#its really like stream of consciousness over here
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BOOKWORMS | knj
pairing: boyfriend!namjoon x reader
genre: smut; fluff
word count: 4.4k
summary: namjoon thinks of you when he reads a smut scene in his book.
warnings: boyfriend namjoon!!!, kimi namijoon reading, mentions of sex (riding), oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, the importance of consent, teasing, raw sex, breeding kink <3, big dick namu!!, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, joonie's chain dangling in ur face, tummy bulge, creampie, bruising, hickeys, aftercare:(
note: it took blood, sweat and tears (hehe) to write this and i'm so happy it's finally here!! i loved writing about namjoon. he's my whole soul and the entirety of my heart and i have to write abt him again soon. please take your time reading this and enjoy urself! let me know what you think in the comments mwah (or tell me anonymously in my inbox) and as i always say please like and if u want to - reblog, but i won't pressure u baby. love love you!!
side note: if you want to jump straight to the smut, it's right under the asterisks <;3
You revel, you truly do, in seeing your boyfriend in such a serene state of mind.
Nose buried in a book, Namjoon pays no mind to the surroundings fleeting by him with each flutter of his eyelashes. It goes unnoticed by him, strangely so, how you tidy up the apartment you share. How you feed the two cats that chose you and him to be their human parents. How you fondle their soft ears. How you bend over the furniture to whisper ‘pspsps’ at them when they need a moment away from you just to see their round eyes look up at you stupidly. Namjoon usually observes these moments; this utmost natural behavior of yours. He draws strength from the homeliness of it all with each and every swell of his lungs. Needs it to survive. That is until he gets a hold of that one papery portal and sits comfortably on the couch, one ankle propped over the knee. Then, he ceases to exist in this world.
You’re happy for him. Over time, you’ve come to find that you have a certain fondness for the way he remains stoic. Because you always know what kind of book he’s reading, a smile blossoms on its own over the line of your lips whenever your eye catches the sculpture-like look on his face. It’s like even if he let himself hold his breath, his consciousness would waver back to the earth and the wretched awareness that he’s here, among mortals and the unfair capitalist system aftermath, would stream in his bloodstream, poisoning his experience. It takes the leisure out of it and makes the bed for misery instead. He doesn’t like it. Hates it, in fact. It’s a necessity that he focuses, as he embarks on the journey, because he does it for you.
Namjoon confides in his feelings and his literature with you almost on a daily basis. On the same couch, with the same cats snoring faintly, their small bodies spilling over the perimeter of your tangled legs. Doesn’t matter if it’s his thigh or the curve of your hip. The animals always find a warm crook to doze in, eavesdropping in, with their curious little ears, on the conversations you’re having. Though you reckon they like the meat of his thigh the best. You do, too. Can’t really blame them. The same serenity that intimately knows the person of Namjoon perceives the person of you when he prompts you to rest your head on his lap while he brushes his book-kissed fingers through the silky waterfall of your hair. Thoroughly explains the intricacies of the plot he’s invested in to you. Describes the characters as if they’re real people he’s become acquainted with. They are real to you as you listen. As you ask additional questions and gaze up at his eyes just to catch that one body of a shooting star fiery hot in the glossiness of his eyes. As you wonder, openly, what will happen to them.
“I’ll tell you when they tell me.” He sunk the promise onto the smooth skin of your forehead with the pucker of his lips.
It’s how you discovered, in all seriousness, that the plaster of his stoicism breaks during these literary moments.
Various colors of emotion tug and twist his features, the bare kind. The unrestrained kind. You know it’s a relief for him when the dam bursts open, soaking you in the beauty of humanness one only finds in literature these days. You can’t help but fall in love with him all over again when his eyebrows furrow. When his orbs nearly burn a hole in the ceiling when he’s trying to think of the right word that will ultimately help him convey the unfolding of the storyline. When he gives up and weaves English into his sentences, relying on his hands to say what his overstimulated brain fails to do.
He reads to pass knowledge to you. The serenity whispered it into the chambers of your heart, a puff of hot breath in winter’s cold. It soothingly rubbed his shoulders when Namjoon told you there used to be a time when he couldn’t stand the sight of his books lining up the walls of his apartment. Wanted to burn it down and watch as the evidence of his melancholy dies in front of him. Because that’s what most of his book collection consisted of back then. The innermost shadowy faces of his pain. Loneliness. Sadness. Despair from life, from it not being enough for him, from it not saving a spot there for him–not once throughout the course of his life. That’s why he reads different kinds of books now. Ones that do not reflect his survival before you.
The reader has to get wiser, ruffled by life in order to gain more, gain what they need from those once deeply loved pages. It’s what the serenity believes. It’s what you believe and hope for Namjoon. That one day, somehow by the healing of the love you give him, he will look back and pick a souvenir from that moonless country of pain. Put it up somewhere between the spines of his new cluttered collection. Look at it from time to time and sense that it’s telling him something. Something that will fill the stitched-up cracks in his heart with sunlight. Something that he will pass over to you. It’s your love language after all. Namjoon reads because you read. It’s his own personal healing thing.
You two are just a pair of two bookworms. Unfit for the world outside. Fit for the land you two created. Whose soil you take care of together.
***
Dinner is almost ready by the time you feel his fingertips gripping your hips. You hum, acknowledging his presence. Glad for the homely heat that radiates off of his body and seeps into your bones as you stir the risotto you decided to make on the stove. Coldness had been embracing you all day while he read so you’re overjoyed that he ripped it away from you.
Namjoon places a kiss on your temple and you sigh in relief. You might be too dependent on him, but so is he. He wouldn’t be nuzzling his face in your hair, squeezing your waist, peppering kisses on your tender skin if he wasn’t. It’s the perfect balance. And it’s not that you’re not able to be away from each other. The principle of looking forward to one another is what makes it so sweet, so endurable for the pair of you. Of the coming back and coming into contact at the end of the day. It’s natural. Simple. Human.
“Missed me?” Namjoon husks into your ear.
You smirk and turn off the stove, turning around to face him. “Terribly.”
His body is clad in a black T-shirt that fits his broad figure well and a pair of baggy sweats of the same color, having discarded the warm crewneck he was wearing earlier somewhere in the universe of his book. A long silver chain twinkles in the middle of his chest in the yellow light. You caress it with your fingers and leave your palm there, on the hardness of his pecs.
“I finished the book,” he says and you blink up at him. You’re not surprised at all. “Couldn’t put it down.”
Sleepy wrinkles have left their mark on his face from the cozy position he laid in for too long on the couch. His short sunlit hair, grown healthily from his military service, is tousled in all directions and you smooth it down for him. How did God bless you with such a beautiful man is something you’ll wonder about for the rest of your life.
“What happened to Theo in the end?” you ask, genuinely curious about whether one of the characters you’ve grown attached to is okay after all the shit the author put him through.
Namjoon was reading a coming-of-age book about a boy named Theo. A panorama of his childhood and adolescent life, you’ve heard all about it. Namjoon cared a lot about this story, cared a lot about the protagonist’s emotions and reactions to the reappearing storms. What made him stick with it, despite the nearly triggering themes, is the fact that Theo never let go of his optimism no matter what. It was incredibly inspiring for Namjoon. Something new. Something that he never thought could be possible. You’re proud of him for daring to read a book so reminiscent of his past.
“You’re not gonna believe it,” Namjoon says, a blush creeping along his cheeks.
You raise one of your eyebrows in question.
“Theo got laid,” Namjoon reveals, laughing softly. “I’m so happy for him.”
You gasp and burst into giggles. “What?”
“He got some!”
Your laughter rises in volume. “He lost his virginity and that’s the end?”
“It was a big moment for him. A triumph of some kind. Like he shed his old skin and left that broken life behind. It was amazing.” Namjoon’s eyes glint with tiny shooting stars and you melt. He always finds poetic meanings in the varieties of the character arcs. You think you just fell in love with him all over again.
