#nothing to remember them by just those memories

[sugucide]

two weeks.

it's been two weeks since kento has been inside of you. He's gone months, hell even years without sex before he met you and he was fine. he didn't even wish for it like most of his bachelor counterparts did.

but now that he's had a taste of you? two weeks may as well be a death sentence. which is ironic, giving the nature of this sex ban. everything you do is inviting: maybe it's just his underworked sex drive or maybe he's reverted back to his teenage years because he sure does feel like an impatient, entitled brat whenever you walk past him.

he can smell you. not the smell of your perfume you spritz on each morning. not the product in you hair. not the moisturiser you use. but you, the scent of your self, your body, the skin he's so often inhaled as he bit down between your thighs or up the column of your neck. he can smell the memories of sex, sweaty and tangled in pheromones and all things primal.

he can hear you. not your words or laughter or the way you hum absentmindedly when you're pottering around the house. he can hear that sharp little intake of breath when you accidentally, or not-so-accidentally, brush against him. he can hear that whining tinge to your voice when you tell him you won't sleep with him, that you're punishing him, as if its moreso a punishment for you than him. he can remember the way you'd moan for him, desperate and glassy eyed and oh so perfect for him as he ruins you from the inside out.

he can't take it anymore.

"two weeks is more than enough time for me to think about my actions," he tells you over dinner one night, eyes cast downwards at his plate. "...and to come up with a suitable apology."

you place your chopsticks down at his last words and look up at your husband. "oh? let's hear it then."

over the frames of his glasses, kento's eyes meet yours. "i apologise for worrying you and risking my life for my work."

you tap your fingers against the table. "and will you continue to do it?"

"yes," he admits. "it's my job, one that i do well. if i die doing it, i hope it's in place of someone who didn't sign up for it, like you."

kento reaches over the table and takes your hand. "i can't just stop being a sorcerer. that would be too selfish of me. but i do promise that i will make more of an effort to reduce my chances of getting hurt from now on: no more unnecessary risks. okay?"

though that was all you needed to hear from him, you start to wonder if lifting the sex ban was a good idea when your pent-up husband is swiping plates from the dinner table to make room for you to lay back on it. claiming he can't wait the few extra second to carry you to the bedroom, he has you stripped and laid bare on the dining room table in no time, and he's ready for his meal.

"missed her," he mumbles as he parts your legs with a strong hand and bends down to kiss once at your clit. that's about and gentlemanly as it gets, though, because soon after he's making out with your pussy like he's a virgin. no technique, no precision, nothing but unfiltered need and its so much hotter than you'd imagine it to be.

eyes locking onto yours from between your thighs, he adds two fingers and works you open. two weeks was a long time for the both of you, so he'll need to get you used to the stretch of him again. he scissors his fingers inside of you, curls them upwards to hit your g-spot and smirks like a saint when your back arches off the table in response.

"missed you ken," you ramble on as your climax nears. "missed you so much. hated doing this. love you. loveyouloveyou god i love you."

you cum hard, harder than you've cum in a long time and kento laps it up like he's never tasted anything so good. he savours your taste on his tongue like he would an aged wine, something expensive and delicious and worth keeping bottled. though he's harder than diamond and worried he'll cum in his pants if he doesn't sink inside of you soon. so he stands and undoes his belt in record time (with those lovely hands of his) and repositions you at the end of the table with his leaky cock already pressing against your wet entrance.

he leans over you and shares a kiss with you as he pushes in. he inhales the gasp you let out at the stretch and moans into your mouth as a gift in return. he pulls out almost entirely, so it's just his head nestled in your tight pussy, and then slams in again. hard.

"god kento—" you start, about to chide him for being so rough with you when you notice his face dip into your neck and the sudden warmth filling you from the inside. kento's hips stutter and he bites at the skin of your shoulder to muffle the heavy moans that ache to free themselves from his chest.

"did you just—"

"don't," he cuts you off, cock twitching inside of you with his release. he's plugging you up, keeping you full of him and his cum. "give me a minute and i'll fuck you so stupid that you forget that just happened."

"you just—"

"don't laugh."

"im not laughing! it's just, you know like our first time..."

"shut up." kento's hips pull away and then slam back into yours as he starts a brutal pace with you.

that shuts you up good.

[joemama-2]

"are you the fairy?"

pairing: gojo x fem reader

synopsis: You meet Gojo Satoru in a place untouched by time, where his laughter rings through empty streets and his hands chase yours like a promise he fully intends to keep. He is younger, reckless with his love, blind to the weight of the years that separate you—years that have taught you that love is not always meant to be kept. You let yourself have him anyway, knowing all the while that his future is stretching toward a horizon you cannot follow. When the time comes, you do what must be done—let him free.

wc: 7.3k

tags/warnings: angst, eventual comfort, suggestive content, older! reader, dividers by @/cafekitsune, HOPEFULLY PROOFREAD ENOUGH :(

Aging. A fear most people have. The fear of growing old, growing weaker, needing others to rely on for simple tasks, no longer being in your ‘prime’, and of course—the grey hairs. While it can be argued that aging is a natural, human process; it can also be argued that no one ever really wants to grow old. No one wants to see everything they knew and loved vanish before their own two deteriorating eyes, no one wants to become just a distant memory. But no one wants to be immortal either. It’s a weird push and pull, leaving humans with only one choice: enjoy it while it lasts, and make the most of your life.

And so, that’s what you have been doing.

Graduating, getting a nice paying job, having a good place, traveling the world, making a name for yourself, being…happy. Sure, you’ve made friends and connections, but none of those amount to being in the peaceful solitude of your lonesome. You’ve faced adversaries in your life, and you’ve overcome them—that’s what making the most out of your life means. But you know what doesn’t fall under that category?

Allowing yourself to fall in love with a man almost two decades younger than you. 

But with life comes spontaneous events, debating the pros and cons and wondering the ‘what ifs’. 

And what if—against all logic, against every carefully laid plan—you let yourself have him? What if you ignore the whispers in your mind that warn of fleeting youth, of inevitable goodbyes, of the cruel march of time that will leave you grasping at something you were never meant to keep? Gojo Satoru is reckless in his affection, undeterred by the years between you, pressing himself into your life with an audacity that makes it impossible to push him away. He tells you that love doesn’t care for numbers, that age is nothing more than an arbitrary construct, and when he looks at you with that unwavering gaze, you almost believe him.

Almost.

You’re forty-five when you meet him, he’s nothing but a young and adventurous thirty-year-old. You remember being thirty. 

“Are you from here?” you asked, resting your palm against your cheek. The coldness of the bar’s countertop sits underneath your elbow—you regard him with a curious gaze. The first thing you noticed was the pretty eyes he had. The next was his smile—that handsome smile that was doing weird things to your heart. You remember your late husband smiling at you like that every day, every chance he got. Your lip quirks up. 

“No, I’m from Japan,” he replies smoothly, jutting his chin in your direction. “And you?”

You tell him. 

“Oh, that’s nice. So, what are you doing all the way here?”

“Vacation.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Pretty well. Italy is beautiful.”

“Almost as beautiful as you.”

A cheesy pick-up line you’re more than accustomed to. You save his awkwardness with a small laugh, eyebrow raising. “Thank you,” you glance down at the dark liquid in your cup, swirling its contents. “Though you aren’t the first to tell me that.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick with the weight of history you’ve long since buried. It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? To be flattered but not fooled, to hear compliments that once would have made your heart race but now only bring a faint ache, like a ghost brushing past your skin. You didn’t expect to be here, sitting in this foreign bar, in this foreign city, drinking away the remnants of a life you thought you’d left behind—no more waiting for a man to come home, no more running on borrowed time. And yet, here he is, his smile still holding the weight of something undeniably fresh, something he hasn’t yet had time to tarnish with the passing years.

He chuckles, and it’s sincere. Like he knows how to handle this situation and like he’s done it a hundred times before—charming the older woman, never realizing the danger he’s flirting with. You can’t help but notice how easily he fits into this moment, how the energy between you feels almost too comfortable for something so unexpected. His youth, his vitality—it’s intoxicating, and yet, you know it’s only a matter of time before you have to draw the line, to remind yourself that he’s playing with something far more fragile than he understands.

You meet his eyes again, and for a second, you let yourself indulge. He’s not just handsome; he’s magnetic. And though you’ve seen his type before—young, reckless, full of life—there’s something different about him. It’s that smile, that easy confidence as if the world is nothing but a playground for him to conquer. Your heart stirs involuntarily, the edges of something you thought was long gone starting to flutter back to life.

"So, do you always travel alone?" you ask, your voice a little softer now, more curious than before.

His grin widens, pleased by the shift in your tone. “Not usually, but this time I decided to take some time for myself. I needed a change of scenery.” He leans in a little, dropping his voice to something almost conspiratorial. "It's nice to get away from it all, you know? To meet people who don't know your story."

The irony of his words doesn’t escape you. Here you are, a stranger in a new city, with a lifetime of stories you no longer tell, and yet, his openness makes you feel like you’re both speaking the same unspoken language. You could tell him everything, share the years of love and loss, of heartache and healing, but you don’t. You keep it hidden, tucked away where only time and memory can touch it.

“That sounds familiar,” you say quietly, glancing down at your glass again. Your fingers trace the rim absently. “Sometimes it's the only way to find peace." You don’t know why you’re telling him this. It’s not as though you’ve shared your soul with a stranger in a bar before. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, something open and unafraid, that makes you think—just for a moment—that maybe this conversation, this meeting, isn’t entirely by chance. Something you haven’t felt in…a long time.

“Do you usually travel alone?”

You hum. “I do now.”

“Why now?”

“Because my husband doesn’t come along with me anymore.”

“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?” He sips from his own cup, but when he puts it back down, its fizziness tells you it’s just coke. 

You take a moment to reply, unsure if you should trauma dump on a stranger. But he did ask. “Because he’s dead,” you simply comment, leaning back in your stool and gauging his reaction. 

But he doesn’t show a face of surprise or a face of regret. He doesn’t offer his unwanted apology. He nods, humming softly in thought. But his eyes change—and you think for a second that it looks like a silent sense of understanding—like he’s lost someone too before. “And what was his name?”

Your cheeks pinch up, smile widening in fondness. Looking down at your left hand that once housed a beautiful, golden ring. “Masamichi.” 

There’s a stillness in the air for a second, the kind that doesn’t feel heavy but rather reverent, as if time itself paused to acknowledge the weight of your words. You look at him through the corner of your eye, seeing how his gaze softens—not with pity, but with something deeper, something far more intimate. It’s the kind of understanding that doesn’t come from words, but from shared experiences, and you’re struck by the thought that perhaps, in some quiet corner of his heart, he knows what it’s like to lose the love of your life.

He doesn’t speak for a while, but there’s something in the way he leans forward that tells you he’s listening in a way that feels different than the usual casual conversations you’ve had with strangers. His eyes are fixed on you, almost as though he’s waiting for you to continue, to say something more, but he doesn’t push. He waits—patiently, and respectfully. "Masamichi," he repeats the name softly, as if he’s testing it on his tongue as if it’s a secret he’s now been entrusted with. “That’s a really cool name, sounds like he was a hardass.”

You chuckle lightly and nod, not trusting yourself to speak again for a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat. “He was, but he had his moments.”

“When were those?”

“When he’d call me pretty names.”

“Like?”

You bite your lip, smile wavering a bit as you recount ever beautiful name he used to call you. One always stuck out. “Well, he used to call me a fairy.”

He chuffs. “Why a fairy?” 

"He told me I was delicate, elusive, like something too beautiful to be real. He used to say I’d flown in from some distant place, where the sky was always clear and the air was always fresh." The words feel like they’ve drifted in from a different lifetime, a time when love was a constant companion, not a faint, distant echo. You tilt your head, the corners of your mouth turning up. "I think he liked that idea, that I wasn’t tied down to anything—just... floating through life, free. He said I made him believe in things he never thought possible."

His gaze softens as he watches you, leaning a little closer now as if drawn into the quiet weight of your story. "That’s beautiful," he says, his voice low, almost reverent. "It sounds like he saw you in a way no one else could."

You nod, the memory of his warm words filling the space between you. "He did. And sometimes... sometimes I felt like I was a fairy, too. Like I didn’t really belong to this world. But when he called me that, it made me feel like I was meant to be somewhere, meant to be his." A quiet moment hangs between you, the air heavy with the soft intimacy of shared vulnerability. You meet his eyes, feeling an unexpected connection—the kind of unspoken understanding that can only exist between people who have known the depths of love and loss.

Then, just as you’re about to pull back, he asks, with a gentle curiosity, “Do you still believe in fairies?”

You blink at him, a little taken aback. The question seems simple enough. You shrug, half in amusement, half in disbelief. "I don't know if I believe in them, but... I like to think that maybe they’re real, in some way. In the things we can’t see, in the moments that take our breath away."

His eyes seem to light up, almost as if he’s surprised by your answer. There’s a long beat of silence before his lips curl into a smile that reaches his eyes. "Maybe you’re still a fairy, then," he says, voice warm with something like wonder.

You shake your head. "Yeah, maybe."

The words hang between you, filled with something gentle, something fleeting but real. You feel the stirrings of a connection, fragile and unexpected, like the wingbeats of a fairy. There’s a hollow space in your chest where his memory used to sit, and it takes everything in you not to let it show, not to let the quiet ache spill over. The ring on your finger is long gone, but the phantom of it lingers—an unspoken promise that can never be fulfilled, a history you no longer share with anyone. “What about you?” You shift the conversation, trying to keep the tears at bay, trying to pull yourself back from the edge of vulnerability you’re teetering on. “Do you have someone, someone you’ve loved the way you were loved?”

His smile falters a tad, a flash of something—pain, perhaps, or nostalgia—passing through his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the easy grin you’ve already grown accustomed to—the one that doesn’t let anyone get too close. But the silence that follows speaks volumes, and you almost feel like you’ve crossed some invisible line. Fearing that you’ve peeked into a part of him he didn’t mean nor want to reveal. "I did," he says quietly, almost to himself, the words hanging between you both like a secret. “But sometimes, we love people in ways they can’t love us back.”

The weight of his words sits heavily in the space between you. It’s raw, vulnerable in a way that contradicts his earlier bravado, and you find yourself wondering how much more of him there is behind that smile, behind the charming facade. In that moment, you see something that mirrors your own grief, your own loneliness, and it’s unsettling. “Is she still around?”

“He’s not,” he shakes his head.

You take a sip from your glass, the sharp bitterness of the alcohol grounding you, and give him a small, knowing smile. “Well, I suppose we all have our stories.”

His eyes lock onto yours for a long, unspoken moment. You wonder if this is one of those rare moments in life where people truly see each other—not just for the faces they wear, but for what’s buried beneath. What they carry in the silence. “I think you’re right,” he finally says, his voice soft, but there’s an edge to it now, a quiet tenderness that wasn’t there before. "But not everyone’s story is meant to be told in one night."

Your heart flutters for a reason you can’t quite place, and for the first time in a long while, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, fate isn’t as cruel as it’s always seemed. Maybe, in this strange twist of events, you weren’t meant to run away from the past after all—but to face it, alongside someone who understands what it’s like to love and lose.

“I’m too old for you,” you laugh off his subtle suggestion, looking over to the opposite corner of the small, dim-lit bar. There are two girls sitting at the booth with obviously wandering eyes toward your new, unexpected companion. “Maybe them.”

He follows your gaze, his eyes flickering briefly to the two girls in the corner, before turning back to you with that signature, easy grin—unchanged, unaffected. The playfulness in his smile doesn’t reach the depths of his eyes, though. You wonder if he’s seeing something entirely different than the charming stranger you’ve made him out to be. You can feel the shift, subtle but undeniable, as if he’s testing the waters of your words, gauging how much of this is just casual banter and how much of it has an undercurrent you aren’t ready to acknowledge.

"Maybe," he replies, leaning back slightly, but there’s a glint of something else in his expression now, something that makes the air between you feel heavier. "But you know, I’m kind of having some fun with you right now." His voice drops, a playful edge softening into something more serious, and it makes you wonder if he’s teasing or if there’s something deeper in his intentions that hasn’t fully revealed itself yet.

“I don’t think we’re having fun.”

“Then what are we having.”

“A simple conversation, nothing more, nothing less.”

He chuckles, leaning closer and tilting his head towards you. “Just how old do you think I am?”

You meet his gaze, noticing a small twinkle. Your eyes move down, analyzing his features. He lets you do so in an untimely manner and when he sees that you’re looking lower at his arms, he playfully flexes. An amused snort that almost sounds like a scoff leaves your lips. “Young enough to be my son.”

“Do you have children?”

“And if I do?”

“Then that’s even better because I love MILFS.”

You scoff for real this time, eyes narrowing at him. “I don’t, but what you just said further proves my point.”

The air between you both shifts, like a quiet storm brewing, though neither of you is quite ready to acknowledge it. His words hang there, an almost careless suggestion laced with mischief, but they are impossible to ignore. You try to brush it off, laugh it off, but something about the way he leans in—his proximity, the way his gaze never wavers from yours—makes it harder than it should be. There’s something in his demeanor that says he’s not just playing, not just following the familiar rhythm of flirty banter. It feels like he’s pushing against the boundaries you’ve set, testing them in a way that catches you off guard.

He watches your every reaction carefully, his smile just a little too knowing, a little too calculated for someone so young. You can feel the heat of his gaze as it lingers, catching you off guard in a way that leaves your words hanging in your throat. His comment about MILFs—joking or not—makes your skin prickle uncomfortably, and for a second, you wonder if he’s being more sincere than you care to admit. But you can’t show it, not when you’ve already drawn the line, already told yourself this was just a fleeting moment in an unfamiliar place.

You clear your throat, trying to bring the conversation back to familiar ground, but the awkwardness lingers. “I’m sure you have better things to do than sit here with a woman who could be your mother.”

“Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he says, the playful edge in his voice softened by something deeper. There’s a sudden, subtle weight to his words, as though he’s no longer speaking just to entertain or to flirt, but to convey something more. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, and it catches you off guard. His eyes meet yours, steady and unwavering. The playful front cracks, revealing a hint of something you can’t quite name.

