the playlist shuffles, coming up with a song that has a very upkeep beat. Kalim jumps in excitement, saying that was his favorite song and he couldn't not dance to it. You can't help jumping your leg and moving your head to the beat, swaying to the contagious rhthym. Kalim notices and extends his hands in your direction, inviting you to dance with him. You know you're nowhere near his skill level and you'd look clumsy compared to his fluid moviments, but his earnestness convinces you to give it a try. You were sure he wouldn't make fun of you, so why not have a good time too?

Hand in hand, the two of you move together, not completly in sync, but in a rhythm that feels right, that's only yours. It's nice, seeing his content expression up close, foreheads almost touching, feet following the other's steps, hips swaying together. You spin once, laughing, he spins once, grinning wildly. You're lost in the trance of the hypnotizing beat of Kalim's heart.

The song gradually comes to a stop, making both of you calm down too. Kalim has one hand on your waist, the other still holding yours. You hold onto his shoulder, your noses touch, breaths coming in puffs, his eyes crinkle and it's warm, he's warm. Your chest follows his in it's rise and fall, your stomach does pirouettes, to the point you're dizzy, your cheeks feel hot. You start worrying you might have really gotten food poisoning from Lilia's cooking.

Before either of you say anything else, the sound of Cater's giggle burst your bubble, bringing you back to the real world. You whip your head to the door, watching as Lilia and Cater giggle deviously, Cater's fingers working fast on his cellphone's keyboard. You separate from Kalim's burning touch, your hands suddenly feeling cold, and stride up to them, demanding to look at what they found so funny. Lilia shows you, on his own phone, a videoclip of you and Kalim dancing together, nearing the end of the song. Your focus is initially on Kalim, as he glows, movements showing years of expertise, it's... beautiful. Then your gaze averts to yourself, and how, like you suspected, you were looking goofy near him, not matching the tempo at all.

You whine up at Cater again, asking him to delete the stories he posted, but he refuses, saying it was way too precious to miss. You lightly hit his chest and look up your lashes at him, pouting. His teasing expression falters, as if you were on the brink of convincing him. Lilia pulls you away and explains it was only on close friends anyway, so you needn't worry about the whole school seeing it. Kalim agrees that the video is very nice, beaming as he watches you two having fun. You sigh and give up, not having the heart to be a killjoy.

Lilia and Cater's hands are empty of any decorations, so you question them about it. Cater frowns exaggeratedly, drowning on dramatically on how they couldn't find any and how it was such a pity. Lilia covers his hand to hide a giggle, only making the action more obvious. Cater glares at him subtly. Kalim notices how the club's reserved time is almost coming to an end, deciding that to make a grand finale you should play an instrument, after all they should at least pretend they did something club related for you to report back to the Headmaster. And it'd be a lot of fun for you to play with them!

Lilia claps his hands together, agreeing it would be a most gleeful experience. He insists on teaching you how to play the bass, not wanting to hear whether you already knew how to or not. He gives you the instrument and shows how to hold it in the right way, trying to teach a few chords. It's a bit difficult to understand the confusing terms he uses, so he sighs and comes behind you, taking your hands in his and doing the movements, pressing his chest against your back, his deep voice right by your ear as he explains. You can't pay attention to it all, for some reason. You kind of feel dizzy again. Perhaps it's the food poisoning for real this time?

His fingers guide yours along the strings, gently pressing on the right spots, strumming the chords at the bridge. He murmurs the instructions, voice ressonating like the low pitch of the instrument, hot breath tickling your skin. You let him do as he pleases, dazed. The simple notes ring in your ears, lulling you into calmness, eyes closing as you let your sensations take the wheel, the frequency making your heart vibrate in your chest, as if dancing along, your head floating in the clouds.

It's all good and well until Lilia starts singing along. Or whatever it is that he calls "singing". In reality, he starts screaming some punk-rock lyrics right by your ear. Your heart jumps so quickly you swear you almost had an arrhythmia, your soul leaving your body for a second. Your eyes snap open so fast the lights from the classroom blind you and make black spots appear in your vision. You elbow Lilia in your surprise, thankfully making him stop trying to burst your eardrums. You get away, taking off the strap of the bass and giving it back to him. You think that's enough practicing for now.