“That’s really beautiful,” you admit. It reminds you of something. Of something quite personal. “My first time with you changed my life as well.”
Namjoon’s eyebrows curl in tenderness. Dragon eyes widen and round in fervent emotion. He squeezes his arms around you, enfolding you in a hug. Kisses you warmly. Strokes your hair down your back. Your own eyes pool with little tears with the intimate knowledge that you chose the right person to unfold your raw femininity with. No one, no man other than him could have created such a safe for that to happen.
“Tell you what,” Namjoon says a bit hoarsely. “I saw us in it.”
You hum, encouraging him to continue. Crave for more of his thoughts and confidential findings. Its fire spreading through your body, as each word of his registers in your brain, always makes you feel phenomenally alive. You’re not timid to avow that it’s your addiction. Shame doesn’t know you.
“Elena was on top and he was watching her. In awe of her,” he murmurs, caressing your cheek with the tip of his thumb. “Made me think of our last time. A life changing experience of mine as well.”
You welcome the fire and suspire with sudden desire, eyes lidding. Your heart begins to thump. Namjoon studies your reaction.
“You remember well, don’t you?” He nudges his nose against yours. “I was in awe of you just the same.”
It’s impossible not to remember. The memory consumes your mind every waking hour. Gets you needy in ways you haven’t felt before. Namjoon had you sat on his lap among the fluffiness of your innumerable pillows and plushies. Had you do all the work as he focused on the sleekness of your freshly moisturized calves, its coconut aroma interfused with the scent of sex and the euphony of your bounces, ragged breaths and broken moans making his head all fucked up. He was loud himself, more loud than you ever recalled him being. Reading your body at the mercy of the pleasure his hard length was giving you with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. Not once did he take his eyes off of you, not once did he help you. Just gripped your calves. Your thighs. Your tits all in his face. Only when you came hard, out of your own delightful merit, did his eyes roll back. You left his hips glazed with the evidence of your well-deserved orgasm, a porcelain statue made glossy.
A little later, during your pillow talk, he told you he’d found the idea of you using him while getting yourself off extremely hot. Made him more hard than he’d been in a while. Begged you to be even more selfish next time, adding an indistinct, ‘well, of course, if you want’ to the end of his sentence because he’s Namjoon.
“I do,” you breathe. “Touched myself to it this morning while you were still asleep.”
Namjoon groans. “God.” He kisses the side of your neck. Gets close to your ear. “You wanna do it again, hm? Wanna fuck me?”
You might burst. His closeness, his heat, his need to ask for your consent turns you unstable. You’re choked up on your words, mind too fuzzy to say something. Turned on. Fucked up.
“You wanna show me how you touched yourself?” Namjoon continues, but you shake your head against the side of his face.
You had touched yourself in the shower. Couldn’t say no to the impulse. Sharing that part of you for his eyes to see isn’t something you’re quite ready for. To you, it’s still something that’s yours. Something private. A courage you have yet to pluck up. You’re afraid to give him this last part of your femininity.
“Not today,” you whisper, planting a kiss on his neck. Feel him shiver. “I’m sorry. Do you mind?”
Withdrawing from your neck, Namjoon looks you dead in the eye, brows twisted in stern seriousness. “Don’t ever apologize for something like that again. Hear me when I say that.”
You squeeze his shoulder, the corners of your mouth lowering in a pout. Thankfulness grips your heart and suddenly it’s hard to breathe.
“You know this is why we do this right?” he asks you. “Why I ask you these questions? I need to always know what you’re comfortable with so I don’t make a mistake.”
You nod. “Yes, Namjoon, I know and I’m so thankful.”
“Good. I’ll never push you to do anything you don’t want. Don’t forget that, okay?”
“Okay, I won’t.”
“That’s my girl.
You grab him by the back of his neck and engulf him in a hug. Luckiest girl in the world? That you are. The fact that you’re his is still something you can’t wrap your head around.
“We can stop. We don’t even have to do anything tonight—”
“No, Namjoon.” You withdraw. “Look.” Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you slip his hand beneath the confines of your panties.
His breath shakes when he reaches your soaked folds. He traces your hole with his middle finger and your hips follow his movement, the pleasure so faint but so good that you flutter your eyes closed.
“Fuck, baby.”
“Yeah, I need you. Need more,” you breathe out. “Can’t leave me like this, can you?”
Namjoon hums. “No, I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of this pussy.”
He kisses you. Massages his tongue against yours. You buck your hips into his hand and Namjoon hears your body language. Takes his fingers up and rubs your swollen clit from side to side, quickening his pace as he swallows your moans down his throat. Gets angry at your tight leggings hindering him in giving you more, so he gets on his knees and swiftly pulls them down along with your underwear.
“Sit on the counter.”
You comply right away. Namjoon takes your feet in his hands and gently removes your slippers, removing your garments fully so they don’t pool around your ankles. He needs your legs spread and he needs them spread wide for what he’s about to do to you.
Torso long enough to reach you, he remains on his knees. Runs his hands up the back of your thighs to guide you into the position he wants you in. “Lock your arms around the back of your knees. Don’t let go.”
You do as he says, biting your lips in nervousness. Intertwine your hands together. Prepare yourself to die.
Namjoon studies your dewy pussy, index and middle finger mimicking the letter V as he slides them up and down your folds, squeezing just right to hear you mewling. Your knees being so close together makes her look a lot more pillowy and you hear Namjoon breathe hard, absolutely hypnotized by the beauty of your flesh.
“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping down my hand.” He withdraws his fingers to show you how your slick trickles down the lines on his palm, changing the course of his life once and for all.
Your clit throbs, breath matching his. “Please, Namjoon.”
He curses inaudibly. Brings his fingers back down to your folds, squeezes your lips and your clit together. Hisses at the sweet whimpery sounds spilling out of your mouth. Presses tighter so you whine needily for him. Takes you into his mouth when he accomplished what he wanted, tonguing your clit in slow agonizing circles that has you buckling your hips again. Puts his hands on your thighs to keep you down, flicking fast to absolutely abuse the fuck of you. Dragon eyes zeroing on yours, he gives you the hypnosis that your pussy did to him as he sucks on your bundle of nerves. You can’t even scream. Can’t breathe. The pleasure overwhelms you wholly and straps you down. There’s nothing you can do but take it.
You come hard on his tongue. Namjoon laps it all up gladly. And when he’s finished, he stands up and slips those two digits that ruined you into your hole. Doesn’t move them. Lets you adjust instead.
“One more,” he mutters. “Please.”
You nod.
“Use your words or we’re stopping.”
You groan and close your eyes, your thighs visibly shaking in your iron grip from your orgasm. “Yes, Namjoon, one more. I’ll come for you.”
Namjoon places a wet kiss on your thigh to praise you, and to thank you as well. Begins to move his fingers promptly, but can’t seem to get enough of your skin. Proceeds to make it shiny with his liquid love, sucking it to bruise you. To remember this moment a little more fondly in the morning.
Creating a trail up to the back of your knee, his digits pick up the speed. The pool of slick you left in his palm sloshes with each rapid thrust of his hand. He looks back at you and sees you lost in the pleasure, eyes lidded and unfocused. “Look at me.”
You do, weakly.
“Just a little bit more and I’ll fuck you, all right?”
You’re about to nod, but decide against it. “Mhm, yes, Namjoon, fuck.”
He smiles down at you. Your relief inches closer. “I’m so proud of you for speaking up today. For letting me know.”
You could cry right now. Because of his fingers making you feel so good. Because of his kindness making you feel so safe. It all closes in on you and you whimper.
Abruptly, Namjoon unravels your grip on your knees and kisses you, tongue slipping in. You come all over his hand, without meaning to, and he doesn’t stop. On the contrary, Namjoon fucks you harder. Takes all four of his fingers and strums your clit, prolonging your orgasm, swallowing down all of your moans.
“Come on.”
