#tw for one brief passing mention of alcohol

[msriri030]

Mafia!Ren/ [Redacted] x Reader

TW: mention and brief scene Abuse, slight mention of murder.

The night air was cold and heavy, each step you took down the dimly lit street weighed down by the lingering dread of what awaited you at home. You kept your head down, hands buried in your pockets, hoping, praying that tonight might be different—that your dad would be passed out, or maybe out drinking somewhere, anything to keep him away from you for just a few hours. But deep down, you knew he was there. He was always there, waiting for the next excuse to unleash his anger, fueled by the alcohol that twisted his thoughts into rage.

He would shout, throwing out slurs and curses, blaming your mother for leaving him, accusing her of destroying the family. You understood why she left—he was a monster to her. But what you couldn’t understand, what tore at your heart every time you thought about it, was why she left you behind. Why had she left you to fend for yourself with him?

These questions haunted you, but tonight, you pushed them away. Survival was all that mattered. You just needed to keep going, one more shift, one more day, until you had enough money to get out. You were so close. Just a little longer.

You quickened your pace as you neared home, bracing yourself for whatever was behind that door. The sounds of traffic and the city faded into the background as you got lost in your thoughts, barely noticing that you were walking straight into oncoming traffic until strong hands grabbed your arm, pulling you back with surprising force.

"Watch out, miss," a deep voice said with a small smile. "I don’t like seeing a pretty angel walking into traffic."

You blinked, stunned, and glanced up to find a large man standing beside you, concern etched on his face. “Giant… I—I’m sorry, how rude of me. Thank you for saving me, Mr...?”

"Mr. Ren," he replied with a grin, his voice calm and assured. "Just Ren is fine. And you are?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to trust him, but there was something in his steady gaze that put you at ease. “(First name)… (Last name).”

Ren raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Wait, (Last name)? Is... is (your father’s name) your husband?"

Your face flushed with a mix of surprise and frustration. “NO! He’s my father.” You quickly added, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you.” You paused for a second before offering hesitantly, “Why don’t I treat you to something? As a thank you, you know, for saving me?”

He chuckled softly, nodding. "A coffee sounds perfect. Just to keep you safe a little longer."

You nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips. There was something in his presence—calming, strong—that made the coldness of the night feel less oppressive. Together, you walked to a nearby diner, its neon lights casting a soft, inviting glow in the darkness.

Once inside, you settled across from Ren. The warm atmosphere of the diner contrasted sharply with the cold night outside, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you could breathe. Ren ordered two coffees, and as the two of you sat there, you couldn’t help but take in more of his appearance: the black hair tipped with pink, the piercings that glinted under the soft light, the tattoos that peeked out from under his sleeves and shirt collar. But it was his hands that caught your attention—scarred and calloused, like someone who had fought their own battles. The kind of hands that felt familiar in a way you couldn’t quite place.

"Something on your mind, angel?" Ren’s voice broke the silence. His eyes were kind, but there was an edge to them, as if he knew there was something more behind your guarded expression. “What made you so lost in thought that you didn’t see the cars?”

You hesitated, tracing the rim of your coffee cup with your finger, unsure of how much to say. "Just… life, I guess," you replied softly. "It’s been a little heavy."

Ren nodded, his gaze softening, understanding without needing more words. "Life can be a lot sometimes," he said quietly. "But it doesn’t stay dark forever. Even the longest nights end."

Your heart tightened at his words, an unexpected wave of warmth washing over you. “Thank you,” you whispered, feeling a flicker of hope in your chest.

You spent the next hour in easy conversation, the kind that allowed you to forget about the weight of the world for a while. When you finally checked the time, you realized it was late, and the reality of your situation rushed back.

Ren seemed to notice the shift in your demeanor. “Do you need someone to walk you home?” he asked, his voice gentle but insistent.

You hesitated, looking down the street toward the house that still felt like a prison. The thought of facing your father alone, of being caught in that cycle again, made your stomach twist with dread. “If you don’t mind…”

He smiled and stood, offering his hand. “Not at all, angel.”

You blushed, taking his hand.

The walk to your house was quiet, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel suffocating. Ren’s presence beside you, strong and steady, made the night feel less dark, less frightening. When you reached the door, your heart sank as you heard your father’s drunken voice spilling out from inside. The slurred words, the anger, the madness—it was all too familiar.

You turned to Ren, forcing a weak smile onto your face. “Thank you, Ren. I—I hope—”

Before you could finish, the door slammed open with a violent crash. Your father stood in the doorway, his wild eyes landing on you before narrowing in fury. He shoved you hard, sending you falling backward. Your back hit the floor with a painful thud, the wind knocked out of you. 

“YOU USELESS BRAT!” he shouted, his voice full of venom and alcohol.

You gasped, struggling to breathe as his boot slammed down on your chest, pressing all the air out of your lungs. Desperately, You clawed at his leg. You tried to push his foot off, but his weight was crushing.

“You think you can just come and go as you please?” he sneered, each word a dagger. “You’re just like your mother—always running off. Always a disappointment!”

You bit back the tears threatening to spill, your hands trembling as you still were trying to pry his foot off. The words cut deeper than his blows ever could, but you refused to cry in front of him. You wouldn’t give this man that satisfaction of breaking you.

Then, like a storm crashing through the door, Ren’s voice rang out, cold and deadly. “(Last name). Get. OFF. Her.”

You barely had time to process the change in the air before Ren was there, his massive frame a shadow over your father. He stood like a wall, his presence intimidating, overwhelming, as if the very air around him shifted with authority.

Your father, drunk and staggering, turned to face Ren, but the fear in his eyes was unmistakable. “Who the hell are you?” he slurred, his bravado fading quickly. “This isn’t your business…”

Ren didn’t let him finish. Without a word, he grabbed your father by the shirt and effortlessly lifted him off the ground, holding him with one hand. Your father’s eyes widened in terror, the drunken fog clearing just enough to see who was standing in front of him. “Mr. [Redacted]!” Your father whimpered, his voice shaking. “Please! I didn’t mean any disrespect! I’ll pay back the money, I swear!”

Ren tossed him aside like he was nothing more than a nuisance, his cold eyes never leaving your father. “You disrespected me when you laid a hand on my angel,” Ren hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “If I ever see you even breathing the same air as my angel, I am afraid you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

Your father crumbled, falling to the ground as Ren released him with a final shove. He fell back against the wall, eyes wide, too terrified to move.

Ren turned to you then, his expression softening as he crouched down to meet your gaze. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, your chest aching from both the pain and the overwhelming sense of relief. “I… I think so.”

He reached out, offering his hand to help you up. “You’re not staying here,” Ren said firmly, glancing back at your father, who was still crumpled in a heap against the wall. “Let’s go.”

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, your heart racing as you grabbed your bag and followed Ren out the door. As you stepped into the cool night air with him by your side, you realized that for the first time in a long while, you weren’t just surviving. You were escaping. And maybe, just maybe, you were finally free….Or entering a new cage. 

[vi-steponmeplease]

OCTOBER PASSED ME BY

pairings - universityex!ellie x fem!reader

genre - university au, angst, fluff

synopsis: after your best friend persuades you to take a break from studying and attend a party, you unexpectedly come face-to-face with your ex, stirring up unresolved emotions. by the end of the night, you find yourself heading home with more than just a brief escape from your studies.

tw: mentions of alcohol, reader goes to a frat party, mild swearing (not sure if that's a warning but sure), nothing majorly serious

word count: 4.7K

you were the first to make me feel like i was me just a memory

⟡

i met you at the wrong time, didn't wanna see i was busy with the stars, you were looking at me

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The heavy rain pattering against the stained window is the only sound reverberating around the room, though you pay no mind as your focus remains fixed on your textbooks and scattered notes. Dark circles weigh under your eyes, and your lips curl into a tired frown. With a weary sigh, you bury your face in your hands, fingers tangling in your already disheveled hair.

Finals are right around the corner, and for weeks, your dorm has become your entire world. Days blur together as you devour textbooks, trying to memorize every word like it’s second nature.

"What the f—"

"Which dress is better?"

You flinch, startled by the sudden interruption. Your head jerks up, disoriented, the voice yanking you out of the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind.

“What?” Your voice is hoarse from disuse—a reminder that you hadn’t spoken since waking up. Like every other morning, your first instinct had been to dive straight back into studying.

Turning in your chair, your face softens slightly from its earlier concentrated state when you spot your roommate and best friend, Audrey, standing in the middle of the room. She’s holding up two hangers, one in each hand. On one hangs a thigh-length light pink silk dress, while the other holds a long white bodycon dress.

You tilt your head, considering, before a chuckle escapes. “What happened to that ridiculous glittery miniskirt you bought last weekend?”

“For the billionth time, they’re sequins,” Audrey groans, rolling her eyes with mock exasperation. She sets the dresses down on your rumpled bed, then plants her hands on her hips, brow furrowed as she envisions the outfits. “Besides, I couldn’t find a top to match.”

“Oh, come on,” you scoff, leaning back in your chair with crossed arms. “You’d look good in a garbage bag.”

"Sure, yeah, and pigs can fly." Audrey quips, picking up the dresses and moving to the full-length mirror beside your desk. She holds each one against her body, lips pursed in thought as she weighs her options.

"What's the occasion, anyway?" you ask, pulling your legs up to rest your feet on the chair, leaning your elbows against your knees.

"Carter’s throwing a party." She glances at you briefly, then holds up the pink dress, clearly having made her choice. "I wanna see if he’s single. If he is, I’ll make a move. Can’t keep pining over that blond guy I saw at the campus café last week. But I heard Carter’s been hooking up with Darcy."

"Wasn't she with Dylan?"

"No, that was Daphne."

"Why do all their names start with a 'D'?"

Audrey sighs dramatically, shaking her head. "Don’t know. They might be running some kind of secret alliteration cult."

With a laugh, you turn back to your desk, lowering your legs as the brief moment of lightheartedness fades and reality settles in. Your smile vanishes, replaced by the familiar weight of exhaustion. Right, you think to yourself. Back to the endless black hole of studying.

"Hey, you should come." Audrey's voice pulls you from your thoughts again. You turn to see her standing with the pink dress draped over one arm, a playful but earnest look on her face. "You haven’t left the dorm in ages. Come on, it’ll be fun."

"I don't know, Auds. I just... There's so much work to do, and—"

"Exactly! That’s why you need a break," she interrupts, crossing her arms in defiance. "You need a good distraction. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find a decent rebound to replace—"

"No."

Your voice is sharper than you intended, and the air between you shifts. Your brows knit together as a scowl tugs at your lips. "I don’t do rebounds. And I don’t need one. I’m over her."

Audrey raises a skeptical brow. "You say that, but you’ve been single for the entire year you two have been broken up."

"Yeah, and?" You shrug, the defensive edge softening slightly. "That doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I just… needed the time and space to, I don’t know, feel the breakup."

You sigh, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees. Your voice dips, quiet but unwavering. "We dated all through high school, Auds. We planned everything—college, careers, our whole life together. Then, one night, it was just… gone. I needed that break."

"I get it. No need for a rebound, then." Audrey’s lips curve into a warm smile as she gathers her wavy blonde hair, twisting it into a messy bun. She picks up the pink dress and heads toward the door, pausing to glance back at you. "I’m gonna go put my outfit on and do my makeup. But think about it, okay? I’d have more fun if you were there."

Her voice softens, the playful edge replaced by genuine concern. "I hate seeing you so groggy and drained over finals. You deserve a break."

With that, she disappears into the bathroom, leaving you alone with her words lingering in the air.

You prop your elbow on the desk, resting your chin in your palm as the decision weighs on you. What would you even wear? A quick mental inventory of your closet makes you groan. You’d gone a little too wild during the autumn sale at the mall, leaving your wardrobe overflowing with beige and brown sweaters—not exactly party material. Dresses? Practically nonexistent.

And besides, it's 8 PM on a Friday—you could really use a change of pace.

You let out a frustrated sigh, but it quickly turns into a chuckle. Audrey’s words must’ve gotten to you, because before you realize it, you’re pushing yourself out of your chair. The creak of the worn seat makes you certain it’s practically engraved a permanent imprint of your ass.

You stretch briefly, shaking out your legs, then make your way toward Audrey’s room. Maybe she’ll have something I like. You’re not exactly thrilled about diving into her wardrobe—her style is bold, flashy, and a little outside your comfort zone—but desperate times call for desperate measures.

When the bathroom door opens and shuts, you smile to yourself and stride over to lean casually against Audrey's doorframe. She looks up, raising her brows in surprise before a smirk tugs at her lips.

"Decided you’d go, huh?" she says, her tone teasing but approving. "You're so stubborn, sometimes."

"I’m not getting drunk, though," you say, crossing your arms as Audrey adjusts her earrings. "And I’m not changing my mind on that. Study routine starts back up tomorrow morning, and I don’t need a hangover slowing me down."

Audrey gives you an exaggerated eye roll but doesn’t argue, a playful grin spreading across her face.

You glance down at the long forest green dress you’re wearing, the silky fabric hugging your figure comfortably. A deep slit runs up one side, stopping at mid-thigh and adding just enough elegance to the look. You adjust the hem slightly, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling up. Maybe this night wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

"Drunk guy about to vomit, coming through!"

The announcement has your eyes widening as you quickly move out of the way to let the drunk guy and his friend, who’s half-carrying him, pass by—probably headed for the bathroom.

You cling to Audrey's side, linking your arms together as you laugh. "We just got here, and people are already throwing up?"

She chuckles, shaking her head. "Oh, babe, you haven't seen anything yet. Frat parties are the definition of pure insanity."

The deafening music blares even louder as you step into the main room, bodies pressed together as they sway and jump to the beat. Some throw their hands up in the air, fully immersed in the chaos of the party.

Your eyes scan the room, landing on the stereotypical beer pong table surrounded by a pack of guys locked in a heated game.

"Where's your boyfriend?" you tease, nudging Audrey. Her cheeks flush slightly—a subtle reminder of her true reason for coming tonight, aside from giving you a distraction.

"Not my boyfriend," she corrects, flipping her hair off her shoulder. "At least not yet. But that’s not why we’re here." She turns to you, a mischievous smile curling on her lips as she grabs your hands. "You're here to have fun, got it?" she shouts over the music.

With a grin, you extend your arms up above your head, body swaying to the beat of the music. Audrey laughs, mimicking your movements with exaggerated flair, her hands on her hips.

"Yes! Who knew you could move like that, girl?" she yells, wooing loudly before twirling you around. The two of you almost crash into a random guy.

"Careful. The last thing I need is this guy hitting on me then saying he can ‘turn me straight’ when I reject him," you quip, placing your hands on Audrey’s shoulders as you keep dancing.

Time flies as you chat and dance with a few girls from your friend group, whom you ran into coincidentally. An hour melts away unnoticed until a wave of murmurs ripples through the crowd, followed by sharp screams. Your attention shifts, and you spot Carter entering the room, his arm slung around a girl who looks like she was sculpted out of plastic, clinging to him like a lifeline.

You glance at Audrey, noticing the frown darkening her face. A wave of empathy crashes over you. "It’s okay. He’ll probably dump her by the end of the night, and then you’ll have him all to yourself," you say with a gentle smile.

Audrey scoffs, her scowl giving way to a pointedly condescending look. "Fuck him," she snaps. "I’m not wasting my time on some man-whore. I’ve got options."

A proud grin spreads across your face, but when your eyes flicker back to where Carter stood, your smile falters. He’s gone. In his place stands a silhouette that makes your stomach drop and your heart stop cold.

Panic surges through you as your breath quickens. Sasha, one of your friends, notices. "Hey, are you okay?" she asks, concern evident in her voice.

You stumble, grabbing Audrey’s arm. "I need to go. Now," you mumble, tugging her toward a quieter corner. She furrows her brows but stays silent, waiting for you to speak.

"I just... fuck, Auds, I just saw her," you finally manage, your voice trembling.

"And?" Audrey raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I thought you were 'over her.'" She emphasizes her point with air quotes.

"I thought I was too." Tears prick at your eyes like needles as you drop your gaze to the floor. "It's been a year, Audrey. Why am I not over her yet?"

Audrey’s expression softens at the crack in your voice. She pulls you into a tight hug, her hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "I’m so sorry, honey. You don’t deserve this."

You cling to her, letting your head rest on her shoulder. After a moment, Audrey pulls away, her eyes filled with determination. "No wallowing," she declares firmly. "You’re here to have fun, whether she’s here or not. It’s your second year of college, hun. Live it up and don’t let the past ruin your night."

With a chuckle, you wipe away the tears threatening to spill, careful not to smudge your makeup, and nod firmly. "You’re right. I’m here to take a well-deserved break, and I’m not letting some ex get in the way."

Spinning on your heels, you barely manage to stop yourself as you come face-to-face with the very person haunting your thoughts. A gasp escapes your lips, and your hand flies up to cover your mouth.

She takes a deliberate step to the side, clearing your path. Her tone is tinged with arrogance as she says, "What? I got out of your way. Isn’t that what you wanted?" Her brows knit slightly, her mouth pressed into a thin, unreadable line.

"I didn't... I just—"

"Come on, Y/N. Let's go." Audrey loops her arm through yours, her grip firm as she pulls you away. Her glare cuts through your ex like a blade, sharp and unwavering.

Audrey had always liked her when the two of you were together, but after the breakup, all those sentiments had evaporated. Now, there was nothing but icy disdain in her gaze, a silent reminder of how things had gone south.

"That was so embarrassing, oh my God," you mutter, your wide eyes reflecting your inner turmoil as you and Audrey walk back into the main room. Heading straight for the kitchen, you rub your temples, trying to soothe the headache forming. Without a second thought, you grab the bottle of vodka from the counter and reach for a shot glass.

"Hey, no!" Audrey snatches the bottle from your grip, holding it just out of reach. "You promised you weren't gonna drink tonight. She's so not worth the hangover."

You let out a long sigh, leaning against the counter with a defeated shrug. "Yeah, I know." You pause, a frustrated exhale escaping your lips. "I just can't stop thinking about... God, the fucking breakup. Everything. We weren't supposed to just throw it all away over some stupid reason. I miss her, Auds."

Audrey shakes her head. "No, you don't. You miss the memories, not her. There's a difference." She places the bottle and shot glass back on the counter, then grabs your shoulders firmly, pulling you closer so you’re forced to meet her gaze. Her eyes are intense, unwavering. "Listen, you're only remembering the good parts. It's your mind playing tricks on you."

You sigh again, leaning heavily against the counter as the frustration in your voice rises. "We never had any bad times, though. Just the breakup." Your voice cracks slightly, betraying the emotions you'd been holding back. "It was good—she was good. It just... ended, and I don't even know why anymore."

Audrey's grip on your shoulders tightens gently, her expression unwavering. "Exactly, babe. That’s the part you're stuck on. You’re romanticizing it because you don’t have the full picture anymore. Breakups hurt, even the ones that make sense, but that doesn’t mean you should let the past keep pulling you back. You deserve better than this."

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Do I? Because right now, it feels like I’m the one who messed it all up. Like maybe I wasn’t enough for her."

Audrey softens, pulling you into a hug before you can spiral any further. "Don’t do that. Don’t tear yourself apart over what happened. You’re enough—more than enough. And if she couldn’t see that, that’s on her, not you."

You bury your face in her shoulder, her steady reassurance grounding you for a moment. When you finally pull away, her determined gaze meets yours again. "You’re here to have fun, right? Not to relive the past. So let’s leave her back there where she belongs and get you back out there."

You nod hesitantly, letting her words sink in. "You’re right," you say softly, trying to muster a smile. "She’s not worth ruining my night over."

"Exactly," Audrey says with a grin, looping her arm through yours. "Now, come on. Let’s show this party what you’re made of."

You saunter back to the designated dance floor, forcing a grin as the music thumps through your chest, trying to shake off the earlier interaction. Sasha joins in beside you, her blonde, shoulder-length hair bouncing as she jumps and twirls to the beat. The faint brown of her roots begins to show, a faint reminder of the dye job she got two months ago.

Your friend Maeve stumbles into your line of sight, mimicking a ridiculous move, and you laugh despite yourself, grateful for the temporary distraction.

But then your gaze drifts, almost instinctively, to one corner of the room. There she is—your ex—leaning against the wall with that infuriatingly effortless coolness. And beside her, some brunette is clearly making a move, leaning in closer with every passing second.

You freeze, the air knocked out of you as if someone had punched your chest. A bitter scoff escapes your lips, shaking your head in disbelief. You swallow hard, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter, and mutter under your breath, "Of course."

It's as if something takes over you, a force compelling you to pull Sasha closer. You lean in and whisper urgently, "I need a favor. Please, just go with it. I'll explain later—don’t ask questions."

She blinks, her brows knitting together in confusion. "What are you—"

Before she can finish, your lips crash onto hers. She gasps in surprise but quickly responds, her hands finding your waist as the crowd erupts in cheers and whistles. You wrap your arms around her shoulders, leaning into the kiss as it deepens, your tongue brushing against hers. The world around you blurs, drowned out by the roaring excitement of onlookers.

Pulling away, you chuckle softly, your breath mingling with Sasha's as you glance around the room. The crowd is buzzing, their gazes locked on you—some bewildered, others clearly displeased.

But your attention quickly shifts, your eyes landing on Ellie.

Her gaze is piercing, burning through the room with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. The girl beside her tugs at her arm, desperate for attention, but Ellie barely spares her a glance. Instead, she scoffs, her jaw tightening as she shrugs off the girl’s grip.

Without a word, she turns on her heel, shoving past people as she storms toward the front door. The slam echoes through the house, leaving a charged silence in its wake.

You bite your lip, nerves flickering beneath your confident facade, and glance over at Audrey, who bursts into laughter, still processing what just happened. "You did not," she exclaims, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Thanks, Sasha. You're an absolute lifesaver." You flash her a grin, ignoring the bewildered look on her face as your gaze shifts toward the door Ellie just slammed shut. A swell of pride rises in your chest, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. For better or worse, you had gotten her attention.

After some time, you eventually say your goodbyes to your friends, including Audrey. You decide to leave early, your social battery completely drained. Audrey stays behind, her energy seemingly endless, as she's far more used to these party scenes.

Grabbing your black purse, you head for the door and step outside. Your brows lift in mild surprise when you spot Ellie sitting on the steps, her back to you. The only light comes from the moon and the soft glow of her phone screen. Silently, you move closer, glancing over her shoulder to see her engrossed in a silly dinosaur game.

A quiet chuckle escapes your lips as you tilt your head, watching her affectionately. She hasn’t changed a bit.

"I know you're standing behind me, Y/N. You're not slick."

Or maybe she has.

You sigh, moving to sit beside her on the step. The tension between you is thick and the weight of the moment feels suffocating, each second dragging like an eternity. “I wasn’t trying to... I didn’t mean what I said the way you thought I did.” The words tumble out, and you wring your hands nervously.

“I’ve just been so distracted with finals, and Audrey finally convinced me to leave our dorm to take a break. You being here... it just caught me off guard, and—” You groan, burying your face in your hands. “God, I should really stop talking.”

"Yeah, you should," she mutters, shaking her head as she pockets her phone and fixes her gaze on her shoes. Red Converse, the ones with doodles scrawled across the front. You recognize them instantly—they’re the pair you gave her for her birthday last year, covered in your handiwork. You can’t help but remember the laugh that erupted from her chest when your doodling spree ended with you drawing a Sharpie mustache on her face.

The memory tugs at you, bittersweet and unshakable. You pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them and resting your chin on your forearm. "Still obsessed with dinosaurs?"

Her lips twitch, almost forming a smile. "Went to class in a dino costume once," she says, leaning back on her elbows with a casual ease.

Finally, her eyes meet yours, lingering as they trace over your face, your hair, and the way the dress clings to your body. She doesn't say it, but you can see it—the flicker of admiration she's trying to bury. "Pretty sure that says it all," she adds with a shrug, but the way her gaze softens betrays her indifference.

You tilt your head back, gazing up at the sprawling constellations scattered across the night sky, their brilliance stirring a quiet joy in your chest. Lowering your gaze, your eyes follow the gentle sway of the trees in the rising wind, their movement mirrored in the cool breeze brushing against your bare shoulders. A sudden chill ripples through you, sending a shiver down your spine—until something warm and familiar settles over you, enveloping you in its comforting embrace.

Glancing down, you realize it’s a jacket, worn and soft, smelling faintly of Ellie’s cologne. You look up, meeting her gaze with a hint of confusion.

“What?” she mutters, a faint scoff escaping her lips as she leans back again, feigning nonchalance. “Can’t let you get hypothermia.”

But there’s something in her tone—subtle, unspoken, and tender—that makes your chest tighten.

You slip it on, the warmth instantly comforting, before glancing back at her. “You’ll get cold, though.”

Ellie tilts her head, a pointed look settling on her face. “Right, because you forgot about my absolute freezer of a dorm. Felt like I was living in fucking Antarctica. Might as well have been an igloo.”

For the first time tonight, she chuckles—a soft, genuine sound that tugs at something deep inside you. Her smile is the same as it’s always been, the one you hadn’t realized just how much you’d missed. It almost makes you smile too, but the weight of everything unsaid lingers between you, dimming your brief moment of joy.

Your grin falters, a sigh slipping out as you lower your gaze. “What went wrong between us?”

The question hangs in the air, raw and vulnerable, carrying the weight of everything you’ve been too afraid to ask until now.

Her shoulders slump as her heartbeat quickens, the weight of the moment settling heavily between you. This wasn’t the kind of conversation she expected to have tonight—especially not with you. “You really wanna go there?” she asks, her voice low and hesitant as she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, legs spread slightly in a relaxed stance that betrays her inner turmoil.

You nod, your gaze steady and unwavering. “I need to know, Ellie. It’s been eating at me for a year.”

She exhales sharply, her eyes dropping to the concrete beneath her feet, as if it holds the answers she’s been avoiding. “I was in a bad place,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t handle a relationship anymore. I didn’t want to leave, but staying would’ve hurt you even more.”

Her words hang in the air like a weight, the raw honesty cracking through the wall of confusion you’ve carried since the breakup.

Your breath catches as her words sink in. You’ve spent so much time replaying the breakup in your mind, blaming yourself, thinking maybe you had done something wrong, and now hearing this explanation leaves you unsure of how to feel. Relief? Frustration? Sadness?

"You didn't think I deserved to know that back then?" you ask, your voice trembling slightly as you try to keep your composure.

Ellie finally looks at you, guilt flickering in her eyes. "I didn’t know how to say it. I thought... I thought it’d be easier if you hated me. That way, you'd move on."

You shake your head, a dry laugh escaping. "Easier for who? Because it sure as hell wasn’t easy for me."

She runs a hand through her auburn hair, tugging at the strands like she’s punishing herself. "I know. I messed up. I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn't know I hurt you this bad."

The air feels heavy between you, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. You pull the jacket tighter around yourself, searching her face for sincerity. All you find is regret.

You sit in silence, though it feels like an eternity. The quiet is only broken by the rhythmic tapping of Ellie’s shoe against the concrete, her leg bouncing nervously.

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Breaking up with me?"

Your voice is steady, but your chest tightens as you glance up at her, bracing yourself for an answer you’re not ready to hear. Bittersweet nostalgia churns within you as you watch her intently, trying to decipher her expression.

Ellie averts her gaze, focusing on the trees swaying in the breeze and the students passing by—some clutching textbooks, others laughing as they shove their friends playfully. "You kissed that girl," she mutters, her tone laced with accusation. "Looked pretty cozy to me."

"You still didn’t answer my question."

Ellie’s jaw tightens as she finally turns to face you, her eyes sharp and conflicted. "What the fuck am I supposed to say?" she snaps, her voice rising. "It’s been a year, Y/N. What’s my explanation gonna change?"

You rise abruptly and descend the steps, shooting her a sharp glare as your jaw clenches tight. The rain pelts against your skin, but you barely notice, too consumed by the storm raging inside you. "At least I’d finally get the fucking closure I need to move on," you bite out, your voice cracking under the weight of your frustration. "I haven’t been able to date anyone else because of you. Every time I try, it feels like I’m betraying something that’s not even there anymore—"

"I don’t want you with anyone else," she interrupts, her voice cutting through the night with a raw, unyielding edge. Her arms cross defensively over her chest as she steps toward you, her posture tense.

You scoff, throwing your hands up. "So, what? I’m just supposed to stay single forever? Never move on, just because you don’t want me with anyone else?"

"That’s not what I meant!" she retorts, her voice cracking slightly.

"Then what the fuck do you—"

Before you can finish, Ellie closes the distance between you, her lips crashing onto yours in an ardent, desperate kiss. It’s urgent, almost reckless, yet it feels natural—your mouths moving together in sync, reigniting a passion you hadn’t felt in over a year.

You gasp softly but instinctively kiss her back, your arms sliding around her shoulders as hers settle on your waist, tugging you impossibly closer, as if letting go would mean losing you forever. A muffled moan escapes into her mouth when your fingers tangle in her hair, tugging lightly.

Her hands drift lower, skimming over your back before settling firmly on your hips, grounding you both in the heat of the moment.

After a moment, she pulls back, both of you breathless, your foreheads lightly touching as your frantic eyes lock. A small chuckle slips out as you lower your gaze, your hands sliding down her shoulders and chest to wrap securely around her torso, pulling her into a warm hug.

"Shit, I’ve missed you," you murmur into her chest, your voice laced with quiet relief as her familiar scent fills your senses. You sigh contentedly when her arms tighten around you, enveloping you in the embrace you’d longed for.

"I’ve missed you too, pretty girl," she whispers, her voice soft but steady, carrying the weight of unspoken emotions.

When you first arrived at the party, all you wanted was a chance to unwind. Now, looking back, a simple break was far from what you ended up with—but what you got was so much more.

Ellie Williams is back in your life.

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 9 Act 1, Scene 1

Summary: Time passes, but the memories remain. Rating: 18+ Word Count: 6.7k Warnings: **THIS CONTAINS SERIES SPOILERS** angst, language, mentions of alcohol, brief mention of vomiting (tw for anyone with emetophobia), slight duel pov A/N: Well... the imposter syndrome has hit me HARD. I'm extremely discouraged by this chapter, but i hope its a decent enough follow-up to what y'all read last :/ bear with me, the last two chapters will MORE than make up for it. i promise.

Masterlist | Ko-fi

Time didn’t exist anymore. 

You woke up. You went to work. You came home.

Over and over, the cycle went, and the days passed with no significance. You didn’t eat much, your appetite dwindling just as much as your motivation. It started to show in the way your clothes hung on your body and how your face thinned out. If you cared, you would go to the store and actually buy food, but the possibility of running into Joel kept you away. 

Joel.

Two weeks had passed since parent-teacher conferences—two weeks since you had hidden the book far away. You considered re-writing your lesson plans for next year; you never wanted to teach Romeo and Juliet again. You weren’t strong enough to analyze a story you had shared so intimately with someone you now considered a stranger because that’s what Joel was now: a stranger. A stranger you could still pick out in a crowd of a million people, a stranger whose lips were still imprinted on your skin even after countless hours spent in the shower. 

He was a stranger, and you hated him.

You were perched on the couch with a glass of wine—as most nights went now—when your cell phone buzzed on the coffee table. You didn’t reach for it initially; it was most likely your mom. She had tried calling a handful of times since you had hung up on her weeks ago. You never once called back, but you listened to the voicemails when you were drunk enough. Your dad had been discharged last week and started physical therapy for his hip. Stella and her boyfriend were moving in together somewhere in downtown Boston. And Beth…your mom never once uttered her name. She knew better than to do that. 

But the continuous buzzing of your phone began to irritate you, and you reached for it with an exasperated sigh. An unknown number flashed on the screen, igniting a sudden burst of anxiety inside your chest. Setting your glass down, you inhaled and answered the phone.

“Hello?” You cautioned.

Your name filtered through the receiver, a voice you weren’t expecting to hear.

“Bennett?” 

“Yeah, it’s me,” he sighed. 

“I didn’t think you’d reach out,” you said. “I tried to see you in the hospital, but Natalie…” You let your voice drift off. 

“I know. She’s not big on the idea of talking to you at all.”

“I’m so sorry again, Bennett. Joel shouldn’t have done that. I really don’t understand why it got to that point. I—.”

“I deserved it,” he said, cutting you off mid-sentence. 

You shook your head, your fingers knotting through the tangles in your hair.

“No, Bennett. No, you didn’t. He could have killed you,” you argued.

“He’s a man of his word, I’ll give him that,” he laughed. 

It was odd to hear Bennett talk so casually about this as if Joel hadn’t pummeled him into the ground. He should be mad, so why wasn’t he?

“Should I be waiting for a call from your lawyer soon?” You asked wearily. 

“If I wanted to come after you or Joel legally, I would be the one to do it. But that’s not happening,” he sighed. “It's too messy of a situation, and I really don’t want to go through the hassle. Natalie says otherwise, but she doesn’t really understand the situation.”

“The situation,” you echoed. “Joel told me his side of things after they took you to the hospital.  I still don’t remember anything, Bennett. Even if I did, I wouldn’t have been able to reach you. You left. You disappeared completely and broke my heart.”

There was a beat of silence. You took the opportunity to down the last of your wine, the beginnings of a light buzz coursing through your veins. Don't get angry, you told yourself. You didn’t feel much of anything anymore, but anger was never too far out of reach. Sitting with that emotion and festering in it was easy if you let yourself. Bennett deserved your anger just as much as the rest of them, but you needed answers more than you needed to feel anything.

“There’s a lot to explain,” he finally said. “I’m not sure if you even want to see me again, but I can drive up to Austin this weekend and tell you everything. Or at least everything from my side.”