You shift uncomfortably, your thoughts creeping in again. "Well, you’ll find plenty of people who can keep you entertained around here." You gesture vaguely to the bar, the people milling about, the noise, the chatter. "I’m not the one you’re looking for."

His expression dampens. “Maybe you’re right. But maybe I’m just looking for someone who sees me, you know?”

The words hit you harder than they should, a soft pressure in your chest that you quickly try to dismiss. What is he saying? He doesn’t know you, yet he’s almost acting like he does. "I see you," you respond, your voice quieter than before, the weight of the statement hanging between you both like a truth neither of you is willing to face.

He doesn’t say anything right away, but his eyes darken, the smile fading into something more thoughtful, more introspective. You begin to think he might say something that cuts through all the barriers you’ve put up, something that challenges the notion that this is just a casual encounter between strangers. But instead, he shifts in his seat, taking another long sip of his drink. “I don’t know if you do,” he finally says, his voice lower now, the playful lilt gone. 

When he puts his drink down, you blame it on the alcohol from the way your skin flushes in a girlish way as he leans in—his breath fanning your ear. You also blame it on the alcohol when you’re reciprocating his advances, meeting his stare with an equally heated one of your own. And finally, you blame it on the alcohol when you tilt your head to whisper something in his ear. 

“Do you want me to look harder?”

That was the first night you went home with him—the first night you indulged in the warmth and pleasure a man—Satoru—can bring you. And even after sharing your ages, that never stopped. It somehow…never stopped you either. You found yourself giving in—almost craving the way his hands grip your hips, the way his slim and long fingers dance along your ribs in a soft manner. 

You didn’t expect yourself to be falling over the edge, finishing on just the tongue of a man younger than you. You always prided yourself on wanting—needing—an older man. And god, you were really missing out, weren’t you?

But it wasn’t just the way he touched you, the way his mouth knew exactly how to undo you piece by piece—it was the way he looked at you. Like you were something untouchable, yet here he was, holding you, ruining you, worshipping you in ways you hadn’t let anyone do in years.

It was intoxicating.

You told yourself it was just a fling, something fleeting, something fun. A vacation romance, a secret indulgence that you’d tuck away once you boarded your plane back home. But Satoru wasn’t the kind of man you could forget easily. His touch lingered, his voice echoed, and before you even realized it, you were answering his calls. Responding to his texts. Finding yourself in his arms again, even when you swore it would be the last time. You found yourself smiling at him when you believed he wasn’t looking, stifling a peal of laughter at his stupid jokes that he only said so he could see the way your eyes crinkle at the edges—you were finding comfort in him. 

A warm, tentative comfort that only one other man had brought you before. 

There were times you felt guilty, believing you were still bound to your late husband even in death, and at times—you almost compared the two. However, you know Masamichi would’ve wanted you to move on and care for yourself in ways he couldn’t do anymore. He would’ve smiled and encouraged you to find pleasure in your life. 

And you did. 

Because somewhere between those nights tangled in silk sheets and the hushed laughter over shared meals, you forgot to remind yourself of the one thing that mattered most: this was never meant to last.

But at the same time, you almost didn’t want it to end. You enjoyed the way he kissed your knuckles, moved strands of hair out your face, and complimented you when you felt at your lowest. He was seeing every part of you—the good and the bad, the pretty and the ugly. You were letting him. 

One night, after a particularly passionate session, he’s running his fingers along the curve of your spine. Naked bodies huddled next to one another, and the sheets offer a nice little coverup. The moonlight peeks through his blinds, the plush mattress sinking further underneath your weights. He kisses the top of your head softly before moving to your temple. Once again, you’re smiling. Tracing mindless circles on his bare chest, your foot rubbing up and down his calf. No words are spoken, there usually aren’t. But the silence doesn’t feel deafening; it feels comfortable. You found yourself snuggling closer to him.  “Satoru?”

“Mhm?” he hummed back, sighing lightly, his smile never wavering. 

“Where do you…see yourself in ten years?”

He hums again, this time in thought, his fingers never ceasing their lazy tracing along your spine. You feel the way his chest rises and falls beneath your palm, steady and unhurried. You wonder if he’s really thinking about your question, or if he’s simply enjoying the feel of you against him. “In ten years?” he finally repeats, voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile moment. “I don’t know…Happy, I guess. Settled down; I’d like to have kids by then.”

Your fingers pause against his chest. You don’t know why, but his answer catches you off guard. Not because it’s shocking—he’s young, full of life, full of potential—but because it’s something you’ve stopped thinking about for yourself. “Kids?” you echo, tilting your head up to look at him. His pale lashes flutter slightly as he meets your gaze, and there’s something soft in his expression, something almost wistful.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, a small chuckle escaping him. “A couple of ‘em, maybe. A little girl who’s just as stubborn as me, a boy who’s just as curious. Someone to pass everything down to, y’know?” His hand moves from your back, up to your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he exhales. “I think I’d be a good dad.”

You don’t doubt that. Satoru is many things—annoying, arrogant, childish at times—but he’s also deeply caring. He loves with his whole heart, even when he pretends he doesn’t. You can see him being the kind of father who carries his child on his shoulders, who spoils them with sweets, who makes bad dad jokes just to hear their laughter.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to say that out loud. Instead, you settle for a noncommittal hum, lowering your head back onto his chest, letting the weight of his words settle between you. Ten years from now, he’ll have a family. He’ll have everything he wants. And you won’t be part of it.

That’s when reality hit for you. You’re holding him back. You can’t give him what he wants, what he longs for. It’s a bittersweet, brutal reminder that this little world you’ve built was only meant to be temporary. That the laughs, touches, kisses, the sex, it’s fickle. You’ve blinded yourself and let yourself sink too far deep to understand that what Satoru wants…he can’t experience with you. 

And so, it started small. Days spent out with him, your eyes would flicker around, moving from one woman to the next. Pointing them out to him in an encouraging way. 

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” “Maybe you should go ask for her number.”

“You’re both tall, you would go well together.”

It honestly hurt to push him away—to open his eyes to the other fish in the sea while a small part of you wished he could only be yours. But you’d never ask him to stop following his dreams of becoming a family man for your own selfish desires. 

At the start, he humors you. Rolls his eyes, scoffs, plays along like it’s just another one of your little jokes. “She’s alright, I guess,” he shrugs when you point out a woman at the café, her long legs crossed elegantly as she sips on a cappuccino. “But I prefer my women a little more…experienced.” He flashes you that cocky grin, the one that always makes your stomach flutter.

You laugh, but it’s forced. You ignore the way your chest tightens, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him. But then you do it again. And again. And again.

It doesn’t take him long to catch on.

One evening, when you offhandedly comment on the cute waitress who just served your drinks, something shifts in his expression. His smile dims, his fingers drum idly against the table. “Y’know,” he says, tone too casual, too light. “You’ve been doing this a lot lately.” 

You feign ignorance, sipping your wine. “Doing what?”

“Trying to set me up like some kind of matchmaking service.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, gaze sharp. “You got tired of me already?”

You force back a sigh. The way he says it—half-joking, half-serious—makes your stomach twist. “Satoru—”

“No, really,” he cuts in smoothly, tilting his head. “Is that what this is? You pushing me away? Guilt-tripping me into realizing you’re too old for me or whatever bullshit you’ve been telling yourself?”

Your fingers clench around the stem of your glass. He sees right through you. You swallow, trying to keep your voice even. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

His laugh is sharp, humorless. “Looking out for me?” He leans back, stretching his arms along the booth. “Or making decisions for me?”

You hate how much that stings. You hate how right he is.

“I just…” You exhale, setting your glass down. “I just don’t want to hold you back, Satoru.”

His jaw tightens. His eyes search yours, and for a moment, you think he’s going to argue. You think he’s going to tell you you’re being ridiculous, that he wants you, that he doesn’t care about the future you keep running from.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re really that convinced this can’t work, huh?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

His lips press into a thin line. He nods once, slow and deliberate. “Alright,” he mutters, reaching for his drink. “Message received.”

And just like that, the air between you shifts.

Colder.

More distant.

Like the beginning of the end.

Your heart drops, looking back down at your wine. For a second, you felt like you ruined things. But it’s better to nip things in the bud than let them bloom, is it not?

Even after that, he was still adamant about seeing you. You let him, deciding to relish in these last few tender moments you may have with him. The sun was shining and beaming down on you two as you ate your brunch. It was a pleasant day. She was beautiful—the kind of beautiful that made you wonder how someone like her could even exist in this world. The type of beautiful that turned heads and left impressions. The type that had Satoru slowly following her with his eyes. You tell yourself this is a good thing. That this is what you wanted. That you should feel relieved that, finally, he’s looking at someone else the way he shouldn’t be looking at you.

But it doesn’t feel like a relief. It feels like a knife twisting in your gut.

You lift your mimosa to your lips, taking a slow sip, pretending you don’t notice the way his gaze lingers on her. She’s stunning—long legs, flawless skin, a radiant smile that could stop anyone in their tracks, and long black hair. She looks like she belongs in a magazine, not in a small café, laughing at something her friend just said.

You force yourself to smile. “She’s exactly your type.”

Satoru’s attention snaps back to you, and there’s something unreadable in his expression. He blinks, then exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “You really don’t quit, do you?”

You tilt your head, feigning confusion. “I’m just saying, you should talk to her.”

He scoffs, pushing his fork around his plate. “Yeah? And then what?”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Satoru sets his silverware down with a quiet clink, resting his arms on the table. “Let’s say I go up to her. Get her number. Take her on a date.” He shrugs, giving you a half-smile. “Then what? I sleep with her? Take her on more dates? Marry her?”

You stare at him, not sure where this is going.

“And then we have kids,” he continues, his tone light, but his eyes—his eyes are sharp, cutting right through you. “That’s what you want, right? For me to find someone younger, someone who can give me the future I want.”

Your throat tightens.

He leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. “So, tell me something.” His voice drops, softer now, almost vulnerable. “If I wanted all of that with someone else, don’t you think I’d already be doing it?”

Your breath catches.

He waits.

But you don’t have an answer.

All you can do is encourage him to go up to her.

And he did.

He was reluctant, of course. Only doing it to shut you up. 

But you saw the way his expression softened, the way his dimples poked out when he’d talk about her. You were there on the side, watching what he once thought would be a simple meeting, to finding a woman he’d started to fall for. 

It was like watching a slow-moving car crash—one you orchestrated with your own hands. You had done this. You had led him to her, pushed him in her direction, knowing full well what it would mean. And yet, knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

The texts started. Little mentions of her here and there. You caught the way his face lit up in a way you hadn’t seen before, the way he spoke about her with that quiet sort of wonder like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he never expected to solve. You were still a part of his life, still, someone he made time for, but something between you had shifted irreversibly. The stolen moments, the lingering touches, the whispered confessions under moonlit sheets—they grew fewer and further between, replaced by something… distant.

She was such a kind and lovely woman, her voice made of butter when she spoke to you about him. And when you caught him smiling at his phone one evening, thumb idly tapping out a message to her, you knew.

He had found what you wanted for him. What he deserved. What you couldn’t give him.

So why did it feel like you were the one being left behind?

“Are you happy?” you had whispered, holding him tight in a hug, eyes beginning to water.

He held you back, arms secure around your waist. His icy hair tickled your skin, and he planted a soft, reverent kiss on your cheek. Pulling back to look at you, he didn’t have that fiery, teasing sparkle in his eyes like usual. No, this time, all that was there was just…him. Just Satoru. 

“I am,” he had said with a genuine finality. 

The trickle of warm tears slid down your cheeks, his thumbs swiping softly at the skin. “Good, I’m…I’m happy too.”

Truthfully, you were. Because if you had to let Satoru go, if you had to let him be the man he should be, you knew he was doing it beside a woman that was worth it. She was worth it. And you were beginning to be okay with the fact of being a memory to him, as long as it meant his wishes came true.

You left him, never once looking back, answering his texts or his calls. 

You don’t know how you had the strength to do it, how you managed to pull yourself away from the man you’d poured so much of yourself into. There was a time when you thought you’d never be able to let go—when you believed you’d somehow convince him that the life he envisioned with someone else wasn’t worth pursuing. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep holding onto him, not when the weight of your love was slowly suffocating him, not when you knew that he needed to step into a future that wasn’t tied to a past that could never fully be his. You didn’t want to be the one who held him back, no matter how much it hurt.

The hardest part was the silence that came after. You told yourself it was for the best, that you were doing him a favor, letting him breathe, letting him live without your shadow hanging over him. But the quiet was unbearable. Slowly, the hole he left inside you grew wider, the void left by his absence swallowing you whole. It felt like a slow, silent death—a death that had to happen for him to thrive, even if you weren’t ready for it.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months.

But somehow, that was for the best. He was with her now—his beautiful, young, hopeful future. And you? You were learning to accept the peace that came with being the past. The bittersweet relief of knowing that you had let him go, even when it felt like a piece of you was missing forever. You were learning to find happiness and acceptance with that. But you knew deep down, a part of you would always love him. And that part would remain tucked away, hidden, safe in the quiet recesses of your heart where no one could touch it. Because, no matter how much time passed, no matter how much life moved on, Satoru would always be the one who made you believe in the fleeting beauty of something that could never truly last.

Seven years had passed, and time had etched its marks on both of you. You were different now—wiser, perhaps. Life had moved on, as it always did, carrying you forward in unexpected ways. You found a home in Japan, a little place tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, a perfect reflection of the peace you had slowly cultivated within yourself. It was the kind of home you never thought you'd need after him, but somehow, it filled the emptiness that had lingered for so long.

When you saw him again, it felt like a thousand memories rushed back to you in a single moment. His shock was palpable—eyes wide with disbelief, brows furrowed as if trying to make sense of the woman standing before him. The same Satoru, yet different in small, subtle ways. His features had softened, a few lines around his eyes that spoke of time passing, of laughter shared, of a life fully lived. He was healthy, vibrant, the man you’d once known and the one who had continued his journey without you. "Y/N?" His voice was quiet at first, unsure if this was real or just a figment of his mind. His gaze swept over you as if trying to understand how you could still exist in his life after everything.

And then, he smiled. It wasn’t the same playful grin that had always been there, the one that had once made your heart race. This one was softer, warmer—gentler. It carried the weight of the years apart, but also the familiarity of someone who had once been an integral part of your soul.

And you smiled back again.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, the embrace as natural as it was unexpected. It wasn’t just a hug; it was a reunion, a silent acknowledgment of everything that had passed between you both. For a moment, you let yourself lean into him, feeling the comforting strength of his hold, the warmth of his body that you once thought you'd never feel again. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation, just the undeniable connection that had never truly disappeared. It was as though time had been kind to you both, erasing the pain and replacing it with something softer, something more peaceful.

“Satoru,” you muttered softly, almost in relief. 

"You look good," he said softly, pulling away just enough to look at you, his hands lingering on your arms as if testing the reality of this moment. 

You feel something cold pressed against your arm, looking down…there’s a golden ring on his left ring finger. Your lips parted with mild surprise before looking up at him with a sense of blitheness. You couldn’t help but chuckle, eyes crinkling in the way he loved—loves. “...is it her?”

He nods, glancing down at your own hand. And look at that; he’s not the only one with a gold ring. “And what about you?’ he asked, a softness in his voice.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, bringing your hand up and admiring the band around your finger, the diamond saying hello once more. Memories of your husband’s gruff voice, his frown that he tried so hard to keep etched on his face, the spiky black hair you loved to comb your fingers through, the scar on the corner of his mouth that you loved to kiss. “His name is Toji.”

He nodded with a wave of approval. “How long?”

“Three years. And you?”

“Four.”

You guys laughed simultaneously.  The sound of your shared laughter fills the quiet space between you two, and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed at all. There’s an ease to it, an old familiarity that you never quite lost, even with the years between you. The weight of everything that had happened—your separation, his journey, your own—seems to melt away, leaving only the lightness of the present moment. It feels almost surreal, standing there with him, both of you changed yet still the same in many ways.

You glance down at your left hand again, the ring catching the sunlight that spills through the window. The cool metal seems to hum with its own kind of quiet significance. Toji. 

But now, standing here with Satoru, there’s a strange sense of nostalgia mixed with contentment. You never imagined this—standing side by side with him, sharing your worlds as they are now. When you look up at Satoru, you see the same softness in his eyes that’s always been there, but now it carries with it the weight of time. He has a family, a future that doesn’t include you, and that’s okay. There’s peace in that. He’s found what he was always meant to have, the thing that once felt like an impossibility between you two.

“Four years,” you repeat, your voice soft, taking in the new ring on his finger. “That’s beautiful, Satoru. I’m…I’m so happy for you.”

He grins, that same playful glint in his eyes, but this time it feels like it’s tempered by something deeper, something more sincere. “Yeah,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “She’s incredible. I’m really lucky.”

The warmth that spreads through you isn’t jealousy, or bitterness, or anything like that. It’s something else entirely—pride, maybe. Or relief. You always knew that Satoru was meant for something bigger than what you two could have together, but seeing him happy now, seeing him settled with someone who makes his eyes light up the way they used to with you, it’s the closure you never thought you needed. 

“You?” he asks again, as though sensing the unspoken question between you two. His gaze shifts to your hand again, then back up to your face. 

The words come out easily now. “He’s my rock,” you say simply, the affection in your voice unguarded. “He makes me better, makes me whole.”

Satoru’s expression softens, and you see the flicker of that old tenderness—the way he used to look at you before everything got complicated. But it’s not painful, this time. It’s not heavy. It’s just… understanding. Like he’s happy that you’ve found that kind of peace. The kind of peace he’s found with her. “You both deserve it,” he says with a nod, as though sealing the quiet approval between you two. “You deserve everything good that comes your way.”

It’s a simple statement, but it carries so much weight. The unspoken acknowledgment that the two of you, after all this time, have moved on, and have created lives for yourselves that reflect who you’ve become. And for all that has happened, all the loss and the love that came and went, there’s something beautiful in knowing that this chapter—this shared history—is now something you both cherish without needing to hold on to.

He invited you over that day and you accepted. 