Namjoon helps you down. If it weren’t for his arms holding you steady, you would’ve collapsed on the floor. Your legs shake, muscles taut and tense.
“I got you.”
Sat on the floor with his joggers and boxers pulled beneath his crotch, he pulls you down on his lap. A wisp of precum adorns his tip and you wrap your hand around it, collecting it with your thumb. Watch him as you swirl your tongue around the digit before sucking on it, letting go with an obscene pop. Namjoon licks his lips, hands clasping your hips hard enough to bruise you. Twitches in your other hand.
“Don’t fucking do that to me, baby.”
You laugh almost inaudibly, drunk on him. “Are you gonna come in me?”
He replaces your hand, holding his length at the base for you to sink down. And you do, gasping softly at his thickness. Your dewiness helps it to be a smooth ride.
“Gonna pump you full. Leave you dripping,” he promises, voice restrained. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll remember it for the rest of your life.”
One thing about Namjoon, he’s a man of his word.
Seated perfectly on him, he waits for you to adjust. Alleviates the tremble of your thighs with his palms, massaging the muscles. Takes off your shirt and flings it across the kitchen. Gropes your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You start to grind on him, throwing your head back. He latches onto your nipple and flicks the nub with his tongue. You lose your mind, leaking down his balls.
“Ready?” he asks against the fullness of your breast.
“Yeah, fuck me, Joon.”
He thrusts into you once to watch you fall apart. Locks your arms behind your back. Grabs your forearms for his use.
“You forgot something.”
He thrusts again, harder this time.
“What?” you breathe out, meekly.
“What word do you use when you want to ask for something?”
He watches you as you work it out in your brain. Fucks into you three more times, equally hard, to disrupt you.
“Fuck, sorry. Please, Joon, please.”
He grinds, hips rotating in circles.
“Uh-huh, that’s right. Now use it.”
Namjoon envelops your tit in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your areola. Sucking. Keeping up the agonizing pace. Groaning when you clench down on him.
“Please, hmph, fuck me.”
Your breast bounces back when he lets go, biting his lip. “Knew you could do it,” he coos. “Smart fucking girl.”
He begins to fuck you properly. Thrusting up and down as he holds you steady, keeping his eyes locked on yours. As he takes control of your squirming, leaving his fingerprints on your forearms and waist. You’re breathless, whimpering, on the verge of sobbing. So turned on and needy for him that the emotions brim in you, threatening to spill over.
“Aren’t you?” Namjoon continues. “Aren’t you a smart girl?”
You nod, knowing exactly what he wants to hear. “I’m a smart girl.”
He spanks your ass to reward you and you arch your back. Tits all in his face. He’s mesmerized watching them bounce and nearly slap against each other, nubs hard and pointed. He licks them up, flicking them with his tongue. You round your shoulders a little in pleasure, his strong grip not letting you fold like your body wants.
“That’s right. So smart and good for me. So fucking wet. Making me lose my mind.”
Namjoon kisses you. Inhales you. Withdraws only for a mere second before he’s back, tongue in, toying with you the way you like it. You feel your relief calling your name.
“Namjoon, I’m so fucking close. I’m so close. I’m gonna come,” you whine, forehead pressed against his, face twisted in ecstasy.
Namjoon stops out of the blue and slips out of you. You whine loudly, but before you know it, he carries you to the couch and lays you down on it. Takes off all of his clothes until only his silver chain remains, shining bright in the dim light. He spreads your legs, one limb over the backrest, the other around his thigh. Grips his length and tugs at it a few times, the feeling of your wetness making him slippery pulling moan after moan out of him.
He enters you again and resumes his fast pace, holding your calf in his hand. “Smart girls come on the couch, not on the floor like whores. You got that?”
You nod almost too eagerly, fucked out beyond measure. “Yes, Joon, please make me come. Please, come here.”
Namjoon leans towards you, propping his elbows by your head, cradling you. “I’m here. I’m gonna make you come.”
From this angle, he fucks you more deeply than before, his tip reaching your cervix. You roll your eyes back, but bring them right back to his face when his chain taps you on the chin. You find it so hot that you grind your hips against his, meeting his thrusts, encouraging him to fuck you harder. The chain meets you in erratic staccatos and you scratch your nails down his bare back, the sword-like pendant hurting you in a way that you like.
Namjoon notices. Slows down his movements. Pinches the chain from the back of his neck. Prompts you to lift your head and slides it over, letting it rest in the middle of your breasts. Then fucks you back into the couch.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna breed you. Hm. You want that, don’t you?”
The cord tightens in your lower belly. The bulge of where his tip is hitting you nudges him in his stomach and he looks down. Curses.
“Look.”
You follow his eyes and moan. “Namjoon, Namjoon, please come in me. I’m so close. Wanna feel you. Please.”
He grunts, nodding his head. Licks his fingertips and presses them against your clit. Pleasures you in fast and swift jerks until you’re knocking your head back. Only when he grabs your jaw and kisses you does the cord snap, his lips being your ultimate undoing.
Namjoon presses you down with his body, keeps you calm and collected. Kisses you all through it, your jaw, your neck, your cheeks. Then his thrusts turn sloppy and his cock twitches in you. He gives you one final hard thrusts and fills you up, groaning against your mouth.
You’re smoothing down the sting of your scratches on his back when he pulls out of you and his cum drips out of you. You wish you could see what he sees, hand on his mouth, careful to catch his drool. You push out more for him and he curses, fondling your pussy with his thumb before he pumps it back in.
He comes back to you and kisses you. Fixes your hair. Caresses your cheek. Helps you stand on your feet as he leads you into the shower. Washes every inch of your body, heedful of the bruises he left on the back of your thigh. Lathers your hair in your favorite shampoo. Wraps you in a towel. Wanted to moisturize your body, but you told him off, knowing both of you would get horny again. You let him brush your hair, though, placing a comb in his hand. He’s gentle as he undoes the knots, then he blowdries your hair.
And you do the same for him.
Once the pillow touches your cheeks, you’re both out like a light.
© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.
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#namjoon smut#namjoon x reader#namjoon x y/n#namjoon x oc#namjoon x you#btscreatorscorner#bts smut#bts imagine#namjoon imagine#namjoon scenarios#namjoon fluff#kpop smut#knj x reader#knj#kim namjoon#namjoon
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Hello! This is me! 𝕪/𝕟 𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕟! This is my tumblr in case you don't know me i have a youtube channel which I upload texting stories videos to it! And this is my first post here in tumblr (original)
Some male Hashiras + kagaya reaction to you sacrificing yourself for them
⚠ Warning : spoiler in kyojuro and kagaya, take of death, blood, injuries, crying, some of them are really short
Giyu Tomioka
You and Giyuu were fighting against 2 demons who used a blood demon art
You killed one and Giyuu killed the other one
Or so you both thought...
"You did well giyuu_san!" You said smilling putting your sword in place
While giyuu just nodded humming as a silent 'thank you'
This only made you smile even wider. You've been friends with giyuu with great amount of time now
You both actually gets along very well Despite your different personalities
So you got used to his comforting quiet gesture
"All right! Let's head back n-"
You suddenly stopped sensing that something is wrong While giyuu looked at you wondering why you fell silent so suddenly
"Wh-"
You breathed in sharply, catching a glint in the air watching it whizz towards Giyuu.
"not on my watch!"
You yelled, quickly drawing your sword breaking the unknown object in half.
Giyuu's eyebrow twitched, taking his sword out of its sheath.
"giyuu, there!" You shouted, pointing to the direction of the demon that was currently perched on one of the trees.
The two of you gave each other a knowing nod, rushing towards the trees and jumped landing on one of the branches,
"come back here you coward!" You barked, skillfully jumping from tree to tree, following after the demon.
The demon hissed, sending metal shards towards you and Giyuu, which the two of you dodged with ease
"breath of ice..." you mumbled taking a deep breath
"dance of frozen crystals!"