Seeing Bennett again would unfurl so many unchecked emotions: heartbreak, betrayal, grief. But it would be something you needed. Joel wasn’t the one you were with those two years following the accident; he wasn’t the one you had walked down the aisle expecting to see. Bennett had been with you through it all. You wanted to hear it from his mouth. You wanted an apology and an explanation.

“Okay,” you exhaled. “We can do that. Will Natalie have an issue with it?”

“Natalie won’t know.”

“You’re going to lie to your wife?” You laughed bitterly at his admission. He was still the same person through and through. 

“She’s fine,” he huffed through the phone. “She doesn’t understand any of this anyway.”

“Whatever you say, Bennett. We can meet at a coffee shop this weekend. Don’t abandon me again. I deserve an explanation.”

“I won’t.”

The guilt in his voice was thick, and you relished knowing he was suffering. Everyone, not just you, deserved to suffer for what they did. 

You quickly ended the call with Bennett and returned to the silence surrounding you. Knowing you’d see him in just a few days was unsettling and uncomfortable. The lingering grief he had left still hollowed out your heart. No amount of apologies would fill it, but it could sew up the remaining holes. 

What couldn’t be filled was the gaping hole Joel had left within your heart. Secrets wrapped in scar tissue and carnage that could never be fully healed, and it still infuriated you that your love for him still festered inside. It buried itself deep under the confines of your numbness, but sometimes, when you lay awake at night, you could still feel it. You ached for him in growing unbearable ways, but you had to continue with your life. 

You hadn't prepared yourself to see Bennett the first go around, and you had since thrown out the shirt still stained with his blood. Now, you were standing amid a pile of clothes strewn around your feet, your hair still wet and wrapped in a towel, and a face that screamed insomnia. You looked beyond amends.

After another hour of procrastination and a ticking timeline, you threw on the most basic T-shirt and jeans and left your hair a wet mess.

It was only Bennett.

It wasn’t serious.

Nothing was these days. 

You pulled into a spot in front of a cafe a little ways into town, your car sitting idle as you stared at the storefront. You could faintly make out Bennett’s silhouette sitting in the window, yet your body wouldn’t move. You were feet from all the answers, but the anxiety bubbling inside you made you immobile. Did you actually want this? Was it better to be blissfully unaware? 

Would the answers hurt you more than help you?

Before the constant questions led you to flee, you opened your door and decided to face the truth. Walking into the cafe, your eyes connected with Bennett, and your heart sank. Even from a distance, the scarring on his face was horrible: a thick, red, jagged line stretching down his temple and ending at his cheekbone. Another raised scar creased his left eyebrow, dragging down the arch over his eye. 

Joel did this. 

Inhaling, you met him at the table, sliding into the chair without a word. Bennett’s lips curled into a smug smile, one you still hated, and his eyes glazed over your body. 

“You look like shit,” he stated. 

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. 

He shrugged, leaning back comfortably in his chair. Your eyes flicked down to the ring on his finger, the gold shimmering through the sunlight hitting the windows. 

“She really has no idea you’re here?” You questioned, nodding your head towards his hand. 

Bennett glanced down at his wedding band, his fingers twisting around the metal mindlessly. 

“No, she doesn’t. She thinks I’m out of town on business.”

“And where’s home for you now?” You asked. “I never really found out since you up and left without a trace.” You tried to swallow the bitterness coating over your words. 

“I live in Houston now. I found a firm seeking out a junior partner and settled down in the city,” he explained. “Trust me, I didn’t want to leave my life here, but it was the only option.”

You studied him momentarily, watching any signs in his body language that would frame him as a liar. But you found nothing to fault. 

“What do you mean it was the only option?”

Bennett leaned forward, intertwining his hands together.

“What exactly did Joel fill you in on?” Bennett asked, cocking an eyebrow.

You shifted in your seat. Bennett’s words hit a nerve inside you, one that was buried deep within the numbness and itching to revive itself on a spark of anger. Was there more Joel had kept from you? How much more heartbreak could you take before you completely withered away?

“He said you and I broke up after we moved to Austin,” you started. “That’s when I met him, and we started dating. I don’t know specifics or much more, but Joel said that when I woke up in the hospital, I asked for you, and that’s when my parents decided to reach out to you and cover up my memory.”

“He left out… a lot,” he emphasized.

“Oh.” 

“So, where do you want me to start then?” 

You chewed on your lip, glancing outside as the cars drove down the main road. If you had told yourself two years ago you’d be sitting in front of your ex-fiance learning about a life you never knew existed… you’d laugh. You’d laugh and tell yourself you’d gone crazy. 

“From the beginning,” you sighed. 

Bennett leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. His eye twitched, the tight scar scrunching the skin around it. You averted your eyes, dropping your gaze to your hands as they fidgeted in your lap. 

“Obviously, you remember us moving to Austin,” he started. “It was probably a month or two after that when we started arguing a lot. You were always mad at me for working too much. You complained all the time that I wasn’t present or whatever.” You deadpanned him when he said those words; it was the same as the arguments you remembered during the engagement. Bennett shrugged off your glare and continued. “Anyway, you finally got fed up with everything and called it quits. You moved in with your teacher friend, whatever her name is… I don’t remember.”

“Maria,” you grumbled. “Her name is Maria.”

“Right, yeah.” Bennett quirked a grin as if he knew the buttons he was pushing. “So, you moved in with Maria and must’ve met Joel shortly after that. We didn’t keep in touch during those two years, but I missed you—a lot.”

Now, it was your turn to hit him with a rueful grin. He was so full of shit, just like you remembered. 

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” you scoffed. 

“Believe whatever you want, but I did miss you. Even with all our fights, I loved you,” he admitted. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so after a while, I decided to reach out. I asked if we could go to dinner and talk, you know, work things out. I didn’t expect you to agree to it, but you did. And you know what happened? You laughed. You laughed at everything I said. You told me you were finally happy and in love and that you’d never consider the chance of getting back together. You sure do know how to hurt a man's pride.”

“You probably deserved it,” you said, shrinking back into your chair. 

“Yeah, probably,” Bennett exhaled. “Doesn’t matter now, though. Anyway, after dinner, you left, and that’s when the accident happened. I had no idea until your parents called me to the hospital and explained it all to me. Looking back now, I can see how incredibly fucked up it all was, but I wanted a second chance. Joel wasn’t happy with the plan at all. As a matter of fact, he punched the shit out of me right when I walked into the room.”

“What?” You balked. 

Bennett laughed dismissively, running a hand over his jaw. You tracked his moments, imagining what Joel must have looked like when he saw Bennett that night. An unwelcomed pang of guilt swarmed inside your chest, not for Bennett, but for Joel. You still hated him, but you couldn’t image the pain he had felt knowing he was losing you. The guilt subsided as you reminded yourself he had a choice to step in, but he allowed it all to happen anyway. He was an accomplice to your parent’s plans. He didn’t fight for you, and that realization stung. 

“You alright?” he asked, tilting his head to study you. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you faltered. “Just—just keep going.”

“Okay,” he cautioned. “I agreed to go along with your parent's plan. I knew it was fucked up, and I knew it would bite everyone in the ass one day, but I did it because I loved you. I wanted a do-over with you, and it felt like the perfect opportunity.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. If this conversation had happened weeks ago, you would have reacted differently, but there was no anger left to exhaust. You couldn’t be angry at Bennett, at least not for this. You were still allowed to resent him for what he did during the engagement and for leaving you at the altar, but this? This wasn’t something he did; he went along with everything because he loved you…supposedly. That was still arguable. 

“So, you got your perfect opportunity and decided to fuck it up.” 

Bennett inhaled sharply, drawing his lips into a thin line. There he was, the asshole you remembered. He didn’t like when you called him on his shit, and that’s exactly what you were doing. 

“I tried to make it work,” he argued. “I mean, I tried the best I could. I didn’t want to lose you again. So, yeah, I might’ve tried to prevent the chances of you getting your memories back, but it was because I loved you. Then I just got sick of trying. I got sick of you always asking questions and me having to lie. It was exhausting. And then you started saying Joel’s name in your sleep, and I just—.”

“Wait,” you interjected, holding up your hand. “I—I said his name in my sleep?”

Bennett laughed, running a hand over his face. There was a shift in his demeanor, a mixture of anger and sadness. 

“Why do you think I slept on the couch most nights? I couldn’t fucking stand it,” he grumbled. 

“Bennett, I didn’t fucking know I was doing that!” You shouted. A few people turned their heads at the rise in your voice, but you didn’t care. The anger was awakening inside you again, pounding to get out of the cage you had locked it in. 

“Yeah, I know,” Bennett said, rolling his eyes. “I still hated it. I hated knowing that even when you slept, you still loved him. I was never going to be the person to make you happy.”

Tears stung your waterline, and you swiped them away before they could fall. 

“That’s why you left.” It wasn’t a question. It was a realization. 

“I called Joel the night before the wedding,” he confessed, cringing at the admission. “I told him how I felt, and he told me to leave. Well, he didn’t tell me… It was more like he threatened me. He told me that if I didn’t, he’d find me. We both agreed to stay out of your life, and I think you can piece together the rest.”

You sat before him, speechless. You knew it all along; you were the reason Bennett was unhappy. Instinctively, you always knew it. But hearing it aloud? That was a pain you weren’t ready for. Everything was your fault, from beginning to end. Bennett couldn’t love you, Joel couldn’t fight for you.

Why were you so unloveable? 

None of this was your fault, yet everything pointed directly back at you. 

You had nothing left to say to Bennett, so you shoved away from the table and fumbled for your purse. He said your name cautiously, grabbing your wrist before you could turn away. You tried to free yourself from his hold, but he squeezed tighter. 

“Stop!” You snapped. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” Bennett pleaded. “I really am, whether you believe it or not. I fucked up a lot, and I regret the way I left. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“This apology would have meant a lot more two years ago, Bennett,” you cried, still trying to free yourself. 

“I know it would have, but I’m doing it now. Alright? I’m sorry for everything I put you through, and I know none of this has been easy for you—.”

“You don’t know shit,” you seethed. 

You finally wrangled yourself out of his grip, rubbing your wrist to alleviate the pain from his touch. Bennett stared at you, agonized. You had walked in here hoping for an apology and got it. But it wasn’t enough. What was the point in all of this if nothing healed the pain inside you? 

You stumbled out of the cafe with blurry eyes, the cage bars inside you breaking piece by piece. It was only minutes before the anger fully consumed you, and you needed to leave before you let it wreak havoc on everything around you. You needed silence. You needed solitude. You needed a hole to crawl into. 

Before you could open your car door, Bennett called out your name and tore you away from the swirling thoughts inside your mind. You tried to ignore him, but he was relentless. Whipping around to face him, you came face first with his chest as he pulled you into an embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tightening his arms around your ridged body. “Hate me all you want, but don’t hate Joel. I can have my own grievances with him, but he loves you more than I ever could.”

You slumped into his chest, letting the anger overwhelm you to the point of complete defeat. Crying in Bennett’s arms was the last place you ever expected to be in, but here you were, sobbing into your ex-fiance’s chest. He held you through each wave of emotions, remaining solid and silent. 

“Hey,” Bennett whispered, pulling away. “Obviously, I don’t know shit about what’s going on with you, but it’s going to be okay. It’ll take time, but you’re going to be alright. I hope you get those memories back one day. I really do. You deserve to remember the things you lost, and I’m sorry for ever getting in the way of that.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, wiping away the tears streaming down your face. 

Bennett gave you a soft smile and said his goodbyes. You watched him as he retreated to his car, waiting for him to drive away. As you turned toward your car again, you glanced up at the hardware store across the street, meeting the eyes of someone familiar. Someone you didn’t expect to see. 

Joel’s brother, Tommy. 

The resentful glare in his eye was deadly, and you couldn’t hide from it. He saw you with Bennett. He would tell Joel, even without knowing what had just transpired. For a brief moment, you wanted to rush over and explain everything to him, but you stopped yourself. It didn’t matter what he told Joel—at least, that’s what you told yourself. You could only shy away from Tommy’s scrutinizing stare and duck into your car. 

You had been gone too long from your numbness, and you missed it. It was time to bury yourself in your sadness once again and continue trying to unlove Joel Miller. 

**

Joel dumped his tools on the dining table with an exasperated sigh. He immediately reached for the fridge, grabbing a beer and popping it open in one fluid motion. As he leaned against the counter with the bottle at his lips, Joel heard the garage door slam shut. Peering around the corner, he tracked Tommy’s movements as he walked into the kitchen. 

“What crawled up your ass?” Joel grumbled. 

Tommy shrugged off his button-up and tossed it over a dining chair. He ran a hand through his greasy black curls before glancing at Joel. Joel shifted uncomfortably, trying to make sense of Tommy’s demeanor. 

“Seriously, Tommy,” Joel huffed. “Spit it the fuck out.”

“I saw her downtown,” Tommy finally said. “She was with that ex-fiance. The one you almost killed.”

Joel swore he felt his heart stop beating. Tommy must have seen wrong; it wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been you. You wouldn’t seek out Bennett, not after everything. You weren’t even seeking Joel out, even after two weeks of earth-shattering silence. 

“Are y’sure it was her?” Joel asked through clenched teeth. 

Tommy nodded, his eyes drawn to the floor. 

“Yeah, it was her. Not sure what was goin’ on between them, but I saw them huggin’ and all that outside of a lil’ cafe,” Tommy explained. 

“Probably doesn’t mean nothin’,” Joel shrugged, trying to let denial take over.

If he could deny it, then none of this was real. You weren’t with Bennett again—that wouldn’t happen. You wouldn’t do that. Bennett wouldn’t do that. Maybe Joel should have killed him. It would have torn you apart, but at least Joel could sleep at night knowing Bennett would never be in your life again. 

“Joel,” Tommy said, pulling him from his vengeful thoughts. 

“It doesn’t matter!” Joel yelled, slamming his beer bottle onto the counter.

The glass rattled between his fingers, and a slow trickle of liquid began seeping out of the crack he created. Joel glanced down at it, unbothered. 

“She’s not comin’ back, man,” Tommy sighed. “Y’gotta start movin’ on.”

“Go fuck yourself, Tommy,” Joel snapped.

He shoved off the counter and began to retreat down the hall, but not quick enough for Tommy. Tommy sidestepped in front of him, arms folded and a scowl twisting his lips. Joel knew Tommy hated everything about this situation, but he wasn’t the one experiencing the pain. He was just a bystander in all of this; he didn’t lay awake every night tossing over your words inside his head. 

I will never forgive you for this. 

Joel wasn’t losing you. He already lost you. 

“Listen, Joel. I know this is hard on you, but y’gotta face the truth. She’s gone, man. I know you tried your best to get her back, but it’s just not gonna happen. She deserves to make her own decisions for her life.”

“I know,” Joel sighed. “Doesn’t mean I don’t love her, still.”

Tommy’s brown eyes softened as he looked at Joel, his head dipping in agreement. 

“No one said y’had to stop lovin’ her,” Tommy offered. 

“I don’t think I ever will,” Joel said. 

Joel didn’t sleep much that night. Tossing between the sheets, Joel couldn’t steer away the thoughts of you in another man's arms—let alone Bennett’s. When Joel had seen you at parent-teacher conferences, he wanted to fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness. He knew you had taken the news rough, but seeing you so physically distraught was another type of pain he hadn’t been prepared for. You were a hollow shell of the woman he loved; your voice held so much bitterness when you spoke to him. Your eyes didn’t look at him with love…it was his own personal Hell. Parting ways with you like that nearly killed him, but not knowing what was going on in your life killed him more. Joel had spent two years in limbo after your accident, always wondering what life would be like if he had you back. And then he had it. He had three beautiful months with you, albeit they were spent wearing rose-colored glasses, but he had you again. 

In the blink of an eye, in one messy series of events, he lost you.

He lost you, and he knew you’d never come back. 

**

~Six months later~

You thought time would heal the wounds left inside your chest, but you were wrong. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and nothing felt better. You stopped talking to your family altogether, and the phone calls stopped coming after some time. Beth never tried to reconcile with you, nor did you try to fight for answers. Having your heart broken by Joel and Bennett was one thing, but having it broken by your sister was a different kind of pain. It was visceral. It was a betrayal so brutal you still had yet to recover. Thinking of the things she had said to you in Boston only left you with debilitating headaches; her words festered deeper than anyone else’s. 

The truth is that you are a fucking idiot. And on top of that, you’re a coward.

You weren’t the coward; Beth was. She chose to hold onto those secrets for the last few years and weaponize them against you. You weren’t the idiot; you were the victim. You were the victim in all of this, yet everyone wanted to pin the aftermath on you. 

You were a mad woman, haunting an empty house with no one to confide in. You cut off all friendships with other teachers, especially Maria. You became a hands-off teacher, only going as far as in-class readings, quizzes, and occasional tests when necessary. The students adapted to the shift in your mood, and while you lived with the guilt of becoming that teacher, it was the only way you could survive the work days. The less effort you put into things, the less risk you had for disappointment or frustration. 

Sarah avoided you at all costs during class. She no longer participated in class discussions—which were far and few—but kept her head low and her grades satisfactory. Sometimes, you’d catch her watching you during class, her hazel eyes swimming with concern. You couldn’t stomach looking at her for more than a few seconds. You weren’t sure if she ever reported back to Joel about you, and honestly, you didn’t care. Well, maybe sometimes you did. It didn’t happen often, but there were fleeting moments of unwelcome flashbacks to your time with Joel months ago. Flashes of his hands on your body, his crooked smile, his deep voice. They wove through your mind at the worst moments, and everything hurt again. 

The school year had finally ended, and your days were filled with endless bouts of nothing. You exhausted everything: plucking weeds in your front yard, rearranging your kitchen cabinets (for the seventh time), building a new bookshelf…You found anything you could to keep yourself busy and the wandering thoughts at bay. 

The Texas heat was becoming unbearable, so you opted to spend the weekend indoors, siphoning through your closet. Heaps of clothes cluttered the ground around you as you tore apart each shelf, miscellaneous keepsakes piled in the corner. It wasn’t until you were elbow-deep in the crevices of your closet that you found the book. 

Romeo and Juliet.

The flimsy spine and dog-eared pages taunted you. You sat motionless with your hands hovering over the book, torn between flipping through the pages and setting it on fire. Minutes passed, though they felt like hours, and you remained paralyzed, stuck in limbo between the past and present. You’d tell yourself it was a moment of weakness, but you grabbed the book and let your hands move through the pages. 

“Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.

And, to sink in it, should you burden love;

Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,

Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

If love be rough with you, be rough

with love;

Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. Staring at the margins of the pages, scribbled with your words and thoughts, you blinked back tears. You thought you were strong enough for this. Tossing the book halfway across the bathroom, you succumbed to the tears that pooled in your eyes. Laying on the messy floor, you wrapped your arms around your shins and stared at the book as it taunted you from across the room. Your eyes caught onto something peeking out of the pages, and you slowly tilted your head. 

That wasn’t…

No. 

You couldn’t pull yourself to your feet, so you decided to crawl to where the book lay. As you got closer, you started to make out the grainy features of Joel plastered onto a Polaroid. With shaking fingers, you lifted it into the light, your eyes growing wide. Basked in the hue of sunset sat Joel, his broad torso dressed in a white shirt, with the biggest smile plastered on his face captured in a moment of laughter. Something sparked inside your chest as you stared at it longer, your eyes memorizing every softened feature of Joel’s face. He still had that patchy beard you were so familiar with, the sparse spots along his jaw no different than they were now. Creases around his closed eyes proved that his laughter in the photo had been genuine. 

You missed his smile. 

Shaking away those tender thoughts, you tried to pull yourself to your feet, only to have your ankle caught in a strap of a dress, sending you crashing to the floor. Your arms tried to brace for impact, but you didn’t catch yourself in time. Your body smacked against the corner of your shower door, your head taking most of the impact. 

And everything went dark. 

“Sarah, you’re a mess!” You laughed. 

Her curls were caked with mud, and half her clothes were soaked. You, Joel, and Sarah had decided to drive into the small town outside the campground for dinner, and of course, you got caught in the rain. As you all made a beeline for the diner, Sarah tripped into a huge puddle between cars, splattering rainwater and mud all over herself. Joel couldn’t contain his laughter, and neither could you. 

Joel took a seat on the beach outside the diner, trying to catch his breath from laughing, but every time he glanced up at Sarah’s messy face, he lost it all over again. You scrambled through your backpack to find your Polaroid camera, snapping a quick picture. 

“Hey!” Joel laughed, grabbing you by the waist and dragging you down to the bench. 

“What?” You asked innocently. “It was the perfect opportunity! Plus, you look extra handsome right now.”

“Handsome, huh?” He smirked, peeking you on the cheek. 

You shook the Polaroid as it developed, presenting him with the proof. He was handsome. So fucking handsome. Joel reached for the camera in your hands, turning it quickly on you. You stuck out your tongue, trying to hold back another fit of laughter. 

“Perfect,” he grinned before turning toward Sarah. 

“Alright, kiddo. Smile!”

“Dad, stop!” Sarah wined. 

But Joel was too fast, the camera shutter going off right in time to capture Sarah’s big pout. 

Each of you had a Polaroid now, picture proof of a happy family. 

Pinpricks of pain stabbed into each side of your head as you finally roused from your sleep. You squinted through the harsh light of the bathroom, letting your eyes readjust to your surroundings. Everything was foggy, but you remembered. 

Oh God, you remembered everything. 

The nausea was quick to hit you, and you scrambled to the toilet. You weren’t sure if the fall was to blame for the sudden disruption to your body or the memories slamming back into place, but you were helplessly stuck with your head over the toilet. Flash after flash, like the shutter of your camera, everything fell back into place. 

“Oof! I’m so sorry!” You said, rubbing your nose.

You had turned the corner too quickly and smashed right into the solid chest of a student’s father. 

“S’all my fault, miss.” 

The voice alone sent shivers up your spine, but they multiplied as you gazed up into a pair of deep brown eyes. You lost all the words in your vocabulary as you took in the sight of the most handsome man you’d ever seen. He was too rugged and masculine to call ‘cute’; handsome fit him so much better. With dark scruff covering his jaw and creases around his eyes, whoever this man was…he was stunning. You were captivated.

“I really should have looked before I turned the corner,” you rambled. 

“Don’t go apologizin’,” he said, offering you a kind smile. “I coulda got outta the way.”

“Do you make a habit of taking up an obscene amount of space?” You joked. 

“Depends on the hall,” he countered, extending his hand. “Joel Miller.”

You told him your name, then shook your head. 

“I should probably keep it professional. You can call me Miss Smith.”

“Nah, don’t need all the formalities here. Your name is just fine.”

“Is your daughter enrolled here?” You asked. It was hard to maintain the color creeping into your cheeks. 

“That she is,” he said proudly. “Goin’ into third grade this year. She’s a real good kid.”

“I bet she is. I’m only student teaching while I finish my Master’s program, but I’ll be taking on a position with middle school students next year. Maybe she’ll be my student one day.”

“I reckon she’d be pretty lucky,” he offered. 

“Yeah?” Now, you were definitely blushing. 

“Yeah,” Joel smiled. “Somethin’ ‘bout you makes me think you’ll be one of the best teachers in the school.”

“That’s a bold statement, given the fact you hardly just met me.”

“I wouldn’t hate it if I got to know you more.”

Your eyes shifted down the hallway, watching for any teachers that might be coming. You weren’t sure what the policy was for flirting with a student’s parent, but it was hard to stop when he was so enticing. 

“I don’t think I’d hate it, either.”

Another wave of nausea hit you, and you groaned. The room was spinning, your body ached from falling, and countless memories continued to pile up inside your mind. 

You were overwhelmed. 

Those two years of nothing became everything in the span of minutes. 

Dragon Tales was playing softly in the background as you curled your body around Joel’s. His hand was tracing circles around your shoulder as you both “watched” the TV. Something electric pulsed between your bodies, an unavoidable shift that had continued to unfurl over the last several months. You didn’t know how to verbalize your emotions—at least, not without knowing if he felt the same. 

“Joel,” you whispered.

His eyes were already on you when you finally glanced up. It was written all over his face. It was the proof you needed; he felt the same. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“I really like you,” you confessed. “Okay, well, maybe I really, really like you.”

“Maybe I really, really like you, too.”

You peeled yourself from his warm body, turning to face him completely. 

“I’m gonna say something,” you warned. “Please don’t freak out. It’s okay if you don't—.”

Joel’s lips were pressed against yours before you could finish the sentence. You melted into his touch, your hands coming up to tangle in the messy curls at the nape of his neck. He held you firm to his mouth, his tongue dragging over your bottom lip. 

“I love you, baby,” he mumbled. “So much.”

You reeled him in for another frenzied kiss, all your efforts to contain your smile going down the drain. Oh, God. He loved you. 

“I love you, Joel.”

You sagged onto the bathroom floor. The throbbing in your head was growing stronger and stronger with each memory. You wanted to tear your brain from your skull and flush it down the toilet, but that wouldn’t help anything. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? All your memories were coming back, and yet, you desperately wished they would fade away again. 

You loved Joel. 

It was a fact you already knew, but remembering the exact moment you admitted…. You were going to be sick all over again. 

“Y’look so pretty in my t-shirt, baby,” Joel hummed.

He lay up against the headboard of the bed while you paced the room. You gripped the binding of your copy of Romeo and Juliet, your mind racing a thousand miles a minute. It was hard to focus when his bare chest was on display, the spattering of dark chest hair swirling down his torso and disappearing under the waistband of his boxers.

Focus. 

“Don’t distract me!” You pleaded. “Okay, you know how I was talking about how Romeo is just head over heels for Juliet? Get this: they kiss right away in the first act! He’s so bold with how he speaks to her, and then he just kisses her. And Juliet’s response is basically telling Romeo that all of his sin is on her lips now.”

“And what happens next, baby?” Joel asked, quirking a smile. 

“Romeo says, ‘Give me my sin again’, and then they kiss… again!” 

“Ain’t he just a romantic,” Joel chuckled. “Now, can y’get your sinful ass in bed?”

“What? This one?” You teased, flipping up the hem of his shirt. 

Joel’s eyes dropped to your backside as you exposed your naked body, and he nearly went flying across the foot of the bed to grab you. You shrieked with laughter as he tugged you onto the comforter, flipping you onto your back. 

“C’mere, baby,” he growled.

His lips trailed down your neck, sucking marks into the skin just below your collarbone. You let out a small whimper and helped guide the t-shirt off your body. Somewhere along the way, your book had dropped to the ground, but you didn’t care. You’d much rather give into the sin of Joel’s lips on your body. 

It felt like an eternity had passed when your stomach finally settled. You managed to drag yourself from the floor, staggering your way into the bedroom. The migraine behind your eyes had still yet to subside, so you threw yourself into bed and buried your body under the comforter and pillows. You had everything back—everything you wanted—but why wasn’t it enough? 

The images of Joel swam through the pressurized ache inside your mind; his smile refracted in the blinding light of a constant camera shutter. Snapshots of the past dissolved from the darkness, fragmented puzzle pieces slowly molding into place. 

Another flash, another memory. 

A frustrated scream erupted from your mouth, muffled into the pillows surrounding you. Every thought started and ended with Joel. Joel. Joel. Joel. Was this how it felt to go crazy? 

It was clear that sleep was evading you; it ran from the thought of Joel quicker than you could. Pulling yourself from the bed, you emerged into the bathroom once again and began rifling through the piles of clothes. 

What the hell were you supposed to wear to see someone who was no longer a stranger?

[peachdues]

Phantasmagoria (Part II)

Tell Me to Stop (Sanemi’s Version)

Sanemi x F!Reader • Modern AU • NSFW

A/N: read the fucking warnings before you report.

Massive TW: grief • loss of a parent • canon character death • drug and alcohol abuse • panic attacks • implied attempted sexual assault (not described, happens off-page • non-consensual photos being texted around (very briefly described, and then it’s just a mention of a bite mark) • violence between characters • brief description of Douma getting his face pounded in (deserved)

CW: 14k words. MDNI. explicit sexual content ahead (opens mid-fuck) • creampies • oral (f! and m!receiving) • rough oral • throat fucking • cum eating • ass-smacking • hate(?)fucking • toxic ass FWB • swearing • angst

I promise Part III will have angst BUT also lots of fluff/intimacy/care.

Without further ado!

Three weeks had passed since Sanemi first brought her home with him when Y/N realized she was utterly fucked.

Sure, at that moment, the platinum-haired man had her bent over his kitchen table, arms pinned behind her back as he pounded mercilessly into her, but she realized that she was also fucked because nothing had ever or would ever compare to the way Sanemi made her feel.

It had started only as an occurrence whenever they were out at night, with Y/N tugging Sanemi into Kizuki’s seedy bathroom to bounce against his lap. Sanemi had been forced to muffle his groans by sucking harshly on her breast as he fucked her against the bathroom wall, only for her to succinctly pull off him the moment he finished to return to her friends, Shinobu discretely handing her a napkin to wipe the remnants of his pleasure as it dripped down her thighs.

Then, she started letting him bring her back to his apartment from the various clubs and bars their groups visited. She grew content to let him lay her over the side of his bed to swirl that sinful tongue around her needy, demanding clit as his thick fingers steadily pumped in and out of her aching cunt while he fucked her mouth, his seed spilling down her throat with a force that threatened to obliterate any dwindling part of her that had not been utterly consumed by him.

But that still had not been enough for Y/N — or for Sanemi, apparently.

Because their late-night trysts had quickly evolved into near-daily rendezvouses, both stone-cold sober and texting each other in the middle of the day, in desperate need to feel the other’s body pressed flush against their own. And as wrong as it was, Y/N loved it; she craved it more than any pretty Wisteria pill or sticky fruity drink.

Because all it took was one taste for Y/N to end up right back in the scarred palm of Sanemi Shinazugawa’s hand, begging him to fuck her back to life.

And fuck her he did. The top of her sundress had been pulled down to her waist, and the wooden grain of his kitchen table bit into her bare breasts as Sanemi’s hips slapped roughly against her ass. Y/N was close to sobbing because god, it felt fucking good when he got rough with her like that, when he made her feel anything other than the crippling numbness that seemed to spread through her with each passing day.

He released her arms to lean forward and ghost his lips up her spine, all the way to the back of her neck, and Y/N came hard, just like she did every time they came together because Sanemi knew how to set every nerve in her body on fire with his addicting touch and addicting kiss.

One rough hand made its way under her jaw to twist her head back so he could claim her lips with his, coming as he did so, his groan of pleasure muffled by Y/N sliding her tongue into his mouth.

She hated how much she loved him.

—————————————————————————

They’d been sleeping together for nearly a month when Sanemi decided to test her patience.

“So, are we gonna talk about it?” Y/N cringed, because no, she most certainly did not want to talk about it; not then, not ever, and especially not with him.

“Why would we?” She responded flippantly, twirling the straw in the dregs of her drink. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Bullshit,” Sanemi snapped at her. “You’ve spent the last two years running away from us, and you think there’s nothing to talk about?”

Y/N met his stare hard, her own returning glare cold. “Running implies effort.”

“D’you really think I didn’t try to find you?” Sanemi grabbed her wrist, keeping her from getting up and leaving the bar. “But god forbid you be vulnerable, huh?”

————————————————————————-

“Oh, God forbid you be vulnerable, ‘Nemi,” Y/N gave him an exaggerated eye roll as she leaned her head against Kyojuro’s shoulder.

“You’re sayin’ you would let yourself get that…close with someone?” Sanemi argued, and with a sigh, Kyojuro paused the movie.

They weren’t supposed to be watching a movie with such steamy scenes, but Y/N’s mother had stepped out to cover a shift for a friend, and the trio of teenagers had been left without supervision.

Really, the movie hadn’t been that bad; but the film’s shining sex scene had been several minutes long, each of the teenagers shifting uncomfortably on the couch as the sound of moans filled the basement where they’d gathered to watch.

The scene had passed, but Y/N’s and Sanemi’s argument over a particular detail had not.

“If you’re already having sex, why does it matter what position it’s in?” Y/N half shrieked with laughter as both boys turned scarlet. “Isn’t intimacy the whole point?”

Sanemi turned his face away, embarrassed. “All I’m sayin’ is I don’t think I’d ever let a woman have that much power over me.” Sanemi was referring to the way the female character had climbed atop the love interest and began riding him, her head tipped back as loud, lascivious moans fell from her lips.

It was Kyo’s turn to laugh. “You’d have to get a woman in that position, to begin with, Shinazugawa.”

Sanemi made a disgruntled sound. “Bro code says you’re supposed to be on my side, Rengoku,”

Beneath where her cheek lay, Kyojuro vibrated as he laughed heartily. “I’m not saying I’m not! Just that you’ve got a few steps to take before you have to worry about it.”

“Worry about being too vulnerable,” Y/N screwed her eyes up and stuck her tongue out on the last word as she teased him, settling back in against the couch as she grabbed the remote from Kyo’s hand and re-started the movie.

—————————————————————————

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Y/N said frostily, stomping away from the bar and from him.

She didn’t know why she tried to run away from him, not when it was so pointless. Because an hour later, Y/N found herself on the edge of Sanemi’s bed, as he hooked her legs over his muscled shoulders. Face buried deep in her cunt, he lifted her off the mattress, suspending her mid-air and upside down as he ravished her while she sobbed for him to do more, to give her more until she could not possibly take anything else from him.

Perhaps he was punishing her; maybe she deserved it. All Y/N knew, as Sanemi finally tore his mouth away from her weeping core and flipped her onto her knees before slamming her back on his steely length, was that if this was her punishment for loving Sanemi Shinazugawa, she would gladly take it.   