Later on the day you confirm your food poisoning suspicions to be true. You've gained a new found respect for Sebek for enduring the poison Lilia calls cooking everyday and still managing to keep that impressive disposition of his. At least you helped the pop music club get more followers on magicam and spread their word out there. A bunch of people sign up to know the club, so you're all really happy! You felt like you've done a good job. (In the next week, the people arrive and see no sight of you, only of the dynamic trio. They don't show up again, leaving the members number back to it's original three.)

It was pretty fun, all things considered. You didn't get hurt other than in your pride and your social image, so it's a win in your books. Still, you're not sure you could handle their energetic and chaotic personalities combined like this evey week and risk getting deaf or suffering stomach failure. Time to check out other clubs.

(Cater comments on how the photos you took together got the most likes, insisting you come over again for a photoshoot. Kalim says he's got new songs to dance with you and that he's asked Jamil to help him cook for the next club meeting. Lilia tells you that you still have to take some more bass lessons to get the hang of it. Well, you suppose you could pass by sometime to be in the know about what goes on at the school and to get to prove Jamil's cooking. And to enjoy your friend's company, of course!)

Masterlist

[badomensgoodomens]

requesting noah x reader

noah is finally home from tour and the two of you just spend the day cuddling, watching movies and eating snacks

omg omg yes let me cook xoxo

wrote at 10pm on a sunday cut me some slack

__________________________

noah had surprised you in the middle of the night, sleepily climbing into bed. You screamed, ofcourse. A 6'3 muscle man standing at the foot of your bed. terrifying. after you fumbled for the lamp switch, he apologised profusely, soft kisses peppered on your face.

"I said i was sorry" he whines as you groan. you hit his shoulder playfully. "That was NOT funny."

___________

The next morning, you wake before him. The sunlight creeps in, illuminating the soft freckles spread across his skin. you admired the soft pout of his lips, his funky eyebrows, his jaw that is ALWAYS clenched, finally resting.

he cracks a singular eye open, "its rude to stare." you just snicker, tracing the slope of his nose and his jaw. he turns on his side, pulling your warm, soft body towards him. "goodmorning to you too." you say, running your fingers through his hair. you reminisce on the longer version of his hair, you were truly devastated when he cut it. You lay in silence, just cuddling. But it's a good silence, a taking in eachothers presence silence. the room was silent yet the love for eachother was so, so so loud.

noah was once again fast asleep, poor love must be so exhausted from tour. you manage to slip away from him, prepping for a movie marathon. knowing your luck, he'll chose a horror movie and you won't be able to sleep for weeks. (I think he just likes comforting you afterwards. Sick bastard.)

after fixing a small charcuterie(?) Board, and some popcorn, you gently move to his bedside. You comb your fingers through his hair, his brows furrowed ever so slightly.

"Noah.. " you whisper.

He grumbles, pulling the blanket tighter around him.

"Come and watch a movie with me" you whine, annoyed at his sleepiness. He rubs his face, standing up with a sigh. He drags the blanket through the house. You trail behind him, only making a pitstop to yell at folio who had been picking at the food. one by one the boys filter in uninvited. just the nature of living with a bunch of boys. A random horror film plays on the large screen tv. But you're not watching. You're too busy admiring your man.

how long his lashes are, the slight stubble that's growing back, his freckles. God they were your favourite thing about him. He glances down at you, feeling your gaze. you clamber into his lap, back pressed against his chest. He presses a soft kiss on the back of your head, his warm hands splayed out on your tummy. you rest your hands on top of his, leaning back to look up at him. You press small kisses to his jaw.

after a while you fall asleep, sleep coming easier to you when your lover returns. it's his turn to admire you, tracing the shape of your lips, and your rosy cheeks, your soft dimples and petulant pout. its overwhelming. His love for you making him feel dizzy. he thinks about the future. His plan to marry you somewhere with flowers and a nice lake. how you would look in a wedding dress. And how you would look after...

he guides his fingers through your hair, gently ghosting over your scalp. Your hand tightens on his, seeking comfort.

you wake up a few hours later, noah long gone by now. I'm talking head conked back, mouth open, snoring. you giggle to yourself. You notice the others had left by now. Probably returning to slumber.

"Noah.." you poke him, he stirs slightly.