Streams of sparkling diamond-like figures flowed out your sword as you jumped upwards, holding your katana over your head as you swung it effectively cutting half of it's body;
sadly, not his neck, as he covered it with a steel-like substance.
"Y/n!"
Giyuu called out, causing you to look back at him wondering why did he sound so worried
You saw he was looking horrified looking at your chest rather than your face
'why did he sound so-'
You were caught out of your thoughts by yourself coughing something liquid out of your mouth
You looked down at your chest, a large sharp metal shard piercing through the middle of your chest
"uh.. F-fuck.." you muttered stumbling back and falling against a tree vomiting even more blood feeling it a bit hard to breathe
"y/n! No!" giyuu shrieked running at your slumbering and bloody figure against the tree
"giyuu.. The d.. emon" You mumbled, coughing out a worrisome anmountof blood, the crimson liquid spilling out of your lips in mouthfuls.
"i cant leave you..." he whispered as of scared of starling you
"i cant you are in_" "... Dying"
You corrected him. Mastering the last energy you had to cup his face with your bloody hand while lying in his embrace
"i am.. Dying, Giyuu..."
"no.. No you are not.. You can slow the ble-" "my lungs are... damaged giyuu"
Tears burned his eyes, hugging you close to his chest and placed his hand over your cheek
"i.. Love you... Giyuu... So... Much.. " you confessed as you started to lose consciousness and struggling even more to keep your eyes open
You took a deep breath but sadly... It didn't come out again...
"y/n.. Y/n... Hey.." giyuu said with shaky voice as a couple of tears escaped his eyes
"hey...don't do this to me, love... I–i love you too... Why did you do this... I–i don't deserve this..."he said as he closed your lifeless eyes with his fingers
"i am sorry i am too useless to be able to protect you..." he was now on full mode sobbing
Oh how cruel is it that you didn't even hear the person you love saying thing you wanted to hear from him the most...
Obanai Iguro
No...
No no no no...
That wasn't supposed to happen...
The hit was meant for him...
It was meant for him damn it!
Why did you have to take it for him
He doesn't deserve it
He doesn't deserve to live
Why would he live while you are here dying in his arms gasping and wheezing for air
He is enraged
His fear tends to come out as anger
So while you are literally dying he is shouting at you for how stupid you are, how foolish to waste your precious live over his useless one
His shouting you mutter out an Inaudible : 'sorry... '
Just then the anger turns into tears
"you idiot..." he wailed... Actually wailed.. Something you never thought you'd see, not that you wanted to in the first place
It was supposed to be him...
"don't you dare apologise..." he hugged you even tighter feeling you fading away from him as you tried to breath but it only come out as a horrible choking sound as you choked on your own blood
His cheek rested on top of your head
"o-oba... nai.. " you said chocking in the middle of word as the hole in your chest began seeping even more blood
"g–give them.. H–hell for m–me... Yeah?..."
Oh he would...
He would make them pay for taking you away from him
For making the only person who kept him moving forward...
Is now cold and limb in his arms...
Sanemi shinazugawa
Fuck!
Shit! Shit! Shit! Fuck!
He physically can't handle what he is looking at
As he refused to stop saving you even after you already stopped breathing
"shit! Shit!" he pressed harsher on the wound, the blood was slowing but not because of his relentless attempt...
You were gone... Not even being able to get a word out because of how harshly he was crying
For some reason... Even in your final moments you found it kind of comforting that he was try his best to save you
You felt your heart break looking at him from the other side hugging your cold, lifeless body... Trying to squeeze some warmth into it even though he knows its useless
Kyojuro Rengoku
You coughed out blood as akaza hand went through your stomach
"Y/N! NO!"
You took the hit for kyojuro
I mean... How could you not... You just couldn't let someone like him die
You just couldn't...
Gripping your sword harder, you slashed it against his neck making his eye widen
'she got in my way! And she still has the strength!
Akaza thought as he was amazed at how you still has the strength to even breathe
'Kyojuro, im going to die. I know. We had a life planned in front of us, but..l couldn't let you die. I just can't'
You thought as The demon tried to punch your face, but you stopped it with your other hand
"Y/N!!"
'you won't get away... Akaza!'
Looking behind the demon, but still applying force on the neck, you looked behind to see Rengoku with the boy from before charging at you with their swords.
A smile got onto your face.
'I wont ever let go off the sword ..Until I cut his head off!'
"INOSUKE MOVE! MOVE FOR Y/N-SAN!"
The boar now charged at you with speed His attack cut the demons arms, your sword still attached to his neck.
He was running away, clearly.
The boy threw his sword at the demon,.
stabbing him through the chest. Followed by Screaming of how he was a coward by running away and that both Rengoku and you were stronger than him.
You felt two gentle pair of hands gripping your back, drops of water, or tears, to your cheek as kyojuro took you in his embrace trying to stop the bleeding even though he knows it's a fatal wound
"Y/n.. No. No..please don't leave me! Please! I beg you! I will go down on my knees if it have to!"
"kyo... It's okay..." You say voice barely a whisper as you gathered all the strength you had trying to put your hand on kyojuro's cheek.
He quickly took your bloody hand in his and put it over his cheek
"no no... The hit was meant for me to take... Why did you have to get in the middle... Why.."
"i just couldn't.. Let–" vomiting blood "y-you... Die"
You said panting feeling like you can't breathe anymore...
Kyojuro the brust out sobbing burying his face in your neck as your body laid lifeless in his arms
It was supposed to be him dammit!
He was supposed to be the one protecting you!
Not the other way around!
On the other side tanjiro watching the scene feeling his heart break over and over again
Another love story between two lovers was ruined by those disgusting Creatures
Tengen uzui
after a long and hard battle you had ended up dangling off the side of a cliff barely holding onto an also seriously injured tengen.
He could feel your fingers slipping from his.
you were both tired and injured it was a tough battle and despite the demons head being cut off you had taken some heavy blows and now you were dangling off the side of a cliff, barely conscious as tengen held onto your hand with his
"dont worry y/n! ill pul you up Soon!"
you could see him struggling to hold your hand and knew that if he held on any longer he might go down with you
watching him struggle above you made your heart ache as you couldnt do anything to help
"Ten.."
the both of you made eye contact with each other
"thank you for being with me... I love you so much"
his eyebrows twitched at your words
"why does it sound like youre saying goodbye? y/n. You better hold into my hand!"
his jaw was clenched as he spoke to you
you couldnt leave him
if only he had killed that demon sooner
if only he could have protected you
in this moment he hated the gentle smile that was on your face
because to him it meant he had failed
"we both know we'll both fall if you dont let go, neither of us have enough strength left to do anything."
"its okay ten, im ready. i love you and I'll always be watching over you. live well"
he could feel your fingers one by one letting go of his hand and he tried as hard as possible to not let go
"y/n please! I.. I can't do this without you... "
you just shook your head
"im sorry ten but you have to, i know you can. you're going to do great things, with or without me."
"always remember that i love you... And i'll always be watching you"
With that, the last grip he had on you failed
the serene smile on your face was the last thing he saw as you fell to your probable death,
shattering his heart
he screamed your name on the top of his lungs as your hands disconnected followed by painful sobs
Not again...
First his siblings now you..
He lost so many loved ones
of course he knew that he was too injured to pull you up and the most he could have done was just hold onto you until help came,
If help came...
he hated this,
he hated himself
what was the point of being strong when he couldnt even save the one person he loved most in this entire world
"Live well" it was one of the last things you told him hed try his best to because you asked him of it but to him living well meant being by your side which was something he couldnt do anymore.
Muichiro Tokito
poor baby doesn't really know what to do
he's kneeling beside you with a worried look
he's sweating and his hands are clammy
he remains silent for the most part
"Y/n?"
He is right next to you, hand nervously taking your own
"Don't worry."
you give him a weak smile as scary as it was, just his presence was enough.
"|-what do I do?"
The fear in his face made your heart clench.
"Just stay with me. You dont need to do a thing..."