The last thing she thought, as Sanemi spilled into her for the second time that evening, thumb swirling her clit and his teeth buried in her neck, was that she was grateful to be on birth control.

—————————————————————————

“Do you like doing that?” Kyojuro’s voice was hesitant over the vibration of the music and laughter of drunken revelers gathered to let loose on the Kizuki dancefloor, and Y/N had to lean closer to hear him at all.

Y/N frowned slightly as she pushed her dissolving Wisteria to her cheek. “It’s just a recreational thing, while we’re out, y’know?”

She didn’t know why she was explaining herself to him, or why she felt like she had to, but Kyojuro had always been one of the few people who could pull the truth out of her with little effort, and in the back of her mind, she knew that made him dangerous. After all, he might get her to confess that she’d missed his smile or missed the blazing heat of Sanemi’s stare whenever she spoke.

Kyojuro reached out and brushed a lock of her hair that had fallen loose from one of her space buns behind her ear. “You were always so straight-edge. I guess I’m just surprised.”

Y/N wanted to smack his hand away but found herself leaning into the steadying warmth of his touch. “Things change, I suppose.”

Kyojuro winced, and his eyes filled with a sadness that was too out of place here in this den of debauchery. “Where did it all go wrong, Y/N? What happened?”

It all went wrong when Sanemi and Genya’s parents were killed in that car crash, making the boys wards of the state who were then bounced around from foster home to foster home. It all went wrong when Genya defended another boy in a fight that wasn’t his to begin with and ended up dead on a sidewalk. It all went wrong when Sanemi lashed out at her and condemned her with a few choice words that seemed grossly disproportionate to what she’d actually said. It all went wrong when Kyojuro decided that being there for Sanemi meant he had to abandon her, too, and then they’d both forgotten about her while she’d lost everything.

But Y/N couldn’t unload all of that right then. “Things change, Kyojuro.” She repeated, though her voice was slightly weaker than it had been, wobbling slightly in a way that Y/N knew meant she would cry if given long enough.

“But you’re our friend, Y/N-” Kyojuro pled, but it was the wrong thing to say, and he cringed as he watched her clam up almost instantly.

—————————————————————————

“She’s our friend!” Kyojuro said hotly, though, with his missing front tooth, it was hard to see him as anything but adorable, even as he glowered at the sneering girl, as he helped Y/N stand up from where she’d been knocked over.

“What a weirdo!” Ume, the small, white-haired girl who always looked like she smelled something unpleasant, reached to yank one of Y/N’s pigtails harshly, causing her to cry out in pain. “And you’re ugly, too!”

Y/N had only been trying to join in on Ume’s tea party that she held with the other girls in their class. But when she’d boldly tried to sit down amongst them, the cruel little girl had shoved her harshly out of the circle they’d formed on the blacktop,

Kyojuro smacked the beastly little girl’s hand away. “Hit her again, and I’ll make you sorry!” He threatened, and for once, the girl had the wits to look slightly intimidated at the blonde who towered over her.

“If you hit me, I’ll tell my brother on you!” The troll hissed, but it did little to cow Kyojuro, who shouldered past her as he steered the softly crying Y/N away from the horrid little group of girls.

“Y/N, are you okay?” The blonde asked worriedly after they were out of sight of Ume, turning her around to look her over.

“I-I just w-wanted to be t-their friend!” Y/N hiccupped, her tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “But they were s-so mean!”

Kyojuro pat her head, just like he did with his baby brother. “You don’t want to be their friend, Y/N,” he said kindly. “Not when they’re so mean. Stick with me and Sanemi! We’ll always look after you!”

Y/N wiped her eyes and tugged at her loose pigtail, all messed from Ume’s harsh grip. “Do you promise?”

Kyojuro smiled as brightly as the sun. “I promise! I will always be here to watch after you – whenever you need me! I’ll be there!”

—————————————————————————

Y/N patted the warm brawn of Kyojuro’s shoulder sympathetically. “I was, Kyo,” her use of his nickname somehow made him hurt more, his mouth wobbling somewhat as his eyes mirrored the resignation in hers. “But it’s just as I said,”

Y/N reached for Mitsuri’s discarded drink on the counter and tipped it back, draining the last dregs of alcohol. “Things change.”

—————————————————————————

Y/N was leaning against the counter of the bar, nursing her beer as she watched her pink friend giggle and murmur sweetly to the black-haired boy dancing with her, the latter’s hands hesitantly gripping her friend’s waist.

“You don’t approve?” A familiar voice rose over the pounding bass of the club music from her side. Y/N didn’t have to turn her head to know who’d sidled up next to her – she would know his blistering heat anywhere.

She tapped her fingers against the sweaty side of her glass. “I just don’t know why he won’t make a move,” Y/N said after a long moment, a frown pulling at the corners of her red-painted lips.

Sanemi followed her line of sight and his mouth pressed into a hard line. “Maybe he wants to, but he thinks it’ll just make things worse.” He said after a moment, voice quiet.

Y/N hummed in disagreement. “He’s making it worse by not doing anything at all – he’s made her think it’s her fault things aren’t working out between them.”

“He doesn’t mean to,” Sanemi offered. “He does care about her. More than she realizes.” He watched as Obanai delicately brushed a strand of Mitsuri’s pink hair from her eyes.

Y/N finally rolled her head to the side to look at him, and idly she wondered if her eyes looked as numb as she felt. “If he did, he wouldn’t keep hurting her; wouldn’t have hurt her to begin with.”

Sanemi stared back at her, and it made her heart squeeze to see the faintest trace of pain in his gaze, even in spite of his small smile. “’S not that simple, though.”

She looked away. “It could’ve been,” Y/N took a long sip of her drink, part of her hoping that he couldn’t catch the jaded edge that crept into her voice. “And now all they know how to do is use one another.”

Sanemi’s gaze upon her was uncomfortable, and not just because it felt like he was stripping down every carefully crafted wall she’d erected around herself during their estrangement. The genuine flash of hurt in his eyes made her feel slick, oily, and so very wrong.

The pair watched as the mismatched couple on the dancefloor swayed together, Obanai’s eyes wide the whole time, as though he could not believe he had the good fortune of holding the beautiful, colorful girl in his arms. Y/N tried to feel happy for her friend, but it was difficult, especially when he knew that the night would inevitably end with Mitsuri in tears, lamenting that her dark-haired lover had yet again insisted he was not good enough for her, and he would leave Y/N to pick up the pieces of her friend’s broken heart.

“They should let themselves try,” Sanemi murmured, bringing Y/N’s attention back to him.

In one smooth gulp, Y/N polished off the rest of her drink, the warm buzz of alcohol loosening her tongue. “Trying is for those who haven’t lost hope.” Y/N squared her shoulders and steeled herself to return to the dancefloor once more. “And Mitsuri is about to learn that lesson.”

Later, just as Y/N predicted, Obanai left but Mitsuri did not go with him. As she wrapped an arm around her crying best friend to steer her out of the club, Y/N looked back to Sanemi, still at the bar, and hoped he could see the I told you so in her eyes.

————————————————————————-

It was July, and Sanemi was getting on her last nerves.

“Y/N, you need to stop,” Sanemi’s voice was gruff as his hand closed over her wrist, restraining her from raising the little violet pill to her lips — her second of the night.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “I didn’t realize you were my father,” she tried to turn away from him, but he caught her shoulder, wrenching her back around and swatting at the hand clutching her key to euphoria.

“Cut the shit, Y/N.” He ignored the way she glared at him, as she watched her pill bounced to the floor and disappeared. “You’re destroying yourself; you know that?”

Y/N’s blood turned to ice in her veins. “It’s none of your business, Shinazugawa,” and he flinched at her use of his surname. “Why do you even care?”

Sanemi almost looked menacing as he stares at her under the flashing strobes of the Kizuki. “You’re my friend.”

————————————————————————-

“Because Sanemi,” Y/N sniffed, “You’re my friend.”

Though Sanemi’s bandages covered most of his face, he could just make out the teary sincerity in the young girl’s eyes as she squeezed his good hand where it lay against his hospital bed.

At that moment, Sanemi had felt guilty for snapping at his long-time best friend. He’d known that she hadn’t meant any harm when she asked him if the multitude of lacerations that now covered the right side of his body were permanent. But Sanemi had woken up to the news that he and Genya were now all alone in the world, and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself; he couldn’t help his need to wallow in the sadness and misery that threatened to suffocate him.

And so, he’d lashed out.

“Tch, who’d wanna be friends with a scarred freak like me?” He snapped back, though the sourness in his gut intensified as the tears slipped faster down Y/N’s cheeks.

“I do,” she insisted. “We’ve been best friends since we were babies.” Amidst the sniffling desperation in her eyes, the first inklings of anger began to shine through. “You can’t just decide to quit being friends! That’s not fair!”

“I don’t care if you have scars!” Y/N’s voice grew more shrill over the slow, steady beeps of the various machines to which Sanemi found himself attached. “I’ve always thought you were…were… pretty!” She sputtered.

For once, Sanemi had been stumped into silence. The young boy found himself suddenly grateful that most of his face was indeed covered by several layers of thick medical gauze, given the way he felt his cheeks heat at Y/N’s furious declaration.

“And I will always want to be your friend!” Y/N finished dramatically, crossing her arms, and flinging herself back in the plastic chair she’d dragged over by his hospital bed.

“All right,” Sanemi murmured, grateful that he could blame the crack in his voice on his impending puberty. “All right. We’re friends.”

“Best friends,” Y/N corrected, though the sparkle had returned to her eyes.

—————————————————————————

Y/N laughed without humor. “You think, because we fuck when we’re high or drunk, that makes us friends?”

Y/N laughed again, and Sanemi’s grip around her wrist tightened. “As I recall, Shinazugawa, it was you who ended our friendship, well before we ever started—” Y/N grimaced. “Whatever this is that we’re doing.”

“We hook up when we’re under the influence. Nothing more.” She finished, coldly.

A flash of hurt flit across his features, almost obscured by the pulsing lights of the club. “I’ve been sober for the last month, Y/N.”

Sanemi’s answer landed harder than she’d anticipated, in no short part because she hadn’t noticed he’d stopped taking Shinobu’s Wisteria, much less stopped drinking while they were all out together. As he said it, however, Y/N recalled the way it had been more than a month since they’d last hooked up at night, with Sanemi responding to her texts only in the morning or early enough in the evening before she’d had the chance to fall under the Wisteria’s magic spell.

In the back of her mind, Y/N knew she should be concerned with the way the Wisteria was beginning to dull her perception and her memory, but she couldn’t find it within her to care at that moment. She only wanted to make the man before her hurt, hurt the way he’d made her hurt for all these months.

But she couldn’t. There were a million insults on her tongue, waiting to be used, and she knew that he could take whatever it was she threw at him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“The sentiment is the same, drunk or sober,” Y/N said, half-heartedly. “We’re not friends. We haven’t been for a long time.”

The pain in Sanemi’s eyes was overshadowed by his own anger, a sure match to her own. “No? So, I’m just a stranger to you, hm?” He took a step closer to her and reached out his hand, gliding it teasingly up her bare arm. “A stranger whom you call and text every day to come and fuck you the way you like it, huh?”

He pulled her close to him, and Y/N let him because he was right, damn him. She craved his touch, his body, more than any tiny purple pill or acidic drink she could spend her money on. She craved him just as surely as she craved air.

But she could not admit that to him, not then, not there. So, Y/N merely breathed, “Yes,” as Sanemi’s hand wrapped under her jaw, his other one tangling in her hair to pull her head back and meet his eyes directly.

Sanemi kissed her, softly, before pulling away to smile ruefully at her. “Then have your pills, Y/N. But you can’t have me, too.”

He released her, and Y/N stepped back, thankful for the dim lighting of the club that concealed her blush. “I don’t need you,” she whispered, though she knew it was a lie. From the look that Sanemi gave her in response, as he retreated towards the bar, she could see he knew it, too.

Y/N sought out Shinobu for another one of her magic pills, but even before she’d allowed it to dissolve on her tongue, Y/N knew something was off. No longer was her world a vibrant array of colors beckoning her to the kaleidoscopic paradise she’d come to love. Instead, the Wisteria crumbled bitterly in her mouth, and no amount of stinging alcohol could chase away its acerbic aftertaste.

She tried to lose herself on the dance floor as she so often did, but it only worsened the sludge that pulsed through her veins.

Beneath the throb of multicolored lights, Y/N felt as though she was suffocating.

Y/N pushed and elbowed her way dizzily through the crush of people on the dance floor, lungs constricting to the point of pain as she struggled to take a breath, her limbs trembling. Her eyes landed on a pair of lilac irises studying her from across the club, and distantly, Y/N noticed how he straightened, his focus lasering in on her as she stumbled towards him.

She couldn’t deny the irony that she was so used to fleeing from him into the sparkling, sweaty array of club-goers, only to find herself desperate to run to him, for safety and comfort, away from the revelers who were suddenly too loud and too close.

He met her halfway, having moved from his place against the bar counter after noticing her distress. With more relief than Y/N knew she should feel, she collapsed against him, grateful for the steely warmth of his arms as they closed protectively around her. In his embrace, she found that she didn’t even mind the way his lips pressed against her damp forehead as he asked whether she was okay.

She wasn’t, and that was his fault to begin with, but he was there, holding her as if she mattered, and Y/N let herself melt.

—————————————————————————

An hour later, she was back in Sanemi’s apartment, crouched over his toilet while the cold tile of his bathroom floor bit into her knees as she heaved up her guts. Sanemi was there, too, seated behind her on the ground while he held her hair in his gentle grip, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into her back.

Between the spasms in her stomach, Y/N wondered if he could see the black sludge of her love for him mixed in with the bile courtesy of Shinobu’s bad Wisteria pill.

————————————————————————-

The next morning, he was yelling at her.

Y/N was confused as to why, exactly, his voice was raised at her, given how gentle he’d been with her the night before; it wasn’t as if she’d been trying to do anything different when he awoke.

She’d just been gathering her things to leave, as she always did. She never stayed after they’d finished, and he knew that — so it wasn’t her fault that he’d woken up and caught her trying to sneak out of his apartment.

“This has gotten out of hand, Y/N. You’re out of control,” Sanemi was blocking his front door, his face hard. If Y/N hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought she saw a hint of concern intermingled with the anger that filled his eyes.

“You were lucky last night that you only had a bad trip — but what if it had been mixed with something? What if Kocho’d made a bad batch?”

Y/N’s head was pounding, and the aftereffects from her the previous night were still echoing through her, twisting her world into something dark.

Sanemi’s raised voice wasn’t helping; not in the slightest.

Y/N felt her hands drift to her head as she covered her ears, her breath quickening as her lungs squeezed and spasmed in her chest.

“Stop,” Y/N pled, but her voice was weak and distant, and utterly drowned out by him.

“You’re killing yourself, don’t you see that?” Sanemi continued hotly. “D’you know how gaunt you look? How frail? This shit is killing you, Y/N.”

“For someone who constantly needs to be in control, you’ve completely lost it.”

“Stop, please, stop,”

“What would your mother think?”

“Stop.” Y/N repeated, and she said it again and again until she was half-screaming it, sobbing as she fell back against the hallway wall of Sanemi’s apartment. Distantly, Y/N recognized she was having a panic attack, and she knew it wasn’t really his fault, but his words had stung nonetheless.

Warm, gentle hands closed around her wrists as Sanemi lowered her hands from her ears and pulled her against his chest.

“Breathe,” he said, hoarsely. “Breathe, Y/N.”

It was too difficult to get a breath down as she gasped against him, his chest bare under the shirt he’d thrown on and failed to button in his haste to stop her before she could run. Beneath the warm skin under her cheek, Sanemi’s heart beat strong and sturdy, a lullaby that soothed the roar in her ears.

“Breathe with me,” Sanemi coaxed, peeling back from her, his hands coming to rest on either side of her head as he pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. He inhaled, deep, for three counts before exhaling, and Y/N found herself falling into sync with him as her erratic heart slowed.

But as the jittery panic beneath her skin eased, a fire ignited in her blood, and suddenly, Y/N found herself boiling with anger.

“How dare you?” She shoved him away harshly, her eyes wild. “Who the fuck gave you the right to bring my mother into this? Don’t act like you suddenly give a shit about her memory.”

Sanemi stumbled back under her push, and he looked remorseful, more guilty than Y/N had ever known him to seem. “Y/N, I –“

“No, shut the fuck up,” She snapped. “I don’t believe you for a second, Sanemi. Not for one fucking second do I believe you care about me or about her at all.”

Y/N paced in front of Sanemi, still situated in front of the only entrance to and exit from his apartment. Fine, if he wanted to keep her in there with him, then he could deal with her rage.

“Not one fucking call,” Y/N began. “Not once did you or Kyojuro bother to check-in. ‘Hey, sorry we haven’t spoken in nine months, but we heard your mom got cancer, and she used to feed us when our parents wouldn’t, so we thought we’d check in and see how she was doing.’” She mimicked, cruelly. “Do you see how fucking simple that could have been?”

Sanemi only stared at her, his eyes an unfathomable mixture of sadness, remorse, and pain.

“But you didn’t,” Y/N said coldly. “You two fucked off and continued your merry little friendship together, so spare me the bullshit.”

“Y/N – Kyojuro cares. I care –“ Sanemi tried, but Y/N cut him off once more.

“Shut the fuck up!” She exploded, her hands flailing in front of her as she tried to push him away from her once more. “You don’t care, you never did! I’m just a warm body for you to fuck and that’s it.”

Y/N finally shoved past him, hand reaching for the door. “Don’t you dare pretend like I mean any more to you than that,” She spat.

She flung his door open, but Sanemi’s hand shot past her, slamming it shut once more. Y/N stood there, facing the door, chest heaving as she struggled to control her anger. “Let me go, Sanemi.” She said stiffly, refusing to turn around, to face him.

Sanemi’s hand found her shoulder and turned her around instead, and before she could blink, his mouth slammed down angrily over hers, his hands gripping her waist tight as his teeth nipped her bottom lip, demanding entry that Y/N couldn’t help but give him.

He was her weakness; always had been, always would be.

Sanemi pressed her against his doorway, a strangled groan tearing from his throat as Y/N palmed him through the sweatpants he’d haphazardly thrown on.

“Y/N,” he groaned as she increased the pressure of her hand slightly, her lips moving to his neck as she licked one of the small scars that lay near his jaw.

“I need you, Sanemi,” She murmured, and Sanemi’s eyes blew wide as he growled, arms locking around her middle as he heaved her up against his door.

Their lips met in a fiery exchange of tongue and teeth, biting, and sucking at the other possessively as they tore each other’s clothes from their body. Y/N ground down against Sanemi’s thick, bare length as it bounced against the underside of her thigh, the slick wet of her heat grazing him and causing him to moan in her ear.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Sanemi growled as he spun them away from the door, guiding them towards his kitchen as he laid her out over his counter, an arm only leaving its position at her waist to clear the assorted mail and spare keys he’d had organized there, letting it all fall to the linoleum floor.

Sanemi’s fingers worked their way between her legs as his lips wrapped around the peak of her breast and sucked, causing Y/N’s back to arch gracefully off the surface of his counter. His thumb stroked her aching bundle of nerves as his index finger swirled around her entrance, teasingly gathering her wetness around the calloused digit, before he sunk it into her, curling it so that he brushed against that sensitive spot on her front wall.

“Sanemi – ah,” she panted as he added yet another finger, her eyes nearly crossing at the sensation of his hand scissoring in and out of her, while his thumb continued to play with her clit. “I can’t wait – please,”

He hesitated for a moment, no doubt fighting every urge to sheathe himself within her heat in a single stroke, but he withdrew his fingers, nodding. With a surprising softness, Sanemi flipped Y/N over, pressing her down against the cool top of his kitchen counter, and used his knee to knock her thighs apart. One hand braced on her hip, the other gripped him at his base as he nudged her opening from behind, Y/N nearly drooled as she felt the hot, flared tip of his cock pressing flush against her entrance, and she rapaciously ground against him, eager to feel him inside of her.

Sanemi gradually eased himself into her wet, aching heat, no doubt taking his time because she’d demanded he take her before properly preparing her. Y/N whimpered at the stretch of her walls around him, as Sanemi groaned, loud and unrestrained, as he sank into her warmth, his chest heaving behind her.

One broad hand slid down the side of her leg, lifting it up to rest on the counter. With one long draw of his hips backwards, nearly withdrawing from her waiting cunt, Sanemi slammed back into her with a force that had her choking for her breath.

Sanemi began to fuck her, and she swore she saw the gates of Heaven.

With every sharp push and pull of his steely length, Y/N felt her eyes roll further back into her skull, as a stream of cries and whimpers poured from her mouth. She was helpless to do anything but push herself back against him as he pounded into her, slamming her back onto his cock over and over, as he moaned and cursed under his breath.  

“Fuck,” Sanemi panted in her ear. “Y/N – just stay. With me. Please.”

But Y/N did not answer him; could not, due to the incessant roll of his hips into hers, as Sanemi increased the force with which he thrust into her with every passing second, threatening to snatch every sane thought from her head.

Sanemi pushed her leg further up on his kitchen counter, a hand coming to rest against a cupboard to steady himself as he thrust deeper into her velvet heat.

His lips danced down the back of her neck, biting and sucking. The drive of his hips forced hers to bounce against the counter, the cheap plywood and plaster biting into her hipbones with every impassioned thrust of Sanemi’s cock as he withdrew from her glistening core, only to slam himself back into her.

“Ngh, Sanemi,” Y/N moaned, pushing herself back against him, needing him to go faster, harder, to make her forget all the ways he’d made her feel lonely and unwanted.

He bit down on her shoulder blade as his thrusts grew sloppy. “God, you feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.”

Y/N was too enthralled by the hurried drag of Sanemi’s length in and out of her desperate cunt to care that he’d referred to her as “baby.” He could call her anything, anything at all, as long as he kept fucking her the way he was, against his kitchen counter.

Sanemi angled his hips and began hammering at the spot deep inside her that had her vision nearly whitening out.

“Fuck, S-Sanemi,” She whined. “I’m gonna cum—.” The ache in her belly flared the way it always did whenever Sanemi brought her close to her end.

“Not yet,” Sanemi groaned, though he found it difficult to keep holding himself back. “Stay with me a little longer, sweetheart.” One hand left its bruising grip on her hip in favor of reaching around her to squeeze at her breasts, as he rolled one of her nipples between his expert fingers.

“I can’t,” Y/N cried, begging. “Sanemi, please, oh please-,”

Sanemi removed his arms from her and brought them to the front of her knees, straightening her legs so they stuck out behind her, one braced on either side of his hips as he increased his rhythm, the loud clap of Y/N’s skin against the counter as he pounded harder into her threatening to drown out her moans.

Once he was sure she would not lower her legs, Sanemi’s hand came down against her backside, smacking her as he bounced her against him.

Y/N cried out in pleasure, beseeching Sanemi to do it again, and he obliged, bringing his hand down against her other cheek as she sobbed. Sanemi hissed as he felt the eager walls of her cunt squeeze him to the point of pain, keeping his bruising length locked within her as he chased his release.

The slight sting of his hand against the sensitive skin of her ass was too much for her to bear; with a keening howl, Y/N shattered around him, Sanemi following suit as his cum shot into her with a force that made him see white, her name the only mantra on his lips.

She was still in the thick of her orgasm when Sanemi abruptly pulled out, his cum dripping from her spasming core and onto the floor beneath them. She didn’t have time to protest, however, as Sanemi dropped to his knees behind her, where she was still spread wide for him, and began to feast upon her, his teeth and lips wrapping around her clit and sucking so hard, she nearly levitated off the counter, her thighs clamping tight around his head.

Y/N could not find it within herself to feel sorry for his neighbors as she screamed his name, her throat burning with the effort as Sanemi hauled her back to her peak and sent her tumbling over it once more, this time stronger than she’d ever felt.

He did not stop; he continued to suck at her through the prolonged waves of her climax, his warm fingers coming to slide into her opening and massage his cum into her quivering walls, making her see stars as his fingertips brushed the spongy part of her innermost wall, her legs spasming around him.

A gush of fluid sprang forth from her, thoroughly coating Sanemi’s face and he groaned with satisfaction, pressing his mouth even harder against her, as though the mixture of his cum with hers was the most intoxicating elixir ever to pass his lips.

Y/N’s pleasure-delirious sobs were muffled against the counter as the aftershock of her successive orgasms wracked through her, her body quivering from the exertion. As the spasms in her cunt subsided, Sanemi finally stepped away, pressing featherlight kisses against her spine, so gentle in contrast with the delightfully brutal way he’d just reminded her that she’d never be able to run away from this – from him.

Sanemi rocked back on his heels, hands braced against the counter as he caught his breath. “Let me clean you up,” he said after a moment, his voice hoarse.

Y/N’s limbs had been reduced to liquid, so she did not complain as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to his bathroom.

He sat her gently on the edge of his tub and moved behind her to turn the water on, holding his fingers under the steady stream until it was hot – just the way he knew she liked it.

“I don’t want to take a fucking bath here,” Y/N snapped, turning to glare at him. “Just give me a towel and be done with it.”

Sanemi recoiled slightly, and it made her chest hurt. “Was – was that okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Only in every way a person could be hurt, but not through his actions in the kitchen. She wanted nothing more than to take his face in her hands and kiss him, to assure him that, at the very least, she’d loved every second of the way he’d spread her across his counter. But the love in Y/N’s heart had turned it into a black, decaying lump, and so, her response only matched her rotten core.

“It was fine – we’re not a fucking couple,” She snatched a washcloth from his hand and shoved it under the faucet, dampening it and then moving to wipe it between her legs. “So, stop trying to act like we are.”

Sanemi stood back, his arms folding across his chest and his expression unreadable. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled after a moment. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

It was the gentleness with which he spoke to her that enraged her even more, even though she knew she was being irrational. “It’s whatever,” she muttered, folding the used washcloth back up and laying it neatly over the edge of the bathtub. “I’ve gotta go.”

Sanemi nodded and left the bathroom, still naked himself, and returned with her discarded clothes and underwear. Once he’d passed them to her, he retreated back to his room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Y/N tried to ignore the guilt in her stomach when he did not emerge to say goodbye, as she opened his front door and disappeared into the mid-day sun.

—————————————————————————

All of her friends were traitors.

Not one of them was in the mood to venture out with her, not even Mitsuri, who was newly in a relationship with Obanai, the moody, awkward boy having finally plucked up the courage to confess his feelings for the bubbly pinkette.

Thus, Mitsuri no longer needed Wisteria or sticky drinks to feel high; she had love.

Y/N was happy for her – really; but she wasn’t happy to lose her reliable going-out friend.

So Y/N was on her own at the Kizuki lounge, though she didn’t really mind all that much. She’d become such a regular in that dark den of iniquity that a few other lost souls recognized her as their own and were only happy to dance with her. Unfortunately, however, Shinobu was nowhere in sight, and thus, Y/N was left utterly without the comforting lull of her friend’s Wisteria.  

As Y/N pounded back another round of shots, wincing at the burn of the green apple liquor which slid down her throat, a sultry voice spoke.

“Well, it’s rare to see such a beautiful thing like you alone in a place like this,” Y/N turned and saw a familiar yet unnerving pair of eyes – the same she’d seen a few weeks earlier at the club, the first night she’d danced with Sanemi – blinking at her.

He was familiar – she’d seen him around on campus and knew him to be relatively involved with student life. Y/N scoured her brain, trying to place a name on the white-haired man smiling at her like she was something to be devoured.  

“Douma, right?” Y/N recalled, and the man nodded, his smile widening revealing a set of too-sharp canines.

“I’m flattered you know my name,” his voice was almost flirty, if not for the sickeningly sweet edge in it that set the hair on her arms standing. “Though, I only know you as Shinobu’s friend,” he pouted.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You know Shinobu?”

The man with the jewel-colored eyes nodded, smiling dreamily. “Shinobu and I are old friends – business partners, even. And me and her sister go way back.” Douma reached out and toyed with a loose strand of Y/N’s hair, and she fought the urge to shudder. “Tell me your name, gorgeous? I’ve seen you around, though Shinobu always barks before I ever have the chance to talk to you.”

Y/N laughed, softly. “Shinobu’s bark is always worse than her bite, I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Douma leaned in close, and his cologne was strong and sensual in a way that made Y/N’s head feel fogged. “And what about your bite? Surely, someone who hangs around with Shinobu is bound to pack a bit of a punch.”

He knew how to flatter, she’d give him that. “I’m afraid I’m all bark, Douma.” And, because she felt lonely, and because she felt a little desperate, she added, “Though I might be inclined to bite if given the right incentive.”

Douma tipped his head back and laughed, deeply, and it made Y/N’s heart flutter. “You are something, aren’t you, Y/N? I can’t believe your friends would let you wander out by yourself.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, and helped herself to the smiling man’s drink, his grin only widening as she polished off its contents. “I need no babysitter, unfortunately for them.”

“No you do not,” Douma purred. “Well, since you’re a free agent tonight, how about you come by my place? My roommate and I are throwing a huge party – I’d bet nearly half the campus is there already.”

Y/N didn’t doubt it; Douma’s parties were something of a campus legend.

“And, I believe I have something that might make it worth your while,” Douma smirked, pulling a small plastic baggie from his pocket. Within it, sat three of those coveted lilac pills, and Y/N’s mouth watered.

“I think that’s exactly the kind of incentive a girl looks for,” Y/N teased, standing with Douma to leave the Kizuki, the latter’s hand coming to rest on the small of her back. Y/N and Douma chatted animatedly as he led her to his car, and Y/N could almost ignore the unease tugging incessantly in her stomach.

She shook off the feeling. After all, if she squinted hard enough, Douma could almost pass as Sanemi.

—————————————————————————

Kyojuro answered his phone with a noncommittal grunt.

“Akaza?” He said, surprise coloring his features. Sanemi perked up at the name of the boy from their hometown but was filled with unease at the way Kyojuro’s face darkened.

“We’re on our way.” Kyojuro clicked his phone off and met Sanemi’s questioning look.

“You know that party on 52nd? We need to go — now.” Kyojuro was already rising, his wallet and keys in hand.

Sanemi didn’t question his best friend, but his phone dinged in time with Kyojuro’s, and both paled at the text image they’d received from an unknown number, sent to each person in their friend group.

It was an image of Y/N, though only half her face was visible — but it was clear she was crying and she looked fucking terrified. Mascara streaked down her cheeks as she held her arms up protectively in front of her. But those too-thin arms could not obscure the blooded, crescent-shaped bite mark just above her breast.

Shinobuuuu your friend is lovely! The message below the image read.

A second, follow-up message dinged. Next time, fucking pay me, hm?

Kyojuro looked back in horror at his best friend but broke into a cold sweat as he beheld the murderous rage that caused his friend to tremble.

“Let’s go.” It was all the white-haired man said as the pair slammed Kyojuro’s apartment door behind them and head for his car.

—————————————————————————

“There you go, Y/N – you should be safe here until we can get you out, yeah?” The pink-haired man opened a door to a hidden closet behind the stairwell in his private room, one he knew with certainty that Douma knew nothing about. “I called you a ride already.”

Y/N sniffled, wiping at her cheeks as she brushed by the man to sit on a trunk sitting in the closet. “Thank you, Hakuji. I owe you one.”

Akaza smiled and shook his head. He’d always liked Y/N – she was always kind to him growing up, and she was one of the few people to call him by his actual name, rather than that abhorrent nickname that he couldn’t seem to shake.

“Nah, I can’t stand that fucker,” Akaza grimaced, checking behind him to ensure no one had snuck in and found them hiding. “Douma always takes things too far. I try to help when I can, but I don’t have eyes everywhere.” He frowned as he considered her. “I’m just glad I saw him bring you in.”

Y/N didn’t say anything, instead only nodding. Akaza sighed. “I’d better get back to the party. Douma’ll go snooping if he can’t find me and I really don’t want to risk him finding you again.” He began to push the door shut. “This locks from the inside. Don’t open it for anyone else – I’ll come get you when your ride is here.”

Y/N nodded. “Thanks again, Hakuji. Say hi to Koyuki for me the next time you see her.”

Akaza smiled warmly and closed the closet door, sealing Y/N safely within.

————————————————————————-

For Y/N, sitting alone in that cramped, dark closet, it felt like hours had passed since Hakuji had locked her away, out of sight from Douma’s unnerving eyes. Y/N was getting antsy, until the sound of gasps and screams from below set her stomach twisting with panic. She began to hyperventilate when she heard footsteps – two pairs, one heavier than the other – rapidly approaching the closet door as the knob began to twist.

Tears were leaking down her face, hot and fast, as a knock sounded against the door.

“Y/N!” Someone hissed. “It’s me – open the door.” It was not Akaza on the other side, but a much warmer, much more familiar voice that had her nearly sobbing with relief.

With a shaking hand, Y/N flipped the lock and the door swung open, revealing the most comforting presence she’d ever known.

Kyojuro stared at her, a mess on the floor of Hakuji’s closet, his expression unreadable. Leaning towards her, he closed a warm hand gently around her wrist and hauled her to her feet, his eyes running over her as those scanning for injury. His nostrils flared at the small dab of blood that had dried on her shirt, concealing the bruising bite mark below.

Kyojuro’s burning grip remained on her as he led her out of Hakuji’s room – the pink-haired man nodding reassuringly at her as she passed him by. Kyojuro halted at the top of the small staircase to the main floor, an eerie silence interrupted only by an occasional gasp below.

He turned back to Y/N, his face stony. “Don’t look,” he warned. “Keep your eyes forward until we get out of here, no matter what.”