His wife runs up to you, hugging you like you’re an old friend. “Oh my god!” she exclaims in a gasp, her red-tinted lips curved up into a wide smile. You hugged her back, mirroring his reactions. “It’s so great to see you again, Miss. Satoru and I have never forgotten you.”

“Utahime…” he mutters with slight embarrassment. 

You chortled and patted her back. “I haven’t forgotten about you too either.”

She pulls back, removing her arms from you. Satoru places a warm arm around her waist and brings her to his side. The display of affection has you melting on the inside, head tilting in fondness. Satoru looks at you. “So, there’s someone we want you to—”

The sound of little pitter-patter against the hardwood cuts him off, all of your attention being dragged to the little girl with white hair and auburn eyes like her moth bounding up to you in excited familiarity. Her tiny gasp as she looks up at you with wide, innocent, twinkling eyes. She looked up at you as if she had known you her whole life, bubbling with a sense of jitteriness, cheeks glowing with a youthful flush. You couldn’t help but crouch down to her height, head tilting. Your eyes glazed over with tears, holding a hand to your mouth to hold back the broken laugh you almost let out at the question she asked you. 

“Are you the fairy?”

a/n: this story is inspired by "a love not made for me" by aryana rose. please go hear her speak it, she tells it so beautifully :(((. anywho, thank u guys for 2k really. i love u all and I'm incredibly grateful for all the support and love and patience :))

i couldn't do it without yall. <3

[tojisteddy]

Yes, I do think Toji is canonically forgetful.

He’s forgetting the grocery list even though you wrote it for him so he wouldn’t forget but it gets lost anyway because he forgot where he put it. He’s going through the isles and getting what seems right because he can’t remember what’s in the fridge and can’t ask you cause you’re at work.

The list was in the back of his wallet.

There are always sticky notes around the house of random notes, ‘to-do’ lists galore. He always has to do a pat down of himself before he leaves the house, ‘keys, wallet, phone’ always in that order. He’s the type who’ll remember whatever he forgot once he was right outside and he’ll circle back in the house to retrieve whatever he forgot.

He plans out dates, but doesn’t remember the time. And is always two embarrassed to ask you because it’s something he set up for you. So he’s racking his brain as he gets ready, looking through the plethora of notes left around the house until it finally clicks. He’s running to meet you, buying a bouquet of flowers at the train station and dashing like his life depends on it.

Of course he makes it. 15 minutes late, but he makes it nonetheless.

Cursing up a storm at the up tight hostess to, ‘move out my fuckin way! My spouse is in there!’ Flowers slightly crushed in his hands, a little out of breath and he takes you in, who’s got an amused look on your pretty face.

“Shit, you look good mama.”

Toji is always going ‘huuh?’ ‘who?’ ‘mmh?’ and ‘what?’ Touching the top of his temple with his fingers like it’ll help him remember. It doesn’t.

And it’s a complete surprise, when he gets home and a confetti popper goes off in his face. Both of your dogs are barking, one with a Spider-Man suit on and the other with a pink party hat, the dinner table is properly set with his favorite food, he favorite wine to match, Panic by The Smiths playing from the living room, you’re in his favorite black dress that hugs your hips and your tits look perfect. And there’s a banner with a few painted paw prints on it, an angry mark and ‘Happy Birthday Toji’ in large bold letters.

Oh, his birthday.

Was it that time of year again?

He’s forgetting your friends names, nodding like he remembers but he has no fucking clue who you’re talking about until you bring up some memory of the two of them meeting and then he’ll remember.

And of course, he’s forgotten your anniversary and birthday before. It frustrated you, so you’d go on about the night like it was nothing. A birthday dinner with friends and some with their spouses but shit, it would’ve been nice for that ass hat to be there.

But then you’d get home, setting the gifts from your friends down and kicking off your heels. But there are candles burning, those damn sticky notes are scattered on the kitchen counter, all with your name and ‘don’t forget!’ written on them. And his journal, which you’ve only seen a couple times since you’ve been with the older man, was wide open with your birthdate written at the top of the page. And multiple lists of chicken scratch filled the two pages full to the brim and you’re sure they continued to the next page. All of things the man loved about you.

From your curly hair, eating habits he found cute, your pretty tattoos, your chestnut skin glowing in the sun light, from the way you fuckin blinked your brown eyes— all of it was there.

Toji was fucked up in the head, from his past to now— life wasn’t easy on him and it showed. From the way he reacted to things, to how forgetful he was. It came from the trauma. But you made life worth living. He’d be damned if he forgot even a minuscule detail about you.

You walked to the sound of your favorite playlist coming from the backyard. The dogs were there, both adorned with party hats and they came running at the sight of you and there Toji was. Plain black shirt and black jeans, muscles flexing as he fixed some fairy lights with a party hat tilted to the side like a fuckin idiot— just how you liked it.

You looked back at the clock on the oven; 11:43 pm.

A breathless laugh came out of you. Sniffing, fanning your face as tears danced on your water line because you paid a cute penny to get your makeup done for your big day.

Toji heard you, and made his way towards you. Words couldn’t express how sorry he was but he didn’t bother saying it. He knew it wouldn’t comfort you, fixing mistakes did though.

He was trying. You knew from this birthday set up to those notes he’d leave around the house, the multiple calendars— he was really trying. And sooner than later he’d get it right because he loved you and would do anything to prove that he loved you.

He grabbed the last purple party hat that read ‘birthday girl’ and set it atop your well defined curls that was parted to one side, you’d spent an hour trying to get right. Toji took your face in his large hands, gently rubbing at your cheeks, fuckin adorable.

A kiss to your eyelids, your temple, then your pretty dark brown lined, matte lips.

“Happy birthday Doll.”

a/n: couldn’t stop listening to Everything by Kehlani while writing this. On a really bad Toji kick rn.

[ghostathan]

Hi, I'm a dumb fuck who misplaces shit all the time, and because of this, I am the finder of many things, even stuff other people misplace. Here are my methods that could help more than "just remember!"

If you don't remember SEEING where you put it, can you remember senses? How did it sound when you put it down. like a glass surface or on paper piles? do you remember the feel of opening a drawer or the height of where you put it? was it dark or bright?

Have you checked the usual blind spots?Places where you keep putting something and you never think to look there? like behind a vase or television. Places that obscure your immediate sight of the missing item. It coukd be even on the floor right in front of you.

It could be on top of something that is the same color, or turned over.

Have you changed something recently? If your like me, you also leave stuff wherever and the missing item may be moved. If you dont hang up your jacket or put away your shopping bags, check under those. behind all your dishes you didnt put away. It may have even falen into some place you've tidied up recently.

youve cleaned recently. Youve decided now is the time to get your shit together and put things where they should be. Which means nothing is where it should be. In those cases, please check where smart people put items, instead of dumb fucks. That or the closet you shoved everything inside. anyplace or anything you put away, search those areas.

You could retrace your steps. reenact putting the item where the dumb fuck wiuld put it. then search the fuck around that area. Especially if its a bed or couch or some other area that has other items on it. get under there with a flashlight if you gotta.

Also, most importantly, please stay calm during your search. If you panic, you could tunnel vision, which makes finding things less likely and will upset you further. And then you start beating yourself up and you give up. Take a deep breath and take your time in your search.

Everyone misplaces things. Everyone forgets from time to time. Sure, it would be convenient if you remember, but you don't. So you have to find what will help you NOW. not just the preventative measures that arent helpful after the fact.

Will add one preventive tip for if you live with people who constantly tell you to just remember: Tell THEM where you put the item. If their memory is so great, they could just remember for you! Use em like an external drive! Obviously just use people your comfortable with but it does work. You may even remember telling them. (like tip 1)

having ADHD will have you going round your house saying aloud, "Okay, so if I were me, and me is a dumb fuck, where the hell would I put X," and you still can't find it

[gabessquishytum]

Okay I literally haven't interacted on tumblr for years but I scroll through dreamling stuff a lot and I see your posts all the time and I know I won't ever write this myself cause I'm an ADHD mess but I have this idea I can't stop thinking about: So you know all those fics where Hob gets amnesia for some reason or another and Dream has to take care of him cause he can't remember anything about who he his or that he's immortal. I keep thinking, what if he only lost like 30 years of memories due to a specific curse or something (idk maybe he pisses off a witch and they're like "have fun being a literal baby in an adult man's body muahahaha!") so the last thing he remembers it was 1992 and he was in the process of establishing the New Inn since he was stood up three years ago. Cut to current and he and Dream have been dating for months after reuniting and being friends for a while and falling in love (naturally) and Dream visits regularly and sporadically so while Hob is trying to figure out what fucking year it is and how he's suddenly a professor when just the other day he was applying for classes and how does he now live in the inn that he literally just started building a month ago WTF IS GOING ON!!?!?!

Cut to Dream to showing up out of the blue and Hob freaking out because his stranger is back and acting super sweet and friendly and what the actual fuck is going on!!

Dream of course figures out something is wrong and gets Hob to come clean and he is murderous, How DARE someone put a curse on HIS HOB!!! I don't really have an exact idea of how this is all rectified, maybe Dream tracks down the witch and tortures them until they take the spell back, maybe he removes the curse himself since he's just that powerful, maybe it's broken with true love's kiss?? (lmao idk, I'm not super into that trope but if that's what you wanna go for be my guest)

Omg I feel so blessed that you went to the trouble of writing this out for me, friend! Yay!!

I feel like it would be incredible to see Hob going back to post-1989 abandonment trauma. In his mind he's still desperately trying to get over the fact that Dream didn't show up. Realistically he's not coping all that well, although he's setting himself up in his new life, he's still crying a lot and making questionable decisions and getting blackout drunk at 2pm. This trauma added together with the utter confusion of being thrust into a place and time that he doesn't know, REALLY freaks him out.

So Dream has to go into caretaking mode and make sure that Hob doesn't have a total breakdown. He's a little better when Dream is around, but he's still so confused and tearful a lot of the time. He needs a lot of reassurance from Dream, lots of explanation about 21st century life, and Dream is happy to provide.

I have this idea of the curse slowly wearing off over time, because Dream has taken care of Hob so well. Maybe one of the rules of the curse was that it would last until someone truly cared for Hob, body and soul. Dream still threatens the witch though of course. He's determined that no one will ever hurt Hob again (himself included, because now he knows exactly how upset Hob was by his abandonment).

When Hob fully regains his memories he drags Dream straight to bed and profusely thanks him for his sweet and tender care. Dream would gladly do it all again for nothing... but the sex IS a nice reward.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

I love your stories so so much and your writing is AMAZING I just disconnect of the world and feel like I’m just right there! I was wondering if you could write a Dave x reader smut story? The reader and Dave knew each other because she was friends with Metallica before they kicked out Dave and for that reason he didn’t like her at all, but a long time after they meet again when Dave is in Megadeth (maybe the 90s?). She tried talking to him but he act’s distant because he doesn’t want to show his feelings to her because he felt betrayed by her too even though she had nothing to do with the band decision, but as the time passes by, the tension grows and… you know 🤭

P.S: ROUGH DAVE PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE 🙏

Sorry if I didn't posted, but last week I coudln't even breathe.

Hope you like it!❤

Warnings: NSFW, mature themes, sexual themes

Unforeseen Feelings

Walking into the bar, the familiar scent of stale beer mixed with the sweet aroma of forgotten dreams hit me like a wave. The low hum of classic rock filled the air, and for a moment, it felt like I was stepping back in time. Yet, the past carried the weight of memories and a certain man who occupied so many of my thoughts—Dave Mustaine.

I scanned the room, my heart racing with anticipation and dread. There he was, slouched at the end of the bar, a whiskey glass halfway to his lips. The years had been unkind, but they hadn't dulled his rugged charisma; if anything, the hard lines on his face only enhanced it. He had changed, yet there was still that recognizable spark of defiance in his eyes.

Swallowing hard, I approached him, my feet feeling heavier with each step. Memories of our past flashed in my mind—a friendship that had been twisted the moment Metallica's betrayal had taken him down. What had once been camaraderie had splintered into silence and distance ever since.

“Hey, Dave,” I attempted to sound casual, but my voice betrayed me—a waver slipped in as nervousness took hold.

He turned slowly to face me, his expression unreadable. “What do you want?” There was an edge to his tone, sharp enough to make me take a half-step back.

I bristled at the coldness, crossing my arms defensively. “I came to see how you were doing, but clearly, that was a mistake.”

His derisive laugh echoed around us, a bitter sound steeped in old wounds. “Just because you’re friends with them doesn’t mean I want to talk to you,” he replied, casting his eyes away from me.

The words stung, igniting a flash of anger within me. “You know I had nothing to do with that decision, Dave! You never even gave me the chance to explain.”

“Why would I trust you?” he shot back, disappointment lacing his tone. “You were close to them. You had every reason to side with them.”

I took a deep breath and leaned closer, my determination flaring. “But you didn’t even ask! You just shut me out, like I was part of the betrayal.”

His shoulders tensed, the defensive wall he’d built around himself thickening. I saw the doubts and hardships wrestling within his eyes; the conflict was palpable. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, looking away.

“Try me,” I urged, my heart pounding as I drew closer.

The silence stretched, filled with unspoken words and emotions. He hesitated, and just for a moment, I saw a glimpse of the man he used to be—the one who smiled easily, the one who found joy in every riff. I remembered all those carefree nights we spent together, laughing and enjoying life.

Flashback

It was only a year before everything changed; we were hanging out backstage while the band prepared for a gig. The energy was electric, and the freedom of youth felt like a never-ending promise. Dave had flung his arm around my shoulder, his laughter echoing.

“You know what? Once we make it big, we should go on a trip together!” he exclaimed, a wild grin spreading across his face. It was the perfect night—music playing, laughter ringing through the air.

But soon after, shadows began to gather. The tensions I hadn’t noticed were festering. When Metallica’s betrayal came to light, it shattered him; it shattered us both. I could see it in his eyes but had no idea how deeply it would ripple through our shared world.

End Flashback

I took a sharp breath, feeling the weight of that memory press against my chest. “You didn’t give me a chance to explain,” I said softly, reaching for his hand, but he withdrew it before I could make contact.

“You’re friends with them. Why would you want to help me?” he retorted, his voice a mix of hurt and anger.

“Because I care about you, Dave,” I confessed, my heart racing, desperation filling my voice. “I never wanted to be caught in the middle of your pain.”

He continued to look away, the inner battle clearly visible on his face. “Then why are you here now?” he finally asked, his tone softening slightly.

“Because I’ve missed you!” I said, the exasperation in my voice ringing out clearly. “I can’t stand this distance between us any longer. I want to talk to you—not about the past, but about now.”

His eyes met mine, and within that moment, something shifted in the air; the hardness of his expression faltered, presenting a vulnerable side I hadn’t seen in years.

“I…” he started, but words failed him. I could see he was torn between the walls he’d built around himself and the longing that had lingered beneath the surface.

In an impulsive moment, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his, yearning to bridge the chasm that had formed between us. His body stiffened in surprise, and for a few heart-stopping seconds, time seemed to freeze as a whirlwind of emotions swirled around us.

When I pulled back, my heart raced at the surprised expression on his face. “You’re so stupid; couldn’t you see I wanted you?” I breathed, searching his gaze for any recognition of my feelings.

He blinked, still stunned. “You shouldn’t have done that, Y/N,” he murmured, recovering from the shock.

“Maybe I wanted you to notice,” I replied, feigning bravado even as warmth flooded my cheeks.

A slow smile crept onto his face, a dangerous spark igniting in his eyes. “Maybe it’s time you learn how this really works,” he growled, pulling me closer so our bodies crashed together. The heat radiated between us like a force of nature.

“Let’s get out of here,” I suggested, the urgency of the moment urging me to act.

He took my hand, and we stepped outside into the cool night air. The ambiance of the bar faded behind us, but the heat between us only intensified as we wandered onto the dimly lit street.

“Where to?” I asked breathlessly, glancing up at him.

He looked down at me, his expression softening. “My apartment is just a few blocks away. We’ll be alone there.”

The thrill of his words sent a spark coursing through me. I nodded, and we walked in a comfortable silence, anticipation crackling between us.

When we finally arrived at his apartment, the door barely had time to click closed before he was upon me again, capturing my lips in a passionate kiss. His hands found my waist, drawing me possessively against him, and I melted into him, feeling the years of unresolved desire ignite like a flame rekindled.

“God, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured between kisses, breathless and wild.

I leaned into him, feeling emboldened. “Then show me how much you want me.”

His hands slid from my waist to grip my shoulders as he kissed me deeper, any remnants of hesitance dissipating. In that moment, he moved us through the dimly lit space of his apartment, not breaking our kiss, until our backs hit the wall near the door.

The coolness of the wall contrasted starkly with the heat radiating from our bodies. He pressed against me, and I gasped, feeling every inch of him—hard and desperate for my touch. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as I relished the feeling of his body against mine.

He broke the kiss, taking a step back to look at me, his eyes dark with desire. “Are you sure?” he asked, genuine concern mixed with lust in his voice.

“Yes,” I breathed, my heart pounding. “I want you, Dave. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

With a primal urgency, he grasped my waist and lifted me effortlessly. I wrapped my legs around his hips, holding on tight as he carried me to his bedroom. The passionate energy crackled between us, charging the atmosphere as he set me down on the edge of the bed.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” he said, running a hand through his hair. His eyes were ablaze with desire, and I felt the intensity in the air between us.

Neither of us wasted time; the moment felt too precious to lose. He leaned in, capturing my lips with his once more, and I could feel every kiss building the tension that had long been held at bay.

As he kissed me passionately, his hands roamed my body, exploring the curves he had longed for. I pulled him tighter against me, feeling the heat of his body seep into mine. Everything else faded away; there were no past betrayals or anger, only the two of us entwined in this moment of pure desire.

With a surge of confidence, I began to undress, feeling liberated and free. Dave watched, his gaze hungry, and I could see his chest rise and fall with need.

“Let me,” he murmured, taking my hands and guiding them away, before leaning down to press heated kisses along my neckline. I shivered, my body responding instantly to every gentle touch.

“Dave…” I gasped, feeling a rush of pleasure as his lips moved lower, trailing kisses along my collarbone and heading towards the fabric of my shirt.