You squeezed his hand with the last bit of strength
you had, smiling softly
"Be careful okay? There are still a lot of demons left"
You didn't fear death,
but you did fear what would happen to those you
loved once it got to you.
Kagaya ubuyashiki
This took place before the explosion in the final battle era
Your husband's hand is cold in yours. You squeeze his
fingers and watch the moonlight bleed out the color of
his skin into silver.
"Are you well, love?" you ask quietly. A washbowl rests to your side, the cloth draped over the side dripping droplets of water down the floor. You take it and wrangle the water with one hand as best as you can,
laying it atop his forehead after. Kagaya closes his eyes and smiles beatifically. It looks painful.
"I will be fine," he says. A mere whisper; it runs wild in the echoes of the night. "| am certain... After tonight, everything will be fine again." You hum thoughtfully. Your heart turns like a clock,
mechanical, a slave to fate. You dare not tell him anything.
"I wonder. . " Kagaya starts. "How does the sky look tonight, Y/N?"
You looked up at the sky as the clouds moved to reveal the beautiful moon
"it's beautiful..." you said as he leaned into your hand as you caressed his cheeks
"he is here..."
A long shadow blocks the moonlight. You look up.
Plum red eyes stare back.
"It's finally nice to meet you, Kibutsuji Muzan," Kagaya says casually.
A chuckle flits in your ear, honey-thick and suave.
Muzan's jacket rests precariously on his shoulders,
and the wind picks up, as if trying to steal it away. The sleeves whip around him uselessly.
"Well;" he says. "You sure look terrible, Ubuyashiki."
If you do not look too closely, you can still delude
yourself into dreaming that this is a normal family.
Your twins have not stopped playing, and their
laughter mingles with the song.
*after the speech because i cant recall it 💀*
"Kibutsuji" You incline your head, a mockery of respect. "You may have prepared for everything.. But there is one thing you didn't prepared for.."
"and what would that may be?"
"this–" you pulled out teh explosion monitor and jumped on kagaya and just before it explored a room open under kagaya's bed and you both fell into a room underground where your kids were waiting for you to come and there was a secret door which led to outside
But it was quite the fall, but you shielded kagaya's body with yours as you he fell on top of you
"Uhmm... " Kagaya groaned from the pain of the impact but more at the though that you were hurt from the fall and his weight together
"it's okay... It's okay..." you said as you cradled kagaya's fragile body
"i just need you to hold on for me... Can you do that please?"
The explosion was loud on top of you but what was more terrifying was the piece of wood of the selling above you that was about to fall
So you quickly pushed kagaya out of the way just as the piece of wood fell on your lower body completely breaking it
"y/n! " Kagaya yelled as best as he could as he heard your crying of pain
"i am fine! I am fine!" You shouted as you tried to stop the tears from dropping from the pain
"kiriya! Listen! Take your father and run out of here!"
"b–but mo–" "no buts! This piece of seilling completely crushed my lower par! You won't be able to get it out! Even if you did i'd be just a burden! I won't be able to run! No go! Go!"
Kiriya quickly carried his father on his shoulder as best as he could
"no... Y/n... If we die... we die together.. That's a promise..."
"well.. Look like i have a change of plans, sorry love"
You said as you smiled sadly at him even though he can't see it
*time skip*
"CAW! CAW! KIBUTSUJI MUZAN IS DEFEATED! KIBUTSUJI MUZAN IS DEFEATED! THE FINAL BATTLE IS OVER! CAW! CAW!"
Kagaya opened his eyes at the sound of the noisy crow.. And for the first time in years...
He sees the sky clearly as the curse marks started to fade from his body...
He quickly tried to ran into the place where his estate is supposed to be with only one though in mind...
'y/n...'
He opened his eyes clearly for the first time in years and the first face he wanted to look at was yours
"oyakata_sama! Wait! You are not fully recovered yet!"
The kakushi tried to warn him but he just didn't care
He wanted to see you, to touch you, to tell you how much you mean to him even though words cannot describe, to make sure you are alright
But what he saw made him stop and his blood run cold...
The estate.. His home... Your home.. Is now crumbled to pieces with you under all that
he quickly took off and tried to dig into the rubble in hopes maybe.. Just maybe.. You are still alive...
"master..."
The kakushis and the remaining of the hashiras felt thier heart break looking at thier master like this...
Nevertheless, they started to help thier master find his wife.. I mean.. You were like a mother and a big sister to them all...
"I found something!" one of the kakushi shouted as he saw your bloody hand sticking out of the rubble
They quickly ran to where he was and started digging even more, just as they reached your head they all stopped and stepped back for thier master to take a look at you...
"oh my dear..."
Kagaya quietly knelt down where your bloody upper body only was visible
He caressed your bloody
cheek just as you did with him a few hours ago...
Oh how beautiful you looked... Even if you were cold and pale with your lips starting to get blue..
He missed you so much that he almost forgot the way you looked...
You looked even more beautiful than he remembered even with the black circles under your eyes and the few wrinkles that appeared on your face and the grey hairs despite how young you are...
"oh love... How many times did i tell not to worry to much about me..." Kagaya whispered as he caressed your cold skin with a few tears falling from his eyes "like this you will age before time..."
He hugged you one last time before the kakushis free your body completely from the rubble and take you to bury your beautiful body
Today the world won peace.. But he lost his...
#uzui tengen x reader#uzui x reader#tengen x reader#tengen uzui x reader#hashira x reader#kny x reader#kny headcanons#kyojuro rengoku x reader#kagaya ubuyashiki x reader#kagaya x reader#kyojuro x reader#rengoku kyojuro x reader#rengoku x reader#iguro x reader#giyuu x reader#tokito x reader#muichiro x reader#sanemi x reader
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Why People (Especially Gay People) Should Watch Mysterious Lotus Casebook
Thirty plus year old former greatest martial artist in the world, Li Lianhua, travels around in a poor man's version of Howl's Moving Castle dispensing sometimes quack, sometimes seems to be pretty accurate medical care to people throughout the land for a quick buck. He is dying a potentially preventable death because he was poisoned ten years ago and refused to seek treatment from his martial arts sect because he felt like he let them down (a lot of them died, and they think he died too). Hopefully he doesn't die for real at the end. He's been stripped of 90% of his martial arts powers, so he basically is just some guy. He does not GAF about almost anything. He likes to cook. He's smarter than everyone. He's our hero.
He has a cute dog by the way. Its name is Fox Spirit, but it is very much a dog.
Along the way he meets Fang Duobing, an annoying, oblivious to class consciousness (but still lovable) rich kid who makes it his mission to travel together with Li Lianhua so they can solve crime. He has huge puppy energy. He wants to be an official detective, and he needs LLH to help him out. He has a serious case of heart eyes for his shifu, and he shows zero interest in any woman ever. He believes, due to a previous encounter, that he's destined to be Li Xiangyi's student in martial arts. Oh and Li Xianygi is Li Lianhua's true identity, so he's kind of like, FDB's shifu twice over. He has no idea that LLH is actually the swordsman of legend.... yet.
Along the way they solve murder mysteries and also get involved in tomb raiding adventures complete with Indiana Jones style booby traps, backstabbing, and weird, creepy kids.
By the way, LLH's archrival from a decade ago, before he left the martial arts world, was Di Feisheng. He leads up an alliance that LLH's was pitted against, and one that was viewed as a scourge in the martial arts world.
LLH's last battle before his 'death' was with DFS, so the martial world believes DFS killed him, as does DFS. Di Feisheng finds him again, and is super DTF (fuck, or fight? actually both), but when he finds out that LLH lost his martial arts powers, he makes it his mission to restore them so they can have the final showdown they deserve.
The fight scenes rule.
Were they friends in the past before they became rivals? We don't know yet. All we know is that they have extreme divorced energy, and DFS wants nothing more than to get remarried. He's gay. He's so gay. He's legitimately confused when he finds out that LLH has an ex girlfriend. He's seriously like 'I NEVER THOUGHT YOU'D BE INTERESTED IN WOMEN.'