A lump formed in Y/N’s throat as the pair descended the stairs, slowly. They almost made it to the front door, where Y/N could see Kyojuro’s car pulled half-onto the lawn outside, still running, when a strange wet thump snapped Y/N’s attention to the adjacent room where party attendees had been dancing only moments before.

Y/N froze as she took in the crowd, gathered, and parted around two men, hunched on the floor, as they all looked on in stunned horror.

It was Sanemi, with Douma pinned beneath his knees, as he mercilessly pounded his fist into her would-be assailant’s face.

Douma was covered in scarlet, and the swollen features of his face were nearly unrecognizable as Sanemi slammed his knuckles into him, over and over. Douma only wheezed out a laugh, apparently egging Sanemi on.

Y/N parted her mouth in horror, ready to call out for Sanemi to stop, but Kyojuro tugged her sharply through the front door and away from the grisly scene.

“Don’t,” he said, softly. “Let him get it out.”

Kyojuro hauled her to his car, pausing only to open his passenger door before gently pushing her to sit down in the worn seat. Y/N didn’t challenge him as he reached over her and buckled her seatbelt, noting the fire raging in his eyes.

Her friend rejoined her on the driver’s side and pulled roughly out of the yard of Douma’s party house, speeding off down the street. Y/N opened her mouth to speak – to say anything, when Kyojuro held up his hand as his other pulled his phone free from his pocket. He read something on the screen, before clicking it off, returning his eyes to the road.

“It’s Tengen – cops have been called.” He explained, his voice low and face hard.

Y/N swallowed thickly. “Sanemi’s going to get arrested.”

Kyojuro snorted. “If Tengen shows up first, Sanemi will be fine. The cops have been looking to bust Douma for months.” Kyojuro slowed at a stoplight and cut his eyes over to where Y/N sat, curled on his seat, looking so small and so vulnerable.

“Y/N,” his voice possessed a gentleness she didn’t deserve, and it only made her mash her lips together in an effort to keep the tears in her eyes. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

She flinched, folding her arms tight across her chest, the spot where Douma bit her aching. Slowly, the memory of a phone camera flashing in her face, mere seconds before Hakuji had exploded into the room, cursing up a storm at Douma as he’d covered her with a blanket, blitzed out of her mind.

“The photos,” she whispered, hands covering her mouth in horror. “Oh, god –,”

Kyojuro’s hands tightened on his steering wheel, his knuckles white. “Y/N,” his voice cracked, just like her heart. “If you’d rather me call one of the girls, I will --,”

Y/N shook her head, urgently. “No, no, Kyo, he didn’t – he only bit me.”

Kyojuro’s grip on the steering wheel relaxed, though only marginally so. “Only bit you,” he repeated, shaking his head in disgust, that cold rage still pulling at his face, contorting the face she loved into something brutal, violent, and unforgiving.

He looked back at her as she trembled in his passenger seat. “What do you need, Y/N?”

Y/N fought to keep her voice steady. “Can – can you just drive, Kyo? Please?”

He nodded, and the two drove in silence for an hour, her friend randomly getting off and on the interstate as the sights of the city passed them aimlessly by.

Kyojuro abruptly pulled his car over to the side of the road, coming to a stop and slamming it into park, before turning to look at her.

“Y/N,” the sound of his voice was so strangled, so pained, that Y/N couldn’t stop the tears from falling down her face, and into her lap. “What the fuck?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N sobbed quietly into her hands. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, Kyo.” Her vision was completely obscured by the saltwater that would not stop, her breath becoming panicked.

“I don’t even remember fucking it all up. All I know is I was so fucking angry with you two, and now -,” Y/N cut herself off with a hiccup.

“It’s all so fucked,” her breath was choppy as her tears increased, her hands rising to clutch at her chest. “You – you and Sanemi --,”

Kyojuro got out of his car and walked around to her side, opening the door to tug her out of the passenger seat and into his arms, crushing her against his chest.

“Y-you left me,” Y/N sobbed into the thin fabric of his tee shirt. “I needed my friend, and you left me,”

“I know,” Kyojuro’s tears dampened her hair. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“H-how could you do that, to your best friend?” She cried, clutching his shirt in her hands until her knuckles turned white. “You were my brother, Kyojuro.”

“You promised things would be okay, and then they weren’t. And you didn’t even try.” Y/N pushed away from him then, anger burning through the tears in her eyes. “Friends don’t do that; family doesn’t do that.”

Kyojuro looked as broken as she felt. “I broke every promise I made to you, I know,” he said hoarsely. “I swore I wouldn’t let you get too far away --,”

Y/N exploded.

“Get too far away?” She swore at him, hands angrily wiping the salt from her cheeks. “You abandoned me, you left me hung out to dry!”

Y/N’s hands balled to fists at her side, as she shook. “Sanemi at least arguably had an excuse. You had none. Nothing about what I did — what I said — meant I deserved that,” her eyes, angry and broken, met his own teary gaze once more. “I didn’t deserve that.”

“Y/N,” Kyojuro started, but the furious girl cut him off.

“Shut up, Kyojuro,” she snapped, and for once, the flame-haired man looked lost for words. “Do you have any idea what it was like? To watch you and him carry on as though nothing happened – as though I didn’t fucking exist?”

“And when my mom got sick? She used to feed you and your brother, you – you – selfish asshole,” Y/N was nearly hyperventilating in her ire, as twenty-two months of heartache, pain, and rage boiled out of her all at once. “And you couldn’t even check in?”

“I tried,” Kyojuro cut her off, somewhat forcefully, at her last accusation. “I tried to check in, Y/N. During the summer – I saw the ambulance leaving your house, but I couldn’t leave Senjuro by himself.”

“I came by the first thing the next morning, but no one answered. You --,” Kyojuro hesitated. “You must’ve still been at the hospital. I should’ve checked.”

Y/N laughed without humor. “Visiting doesn’t matter. You had a phone. You know how to use it, and you couldn’t send a fucking text.”

The blonde exhaled, and the tiredness on his face softened some part inside of her, made her want to hug him because deep down, she hated that Kyojuro could ever look so worn down.

“Nothing I say is going to make up for it. I know that.” He whispered. “If I could turn back time, I would, Y/N. Please believe me when I say I would.”

Kyojuro dragged a tired hand down his face, smearing the tears across his cheeks as he did so, and he looked toward his old friend, brokenly. “But I’m here now,” He said, pleadingly. “I’m sorry if that’s still not enough; I understand if it isn’t. But please, let me be here for you, now. Even if that means you hate me.”

Y/N did not expect to break so suddenly, but the sight of Kyojuro openly weeping before her, combined with the bruising sincerity of his words, whittled away all of the hardness she’d built up and struck her right in her heart.

“Oh Kyo,” Y/N shuddered a sob, her shoulders shaking under the weight of her tears as Kyojuro stepped forward once more and enveloped her in his arms. “I could never hate you,”

For the first time in nearly two years, Y/N returned Kyojuro’s hug with the same ferocity she once had, and part of her hoped, oh so timidly, that the force with which he embraced her would slowly work to put her back together again – to make her whole.

The two almost siblings melted into one another, each one muttering a litany of I’m sorrys, and I love you‘s. For a long while, the pair stood there, on the side of the road, swaddled in the other’s embrace as they sobbed together, for both the children they once were, and the adults the world had forced them to become.

Eventually, the pair found themselves back in Kyojuro’s car, still driving with no real destination in mind; only this time, the two blasted music from their high school days and loudly sang off-key together, laughing carefree as their broken hearts mended, song by song. They drove until Y/N yawned, and Kyojuro sternly, but teasingly, noted it was well past her bedtime.

“You scare the shit out of him, you know,” Kyojuro said after a long while, eyes still fixed resolutely on the road leading to Y/N’s apartment.

Y/N, who’d been watching the blur of stars in the night sky as they sped down the highway, rolled her head toward him to look at him, her face skeptical. “Sanemi? Sanemi Shinazugawa, scared of me?” She scoffed, turning her attention back to the night sky as it whizzed past her window.

Kyojuro reached for her hand, and Y/N could have cried at how warm and comforting it felt. “He thinks he’s lost you for good. He does regret how things went down, you know; he did from the get-go.”

“I think he’s afraid he’s going to wake up one day and find you’ll just be gone entirely. Completely unreachable.”

Y/N stretched her fingers to play with the series of necklaces Kyojuro had dangling from his rearview mirror, admiring the way they twinkled under the passing streetlights. “He would have to care to be afraid, Kyo, and you and I both know that he doesn’t care about me.” She chewed on her lip. “Not in that way.”

Kyojuro finally pulled to a stop in front of her apartment. He took his time putting his car in park and shutting it off, before turning back to her, his face solemn. “If you can’t see how crazy he is about you, then I don’t know what else I can say.”

The fire in his stare was scorching, and Y/N fidgeted under the intensity of both his gaze and his words. “He barely knows me, Kyo. He doesn’t know what he wants.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Kyojuro said, though not too harshly. “You might want to believe you’re a different person now, but you’re still you. I promise you, you’re still the Y/N we both know – and love.”

Y/N’s tear fell down her cheeks anew, as she’d not realized how badly she needed to hear that she was still herself – that she wasn’t just a shell of the person she once was, never fully present and never fully worth giving a damn about.

“I think you want to believe he doesn’t care because it makes it easier on you to pretend like you’re just using him.” Kyojuro’s words cut through her like a knife.

Y/N winced and opened her mouth to respond, but Kyojuro raised a hand, silencing her.

“I’m not saying you mean to,” Kyojuro’s words stung, but they were earnest. “And I don’t necessarily think you are – but I think you’re running from him, because you are frightened.”

“What would you have me do, Kyo?” Y/N asked, slightly exasperated as her head thudded back against the worn fabric of his car seat.

“Are you still in love with him?” Kyojuro asked, and it took great effort for Y/N not to roll her eyes at him. “Then you must let him in, Y/N. He wants your love – very much so – of that, I’m certain.”

“He has always wanted my love,” Y/N snorted. “He’s like a jealous, possessive dragon that way. The problem is with him returning it.”

Kyojuro sighed, before getting out of his car and rounding to her side, opening her door for her. “As I said before,” he reached a warm hand to muss her hair as she stood, stretching her stiff limbs from the hours they’d spent driving around the city. “If you can’t see how crazy Sanemi is about you, then I can’t help you.”

Kyojuro’s lips pressed against her forehead, warm and steady, and it felt like home. “Give him a chance, Y/N. Let him into your heart, and he will gladly give you his.”

—————————————————————————

After ensuring Y/N was safely inside her apartment, Kyojuro continued to drive for another hour.

The emotions of the night weighed too heavily on his shoulders, and Kyojuro knew going back to his apartment would end in nothing but him tossing for hours in bed, replaying the last conversation with Y/N in his head, over and over.

—————————————————————————

 One year earlier

“Where’s your date, Shinazugawa?” Kyojuro chuckled, reaching for a beer. He was disheartened to see that only one was left, Sanemi having finished at least three since arriving at his place.

“Called off,” Sanemi said thickly, his words slightly garbled as he tried to fake his own sobriety – the surest sign he was already drunk off his ass.

Kyojuro clapped his shoulder sympathetically. “You or her?”

Sanemi took another swig of his drink. “Me.” He looked up at his best friend and Kyojuro was shocked to see how forlorn and sad the hothead looked. “None of ‘em are her.”

It was rare that Sanemi brought her up, especially in the wake of everything that had happened after Genya’s death. But Kyojuro hadn’t been foolish enough to think that a substantial part of the chip on Sanemi’s shoulder hadn’t stemmed from his complicated feelings about her – Y/N.

Their best friend, at least, once upon a time.

Though as Kyojuro supposed, it wasn’t as if Sanemi’s feelings about their friend were really all that complicated. He’d known the abrasive loudmouth had longed for the trio’s only girl since any of them had understood what it meant to long for someone.

Kyojuro had seen his friend’s feelings on display countless times since they were teenagers. He saw it in the way Sanemi’s eyes softened every time she smiled at him, or the way Sanemi seemed to always lean into her touch whenever she brushed something from his hair.

Then, there had been that time after Y/N had her braces put in – they’d been around thirteen or so – and she’d refused to smile with her teeth, until Sanemi had snapped at her and said she’d looked constipated.

Y/N’s eyes had filled with tears, and her cheeks had burned with her embarrassment until he’d squatted down in front of her.

“Why’d’ya wanna hide your smile anyways – it’s too pretty.” He’d said, very matter-of-factly, leaning in close to her face as he always did when he teased her. “C’mon, show me! I wanna see your smile!”

Shyly, Y/N had smiled at him, braces and all, and Sanemi had grinned back, nodding in satisfaction. “See? What’d I tell ya? Pretty as a picture.”

Then, there had been their senior prom, when Sanemi had gotten wind of another boy’s plan to ask her to be his date. Though the big dance had still more than six months away, Sanemi had stormed into the cafeteria, plopped down from her as she ate with the Koyuki girl, and demanded she attend with him.

When the night of their prom arrived, Kyojuro thought Sanemi was going to pass out the moment he saw Y/N descend the stars at her mother’s house, dressed in that floor-length emerald dress. Throughout the whole night, Sanemi had treated their best friend as though she were made of glass, his hands for once hesitant and uncertain as he’d found her waist during a slow dance. Kyojuro had truly thought his friends would finally, finally kiss and admit their poorly concealed feelings for one another. But Sanemi had returned Y/N to her mother, the latter only parting with a soft kiss against the flustered boy’s cheek before disappearing inside.

How could they have known that night, just how far they’d all fall? How could they know how Genya’s death would shatter more than his brother, but indelibly fracture their life-long bond and transform them into total strangers?

————————————————————————

 Ten months earlier

Kyojuro didn’t mind working for the enrollment center at Ubaya-U.

Sure, the work was a little tedious, if not monotonous, especially at the start of a new semester, but at least that meant his shift passed him by quickly.

That particular day, Kyojuro had been tasked with finalizing the class registers for his year – the juniors – as the add/drop period had finally passed, and thus, schedules were to be finalized for the semester.

He’d spent hours tabbing through page after page of student schedules, entering data and clicking the small arrow at the bottom of his screen to move onto the next student ID number, over and over, until the figures on his computer blurred together. But Kyojuro had finally entered the schedule for the last student, and he was eager to hit “ENTER,” and get the fuck home.

His back aching and wrist cramping, Kyojuro hit the command key that promised release.

ERROR. The screen read. ONE OR MORE ENTRIES MISSING.

“Fuck,” Kyojuro muttered, and he hit the “ENTER” key once more, in hopes that the system had merely hiccupped after having been in use for so long.

The same ERROR message flashed across his screen once more.

Kyojuro exhaled, pinching his nose as his eyes screwed shut in frustration, the beginnings of a headache creeping in around his temples. Shoving himself away from his desk, Kyojuro stood and stalked over to his supervisor, who was just as numbly tabbing through a spreadsheet.

“Murata,” Kyojuro said, trying to keep his growing anger in check. It was a Friday night and he just wanted to go home and do stupid college things, dammit.

The tired shift supervisor grunted in answer, turning in his swivel seat towards the fuming college junior.

“I entered all of the student schedules, but the system is flagging some sort of error.” Kyojuro produced a printed-out spreadsheet of every student ID number and handed it to his manager, who took note of the neat, precise little checkmarks next to every line that signaled Kyojuro had finalized the correlating schedule. “Can you take a look?”

“Sure thing,” even though Kyojuro often thought Murata was, at times, a little inept at his own job, he couldn’t deny the college senior was helpful. Murata pulled up the school’s informatics system and entered his log-in, clicking through various prompts until his screen resembled Kyo’s.

Murata tried to submit the same data that Kyojuro had tried, and the same error message dinged on his screen.

“Huh, that’s odd,” the manager said, unhelpfully. “Let me see if I can use my admin key and find out if there’s anyone you missed.”

Kyojuro resisted the urge to point at his spreadsheet once more; Kyojuro, simply put, never missed an entry when it came to plugging in numbers and codes for work. The same could not be said for Murata.

“Ah, there it is,” to Kyojuro’s surprise, a student profile popped up on Murata’s screen in red, though his supervisor’s head blocked the name. “Number ending in 0851. Let me just –” Murata clicked around the screen and quickly tabbed in a couple of course codes, and hit enter, but the screen erred once more.

“What the – ohhh, I know this number,” Murata said, sitting back in his seat. “Yeah. Okay. You need my code to bypass this one. She got special permission from the university to not finalize her schedule until next week.”

Kyojuro sighed. At least the error hadn’t been on his end.

“Got a pen? You’ll need her name to enter it once the screen prompts you. In the explanation box, just type “special permission/family emergency.”

Kyojuro shook his head. “I’ll remember it. What’s the name?”

“Y/L/N. Y/N.” Murata answered flippantly, though Kyojuro’s stomach lurched. “Yeah, I got an email about her a few weeks ago because she hadn’t returned to campus. The Dean said her mom was in the hospital, and she was the sole caretaker, so her professors all agreed to let her attend online until things mellowed out.”

“Never seen that happen before, she must be one helluva student,” Murata commented as he turned back to Kyojuro. “Hey, in the entry box, put her date of return – I think I remember the email saying it was sometime next month, but let me check.” The supervisor turned back to his screen, blissfully unaware of Kyojuro’s wide eyes or his pounding heart.

“There it is – hm, there’s an update,” Murata remarked, though more to himself than to the pale Junior standing behind him. “Oh my, that’s a shame. Looks like her mom passed away last week, so she’s returning after the funeral, which was --,” Murata squinted. “Yesterday.”

“Yup, seems like she’s due back next week instead. Just put down Monday’s date.” Murata turned back to Kyojuro with a kind smile, but it quickly slipped when he saw the sweat that had broken out across the burly blonde’s forehead and noted the way he shook.

“Rengoku, you good, man?” Murata asked worriedly, though Kyojuro barely heard him over the roaring in his head and the sound of his heart-shattering.

“Y-yeah,” Kyojuro’s voice cracked. “Murata, would you mind entering that information for me? I feel like I’m going to be sick.” Kyojuro did not wait for his supervisor’s answer as he grabbed his backpack and stumbled out of the Student Affairs office, as he fought to keep down the bile that rose in his throat.

Kyojuro did not remember the walk back to his apartment; he remembered only the rush of grief, and crushing sadness, as he recalled the kind woman who’d shown him such love and affection after his own mother died, that he’d thought of her as a second mother.

He thought of Y/N – oh god, Y/N, who now lived in a world in which she had no family left. No home to go back to.

Alone.

He hadn’t known; Sanemi hadn’t known.

Kyojuro stumbled through the front door of his apartment, vaguely noting that Sanemi had already let himself in, and helped himself to whatever was in Kyojuro’s well-stocked refrigerator.

“Man, I’ve had a fuckin day,” Sanemi’s gravelly voice rang over the muted sounds of his television as he chowed down on a helping of sweet potatoes Kyojuro had meal prepped a few days earlier.

“Sanemi,” Kyojuro tried weakly, though Sanemi seemed not to hear him over his own, loud complaining.

“-and four papers, and we’re barely a month into school. I can’t wait to fuckin’ graduate and get the hell out of this place --,”

“Sanemi,” Kyojuro said again, more forcefully that time, cutting his friend’s impassioned rambling off. At the serious, monotonous tone in his best friend’s voice, Sanemi fell silent. “It’s Y/N, she – h-her…”

Kyojuro’s voice wobbled. Sanemi dropped his fork into the plastic container that contained Kyojuro’s food and stared at him, eyes wide, as he sucked his breath through his teeth. Whatever news his friend had to deliver, it would not be good.

“Is – is Y/N okay?” Sanemi asked tentatively, his voice shaking slightly. He felt the color drain from his cheeks as Kyojuro slowly shook his head. As childish as it seemed, Kyojuro wanted to run, because if he did not speak those awful words, then perhaps they would not be real.

“It’s Mrs. Y/L/N – she…she died. Last week. The funeral was yesterday.”

————————————————————————-

Nine months earlier

Sanemi barged into his apartment without knocking, nearly toppling over the coatrack Kyojuro kept in the entryway.

“Shinazugawa,” he’d started to chastise, but fell silent at the look on his best friend’s face, a strange mixture of nausea and despair etched into his features.

“I saw her, Kyo,” Sanemi croaked, pale and shaking as he ripped open Kyojuro’s fridge and grabbed a beer, not bothering to ask as he wrenched the bottle cap off and took a healthy swig.

“Y/N?” Kyojuro’s eyebrows furrowed, as he followed his friend into his sparsely decorated living room, Sanemi shakily sitting on the small sofa, head braced between his hands.

“Did you talk to her? How was she?” Kyojuro pressed, but Sanemi refused to lift his head to meet his eyes.

“I saw her,” Sanemi repeated, his voice trembling almost as badly as his hands. “And I didn’t know it was her.”

Kyojuro shook his head in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean -,”

“I didn’t recognize her, Kyojuro. Not at first,” Sanemi finally looked up and Kyojuro’s stomach twisted at the tears pooling in his friend’s eyes. “How could I not recognize our best friend?”

Kyojuro threw an arm around Sanemi’s shoulders. “It’s been a while,” he said, gruffly, “It’s just been a while since we saw her –.”

“You don’t get it,” Sanemi said, wide-eyed and haunted. “Y/N looks different – she’s so fucking thin, Kyojuro, that I couldn’t recognize her.”

————————————————————————

One month earlier

“So you – you and Y/N,” Kyojuro began, and Sanemi nodded, dragging a hand over his face.

“I am never touching that Wisteria shit again,” the lavender-eyed man vowed, darkly. “I fucking lost control.”

Kyojuro frowned, his stomach shifting uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

Sanemi flung himself back against the cushion of his sofa, arm draped over his eyes in an attempt to stifle the tears that gathered there. “I fuckin’ hurt her, man.”

The blonde sighed, settling back against the sofa with his friend, thumbs twiddling with a loose string on his shirt. “You didn’t mean to, you know. Sometimes that just – it just happens.”

Trust Sanemi to be this dramatic being Y/N’s first – the man had practically screamed into the phone at him when he’d discovered the small speckle of blood on his sheets and realized that Y/N was nowhere to be found.

Though, Kyojuro never imagined Sanemi would be this frantic about the ordeal.  

Sanemi lowered his arm to stare at his best friend, bewildered. “It doesn’t fucking matter,” he ran an anxious hand through his hair. “I can’t fucking trust myself on that shit, and I’ll be damned if I hurt her again.”

“I’m done with it all, Kyojuro,” Sanemi swore once more. “For her, I’m fuckin’ done with it.”

————————————————————————-

Two weeks earlier

Kyojuro jogged to where his friend stood, smoking a cigarette as his eyes scanned over the various food trucks that had gathered on the street near his apartment, considering the wide variety of choices.

“You’re the only person I know who could make that look somewhat appealing,” Kyojuro grumbled as Sanemi took another drag, grinning. Sanemi had quit both alcohol and Wisteria cold turkey but had become such an irritable bitch as he went through withdrawal that Kyojuro had practically begged him to find something to help him take the edge off.

So, Sanemi had traded one vice for another and had taken to smoking, though he could tell his friend hated it. Sanemi hoped that his shakes would soon subside, and he could kick the nasty habit before it became another problem for him to deal with.

“What are you in the mood for?” Sanemi asked as the pair began to leisurely stroll around the crowded plaza. “And don’t say sweet potatoes – we’ve been eating healthy all goddamn week; I need something greasy.”

Kyojuro chuckled. “I’m quite in the mood for a burger if you’re up for it.” He offered and Sanemi nodded in agreement. The pair joined the relatively lengthy queue outside a food truck grill, the scent of charcoal and meat promising to feed their empty bellies.

The pair made small talk as they waited, Sanemi nearly finishing his cigarette in the time it took them to reach the front of the line. Just before they were set to order, Sanemi’s phone dinged in his pocket, and the white-haired man pulled it free, puffing on the last of his cigarette as he did so.

“Ah, shit,” Sanemi sighed, though he did not look particularly crestfallen as he glanced back to his friend. “Sorry, man – duty calls.”

Kyojuro scoffed at his choice of words. “Duty,” he shook his head. “You mean Y/N?”

“You’d feel that way too if you slept around –”

“Yeah, but it’s not just ‘sleeping around’ to you, is it?” Kyojuro asked pointedly, and Sanemi fell silent. “You don’t sleep with anyone else. Does she?”

His friend shook his head. “Nah, we made an agreement – we’re – well, we don’t use condoms,” at the horrified look on Kyojuro’s face, Sanemi blushed. “She’s on birth control! ‘Sides,” Sanemi swallowed, awkwardly. “With all the weight she’s lost, and all the shit she’s been taking, I don’t think it’s likely she could – well, get pregnant.”

Kyojuro pinched his brow between his fingers. “Pregnancy isn’t the only reason to use condoms, you dolt,”

Sanemi harrumphed at him. “Look, I used protection with the other two girls, and I got tested not long after,” Sanemi quickly drew his cigarette back to his mouth, a sure sign of his growing discomfort with the conversation. “And, as Mitsuri so tactfully pointed out, I was her first, so I know she’s clean.”

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Sanemi snapped at the reproachful look in his friend’s owlish gaze. “It feels better, y’know.”

Kyojuro only shook his head. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Sanemi?”

Sanemi looked away from him, shifting awkwardly back and forth on his feet. “You know why, man,” he said quietly, and Kyojuro’s heart clenched.

“Look, I love and worry after Y/N too, but she’s using you --,”

“So what if she is?” Sanemi croaked, taking a harsh drag of his cigarette. “She can use me as much as she wants. I don’t mind.”

Kyojuro’s eyes softened. “Sanemi –”

“At least it means I can keep an eye on her.” Sanemi flicked the dying butt to the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his boot as he sauntered away, holding his hand up over his shoulder in farewell as he set off back across the lively street.

—————————————————————————

(Y/N’s POV)

Y/N dragged herself up the stairs of the apartment she shared with Mitsuri and Shinobu, a tiredness she’d not felt in a long while settling into her weary bones. Her head ached from the strain of the evening, and she knew her eyes were likely red and puffy from the hours of her crying.

Shakily, she slid her key through the lock and opened her front door, quietly relieved at the darkened silence of her apartment, which meant both of her roommates were out.

Closing the door behind her, Y/N slid to the floor in the entryway, and did not move; for a long while, she stared blankly at the dark kitchen before her, her mind replaying her conversation with Kyojuro on a loop, though the mark on her breast, with its pulsing ache, demanded her attention.

With a sigh, Y/N heaved herself up off the kitchen floor and shuffled her way to her room, silently thanking her luck that she’d managed to pull the bedroom with the in-suite bathroom, which meant she could curl up on the floor of her shower for as long as she wanted, without the fear of either of her friends needing the toilet.

Once she’d stripped herself of the evening’s outfit, Y/N inspected the wound on her chest.

It felt worse than it looked. There was a small bit of dried blood around where Douma’s teeth had broken her skin, and the mouth-shaped mark was angry, red, and already a little purple, but from her cursory examination of it, it seemed like the wound was likely to only bruise, and not scar.

It was the unseen wound that concerned her more; the scar that was assuredly left on her heart.

She’d fucked up – badly.

Granted, she knew it wasn’t her fault that Douma had decided to try and do whatever it was he wanted to do with her – she wasn’t going to blame herself for that.

What was her fault was how badly she’d let things spiral out of control; how badly her use of the Wisteria had become. She wasn’t a medical student by any means, but she knew the tell-tale signs of an abuse problem. Y/N would not venture to say she was addicted, but she feared she was well on her way to that path – unless she did something about it right then.

She braced her hands against the cool porcelain of her sink and looked at her reflection, jolting slightly at the face that stared back at her.

She still looked like herself, granted, but there was an unfamiliar hollowness in her cheeks, a vacancy in her slightly over-large eyes that made her uncomfortable. She stretched and winced at the ease with which she could just make out the number of ribs laying beneath her skin.  

Sanemi had been right – she’d let things go too far.

As she yanked on the shower nozzle to summon the water to chase away Douma’s sickening touch from her skin, Y/N resolved, right there, that she was done with Wisteria. She thought she should be done with alcohol as well, but she feared the symptoms of withdrawal – especially with how great her dependency on the two substances had grown over the last few months.

So, Y/N decided that she would never again allow those toxic little purple pills pass her lips, and slowly – but surely – wean herself off alcohol. She would not go back to the Kizuki, would not let herself give in to the temptations which flashed underneath the colorful strobe lights of the dance floor.

Her life, it appeared, depended upon it.

[eliza-and-her-monsters]

the tortured poets department

Vi x reader

Info Post

Moodboards

Part I

Next Part

TW: Brief mentions of mental illness (anxiety, PTSD), military induced injuries, self harm, hospitals, death, and fighting.

WC: 5k

Part II

the black dog

“Alright, pick your poison, doll.” Vi spoke the moment we made it to the packed bar, my hands already shakily pulling at the long sleeves of the flannel.

“Umm, I don’t really know much about alcohol besides whenever Caitlyn used to steal from our parents stash whenever we were younger.” I shrugged a bit, glued to the counter for dear life.

“Well, let’s see… did you like something more sweet or sour or-”

“I think I don’t mind a little bit of sour.” I spoke up, cheeks glowing with a slightly embarrassed flush, meanwhile the permanent smirk on Vi’s face never seemed to slip as she turned towards the bartender.

“I think I’ve got something you’ll like.” She voiced before waving him over. A few moments later I held onto a orange colored fruity drink called a Rum Runner that seemed to be the perfect combo of sweet and sour. I guarded it for dear life as she lead me towards the jukebox tucked in the corner away from the dancing uni students in which the bar staff had cleared out an entire space now being used as a makeshift dance floor.

Vi passed off a shiny coin for the jukebox in her hand once we reached it, leaning a casual shoulder against the wall. “Give ‘em hell.”

My own little grin stretched on my face as I took the coin with a flourish, twisting it in my fingers as I weighed the options in my head. “Now, with great power comes great responsibility. Or whatever it is Kurt Cobain said.” I joked just before sliding in the coin to its slot just before the screen lit up to display the option to cue up a song.

“Well, I also hear that Kurt Cobain was a bit of a liar so-” I heard her whispering in my ear nearly causing me to shiver. I don’t think I had ever been so close to another girl’s lips before the moment I turned my head to face her. Hands freezing on the dial as if awaiting them to press to mine.

Vi was patient though, testing the waters but not moving out too deep. Though I wasn’t sure if it was respectful or teasing as I flicked my doe eyes upwards to meet hers. And it was then I noticed the tattoo inked just below her eye along her cheekbone, either a number 6 in roman numerals or her nickname. Perhaps even both. A few tattoos of various gears crawled out from underneath her leather jacket, and I had the sudden urge to reach my hand out and brush my fingers along the inked lines.

“You know, one of my sister’s first criminology reports was on the conspiracy theory of if Courtney Love killed Kurt Cobain or not.” I muttered almost nervously, it’s what I did whenever I got flustered, I usually found something to say about Caitlyn. So far the tactic had been unsuccessful though. Turns out talking about how your sister was much better and smarter than you in every way was a turn off. Not that I had been in really a ton of situations to warrant me getting flustered, but I was definitely flustered now.

Vi’s muscular chest stood right at eye level as she stretched herself back up to her normal height. Still so close, like she was hovering. “And her conclusion?”

“Inconclusive.” I answered, finally getting myself to spin around and face the jukebox once more. My brain had suddenly gone blank of all music so I quickly decided to queue up Heart-Shaped Box. “She still got an A.” I added with a little sigh before I could spin away from it to finally free up the space.

“She’d make an excellent lawyer.” Vi almost laughed as she shoved her hands into her pockets.

“Maybe if she wasn’t so obsessed with working in the field… doing all the dangerous stuff, you know, running into the line of fire-”

“Okay you know detective work isn’t like in all the movies and crime shows, right? Caitlyn’s gonna be just fine. She can hold her own, you know that.” Vi stated, her hand being pressed to my lower back in some attempt to comfort me whenever it only just felt like it was sparking my crush-induced nerves all over again. Or maybe it was too soon to call it a crush? I wasn’t entirely sure what a crush was even supposed to feel like.

From the same table I could already hear a hefty amount of arguing and chatter as I sipped away at my fruity drink, an offended groan breaking from Ellie’s mouth as she snatched up what looked like a tarot card from another spread already laid on the table. “Mills, can you believe what Jinx’s tarot deck just called me?!” She exclaimed as she held up the card with an almost comical pout.

“The Fool?” I wondered with a head tilt. “I don’t think that’s what that means.”

“I told you it’s not.” Jinx huffed as she stood up to pluck the card from Ellie’s fingers. “The Fool represents innocence, new beginnings, you’re a free spirit… a little naïve, definitely not level-headed. Are you a water sign by any chance?” She wondered curiously as she seemed to study her face.

“Sagittarius.” She answered with a scowl causing Jinx to nod.

“Actually, you know what, that makes sense.”

“Why? Literally what does that mean? I’m not a zodiac gay!” Ellie exclaimed almost as if the conversation was stressing her out.

“Try living with her, she blames most of her problems on ‘mercury’ being in ‘retrograde’.” Vi went on with her fingers raised in quotations. I couldn’t help but lean forward curiously to scan the rest of Ellie’s spread. The Wheel of Fortune and six of cups in reverse… interesting.

“Vi, can I have a word?” Caitlyn spoke up from her spot across the table next to a boy with strikingly white hair who seemed to be leaning into Jinx every opportunity he got.

The chorus of sounds that sprung up from the table was reminiscent of a primary school classroom whenever someone gets called to the office. It was almost comforting to know the childlike aire of people never seemed to fade in university. It wasn’t comforting to hear Caitlyn’s request however as she pushed her slender body up to her feet.

Vi only took it all in stride though, meeting her with an equally as hard stare as she followed suit. “Why not? Lead the well.”