“I want to savor this,” he whispered against my skin

As his lips danced along my collarbone, I marveled at the way he explored me with both tenderness and urgency. My heart raced, and every kiss sent waves of pleasure coursing through my body. The mix of desire and anticipation had me teetering on the edge of bliss.

“Dave…” I gasped, feeling his warmth envelop me as he peeled away my shirt, revealing my skin to the cool air of the room.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he took a moment to drink me in. The sincerity in his tone sent a thrill down my spine, igniting an overwhelming desire within me.

He leaned in, claiming my lips once more, and I could feel his need mirrored in every touch, every kiss. I ran my fingers through his hair as he explored my body, revelling in the way he savored every inch of me. Moving with a confidence that came from years of pent-up longing, he gently pushed me back onto the bed, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I want to make you feel good,” he said, a teasing grin on his face that sent sparks flying through my chest.

Then, with a sudden burst of playful energy, he kissed a path down my body, his hands exploring my curves with a reverent touch. My senses lit up as his mouth moved lower, and I could hardly contain my moans as the heat between us intensified.

“Just like that,” I urged, feeling the tension building within me, the anticipation overwhelming.

With careful precision, he took his time, making sure to ignite every nerve ending as he worshipped my body with his lips. The world outside faded away, and nothing existed but the two of us, lost in our own private paradise.

“Dave, I need you,” I gasped, arching my back against the sheets, all too aware of how close I was to the edge.

“Then you’re gonna get me,” he replied playfully, shifting his weight and joining me on the bed, his body pressing against mine.

There was something incredibly liberating about our closeness. I felt a mixture of exhilaration and urgency as he maneuvered us into the right position, the playful glint in his eye making my heart race even more.

“Are you ready?” he asked, the hint of vulnerability mixed with eagerness brightly shining through his words.

“Yes,” I breathed, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just… just kiss me, please.”

He smiled against my lips and then kissed me deeply, the connection between us growing sharper with every beat of our hearts. It was a kiss filled with everything we hadn’t said before—the longing, the frustration, and now a promise of passion.

With a swift motion, our bodies intertwined, and I gasped as he filled me completely. The world shifted around us, and all I could focus on was the way our bodies melded together, driven by a shared heat that exploded into an undeniable rhythm.

He set a pace that was both passionate and sweet, losing himself in the sensations we created together. Each thrust was met with little gasps and soft moans, building toward a crescendo that I felt reverberate through every part of me.

“Just like that,” I urged, drawing him in closer. “Don’t stop.”

He smiled, his breath quickening. “I could get used to this,” he remarked, a teasing tone creeping into his voice as he continued to move within me, his warmth enveloping me entirely.

Moments turned into minutes, and as our bodies moved together, the world outside faded into insignificance. We became lost in one another, two souls finally finding their way back to the connection we’d lost for so long.

Our breaths intertwined, punctuated by the occasional laugh or whisper. I felt free, liberated in a way I never expected. It was raw and passionate, the way we connected driving us both to heights we hadn’t thought possible.

Finally, we reached that sweet climax together, the world around us blurring into a haze of pleasure and warmth. I could feel the electric spark of ecstasy wash over me as we both collapsed against each other, panting and blissfully spent.

After a few moments, I felt Dave's arms wrap around me, pulling me close. I smiled at the warmth that radiated through us, content with the closeness after the fire we’d just shared.

“I can’t believe we finally did that,” he chuckled softly, a goofy grin spreading across his face.

I laughed, burying my head against his chest, reveling in the way my body molded against his, feeling utterly safe and happy. “Me neither! I thought I’d have to throw you a laundry list of reasons for a while.”

“Well, you definitely sold me on it,” he said, a playful glimmer in his eye. “And I’m glad I took the plunge.”

“Just remember that I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” I teased, looking up at him. “No closing off anymore, okay?”

“I promise,” he replied earnestly, leaning down to kiss the top of my head before settling in against me, his warmth soothing. I could feel the tension of the past beginning to melt away, replaced by a sense of genuine comfort.

As we lay there, I felt him relax, his breath evening out as he nuzzled closer. There was something amusingly endearing about how he somewhat resembled a large, sleepy cat curled against me, his large frame contrasting with the gentle intimacy we shared.

“Are you laughing at me?” he muttered, half-asleep.

“Maybe,” I smirked, running my fingers through his hair. “You just look so adorable like this.”

“Adorable?” he repeated, the teasing tone back in his voice, even beneath the haze of sleep. “I’m a legendary rock star.”

I chuckled, the sound escaping my lips like a breath of pure joy. “And now you’re my legendary rock star, who is also a little spoon.”

“Little spoon?” he echoed, opening one eye to look at me incredulously. “You’re not supposed to tell anyone that!”

With a laugh, I tightened my hold around him. “Oh, it’s too late for that! I’ll spread the word: the great Dave Mustaine loves being the little spoon—”

“That’s it!” he interrupted, mock indignation clear in his voice. “You better watch out; I’m going to need to redeem my rockstar reputation.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” I asked, leaning closer, fully embracing the lighthearted banter.

But he didn’t reply. Instead, his breath deepened as he settled in, and I could feel him drifting off to sleep. I couldn’t help but smile, pulling him closer as I realized how far we had come—from distant friends caught in turmoil to two souls finding solace in each other.

There was something undeniably sweet about moments like these, and I felt secure in the knowledge that this was just the beginning of our new chapter—a chapter filled with laughter, warmth, and maybe a little bit of mischief.

[hellsquills]

Here's the things about only feeling anxiety when you're safe:

You really have to feel like your finally safe. And that takes time.

What Stan felt after Ford returned wasn't safety, but relief. For 30 years all he felt was hope, numbness, pain, anger... but not safety. Nor relief.

When Stanford returns, it's relief, then anger, then pain, then numbness. Never safety. He's happy he's back, but he doesn't feel safe, because they aren't on good terms. It's not like he feels at danger, but it's uneasiness. And being uneasy doesn't make you feel safe at all.

Of course, after the memory wipe, it changes. First for the better, then for the worse. Because first come the good ones (his family, his kids employees, his childhood), then the bad ones (literally everything else), and Stan starts wondering whether he actually died and reincarnated, punished to remember every single sin he committed in his past life. He quickly discards the idea; even so, if that were the case, in this new life he has his family, which he didn't in the previous one. Those memories can come back if they want, because he's not alone to face them anymore.

And then the kids leave. And Stanford stays, and stays close, never leaving his side. And even though he's thankful, something in the back of his mind insists that he needs to be alert, in case the other shoe drops (which will happen). Stan is happy, he's as happy as he ever thought he could be, but he still doesn't feel safe. Maybe he never will.

The twins go sailing, after making sure Stan is okay and more in control of his memories, and things take some time to adjust to, but they manage. They sail, and fish, and hunt, and bicker, and laugh, and bond. They're both the happiest they've ever been, and they're not afraid to show the fact that they need each other. They're the reason for each other's happiness, after all, and damn it if they won't make their brother know that, one way or another.

It's been around a year, and the initial thrill of a weekly near-death encounter wears off. They love it, of course, but they also want time to enjoy life. So they look for less threatening anomalies and study those, and every once in a while they'll go looking for the jackpot. It's a nice, paused rhythm that allows them some peace and quiet, time on their own, and time together. It's a perfect balance.

It is then, when they're doing whatever in silence, that something strikes Stan. He has to blink a few times, but the sensation is still there. All of a sudden, the world slows down, and he needs a moment to look around. He doesn't feel dizzy, but it's a strange feeling, a new one. He doesn't like it.

Ford notices the change and asks him, and Stan says it's nothing. Ford reminds him they said not to downplay their worries anymore, but Stan doesn't know what else to say. It's literally nothing. Nothing bad, nothing good either. Just nothing at all.

It's like the curtain dropped and the show ended, and there's no applause. What is a showman supposed to do after the curtain falls?

He doesn't understand why he feels like this, but it frustrates him to no end. He starts having anxiety attacks for apparently no reason, other than not knowing what's wrong with him. Ford tells him it's a normal reaction to decades of accumulated stress, but Stan already knows that. He's frustrated because these consequences had 40 years to appear, and yet they decided to surface right when he finally has a happy life. He feels like shit because he isn't supposed to feel like shit, not now. He's wasted 40 years having a shitty life and now he's probably gonna feel like shit because of it for the rest of his life. And if that weren't enough, Ford is worried about him. Worried and frustrated, because he can't rip these feelings out of his head. All he can do is stay near and comfort him as best as he can.

However, as time goes on, Stan starts feeling better. The numbness dissipates, and he doesn't feel like he's on autopilot mode again (god he's always hated being like that). Eventually, he becomes more aware of himself and everything around him, and he finds himself laughing and crying with genuine emotions.

Eventually, Stan feels like himself again. His best himself to date.

Sometimes the body does not allow itself to breakdown, to panic, until the very moment you are safe.

Could you imagine? Stanley living on survival all these years, never stopping long enough to panic or cry or feel.

Then, his twin returns and for a moment he thinks it's over, he can feel a build up, a hammering in his chest and a stinging in his eyes and- BAM. A punch.

It isn't until they're out at sea, that when he gets hurt and actually gets taken care of, that his body registers that he is safe. At last.

[girl-lostconnection]

Adding into my last ask, do you think the helldivers would injure themselves just to get those scars back. To get any semblance of their old bodies back even if it means they’ll have to damage it themself 

YES. YESSSSSSSSS.

Yeah, absolutely they would. I think the fact that they are already less than stable doesn’t help because getting thrown into your younger body and just looking like a fucking baby, and you are spotless again — no callouses on your hands, no burns, no scars, no stretch marks — nothinggggg.

I think they 100% would because scars for people like them signify that they survived something. That very bad things happened and they still got out, that they lived a life.

So yes, they would try to get their scars back, they would try to harm themselves or intentionally get in the harms way engineering the similar environment in which they got initial scars and still it would feel wrong.

They would still feel that it’s not the same, it’s not what they need, it’s not how they remember it. They get “reinforced” and every time they come back wrong because they weren’t meant to come back. Human brain can’t comprehend something like that, it would drive them fucking mad. (That’s how reform to “reinforcement” copies was introduced, the one I mentioned in my previous response)

So again, scars mean for them experience, they mean life, they mean memories. And without scars…it feels like everything they went through was for nothing. Even worse, they start forgetting what exactly they went through.

There is nothing to remind them of it. No scars, no marks, no nothing.

[weebsinstash]

I wanted to share another piece of American history and also queer history with you guys that I've been thinking about since, what I consider to be the vandalism of "Portrait of Ross in L.A", and also because it is relevant to our current polticial climate, where even the company I currently work for has publicly declared that they will no longer have diversity and inclusion programs

John S. Boskovich was an American homosexual man living in America during the AIDS epidemic of the 80s and 90s. He had a partner, Stephen Earabino. During the epidemic, Earabino contracted AIDS and eventually passed away in 1995.

This was during a time period where the AIDS crisis was being intentionally mismanaged as a direct attempt to "purge" queer people and make them socially unacceptable, and many families often hid the deaths of their queer family members for being AIDS-related out of shame, fear of public ridicule, and/or homophobia. The shifting of the blame of AIDS onto exclusively gay and bisexual men was so intentionally heavily prevalent that it lead to many deaths of heterosexuals, lesbians, and even the creation of a now famous poster by that read "Women Don't Get AIDS: They Just Die From It", which was also created as a plea to the CDC to address the crisis and EVERYONE who faced it

So, in that social and political context, after Stephen passed away, his family came to the flat where their son was living with his lover and completely cleaned out all the belongings in the apartment, erasing any evidence of Earabino and Boskovich's relationship, but also, leaving Boskovich with absolutely no possessions and nothing to remember his lover by except for a single box fan

Boskovich, in his grief, made this single electric box fan an art installation by encasing it in plexiglass with holes cut into it, protecting the fan, lionizing it, with the breeze coming through the gaps meant to symbolize his lover's breath and how this art installation, in a sense, keeps Stephen Earabino's memory alive. The name of the piece is "Electric Fan (Feel It Motherfuckers)" and it has been theorized that the "feel" refers to not only the breeze of the fan symbolizing his lover and memorializing him, in a sense giving him eternal life, but also for the viewer to "feel" the grief and anger of Boskovich losing his lover and the cruel aftermath that followed

Boskovich made this piece of artwork in 1997, and eventually passed away 9 years later in 2006 in his home at 49 years old of causes that were never fully disclosed, some theorizing that he committed suicide. His artwork now sits in the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles.

This is another influential and emotional piece of history that goes to show just how extremely important it is to hang onto the truth that queer people and by extension any marginalized people have a right to exist. It shows the lengths to which lives are destroyed by the hatred and policies of those who revel in intentional cruelty and exerting their own authority for no other reason than hating those that do not share the same views as them. When we do not fight to hold onto our history, those who decide we do not need to be a part of it will fight hard to erase it completely and pretend that we were never even here in the first place, much like Stephen Earabino's family would have completely erased his existence without the voice of John Boskovich, or how Ross Laycroft and his struggle wouldn't have been known without him becoming memorialized by Felix Gonzales-Torres' sculpture intended as an act of love

We are here. We are alive. We will continue to make our voices heard and refuse to die in darkness. I will not be driven from my home country because of what is QUICKLY becoming an American fascist dictatorship.

We are all eternal in the memories of those who lives we touch and change. We are made stronger by the bonds we build with each other and our communities. We must never stop fighting for our right to exist.

We must never make it easier for them to erase us, not just from being alive, but from being recorded in history altogether

[codegeassfacts]

A Collection of Code Geass Season 1 Informations from Various Sources and Interviews // Canon

I've reunited in there all of the various information I couldn't fit into full fleshed out post and only kept the one with sources (that mostly came for Celiss Galvea Geass legacy), that were mentionned in various corner of the web, so there might be some missing as I don't want to share rumors/unconfirmed material. You'll be able to find the same similar Collection for R2 right there.

The title “Code Geass” was a fairly last-minute decision (the tentative title was “Lelouch of the Rebellion”) The production team were in a panic over the lack of a proper title; “We need a title to design the title logo!” etc. (ura de net geass!)

An 8 hour meeting was held to determine C.C.’s name and real identity. Supposedly none of the participants ate or drank throughout the whole thing (Okouchi: “Give me something to eat!”) According to Yoshino, whenever he thought the meeting was about to come to an end, someone would start up again and the meeting would continue with no end in sight. XD . (ura de net geass)

The hero wasn't meant to be an anti hero like Lelouch, but an ace pilot, just like in most anime from SUNRISE (Taniguchi/Okouchi Interview)

At first Lelouch had white hair, Shirley had blue hair and the Ashford uniform was red, that's why some old school scans show the characters with those colors.

Kallen's first name was Akira, then Kallen (Mutuality Artbook)

C.C. had a name during the creation phase, it was Sera, but nothing says it stayed the same, in Stage 11, Jun Fukuyama, Lelouch's voice actor actually spoke her real name but they decided to cut his voice during the montage. (Mutuality Artbook + DVD commentary) Yukana's voice work profile also used to say the name of her character in Geass was "Sera/Cera."

There was a classement of the boobies size of the girls of the anime which went out in a magazine and you'd be glad to learn that Milly has the biggest boobs of them all ; Lelouch's mother is a close second and Kallen takes the third spot. (Newtype)

Lelouch's line in Stage 14 when he erases Shirley's memories "if there is another life…" was supposed to end up like that "…let us be lovers" but it was eventually cut out. (Shirley gave the full line in the best phrase award session stage 14 to 25 of the first DVD of season 1)

When asked about a possible romance between Lelouch and C.C.,(During S1) Taniguchi said that for that to happen, Lelouch would need to see C.C. as a human being, for he was currently seeing her as some kind of alien (That's why he was about to take a blood sample in Stage 11) (Newtype interview)

About romance, Taniguchi said there would be romantic devellopment for Lelouch in season 2 and that it was left out of season 1 to focus more on Lelouch's goals (destroy Britannia, happy world for Nunnally) and him setting up his rebellion to avoid complicating matters (pash ! interview )

Kallen's story was moved to R2 when it was announced they'd be getting a season 2, that's why she became less present within the second half of season 1 (Fake Okouchi interview)

Suzaku isn't a virgin and is said to be experienced, but we don't know who the lucky girl was ; We know his first love was an older woman, that's probably why he had some form of relationship with Cecile, even if she'll be more of a big sister than a lady mama for him eventually. (Commentary DVD of Turn 19)

Zero was meant to kiss Kallen at the end of the first season to give her courage and determination after being shaken up; she was meant to remember the scene during a fight, but the kiss was removed because Season 2 was coming and a lot of arrangments had to be made around Stage 20 (Megami Magazine /Fake Okouchi)

Kallen doesnt know how to cook, if she tries to make bread, it will turn into ashes; (Kallen's character information given to her seiyuu, Ami Koshimizu)

Jeremiah was meant to die at the beginning of season 1 but he had so much popularity within the staff (and in 2ch) that they chose to bring him back to life. Twice. (Taniguchi interview)

Zero was one of the first character to be created, Okouchi wanted a masked man because a Sunrise anime without a masked man didn't seemed right (Taniguchi x Okhawa Interview)

In case the sequel wasn’t greenlighted (they already received the OK for it back in December 2007 at least), they had an alternative route prepared for the story to take, one which would have ended the story in episode 23. It would have been a non-conclusive ending though; according to Taniguchi it was more of a “psychological” ending for Lelouch like the Evangelion Ending (Taniguchi Interview)

Kawaguchi said Lelouch had Euphemia phone number on his phone because they certainly exchanged their numbers when they met on the deserted Island. (Ura de net Geass)

Mao’s repetitive clapping didn’t exist in the scripting stages; Taniguchi was the one who later added it to make him “more annoying”. (Ura de Net Geass)

Originally, Toudou was supposed to join Lelouch’s side much earlier. They talked about the Diethard and Toudou shot in the ED. All were baffled by it; Conclusion: “Only Taniguchi knows.” (Ura de Net Geass)

Stage 19 was written by Yoshino ; supposedly he requested to do it, saying “Oh well, if (Okouchi) wants me to write a script, I might as well do the island arc.” (he’s more or less the fanservice supervisor for this show) According to him (and the Newtype Taniguchi + Fu-kuyama interview), this was how Lelouch’s trap was supposed to work: Lelouch successfully digs a proper hole –> However, a boar appears behind him –> Lelouch tries to Geass it: “Lelouch Vi Britannia orders you to SIT!” –> Geass doesn’t work on animals –> Lulu Quality Tragedy ; However, Taniguchi changed it all, telling Yoshino: “Well, in the first place, Lelouch isn’t capable of digging such a hole…” (Ura de net Geass)

The reason why the writers made Kallen stand on Gawain’s shoulder instead of getting into the two-seater cockpit with Lelouch in Stage 19: “There’s no way Kallen will hand over the 2nd-pilot position to anyone else once she’s in there.” Good point. (Ura de Net Geass)

According to Tanaka, right after the airing of Stage 22, three of his friends rang him up asking “What the hell was that? I need to know what happens next!” etc...; According to Kawaguchi, “some of the viewers may have been satisfied with the handshake in episode 22, but actually, a lot more people would have been upset…” (Ura de net Geass)

After episode 23, the production team received letters from fans saying “Okouchi is so evil”, “Dark Okouchi” etc, and he didn't liked that (Ura de Net Geass)

Discarded Season 1 plotlines :

Kallen's father was first hinted as being someone important by Okouchi, when he claimed his occupation couldn't be revealed back in March 2007 (Okouchi 28 questions interview from Animage)

Suzaku was meant to have an unrequited love, and it was hinted as being an important subplot back in the day ; The hints strongly pointed at Nunnally. (Fake Okouchi)

Suzaku was meant to be linked to Geass, that's why he reacted to C.C. and to the ruins in Kamine Island, in relation to his superhuman abilities; He didn't had a Geass though (perfect Stage Mook Interview)

Cecile's seiyuu said her character had a "painful sibling relationship" in the past, and she was allowed to reveal that because it wasn't going to appear anymore within the show. Cecile's relationship to Suzaku was basically discarded) A scene with Suzaku was also seemingly cut out from Stage 20 (Magazine preview back in S1.) * What happened to Naoto (Kallen's brother) ; The writers considered bringing him back but then couldn't find a place and decided to let him stay dead (Audio commentary Stage 4 + perfect Stage mook interview)

That's about it for the various miscellanous information I could find for the first season; Now that I have gotten several of those magazines, expect more full blown articles from those whenever I'll have more time.