You bet your ass LLH is wearing a wedding dress here.
So all three of them travel together to solve murders, which they do, with aplomb. The whole time DFS pretends he doesn't care while making moon eyes at LLH and making sure no harm ever comes to him. Fang Duobing is confused and probably jealous.
Yeah he really did pledge to marry Li Lianhua in like, episode two.
He also, at that point, has NO idea the true identity of either of them.
Right now DFS is no longer traveling with them, but I believe he'll be back to them soon (he's still plenty involved in the story and present), and the three will continue their shenanigans. And anyway, he's still annoying LLH despite them not traveling together (to be fair, pretty much everyone annoys LLH). There's also sect drama! Secret alliances! Completely wack murder mysteries! And always with a side-dish of heavy homo. They're going to be the best found family.
There's eighteen episodes of forty out right now, and it's streaming on IQIYI or wherever you choose to pirate your Chinese Dramas. It's EXTREMELY entertaining every single episode; funny, addictive, and yeah, pretty gay.
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The Daughter's Return Part 3
Chapter 18: Ace's Perspective - Prison
Start From Beginning | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3
Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace
Word Count: 1.6k
“You’ve got a visitor.”
The gruff voice from the Marine stirred Ace back to consciousness, but he didn’t raise his head to see who it was. It wasn’t worth the effort anymore.
He had given up long ago. He had made peace with dying. His execution was in a few days…or was it hours? Time had a funny way of moving when you couldn’t tell what day it was.
He had fought early on, when they had first captured him. He yanked at his chains and screamed in frustration, waking the entire floor with his rage. Even weakened by the sea prism, he had put up a good fight.
But slowly, he grew tired. And in the time he took to recuperate his energy, he thought of you. He thought of the baby. The two things that mattered most in this world. And you were safe. He didn’t know where you were or what you were doing, but Ace knew that you were anywhere but in the hands of the Marines. Impel Down would’ve exploded with guards if you were behind its gates. And there were heightened security measures because of him and Jinbe, but not near as heightened as if you were there.
Plus, he knew if you had been captured, someone would’ve been down to rub his failure in his face. No news meant good news. And that’s how he knew you were safe.
He was thankful he had abandoned you, as cruel as that sounded. He had left you in Alabasta because he was confident he could kill Blackbeard on his own. But after seeing the traitor’s power, Ace knew that even with you by his side, you would not have won. And then you would be here with him, trapped in a prison cell. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if you were here next to him, awaiting execution. But you were safe and sound somewhere miles away, all because of that choice he had made.
So nothing else really mattered. Ace had been waiting to die since he was five years old. This felt like a fitting and dramatic end. Public Execution. He should’ve been reflecting on his life, but he only thought about you.
He spent most of his time imagining what it would’ve been like for the two of you to settle down and raise a child. A small house, nothing fancy. Maybe near the beach, so your child could play in the ocean. A little island where the two of you could actually be normal people with normal lives. You could have a garden, and the two of you would sing and dance in the kitchen as you cooked dinner. Your kid could grow up in a normal house, and have friends that could sleep over on the weekends.
That’s what he was dreaming about when the voice jarred him from his thoughts, bringing him back to the cold reality of his actual future. There would be no slow dances in the kitchen, no garden to tend to every morning. All that awaited him was-
“Still breathing in there?”
Garp’s voice almost made Ace look up. But he kept his head lowered.
“You’ve caused quite a lot of trouble.” Garp sat down right outside of the jail cell. “Navy Headquarters…no, all of the world government is a mess. All of Whitebeard’s commanders are planning to move on Marineford to save you.”
Ace stiffened at that news. To save him? No. So many people would die if that happened. He wasn’t worth those lives. And if you were there…if something happened to you…Ace couldn’t breathe.
“Kill me, then.” He still refused to look up. “Just kill me.”
“Can’t do that either,” Garp sighed, chuckling lightly. “I’m afraid there’s nothing Whitebeard wouldn’t do to get you back, even if you were to die right now. It appears we’ve finally angered the King of the Sea.”
If there was going to be a war, Ace knew you would be there. And he couldn’t allow you to die. You had to survive; nothing else mattered except your life.
“Look, old man…” Ace whispered, tears streaming down his face. “I need a fav-”
“I wanted you and Luffy to grow up and be good Marines,” Garp said, not hearing Ace’s words. “But hopes be damned, you both turned out to be hoodlums.”
Hoodlums. Pirates. Ace had never lived up to his grandfather’s expectations. Roger had asked Garp to watch over Ace, and look how that had turned out. If Garp knew about the baby, you would never be safe. Garp had always been a Marine first. If Garp knew, then the Navy would know, and you would be the first to die on that battlefield.
He couldn’t-he wouldn’t-tell Garp about you.
“Notorious, dangerous pirates at that,” Garp continued, staring at Ace intensely.
Garp went on to talk about Luffy and his accomplishments at Water 7 and Enies Lobby, but he didn’t mention your name at all. Which meant you must’ve left Luffy’s group before they made it to Water 7.
He couldn’t blame you. If the roles had been reversed, he would’ve left Luffy the moment the snail call ended.
“I told Luffy about his father,” Garp said.
“To hell with our fathers,” Ace snarled. “To hell with you if you ever thought we could be marines. We have cursed blood running through us. This was the only path for us. But let me make one thing clear…”
Ace finally looked up, locking eyes with his grandfather. “The only man I will ever call my father is Whitebeard. Got it, old man?”
Garp smirked and shook his head. “Whatever you say, boy.” He stood to his feet and began to walk away, but paused.
“What was that favor you needed?” He asked.
No, Ace couldn’t tell him now. It would be a death sentence for you.
“It’s nothing,” Ace said.
Garp hummed and looked back one last time at Ace, but walked away without another word.
It was just Ace and Jinbe again, silence filling the air between the two men.
“Jinbe,” Ace started. “I need a favor. My little brother, Luffy…will you look after him?”
Jinbe chuckled deeply. “I doubt that’s what you were going to ask Monkey D. Garp, boy.”
“It wasn’t,” Ace admitted. “But this is still important.”
“Humor me,” Jinbe said. “What were you going to ask him?”
Jinbe was avoiding the question. Ace knew that. He knew how big of a request it was to ask Jinbe to watch over Luffy. It wasn’t a very fair request either. But it was a better question than what he was going to tell Garp.
Ace knew it was a risk to tell Jinbe about you. It was a big risk to tell anyone about your status, especially in a prison where he was probably being watched. But he didn’t see any snail cameras around, and if he spoke in code, perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea for someone else to know. Someone who was outside of the Whitebeard Pirates who could help protect you.
“It was about Y/N.” He finally looked at Jinbe, trying his best to show there was more to his words. “We were close. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
“Whitebeard’s daughter?” Jinbe almost looked impressed, and Ace was reminded once again of just how lucky he was to have you.
“She’s been pretty sick lately. Throwing up and such. Has a terrible stomach bug. Just wanted to make sure she gets looked after until she’s better. But I realized I can’t ask a Marine to help with that, you know?”
Jinbe’s eyes widened, and Ace knew he had understood. He trusted Jinbe with his life, and now he trusted Jinbe with yours too.
“I see..” Jinbe said cautiously, nodding in agreement. “I hope she feels better.”
Ace could see there were a thousand things running through the fishman’s mind, but it was too dangerous to ask it here.
All Ace could do was wait and hope. Wait for his end, and hope that his trust in Jinbe would somehow pay off.
And he would dream too. Of you by his side and a baby in his arms.