“I will.” Caitlyn added, whipping around to head towards the stairs leading towards the first level of the pub.

“Oh this is way better than tarot.” Jinx responded after only a quick passing moment before flying out of her seat so fiercely I almost thought she was going to knock the entire couch over. “C’mon new girl, you’re probably gonna wanna hear this.”

My breath hitched in my throat as she managed to hoist me up to my feet. My hands instantly darting outwards to grip Ellie’s wrist to drag her along with me, naturally. “Ow, Millie! That hurts!” She winced as she wrestled her arm out of my grip. “Don’t worry, I’m right behind you.”

Jinx immediately flashed us a stern look with a finger to her lips before she could climb the stairs. A duo of voices already carrying from around the corner where the two stood. “What part about ‘off limits’ do you not understand?!” Caitlyn was snapping immediately as she crossed her arms across her chest.

“Your sister is a grown adult, Caitlyn, you don’t have to play protector 24/7 anymore!”

“Oh that’s fucking rich coming from you.” Caitlyn practically sneered.

“It really is.” Jinx mouthed back to the two of us.

“Is it, Cait? Because even I tried to be semi normal with Jinx after all of our trauma and let’s not act like there wasn’t a hefty amount of it. What is this actually about, Caitlyn? Be honest. Is this about her or us?” My heart seemed to lurch in my chest at the one singular word. Us? What did she mean by ‘us’? Did I even want to know what she meant? Was it stupid to feel the sudden crushing weight of that one tiny word?

From one step below me I could feel Ellie’s fingers lacing through mine in a silent declaration. I’ve got you. No matter where this conversation leads I’ve got you.

“There is no ‘us’, Violet. There never has been and there never will be. And even if there was you know damn well I’d choose her happiness over mine every single fucking day. Got that? You don’t get to hurt her. I swear to god if you hurt her-”

“What am I actually going to do, Caitlyn? Do you think I’m this big bad supervillain-”

“I’m talking about your underground dealings! Your little underground fighting ring that Sevika somehow still lets go on even though someone was literally killed-”

“Keep your voice down!” Vi exclaimed in a whisper yell as she held up a finger, eyes encircling around the area as if looking for somebody. Such as three meddling freshmen hiding behind a corner. “We have company.”

“You guys go, I’ll take the fall.” Jinx whipped around to shoo us away. Ellie was already grabbing my arm, wanting to waste no time.

“A-Are you sure?” I stammered, a little bit more hesitant as I slowly let Ellie pull me down the stairs.

“It’s okay, won’t be the first time I’ve been caught, won’t be the last.” Jinx shrugged before slipping off into view and I finally let Ellie tug me from view just in time to see my sister’s cold blue eyes peering around the corner to investigate.

“Holy shit…” Ellie let out a long gust of air as she pressed an anxious hand to her chest. “I feel like I just got sucked into a thriller dark romance dark academia novel or something. Sevika has an underground fighting ring? S-Someone died!?”

“Who’s Sevika?” I wondered, my mind slipping into several directions all at once as I lifted a hand to my lips as if to bite my already chipped nails.

“Sevika’s our coach. She’s hard as shit, doesn’t take crap from anybody which is needed because we have a couple spoiled nepo babies on the team.” Ellie seethed a bit to herself before letting her eyes briefly glance over towards the same blonde haired woman who had supposedly ‘knocked her lights out’ during practice. “Are you okay? I know that was probably a lot.” She gently wrapped her hand around my upper arm as if to ground me in some way. And I hadn’t realized how badly my heart was pounding so intensely until I finally felt it behind my ribs. “Mills, you’re shaking.”

“Yeah I um- I think I just need some air.” I stammered, swallowing a dry lump down my throat. Ellie’s slid a protective arm around me before my knees could buckle as she pulled me towards the back door. Tangling my fingers up into her flannel as I wrapped an arm around her waist.

I gulped down a heavy dose of chilly night air the moment she pushed through the double back doors. From above us a lively back patio stretched on, tufts of smoke filtering downstairs through the gaps of the railing. I felt something plastic and metal at the same time being pressed into my hand. My seldomly used inhaler that I frequently forgot… and Ellie and Caitlyn never did. With a shuddering gasp I placed the opening between my lips and sent a gust of the medicated air through my lungs.

“You okay?” Ellie spoke up once the tense moment had passed.

Ellie wasn’t nearly as tall as Caitlyn or even Vi, in fact she was exceedingly average. Still I had to catch myself tilting my head upwards to meet her eyes as my own furrowed together in worry. “Are you okay?” I directed the question back at her as I lifted a hand to place against her freckled cheek.

Ellie sighed and encircled a hand around my forearm as if to hold it in place. “I- I don’t know… I guess. It’s just- I-I thought this shit only happened in books and movies and stuff.” She frowned, running a hand through her unkempt hair before whirling around to take a seat on a nearby ledge that encircled a mostly dead garden. Slowly I trailed over to take the spot next to her causing her eyes to lift towards me ever so slightly. “Millie?”

“Hmmm?” I hummed in response as I laid my head against her shoulder.

“Promise… Promise me if you do get involved with her that you’ll be safe? I mean I know I make a lot of jokes and I talk a lot of shit but- if something actually happened to you, i-if I lost you I-”

“Ellie-“ I shushed just before I could feel her voice break, slipping my arms around her shoulder as I pulled her in closer with a tight squeeze. It wasn’t like her to get emotional too often, it definitely wasn’t like her to cry. Sometimes I almost wondered what she was like before she met me, if there was any correlation to be found. But I knew she had been through a lot.

All of the doctors and nurses at the retreat we were at mainly kept her diagnosis at PTSD, she referred to it as that even herself. She was a US Army veteran who had been stationed in the UK and sometimes I wondered if my parents hated her strictly for that reason alone. Sometimes I almost thought about why she was discharged too and what could’ve really been behind it. An explosion near base that left her with a gunshot wound to the side, a perforated eardrum, a traumatic brain injury, and a shit ton of shrapnel scarring that she now had covered up by a tattoo that spanned the length of her forearm. If anyone knew pain it was Ellie.

I hadn’t been able to stop crying the night she told me and even then I felt bad because of how she comforted me during the whole thing. It should’ve been the other way around and I knew that. But I still thought it could’ve attested to the kind of person she was. And a lot of the times I looked at my own measly self inflicted scars and wondered how I even deserved to stand next to her.

“You are the only good thing that has ever happened to me, Amelia.” She muttered as she leaned her head against mine with a long and shaking breath.

“Ellie, love.” I sighed as I placed another hand against her cheek to peer into her green eyes. “You aren’t on the battlefield anymore, nothing’s going to happen to me or you. I promise. You’re safe now.”

“I hope so.” She whispered after another moment of hesitation. Carefully she wrapped her hand around my wrist and I tried to ignore the sting in my heart once she removed my hand from her face. “We should be careful, in case Vi comes out here. You do like, you know, like her, right?”

“I don’t know.” I answered as I leaned back on my hands slightly. “She’s certainly a looker. But I just- what if it’s too soon to tell? How do you even know whenever you fancy someone?”

“That little ache you felt in your chest whenever Vi called her and Caitlyn an ‘us’? That’s one way you can tell.” Ellie answered as she gave my ankle a little nudge with her combat boots.

“How did you know, you creep?” I nearly giggled as I looked towards her with a lifted brow.

“Because I’m your best friend? Plus, that’s also whenever you started reaching for my hand.”

“I didn’t think I- I thought you grabbed my hand-“

“I did, because you started reaching for it. I mean, either way it does kind of check out doesn’t it?“

“Yeah… I guess you might be right.” I huffed, gnawing on my bottom lip as I fought the urge to stretch my fingers out to Ellie’s all over again. Before I could make contact though the back door swung open once more causing both of our heads to turn in unison.

“So, how much did you hear?” Vi said simply as she strode outside, still as calm and collected as possible with her hands shoved into her pockets once more.

“Oxford has an underground fighting ring?” Ellie blurted out before I could even construct some way to cover up our probably suspicious disappearance. If I wasn’t curious enough myself though I probably would’ve rolled my eyes. She was already a pretty shitty liar though.

“You surprised?” Vi wondered next with a slightly tilted head.

“Why were you so secretive about it in the hallway if you’re being so casual now?” Ellie wondered next, almost rather bravely as she fiddled with the evil eye bracelet around her wrist.

“I didn’t want the wrong person to hear.” She added, her blue eyes briefly sweeping over to me before she took the seat on my other side immediately causing Ellie to tense up almost protectively. “Whatever you think it is though, it isn’t… generally.”

“Caitlyn said somebody died though-“ Ellie stammered next in disbelief.

“It was a freak accident. It had nothing to do with the fighting or- or anything like that.” She propped her elbows up on her knees, sore subject it seemed. Vi knew more than what she was letting on though, neither of us seemed willing to push at the moment however.

A moment of hesitation passed before Ellie cleared her throat and shook her head, “I think I’m gonna go back in, I’m freezing my dick off out here.” Ellie remarked as she pushed herself up to her feet and let her eyes scan over me briefly. “You gonna be okay?”

The thought of being alone with Vi only made it feel like my heart was being sent into overdrive all over again. I didn’t even know why the thought of being alone with someone I liked scared me so much. She was older, more experienced, hard and cold yet inviting at the same time. A curious kind of inviting. “Yeah, I-I’ll be okay.” I stuttered with a nod.

“Okay, call me… if you change your mind.” Her hands curled into fists briefly, like she herself was about to change her mind. Something else lingering, but whatever it was she didn’t act on it. Only turning her head to drag herself to the door.

“You know there’s definitely some sexual tension between you two, right?” Vi questioned as she pulled a half used pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her ripped black skinny jeans.

“Excuse me?” I questioned in shock with my jaw neatly dropping. “But Ellie’s- Ellie’s not-“

“Don’t try to tell me she’s not a lesbian.”

“Oh no, she’s definitely a lesbian.” I almost snickered, the thought of Ellie ever being with a man nearly sending me into fits. “But just so you’re aware, two lesbians can definitely have a super close friendship and not be in a romantic relationship.” I huffed in response as I crossed my arms and shook my head. “I mean honestly, I’m really starting to question your intentions.”

“Oh doll, you should always question my intentions.” I nearly shivered at her words. A tremor shooting through my legs that I hadn’t felt before leaving me clamping them shut as if to silence the irregular feeling.

“So… do you just have a thing for Kirammans or something?” I wondered, wringing my hands on my lap in some way to think of something else. Anything else.

Vi scoffed and rolled her eyes with a shake of her head, “Yeah I was waiting for that one to come up.”

“I mean it’s a valid question, is it not?”

“Caitlyn and I slept together a few times last year… that’s all we did, that’s all it was.” She placed a cigarette between her lips and lit up the end. “It was a hookup, a good hookup which is why we did it again but- it didn’t go any farther than that.“

Anxiously I fiddled with the ring on my finger, stimming in every way I could it seemed to distract from the clench in my chest as she described her relations with my sister. “So, why else would you be interested in me then?”

“I’ve seen you around occasionally. Whenever you go to games with Caitlyn or jack the university library where you either obsessively write on your computer or read some book that’s bigger than your entire forearm.”

“Do you watch me or something? Like a creep?” I couldn’t help but smirk slightly as I stole a glance over at her.

“You’re hard not to look at.” She answered, blue eyes meeting mine as she withdrew a long puff of smoke from her lips, the cigarette dangling in between her fingers haphazardly. That same churning feeling seeming to overtake my entire body now, my eyes briefly glancing down towards her lips for the most minuscule of seconds. Not minuscule enough for Vi not to notice though as I watched them curl up in a tiny smirk. “I saw that.”

“Saw what?” I murmured innocently, bringing a hand up to my lips to bite at my nails again. Vi only let out a chuckle of her own though before taking another drag of her cigarette.

“Nothing darlin’.” She added, the pet name causing my toes to curl in my Mary Janes. “Anyways, then from like, May through July you disappeared for a while. So I wondered if your parents might’ve actually let you take another year off or you managed to actually break the cycle of Oxford alumni.”

“Not quite.” My face fell at the mention of the summer’s events, catching my bottom lip between my teeth as I dropped my hand back towards my lap. “No, the uhhh… the summer was rough. But I met Ellie though so- I guess it worked out. I just, you know, wish it could’ve been under better circumstances. That’s why we aren’t a thing, if you’re wondering. It’s usually a bad idea to date the friend you meet whenever you’re in a psychiatric facility.”

Her expression seemed to come with a subtle understanding, softening momentarily as she flicked out the remainder of the cigarette. “S-Sorry, i-if I just trauma dumped on you o-or anything.”

“You didn’t. You aren’t.” Vi shook her head, rough fingers finally brushing on top of my fidgeting ones. I never knew it could feel so comforting having them stroking my knuckles in the way she did. “How are you now? Like… in the aftermath?”

I wanted to groan and fight and kick and scream at the frustrating sting that always crept into my eyes whenever someone would ask if I was okay. I should’ve been tired of hearing it by now. It shouldn’t have had an effect the way that it did but still somehow it had felt like forever that someone had actually asked me that. How are you afterwards? I know you went through hell. But how are you now?

“I think… all things considered, I could be worse. But- I think I could be better too.” I answered with a small shrug. A strange feeling of warmth seemed to envelop over me as she slid her fingers through mine. Each small touch inching closer and closer like she was giving me the chance to protest, to pull away, to do whatever I needed to do to feel comfortable. But I enjoyed her touches, her big hand overtaking mine and I wanted to feel it on my cheek, knotting through my hair, around my waist, against my thighs. Fuck, I didn’t understand why. “Vi.” I muttered her name like it was the only thing I knew how to say, lifting a shivering free hand but not knowing what to do with it, where to put it. What was I even supposed to do? “I-I’ve never done this before- f-felt this before. W-What do I do?”

“Shhh…” Vi whispered, softly brushing her finger underneath my chin so I had no choice but to look up at her. Transfixed in her blue eyes until I crumpled. “You don’t have to do anything.”

The last time I felt anything similar was with Ellie, over the summer, where I shouldn’t have felt for anything besides trying to get better. Even then it was completely different. Ellie was sunshine. Ellie was laughing and jokes and making all of the nurses’ lives hell as we snuck around the ward and fell asleep in each other’s beds.

Vi felt like the opposite. She was the moon. Hauntingly curious and dark. Like she was beckoning me forward with every subtle touch setting off sparks against my skin. She was a new experience, unfamiliar territory just begging to be explored.

“Tell me what you want.” I shivered as I felt her hand against my cheek and I didn’t know if it was the cold or just her. “If you want me to leave you alone, I’ll leave you alone. But if not-“

“Will you- W-Will you kiss me?” I stammered all over again, it was like I couldn’t get any of my words right as I kept shooting glance after glance at her lips. A noticeable scar running through her upper lip.

That same telling smirk crept back into her expression, my chest clenching as I watched her rise up to her feet as if she was about to tell me no. “You ever been kissed before?”

“Ummm… n-no, not really.”

“Not really?”

“No, n-no I haven’t.” I finally answered fully, peering down at my lap as if in shame. Waiting for the rejection. The declaration that I wasn’t at all what she wanted and the inevitable and probably unnecessary heartbreak that would follow afterwards.

“And you want me, some good for nothing chick you met at a bar to kiss you?”

“Why did you ask me what I want if you’re just going to challenge me about it!” I wondered as I finally launched myself off of the bench but I only lost all sense of authority once I realized our height difference again.

“I just want you to fully understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

“It’s just a kiss!”

“You seem like the kind of person who takes that thing kind of seriously.” Vi voiced with a casual shrug as if she already knew she was right. She didn’t have to ask for confirmation because she already saw right through me. It’s not like I haven’t had a ton of opportunities. I could’ve easily kissed Ellie now countless of times but I hadn’t because I knew what would happen afterwards. She’d look at it as ‘getting my first kiss out of the way’ and I’d probably just fall in love with her. How dangerous could it be to fall in love with somebody so quickly? I was a disaster, a ticking timebomb waiting to happen.

“You’re right, it’s stupid.” I spoke, finally pulling my eyes away from her to face the ground. My body was a tense wreck, my chest hurt, I was definitely going to get sick from being out in the cold for so long, and I didn’t see any good in staying out here for any longer.

I turned on my heel to head back inside as I tried to hide the disappointment and complete idiocy on my face. Before I knew it though I could already hear Vi clearing her throat from behind me, “Wait.” She ordered, and if that wasn’t enough to halt my steps I could feel her hand snaking around my wrist. My breath caught in my throat as I felt her whirling me around to face her with ease.

My body pressed to hers and suddenly I could feel every inch of every muscle beneath her clothes. Her hands overtook my waist, sliding around me until I couldn’t smell anything but the nicotine on her breath and the expensive cologne that wafted from her pulse points. Before I could even contemplate what was happening I could feel her lips on mine. A gasp froze in my throat as I registered what was happening, shivering gasps for air the moment she broke away, scanning my face as if to determine where I was. If I was okay. And before I knew it again I was clamoring for her lips once more.

My arm flew around her shoulder as if to hold myself up, not like her hands gripping my waist weren’t already doing a great job at that. I just wanted to touch her, seeking out her warmth. My hand slipping underneath her jacket as if to drag across the flimsy material of the wife pleaser she wore underneath. Her lips were so much softer than I could’ve ever predicted they would be, but electricity felt like it was coursing through my veins at the sensations of her pulling me in by the waist anytime our bodies naturally separated. It was warmth and disaster at the same time. A forest fire burning up all around me as our lips moved in sync. Her hands leaving a burning trail as they seemed to settle on my hips. God, how was I supposed to ever get enough whenever she felt like this?

My breathing came out in shaking gasps of air once our lips broke apart. The feeling without them was almost unnatural they felt so perfect and made for my own. I wanted more, I was desperate for more but too scared to speak the words as I stared up at her with widened eyes. “Vi…”

“Fuck, you say my name like it’s only meant for your lips alone.” She whispered, my hand curling against her chest as she traced the outline of my lips with her thumb. “Should probably get you inside before you freeze to death.”

My lips seemed to burn as she stepped away, every inch of the cold sweeping back into me as I nodded in response. Vi’s warm hand pressed to my back to lead me towards the back door and instinctively I couldn’t help but bring my hand up towards my lips that I could’ve sworn were still tingling.

She was going to ruin me, wasn’t she?

A/N: Elmelia girlies I have got some good shit cooking up for you next. Vimelia girlies also don’t stress though because I am nothing if not messy! 🖤

[lovelyflora21]

I hate everyone else in the world (but you)

Summary: Drunk and in pain, Leon had an affinity for saying things he might not have meant to. Twice he did so. One was able to offer solace and comfort, the other the opposite. 

Pairing: Leon S Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Tags: TW! Alcohol abuse, slight mentions of PTSD, depression. Angst. Hurt. 

A/n: Hello! So this is my first attempt at writing again after such a long ass hiatus and break! This is also my very first (and hopefully not the last) attempt on writing a fic for Leon lol, this one’s gonna be a bit angsty! I wrote this with Vendetta!Leon and DI!Leon in mind, inspired by that one TikTok audio from Euphoria’s Rue and Jules’ scene and her infamous quote with TV Girl’s Not Allowed, playing in the background. 

Hopefully you guys will like this one as much as I like writing it! Enjoy!

Wc: 1.5k

I hate everyone else in the world but you…

Was what Leon had drunkenly told her once. So lost in his drunken stupor that he’d blurted out those words in a brief moment of vulnerability and honesty. He might’ve as well said those three words instead. But it was the truth, and Leon S Kennedy was no liar. He was never good with lies anyways, why try now? And in response, she simply gave him that God-forsaken half smile of hers. Leon remembered vividly, despite being shit-faced drunk, how she simply shook her head then helped him off the couch to clean up. 

I know. She whispered, more like to herself than to him. Then everything else after that was a blur. 

It was sort of a routine. After that particular nightmare of a mission, Leon would drown himself in endless bottles of Jack Daniels or whatever alcoholic beverage he could lay his hands on. He was pretty much banned from the local bar he’d frequented so often, and no for the record, it wasn’t because he’d start up unnecessary shit–no. It was because of how much he’d drunk; to the point that the bartenders and keepers made it a point that they were concerned with the amount of alcohol he’d swallow in one seating. 

Concerned. Leon finds it rather funny and ironic, in a way that; bars made money from selling alcohol to anyone who would be drinking them and yet here he was, getting banned all because they were concerned with him? He was a regular, he didn’t mind burning his money on alcohol! They should have been grateful! He was a regular, a paying one at that and he doesn’t start up shit! They were making money! And yet, he got banned anyway. 

In reality, concerned was an understatement…

So he figured, what the hell right? He’s just gonna find an alternative, buy some from the local bodega or some shit and get shit-faced drunk in the comforts of his somber and dark, shitty apartment. 

The apartment was fine before all this, decorated it minimalistically so he didn’t have too much stuff piling up and it wouldn’t be too much of a hassle for him to look after; but after the–after it happened, he just didn’t care enough to look after the damn place. Hell, he barely looked after himself. Leon was barely even showering. He’d shower once every two or three days, and didn't even care at all if people were giving him weird and funny looks for how disheveled he looked. Leon used to be pretty active and social, he would go for a light jog every morning before work or in the evenings after work, then shower and have dinner or maybe go on dates with her. But now? Now, his routine consisted of waking up in the middle of the day, eat whatever leftover was in the fridge, go back to sleep, wake up again then get so drunk he could barely remember anything then pass out on the couch then wake up with the worst hangover and repeat the same damned thing all over again. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. 

It wasn’t helping him at all that the DSO was putting him on a temporary break too. He’d honestly much prefer to be sitting on his desk working on reports than rotting and wasting away like this. 

But then she caught wind of this. This revelation. That the great, brave and strong Leon S Kennedy; the renowned agent that helped rescue the President’s Daughter and formed the DSO, has now become lessened to that of a drunk alcoholic. So jaded and bitter with the loss of his–no, no, he became jaded after, after…after it happened. That he resorted to alcohol rather than face his issues head on. Rather than see a shrink and work on it.

So the first time she came back around, it wasn’t easy. To have her, his muse, his flower, the only innocent and untouched being in his life, sees him this messed up and broken. He lashed out at her at first, then he broke down. For the first time. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was finally able to cry. 

It’s okay, cry it out, let it all out. I’m here. Nothing’s gonna hurt you. I’m not letting you go. I got you. 

Then he looked into her eyes and said it. 

I hate everyone else in the world but you…

And the rest was history.

Then it was another new routine for him. She was always there, looking after him…looking after the place. Made sure he was eating, made sure he’d get cleaned up, made sure he was sleeping properly. 

But he still couldn’t get over his drinking problems. Not anytime soon it seems…

Other people would have already abandoned him by now. Said it was all in vain, said he’d destroy her before he could ever get better. But she, she never gave up on him. 

Until one night…

Leon had promised her, for a day, he wouldn’t touch anything that has alcohol in it and he’d finally go to therapy. It was paid and provided for by the DSO, as they should be. But he didn’t…

He never attended that one session (or the sessions before and after, she should’ve known better), instead that afternoon he went to the nearest bodega and got himself bottles of Jack Daniels. Then he went back home and got shit-faced drunk. Again. Like always. 

And when she came over later in the evening, after she got off work; she was furious. More disappointed than furious, really. To find out that he didn’t go to therapy and he was drunk.

Then it was some back and forth arguing and Leon said some things he didn’t mean to. 

Typical of a drunk, how typical of Leon.

See, the thing is, she was one to believe that; whatever came out from someone’s mouth whenever they were drunk meant that it was the raw and most unfiltered truth they wish they could’ve said out loud sober.

So when Leon said, “What is this now, you think you could nurse me back to the old Leon?! You thought out of all the people in this whole goddamn world, you could be the one to save me from being, from being this?! I tell you what sweetheart, you never cared about me, what you do have is a savior complex!” 

It had been even uncharacteristic of Leon to say those things. And out of all the people he knew, towards her, too. 

Cruel would be an understatement. 

Leon wished he had stopped at that. Wished he had stopped and apologized to her after, but nope. He didn’t. Instead, when he saw her tear-filled eyes and her pursed lips, he went and sprinkle some salt on her wound. 

“What now, you gonna cry and run away? Gonna cut me off too like how you cut off your other friends and exes? Right, you do. Because that’s what you always do! Run away and cut off everyone whoever said an ounce of truth to you, not wronged you–no, the truth!”

Then there was silence, save for his hard and heavy breathing that filled the space. 

Leon remembers and forgets a lot of things. This is one that he’d hate to remember and unable to forget.

He remembered the way she stepped back, looked into his eyes and said it. 

I hate you. 

Then she disappeared from his apartment and disappeared from his life as well, after making it clear that she was done.

He tried reaching out to her, that very same night. Then the days that followed after, the weeks after. After Colorado. After New York. 

She disappeared. Just like that. 

So Leon gave up on looking for her. 

And after a year, he thought he’d already forgotten about her completely. Thought he’d moved on.

He thought, after going to therapy, talking to his friends more and avoiding alcohol as much as possible; he’d finally move past that night. Move past her.

But it seemed he was wrong. 

So when Leon was strolling down the streets of San Francisco during his free time, before his supposed mission–and he thought he’d heard a familiar voice, he couldn’t help but to look towards the source of that angelic voice. Could it be…?

And there she was. Gorgeous as always. Beautiful and bright, warm like the morning’s first ray of sunshine. A basket of flowers and groceries hung on her elbow. 

So she did move away. That’d explain a lot. 

Leon’s body had a mind of its own, approaching her before he could even process everything. 

Hey there.

And suddenly everything came flooding back to him.

I hate everyone else in the world but you

But you, you who I’ve hurt so much more than anyone else in the world. 

You who didn’t deserve the pain I had inflicted upon you. It was unfair. And I am so so so sorry. Wish I could take it all back. You didn’t deserve it. And then there was silence between him and her. Two birds, once of the same feather; and now? Now on opposite ends.

[quinngefail]

So apparently at 19 Lawrence got institutionalized for 6 months from a psychotic breakdown. I’m pretty sure it’s mentioned in one of the video games. Do you think he’d tell Adam about it? How you you think adam would react? (Also why do you think he even had a breakdown?) love you!!! 🩷

Omfg okay okay I haven't played either of the games yet but I intend to. I did not know about that little bit of lore, though..... But tbh it slides in so perfectly with what I've been formulating for backstory headcanons,

I haven't actually written any of this out in my Google doc yet but. I feel like rambling and just laying out the relevant parts of what I've been brainstorming for him-

Putting a cut because this got longer than I thought it would. Also- tw for talks of emotional abuse, alcoholism, and a brief sui mention- nothing super detailed, though.

So uh. I've been imagining him growing up in this wealthy, very controlling, catholic household. And even from a young age it was extremely rare for his parents to even glance at any of his problems.., One part because they were absolutely the types to guilt him with the whole "THERE ARE CHILDREN IN AFRICA STARVING AND YOU'RE SITTING HERE CRYING ABOUT SOMETHING THAT IS SO TRIVIAL" and another part because I imagine his mother was diagnosed with cancer when Lawrence was just a kid. Which was hard on everyone, of course, but this also meant less attention being put on him and his problems (ft. more guilting because you should be grateful that all you have is a scraped knee, stop crying). Basically the response to any of his struggles would very often be Stop Moping and/or Go Pray About It y’know-

Sooo even at a young age, he quickly developed this mindset that none of his problems were actually 'real', because he had it drilled into his head again and again that he was in a far more fortunate + blessed position than others. Which yeah obviously he had a great deal of privilege on his side from the get-go, but he's still allowed to express hurt and his need for love and care, y’know,

So he just starts repressing everything, holding it all inside. Internally minimizing and invalidating just about anything that made him upset. He does this for years, and years. And by the time that first year of college rolls around, he now has the most independence in his life that he's ever had, finally away from that very, very controlling household... And I very much imagine him as the type to just go off the rails almost immediately, especially in the drinking department. His grades rapidly slip, and he knows there will be hell to pay when his parents inevitably find out about all of this- but it's easier to just sit back and drink, and let his cares about everything slip away.

And of course, his parents do indeed find out. And there is indeed hell to pay. More so from his father, though, as his mother's condition has been rapidly deteriorating, which was certainly just one of the many motivators for Lawrence's drinking. And it's not long before she does pass away, which I think was a final straw of sorts for his mental health.

Between the bottles and bottles of repression he's been holding in for years, the drinking, the fact that he's fucked up so badly with college + absolutely fuckin wasted an amount of time and money, the sheer outrage and disappointment from his parents, his mother's death, and the shattering of his already shaky faith (because evidently, praying for his mother's health didn't do a goddamn thing)... It's a wonder he didn't break sooner,

So then this is where him being institutionalized just SLIDES IN SO EASILY... And I do think right before this happened, he had attempted to take his own life, unable to deal with it all. The treatment helps him back onto a straight path. And maybe he'd already been interested in the medical field, but the loss of his mother was sort of the final push towards wanting to pursue oncology specifically. So after being released, it's college take two: and it goes far better than the last time.

However, he develops this fear of losing control again. He finds comfort and necessity in order. He almost needs it to feel okay. He still has a hard time voicing and downplaying his problems, though, still feeling like they're not 'real'... This being a particular souvenir from growing up that he just can't seem to overcome.

He's also not at all surprised to get a call (in either his late 20s or early 30s) that his father had drank himself to death. Just seemed inevitable.

Then, to cut to the Becoming Closer With Adam Era, I don't imagine he has a hard time explaining that both of his parents have passed away, and why. But he has a very hard time disclosing everything else that happened. Because his problems aren't 'real', of course, and it's just an extremely touchy subject for him in general. Been imagining for a while now that he has this whole Thing where he's far more focused on helping Adam with his own problems- and y’know, part of that is just the fact that when they finally reunite in my AU, Adam is obviously deeply in need of help, because things have gotten bad for him in the months following the bathroom trap. But another part is just Lawrence still having troubles with expressing his own struggles; whether they be traumatic incidents of the past, or the more current Jigsaw related traumas.

Adam eventually catches onto this, especially as his problems become less urgent. And while he's not necessarily going to interrogate Lawrence over anything, he does begin to more frequently urge him to talk about things when he's obviously upset. Lawrence still isn't as good at masking as he thinks he is, much to his dismay. Something specific that I imagine Adam reminding him, with a earnest voice of kindness and patience, is that "this isn't just about you helping me, it's about me helping you, too."

Lawrence does eventually start to open up more about his more current struggles, but it takes a good, long while before he begins scratching the surface of that period of his life. They would be upsetting conversations for the both of them, of course, but the fact that they happen at all are just testaments to the trust they've built together. They feel safer and safer being vulnerable with one another, and it brings them closer together.

And maybe, it brings them closer and closer to things finally just feeling okay.

...WOOH If you are here, thank you for reading- didn't think I was going to ramble this much, but EVIDENTLY I HAVE MORE THOUGHTS ON THIS THAN I REALIZED LMAO..... WHEN I SAY I HAVE A SMALL NOVEL WORTH OF THOUGHTS ABOUT THESE TWO I'M NOT LYING HRKSKGK

A lot of this is also still in the brainstorming stage at this point, so things may be subject to change :] WE SHALL SEE...

And thank you for the ask, and the kind words!!! I hope you enjoy my brainrot HSKGK

[pfhwrittes]

oh god here we go. alright read the fucking warnings. 

TW: noncon, somnophilia, male masturbation, spit, facial, alcohol mention.

pairing: john “soap” mactavish x female reader

word count: 966 words of smut.

AN: this is @kaadaaan's fault. also i wrote this all in one go with minimal editing because my brain was being rotted and i needed to get it out. poor grammar and typos are likely, for that i apologise.

johnny is your friend, he’s been your friend for a long long time and as such he has a key to the door to your house to use and your blessing that he can just drop in whatever time he likes when he’s on leave. it’s not uncommon for you to come downstairs in the morning to find him sprawled out on your sofa wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, one foot planted on the rug under the sofa and the other hanging off the armrest. 

he’s larger than life, your johnny. the other half to your brain sometimes. jokingly referred to as your brother from another mother. you love him, but only as a friend. despite that, he’s got a key to your house and a piece of your heart because you know he’ll never do anything to hurt you.

johnny on the other hand doesn’t love you like a sister. he loves you with a capital L and something feral behind his eyes. his smile always goes a little too sharp whenever you crack that “joke” that you love him like a brother because he knows if you knew the way he’d been thinking about you for years you’d have locked up your heart and house tight instead of inviting the wolf to stay. 

-

that obsession is how he ends up in this position, just like he has countless times before, standing like a sentinel at your bedside. the only light to see your gorgeous face is the streetlight that curls probing fingers through the thin curtains of your bedroom window. you’re beautiful like this. he honestly doesn’t know how his gaze hasn’t woken you yet, surely you can feel the way he traces every shadow and highlight on your face. surely you can feel the way he stares at your open mouth, driven to madness by the slight spit at the corners of your mouth. fuck it’s almost too much for him. but still he stands frozen, just watching. never touching. not until tonight.

you’d both been drinking. johnny had switched to water part way through the night, you hadn’t and so with johnny’s help you’d stumbled up the stairs to your room and passed out flat on your back. not terribly unusual, he’s seen you do it before when you’ve been drinking. he’s heard your snoring through the walls before. but tonight is different. 

later, when he creeps down the stairs to slump onto the sofa, he’ll blame the lingering buzz of alcohol in his blood for daring to do what he’s thought about for so long. but right now, he’s staring at your open mouth watching a faint glimmer of light hit your wet pink tongue and fisting his cock over your sleeping face. grateful for the fact that you always sleep like the dead when you’re drunk and nothing except the world ending could possibly wake you. 

despite the reassurance that you won’t wake - can’t wake - the sound of his hand moving over his cock is loud in his ears. he’s sure the slick noises are drowning out even the gentle open mouth snores you offer into the air. he positive that in mere moments your eyelids will flicker open and you’ll look up at him, your corrupted sentinel, to see the way he’s gripping his cock desperately. his hips jerking in aborted thrusts as he thrusts into the tight fist he’s made around himself.

a groan slips through johnny’s gritted teeth as his thumb swipes another bead of precum over the flushed head of his cock. 

fuck. 

if he doesn’t slow down he knows without a shadow of a doubt he’ll end up coming on your sleeping face. a spurt of precum dribbles from his cock at the thought. oh fuck. he wants that. he wants to come on your face. he wants to let the thick white ropes coat your cheeks and chin. maybe even cover your open mouth with some of his come so you wake up with the taste of him on your tongue. 

johnny’s hips jerk forward as his orgasm blindsides him completely. his eyes roll back into his head and he whines desperately through his nose, teeth sinking into his lower lip to trap the moan that's burning his throat. 

moments or maybe aeons later, his vision clears and he looks down at you. 