Hope you enjoyed.

[kikyoupdates]

Made to Destroy ⭑˚💎⭑ 𝑢𝑛𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑦

bnha x op!reader

op!reader, my hero academia x fem!reader, reverse harem, over powered reader, f!reader

You are the product of a series of twisted experiments, an anomaly that shouldn’t have ever existed in the first place. Thankfully, you are taken into the arms of a hero and given a new purpose in life. But as you soon discover, it isn’t easy to deny your true nature, especially when you were made to destroy.

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“A-Are you really okay?” Present Mic asks, eyes wide with disbelief. He gingerly places his hand on your arm, making sure not to apply too much pressure. When you don’t wince or otherwise show that you’re in pain, he squeezes down a bit. “Does this hurt? If it hurts even a little bit, tell me, okay?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t hurt. My arm is fine now. Sorry for worrying you.”

A shuddering gasp leaves his lips. Poor guy. He really looked like he was about to pass out just a few moments ago.

Anyways, your arm isn’t broken anymore, which is great, because you very much rely on the function of your arms. You use those arms to hold up burgers and guide them towards your mouth. They serve a very important purpose.

“I never expected you to have such an amazing Quirk,” Present Mic remarks. Now that he’s calmed down a bit, he’s able to pat your head and smile again. “Thank goodness. I’m so relieved you’re okay.”

You frown. “What’s a Quirk?”

Come to think of it, Dr. Garaki used the same term before too, but you didn’t actually know what it meant.

“Hm?” Present Mic blinks repeatedly. “You really haven’t heard of Quirks before? I feel like pretty much everyone knows what they are...”

He stops himself then, remembering that your situation is rather unique, and there must be gaps in your memory. He can’t even begin to imagine how you were raised until now, and how much you must have suffered, so the least he can do is answer any questions you have.

Whether you don’t know something, or you’ve simply forgotten, he’ll be there to walk you through all of it.

“Quirks are special abilities,” he explains. “Like your ability to heal yourself. You fell from the tree and broke your arm, but your Quirk is what saved you.”

Huh. You didn’t realize it was something special. You didn’t question it when your injuries healed after Dr. Garaki inflicted them upon you, because you simply didn't have a baseline for what is or isn’t normal.

“Do you have a Quirk too, Mic?” you ask.

He grins and nods his head. “Sure do! Ah, but I probably shouldn’t demonstrate here. I’ll end up bursting all these poor kids’ eardrums.”

Present Mic offers you his hand and helps pull you to your feet. You spend a few moments dusting yourself off after the fall. There’s dirt sticking to your nice new clothes, which sucks, but you’re hoping it can be washed out.

“I promise I’m fine,” you reassure. “I won’t climb any more trees anymore, so can I stay and play with them for a while longer?”

Present Mic knits his brows together. “Honestly, kiddo, you scared me half to death back there, but it’s my fault for not paying more attention. This time I’ll be watching you like a hawk, and trees are absolutely out of the question.”

“I know,” you say. “I learned a valuable lesson today. I shouldn’t underestimate trees.”

“Er, I think the lesson is to just be more cautious in general.”

“Trees are bad. I get it now.”

Present Mic lets out a sigh, but he must realize you’re not willing to be dissuaded. It appears he trusts you enough to believe that you won’t try anything reckless like that again, but this time when he goes to sit back down on the bench, he really is watching you like a hawk.

That’s fine, though. You have nothing to hide. Your tree-climbing days are already a thing of the past.

“Anyways, I climbed it,” you say, finally turning back towards the blond kid who was heckling you earlier. “My Quirk saved me, but I fell, so that’s proof that climbing trees is dangerous. You shouldn’t try to force anyone to do it, otherwise they could get hurt really badly.”

None of the kids have budged an inch since they watched the whole incident unfold, mainly because they’re still trying to process everything.

“That—That Quirk,” Katsuki blinks. “Your arm was completely broken, and just like that, it’s not?”

“I guess so,” you nod.

“And you don’t feel anything anymore?”

“Nope. Well, I kind of remember how bad it hurt, but I don’t think I have any injuries left.” You pat your arm once more just to be certain, but sure enough, you’re fine.

Katsuki doesn’t say anything. Just like everyone else, he’s still letting it all sink in. It’s not like a regeneration Quirk is entirely unheard of. There are, after all, countless different abilities out there, and every individual is unique.

But for your Quirk to be that strong already? Strong enough to restore a serious injury in the blink of an eye? Even though you’re just a kid?

It’s pretty damn impressive.

And unfortunately for Katsuki, the other kids realize it too.

“Wow!” one of his friends gushes. “Holy moly! That was so cool! Hey, Katsuki, don’t you think her Quirk is super strong? It’s like she’s indestructible!”

Katsuki feels his brow twitch. All of a sudden, everyone’s paying attention to you, instead of paying attention to him.

And being the arrogant, spoiled little brat that he is, it royally pisses him off.

The boys all flock around you, asking you all sorts of questions that you’re not quite sure how to respond to. They’re mostly in awe, praising you left and right, and since you’re rather fond of praise, you have to admit that you don’t mind it in the slightest.

But one of the boys is different from the rest. Even if he’s in awe of your Quirk, like the others, he’s the only one to ask you:

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s the curly-haired kid. The one with the freckles on his cheeks, and the big, green eyes. He knits his hands together as he asks the question, and based on the way his bottom lip is trembling, you get the sense that he’s worried, just like Present Mic was.

You’re not really sure why, though, because you thought you made it clear that you’re okay.

“I healed,” you tell him. “It’s okay. Everything’s fine now.”

He shakes his head. “I-I know that, but... like you said, you still remember how badly it hurt. And it must have been scary. So, I just wanted to check that you’re feeling alright. Even strong people like you probably still get scared...”

You blink, and even though he’s hardly made a big discovery or anything, for some reason, just the fact that he’s expressing so much concern resonates deep within your heart.

It’s true. You can get hurt over and over again, and you’ll probably heal every single time. You know this because of what Dr. Garaki did to you. He said you were sturdy. He sounded confident that you wouldn’t break.

But just because you can get hurt doesn’t meant that you should. And just because you’ll heal doesn’t mean you won’t experience any fear or pain.

While everyone gushes over your impressive ability, this boy is the only one who actually stops to consider your wellbeing.

“Thank you,” you blurt, and this seems to take him by surprise, because he jolts in place. “Um. Thank you for worrying about me, like Mic did. I’m all healed, but... it was scary. And I don’t want it to happen again. So, thank you. For caring.”

It’s criminal how quick he is to sport a blush on those freckled cheeks of his. He nods his head furiously, squeezing his eyes shut because he’s too flustered to meet your gaze.

“I-I-It's nothing!” he squeaks. “I just... wanted to make sure. I’m glad that you’re okay. Really, really glad.”

He’s a nice person, just like Aizawa and Present Mic. Even though you haven’t known him for very long, that’s what your gut is telling you.

This boy is the kind of person you'd like to have as a friend.

“I’m [Name],” you smile. “What’s your name?”

“Huh? O-Oh. I’m Midoriya Izuku,” he introduces. He’s still blushing, and it’s clear that he’s rather shy, if the way he keeps stammering out his words is any indication.

“What about Deku?” you frown, and at this, he bristles.

“Wh-What about it?”

“That boy over there called you that earlier. Isn’t that your name? Or is it a codename, like what Aizawa and Mic have?”

“It’s a—”

“It’s basically his real name,” Katsuki rudely interrupts. He shoves Izuku out of the way, then openly glares at you. “His name is Deku, because he’s a good-for-nothing Quirkless loser. You can read Izuku as Deku too, and it suits him way better, since he can’t ever do anything right.”

Izuku bows his head shamefully, and the sight makes your heart clench.

“So, it’s not a codename,” you clarify. “You’re just calling him something mean and teasing him. Why would you do that?”

“Uh, did you not just hear what I said? He’s Quirkless. He’s weaker than everyone else. Of course I’ll make fun of him for it.”

You arch a brow. “What does it mean if he’s Quirkless?”

“It means he doesn’t have a Quirk, even though everyone else does. He doesn’t have a cool power like the rest of us.”

Katsuki emphasizes his statement by creating little explosions in the palms of his hands. So, that must be his Quirk, then. And it sounds like most people have them, but for some reason, Izuku doesn’t.

You frown. Izuku refuses to look you in the eye anymore, and his cheeks are still bright red, but this time, they’re flushed from shame. He assumes that just like everyone else he’s ever met, you’re going to ridicule him for being different.

Needless to say, that’s not going to happen.

Up until a few minutes ago, you didn’t even know what a Quirk was. And there's no way you would ever judge him from being ‘different’, not when you’re a walking anomaly who’d never even taken their first breath until a few days ago.

"Okay,” you merely shrug. “So?”

Katsuki instantly deflates. That’s... not the reaction he was expecting. Why are you so unfazed? Come to think of it, how did you not even know about terms like ‘Quirk’ and ‘Quirkless’? Every kid in the world knows what they mean, and it’s not like you’re a toddler who’s just learning how to speak.

“He doesn’t have a Quirk,” Katsuki reiterates, feeling increasingly frustrated. “And he’s never going to get one either, because all Quirks manifest by the age of four. He’s going to be a loser for the rest of his life. Don’t you get it?”

Not really. You don’t get what the big fuss is about. So, Izuku won’t ever be able to heal from any injuries like yours or create explosions. But does anyone really need to do those things? It worked out for you because you got hurt, but it’s not like you’re going to go around looking for trouble just because you can heal. It’s better to just be safe in the first place.

“I don’t care,” you say. “Mic was cool even before I knew he had a Quirk. And Izuku is cool too. He’s nice and got worried about me. It kind of feels like you’re the loser. You make fun of people for no reason, and that gets on my nerves.”

Izuku’s eyes widen, and at the same time, Katsuki’s mouth parts in disbelief.

One of the boys is immeasurably happy, meanwhile, the other is livid beyond his wildest dreams.

“Nobody calls me a loser!” Katsuki cries out, and he creates an explosion in his fist, ready to punch you with it.

But he doesn’t get the chance, because Present Mic stops him.

“Hey, what’s going on over here?” he frowns. “I came over because I heard some yelling, and now I see you trying to punch this sweet little girl? Give me a break, kid. Don’t make me call your parents. I’m really good at complaining, you know.”

Katsuki grits his teeth and flails hopelessly, trying to pry his hand out of Present Mic’s grip. “Let go of me, you old bastard! Let me go, goddammit!”

“Old bastard?! I’m in my early twenties, for crying out loud!”

Present Mic eventually does let go, and then he steps in front of you to block Katsuki off. The blond is still seething, practically hissing, even, like some kind of rabid cat. You shake your head disappointedly. He’s really just embarrassing himself at this point.

“Where are your parents?” Present Mic sighs tiredly. “You can’t just go around picking fights for no reason. You’re too young to be picking up all these bad habits.”

“Eat shit,” Katsuki sneers.

“Did he just tell me to eat shit?! Seriously, who is this kid?”

You tug on Present Mic’s sleeve. “I’m okay, Mic. He didn’t hurt me. But I kind of want to go now. I don’t like that kid. His behavior offends me.”

“Yeah, well, your face offends me!” Katsuki claps back. It’s a childish retort, but then again, he is only six years old.

“Alright,” Present Mic nods. “I guess I shouldn’t waste my time trying to track his parents down. But whoever they are, they’re doing a terrible job of raising him. Anyways, if you’re ready to go, let’s head home!”

“Can I get a burger on the way back?”

“Pfft. Like you even need to ask.”

Present Mic grabs your hand and starts leading you along. But before you leave, you make sure to flash the curly-haired boy a big smile.

“Bye-bye, Izuku. It was nice meeting you. I hope we can play together again someday.”

“O-Okay!” he chirps. “It was... it was really nice meeting you too!”

He’s blushing again, but it’s nice to see him matching your smile with one of his own. He looks so much better with a smile. If not for that brute Katsuki, you’re positive he would smile a lot more.

"And bye-bye to the rest of the kids whose names I don’t know,” you continue, waving your hand. “Except for the rude blond kid who I don’t like. He doesn’t get a bye-bye.”

The rude blond kid in question mashes his teeth, downright fuming. He’s so indignant that he even cries out to you while you’re walking away.

“I have a name, you idiot! It’s Bakugou Katsuki!”

You ignore him, which just pisses him off even more, and in that moment, he designates you as his rival. His archnemesis, even. He swears that if the two of you ever cross paths again, he’s going to humiliate you and make you admit just how strong and cool he actually is.

Spoiler alert: neither of those things will ever happen.

“Listen up, [Name],” Present Mic instructs. “I kind of messed up by not doing a good job of watching you earlier today. If I’d been more careful, you would never have fallen from that tree to begin with. So, let’s keep what happened a little secret, okay? Just between the two of us. If Aizawa finds out I let you get hurt, he’s going to beat the snot out of me.”

You frown. “Does that mean you want me to lie to Aizawa?”

“It’s not really lying. We’re just choosing to omit certain parts,” he chuckles nervously.

Well, okay. Present Mic is a good guy, and you’re not trying to get him in trouble. Perhaps it’s better that Aizawa doesn’t know, so that he won’t get worried for no reason. You’re perfectly fine, after all. There's no need to cause him any undue grief.

Present Mic flashes you one of his trademark smiles, unlocks the door, and then you step into the apartment.

Aizawa is already there. He must have finished with his hero duties a little while ago.

“How was it?” he asks. “Mic told me you went to a playground today. Did you have fun?”

You nod earnestly. “Mhm! I met other kids there. One of them was really nice, and one of them was kind of a bully. And I also found out what Quirks are! I didn’t know that so many people also have special powers like mine.”

Aizawa frowns. “Huh. I guess we never stopped to wonder about what kind of Quirk you might have. And you say you only just learned what Quirks are... but that’s fine. I know you’ve been dealing with a lot, so it’s okay if you’ve forgotten some things. So, what exactly is your Quirk?”

“I can heal,” you say proudly, and without thinking it through, you extend your arm out and grin. “I broke my arm earlier, but as you can see, it’s completely back to normal now!”

Aizawa’s jaw drops open, and beside you, Present Mic clamps a hand over his mouth to keep from screeching.

“You broke... your arm?” Aizawa blinks repeatedly. There’s a glare settling upon his features, and it’s getting harsher by the second. “What does she mean by that? Hey. Explain it to me, Mic. Explain it to me right now.”

Oops.

You really weren’t trying to throw him under the bus. It’s just that you got all excited about revealing your Quirk to Aizawa, and before you knew it, you’d spilled the beans.

“Um. I didn’t mention the tree,” you whisper into Present Mic’s ear.

“What tree?!” Aizawa cries out.

“How did you hear me, Aizawa? I was whispering.”

Present Mic splutters out the beginnings of a protest. “W-Wait! Calm down, man! It’s not what you think!”

“Oh, really?” Aizawa glowers, grabbing onto the collar of Present Mic’s shirt and pulling him in. He brings his face impossibly close, enough to make Present Mic sweat bullets. “Because to me, it sounds like you made a royal mess of things while I wasn’t around.”

“U-Ugh. Okay, well, maybe it is kind of what you think.” Present Mic lets out a heavy sigh. “I’ll admit that I let my guard down for a few seconds, and that was all it took for [Name] to get hurt. I was incredibly negligent, but I promise it won’t happen again. I’ll never make such a grave mistake.”

“We’re her guardians now,” Aizawa scowls. “I don’t think you realize that we’re liable in case anything happens to her, and it’s our responsibility to keep her safe. Forget getting in trouble, she’s just a little kid, and she’s supposed to be able to rely on us.”

“I know. I messed up big-time. I can’t apologize for it enough, but I mean it when I say I’ll never let something like this happen again.”

You tap Aizawa’s arm. “Don’t be mad at Mic,” you plead. “It’s not his fault. I shouldn’t have climbed the tree in the first place. It’s all that mean blond kid’s fault. He’s the one who kept trying to pressure everyone into doing it.”