--
Note: Going to be a little break for me to get everything in order for the final few chapters! We'll resume with Marineford on Thursday, November 9th :)
Tag list! @taeyoge @teiza @tojislawyer @trafalgardnami @bloopbopsblog @dancingnewcat @dxestyi @flooofity @nyxthedragon01 @deadsnothere @h-rhodes1598 @morgyyyyyyy @trafalgardvivi @fiestynatureweeb @frogpogjoghurt @beepboopcowboy @ms-portgas @luvyallbabes @appalost @zuchkaa @saybeyonce @stray-npc @kitsunechan707 @theyluvmesblog @heartysworld @aira-needs-sleep @mothmomjay @ophelias-flowerss @aqualein @sehyojae @fanficwriter5 @forgotten-blues @amberash05 @firefistnoct @depressed-but-make-it-cute @stuckinthewrongworld@lizpoir
#one piece#one piece imagine#one piece scenario#one piece x reader#one piece x you#portgas ace x you#portgas ace x reader#portgas d ace x reader#ace x y/n#ace x reader#portgas d ace#portgas d. ace#cozage#✧˚ace✧˚
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notes on kickoff ch.7
hellooo if you're here thank you for taking the interest! i just had some creative notes i wanted to get off my chest with the release of ch.7 lol i felt compelled to do so with this one i'm basically journaling here. you can read this after reading ch7 here!
I. on gojo's feelings
as for why didn't gojo just tell reader how he felt at the end of the chapter, and instead only says what he does. i think i rewrote this ending like five different times, he was never supposed to tell her at this point based on my story planning, but i did explore the idea of a dramatic confession here regardless, and it didn't fit for lots of different reasons
for one, i think he's finally able to put himself in reader's shoes. it's true he's pretty dense and obviously has commitment issues/valid fears that keep him from opening up, but that still doesn't mean he hasn't hurt reader in a lot of different ways already. he realizes, whether intentionally or not, he's led her on and to do a complete turnaround within a few hours while she's already trying to process rejection as she is clearly withdrawn from him i believed would've been selfish on his part, and could possibly cause even more hurt over the fact that he could come off ingenuine. gojo is finally emotionally aware of her enough to recognize it, but he's not a perfect person so it still slips through that he's distraught at the thought of never seeing her again. in general i'm of the opinion that if someone asks for space, you respect that unless they say otherwise
of note, just because he realizes that he has these feelings, doesn't necessary change his fears, as no single moment can undo years of trauma, so i think that's why he bites his tongue too. i'm not keen on making this a "woman fixes man" story but i moreso want to embrace the sentiment that you don't need to resolve every single bad thing that's ever happened to you in order to embrace love or happiness.
II. on gojo's commitment issues
i know it was brought up in the first gojo pov that he has issues committing to just one woman, but i wanted this chapter to reveal that it's really just his fear of opening up to people due to the still raw loss he feels of losing someone he loved. i aim with his pov to be more of a stream of his own consciousness rather than from an omniscient observer, which may explain the ambiguity. he's not sure if he's able to open up to a person in a way he knows is normal and healthy, so he settles on shallow connections instead. just wanted to clear this up, and say that it won't be any sort of plot point in which he struggles to be sincere or faithful when he seriously wants to commit to someone as he has no issues with that if he truly wants to be with them (unlike the whore he's been so far in the series lmao)
III. on strawberry vanilla soda
btw i've never had this flavor of soda i'm not even sure where i came up w it loool or if it even exists. i was kind of toying with the idea of gojo seeing reader's message on the can during the match, and that would maybe help him get more focused on the field (sooo sports romance cliche but i still love it haha) but i settled on him seeing it afterwards to kinda parallel the clumsiness he's had with reader so far. for some reason, the universe just doesn't want him to get his timing right with her lol
IV. on angst/conflict
i know ch7 was a bit differentttt less gojo x reader and more just gojo lmfao, it was also a bit angsty. it definitely won't stay angsty throughout the remaining chapters. this was just gojo's lore drop chapter LOL. there will still obviously be angst here and there, but i've got a lot of fun, cute, tense, silly, passionate, messy scenes still planned similar to ch5&6 because i prefer writing those kinds of scenes haha. ultimately this story was always meant to be a full-circle romance, so ch7 was to lay some of the emotional groundwork that gets brought up as the story builds to its climax
that's all i have to saayyy if you actually read this whole thing i love you?? lol. ch7 really emotionally resonated with me as i wrote it, both as someone who understands how gojo feels but also as someone who understands how reader feels, and if it resonated with you too then that makes me very happy and that's ultimately every writer's dream haha. was very cathartic to share these thoughts. i hope to see you in the next oneeee <3 have a wonderful rest of your day!
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totally random and don't know if you've been asked this before, i've read your fics and drabbles, i absolutely love your voice in them, considering how you write Ian and Mickey so well, i'd give a penny for your thoughts about Mickey's lil bridezilla notebook. do you think it's full of collage pages? mostly text? magazine scraps? does he color code shit? ugh i love him sm 😩
oh my god i forgot the most important thing!!!!!!! did he ever let Ian have a complete sneak peek through it? cause i think he probably skimmed through it with Ian while the planning was on board, but Mickey probably stored it somewhere safe as a keepsake after the wedding....what if one day Ian just happens to find it and looks through it fondly and Mickey catches him on the act, oops, they have a talk about it, idk, Mickey having a lil notebook just does something to my fragile heart 🤧🤧
hello 😌 thank you for asking - i do actually have some thoughts on this, in the way that i think mickey's wedding notebook goes through several stages.
i think at its creation, it's more of a dump-book. mickey's at his stream-of-consciousness, hunting-and-gathering phase. there's no organization - no rhyme or reason - mickey is stressed and overwhelmed and he's just gluing shit right into that motherfucker, filling the pages as quickly as he can turn them. he doesn't really have a Vision yet - he just knows he's gotta prepare for it, especially since ian doesn't seem too interested in making decisions.
come to jesus moment. mickey slaps down a stack of pictures he's cut out and goes to start adding them, only to realize he has no blank pages left. he's filled the whole thing. that can't be right, can it? it's a big notebook, and the stuff he just cut out for it is real good shit so he's gotta make room. gotta start from page one. gotta thumb through it and pull a 'wtf' face because he doesn't even like some of this shit? why'd he put it in here? tulips??? who did that! okay, time to pump the fucking brakes.
paring down. re-evaluation. ian walks into the living room one night and mickey's cross-legged in the middle of a sea of ripped papers. like some sort of hamster. ian thinks perhaps divorce is on the table, only to come closer and realize mickey's cutting shit out and pasting it into a new notebook, the glue stick caught between his teeth like a cigar (Alternate Title: Ian's Come To Jesus Moment.)
notebook 2.0 is born. there's significantly less...everything. the Vision is starting to come together. debbie gives him these little color tab bitches that he can stick between the pages so he knows where to put things. Music. Food. Flowers. etc. mickey sits down with ian again and flips through it, getting his thoughts on different things. out comes the big red marker - circling - crossing out - starring. he can see ian trying to sneak closer looks across the table, but mickey's grown very attached. it's his hopes and dreams in here, motherfucker! ian can look at it later. after he finds the chiavaris.
That Bitch. this baby is in her final form. mickey knows what he wants and knows he's got the power to haggle, secure, or steal it all when he's got his notebook tucked under his arm. she's also good and solid when he smacks lip over the head with her after he makes a passing comment about being a groomzilla. she is everything.
when he does finally see his notebook again after many years, it's because ian is thumbing through it, this teary, fond look in his eyes as he sits in a sea of boxes. mickey doesn't know if he should be embarrassed or proud or what. a lot of their wedding day ended up shifting on its axis for a ton of fucked up reasons, so as gorgeous as she is, a lot of her didn't actually get to see the light of day.
but ian is innnn lovvvve (aaaaat laaaaast my looove has come alonnnggg). so much so that for their ten year anniversary, mickey walks into their little get-together and immediately recognizes a ton of the details. like they've jumped out of the pages of his notebook and into reality ten years later. ian is a sneaky fucker! and mickey has excellent taste.
and he's just really glad that he cut out that disgusting tulip arrangement in his first notebook purge.
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"and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for."
- you are jeff, richard siken
The back of the Winnebago is so quiet. It is so so quiet.