“fuckin’ hell” it’s whispered, part reverence for the sight that greets him, part fear of waking you prematurely. 

your face is covered. johnny’s come drips from your cheeks. it slides down the curve of your jaw onto your neck where it pools, glimmering in the low light, before dribbling onto your pillow. a pearlescent string clings to your top lip and then - and johnny swears he feels his cock twitch out another dribble at the sight - you lick it off.

johnny takes a step backwards from you on shaky legs. he needs to leave, now. if he doesn’t, christ he doesn’t know what he’d do to you. he doesn’t want to find out how far the depths of his depravity go. he doesn’t want to know if he could get away with scooping some of his come off your chin and pushing it into your mouth. he doesn’t want to know if that would be enough for the taste to linger in the morning when you wake up.

with one last lingering look at your face he tucks himself back into his boxers and leaves you. covered, marked, his. 

-

in the morning you wake with blurry eyes and a thick head. god you’d really had too much to drink last night. you smack your lips together and frown at the taste in your mouth. it’s sour and slightly musky. 

oh well, you must’ve fallen asleep with your mouth open again.

[unhingedangstaddict]

Those Things I Miss But Know Are Never Coming Back

The angsty mpreg oneshot I've been working on the last couple days is done! Read below the cut or on ao3

TW: Ectopic pregnancy, pregnancy loss, hospitals. Discussion of blood and alcohol. Brief mention of stillbirth and fetal alcohol syndrome

Tommy could feel his stomach turning with nausea as he maintained his focus on piloting the chopper back to Harbor. For a split second his eyes flicked down to his watch, sure enough, it was 3:40pm, the same time he’d thrown up every day for the past week. It wasn’t food poisoning because that would’ve cleared up by now, so either it was the world’s weirdest flu virus or it was something far worse. Either way, Tommy couldn’t exactly find it in himself to care enough about himself to do anything about it.

Tommy swallowed back the warm excess of saliva in his mouth and got back to Harbor as quickly as he could, and did his best to not look like he was bolting for the bathroom as soon as he touched down. He just barely made it in time before throwing up. When he finished he leaned back against the cool wall and took a second to catch his breath.

Ever since the night six weeks ago that he broke his own heart by walking out of Evan’s apartment Tommy had been unable to find it in himself to take good care of himself. Tommy wasn’t even in his truck by the time he’d realized what a mistake he’d made and what an idiot he was. He should’ve turned around and gone back and begged for Evan’s forgiveness, but at the same time he didn’t feel he deserved it. Evan deserved better than Tommy. Someone who wasn’t broken like Tommy. Someone who wouldn’t break Evan’s heart like Tommy had. Someone who could actually be Evan’s last. Tommy was never meant to be someone’s last. He was too broken, too damaged, too far beyond redemption for that, and the ray of sunshine that Evan Buckley was deserved better.

Tommy hauled himself to his feet, washed his hands and face and rinsed his mouth in the sink and got back to work, and no one had any idea that Tommy had just been sick. Tommy supposed in a way it was a blessing that he and Lucy had ended up on different shifts, she’d notice right away, but seeing as she wasn’t there she couldn’t, and it was hard to find time to hang out as friends when they were always on opposite schedules. Tommy missed her of course, but he was also in a sense glad that he could stay away from her all-too-knowing watch.

Two weeks passed with Tommy having the same weirdly consistent nausea. He never once spiked a fever though. The only other possible symptom he had was fatigue, but his sleep schedule had been a mess since the break up, it wasn’t all that surprising that he was always tired. He’d also been having some mild lower abdominal pain on-and-off, but he’d been eating like shit and going too hard on himself in the gym so that was likely the cause of that. Tommy figured this wasn’t the flu, but he had no idea what it could be.

“Your sister’s pregnant?” Jensen asked Grimaldo at the table they were eating lunch at. 

Tommy was at a separate table, picking at his own lunch and trying to read a news article on his phone. He couldn’t help but overhear his colleagues' conversation.

“That’s crazy.” Jensen continued. “My cousin just announced they’re expecting. I swear man, everyone’s getting pregnant. There’s gotta be something in the water.” He laughed.

Tommy was glad he was eating with a plastic fork and not a metal one because the fork fell out of his hand and surely would’ve gathered attention had it made a noise. There was no way Tommy could be…

No, he was over forty. Male pregnancies over forty were virtually unheard of unless IVF was used. Men over forty who weren’t trying to get pregnant didn’t accidentally get pregnant, right?

The question plagued Tommy for the rest of his shift. There was no way, but it would explain the weird nausea and the fatigue. But also, wouldn’t he have figured it out sooner? He hadn’t been with anyone since Evan. The break up was two months ago now. Surely he would’ve noticed something sooner.

After his shift Tommy found himself at a pharmacy, hemming and hawing in the pregnancy test aisle. He was being ridiculous. There was absolutely no way. He looked at the tests again. Tommy huffed and hastily grabbed a box and marched over to the till. He wasn’t pregnant. He couldn’t be. But what was fifteen bucks to give himself some piece of mind that he was right?

Tommy didn’t even touch the tests that night. He was exhausted by the time he got home and seemed to remember hearing something about it being better to test in the morning anyway, so he decided to let himself sleep for the night and worry about that tomorrow morning.

It must’ve been eating away at Tommy’s consciousness though, because he bolted upright in bed a few hours later, having woken from a nightmare of himself birthing a stillborn while the doctor hounded on Tommy that it was his fault for drinking alcohol and eating things he shouldn’t have been eating early on in the pregnancy.

Five minutes later the timer on Tommy’s phone went off and he flipped the test over to see the results.

Two very clear pink lines. The test line was so dark the control line almost had no color to it, but it was very obviously two lines. Positive.

“Fuck.” Tommy muttered.

Tommy spent the next several hours crying in between breaks to puke and to take the other two tests in the box, which also came back positive.

The universe apparently had a very sick and twisted sense of humor. Why were there so many loving couples who desperately wanted kids and couldn’t have them, while Tommy who wasn’t trying, wasn’t even in a relationship, and should not have been able to get pregnant in the first place able to conceive?

Tommy knew he needed to tell Evan and the sooner the better. Tommy figured he had to be at least ten-ish weeks along already. Roughly a quarter of the way through the pregnancy. He also needed to see a doctor.

Tommy didn’t even understand how he hadn’t lost it already with what crappy care he’d been taking of himself the last several weeks. God he’d been drinking- and a lot. What if he hurt the kid? Fetal Alcohol Syndrome was no joke. Tommy found himself puking again at that realization.

Tommy looked at the time and found it was 9am already. He reached for his phone and called his doctor’s office. At first the receptionist said they couldn’t get him in for nearly a month, but when Tommy broke down and started crying while explaining why he needed to be seen sooner, the poor, sweet receptionist on the other line found a spot to squeeze him into next week, and thankfully ended what had to be the most humiliating phone call of Tommy’s life.

He didn’t know how he could wait til next week to tell Evan. It felt cruel to keep this from him. Evan had the right to know. Evan loved kids, wanted kids of his own, wanted to be a dad. Tommy couldn’t keep this from him. He didn’t know what this would do with regards to their relationship. Tommy certainly didn’t expect this to magically fix everything. But Evan deserved the chance to be in his kid’s life. Their kid deserved to know both their parents. Tommy could put his own feelings aside for someone else’s sake, he’d been doing it almost his whole life, he was good at it, and he definitely owed it to this kid to do it again now.

After some social media sleuthing and mental math and eventually calling in a favor to a friend at dispatch, Tommy confirmed that the 118 A-shift was not currently on duty. Evan wasn’t working. He might not be home, but Tommy had to do this in person. He wasn’t telling Evan about something so monumental over a text. Tommy showered and got himself ready and drove to Evan’s apartment.

Tommy nearly turned around about a dozen times, but finally managed to get to Evan’s building and park. He sat in the truck for goodness only knew how long before he finally built the courage to get out and go in. The sooner he did this, the better, and Tommy needed something to feel better right now.

The elevator made him queasy to the point that Tommy got off after just one floor and took the stairs the rest of the way up to Evan’s floor. Taking so many stairs brought back that dull, crampy ache Tommy had been feeling in his stomach for weeks- he supposed that was actually due to the changes his body was doing though. Either way, he preferred that dull achy pain over puking in the elevator, so he pushed through and finally got to Evan’s floor. Tommy made his way to Evan’s door, it took him a solid minute or five to finally gather the courage to knock.

A moment later Evan pulled the door open and when he saw it was Tommy, Evan began to close the door again.

“We need to talk.” Tommy said quickly. “Please E- Buck. Just hear me out-”

“Hear you out?” Evan scoffed as he opened the door again. “I need to hear you out? After you didn’t give me the chance to say anything when you dumped me?”

“You’re pissed at me, and I get that-” Tommy started, still standing in the hallway.

“Pissed? Tommy, you broke my heart. And for weeks, weeks, I hoped you’d reach out- I saw you bubbling me, I thought you were going to reach out and you never did. It’s been two months and you want to talk now?” Evan crossed his arms. “I waited- you had your chance. I don’t want to hear it now.”

“Ev-” Tommy stopped himself and sighed. “Please believe me when I say I am well aware that you deserve so much better than how I’ve behaved, Buck. I’m sick with myself, and I’m not saying that because I’m looking for sympathy- I just want you to know that I’m as pissed at me as you are.” Tommy insisted, truly meaning every word he said.

“If you’re so self aware then why are you here now?” Evan demanded.

“Like I said, we need to talk.” Tommy said simply.

“What? You suddenly realized you made a mistake and want me back? It’s too damn late for that, Thomas.”

“I know that-”

“Clearly you don’t because if you did you wouldn’t be here!” Evan exclaimed.

“Because this isn’t-” Tommy didn’t know how to say what he needed to say and to make matters worse, he was hit with a fresh wave of nausea. “I didn’t know until last night,” Tommy had to pause to swallow hard, trying to keep from throwing up.

“Last night? It took you two months to what? Regret this? Miss me?”

“I missed you the moment I left that night. I regretted it before I was even back in my truck-”

“Then why didn’t you come back?” Evan demanded.

“Because you deserved better.” Tommy told Evan sincerely.

“And showing up two months later is better? No. I’m just finally starting to put myself and my life back together. You- you broke me, Tommy. I loved you and you broke me. You don’t get to show up now and screw me up again. Fuck you.”

“You think I don’t know what I did?! Evan I might be an idiot but I’m not stupid- I know I fucked up and I know I waited a long time to figure this out but I need you to hear me out.”

“I don’t need to do anything for you,” Evan started to close the door again.

“We’re gonna be a family!” Tommy said quickly. Even if they hated each other's guts- not that Tommy did or ever could hate Evan- they were having a kid together which made them family.

Evan stopped and looked at Tommy again. “We could’ve been a family- I wanted us to be a family. But this,” Evan gestured between himself and Tommy. “This isn’t a family. Family doesn’t do what you did to me- what you’re doing to me by showing up now. I don’t know what you were thinking when you came over here but we are not and never will be a family.”

Tommy felt his heart sink. It was understandable for Evan to not want anything to do with Tommy, but to want nothing to do with their kid either really hurt. Evan loved kids, but it seemed Tommy had hurt Evan so badly he didn’t even want to be involved in his own kid’s life. Tears gathered in Tommy’s eyes no matter how much he didn’t want them to. “Evan please, I know you’re mad at me but our ki-”

“No. Not buts. I’m not interested.” Evan stood firm.

“If you change your mind-” Tommy started.

“I won’t.” Evan cut him off. “You need to leave.”

Tommy looked at Evan for a moment longer, before giving in and walking away. He hadn’t expected things to go very well, but he hadn’t thought it’d be that bad either. Tears slid down Tommy’s cheeks as he made his way out of the building and as soon as he was outside he threw up again. Tommy sat in his truck for a while and just cried and cried before he finally managed to get himself together enough to drive home.

Tommy spent the next day at home alone, going everything over and over again in his head. He knew he hurt Evan when he left but he hadn’t been trying to hurt him. It was never Tommy’s intention to be malicious or purposely hurtful. He was just afraid and trying to protect his own heart. At least, that’s what he’d intended. Tommy didn’t know if he was more upset with himself that he hurt Evan so badly that Evan didn’t want to be involved in their kid’s life, or mad at Evan that he couldn’t get over the Tommy of it all to at least try and have a relationship with his kid.

Tommy knew he should be reaching out and talking to someone, but he didn’t know who. He had no one. Lucy was on shift and Tommy could already hear her lecture on how irresponsible he’d been- Tommy was well aware all on his own. He loved her, but she wasn’t exactly the shoulder to cry on that he needed right now anyway. Evan was obviously out of the question, and none of Tommy’s friends from the 118 had said a word to him since he broke up with Evan. In the end Tommy turned his phone off before he could do something he really shouldn’t, and put on Love, Actually and tried to just forget everything that was happening for a while.

The next morning Tommy was woken by his alarm. He had a shift even though he really really didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay in bed and be upset but unfortunately such was not possible. He dragged himself out of bed and forced himself to get ready for work. To make matters worse the aching cramps in his lower abdomen were back again and his shoulder was hurting- he figured he slept on it weird- but Tommy managed to push through.

Tommy didn’t know if he should be flying, so when he got to work he told his captain he wasn’t feeling 100% and grounded himself. Thankfully his captain didn’t question it or make a big deal of it. 

There were a few calls right off the bat, so the crew didn’t do their usual morning line-up and chore assignment until a couple hours into Tommy’s shift. Tommy was feeling nauseous again and was feeling a bit light headed, but he kept pushing through. He was assigned maintenance on one of the helicopters with another member of his crew, and they quickly got to work in relative silence.

By the time they were just about finished Tommy was feeling worse, and cramps were getting stronger. He was dizzy and felt more light headed than before. This felt wrong. Something was wrong. He needed to tell someone. Tommy stood up and the pain in his abdomen intensified as his vision blacked out and Tommy fell to the ground.

“Kinard! Come on, stay with us,” A voice called out an indeterminable amount of time later.

Tommy’s head felt heavy and he couldn’t open his eyes. He’d never felt pain like what he felt in his abdomen before now. He knew what it was but couldn’t bear to think about it.

“His pulse is racing.” Someone else commented. “Get him on the lifepak I need to see what his BP is.”

Tommy let the tug of unconsciousness take him again. Next time he came to, he could tell he was on a stretcher in the ambulance. Again, his eyes didn’t open but he could hear what was going on around him.

“All these symptoms present as major blood loss but he’s not bleeding from anywhere. It must be something internal.” Someone said. “Do you know if he’s been injured at all recently?”

“I’m not sure.” Someone else responded.

Tommy shook his head a bit.

“Hey, Tommy, you with us?” The second voice asked. “Does anything hurt?”

Tommy reached up to pull the oxygen mask out of the way. He needed to tell them he was pregnant. Tommy meant to say I’m pregnant and having stomach cramps but all that came out semi-coherently was “Pregnant… cramps.”

“Pregnant? Tommy, do you mean you’re pregnant? How far along are you?”

Again, the full contents of what Tommy meant to say didn’t match what came out clearly enough to be understood. Don’t know for sure. 10 or 11 weeks maybe. “Don’t know… 10, 11 weeks.”

“Okay, we got you. Just hang in there.” They told him.

Tommy felt the tug of unconsciousness again but he had something he needed to say. Evan’s still my emergency contact. Don’t call him. Call Lucy. Don’t call Evan. Please. “Ev… emergency contact, don’t call…Lucy.  …call Evan. Please.” Tommy mumbled before slipping away again.

---

Buck’s eyes flicked over to his phone as it started ringing. He was at home trying to sleep but he could not stop thinking about the fight with Tommy the day before last. He’d been on shift in the time in between and had put it to the back of his mind while working. The caller ID showed West LA Hospital. Buck swallowed thickly and answered as his mind raced with possibilities. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Evan Buckley?” A woman’s voice came over the phone.

“Yes.” Buck confirmed.

“My name is Sheila Rollinson, I’m a nurse at West LA hospital. Someone who has you listed as their emergency contact has been brought into the ER via ambulance and is unconscious, which is why I’m calling you now.”

“Who is it? What’s going on?” Buck asked desperately.

“Thomas Kinard,” She said slowly.

Buck was already trying to think of the kindest way to tell this nurse that he was not interested, that she needed to find someone else to call because Tommy was not a part of Buck’s life anymore by Tommy’s own choice.

“We suspect he’s suffering complications related to his pregnancy, the doctor is with him now.” Sheila continued to explain.

“We’re going to be a family.”

Tommy’s words the other day. It wasn’t ‘we are a family’ or ‘we could be a family’. It was ‘we’re going to be a family’. Tommy was trying to tell Buck he was pregnant. That’s why he suddenly needed to talk to Buck. That’s probably what he meant when he said he realized it last night. Tommy had just found out and one of the first things he did was try to tell Buck.

And Buck was so caught up in his anger he hadn’t even listened to what Tommy had to say. Because if he had he would’ve noticed that wording last night. He would’ve understood what Tommy meant. If he’d been listening he would’ve understood that Tommy was doing all this for their kid. God if Buck had just listened to Tommy Buck wouldn’t have said he wasn’t interested, or that he wouldn’t change his mind. Buck was too angry to even realize he’d told Tommy he wasn’t interested in being a part of their kid’s life. Tommy was crying when he left and Buck did that. Buck caused that by saying he didn’t want anything to do with their child.

Buck felt like he could be sick. This didn’t undo all the hurt Tommy had caused when he broke up with Buck. But this did explain why Tommy contacted Buck two months later. Because while he thought Evan deserved better than him, Tommy knew he owed it to Buck to give Buck a chance to be in their son or daughter’s life. Yesterday wasn’t about Tommy’s wants or needs, it was about the baby. Their baby. No matter how hurt or mad Buck was with him, Tommy was trying to do the right thing now, and Buck needed to do the same.

“Sir? Are you still there?” Sheila’s voice came over the phone.

“Sorry, yes, you were saying?” Buck asked.

“Mr Kinard collapsed at work. We suspect it’s due to some kind of complication with the pregnancy. The doctor is working him up now, but as I mentioned before, Mr Kinard has been unconscious. There doesn’t seem to be an official medical proxy in place for Mr Kinard in his medical records, and according to his employer the paperwork is blank. In this case unless Mr Kinard wakes up we’ll need you to make medical decisions on his behalf.”

Buck was already up out of bed and pulling on clothing appropriate to leave the house in. “Com- complications, what kind of complications?” He asked.

“We should have exact details soon, it’s probably best if we wait until we know for sure what’s going on. Will you be able to come to the hospital?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way.” Buck promised and ended the call.

---

Tommy came to again. He was in a lot of pain and felt very weak and cold. His eyes didn’t open yet, but he could again hear voices.

“We need to get him to surgery now.”

“His emergency contact is on the way but he’s not here yet, there’s no one to sign the consent form.”

“He’s bleeding internally and moments away from hypovolemic shock. If someone doesn’t sign paperwork in the next minute, we’re taking him up anyway, we’ll have the surgeons sign off on emergency consent.” The first voice argued.

Tommy finally found the strength to speak. “Consent for what?”

“Mr Kinard can you hear us?”

Tommy gave a small nod.

“Mr Kinard, your pregnancy is ectopic, I’m sorry to say but the pregnancy is nonviable. It planted outside your uterus in one of your fallopian tubes, and the tube has now ruptured. You’re bleeding internally and we need to take you to surgery right away. We will attempt to repair the tube, but there is a chance we’ll have to remove it. Do you understand?”

Tommy had known since he felt that intense cramping right before he passed out that something was wrong with the pregnancy. He hadn’t really thought of it until it was happening but he’d hoped that maybe he was wrong, or that something could be done. He knew he’d just learned about the pregnancy and there were so many questions left unanswered with regards to actually having the kid but Tommy did want to go through with it. He’d never even considered having biological kids, but he had decided he was going to do it.

“Mr Kinard, are you still with us?”

“Yeah.” Tommy rasped. “There’s no way to save…” Given Tommy’s age this was probably his only chance to have a child.

“No, I’m sorry.”

Tommy was quiet for a moment. “Where’s the form?”

“We’ve got it right here.”

Tommy forced his eyes open, took the pen that was being offered to him and signed his name on the form, then let his eyes fall back shut.

They were quick to start moving him to the OR.

“I didn’t know,” Tommy said as they moved him onto the operating table. “Just found out two days ago. Don’t even know how far along.”

“Based on what we can tell we’d guess about eleven weeks.” Someone told him gently.

“I wasn’t eating right, was drinking,” Tommy scrunched his eyes further shut. 

“Propofol going in now.” Someone else said.

“Pushing myself at the gym. If I’d known…” Tommy felt like he was about to lose consciousness again. “Did I- did I do this?” He asked, and slipped away before he could hear the answer.

---

Buck got himself to the hospital as quickly as he could. The nurse had made it sound like Tommy had no one else and as hurt by Buck was by the break up, he wasn’t going to leave Tommy out to dry. Not when Tommy was alone and needed him. Not to mention their kid-

Buck raced into the ER and towards the desk. “I’m looking for Tommy- Thomas Kinard. I’m his emergency contact. I was called maybe twenty minutes ago.”

“Alright let me see here,” The woman at the desk typed on her computer for a moment. “Can I see some ID please?”

Buck grabbed his wallet, pulled out his driver’s license and showed her.

“Alright. Looks like Mr Kinard was just taken up to surgery. Why don’t you grab a seat for a moment and I’ll have someone come give you some more details?”

Buck nodded slightly in agreement even though he wanted to know what was going on immediately. The several minutes he spent sitting there felt like hours, when finally a nurse approached him. “Mr Buckley?” She asked.

“Buck, please.” Buck told her.

“Buck, I’m Sheila, we spoke on the phone. Why don’t we go somewhere a little quieter to chat?” She suggested. “I can take you to where you can wait for Mr Kinard.”

“Okay.” Buck stood and followed Sheila as they walked away from the busy ER waiting room.

“There’s no easy way to say this, but Mr Kinard’s pregnancy was nonviable. He couldn’t have successfully carried it to term.” Sheila explained. “He woke up for a few moments- long enough to sign a consent form for surgery. He was bleeding internally, he’s in surgery now to remove the fetus and stop the bleeding.”

Buck swallowed hard. 

Tommy lost the baby. Sheila said fetus and not embryo which told Buck that Tommy was at least eleven weeks along. The size of lime. They had fingers and toes and ears and fingernails were forming.

Buck wondered if this was his fault. Had the stress of their fight yesterday caused this? Stress could cause pregnancy loss- Buck had been doing a lot of reading because Maddie was pregnant again and he wanted to be more involved this time. Surely the fight would’ve stressed Tommy out, probably also caused his blood pressure to spike- another thing not good for pregnancy. “Did I do this?” He suddenly asked.

“Oh my dear,” Sheila said gently. “No, this wasn’t your fault.”

“But me and Tommy got in an argument the day before yesterday, the stress-” Buck told her.

“The pregnancy was ectopic- rather than implanting in the uterus, the egg implanted in his fallopian tube. This would’ve happened eventually no matter what. No one caused this to happen, Buck. Unfortunately sometimes these things just happen, and it’s awful and it’s heartbreaking, but it’s no one’s fault.” Sheila explained.

“Is- is Tommy going to be okay?” Buck asked.

“He’s lost a lot of blood, and they may need to remove the fallopian tube if the damage is significant enough, but he’s in excellent hands.” Sheila reassured. “You can wait for him to come out of surgery here. I’ll make sure to let the team in the OR know you’re waiting here for news.”

“Thanks.” Buck mumbled.

“Of course.” Sheila nodded and left Buck.

Buck sat down and put his head in his hands as tears began to fall. Tears for the baby, for Tommy, for himself, for what would’ve been, for what could’ve been, for what should’ve been.

---

Tommy briefly woke up in the post-op recovery area. The doctor explained that they’d taken the fallopian tube and Tommy was still receiving a blood transfusion, but he’d make a full recovery. Tommy didn’t find much peace in that, and quickly fell back asleep.

The next time Tommy woke up he was in a regular hospital room. He was sore from surgery, but that pain had nothing on the heartbreak he was feeling. He finally opened his eyes and saw Evan was sitting next to his bed, fighting with himself to not fall asleep. Tommy swallowed thickly. His throat was sore and mouth was dry, but he managed to speak. “I lost it, you know. You’re off the hook.”

Evan’s head whipped up and he looked at Tommy. His eyes looked red-rimmed and puffy from crying. He sat up straighter and shifted to the edge of his chair, a little closer to Tommy even if only by inches. “I know,” He said softly. “I’m here for you.”

“I tried to tell them not to call you, I didn’t mean to drag you into this.” Tommy told him. “You can leave, I don’t expect you to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Tommy.” Evan insisted.

Tommy just looked at Evan and said nothing. They were silent for several minutes until Tommy spoke again as tears welled up in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Evan asked gently.

“For- for losing the,” Tommy had never even called it what it was until now. “The baby. It’s all my fault-”

“Hey, no.” Evan scooted closer to Tommy’s bed and hesitated for a moment before reaching for Tommy’s hand. “Tommy it was wrong from the very start, nothing you did or didn’t do could’ve prevented this.”

Tommy looked down at Evan’s hand, holding his own ever so gently. “I wanted it. With or without you around I- I wanted it.” Tears slid down Tommy’s cheeks.

“I know. I wanted it too- I didn’t understand what you meant the other night until I got the call that you were here. I never meant to say I wasn’t interested. If I’d been thinking clearly enough to understand what you were saying I never would’ve said that, and I’m sorry I did.”

Tommy nodded slightly and they were silent again for a while. “For the record I- I loved you too, Evan.”

Evan looked at Tommy with a sad expression. “I understand that now. I- I didn’t before, but now I do.”

Tommy gave Evan’s hand a small squeeze. He could feel his eyelids drooping as sleep threatened to take him again.

“We don’t have to talk about this right now. Just rest, okay?” Evan told him. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” Tommy whispered.

“I promise.” Evan confirmed.

Tommy squeezed Evan’s hand again and let sleep take over. His heart was still broken, but he felt a little less awful knowing Evan would be there when he woke up, and for now, that would be enough.

[luna-writes-stuff]

Time In A Bottle, Astarion

Song link

Fanfic, gn! reader

Hurt/comfort, fluff

Word count: 2584

Tw: pls it’s so difficult to write for BG3, idk how y’all do this. Looming anxiety, act II. Mentions of alcohol/local drunks (you’re a tavern keeper). No race, gender, or class specified. One (1) innuendo, but it’s hidden.

Summary: Travelling through the Shadowlands seemed to bring more anxiety than you would have initially anticipated. In the Last Light Inn you’re all caught up in your head when Astarion finds you. Trying his best to soothe you, you discuss whatever the future holds once you’re finally free.

Requested by @bogginswritings

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

“If I could save time in a bottle The first thing that I'd like to do Is to save every day 'til eternity passes away Just to spend them with you.”

He never believed in fate. Hell, if fate had been real, it had been terribly cruel to him. And fate had always been a positive daydream. Never of the material only seen in your nightmares. Thus - fate was a lie. It was purely a coincidence that you happened to be everywhere he was.

Yes, just a coincidence that you happened to meet him whilst a gang of thieves tried to sneak up on him. You hadn’t even known the elf, but part of you had urged you to step in and pretend to know him. You couldn’t quite tell how or why, and though he seemed perfectly capable of handling himself, you had stepped in, dragging him by his arm into clear sight - away from the shady alley he had found himself in. Besides a short introduction and a brief nod of gratitude, you didn’t exchange many words.

But then you met him later in a bar. By rights you shouldn’t have even remembered his face, but somehow you did. And he did as well. Finding him somewhat owing you some form of gratitude he had treated you to a drink, and you started a short conversation.

Then, again, you wouldn’t see him for weeks, until stumbling back into him upon market squares, theatres, libraries, and harbours. The more you saw him, the more you found yourself longing to see him again. You had never hoped to see him on an alien ship, though.

It was a brief glimpse, a wandering eye over a room you weren’t meant to see, but your eyes caught his figure in a pod for a second. Then, everything had gone dark.

Having come across him after your escape, it seemed logical to stick with him - he had been the person you knew the best. But what initially started out as sheer survival instincts and panic had begun to grow into something similar to fondness. A feeling he couldn’t deny either. Be that as it may, you both remained silent about it. There were more pressing matters in your head, both literally and figuratively.

“If I could make days last forever. If words could make wishes come true. I'd save every day like a treasure, and then Again, I would spend them with you.”

Bravery had been your growing companion the close you got to Moonrise Towers and salvation. But it had begun to waver the second you had stepped foot into the Shadowlands. Words could not express your gratitude once you found the Last Light Inn, but the pressing urgency of complete darkness never once faltered from your mind. Your eyes couldn’t seem to tear from it either, as your frame sat on a lone balcony, staring into the abyss outside the dome, silent stares giving you glares back, washing shivers up your spine. You had already been on edge, so when Astarion decided to sit down next to you without as much as alerting you of his presence, you couldn’t help the panicked skip in the beat of your heart.

“Great mother of-“ You shrieked, clutching your chest as you forced yourself to halt your words. “Astarion, don’t do that.” “Oh, but I do love to scare you,” He replied through a laugh, letting his legs fall between the bars, dangling over the tiny river below. You didn’t reply to him. It wasn’t the first time he scared you, but unlike then, you couldn’t find yourself appreciating the gesture anymore.

“You’re no fun,” He sighed when you failed to respond. “Too caught up in this looming death thing?” “Well, yes,” You affirmed. “We don’t have any sense of direction here and the shadows have eyes - quite literally. So, yes. I am ‘too caught up in this looming death thing’.” Taken aback by your quick fire of words, he leaned back a little. “We have our fairy friend.” He tried to console. “Ah, yes,” You agreed. “That’ll teach them.”

A scoff of entertainment came from him as he gently observed you. The trail his eyes made over your body sent a slight shiver down your spine, but you pushed it away. “I sense a faint scent of stress on you.” He spoke. “Truly?” You asked, raising your eyebrows in mock-surprise. “Then, I shall indulge you: there is panic, fear, and loneliness also.” “That sounds awful.” Astarion commented, causing you to shrug, your eyes falling back into the darkness in front of you. He seemed so calm - almost at peace: “How are you so okay with all of this?”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke. “Well, someone has to keep the spirits up in this group.” You nodded once, a faint smile on your face. “Tremendous job you’re doing at that. I am quite sure Gale will break down once the first person asks him how he's doing.” “He is going to blow himself up.” Astarion mumbled, tilting his shoulder from side to side in understanding. You cast him a look over your shoulder. “Don’t sugarcoat it.”

“But there never seems to be enough time To do the things you want to do once you find them.”

He was quiet for a while, watching your eyes stare at nothing, the absence of light almost reflecting on your face. “If it helps,” He began. “I don’t like it either.” Furrowing your eyebrows together, you looked back at him. “Gale blowing up?” “What? No.” He said quickly, before shaking his head. “I mean - I don’t like it, no, but that is not what I meant.”

You sighed. As much as some tried to deny it, you had grown very fond of your travelling group, and you were almost certain the feeling was mutual. You hated to think of what would happen if the tadpoles were to transform you - or what would happen if you managed to actually get them out of your heads. You might never see Astarion again. He’d get his revenge and vanish, free to do his own bidding. You couldn’t blame him for it, but the thought hurt all the same.

“I hate it here too,” The elf admitted. “It has this sense of emptiness. Feeds into loneliness.” You didn’t dare to ask him more of it. You knew his struggles and buttons, but you weren’t going to push them now. Not when there was too much going on in your head as it was. Thus, you tried to change the topic: “If we manage to somehow survive everything, what is to become of you?”

The elf gave you a curious look. His eyes - however - hardened slightly, before they fell to the bannisters in front of him. “I think you know.” “I mean,” You tried. “After you have had your peace. What will you do?” That seemed to make him think for a while. You were grateful for the harpers talking in the yard - you could not have dealt with absolute silence now. “Whatever I want.” Astarion finally revealed, almost struggling with the words. “To not have to obey one's commands or wishes would be something…” His voice trailed off, trying to find the right words. “New,” He settled on. “I wouldn’t know what I’d do now. That is all for later.”

Then, his eyes met yours, an unknown glint within them, the hint of a smirk on his face - a drastic change to his expression seconds earlier. “Why?” At his look and undertone, your face heated up slightly, your eyes involuntarily dwindling down to your hands, which had grasped each other in light anxiety. “Just a question.” You justified.

“I've looked around enough to know That you're the one I want to go through time with.”