Your puppy eyes must have done their job, because after a few moments, Aizawa sighs and releases Present Mic, then kneels down next to you.

“Just because someone is telling you to do something doesn’t mean you should do it,” he says. “There will be all kinds of people like that in life. People that try to pressure you into doing stupid things. It’s up to you to discern which people are looking out for you, and which people are leading you down the wrong path. But I understand that you’re still young, and kids at your age are really impressionable. Still, do your best to make safe choices. We don’t want you to get hurt.”

He pats your head, and thankfully, his smile returns too. It doesn’t seem like he’s too upset anymore. He was just worried about you, the same as Present Mic.

“I’ll be safe,” you reassure. “I promise. I know trees are dangerous now. No way will I ever climb one again.”

“Good. That’s good.” Aizawa pauses for a few moments, then frowns. “So... you say that you broke your arm after falling from that tree, and sure enough, it looks good as new. It really healed completely? It doesn’t hurt at all anymore?”

You nod. “It’s fine now. My arm works just fine. See?” You wiggle your arm around for emphasis, and it’s obvious that you don’t feel any pain while doing it.

“A healing Quirk. I guess that’s a good thing. Kids are reckless, and they tend to get all kinds of scrapes and bruises, so at least in your case, you won’t have to deal with those kinds of injuries long-term.”

He’s relieved that you’re okay. If any other kid had broken their arm, it would have been a guaranteed trip to the hospital. Perhaps he should still bring you in another day just to make sure everything is in order, but this certainly spares him a lot of the trouble and heartache.

Aizawa is relieved.

But then, all of a sudden, he isn’t.

He’s just realized something. Something that makes him sick to his goddamn stomach.

You said that the bad man hurt you. He hurt you, and now Aizawa has just discovered that your Quirk allows you to heal.

How many times did that man hurt you, then? How many times must he have made you suffer? Dr. Iwase couldn’t find any signs of abuse, but of course he wouldn’t have been able to, not if your body mended itself after every violent assault.

Aizawa doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t dare ask, out of the fear that he might trigger traumatic memories.

All he can do is pull you into his arms and hold you close.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles. He can feel his shoulders trembling as he strokes your hair. “It’s okay, [Name]. “We’re here for you now.”

You’re not sure where all of this is coming from. Is he still worried that you’re in pain? Your arm is feeling just fine. Falling from a tree and breaking one of your limbs was admittedly terrifying, but you’ve learned what not to do, so you’re confident history won’t repeat itself.

And yet, even though Aizawa is clearly trying to comfort you, it almost feels like he’s the one who needs to be consoled.

“I’m doing just fine,” you beam, patting his back. After a few moments, even Present Mic wordlessly drops to his knees and wraps his arms around you. They’ve initiated a group hug all of a sudden. Well, not that you mind.

Yeah. You don’t mind this one bit.

A few days after your check-up at the hospital, Aizawa receives a call. He yawns and presses the phone against his ear, only half-awake.

“Hello?”

“Um, hello there. This is Dr. Iwase calling. I’m speaking to Aizawa, correct?”

“That’s me,” Aizawa nods. He adjusts the phone slightly. “What is it? Is this about that child psychologist you mentioned last time? Because to be honest, I think it’s a good idea. It sounds like she’s had it even worse than I first thought.”

“I’m actually calling about a different matter. We received the results of [Name]’s blood test, you see.” He swallows thickly, almost as if he’s not quite sure how to frame his next words. “And, um... it was strange, for lack of a better word. Honestly, I’m not even sure how to describe it.”

Aizawa stiffens. “How so?”

“It’s difficult to explain. From a non-medical standpoint, everything would seem perfectly fine. But her blood, well... it doesn’t exactly behave the way normal blood does. All of her readings fell outside of the normal range, despite the fact that she seemed perfectly healthy when I examined her. This is the sort of thing you might find in someone incredibly sick. A terminally ill patient, perhaps. Not a functional child.”

Aizawa doesn’t know what to say. He’s at a total loss. However, one thing is certain.

You aren’t an ordinary kid.

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💎 main masterlist ♡ oneshot masterlist

[theallianceofcelestials]

I really love the little scenarios people ask and I really wanted to ask one too hope it’s ok.

How would the family and eclipse react if eclipse for whatever reason be it scp related or a computer glitch lost his memory of them temporarily. Like it’s not gone forever he’ll get it back after whatever happened resolves itself

But he’s back to chapter one eclipse no idea who they are, what their capabilities are and why they are all in his room

I love these little scenarios, feel free to ask some more if you want to! I really don't mind, though don't expect me to answer any on mondays because that's just the worst

I also love love love this scenario, and I'm shaking you because I might just write an entire little what-if oneshot with this

So the family would be devastated after they realise what's going on. Which would be really fast, becuase Eclipse is genuienly terrified by these random people in his room, that looks vastly different from what he remembered.

He's especially terrified if it's one of those he went to sleep and woke up without any memory of his family, so he just bolted out of bed when someone started nudging him awake, and the smells of foor registered. Becuase neither of this should be possible, and was he somehow pranked?

And then there's probably Killcode before him, in all his nightmarish glory, so really, he can be excused for screaming he thinks.

This would alert everyone else, and they'd all rush to see what's wrong, which would just make everything worse.

He wouldn't believe them when they claim to be his family, because honestly who would want that? Who would want to spend time with him? But then they know what his favourite foods are, there's that book from that series he really enjoyed but couldn't bring himself to buy the next part of, there's a gaming console in his room which is something he was always interested in but always dismissed, and he can't ignore the notes inside his processor either, which all detail their traits and behaviour with a fondness that's alien to him.

Killcode would have to make the hardcall of pulling people back, asking their family to wait outside a bit. Eclipse from his notes, some of which are really just him bitching about stuff he doesn't like, would know this probably means the SCP(??!?!??!?!?!) wants to have an emotional conversation, or at least a serious one, which he is really not ready for seeing as he doesn't know this guy. For all he knows he got reset to a certain backup of himself, and the guy these people were family with is dead.

It'd be a teeth pulling conversation for both, because Eclipse would at least try, because these are SCPs and they may very well try to rip his face off.

He also wonders if perhaps the whole notes thing is just some weird SCP bullshitery, and he's just currently being experimented on. He doesn't dismiss this all just being an elaborate hallucination.

The whole day would be tense for everyone, with Eclipse trying to find a way out of this fake world or whatever it is, and everyone else just going insane over Eclipse not remembering them.

Solar Flare would try to remind him of stuff by showing him pictures it drew, hoping one would spark a memory.

Bloodmoon may go as far as trying to chase him down, hoping the trauma he suffered at their hand that one time would bring their brother back, even if when they finally tackle him all they end up doing is cry on top of him when he still looks at them without comprehension.

Sun would try and talk to him, because he can't exactly do anything. He doesn't know why his nephew has such a high opinion of him when he's not smart, he can't do magic and he's not strong either. And clearly he's useless again just like he was before the prison, because here's another family member not listening to him.

Lunar would try to pretend nothing is wrong at first, hoping if he's just stubborn enough Eclipse will magically remember and go back to his usual self. Neither of them are unaware of how flawed this logic is, but just like Sun, Lunar feels like he can't do anything either. He's just the childish baby brother after all.

Moon would obviously want to take a look at him. He's not above threatening Eclipse to submit, though he's not proud. When he can't find anything obviously wrong he'd start going off the deep end, locking himself in Eclipse's office to find some sort of cure.

Killcode would just silently stay away. He's done what he could, and now he doesn't know what to do. This has never happened, and there's no magical explanation he can sense, and clearly from his brother's reaction there isn't a scientific one either. Eclipse would some reason feel really uncomfortable and cold from that distance, which he'd dismiss with a scowl. But he does search for him when he's not there, which must just be from some form of malfunction, because why else would he do it? Why else would he humour any of them really?

At one point he'd just probably clonk out in the middle of what he was doing, causing alarm amongst the personnel, and his family.

Next day, he wakes up in his bed with a headache, his family around the bed, not even daring to be on it in fear he still doesn't remember them.

It's all heartfelt reunions after that, and Eclipse is now curious just what the fuck he did to lose of like the last year or so.

[thealternateuniverse]

T-shirt

Got 7 (python era because they all look magical in their comeback) x reader

Warnings: Mentioned of drugs, alcohol, and cursing | Also, I apologize for dragging your faves here 😭, it's for the plot.

word count: 6824 (kinda long)

You had been hanging around the boys for as long as you could remember, and somewhere along the way, you developed a silly infatuation with Mark.

But everything changed the day you returned the shirts you had borrowed—those same oversized shirts you always woke up in after crashing at their place.

-------

You jolted awake, immediately aware that the room was far too bright—strangely so, given that your room barely got any sunlight. Blinking against the light, you scanned your surroundings and were met with the all-too-familiar gray interior of Mark’s room. Great. You’d blacked out drunk again and somehow ended up here.

Perfect. Just perfect.

At this point, Mark was probably sick of you, always throwing yourself at him when you were wasted.

You searched for your things and sighed in relief when you saw them neatly placed on Mark’s nightstand—especially your phone. At least that was one less thing to worry about.

Last night had been a blast. Jackson had gone all out hosting the weekly frat party, even inviting the alumni. And Bambam? He had one simple job, to make sure you made it back to your dorm. Clearly, he’d failed miserably.

You sighed realizing you are wearing....probably one of Mark's shirt. How you changed, you have no idea.

You tiptoed your way out of Mark’s room, careful not to make a sound as you headed toward the living room. But the moment you stepped in, you froze.

Yugyeom.

Standing there, shirtless, his sweatpants dangerously hanging low on his waist, his tattoos on full display like they had a personal greeting just for you.

“Uhh… how bad was I last night?” you asked, bracing yourself for the inevitable humiliation. Whatever the damage was, you’d make a mental note to suffer over it later.

Yugyeom simply rolled his eyes and took a slow sip from his Pocari Sweat bottle.

Well… damn. That was kind of hot.

“Dunno,” he finally said, voice casual. “Mark hyung and I had to drag you and Bambam here.”

Trust Yugyeom to be his usual sassy self. Judging by how disheveled he looked, he was probably just as hungover as you. Another reminder to curse Jackson later for whatever lethal concoction he had served last night.

“That bad, huh,” you muttered.

Yugyeom scoffed. “Yeah. And your confession to my brother sucked so bad I wanted to dig my own grave because of secondhand embarassment.” He shook his head, as if physically cringing at the memory.

Your stomach dropped. Confession? Oh, no.

Mark already knew about your infatuation with him, of course he did. But what he actually thought or felt about it? That part remained a mystery. He’d always treated you like a little sister, though. Doted on you, looked out for you… and that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Damn it. He definitely saw you as nothing more than a kid sister.

You groaned, rubbing your temples as if that could somehow erase the embarrassment.

“So what? At least he knows I like him,” you said, forcing confidence into your voice. Own it. No regrets.

Yugyeom let out a dry laugh, crossing his arms. “News flash—you're not his type.”

You wanted to cry.

Your head was pounding from the hangover, Yugyeom was ruthlessly crushing your delusions, and now you had yet another embarrassing confession to add to your growing list of regrets.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

“I hate you!” you shouted, frustration bubbling over.

Yugyeom barely spared you a glance, taking another sip of his drink. “Yeah, whatever, brat.”

"Probably why the girls always liked your brother." You snapped, crossing your arms.

"Because you're straight up mean and an ass, Yugie. Even if you were the last man on Earth, I'd rather fuck a cow. "

You spun around with a dramatic stomp, refusing to let violence win today, even though you were dying to kick him.

"I'd rather too if you're the last woman on earth. You're a whack anyway." He shouted, you intentionally slammed the door when you got out of their apartment and started the walk of shame to your dorm.

--------

You sighed for the hundredth time, gripping the paper bag tightly. Your friends had been pestering you all day, asking what was inside and why you weren’t your usual, enthusiastic self yapping about Mark. You had retreated to your room and sulked after Yugyeom rubbed it in your face that you weren’t Mark’s type and called you a brat. Then you had all the shirts you borrowed from him washed, ready to return them to Mark and maybe, just maybe, start moving on from your feelings for him.

"Oppa," you called out to Mark. He was talking to JB but excused himself to turn toward you.

"Y/N... are you okay now? You blacked out last Saturday." he asked, his voice filled with concern. You didn’t answer, only handing him the paper bag. He hesitated for a moment before taking it from you.

"Sorry for the trouble, and I guess I’ve gotten used to borrowing your shirts every weekend." You said scratching the back of your head.

Mark took a peek of the shirts inside the paper bag, confusion still over his face.

"Uhh.. well I don't mind the trouble, as long as you are safe. But these shirts are big enough to be mine. These are Yugie's."

Your jaw dropped.

What the actual fuck!

"WHAT THE FUCK?!! OPPA ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

Your scream caught Mark off guard. Other students turned to look at the two of you, curiosity in their eyes.

How the hell had you ended up wearing Yugyeom’s shirts? It had been his T-shirts all along?

Mark chuckled, clearly finding the situation amusing.

"Well, he usually takes care of us when we’re too drunk. Doesn’t drink much himself, except for last night. Jackson made sure we all had hangovers."

More reason to beat the crap out of Jackson. But that could wait... first, you needed to deal with this minor inconvenience. You had always assumed the shirts you’d changed into whenever you crash at their apartment after parties were Mark’s, but now it turned out they were Yugyeom’s.

Turns out, even the room was Yugyeom’s! You always seemed to wake up in their apartment, but you’d never noticed it was his. Whether it was from a hangover or hunger, you were usually too out of it to pay attention.

"Oppa, I think I’m going to have a headache," you said dramatically, massaging your temples. Concern flashed across Mark’s face, but a smirk crept in when he realized what was really going on.

"You can ask Yugyeom. My job’s just to make sure I drop you guys off, then I’m off to my gi—"

Mark’s eyes widened, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have. You grinned, piecing it all together.

"Oppa, you dating someone, don't you?" Surprisingly, you didn’t feel disappointed that Mark might like someone else. Instead, you felt a strange excitement bubbling up.

Mark tried to hide the blush creeping up his neck by lowering his head and scratching the back of his head.

Too bad it wasn’t Mark who was taking care of you when you were drunk—no, that little shit Yugyeom had to do it instead.

"And I think you like Yugyeom, you're just infatuated with me."

Your smile faltered, then dropped.

Yugyeom? Hell no! He’s straight-up evil. It’s like he exists just to make your life miserable.

You remembered how he’d always tease you back in elementary school, exposing your crushes to everyone. Not a single attractive trait about him.

"You're kidding, right?" You shot Mark a glare. He raised both his hands in surrender.

"A'ight. I'm just teasing you."

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. Great! Things turned out differently this time.

--------

"Man, Y/N is out again," Jackson said, shaking his head as he handed Mark another shot of Hennessy.

"Where is she?" Mark asked, scanning the room.

Yugyeom clenched his jaw, running a hand through his hair to mask his irritation. Why did they keep inviting her to these parties, knowing damn well she couldn’t handle her liquor especially with the way Jackson and Johnny threw them?

"Yugie, you're not drinking tonight?" Youngjae offered him a glass, but he shook his head.

God, he wanted to get drunk. He’d had a few shots already, but he couldn’t let himself go past his limit.

"I'm good. I have class tomorrow." Lie.

He didn’t have any classes. His hyungs looked at him like he’d just grown a second head.

"Since when do you care about attending class?" JayB gave him a knowing look.

"Yugie, you've been sneaking out of the parties lately. What are you up to?"

Mark snorted, and Yugyeom shot his brother a glare.

"Nothing, hyung. Just not feeling it lately," Yugyeom mumbled, running a hand through his hair.

Jackson raised a brow, not convinced. "Right. And it just happens to be every time Y/N is around?"

Yugyeom scoffed, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. Her parents will kill him and Mark if they don't take care of her. "Coincidence."

"Yeah, sure." Mark chuckled, taking another shot. "So, where is she this time? Passed out in the bathroom? Dancing on the table?"

Yugyeom rolled his eyes, ignoring the way his chest tightened. He hated how predictable this was. Every damn party, it was the same thing. Y/N drinking way past her limit, getting into trouble, and him like a fool watching from the shadows, pretending he didn’t care.

Johnny, who had just walked up, smirked. "Last I saw, she was out on the balcony with some guy. Looked pretty cozy."

Yugyeom's grip on his glass tightened. "Who?"

Johnny shrugged. "Some dude from the basketball team. Seemed harmless, but you know Y/N—"

Before he could finish, Yugyeom was already pushing past him, making his way toward the balcony. He wasn’t sure why, wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he got there.

All he knew was that he had to get her out of here.

"Your brother is whipped." He managed to hear JayB before swimming in to the crowd

Yugyeom had been roaming around the house, searching for you, but to no avail. Every room, every hallway, even the bathrooms—nothing. It was as if you'd vanished.

Meanwhile, Y/N had already made your way back to where everyone was gathered.

"Have you seen Y/N yet?" Mark asked, noticing the sulk on Yugyeom's face.

Before anyone could answer, a familiar laugh rang through the air.

"There she is!"

All heads turned just in time to see you stumbling toward them, practically draped over Bambam like a human koala. Arms wrapped tightly around his neck, you clung to him as if he were your lifeline, making it nearly impossible for him to walk straight. The two of you wobbled forward, an amusing sight of chaos.

Jinyoung's brows furrowed as he took in the scene. "What the hell—where the hell have you been?" His voice carried a mix of concern and exasperation.

Bambam groaned, struggling to pry your arms off. "Hyung! Y/N is a handful," he whined before gesturing helplessly. "The gummies must have kicked in!"

"Where did you even get gummies?" Yugyeom asked, irritation lacing his tone.

"Jungkook," Bambam answered shortly before leaning back against the couch.

At that moment, her bloodshot eyes lit up as she spotted Mark. "Oh, Mark Oppa!" she slurred, stumbling toward him. Mark was quick to catch her before she could fall.

He steadied her and turned to everyone. "Let her ride out her high first, she's both drunk and high. How many did she take?" His eyes scanned her for any signs of injury.

Bambam shrugged. "I don’t know. She was already at it when I found her."