"nowahh" you grumble out.

he stirs, "yep I'm awake what's wrong?" his words are rushed, a testament to how tired he actually is. "cmon, into bed. I'll bring the snacks." he stands up, stretching his long limbs. He patters down the hallway, losing his tshirt along the way. you pack up the dips and cheeses, before finding your way back to your lover. He's already sprawled out on the bed, waiting. "I've missed this." He mumbles. Face down.

"Me? Or the bed."

"the bed."

You throw a pillow at him, he laughs. Pulling you impossibly close.

_______________________

The clock reads 4am and you PRY yourself out of his grip, you roll over, body spread over the open space of the bed. Sweat trickles down your back. Oh how noah hadn't missed this. "babe... go put the cooler on.." he grumbles.

"I'm not going in the dark!!" You whisper-shout

He just grumbles in return. He cracks open a window instead.

he pulls you back into his grip. Pressing sleepy kisses all over your face. you groan against his warm, ink covered skin. his breathing evens out and his face falls flat as he falls asleep again. You huff, sweating your tits off. You peel each layer of clothing off, laying in a bra and underwear. the sheets abandoned at the end of the bed. You were STILL sweaty AF but this man won't leave you alone. Especially after being gone for so long!!!

___________

He wakes up before you, the sight of you in your undergarments dizzying. He rests his head in the crook of your shoulder. Taking in the smell of your moisturiser, and shower gel.

"Mm morning baby" you yawn. light filters into the room, illuminating the lack of nothing between the two.

"never leaving for tour again if this is how I wake up every morning" he grunts, hands snaking around your waist.

"even in winter?"

"just means I get to warm you up."

You throw your head back in laughter as he begins to tickle you relentlessly.

______________________

I know I said I'd cook but lowkey look undercooked 😔

ik ik it's excuse after excuse but after I posted that my requests were open I got hit with the most diabolical family problems and have been putting off writing for a further week. but! I'm slowly easing back into it with the simplest request I could find.

so sorry if this is short, please leave more requests they are great motivation!!!

[mirai-e-jump]

TV Station, 8/31/2024 Issue ft. Kamen Rider Gavv Cast Members (translation below)

Publication: August 28, 2024

Chinen Hidekazu x Hino Yusuke x Miyabe Nozomi

Chinen: Those around me often tell me, "You resemble Shouma," but there's a gap between us and the roles we play.

Hino: In what ways?

Miyabe: I'm curious.

Chinen: Yusuke-kun is normally a funny guy and the mood maker on set. However, Hanto is cool, and if I had to say, it feels like he'd quietly glance over at those who are having fun. I think that gap is amazing.

Hino: Is that supposed to be a compliment?

Chinen: That was my intention (laughs).

Hino: Thank goodness~ (laughs).

Chinen: My first impression of Miyabe-san is that even when she crosses her legs, it doesn't look unrefined at all. She looked like a refined older sister.

Miyabe: Thank you so much (laughs).

Chinen: Still, Sachika's a serious but cheerful, high spirited gyaru. I find that gap appealing.

Hino: In my mind, the impression I have of Shouma is that he's a hero who's "right in the middle." He grows throughout the story, and he's got abilities that others don't have. That's something that also overlaps with Hide. There's a sparkly feeling when we're together, and his ambition to work hard over the coming year is amazing. It feels like he's linked to the role.

Chinen: I truly appreciate those words.

Hino: In this Kamen Rider, there'll be many heavy scenes over the course of the story. That's why Sachika's existence is so valuable. To put it simply, she's like a missile character*, but there are times as Hanto when she helps me. This is because Miyabecchi plays the role of Sachika without hesitating. I'm incredibly grateful. (*you don't know what they'll do next)

Miyabe: Ever since we first met, Chinen-kun's been exactly the character he plays. Shouma's a pure boy who's excited by everything he sees. Chinen-kun has a side like that too, there's no semblance of being fake, don't you think?

Chinen: Yeah, you may be right.

Hino: The pure part of them seems to be similar.

Miyabe: He's so straightforward that it makes me laugh, and my impression is that he's Shouma himself. And then, Hino-san is……(laughs).

Hino: Why'd you laugh just now? (laughs). It's okay to compliment me at a time like this.

Miyabe: I'll do my best (laughs). When we first met, Hino-san's hair was pink.