You could hear his chuckle, his eyes never leaving your form. “I see.” He answered, “What is to become of you when we survive?” Coughing up the uncomfortable feeling in the back of your throat, you shrugged nonchalantly. “Back to Baldur’s Gate.” You answered truthfully. “I had a life there - a job. Friends and family who might still live.” A sudden jolt of daring shot through you as you forced your head to rise, a cheeky grin now covering your face. “Why?” He could laugh at that, following your words as he shrugged. “Just a question.”

A second, comfortable silence followed. You ignored the irregular beating of your heart of Astarion’s eyes almost drilling holes into the side of your skull. Had it always been so abnormally hot?

Shifting under his gaze, you turned slightly, now giving him your full attention. “Won’t it get boring?” You dared to ask, taking him by surprise. “I’m sorry?” He returned, unsure of what you were asking or what you were insinuating. A frantic knock against his chest from the inside was forced down as you continued to speak: “You’ll live forever,” “Well, not exactly forever,” He interrupted. “I’m not invincible.” “You have no plan for the future, so you intend to wander alone forever?”

That question took him aback. Sure, he had fantasised about what his life would be like once he was finally free, but there never had been a solid plan or bucket list. Just a handful of things he longed to do - such as swim or walk under sunlight without growing uncomfortable, but these weren’t life plans. These were simple goals.

“Well, there’s no one I can really share it with, is there?” He questioned, trying to bruh the matter off, as if he hadn’t wondered about it himself. “Of course, there are brief entertainments, but no… settlements.” The hint in his voice caused your shoulders to lower slightly, a small amount of defeat watching over your back staring, staring at you menacingly. You pretended it didn’t bother you, though. Instead, you smiled for him, another shrug passing you as you leaned your head to the side.

“I suppose.”

“If I had a box just for wishes And dreams that had never come true. The box would be empty Except for the memory of how they were answered by you.”

“And you, then?” He returned, matching the gesture on your face. “Cursed to spend your life being wed off to some low life farmer?” You chuckled at him, shaking your head in dismissal as you recounted your working days in a local tavern, serving visitors and locals ale whilst they would rant and talk about everything. It was something you never thought you’d find yourself missing. But those now appeared to be the simpler days, and the longer your travel became, the more you find yourself urging to go back to those days, having taken nothing for granted.

“More like cursed to spend my life aiding drunks.” You commented, a fond smile on your face as you silently recounted all those times you had to throw out old drunks. Bothers then, that seemed to be a daydream now. “That sounds dull.” Astarion dismissed, not at all pleased with the image of you having to throw out drunks who might have been twice your size.

“No,” You returned sarcastically. “Wandering the planes of this world on your own for all eternity sounds lovely.” “Again, not for all eternity.” The elf corrected, but you ignored it, ranting off your bothers with eternity: “Everyone you know will be dead by the time your end comes, so it might as well be eternity.” You swallowed harshly as you processed your words, casting him a sorrowful look. “I’m sorry,” You apologised. “That sounded harsh.” But instead of a frown, that ever-apparent smirk was still on his face: “Don’t fret, darling. I’ll visit your tavern until the day you die.” “Oh, I really hope I won’t serve my entire life there.”

Both of you laughed at that, your arms falling against the bannisters as you leaned against it, resting your head on the side, directed Astarion’s way. He simply looked at you, almost seeming hesitant - carefully choosing out his next words.

“You don’t have to.” He settled on. You didn’t quite catch his underlying meaning. “Maybe you don’t, but most of us have to participate in society.” “No interest in wandering the planes of this world?” That caught you off-guard. Sure, he has flirted with you before, but never with the intention of starting something serious. You weren’t sure if you were imagining this. Perhaps you were. Best to laugh it off: “With you?” You feigned humour. “Where’d I get my happiness from?” “Oh, you’re hilarious.” The elf mocked, but his voice turned serious again. “You wouldn’t want to travel the world?” “Of course I would,” You confessed quickly. “But with what money?”

“But there never seems to be enough time To do the things you want to do once you find them.”

Silence once more. Astarion hadn’t really worried about money before, even when he was still a normal elf. Wealth had become relatively easy for him, whether he wanted it or not.

“You know, once I’m done with everything, I’ll have enough money to accompany me for decades. Money wouldn’t be an issue.” Nope, you weren’t imagining things. If you were, this had been a terribly cruel joke. He would have never spoken like this if he had no intention of keeping his promises. And though you would have loved to join him, the glum setting of your current journey had drowned your spirits slightly.

“Well, there is the precious issue concerning time. We don’t have the same time.” He could see the conflict and pain in your eyes, but - as always - he seemed to have already prepared his next line: “I have a very easy answer to that.” “Oh, that’s kinky.” You tried to brush off, pros and cons silently ticking off in your head. “Don’t tempt me, darling.” He returned in a low voice. You sighed at that, your gaze falling back upon the distance, only now from the side. “Astarion,” You muttered. “I’d love to. But I have a family out there. You’re important to me, but I can’t just disappear from them forever.”

He understood. Well, maybe not entirely, but he knew it would be a big matter for you. It would have been for everyone. Everyone but him. He knew how important your life was, and as his had been taken too early, he could only imagine what it would be like to that to another. “So, we’ll take care of your stupid drunks for a couple years. Then, we can leave.” He convinced, drawing a chuckle out of you. “That’s romantic.”

Taking you by surprise, his hand fell upon yours, which had been clutching the bannister. “I just want to spend it with you.” He spoke sincerely. No laugh, no smile, no crinkle by his eyes. There was nothing but truth and resilience in his words. You grew weak at the simple touch, but it was his face which drew you over the line: “If we live, I’ll help you get your revenge. We’ll see what happens afterwards.”

He couldn’t suppress the smile on his face, his fingers squeezing your hands once, before letting go, a dramatic groan coursing through him. “Ugh, an eternity with you?” “You brought it up.” You countered. Again, his hand found yours, this time intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Darling, I can’t wait.”

“I've looked around enough to know That you're the one I want to go through time with.”

[4theluvofsapphos]

Devil’s Advocate - PART 1/?

Lucifer Morningstar (Sandman) x Dead!Reader

Part two here

TW & A/N: R passes from an implied inebriated fall (DDDNE), Drinking, Smoking, Mentions of a high/drug related analogies/metaphors(?),

LATER TAGS TO NOTE: Heavy Sadism/Masochism, Blood + Blood Drinking, Slut-Shaming/Harsh Degrading, Dubious Consent (R is bound by contract, yet still consents + is sober, so I’m not sure if this is dubious consent or not, but I’m not taking any chances afhksdfj), Brief mentions of being apathetic towards death/life

WC: ~1.3K

Considering how you came to be acquainted with The Devil–some would even call you ‘friendly’--you hadn’t expected to be as deep into the murky depths as you were. Not only were you enticed by the embodiment of sin, but the idea made your brow crease and your palms begin to sweat. Your church always chided the children, telling them Satan was no martyr, no king. They said Satan was the ruler of the misfits, the outcasts, the uglies of the world.

In time, you came to understand that no one was an Angel. The closest that Heaven ever got to having an angel was Lucifer Morningstar. And even then, that didn’t last very long, did it?

As you grew into adulthood, becoming a misfit, an outcast, an ugly–it was inevitable. You remember the first time you peeked down the barrel of a bottle, flicked the sparker of a lighter. The teen angst got the best of you, and you never had it in you to care.

The ecstasy was heaven, the sin was salvation.

–

Your drinking buddy, Sal, said you were too cocky when you began dancing on the roof, holding the cheap bottle of Budweiser in one hand, a cigarette in the other. You were two bottles in, and a pack and a half down.

You didn’t care. Why would you? Life was so bland, like the same flavor of the same food. It had always been that way, since the day you realized you wouldn’t amount to much more than an office worker. You had no passion, no drive. Dying wouldn’t be terrible, living wasn’t terrible. But you craved more. And so you chased that rush, that hit of adrenaline when you balanced on a bridge high above the crashing waves, or when you set your hand on fire after covering it in hair gel, diving into the pool next to you to extinguish it.

Or like now, as you danced carelessly above your apartment, leaning over the edge and screaming along to the lyrics of the music, laughing loudly and throwing the finished cigarette over the edge. You watched it fall, the end glowing a deep orange, and suddenly you felt dizzy. The alcohol hit all at once, and instead of disappearing, you watched as the cigarette got closer, and closer, and closer. The realization didn’t hit you until you heard Sal scream after you, and in an instant, the rushing wind filled your head, you watched as the ground rushed closer to you in your periphery. Your eyes never straying from the falling cigarette, which distinguished on the cold pavement, and then…nothing.

—

Heat. The first thing to hit your senses when you began to rouse, was the heat. It was hot enough to make your nostrils burn as you took in slow, confused breaths.

Your throat felt dry…honestly, everything felt dry and aching, like you had just fallen 36 stories and landed head first on the floor you were currently laying on. When you finally decided to start moving and dared to crack open your eyes, you found that there seemed to be no ceiling, no moon, no sun, no stars. You hadn’t the faintest idea whether you were indoors or outside, if it was day or night. The sky was a dusted rose, a perpetual late evening or early morning.

Shifting onto your hands and knees, a gentle wind picked up– hot as well, unfortunately. With a little groan, you managed to get up, before quickly crumbling back to the floor. For whatever reason, the fall had seriously inhibited your ability to balance, or walk- really.

You had no idea where you were going, no idea what to do. When you glanced up from your hands and the smooth marble of the floor, your eyes caught on an opening at the end of the hall. Luckily, it didn’t look to be very far away.

So, with a sigh of personal defeat, you began to crawl. Even that was a struggle, yet you persisted. One hand, one knee, one hand, one knee. One hand-

“Going somewhere, starlight?”

—

END PT 1 HCJSJDJ THANKS FOR READING!!!

[random-vyxx]

Sooo! Nn DIALTOWN HEADCANONS!! (Tw there are brief mentions of suicide-) [ill get to dsaf headvanons in a different post]

(Also there's a LOT.)

Gingi:

• phonegingi and typegingi are separate beings.

• biology is determined on whats funniest in context.

• can change their sex at will,, like a frog,

• sometimes sleeps at the foot of norms bed like some fatass dog /lovingly /inspiredby that one nrom blog

• they have an immense dislike of beans.

• when asked about any sort of beans they get defensive.

• red-green colour blind

• purrs,,

• has adhd ,,, because,, they,, akt like me,, *

• thinks the narrator and it are homoerotic, the narrator just wants to go home.

• has a hang in there cat poster in its tent.,, stole it from Billy's alternary school when smuggling him out to ask for help summoning satan.

• likes liquorice.

• every 1-3 years gingi has to get a rabies shot. WILL NOT go alone. Has to get someone to take her or else he IS biting a veterinarian.

• Gingi has broken a limb before, they tried gnawing it off but got distracted by an un-watched construction site (gravel yummy yummy)

Karen

• were married. /JOKR.. /perchance?!

• is not only protective of romantic companions (me rn: 🤓👆),, just anyone she likes.

• she doesn't stim often (repressing it n whatnot), but when she does its usually something simple like bouncing onto her heels. *

• HATTTEEESSS blueberries. Oh my god unless they're ripe in the right way she physically cannot make herself eat them. Likes the taste but GOD she cant deal with them. *

• sometimes when she has a painting she didn't like the outcome of, she lets gingi gnaw on it. (She uses non-toxic paints when painting near gingi)

• smart, but she can make dumb decisions out of impulse.

• goth phase, but eventually got out of it because she just.. Didn't like it anymore.

• girlboss, i love her! !!

• her boss HATED her!

• sometimes she gets art block and stares at the canvas, contemplating if shes actually an artist.

• found a leaf that looked strangely like Charlie Chaplin, showed it to gingi and gingi devoured it instantly.

Randal.

• Randy finds it very hard to sleep naturally!! He will curl up around the airvent in the ticket booth.

• shares a braincell with Oliver n Karen.

• as pathetic as he is, can be pretty damn assertive at times.

• not sexually, bro would be shook if he held your HAND.

• he daydreams about some disney ass "getting pushed onto the dance floor and #ROCKING IT!!!!! " (If he got pushed onto a dance floor hed cry.)

• HAS drempt (dreampt? ) about invader zim and rainbow dash frim mlp beating the shit out of him. Has cried to Oliver about it, and Oliver asked if he did or did not deserve their beating,, in the dream.

• honestly kinda in love with Oliver.

• has honestly known Karen a BIT longer than hes known Oliver,, probably met her after leaving his dads house at 16.

• anytime he passes by the swan pond while walking back to the funfair, he starts shaking

• religious trauma, but meeting god kinda eased his fears a bit

• maybe it was the whole "god is really just an alcoholic hobo.. Hm... Maybe im nOT going to hell! He just like me fr! ",, still scared of him tho since if his life got that bad god aint in control.

• ASS EYESIGHT!! cant afford repairs.

• Randy will scarf down ANY food given. Hes usually nervous about being given stuff, but food? No questions asked, already consumed

Oliver

• has some crazy ass habits

• OLIVER IS SMART. IM TIRED OF PRETENDING HES NOT. HE CAN ACT ON IMPULSE, YES, HE CAN MAKE BAD DECISIONS, YEAH, HELL HE CAN SAY DUMB/IMMATURE SHJT BHT HE UD SMAR HE ISS SMA

• actually a pretty good welder, just sometimes uses it for... Evil.

• he welded a dick then him and gingi giggled about it for 38 minutes. He hides it around the scareshack sometimes and when mr dickens finds it, he sighs and places it somewhere new to continue this GOD AWFUL game.

• jokes about committing crimes, but wouldn't,, chaotic good type shiz.

• romance is boring ahh self.*

• likes randy,, but subtly, since hes greyromantic

• once listened to "kiss me son of god" by they might be giants so long he felt physical withdrawal when he WASN'T listening to it. Would pay money to listen to it for the first time again. ****

• used to overbind just because hed forget hes wearing a binder. Average conversation would be like "god randy i feel sick as FUCKK... " "maybe get that checked out..? " "like my chest hurts n shit,, iunno if its actually serious but it does hurt" ".. Oliver are you wearing the binder thingy... If thats what its called-? "*

• Oliver speaks in stage directions, instead of right, he says "stage left"

Bigfoot

• it takes a lot to coax Bigfoot into the city, usually more responsive when karen does it.

• no longer allowed near a car. *

• actually knows several languages, just doesn't speak.

• dude its Bigfoot what can i say, he like 'naners.

Norm

• INTRUSIVE thoughts. Bro is tweaking. *

• whenever he gets intrusive thoughts he feels PHYSICALLY SICK. Like one he gets is doing what he was going to do in the bad ending. One bullet for mingus, one for himself. He wouldn't, definitely not. Giving up his happy ending would be stupid and he knows that. He cant control it though. Thats what intrusive thoughts are. He has yet to tell anybody about them. (Yes im starting his hcs with these two)

• bisexual, had the awakening during his isolation.. Fill in the blanks.

• the hat he wears is,, thank god,, not the infamous erotica hat. Though he has yet to get RID of the erotica hat.

• used to play bloody knuckles. I SWEAR ITS FUN*

• bickers with Mingus a lot, but sometimes they're calm (prolly after some hijinks.)

• was a fucking hOMO for Callum, it was not mutual, and he knew that.*

(tHIS IS NOT ME VILLAIN-IZING ANYONE HERE ITA OKAY TO NOT LIKE SOMEONE BACK I JUST NEED TO ADD TJIS DISCLAIMER BECAUSE SOEM PEOPLE FUCKING SUCK)

• God gets him to make omelettes sometimes. Norm is somewhat freaked out by it, but does it nonetheless because its fucking god.

• sometimes sees bad edits of spaceships going into space on Facebook reels... And he HAS gotten nostalgic over it. *

• isn't ready to date anybody, no siree, but he is able to form close bonds. And thats okay!!!

• sleeps with a rifle under his pillow*

• after little to no contact with fellow humans for YEARS, he is DOGSHIT at several social cues. I dont know if its the autism or the isolation anymore.... Vro also doesn't know about several important events!

• ended up giving gingi a turnip so theyd DHUT UP.

• asked my dad for ideas, he just "double cheeseburger". I dont know what this means.

• The ink spots fan at heart 💖

Mayor Mingus

• The mingling has a specific pin to show they're in it, but nobody knows what it means so they just look fruity. Mingus didn't accept the pin idea, but they did it any ways. She REFUSES to acknowledge the fact she put it on a board in her office.

• Has cat like behaviors,, obviously,, but sometimes shit like purring shows and she HATES it.

• post chapter 3, shes less frantic about fixing callum, but wont put him down,, never.

• head overheats easily become cats cant sweat (a lot)

• tries to get people to shut up as soon as possible, but will negotiate if she deems it necessary. *

• strangely knows "McDonald's lore". Doesn't elaborate.

• Mingus and the rest of the mingling are back as a group, gods no longer in it and bunnys there!!

• has a list of citizen's she dislikes immensely!! If this got leaked, she'd be in big trouble. *

• catnip works. Well. Too well.

• tango will find her high off her ass on catnip,,, just staring at a lamp like a fucking moth.

• The mingling isnt ENTIRELY incompetent now that bunnys back, theyre kinda together as a crime force. Shooty and stabby have yet to be given real weapons but they're still there so the REST of the mafia can say "Honey... We can call the MAYOR for this disrespect. "

• Passively aggressively says "Im fine. " if shes pissed off. [Needs al-kee-hol.. Aka milk]*

• walks her paw-paw around the nursing home just to keep him a little fit. Callum does NOT know who thos strange cat lady is but hes okay with that.

• tired mom-core

• AROACSE!!!! ACE!!! ARO!!!*

[The next characters wont have as many headcanons.]

Abel

• his complaining taught everyone his legal name was "Unabel". Everyone calls him that now.

• Drinks on the job.

• going through a messy divorce. He started it.

• Abelvynny??!!!

• hes alergic to peppermint and coconut.

• strange deja vu when he sees certain phones,, like... Whoever the hell Joe and Harry are, and Tango too for some reason. It confuses him and he does NOT like it.

Bunny

• ABEL DIVORCED HIS ASS WHILE BUNNY WAS IN THE HOSPITAL.

• Disabled because of getting slammed with a fucking machine.

• has prosthetic legs,, because,,, getting slammed with madame mediocre,, AND a call back to callum crown.

• ALSO drinks on the job

• doesn't actually like rabbits, changed his name for marketing.

• eats lemons. *

God / Local Hobo

• RARELY gets seriously mad, and when they do, its not that bad

• Churches weird him out,, but doesn't really care. *

• everyone in town knows them in some way.

• hes the one who pissed on the bank floor

• doesn't actually like eating waffles. He'll eat anything but waffles just are for decorative purposes in his mind.

• genderfluid,, but hes usually too drunk to use anything other than he/they.. Used to use everything though. Maybe when sober they'll use she/her,, but again, rarely sober.

• also has a feminine voice,,, just for sillies. *

Shooty n Stabby

• team rocket type shit

• they datin. They queer.

• their head was done by some dude in an alleyway between an applebees and a hospital.

• Originally he knife headed one is stabby, the gun headed one is shooty. They don't know that,, because they only call eachother "bro".

• dialtown mob isn't even that bad.. They're just incompetent. Like zim compared to the rest of the irken empire. Im sorry invader zim brainrots getting to me.

• HAD good weapons before, because mingus didn't know how shitty they were. Never again. Mingus learnt her lesson.

Theoraur Rustlebelt (famed adventurer and explorer)

• chronic back pain from wrangling large animals. Pain

• Put traps outside of gingis tent, gingi ate them

• sleeps holding a gun.

• says bully so much because its FUCKUNG A FUN WORD OKAY I UNDERSTAND THE HYPWY,, BULLY IS A FUN FUCKJNV WKRD*

• likes the colour green a little.. Too much, just doesn't ever wear it.

Little Billy

• Drinks pure ketchup and its scary. *

• Neurodivergent ,, *

• weed. Lots. [[[Most people thinks it's just kid shit, hes high. who gave him weed. ]]]

• Likes breakcore music (like atari teenage riot and machine girl ) *

• hates everyone equally ♡*

• peanut allergy,, but he mainly eats macaroni so does it matter????

• has one of those silly ass spinny chairs to keep him focused in mingling meetings,, but still easily diverges topic [SPINNY CHAOR IDEA WAS TAKEN FROM SOMEONE ELSS BHT I FORGOT FROM WHOM]

• knows a little too much about knives.*

• favourite knife is a bowie knife, since he finds the history neat. Thinks Jim Bowie did some SICK stuff... But like,, jim bowies still a terrible person and he knows it. Stoll that standoff was epic. This is self projecting im sorry***

• lies a lot, even when not needed. *

• picks up spiders and gives them to people he dislikes. *

• aroace,, but hes 7 so he doesn't know yet.. Nor care.

END!!!!! the amount of aroace headcanons is for a spECIFIC REASON!! (im aroace.)

[agirlsawalittlerose]

This is Me Trying

ModernAU!Aegon x OFC

Fresh out of rehab, Aegon Targaryen is looking for a way back into music when he meets Victoria, a talented but stubborn singer-songwriter who wants nothing to do with his family’s record label. Reluctantly thrown together, they form an unexpected creative partnership, finding common ground in music and shared struggles.

TW: Alcoholism, Addiction, Sexism

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 10: The Cave

The night of the party, Vic had written another song. The words had come so effortlessly that she couldn’t hold them in—not even until morning. She’d grabbed her guitar and started writing immediately, her head still heavy with the fading buzz of the last beer, the one Aegon had poured out the window.

After their unspoken pact of understanding at the party, she and Aegon had written together more than ever. There was a surprising patience between them, a willingness to explore each other’s ideas without judgment. It had caught everyone off guard—most of all themselves, and even Aemond, who’d watched them with thinly veiled skepticism.

Aegon had eventually begged for a day off from their usual routine, a chance to escape his brother for once. That’s how they found themselves at the park, sprawled on the grass beneath the shade of an old tree, the air crisp and humming with the distant sounds of the city.

“If I’m gonna write lyrics about how I feel,” Aegon had said, “I’d rather do it miles away from my brother.”

Vic couldn’t disagree. She also couldn’t help feeling a twinge of satisfaction that his emotional restraint applied to Aemond, but not to her.

“I’ll tell you too that I’m so blue,” she read aloud from Aegon’s notebook, her tone skeptical. Lowering the page, she fixed him with a questioning look.

Aegon seemed pretty impressed with his own work.

“It’s not bad overall,” she admitted, “but ‘I’m blue’? For sad? That’s been done like a billion times.” She smirked, picking up a pencil to underline the offending phrase.

Unbothered, Aegon stretched out on the grass, resting his hands behind his head. “Well, there’s a reason for that—it works.” He shrugged, closing his eyes briefly against the weak sunlight filtering through the leaves.

“Sure, but you could use a finer metaphor, you know?” Vic replied, setting the notebook down and propping her head on her hand. “It’s a love song, and you want to say you’re sad, but you haven’t even mentioned being in love. What’s the matter? Scared?” she teased, her eyes glinting.

Aegon scoffed. “As if.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly challenging him to prove it.

Aegon turned his gaze toward the nearby pond, watching as a group of ducks paddled lazily across the water. A jogger passed by, throwing them a brief glance before continuing down the path.

He was running shirtless and in shorts in November. Completely insane.

“I’m in love with…” he began, twirling a lock of her hair between his fingers as he searched for the right words. After a moment, he grinned. “I’m in love with some sadness.”

He glanced at Vic, gauging her reaction.

“That’s more like it!” she said, clearly pleased. “Not bad at all.”

She jotted the revised line into the notebook with a satisfied smile.

Aegon smiled, tucking a strand of blond hair behind his ear before lapsing into thought again. “What if I wanted to say that I almost enjoy indulging in this sadness?” he asked, his voice carrying the eager curiosity of a child discovering a new game.

Vic’s smile softened. She had to admit, she didn’t mind this version of Aegon at all.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that his seeking her approval was starting to get to her.

“Well, you could say something like ‘you believe in…’” she began, offering him a prompt, hoping he’d take it and run.

“…The darkness,” he finished, holding her gaze steadily.

Vic felt her cheeks flush instantly. She prayed he wouldn’t notice as she nodded, perhaps too gently. “Bravo,” she murmured, cursing herself the moment the word left her lips. Perfect. Now she sounded like a lovestruck teenager.

But Aegon only smiled, excited energy that Vic found utterly endearing.

And there it was again—that feeling in her stomach, spreading slowly, insidiously.

How long before he ruined her completely? Before she learned, too late, that falling—even for a moment—would only end in wreckage? At least the old heartbreak was a familiar ache, a wound she knew how to live with. But a new one? That was a plunge into the unknown, a risk she wasn’t sure she’d survive.

Vic shook her head, forcing the thought away.

*****

Aegon plucked absentmindedly at the strings, leaning back on his elbows as the timid sun warmed his face. Vic sat cross-legged beside him, idly pulling at the grass. They’d been messing around with melodies for a while, letting the conversation drift in and out.

“You know that song you were playing earlier?” she asked suddenly. “The chord progression sounded familiar.”

Aegon smirked. “I have a very derivative style.”

Vic rolled her eyes. She had started to dislike whenever he was too self deprecating. Maybe she wasn’t sure anymore he deserved it.

“No I’m joking, it’s… Thank you by Led Zeppelin” he then said with a smile.

“I think my dad used to play it in the car when I was a kid. But I haven’t thought about it in years.”

Aegon looked at her, intrigued. She never talked about her family. “Your dad has good taste, then.”

She gave a half-smile. “Not really. He was mostly into awful ‘80s glam rock songs, but every once in a while, he’d surprise me. I guess some things stick without you realizing.” She glanced at him, almost shyly, then changed the subject. “What about you? How was growing up with music at home?”

He scoffed. “Very corporate like. My mum loves a good show tune, and my dad… well. He loves whatever’s profitable.”

Vic smirked. “Right. Heartwarming.”

Aegon shrugged, letting the conversation settle. He was used to people prodding about his father, his career, his fuck-ups. Weirdly, though, Vic’s curiosity felt different.

He noticed her hesitating for a second before she finally asked, “What was rehab like?”

No one had ever asked him that so plainly before. He glanced at her, expecting morbid fascination or careful pity, but there was neither. Just genuine interest.

Well, she was stuck with him at this point. He had spent the morning unlocking the hidden vault in the back of his brain, pulling out all his most romantic thoughts just to turn them into lyrics, he might as well be almost honest.

“Horrifying,” he said, deadpan. “I had to wake up at seven.”

Vic snorted. “God forbid.”

That was exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for. Aegon felt suddenly, absurdly grateful to have someone who actually laughed at his jokes.

“No, but really. Imagine the worst summer camp ever. Group therapy at eight, meditation at ten, some bullshit art class at eleven because apparently painting your feelings is supposed to help. Lunch at noon, which was mostly quinoa and despair.”

“And you stayed clean through all of it?”

“Somehow.” He exhaled, letting his head fall back against the grass. “Not like I had any other option. I mean, at first, I was counting the days till I could use again. Every morning, Countdown to freedom,” he said, turning his head toward her with a small smile. Then, suddenly, his gaze drifted, unfocused.

“…Then I just lost count.”

Vic didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched him. Aegon wasn’t sure why he was telling her all this, but for once, he didn’t feel the need to deflect.

“You still think about it?” she asked.

“All the time,” he admitted. “But I think about a lot of things I don’t actually do.”

She nodded, as if she understood that more than she wanted to admit.

"I know, Victoria Dawson. You don’t even have to explain it to me—I already know why you’re asking,” he thought, watching the way her eyes reflected the storm of thoughts he was sure she had in her head.

He noticed how, when she was deep in thought, she fidgeted with her hands, twisting the rings on her fingers. He noticed, too, that when she smiled just a little, a small dimple appeared above her cheekbone. And that she had the longest eyelashes he had ever seen.

Aegon turned his guitar in his hands, plucking at the strings again. “Anyway,” he said, because the air was getting a little too serious. “If you ever find yourself in need of a fun little getaway, I can totally recommend a place in Surrey. Fantastic views, great company—just don’t get too attached to the quinoa.”

Vic laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Just then, a raindrop landed on Vic’s nose, making her flinch. Then another. Then one landed directly on a strand of Aegon’s hair.

Classic fucking London.

You couldn’t relax outdoors for more than an hour without risking a full downpour—or worse, that thin, insistent drizzle that soaked you through before you even realized it.

Both of them shot to their feet at the same time, driven by the same instinct: protect Aegon’s ridiculously expensive £3,500 acoustic guitar at all costs.

"Shit—shit—shit—" Aegon fumbled with the case, trying to shove the guitar inside while Vic wrestled with the zipper.

“Now that I was finally relaxing,“ she snapped, finally securing it shut.

“Why, you’re physically able to relax?” Aegon shot back sarcastically, hoisting the case onto his shoulder.

"Ugh, fuck off,” Vic grumbled.

A sudden gust of wind sent a fine mist of rain straight into their faces.

"Alright, go, go!" she ordered, grabbing his wrist and dragging him forward.

"Oi! Hands off the merchandise!"

"Move your very expensive ass, Aegon!"

They half-ran, half-laughed their way down the street, ducking under awnings. They ended up at the pub—because it was close, and because Vic knew Sara was working and would let them in without any hassle.

*****

“Just changed the keg. On the house for my favorite person,” Sara announced, sliding two freshly poured pints onto the table in front of them. She added, with a smirk, “And to my favorite person’s… boss.”

Aegon laughed, lifting his pint in thanks and taking a sip as Sara pulled up a stool to join them.

“Also as a thank-you for taking my shift tomorrow,” Sara added.

Vic waved her off, raising her glass in a mock toast. But before she could drink, she noticed the puzzled look on Aegon’s face.

“You work Saturdays all the time,” he said, frowning. “What’s so different about this one?”

Vic could practically feel Sara’s delight at the opportunity to embarrass her. As her friend opened her mouth to explain, Vic shot her a warning glance. Sara, naturally, ignored it.

“Oh, not the first Saturday of the month, my dear Blondie,” Sara teased, making Aegon raise an intrigued eyebrow while Vic rolled her eyes.

"Sara..." Vic warned, her tone low and serious, but it only fueled Aegon’s curiosity. He straightened up, watching the two of them carefully.

“Oh, do tell me more,” he said, flashing Vic a mischievous grin.

Sara needed no further encouragement. “The first Saturday of the month is Charlie-Day,” she began with relish. “Vic washes her hair, puts on her best perfume, and spends the whole day hopping from one Spoons to the next, arm in arm with the spawn of Satan.”

“Arm in arm,” Vic muttered in irritation, burying her face in her hands, her voice muffled by embarrassment. “As if.”

“And who exactly is this spawn of Satan?” Aegon asked without missing a beat, his intrigue visibly piqued.

“A friend,” Vic cut in quickly, desperate to downplay the situation. “Sara just hates him.”

Sara scoffed loudly, leaning back with a grin. “Oh, a friend, is he? Please. He’s her ex. Don’t even try to lie, you absolute clown,” she shot back, her delivery brutal but laced with affection.

Vic let out a long, exasperated sigh, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. When she glanced at Aegon, he was smirking, his eyes locked on her, clearly enjoying every second of her discomfort.

“That’s so romantic,” he drawled, voice thick with sarcasm.

Vic ignored him and turned to Sara. “Let’s make sure tonight doesn’t get embarrassing, okay?” she said firmly, sitting up straighter in her chair.

Sara shot her a look of pure disdain, and Vic could see Aegon’s confused gaze bouncing between them.

Yeah, sorry, love. Maybe not my best move as a roommate to keep this little detail to myself, Vic thought, unconsciously shrugging her shoulders.

“What did you do, Vic?” Sara asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I told him we wouldn’t see each other tomorrow, and he said he could stop by tonight... Apparently, he’s got errands in town tomorrow, something to buy—I didn’t quite catch what,” Vic began, aware that the real bombshell was about to drop. Sara’s exaggerated eye roll only reinforced her awareness of the judgment brewing.

“He asked if he could stay at our place, and I said yes,” Vic concluded, already feeling the cold weight of moral condemnation settle around her neck.

“Vic!” Sara slammed her hands on the table, while Aegon chuckled, clearly entertained by the unfolding drama.

“What’s the big deal? We’re friends!” Vic replied, trying to feign innocence.

“Friendly fucking,” Aegon quipped, his tone dripping with amusement.

Vic elbowed him in the shoulder, laughing to cover her embarrassment. She desperately hoped to steer the conversation elsewhere; she wasn’t in the mood for one of Sara’s lectures. Sure, Sara was always right, but there was no harm in this, was there? Charlie needed a favor, and Vic was certain he’d do the same for her. All she had to do now was shift the topic. Thankfully, Aegon did it for her.

“Can I play tonight?” he asked, his expression that of a mischievous child, referring to the open mic. Vic smiled at him.

That was a huge deal. The first time he played for an audience after rehab.

“You’re staying until tonight? Is Aemond joining us?” she assumed, referencing Aegon’s usual need to be supervised. After all, they were here because he specifically wanted to avoid his brother.

“No, but I’ve got another plan,” he replied with a smirk.

*****

Aegon knew his parents wouldn’t make a fuss about it. Sure, Helaena wasn’t as strict as Aemond, but she was reliable—more than he was, at least—and had the distinct advantage of being the undisputed favorite child.

She also had the rare ability to make Aegon feel like less of a complete idiot or a lost cause. And tonight, that mattered. His goal was important: he was going to play in front of an audience for the first time in months. Not just since rehab, but sober.

He wasn’t sure why he’d suddenly felt this overwhelming urge to perform. He’d have to improvise a cover since he hadn’t had time to prepare anything else, and the songs he’d been writing with Vic still needed work. But the way she’d reacted—excited, encouraging—had been enough to convince him.