Mark sighed and carefully sat her down beside Yugyeom. Luckily, she was too high to cause any trouble just sitting there, completely spaced out.

Yugyeom's night wasn’t going as planned. Jackson was on a mission to make sure everyone was too drunk to go home or to attend class the next day. JayB sat quietly, zoning out. Jinyoung had already passed out. Youngjae had snuck off to leave before he got too drunk. Jackson was everywhere, shoving drinks down everyone’s throats. He came back dragging a drunk Minghao and Jaehyun behind him. Mark just watched in silence, but Yugyeom noticed he was barely holding it together.

Yugyeom could feel his eyelids getting heavy, his exhaustion and alcohol setting in. Meanwhile, Y/N, freshly off her high, challenged Jackson, claiming she could still handle more shots. But she kept knocking things over, clearly out of it. Yugyeom had to sit her down, restraining her from grabbing more drinks. In the end, he took her shots instead.

"Hyung, we need to get out of here." Yugyeom nudged Mark while holding a passed-out Y/N in his arms.

Mark nodded, draping Bambam’s arms around his neck so they could sneak out quietly. They didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to Jackson. ---

"Yugie, it's already past Y/N’s curfew. She’s out cold there��s no way she can sneak back to her dorm," Mark said, glancing at the passed-out Y/N on Yugyeom’s lap.

Yugyeom’s head was pounding, the alcohol hitting him harder now. They had just dropped Bambam off.

"You can let her sleep in your room. You sleep in mine. Do anything stupid, you're dead," Mark warned, shooting him a sharp glare through the rearview mirror. It's always the same warning when Y/N had to crash in their flat during the weekend. Her parents will kill both of them if something happens to her. "Why, where are you going?" Yugyeom asked with curiosity, a grin spreading across his lips.

His brother shot him another glare, so Yugyeom quickly shut up. "You should be worried about me, Hyung," he muttered. Knowing Y/N, taking care of her when she’s drunk is like looking after a toddler, such a handful. Good thing she is out tonight.

Yugyeom shook his head, remembering he had to carry her all the way here. Damn, he was tipsy, and he prayed he’d make it to his room without falling over.

He groaned as he finally laid you down on his bed, collapsing onto the floor beside it. He was too dizzy to move. "Fuck." Y/N cursed

Yugyeom got up to check on you, surprised to find you awake. His eyes widened as he realized you were stripping your clothes off.

"Shit... what the hell are you doing?"

He immediately sprang up from the floor to stop you, but you were too stubborn.

Yugyeom cursed silently, his frustration growing. She'll never fucking touch another alcohol Just why am I the one who had to deal with this? Fucking gummies Fuck Jackson, Fuck Jungkook

Out of all the times, Nayeon Noona had to not be available now. She was the one who usually took care of this stuff. His duty was to drag or carry Y/N home, not deal with... well, this.

"Huh? Who TF—oh, Yugie," Y/N said, flashing him a sheepish smile.

"Y/N..." Yugyeom groaned in frustration. He walked over to the bed, gently trying to lay her back down. He wanted to sleep too, he’d had enough drinks to know a hangover was coming tomorrow.

But Y/N had other plans.

"It’s hot in here, Yugie. Where’s Mark Oppa? He’ll change my clothes." Y/N started scanning the room for Mark. When she didn’t see him, she pouted.

Yugyeom felt his ears burn. Since when did Mark change her clothes? It had always been Nayeon!

"Okay, I’ll get you a shirt, and you can change yourself, brat. No Mark tonight," he said, letting out an exasperated sigh.

He walked over to his cabinet to grab a shirt. Luckily, he wasn’t running out of shirts just yet, most of them were still with Y/N, and she hadn’t bothered to return any of them.

Yugyeom turned around, holding out the shirt for her—only to freeze in place, cursing under his breath. "What the—?"

She was already naked, save for her underwear. His eyes widened in shock as Mark’s earlier warning echoed in his head.

"Goddamn it." Yugyeom groaned, quickly looking away as he walked toward her.

Yugyeom tossed the shirt, and it landed right on Y/N’s face. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the room, exhaling a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. Leaning back against his door, he muttered under his breath—

"Just what the fuck."

He and Mark had known Y/N since childhood. Back then, she was shy and timid, always clinging to them for protection. If they weren’t around, she’d inevitably get picked on by bullies.

But middle school changed everything. The once quiet and reserved Y/N was long gone. After being spoiled by Jackson, JB, and Jinyoung, she had turned into a complete brat—throwing fits whenever she didn’t get her way.

And her growing infatuation with Mark? It irritated the hell out of Yugyeom. Mark was too nice to reject her outright, always treating her like a younger sister. But Y/N? She saw things differently.

Yugyeom woke up with a pounding headache, the effects of last night’s drinking hitting him full force. He was still wearing the same shirt from the night before, his hair sticking out in every direction. Too exhausted to change, he had simply collapsed onto his brother’s bed.

Yugyeom froze. She was awake.

Slowly, he turned around to face her. Thankfully, she was wearing a shirt—his shirt. It was oversized on her, hanging loosely off her frame. He gulped. Damn, when did she start looking hot in my clothes? She always wore his shirts, so why did it feel different now?

"Dunno..." he answered casually, shaking off the thought. "Mark hyung and I had to drag you and Bambam here."

Y/N’s face twisted in disgust. "That bad, huh?"

Yugyeom scoffed. "Yeah. And your confession to my brother sucked so bad, I wanted to dig my own grave from secondhand embarrassment." He shook his head, physically cringing at the memory. Having to endure her slurred, love-struck confessions on the way to Mark’s car was pure torture.

Y/N, however, seemed unfazed. "So what? At least he knows I like him," she said with confidence.

Yugyeom let out a dry laugh, crossing his arms. "News flash—you're not his type."

Y/N’s face turned red, and she shot him a glare. He knew he had struck a nerve. It was always the same—the fuming expression whenever things didn’t go her way.

"I hate you!" she screamed, her frustration boiling over.

Yugyeom wanted to tease her more, but he knew better than to entertain her tantrums. Instead, he barely spared her a glance, taking another sip of his drink. "Yeah, whatever, brat."

Y/N huffed and crossed her arms. "Probably why girls always liked your brother." She gave him a smug look before adding, "Because you're straight-up mean and an ass, Yugy. Even if you were the last man on Earth, I'd rather fuck a cow."

Yugyeom’s jaw clenched. He didn’t give a damn if girls preferred his brother over him. It wasn’t like he was interested in them anyway.

Y/N spun around with a dramatic stomp, storming out of the room. Yugyeom sighed, rubbing his temple. Between his pounding headache and Y/N’s tantrums, this morning was already a disaster.

"I'd rather too if you were the last woman on Earth. You’re wack anyway," he called after her, but the only response he got was the sound of the door slamming shut.

"Women!" he muttered in frustration, running a hand through his messy hair.

Not long after, the door creaked open again, but this time, it was Mark. His older brother looked just as disheveled, still wearing the same clothes from last night, holding paper bags in his hands.

Yugyeom blinked. "What the hell happened to you?" --------------------

Y/N’s laugh rang across the cafeteria, drawing attention to her and Mark. Whatever they were talking about must have been hilarious, judging by the way she leaned into him, grinning from ear to ear.

Jinyoung and Youngjae exchanged a glance.

"Y/N seems extra clingy today," Jackson commented, shaking his head before taking another sip of his smoothie.

Yugyeom furrowed his brows, watching the two of them curiously. Mark and Y/N had been inseparable since this morning, and for some reason, it was bothering him more than it should.

"Anyway, Jooheon’s throwing a party tonight for his birthday. Are you guys coming?"

God. Yugyeom had just recovered from the worst hangover last week, and now there was another party.

"I’m in if you guys are going," Youngjae said.

Jinyoung sighed. "I’ll go, but I’m not staying long. I don’t want another hangover. Last week was the worst—fuck you, Jackson." He shot the older boy a glare, but Jackson only laughed in response.

"I’m coming! Jooheon invited me earlier," a familiar voice chimed in.

They all turned to see Y/N, now settling into the seat beside, unfortunately—Yugyeom.

"Yeah, and we'll have to drag your ass back home when you're drunk," Yugyeom said dryly, rolling his eyes at Y/N.

But she didn’t even acknowledge him. Instead, she turned to Mark and Jay B with a sweet smile.

"Oppa, you're going to drive me home, right?"

Yugyeom sat up straighter. Did she just ignore me?

Mark sighed. "Just don’t go over your limit, Y/N. Please?"

"Of course!" Y/N beamed.

Yugyeom scoffed under his breath. "Just what the hell."

"Yeah, so you don’t inconvenience us into driving you home," he snapped.

Y/N shot him a glare. "What’s up with you?"

"Nothing!" Yugyeom barked back, quickly gathering his things and walking out of the cafeteria.

For some reason, he was pissed today. Since when did Y/N start following his brother around like a lost puppy? He understood the obsession, but did she really think sticking to Mark all day would get her anywhere? ---------

"Slow down, Yugie. It’s not even midnight yet." Jungkook took the bottle from Yugyeom, eyeing him warily. His friend had been drinking like a madman all night.

Yugyeom didn’t understand what was wrong with him either. He’d been cranky all day.

"I’m good," he muttered, trying to sound convincing. But Jungkook clearly wasn’t buying it.

His gaze swept across the room until it landed on Y/N, who was laughing—no, flirting—with Wonwoo. His grip on the shot glass tightened.

Mingyu and Jungkook followed his line of sight before exchanging a knowing look.

"Tsk." Yugyeom clicked his tongue and downed another shot, drinking like it was his last night on earth, completely disregarding the inevitable hangover.

"You’re drinking like you’re heartbroken, Yugie," Bambam teased, completely oblivious to the daggers Yugyeom was mentally throwing at Wonwoo and Y/N.

"And I think I just figured out who broke your little heart." Mingyu grinned, glancing between Y/N and Yugyeom.

---------

You promised Mark and JB that you wouldn’t drink too much tonight. So, you made it your mission to interact and avoid alcohol as much as possible.

You arrived a little late but made sure to greet Jooheon and hand him your gift when you walked in.

"Y/N, my girl!" Jooheon embraced you warmly.

"Happy birthday, Heony," you said, returning the hug.

"Enjoy the night, girl. You look beautiful," Jooheon winked, making you blush at the compliment.

"Thanks! And happy birthday again."

Jooheon placed both hands on your shoulders and led you towards where the boys were hanging out.

"You might want to keep up. Yugyeom’s been drinking like there’s no tomorrow, and it’s not even midnight yet."

But you had sworn to keep your drinking in check tonight.

"Perfect. Thanks, Heon." You gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

Instead of diving into more alcohol, you grabbed a margarita. The plan was to avoid overindulging and stay busy by chatting with everyone. You decided to make a detour and joined Wonwoo, Hoshi, and Minghao.

"Mind if I join?" you announced, flashing a smile.

"Y/N, thank god. These two are boring me," Hoshi grinned, clearly relieved to have some fresh company. "What's up?" You asked, sitting down beside Wonwoo.

“Not much lately. Same old boring school stuff,” Minghao said, pulling out his phone to check something.

“Boo hoo. School is boring,” you teased, casually sipping your margarita.

Wonwoo glanced around, his gaze landing where JayB, Jackson, Jinyoung, and Mark usually were. “You’re at most of these parties. Surprised the boys aren’t hovering?”

You followed his gaze but didn’t spot them. They were either scattered or just keeping a low profile, not that they ever hovered, but they always made sure they could see you.

You chuckled. “Nah, I can go anywhere because of them.”

"And Yugyeom looks at me like he’s going to kill me later."

Your smile faltered. You’d been trying to push Yugyeom out of your mind these past few days. The shirts you took from him were still in your possession, Mark refused to take them when you tried returning them, they weren’t his so he basically told you to return it yourself to Yugyeom.

You and Yugyeom fought like cats and dogs daily, as if his sole purpose in life was to annoy you and ruin your day. Yet, somehow, he still looked after you. It didn’t make sense. He always seemed the least concerned, never missing a chance to call out every stupid thing you did yet there he was, always watching over you.

"What did I do?" Wonwoo asked, sounding offended. "Say he likes Y/N, and instead of joining him, he joins us? What will you feel if you are Yugyeom?"

What the hell? Likes you? More like he’s dying to kill you. First Mark, now Minghao. The idea was absurd. You couldn’t help but cackle.

"You guys are overanalyzing. What he feels toward me is pure hatred, mutual, by the way," you said, shaking your head.

"Wanna bet, Noona?"

Everyone turned at the sound of the new voice. Mingi.

Since when did he get here?

"Mingi, sneaking out again, huh?"

Mingi scratched the back of his head as he plopped down beside you. Being a freshman and the rowdiest one at that, it wasn’t exactly surprising.

"Don't tell anyone," he said with a grin. "Jooheon hyung invited me. His party’s way too lit to miss."

Mingi is the definition of chaotic energy wrapped in a freshman package. Along with his partners-in-crime, San and Beomgyu, he’s always at the center of the mess, loud, unpredictable, and effortlessly funny. Despite his wild antics, there’s an endearing charm to him, making it impossible to stay mad at him for too long.

To you, he’s like an annoying but lovable little brother, constantly trailing behind with his silly little crush. He doesn’t take it too seriously, but that doesn’t stop him from sticking around whenever he gets the chance. Whether it’s teasing, playfully pestering, or just showing up uninvited, Mingi has made it his personal mission to be wherever you are much to their amusement (and occasional frustration).

You glanced over at Yugyeom. He wasn’t looking in your direction anymore, but you caught the moment Jungkook took the bottle from his hand. Was he drunk already? Yugyeom rarely got drunk, his alcohol tolerance was impressively high.

"So, Noona? What do you think? Looks like Yugyeom hyung really likes you," Mingi said, leaning forward with his best attempt at puppy eyes.

You looked around at the others, all watching you expectantly. The attention made your cheeks warm, and you couldn’t help but blush.

"N-no, obviously we’d kill each other before that ever happened," you stammered, trying to hide your embarrassment.

But what Mingi did next caught you completely off guard.

“Oi! Mingi, you little shit! Why'd you kiss her?!”

Your eyes widened as you turned to see Minghao smacking Mingi, who seemed utterly unbothered. If anything, Mingi looked thrilled grinning ear to ear and bouncing in his seat like he’d just won the lottery. It was just a peck on your cheek but still, it caught you off guard. Your head immediately turned towards where Yugyeom is, but he's already gone. "You're so dead meat, Mingi." ----------

Your goal to stay sober? Success.

You’d had a few drinks here and there, but still being clear-headed at 2 AM was a win. Most of the night had been spent mingling, caught up in conversations rather than alcohol.

Still, you couldn’t shake the habit of glancing around, searching for any sign of Yugyeom. You hadn’t seen him since you were with Wonwoo and the others earlier, and for some reason, that nagging thought lingered.

“Good job!” you muttered to yourself, patting your own back while smiling like an idiot in front of the mirror. You headed to the restroom to touch up a bit.

"I’d tap Yugyeom. I wanna ride on his lap."

"Yeah, like, he's tall and everything."

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but these girls were loud enough to make it impossible not to hear.

Ride him, huh?

You pulled out your phone to message the group chat, hoping to get an update on Yugyeom, but the responses were slow—probably because the guys were all already too drunk. But why were you searching for Yugyeom? You weren’t sure, you just knew that you had to talk to him.

“He's pretty out of it. Some girl tried to make out with him earlier, but he accidentally knocked her over.”

For some reason, the thought made your blood boil. "Good luck riding him, then."

The girls turned towards you with a look of surprises on their face. But you only rolled her eyes and walked out of the restroom.

Now you really had to look for Yugyeom. ---------

It didn’t take long to find him mainly because they’d become the damn show in Jooheon’s pool. The chaos had taken over, and now Jooheon’s pool was flooded with drunk and half-naked students.

Yugyeom, Jungkook, Mingyu, and Jaehyun stood there, drenched. The only thing they were still wearing? Their pants. Obviously they're drunk.

“Kyum.” You called, sighing. The nickname felt strange on your tongue after not using it for so long.

Yugyeom turned towards you, his eyes half-lidded and his cheeks flushed, clearly feeling the effects of too much alcohol.

“What?” he asked lazily, draping his shirt over his shoulders as he shifted his weight.

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the fact that his half-naked form and his hair that's sticking everywhere was distracting you more than it should.

“Not having a good time? You don’t seem drunk,” he remarked, voice casual maybe a little too casual.

"I swore to Mark not to get wasted tonight."

He walked towards you, and what he did next completely caught you off guard. Yugyeom leaned forward, his face burying itself against your neck. Water still dripped from his hair, cascading down to your shoulders.

"Mark... blah blah blah. For once, can you stop talking about him?"

You weren’t sure how to react. What happened to him? Why was he suddenly acting like this?

"And don't even mention Mingi. I made sure to drown him earlier," he added, his breath warm against your neck.

"What? Are you even serious right now?"

Yugyeom let out a dry laugh. "Yeah? How dare he kiss you."

What the hell? So he did see that earlier?

"We seriously need to talk. Get a shirt or something, it’s cold," you said firmly, but Yugyeom didn’t budge.

"I’ll try… I’m too drunk, I guess?" He blinked, looking around, squinting as if trying to see past his dizziness.

"Okay, at least let’s get you inside and find you a shirt." You grabbed his arm, ready to guide him in. But the moment he took a step, Yugyeom stumbled.

"Oops. My bad." He giggled unapologetically.

"Y/N! And why are you still dry and sober?"

You barely had time to react before Mingyu clearly just as drunk grinned at you. Bambam and Jungkook trailed behind him, all of them looking suspiciously like they were up to no good.

You narrowed your eyes. "I’ll kidnap your friend for a while. You can have him back after we talk."

The three exchanged knowing looks. Definitely plotting something.

"Not gonna happen," Jungkook said, shaking his head before turning to Mingyu.

Sensing potential danger from these idiots, you instinctively stepped back. "I swear to God, I’m wearing heels, Jeon Jungkook. If you take another step, I will kill you with them."

But they didn’t look the least bit fazed.

"No killjoys tonight, Y/N."

Before you could protest, an arm wrapped around your waist. You barely had time to scream before gravity betrayed you—

SPLASH!