Hino: It's because I had to dye it for a previous production.

Miyabe: I was uneasy about whether I could properly speak to him.

Chinen: What a shocking statement (laughs).

Hino: It's because I've been a nuisance (laughs).

Miyabe: It's not like that, I had already seen his acting before, so I thought he was a really cool guy. However, he seemed to enjoy talking with the staff in between takes, and in a good way, I found a sense of familiarity with that gap.

Hino: I was wondering what she'd say, but Miyabecchi finally put me in a good light (laughs).

Chinen: This is what it's like when we have fun on set, so let's work together and do our best! _

The Ideal Sunday

Chinen: I'll wake up at 6 a.m., eat rice, natto, and kimchi to fill my stomach, from there, take a shower, and then head out. After touring some vintage clothing stores and wandering around town, I'll eat lunch, put on a change of clothes, and go for a run.

Miyabe: What about your belongings?

Chinen: I leave my stuff in a coin locker and then go for a run. After the run, I sweat it out at the sauna, eat soba, and then go home.

Hino: Sleep is very important to me, so I'd rather always be sleeping. I'll wake up in the evening and take a bath about halfway through the day. I was part of a family of five when I was living at my parents house, and we always had a set order of when you could go in (the bath), so I'm very happy to be able to use it any time I want without feeling constrained. After that, I'll eat ice cream while watching TV, and then go to bed when I feel sleepy. This is the absolute best.

Miyabe: I also get up at 6 a.m. like Chinen-san. Ideally, I'd go for a run during times when fewer people are around, and breakfast would consist of brown rice with salmon, tamagoyaki, and miso soup. After eating, I'd read and tend to my favorite flowers.

Chinen: However, what's the reality?

Miyabe: Just like Hino-san, I'll sleep into the evening, eat a rushed meal, take a bath, and then it's time to go to bed (laughs). At the very least, I'd like to get a good night's sleep for the sake of work the next day.

[sheyfu]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

》 ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: [ᴀɢᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ!] ᴍɪᴋᴀɢᴇ ʀᴇᴏ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ʜᴜʜᴜ 😓 ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ɴᴇᴜᴛʀᴀʟ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇꜱ!)

》 ᴄᴡ: ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ (ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ʟɪɴᴇ); ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ; ᴄᴏɴꜰᴜꜱɪɴɢ ᴘʟᴏᴛ; ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘɪʟʏ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰʀᴇᴀᴅ; ʀᴇᴀᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ʙᴀɴɢᴇʀ 💛

》 ᴡᴄ: 270

mikage reo watches your peaceful state of slumber. i’m such a creep, he thinks. yet, he can’t stop looking at you—you’re beautiful. he loves everything about you. your figure dressed in one of his shirts, your long eyelashes framing your face ever so gently, and the way your chest rises with each slow and deep breath you take.

you’re simply breathtaking. 

he recalls the previous night with you—sharing deep and loving kisses and him declaring his undying love for you. 

i love you so much. can’t imagine living in a world with no us.

is what mikage reo whispered in your ear as you cuddled after making love to each other. 

his daydreaming is interrupted by the sound of your alarm right by his ear. he hurriedly reaches for the button knowing if you’d wake up in the middle of the night, you wouldn’t be able to sleep–

wait. the middle of the night? 

a few beats of silence pass until he hears a deep and groggy voice say the words he would come to despise.

"20th of july in the year 2024. 10:14 p.m." 

the night of your anniversary. 

he thinks fate is playing games on him as he watches your body get covered in white cloth; the solemn looks of the people around him as they watch two destined lovers get torn by fate. 

the 20th of july, the most important day for the both of you—the day you got together.

yet, mikage reo never imagined that the 20th of july would be the day you’d leave him, 

and the night he dies looking at you. 

HIIII i said i wouldn't post on sundays but this is to celebrate me getting a hundred notes on my smau!! also i'm so sorry im on a sad streak rn i promise i'll post more happy stuff soon 😭😭😭 ALSO!! just to clarify, reo doesn't die 😭😭 it's like, a part of him just dies because you're like his other half MHMMM BUT YEAHH i hope this was enjoyable for everyone! reblogs, comments and likes are very much appreciated!! again, thank you for the support!! stay tuned for more bangers >:)