Damn Victoria Dawson and this strange, positive influence she seemed to have over him. Damn her for enthusiastically booking him a spot in the open mic lineup and, in doing so, reigniting a tiny spark of excitement and confidence in himself that he hadn’t felt in years.

“That man is so cute, I kind of want to hug him,” Helaena said absentmindedly, tapping her cocktail glass with her rings as she watched a man in his nineties sitting at a nearby table.

“Yeah, the crowd’s really spectacular,” Aegon replied dryly, his eyes flicking toward the empty stage as a small jolt of anxiety climbed up his spine.

“So this is why you wanted your big comeback to be here?” Helaena asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aegon stared at her for a moment, feigning a bitter laugh. “Very clever. No, I had a shortcut,” he replied, gesturing toward the bar where Vic was leaning, her eyes also fixed on the empty stage.

“So that’s Vic,” Helaena declared. It wasn’t a question, more of a definitive statement. From the certainty in her tone, it was clear he might have mentioned her a bit more than he thought.

“Who’s that?” Helaena asked, nodding toward the figure standing far too close to Vic.

Charlie.

Of course, he was six-foot-whatever, with shoulders as broad as the Great Wall and the cocky expression of someone who knew exactly the kind of power he held over someone.

Aegon could tell just by the way Charlie stood next to her—close, but not touching. By the way he leaned down to murmur things in her ear, making her laugh. He saw the way Vic’s eyes lit up at his words, at his proximity, and Aegon could already tell that nothing Charlie had said was remotely interesting.

Poor Vic. Completely clueless.

Aegon knew that look too well. The illusion of salvaging real affection from mere breadcrumbs. How many times had he been the one scattering those crumbs? A pang of guilt struck him, and for a moment, he almost felt like warning Vic. Telling her where this was headed—toward a dead-end alley of disappointment she’d struggle to escape from. And with an ex, no less? Absolutely insane.

But then she casually gripped Charlie’s arm, leaning into him as she laughed at yet another joke that probably wasn’t funny. Whatever pity Aegon had felt for her vanished in an instant.

She’d asked for it. Her problem, not his.

“Fuck knows,” Aegon muttered, shrugging.

“Well, are you going to introduce me or not?” Helaena asked, growing impatient with his lack of initiative.

He stared at her over the rim of his beer, refusing to answer. She rolled her eyes, sighed dramatically, and grabbed his wrist, pulling him to his feet despite his protests.

“What a terrible idea, Hel. Can’t you see she’s busy?” he hissed, but Helaena was already weaving her way through the crowd of tables and standing patrons.

Great. The absolute last thing Aegon wanted was to interrupt the happy little couple to make small talk with Vic Dawson and his sister. As they approached, he caught Charlie giving him a hard glare.

Relax, bro, Aegon thought. I have zero intention of stealing your girl.

Just a friendly fuck, maybe.

But don’t worry she won’t even accept to come to my place as she so obsessed with YOU.

“Hey!” Helaena greeted brightly, cutting through the tension and finally pulling Vic’s attention away from fucking Charlie.

“Hey!” Vic responded just as cheerfully, the shadow of a smile still lingering on her lips from whatever nonsense Charlie had just said.

“Vic, right? I’m Helaena.”

Vic studied Helaena for a moment, her brows knitting together, before realization dawned. “Targaryen, of course. Sorry, I’m terrible at this,” she said, touching Helaena’s shoulder in a small gesture of apology.

At the mention of her last name, Aegon caught Charlie shifting on the spot, his posture stiffening. It was obvious that this Ken doll knew exactly who he and his sister were.

“The fact that you manage to put up with not one, but two of my brothers makes you a better person than me,” Helaena said with a smile, earning a matching one from Vic. Aegon, however, shot her a sharp look of irritation.

“Aegon, nice to meet you,” he said, extending a hand toward the guy glued to Vic’s side.

Charlie’s face remained hard as he shook Aegon’s hand with a tension that bordered on reluctant. What the hell was this guy’s problem?

“Charlie. Moore. We met last year,” the moron said, clearly annoyed that Aegon didn’t recognize him.

Despite Helaena’s questioning look, Vic’s curious glance, and the way she unconsciously leaned even closer to Charlie, Aegon couldn’t place him for the life of him. He narrowed his eyes in an exaggerated display of effort, tilting his head as if trying to jog his memory.

“Charlie Moore… the guy from No Cap?” Helaena finally chimed in after a brief moment of thought.

Aegon didn’t even need the idiot to confirm it.

Of course, it was him.

This was the guy who’d been working on some conspiracy-laden album while Aegon was finishing his own. They’d run into each other a couple of times at the label. Aemond had picked him up out of nowhere, only for their father to fire him a few months later. Aegon still remembered the massive dressing-down their father had given Aemond afterward and how it had led to a blanket ban on any more “eccentric prodigies” Aemond tried to sign.

Weirdly enough, that made Charlie a little more tolerable in Aegon’s eyes. Maybe even likable.

"I had your music video on my schedule for the label before..." Helaena started, then trailed off, catching herself before rubbing salt into the wound of Charlie's entire project having been shelved.

Aegon barely suppressed a chuckle as he noticed Charlie's fists clenching at his sides, his visible effort to keep calm practically radiating off him.

"I heard Vic’s been helping you write," Charlie cut in, directing the comment at Aegon.

Perfect. Showtime. Let’s see how many ways I can get under your skin, Aegon thought with delight.

"Oh yeah, Vic’s amazing," he replied, stepping closer to her and throwing an arm casually around her shoulders. Vic turned to him with a look that was equal parts puzzled and annoyed, making him immediately drop his hand. Not that Charlie seemed to care. He didn’t even flinch at Aegon’s exaggerated display of appreciation. Typical. This guy didn’t give a fuck about Vic.

"I’ve never been more productive in my life," Aegon added, trying again to provoke some kind of reaction. Instead, he got nothing from Charlie but a blank stare—and a genuine smile from Vic.

Damn it, Vic Dawson. Stop looking at me like you actually think I’m worth something, he thought, struggling to suppress the strange combination of calm settling over his mind and chaos flaring in his stomach.

"We’re trying a new direction," Vic chimed in, speaking to both Charlie and Helaena. Aegon caught the small nod she sent Charlie, a sign they’d obviously discussed this before. "It’s not bad at all. Also, Aegon’s decided to play tonight," she added, sounding triumphant, almost proud as she glanced back at him with another one of those smiles.

Aegon swallowed the lump in his throat as Helaena stepped in. "And we can’t wait to see it. Good job, big bro," she said warmly, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze.

But Aegon couldn’t tear his eyes away from Vic and Charlie. Vic had leaned her elbows onto the bar, her black crop top riding up just enough to reveal the tattoo on her stomach. Charlie mirrored her movement, his arm brushing against hers in a way that made Aegon grit his teeth.

"You’re on right after Charlie and me," Vic said with a teasing smile, jerking her head toward the elderly patrons dotting the pub. "The grandparents are gonna love it."

Fantastic. So not only would he have to follow the pub’s darling, adored by her loyal crowd, but he’d be doing it with a half-assed cover they wouldn’t even care about. And since when did Vic play with anyone else? What the hell was this she and Charlie nonsense?

For the rest of the evening, Vic had been glued to that idiot Charlie Conspiracy Theories Moore. Even after Aegon and Helaena excused themselves and returned to their table, Aegon’s thoughts kept churning, replaying the image of Vic laughing at something Charlie said, leaning toward him, completely tuned out of Aegon’s orbit.

That was the real issue, wasn’t it?

It had always been just the two of them, and he had always been at the center of her attention. Now, her sudden lack of consideration grated on him. It also made him feel a little sorry for her, wasting her time and energy on this clown. Aegon watched Charlie tuning his guitar with harmonics—an unnecessary, show-off move.

Obvious. It bothered him because Aegon was a colossal egomaniac. Because Vic had always been there, orbiting around him out of circumstances. And because Charlie was a massive jerk.

He’d repeated that to himself at least ten times, trying to push out the memory of her tossing his coke out the window, her silent understanding, her gaze devoid of pity or judgment. Or the way her hair had tickled his neck as she rested her head on his shoulder.

But Vic wasn’t stupid. That was the other thing. It annoyed him that she’d suddenly become this clueless. She was smart, talented, brave—cheeky even. She could’ve aimed for anyone, she could’ve had anyone and even the worst option would still have been better than this guy.

When she emerged from the staff room with a bass slung over her shoulder, Aegon decided he needed another beer. For the nerves before his performance, of course.

She was still fiddling with the bass when he leaned against the bar, his back to her.

She didn’t even notice him.

"Incredible! So, you can actually play with other people without driving them up the wall?" he said, aiming for casual.

Finally, Vic looked at him from under her fringe and smiled. Aegon couldn’t stop himself from smiling back, instinctively.

"See? Some people don’t mind working with me," she retorted, lifting her chin proudly and meeting his gaze with playful defiance.

"Amateurs with a submissive kink, obviously," he shot back, earning another laugh from her. Aegon’s focus lingered a moment too long on her teeth, her incisors just a little too long, and those red, full lips. The sound of her laughter wrapped around him, too warm to be real.

"And that’s why I play bass—I leave the easy stuff to him," she said, nodding toward Charlie.

Oh, for fuck sake. Could she go twenty seconds without bringing him up?

Aegon worked to conceal his irritation, shifting his focus to her bass instead.

"Standard strings. I figured you’d be into flatwounds," he said, changing the subject.

She raised an eyebrow and stepped closer, her gaze sparkling with mischief, as if she was about to let him in on some wickedly illegal plan.

"I fucking hate flatwounds," she whispered.

He laughed, and that familiar chaos surged through his stomach, kicking harder this time as a thought broke through his defenses.

She wasn’t like them. His father, Aemond, Fucking Charlie. She was the one who’d stood still and calm while he threw her beer out the window. She was the one who decided, even for a moment, that Aegon’s warmth, her head on his shoulder, was enough.

She was like him.

Vic gave him one last smile just as she noticed Charlie stepping onto the pub’s makeshift stage. “Wish me luck,” she said.

Aegon, utterly incapable of coming up with anything coherent, replied, “You don’t need it.” She smiled again before making her way to the stage.

He hurried back to the table across from the stage, slumping into his seat. Helaena was watching Vic and Charlie with a dreamy smile. “Aren’t creative people just beautiful?” she mused, in one of her signature whimsical declarations that somehow felt both obvious and entirely unheard of at once.

Aegon didn’t respond. His stomach churned the second Charlie began strumming an opening chord.

This was different from anything Aegon had ever heard Vic sing before. It wasn’t one of her usual ballads—it was old-school pop rock. The kind of thing he might have begrudgingly liked if it weren’t for her friend.

When Vic started singing, Helaena gasped, her mouth falling open in delight as she turned to Aegon with an amazed expression. It was obvious that, in this moment, Vic had become her favorite creative person.

Aegon found himself staring at Vic’s fingers as they plucked the strings of her bass, hypnotized. Then her voice pulled him back, cutting through the haze.

The lyrics were simple, straightforward—something Aegon could have written himself on an pre-Vic day. No elaborate metaphors or archaic phrasing, just a raw message and the message was clear: the "you" she was singing to consumed her thoughts, day and night, and was the one thing keeping her from feeling entirely alone.

Alone doing what? he wondered. Alone in general?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it because, by the chorus, Vic and Charlie started exchanging glances—like they were some knockoff Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham.

Aegon wanted to fucking puke.

By the second chorus, Helaena was fully entranced, nodding her head along with the beat. Even the elderly regulars had perked up, some younger audience members clustering near the stage, temporarily lowering the pub’s median age from 85 to maybe 75.

Aegon wanted to get into it too—he really did. But it was impossible when Vic was fully turned toward Charlie, playing right to him while he threw in an utterly unnecessary solo that didn’t fit the song at all.

Thankfully, the torture didn’t last long. For the outro, it was just Vic and her bass, the spotlight on her. But even then, she stole yet another glance at Charlie, who had that smug, self-satisfied look that practically begged Aegon to punch him.

“Do you see me?” was the song’s final line.

And in that moment, something happened that Aegon swore he must have imagined.

Just as Vic opened her eyes, before basking in the crowd’s cheers, before taking in the applause or even looking at Charlie—she looked straight at him.

Her eyes locked onto his, unflinching, impossible to ignore.

Aegon’s breath caught. For one fleeting moment, he let himself believe—

He shut it down immediately, his gaze snapping to Helaena as she joined in the applause, oblivious to his spiraling thoughts.

In the background, Vic’s voice rang out as she thanked the crowd, her words followed by a small bow, almost awkward with the weight of her bass pulling at her shoulder.

Then she looked at him—really looked at him—and with a quick wave of her hand, motioned for him to approach the stage.

Fuck.

Time stalled for a moment as Aegon rose from his stool. His legs moved not out of certainty but from the sheer absence of any other idea. Did he want this? Did he want to play and sing in front of an audience again? He couldn’t even answer himself.

Helaena murmured something, but her words were swallowed by the muffled chatter of the pub’s octogenarians and the sharp whine of stage fright-induced tinnitus.

He barely snapped back to reality in time to take the guitar from that idiot Charlie. The bastard didn’t even bother with a simple “good luck,” just a smug comment about the gauge of the strings. Pretentious prick. Aegon glared after him as he walked off, but then he felt Vic’s hands on his shoulders. Her eyes were steady, almost grounding.

“Channel your anger,” she said firmly. “And if you need to smash the guitar, do it.”

Aegon nodded, unable to speak—his mouth had dried into a wasteland.

He turned toward the stage, stepping into the spotlight. The bright beam hit him square in the face, and he became acutely aware of every elderly eye on him. Sitting on the stool, he realized he didn’t feel anger. Not even close.

His first thought had been to play “Pieces”—a little inside joke between him and Vic. But as his mind drifted back to the song she’d performed earlier and the question that had haunted him since—he changed his mind.

Damn you, Vic Dawson. If this is the game you want to play, let me remind you I’m just as good at it as you are.

His fingers moved instinctively, plucking out the opening chords of The Cave by Mumford and Sons. There was no hesitation in his voice as he began to sing the first verse.

“But I have seen the same

I know the shame in your defeat.”

Vic. I see you. I know who you are. You’re just like me—tossing palliatives out the window as if that’s enough.

He refused to look for her, didn’t dare open his eyes. The idea that she might understand what he was doing made his stomach churn, his initial cheekiness completely gone.

“And I won't let you choke

On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain

And I will change my ways

I'll know my name as it's called again.”

Without thinking, his gaze sought Helaena. She sat with her hands clasped near her chest, her eyes shimmering with pride. Someone in the audience—a gray-haired regular—let out a cheer, though it might have been a wheeze.

Hope that wasn’t a heart attack.

“So tie me to a post and block my ears

I can see widows and orphans through my tears

I know my call despite my faults

And despite my growing fears.”

This was his call. Aegon felt it more deeply with every word, his confidence rising in step with the audience’s enthusiasm.

“So make your siren's call

And sing all you want

I will not hear what you have to say

'Cause I need freedom now

And I need to know how

To live my life as it's meant to be.”

He sang with hope—fragile, uncertain hope. Could five months really change a person? Did his mother have a point in still not trusting him to go anywhere alone? Was Aemond’s resentment entirely unjustified? He didn’t know. But singing was easier than saying.

When he dared to look for Vic, he found her near the edge of the stage, standing close to Charlie but feeling a million miles away.

Her expression was unreadable, but in his mind, she was back there with him—head on his shoulder, both of them beneath the tiny pantry window.

As he sang the final chorus, he looked directly at her. As long as I’m here, the words seemed to say, I won’t let either of us drown in the shit of our palliatives.

“How the hell can you eat ice cream in November?” Aegon asked Helaena as they walked along Embankment.

The real question, though, was why, with temperatures barely above freezing and a biting wind, Helaena had refused to call an Uber. Instead, she was dragging him on this absurd walk that felt more like a punishment than a journey home.

“When you love something, you love it no matter what,” she replied, shrugging as she strolled ahead, her heavy boots thudding one after the other on the pavement. The white fabric of her dress fluttered like a jellyfish, billowing dramatically with each exaggerated step.

“Just like you love playing, and I love editing,” she added.

Aegon smirked, not bothering to argue. Honestly, he was still buzzing a little from what had just gone down at that scrappy Peckham pub.

It had gone well—people kept making sure he knew it. The old guy who went on after him with some absolutely terrible slam poetry. Sara, sneaking him yet another pint while dodging her and Vic’s boss. And, of course, Vic, who’d joined him outside for a quick smoke and picked apart all the little changes he’d made to the chords. She said she liked them. Neither of them mentioned the lyrics, though. Aegon figured that was probably for the best.

Then, of course, Charlie had come out. That idiot had muttered something half-hearted about the song being one of his favorites before gesturing at Vic, not even looking at her, to ask for a cigarette. When she handed it over without even blinking, like she didn’t notice what a jerk he was, Aegon felt bile rise in his throat and went back inside.

“Make sure you tell Dad I’ve got real rockstar potential,” Aegon joked later, still fighting the wind to light his cigarette.

“Dad already knows,” Helaena replied, completely unfazed and still happily eating her ice cream. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have produced your first album. He’s just scared you’re gonna die.”

Fair enough. Aegon couldn’t really blame him for that one. Maybe what he really wanted to ask Helaena was to let their parents know he didn’t want to keep being self-destructive anymore.

She seemed to read his mind. “At this rate, you’ll be fine. You look pretty motivated,” she said warmly, giving him a soft smile.

“I feel motivated,” he replied, smiling back before turning his gaze to the Thames and taking a drag from his cigarette.

The moment didn’t last. “Vic’s song was really good,” Helaena said, like it was somehow connected to everything they’d just been talking about.

“Vic’s songs are always good. That’s why they stuck me with her,” Aegon replied, exaggerating the whiny tone for effect. He instantly felt a little bad for saying “stuck,” though. Now that they’d found some common ground, he didn’t really mind working with her.

“Did you know she wrote one about you?” Helaena asked innocently, and Aegon froze, stopping dead in his tracks.

“What?” he asked, stunned.

“The song she sang earlier—had she played it for you before?” Helaena pressed, sounding slightly confused as to why he seemed completely clueless.

“Are you seriously saying Vic writes songs for me?!” Aegon asked, completely incredulous. Sure, he’d noticed the look Vic had given him at the end of her song. Hell, he’d even let himself imagine, just for a second, that it might’ve been some kind of coded message. But this? What Helaena was saying was completely absurd.

“I don’t know, maybe not usually. I was just talking about tonight’s song,” Helaena replied with a shrug, already walking off again, happily working through her ice cream.

Aegon sighed, flicking away the cigarette that had basically smoked itself, and jogged a little to catch up with her.

“No way. That song was probably for Charlie,” he insisted, though he struggled to sound as casual as he wanted to. “Didn’t you see the way she was looking at him the whole time?”

“That was just for show. She was playing to the crowd,” Helaena said matter-of-factly, like she was the ultimate authority on the matter.

“No, Hel, you don’t get it. Charlie’s her ex. She’s still hung up on him. They meet up like once a month, she wears her nice perfume…” He trailed off, his voice picking up speed as he tried to explain, feeling like he was somehow making things worse.

“Oh my God, Aeg, men really don’t understand a damn thing,” Helaena declared, with that tone of absolute certainty that only she could pull off.

And Aegon didn’t even bother arguing. After all he didn’t understand a damn thing about life. Fair enough.

“I’m done. Let’s call an Uber,” she announced, shoving her half-eaten ice cream at him without even glancing his way.

Aegon pushed any thoughts of Vic out of his head. Besides, now that he thought about it, he liked ice cream too—no matter the weather.

*****

This was awkward.

Like, it was kind of exciting too—in a way. New. Something that hadn’t happened in forever but that Vic had reluctantly daydreamed about way too many times.

She opened her apartment door, Charlie right behind her, both of them with their instruments slung over their shoulders in gig bags.

Vic kept telling herself it wasn’t a big deal. She was just offering a friend a place to crash, that’s all.

Thankfully, Charlie didn’t make it weird. He didn’t call attention to the fact that he still remembered how to lock her faulty front door like it hadn’t been years.

But Vic noticed. Of course she noticed.

“... Gotta say, you’ve really gotten patient over the years,” Charlie said, plopping down on her bed as she walked into the room to stash her bass.

Danger zone. Was he expecting to sleep here?

“Aegon’s not so bad once you get used to him,” she replied, shrugging and—against her better judgment—perching on the edge of the bed herself.

Vic glanced at him, trying to gauge his reaction, but Charlie seemed unbothered. Instead, he smirked.

“Yeah, I bet he’s way less of a pain in the ass when he sends the wire transfer, huh?” he teased, locking eyes with her for a second before getting up. “Beer? I’ll grab two.”

“Sure,” Vic answered, trying to keep her face as casual as possible.

But the second he stepped out, she was checking her reflection in the window, swiping at her smudged eyeliner, nervously fixing her bangs, praying she’d be done before he came back.

For a second, she even tried striking a pose—legs draped to one side, mermaid-like, all composed and elegant.

But she immediately felt ridiculous, kicked off her shoes, and crossed her legs instead. He’d liked her slouched before; he could deal with her slouched again.

“You run into the old bastard yet?” Charlie asked when he came back into the room, two cans of Stella in hand.

He handed her one, and it was obvious he was talking about Viserys.

Vic shook her head. “Nah, but I’m pretty sure the old bastard’s having a great time screwing with his kid. Wants a single ready and the draft of fifteen tracks in, like, a month.”

She cracked open her can as Charlie sat back down on the bed.

“Your friend seems motivated. He’s in a much better place than he was a few years ago,” Charlie said, taking a sip of his beer.

Of course, Aegon was better now. He was clean, focused, inspired. He wanted to prove himself, to show the world he could do it. The way he’d played and sung tonight? It had been incredible.

There was no denying he was a talent. Misunderstood, complicated, needs therapy—but a talent all the same.

“What can I say? I have that effect on people,” Vic joked, striking a fake modest pose as if she were waiting for applause.

Charlie smirked, though not too enthusiastically.

“You’re the best, no question.”

The words hit Vic like a punch to the gut, sending warmth rushing straight to her cheeks.

Charlie, Charlie, was praising her.

She looked him in the eye for a second, maybe a second too long.

Those hazel eyes—God, those hazel eyes—that had ruined her the first time she saw them.

The tension between them was growing, heavy and unmistakable. The silence stretched, pulling her closer to him, bit by bit.

How many kisses had there been before this? How many were still waiting for them?

Vic got lost in the thought for just a moment—

—and then Charlie broke it

“Thanks for letting me crash here, by the way,” he said suddenly, shattering the quiet.

Vic shrugged, her gaze flickering helplessly between his hazel eyes and his lips.

“Amy asked me to stop by Cedric Grolet last time, but when I got there, they were sold out,” Charlie added, completely out of nowhere.

Vic raised an eyebrow.

“Amy?”

“Amy,” he said, all casual, way too casual. “The girl I’m dating.”

Hello beautiful people! Just a quick note: I’d love to be a great singer-songwriter like Vic, but I’m not, so I’ve borrowed songs from others. Hope that doesn’t kill your suspension of disbelief 🙏

[peoplewtching]

(  felix  mallard  .  cis  man  .  he / him  )  .    ⸻  hollis  carew  ,  a  twenty - six  year old  ,  has  survived  another  day  in  red  creek  where  they  have  lived  for  twenty  years  .  the  wallflower  is  known  for  being  attentive  and  pessimistic  and  is  often  associated  with  always  adorning  the  same,  worn  jacket  –  a  safety  blanket,  of sorts,  tired  eyes  from  a  sleepless  night,  the  inability  to  disguise  every  thought  from  being  written  across  your  face   .  in  a  small  town  where  they  work  as  a  shop  assistant  at  ghosts  in  the  attic  word  travels  fast  .  it’s  hard  to  keep  a  secret  ,  and  it  looks  like  the  boogeyman  knows  that  redacted .  (  kat  ,  25  ,  gmt  ,  she/they  ,  n/a  )  .

tw : brief mentions of parental death, mental health

𝘵𝘩𝘦  𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘴 name   :   hollis  james  carew  .   date  of   birth   :   june  27th   ,  1998   .   place  of   birth   :   new  york  .   occupation   :   shop  assistant  .  language(s)   spoken   :   english  .  orientation   :   bisexual   &   biromantic   .   familial   :  only  child  .  relocated  to  red  creek  at  six  years  old  with  his  mother  to  be  closer  to  his  grandmother,  following  his  father’s  death  .

𝘵𝘩𝘦  𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 faceclaim  :  felix  mallard  .  height  :  5  ft  10  .  hair  :  dark  brown,  typically  swept  back  &  well overdue  a  cut  .  eye  color  :  brown  .  markings  :  faded  scars  on  the  elbows  &  knees  from  childhood  accidents  .  a  stick  &  poke  tattoo  of  a  spider  from  a  drunken  night  in  high  school  on  his  outer  thigh  .  piercings  :  none  .

𝘵𝘩𝘦  𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 zodiac  :  cancer  .  flaws  :  gloomy,  escapist  &  indecisive  .  strengths  :  intuitive,  creative  &  loyal  .  drug  /  alcohol  use  :  drinks,  smokes,  rare  drug  use  .  likes  :  being  alone,  late  night  walks,  insects, conspiracy theories, sketching,  reading,  black  coffee  .  mannerisms  :  speaks  slowly,  unable  to  keep  hands  still,  difficulty  maintaining  prolonged  eye  contact,  biting  the  inside  of  the  cheek, tilts head while listening intently  .

𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴

loves music & has played the guitar & piano since he was young, the latter having been taught by his grandmother

has always been the type to be glued to the walls; whether it's with strangers or friends, he typically takes the back seat in social situations. sometimes it probably seems like he isn't invested or isn't paying attention, but he's always listening

was probably seen as a bit of a loner in high school, and past high school tbf, maybe floated between social groups when he felt like it but mostly kept to himself, had one or two people he considered close friends

doesn't have the best self image or mental health, & is the type to bottle it up rather than share -- though sometimes it comes out in the songs he plays on the piano or the art he sketches. other times he'll just retreat for days until it passes

fascination with nature & animals, particularly insects & rodents (all the 'unlovable' creatures ofc very predictable over here)

has kind of just ... settled for a life in red creek, though he does fantasise about moving to a city where he could just blend into the mundane. however there's something keeping him rooted in red creek, and moving away has never seemed something actually viable.

when he is comfortable with somebody, he is very loyal & empathetic. he's not always the best at coming up with solutions to problems, but he'll happy let you cry on his shoulder while you work it out together.

super attentive & notices a lot about people e.g. through body language, picks up on routines easily, really good with faces

𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘴

unlikely friends

one sided or mutual dislike

good / bad influence

high school connections

familial connections e.g. cousins

somebody he can easily sit in silence with <3

exes ? i can't see him having had many official relationships, but somebody who he was involved with for a substantial period of time

past flings

somebody has was infatuated with at one point, past or present ... probably never approached them & never will but the admiration is there

close friends, most likely from high school but could have met post-school

friends that grew apart

[fruitcoops]

The dorlene love is amazing!! If you are every inclined to write more dorlene smut (or just more dorlene content in general) I would love it!

Dorlene wedding planning on Lion Pride, ft. their content cash cows loving friends <3 Full disclosure: this social media fic was entirely inspired by the Rock the Boat scene in Derry Girls, a show Finn O'Hara would adore. Character credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for brief mention of alcohol at weddings

Dorcas’ hair was pinned back with tiny pearl barrettes that matched the buttons on her white suit when the video began. “This is Dorcas Meadowes, and welcome to Lion Pride!” She spread her hands with a smile. “As you can see, wedding season has begun, and I for one simply cannot wait. Not only because several members of the Lions are celebrating their own upcoming nuptials, but more importantly, because I am getting married to our favorite camera darling, Marlene McKinnon.

“Lions, I want you to know one thing when you inevitably watch this: I am shamelessly mining you for wedding playlist ideas because my wife-to-be and I have been too busy filming your nonsense to put the required time or effort into it. You’re welcome.” She winked at the camera. “On to the show! Boys, what are your favorite wedding songs?”

#7: James Potter

James’ brow furrowed slightly. “Do you want my wedding playlist? ‘Cause I’ll send you my wedding playlist. Get Maz in here and we’ll do a walkthrough of each song, I can call Lily—"

#17: Finn O’Hara

“Uh, obviously it’s Rock the Boat,” Finn scoffed. A few beats of silence passed; his eyes widened. “Oh my god, do none of you know the magic of Rock the Boat?”

“Is it like…the Cupid Shuffle?” Dorcas asked.

“Is it—we’re going to pretend you didn’t just ask that. No, no, come here. Ringer!” Finn shouted over his shoulder. “Gimme the speaker for, like, ten minutes! C’mere, D, there’s a dance and everything.”

“I’m in a suit,” Dorcas laughed.

“It’s Rock the Boat,” Finn countered. “You can’t get married without Rock the Boat.”

#5: Olli Halla

Olli thought for a long moment. “Is this a good time to mention that I’ve only been to one wedding?”

#6: Remus Lupin

“Wedding songs? The Electric Slide, hands-down.” Remus gave them a look of mock-offense as he finished taping his stick. “It’s an unbeatable classic. It was the first thing I put on the wedding list.”

#55: Sergei Ivanov

“Oh, god,” Sergei muttered, scratching at his beard. “It’s been too long since I got married. Hey, Dumo, what did you play at your wedding?”

#43: Thomas Walker

“The Cupid fucking Shuffle, Big D,” Talker laughed, meeting Dorcas’ high-five with great enthusiasm. “Yes. That’s what I’m talking about. You can’t have a party without the Cupid Shuffle.”

“That’s what I was saying,” Dorcas agreed.

#86: Evgeni Kuznetsov

Kuny lit up in his stall, then reached over to smack Nado on the leg. “Cha-Cha Slide! Oh my god, favorite. Hey, hey, everybody clap your hands!”

#1: Leo Knut

Leo clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “I’m gonna go with…drunk uncles dancing to Wobble at 4:30 on a Wednesday.”

Dorcas bit back a laugh. “Are the drunk uncles necessary?”

“Oh, without a doubt. If you don’t have your own, storebought is fine. They’re five daquiris in and the life of the fuckin’ party.”

**Editor’s Note: All songs included in this video are central to the Meadowes-McKinnon wedding playlist. Additionally, Dorcas Meadowes looks fine as hell in her suit. Thank you, and goodnight.

[descaladumidera]

TW for GotG Vol. 3

I watched Guardians of the Galaxy – Vol. 3 last night and while I think it was a good movie (one of the better ones in recent years, like, I think it was genuinely good), I also think it warrants some trigger/content warnings. So. I will do just that to keep y'all safe (please be careful).

With that said, this will obviously contain spoilers. I will put the general trigger/content warning under the cut and then further down will explain what happens in the movie, so you can pick and choose which triggers you want to know about. And if you have any further questions, you can always DM me here or on Discord and ask. I will do my best to answer them.

I don't claim that I will get everything, though, as memories are fickle things and I'm not perfect.

Anyway, onto the trigger/content warnings:

BODY HORROR/BODY MODIFICATION

ANIMAL ABUSE/ANIMAL CRUELTY

ALCOHOL ABUSE

GORE

(There's also some fighting with more or less fatal injuries, but as this is a superhero movie, I won't go into detail about this.)

BODY HORROR/BODY MODIFICATION

To preface this: This is Rocket's story. So this theme is all throughout the movie and it is graphic. There are a bunch of animals other than Rocket that others have been experimenting on (the otter from the trailer for example). And it's way worse with them than with Rocket. The otter has no arms anymore, instead she has rudimentary prostheses, a rabbit has been modified to have some mechanical spider legs and a mask, a walrus has modified eyes and some kind of wheelchair like thing to get around. This is all integrated into their bodies, these are not removable. There are other animals like this.

You have probably also seen the society of anthropomorphic animals in the trailer. There are scenes in which it gets shown how they were made—it's graphic. The first time we see this they use a tortoise and you can see the transformation and it's not pretty.

Then there's Nebula who gets basically killed several times, her limbs and neck and whole body bent and broken in ways no one would survive. And she fixes herself in a horror like way (remember Wanda emerging from the mirror in MoM? Something like that).

Groot gets beheaded once and the head crawls around like some kind of spider for a brief amount of time (until he regrows himself). Not that bad, but I thought I should mention it.

As said, this is the theme of the movie, this is Rocket's story, and it is pretty damn graphic for an MCU movie. This is also the biggest trigger warning imho.

ANIMAL ABUSE/ANIMAL CRUELTY

Several animals (not just Rocket) get experimented on and killed. They get abused and mistreated and kept in cages. Their bodies get mutilated in those experiments and their bodies get modified. It's a bit of a horror show.

(More details in the body horror/body modification part above this one.)

ALCOHOL ABUSE

Peter gets blackout drunk to the point of passing out in the first few minutes of the movie. He is trying to deal with his broken heart this way and, according to his friends, this is not the first time. But it's the only time we see this in the movie.

GORE

Pretty mild case when it comes to gore tbh., but better safe than sorry. A character's face gets taken off and you see the skull, muscles, and blood beneath it. The character is still talking afterwards (it's pretty much at the end of the movie).

I didn't know if I should put it under gore, but I also didn't know where else to put this. But there is a planet/spaceship/whatever like thing that is a living organism. It looks pretty gross and you can actually see it briefly in the trailer when the Guardians jump out of their ship in the colorful spacesuits. Everything in this place is organic and they cut through the skin in one scene and the sounds are just pretty gross imo. Also, the interaction with this organism is … How do I describe this? Like, sometimes they put their hands on the "buttons", but it's like this semi-liquid goo? And this goes on for quite some time.