You hit the water. "What the fuck!!!! Just what the fuck!!!"

You screamed the moment you emerged from the water, sputtering as laughter erupted from the sidelines.

Jungkook, Bambam, and Mingyu were doubled over, finding the whole scene way too entertaining.

Before you could process your next move, an arm wrapped around your waist again. Instinctively, you swung, nearly throwing a punch—only to realize it was Yugyeom.

You immediately clung to him, your heart racing. Great. You had landed in the deeper part of the pool, where your feet couldn’t even touch the bottom.

"Just what the hell, Kyum?!" you snapped, exasperated.

He didn’t even look the least bit guilty.

"Oops?" he said, grinning.

"You dragged me in with you! I don’t have spare clothes, and I’m still wearing my heels!"

Yugyeom just chuckled, holding you effortlessly in the water. "Should’ve taken them off sooner, brat."

You were this close to dunking him under.

You didn’t realize how close you were until your breath hitched.

Yugyeom’s arm was still around your waist, holding you steady in the water. His bare skin was warm against your soaked clothes, the alcohol in his system making his grip a little looser, a little more relaxed.

Your mesh top clung to you like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. The way Yugyeom’s gaze flickered downward before snapping back to your eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

Half-lidded from the alcohol, his dark eyes held something unreadable, something that made your stomach flip.

For once, he wasn’t teasing you. He wasn’t rolling his eyes or throwing snarky remarks.

He was just looking.

Your throat felt dry despite being surrounded by water.

"It's cold, we should get up," you said, quickly averting your gaze.

But Yugyeom’s grip on you tightened.

"I thought we were gonna talk. What is it that you wanted to tell me?"

Your mind went blank.

What was it? Just moments ago, you had been so sure, so determined to get him alone and say something. But now, with the weight of his stare and the warmth of his body against yours, your words were stuck somewhere in your throat.

Yugyeom studied you closely, his voice quieter this time.

"And you haven’t called me Kyum in a long time…" He tilted his head slightly, eyes searching yours. "What is it now?"

You swallowed.

You could tell him. Right now.

Or you could do what you’ve always done, brush it off, pretend nothing’s changed.

Your fingers twitched against his shoulder. "It’s nothing," you mumbled.

Yugyeom let out a small scoff, but he didn’t let go. "Liar."

"Oi! The two of you, lovey-dovey there, huh? Done with your lover's quarrel?"

Jungkook’s voice rang out, followed by loud laughter from Mingyu and Bambam. You felt your face heat up not from the alcohol or the water, but from the way Yugyeom still hadn’t let go.

He didn’t even react to Jungkook’s teasing.

You expected him to roll his eyes, make some sarcastic remark, or at the very least push you away in annoyance like he always did. But he didn’t.

Instead, he stayed still, watching you.

For some reason, it wasn’t cold anymore.

"We should get out," you tried again, but your voice came out weaker this time.

Yugyeom hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Then go."

You frowned. "You're the one holding me."

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. "Am I?"

Your stomach flipped.

What the hell was up with him tonight?

"You're drunk. It's cold." You tried to reason, shivering slightly as the cool night air hit your wet skin.

Yugyeom only tightened his grip, his gaze unwavering. "Not until you tell me what you wanted to talk about."

You huffed, pressing your palms against his chest, trying to push him away, not too hard, though. "Kyum, not now."

His eyes flickered at the nickname again, his jaw clenching. "Then when?"

You fell silent, biting your lip.

Jungkook’s voice interrupted the tension. "Alright, alright, lovebirds. Enough of the eye-fucking. Get out before you both catch a cold."

Your breath hitched again.

"You tell me now, or I'm gonna fucking kiss you and cause a damn scene," Yugyeom said, his voice low and unwavering.

You turned sharply to look at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. His dark, half-lidded eyes held yours, challenging, no, daring you to say something. The water dripped from his hair, down his sharp jawline, and onto his bare shoulders.

"You're drunk," you repeated, but it came out weaker this time.

"And you're avoiding," he shot back.

This wasn’t the Yugyeom who always rolled his eyes at you, who constantly teased you like you were nothing but an annoying little sister. No, this Yugyeom was looking at you like he actually gave a damn.

You swallowed hard. "Kyum… stop it."

His lips twitched at the nickname, but he didn’t back down. Instead, he took a slow step toward you, water cascading off his body.

"Last chance," he warned, tilting his head slightly. "Tell me, or I’ll make sure everyone here knows exactly what’s been going on between us."

Your stomach flipped. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Yugyeom smirked, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t one of amusement—it was something else. Something dangerous.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Yugyeom let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his wet hair. He looked at you, his jaw clenching like he was trying to hold something back.

"You really don’t get it, do you?" he muttered, shaking his head.

Your frustration boiled over. "No, I fucking don’t! One second, you act like I’m the most annoying person on earth, and the next, you're pissed when I talk to someone else! You say you don’t care, but you always have something to say about what I do, who I’m with—"

"Because it drives me fucking insane, Y/N!" Yugyeom snapped, holing you closer. "Watching you throw yourself at my brother like he’s ever gonna see you the way you want him to. Watching you act like a spoiled brat because you know they’ll always give you what you want. Watching you flirt with guys who don’t deserve your attention."

You blinked, your breath caught in your throat. "What...?"

His chest rose and fell heavily, his fists clenched at his sides. Then, as if all the tension left him at once, he exhaled and chuckled bitterly.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. The sounds of the party in the background felt miles away.

"Do you hate me, Yugyeom?" Your voice was quieter now, almost unsure.

His eyes snapped back to yours, something unreadable flickering in them. Then he took one last step forward, so close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him despite the cold water.

"If I hated you," he murmured, voice dangerously low, "I wouldn't be losing my mind over you every damn day."

"So, the shirts..." You trailed off, everything finally clicking into place and believing Mark. The t-shirt, the room you’d assumed was Mark’s...

"Yes! Fuck me!" Yugyeom cut in, his voice filled with frustration. "It’s my room you were sleeping in when you were drunk, and it’s my fucking shirt you’re wearing. You look so damn hot in it, but it drives me crazy every time you think about it being Ma—"

He didn’t finish his sentence. You cut him off with a kiss, sealing his lips against yours. The sound of cursing from the boys and the cheers of those around you filled the air.

Yugyeom froze for a second before his hands instinctively found your waist, pulling you in like he’d been waiting for this moment forever. The cheers and whistles from your friends faded into the background, drowned out by the rapid beating of your heart.

When you finally pulled away, slightly breathless, Yugyeom’s dazed expression made you chuckle. His hands still held you tightly, as if he was afraid you’d disappear.

"You—" he started, his voice hoarse, but you cut him off with a smirk.

"Thought you were gonna kiss me and cause a scene?" You teased, raising a brow.

He blinked, then let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "You really are a brat."

"You like it," you shot back playfully.

Yugyeom rolled his eyes, but the way his fingers traced circles on your waist told you everything you needed to know. Maybe he didn't hate you after all. Maybe it was something else entirely.

"Oi! Disgusting! Get out of the water!"

"Yugyeom! What the hell are you two doing in there?!"

"Were they kissing?—Hey, Yugyeom! I swear to God, if you get out of that water..."

"Nice one, Y/N noona! Don’t drown me again, Yugyeom hyung!"

You can hear Mingyu, JayB, Jackson, and even Mingi shouting from the sidelines, but Yugyeom doesn’t care. He simply grabs the back of your neck and kisses you again.

" This Motherfucker" - Mark

Yugyeom didn’t even bother looking back at the chaotic mess of friends yelling from the sidelines. He just smirked against your lips, his grip firm as he pulled you even closer. The warmth of his body against the cold water sent shivers down your spine, though you weren’t sure if it was from the temperature or the way he kissed you like he had something to prove.

"You’re unbelievable," you muttered when you finally pulled away, your fingers curling into the wet strands of his hair.

"Yeah?" He tilted his head, his thumb grazing your jawline. "And yet, you kissed me first."

You rolled your eyes, pushing against his chest. "Shut up, let's just get out of here before they actually drown us."

"Agreed," Yugyeom chuckled, finally letting you go, but not before throwing a glare toward the group of idiots watching like it was some drama premiere.

As you both waded out of the pool, soaking wet and dripping onto the pavement, the jeering only got worse.

"Yugyeom! I trusted you!" Mingyu feigned betrayal, clutching his chest.

"Yugyeom, you little shit, I knew it!" Jackson cackled.

"Just get a damn room!" JayB groaned, tossing a towel in your direction.

Yugyeom caught it effortlessly and draped it over your shoulders, his lips still curved into a smug grin. He leaned in, whispering against your ear, "I meant what I said. Let’s go somewhere else."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he affected you. Instead, you scoffed, giving him a playful shove.

"Get me food first, and maybe I’ll think about it."

Yugyeom laughed, shaking his head. "Brat."

And just like that, whatever tension had been lingering between you both had snapped into something else entirely.

[fuckzachariah]

In truth, he wasn’t exactly certain how she’d respond. Many things about him had changed, slipped away or rebuilt themselves, but his propensity to push could be traced back beyond even what memory could serve. A little boy with ruddy cheeks and a wicked laugh, seeing how much he could say, how far he could take things, until something (or someone) gave. Only now, he was all stretched and shaped out, full and heavy and healthy, grown enough to know better but still doing it anyway. What did knowing better even mean? What he knew better was that when he pushed, Alex pulled. As instinctual as a reflex test, a hammer to the knee. He had known better than to allow himself to be sweet-talked into this whole predicament. He had known better the moment after Alex had made the decision to lie that first day, to deny their past, to deny they had ever met at all. It hadn't stopped him then, and it wouldn't stop him now. Some cataclysm, some monumental consequence, had always been afoot since he'd stepped out of that elevator and into The Dupree penthouse suite. They had stamped it out years ago. To do so again would just be denying whatever deity that kept bringing them together the catharsis of a gratifying ending. Perhaps God was just as perverse as them.

Zach thought she could have swung any direction. Face twisted in disgust, she could’ve stormed away. Eyes turned to lines, she could’ve delivered something cruel and true, to shut him up. The goal, however, would always resemble the same shady silhouette; to put him in his place. When she turned to look at him, though, he recognized he’d failed to consider the most damning outcome. She smirked. Ah, fuck. "Dying to," he mumbled without conviction, dismantled already by only a look. Her body turned toward his and his eyes darkened. Her voice emerged upon a lusty cloud, breathy and swooping, sucking the room dry. He felt the bass of the music thump through the floor to the soles of his feet, but he couldn’t hear it. She drew nearer. His lip twitched, but otherwise he remained rigid, alarm bells blaring in his mind. She was close enough now that he was engulfed in her; chocolate and coffee and vodka and mint on her breath, the faint smell of berries from her lip gloss, the drowning scent of her perfume. His lips parted to say something, anything, but his throat was dry. His mind was empty.

His body responded before his brain had even caught up; the flick of her finger, the delicate scrape of a manicured nail just below his waistline and into his pocket. He flinched from shoulder to toe, only his hips relenting to the subtle tug of her curled digit. "Alex," he snapped quietly, reprimanding her. Her action was blanketed in dim light, so small to anyone else as to be almost imperceptible, but it almost took him out by the knees. Zach blew out a sharp, short breath through his nose, attempting to assess their situation. But his brain was so foggy, no thought made any sense at all. She buzzed in him, spread everywhere, fast and sudden, like a goddamn plague. This play, in front of all these people, in front of Kylie and her fiancé and the entire industry, was fucking bold. Zach level bold. He was quite immobilized by it. She breathed like the very sensation of air coating her throat, filling out her lungs, was nothing less than erotic. The blood rushed from his brain, from his more crucial extremities, to stir violently in his abdomen. Zach's tongue curled in his mouth and he bit down on it to fend off the sensation building below his belt. Oh, sincerely, fuck you, he thought silently. 

Then she spoke. He was barely-there. She knew this would fuck with him, sure, but did she know to what degree? Her curled fingers slid against his thigh, and his mind imploded. He thought he had remembered, with alarming clarity, what she felt like against him. Around him. But the simple stroke brought the brute force of those memories back like a fucking car crash. She cooed to him, drawing up toward his face, and despite himself his chin jutted smoothly forward as though making to meet her in the middle. He felt her breath on his lips, and it made him crazy. To kiss her now would be to outplay her. But it would also be to blow this whole thing up before they’d even had chance to start. Besides, he was paralyzed. Even as tense as he was, as fucking incriminating as he knew this entire scene to be, he was entirely disarmed. Helpless to it. Alex found what she was looking for. In one swift motion, she freed her hand from his pocket and slapped the thick wad of his wallet against his chest, then giggled almost innocently. He deflated at once, air rushing from his bloated lungs. “Cute,” Zach muttered defensively. His hand came down hard over top of hers, sticking her to his pounding heart. “Very fucking cute,” he chastised in a low voice, breathless as though having just finished a marathon.

Zach refused to take a step back, despite their incriminating proximity. That would be too similar to standing down. This close, he could see her freckles threatening to bloom beneath her makeup, and the smell of her was making him feel a little high. He was halfway to cooking up a plan to rival hers, to match her crazy, or even better, outdo it altogether. But then she said something, and his intrigue stifled his creativity. His eyebrows crept marginally higher on his forehead, and he slipped his wallet out from beneath her grasp. It flattened under his heavy palm upon the bar. “Is it?” he asked, genuine curiosity flickering beneath his tongue. Fleetingly, Zach’s eyes fled from Alex’s perfect face across the room, Kylie’s golden head unspooling beneath a well-placed light as she laughed at something Andrew said. Alex breathed, and he felt the fabric of her dress drag against his arm. His attention came tumbling back to her. He hated her from this angle; almost a foot beneath him and gazing up, doe-eyed, with that shit-eating-fucking-grin. His head was a mess. “Fine, consider me baited. What’s obvious?”

Her confidence was like a gooey trap, and he got wrapped up in it mortifyingly easily. Even when he knew she was fucking with him, he waltzed right on in, allowed her to pick up and smash anything she well liked. Perhaps their predisposition to one another was as simple as being able to scratch invisible itches nobody else was even capable of knowing existed. The thing about a behemoth like Zach was nobody ever wanted to challenge him, say no to him, argue with him. They saw his tendency to lock horns at the first sign of unrest as a warning, when it was really an invitation. Alex always saw him for exactly what he was, and rose to him. She had loved him anyway. Had needed him anyway. It made him insatiable. When she flashed her engagement ring at him, cocky and undeterred, a surge of hot want flooded his veins. He kissed his teeth, as though he’d been got. And maybe he had. But it certainly didn’t feel that way.

And perhaps he was right not to feel it. She paused upon hearing her name fill his mouth, flood it like sweet nectar. Her face gave away little, and neither did his. But it was there. The pressure. Building, fighting against the bubble they created. One day, he’d find it’s weak point. And then… pop. A slight colour arose in her olive cheeks. A small, irritating smile materialized on his face as fast as he suffocated it. Found you. But in his challenge, she found her footing once more, an earnest laugh leaping from her open throat. Mocking. Perfect. Head thrown back, like she might swallow something whole. He gulped, watching her delightedly as she both latched onto his bait and cast some of her own. It was just too fucking addictive, this dance. A tiny smirk imprinted upon his plush mouth, eyes alight as they kept hers like a secret. “Daddy Andy, a retired playboy...” Zach giggled a little at the prospect. “Bet you fucking loved that,” he taunted, drawing it out like it was a luxury to torment her. Which, truthfully, it was. “Your history with playboys as it is.” His tongue rolled over in his mouth, sticky with her memory. 

Zach smiled, rotten. “Never doubted the man’s taste.” Alex looked at him, and his eyes slid to hers, watching them in real time turn from deer in headlights to a threat on his life. His head jerked slightly, lip quirking as he anticipated some kind of attack. But the voice she adopted, velvet sharpened to a deadly point, he knew it. Remembered it vividly. Her intonation slid through him like water, tangled up in all his nerve-ends. It was the same voice she used once upon a time, when she would intentionally dismantle him by sending every drop of blood he’d use for his brain right down between his thighs. His eyes rolled, though he played it off as irritation rather than what it was; ardor. “Alex…” he chastised unconsciously, breathy. Something of a warning, though he wasn’t sure as to what. Only that it felt dangerous, her spurring him like this. Or perhaps it was an utterly in-earnest telling off for bad behavior. Her gaze rolled over him languidly, taking her time, as if he were food to consider. His abdomen tightened involuntarily under it. Did he want him to come over? It would certainly spoil the fun, but he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the thought of Alex using her fiancé to spark some sort of jealous arousal in him. He shook his head and laughed through his nose, a little in disbelief at her gall.

Though, it was admittedly only a mirror of his own. Each daring the other to say something, do something worse than the last. Alex relaxed back into herself, sighing and flicking away the notion like some bothersome fly. Zach was both irritated and enchanted. Story of his fucking life. Her final sentiment made him laugh quietly, eyes fluttering in incredulity. “Oh, no, I’m sure you wouldn’t. That doesn’t sound like you at all,” he affected in a faux-empathetic tone. Breath filled his chest as he looked at her, eyes flitting over her in unconstrained desire, in direct opposition with his need to fight with her until his breath ran out. Or perhaps the marriage between the two emotions was a healthy, happy one. A uniquely enriching one. “You know, I’d actually fucking love to see it,” Zach mused, an annoying cockiness about him. His eyes floated into the crowd, pin-pointing the man himself. He and Kylie chatted animatedly now. How ironic. Zach squinted at his broad shoulders, crisp jacket, inkless arms and wig-pristine hair. He was so perfect, so cookie-cutter. Everything Alex claimed her young heart ever wanted. So why was she here, entertaining Zach Winthrop, flushing when he said her name? He smiled to himself, knowing what he planned to say next would enrage her. “There surely must be something beyond that painfully boring surface biting into your rotten little heart.”

[cthulhum]

the most insane and unrealistic thing about the finale of supernatural is how sam just had a normal life after all that like i know that was his dream for the longest time and he deserved it but imagine spending decades hunting literal monsters with ur brother and angel best friend and uve stopped multiple apocalypses and saved the world countless times and then u just. move on ??? nah

[byanyan]

me remembering that i used to write the two supernatural muses is like uncovering trauma i forgot about i stg