Four rowdy children under the same roof and not a single one of them says a word now. No jokes, no laughter, no bickering. The only sound amongst them all is their shaky inhales and measured exhales as they all marinate in this— this.
The plan that has to work, the uncertainty of what lies ahead. The heavy truth that this may very well be the last time some of them see each other.
Even Robin and her near constant stream of consciousness rambling is silent beside him. The only way he knows she's actually there is when they sail over a pothole and her shoulder bumps into his.
It's fucking eerie.
The silent knell of a death march — or ride. Whatever.
It makes Eddie's stomach turn.
Eddie is nervous. He's terrified, actually. This is bigger than anything he's ever dealt with in his life before, and he doesn't know how he's made it this far, he really doesn't.
But even more, he doesn't know how everyone else around him is so... calm. Sure, they've all done this before, it's far from their first time, but jesus fucking christ, have they really gotten used to fighting interdimensional monsters that threaten to destroy the world? Does that not scare the absolute bejesus out of them? He doesn't understand how no one else is losing their head about it. How an eleven year old is facing fucking doomsday like its nothing while he quakes in his god damn boots over here.
Eddie tightens his grip on his makeshift spear, knuckles going white. Clenches his jaw so hard he's scared he'll crack a tooth.
He tries not to think about how a cracked tooth is the least of his worries right now. How that actually doesn't even sound all that bad compared to the cracked limbs and cracked jaw and fucking vaporized eyeballs that loom in their futures. In Max's future.
Jesus christ, she's so young. Chrissy was so young. Eddie is so young.
His chest feels tight all of the sudden, his brain fuzzy and unfocused. His vision starts to go a little spotty and he can't breathe, he can't fucking breathe.
He can't fucking lose it, though, he can't. Not here, not now. Not in front of everybody else who's fucking cool as a god damn cucumber.
Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, tries to slow back down. Digs his nails into his palm until the pain of it grounds him. Brings him back.
The fist around his lungs loosens, just enough, as Eddie walks through the breathing exercises Wheeler taught him when he'd nearly lost his marbles last time.
He hasn't even noticed that the Winnebago has stopped moving. Doesn't see that it's all but emptied out. He's the only one left.
Until Steve god damn Harrington slides into the empty space beside him, close enough to touch, and says, "Hey."
Eddie startles, whole body spasming and flinching back until Steve holds up a hand like Eddie's some spooked wild horse and he's trying to ease him back down.
His heart rate slows, but he's still trembling.
Steve reaches out, and his hand curls around Eddie's wrist, thumb coming to rest just over his pulse point. His hand looks rough, still scraped to hell, covered in dirt and blood and dried bat sludge, but his touch is soft. Gentle.
Despite that, it's still solid. Grounding in a way that Eddie needs.
Eddie looks over, because how could he not, and Steve's... he's already looking back. His eyebrows are drawn together in concern, his mouth pursed, like he wants to say more, but chooses not to.
He looks so... he looks so.
And Eddie feels this, this thing expanding in his chest, looking into those glossy eyes, and it's— it almost feels like, like hope or something equally as ridiculous.
It makes him want to laugh, because who the hell could hope in a time like this?
This situation? It's fucking dire. And their plan? It's built on assumptions and fucking faith.
Someone isn't going to make it. That's just how these things work. Eddie's run enough campaigns with storylines just like this one to know the bitter truth of it. There are too many of them, too many moving parts, too many unpredictables. The odds are just not fucking on their side.
(And he has this terrible, horrible feeling, this rock solid pit, in the bottom of his gut, that it's going to be him.
He's the least experienced here, after all, and he's the most likely to freeze in the face of danger.
If someone's going to die today, it's going to be him.)
It's a fact that Eddie has resigned himself to. He's— he hasn't accepted it, per se, but he's acknowledged it. Has started to let it set into his bones.
It doesn't feel real. But it doesn't not feel real either.
He doesn't know what to feel anymore, really.
But Steve, with his big eyes, and his sturdy hands, and his reassuring touch — he feels a lot like hope, like something better than hope.
Something that Eddie can't quite put his finger on, but it seizes his chest in a whole new way.
Eddie wants to chase that feeling.
Wants to let himself believe.
(He knows he shouldn't.)
(Lying in the dirt and a pool of his own blood four hours later, he's glad he didn't.)
#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things#yeah so like. i read some siken and i uh. spiralled.#i invite you to spiral with me now#if you ignore the last two sentences the ending is actually pretty hopeful!!!!!! lol#mack writes#macks ficlets
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humming/singing for the soft fic prompts, if you're inspired <3
okay, so this totally did inspire, because i ended up writing 1.6k for it in this boba shop <3 thank you so much for sending a prompt my love! i hope you like it (and shout out to my best friend for helping me with the song choice)
algo contigo | word count: 1.6k
send me a soft prompt
Eddie thinks Buck’s taking a nap. To be fair, he was, but he’s been slowly drifting back to consciousness for the past few minutes. He can’t really tell, time feeling like it did when he was a kid and took a nap during summer break. Everything feels bathed by sunlight; warm and light and easy, his muscles heavy with sleep.
It’s not late July, though, and the warmth that he feels covered in comes more from Eddie’s finger carding gently through his hair than any actual sunlight.
Buck feels…rested. For the first time in god knows how long, he feels calm. Content. He’s not satisfied, not quite. There’s an itch he hasn’t quite figured out how to reach, a want that’s so bonedeep he doesn’t look it in the eye.
But it tugs stronger, punches him in the gut a little deeper every time he catches Eddie’s eye across the station. There’s a whisper in the back of his mind that’s been trying to tell him something since Eddie first walked into his life.
It’s been getting louder. Since the well, since the shooting, since lightning coursed through his body and all he could think was Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. I need to go home.
To him, that little voice would whisper every time. I need to go home to him.
Eddie’s always been his safe space. Eddie’s always been where his heartbeat is steadiest, but ever since he left that coma nightmare, it’s been different.
He has a way to make sure he’s actually awake. Actually here, where he belongs.
There was no night in the dream. His eyes blink open blearily and the room is a warm orange in the way it gets as the sun dips below the horizon.
Check.
His brain, even in its hazy fog, knows what day it is. Carla dropped Chris off at Hen and Karen’s a few hours ago. It’s a Friday, he knows that much. They got off a twenty four hour shift a few hours ago, which means it was Thursday yesterday. Time is moving.
Check.
And then there’s Eddie. Eddie, who somehow maneuvered Buck in his sleep so his head would be positioned on his lap, whose fingers are gently massaging his scalp, who is singing—so softly, nothing more than a gentle lullaby.
He had none of this in his coma dream. Eddie was a void, a lost piece of the puzzle, a missing step as you were headed down a spiral staircase.
But here? He’s everything.
“Y hace falta que te diga que me muero por tener algo contigo,” Eddie whispers, his voice so gentle it almost has Buck dipping back into sleep. He doesn’t risk turning to look up at Eddie, doesn’t want to risk him stopping now that he has an audience that can actively listen.
Buck could count on one hand the amount of times he’s heard Eddie sing.
Only ever to Christopher. It happened more when he was younger—and, Jesus, Buck can’t start thinking about how much Chris has grown since they met because he’ll definitely start crying—but there was one night recently. Just a few weeks ago.
It was the first night Buck stayed over after the accident. Christopher was refusing to leave him, stuck to his side all throughout dinner and the movie they put in, because Eddie still believes in DVDs.
(They have all the streaming services. Buck knows, because they share them. Eddie pays for Disney plus, Buck pays for Netflix. Why they never use one of those every time Buck spends the night is beyond him.)
Buck woke up that night to Chris crying; loud, racking sobs that had him fighting back tears. He got up to check on him, but Eddie beat him to it. Buck hovered by the door as Eddie whispered low, calming reassurances in Christopher’s ear, telling him it’s okay, he’s here, everyone’s okay.
He started singing some song Buck didn’t recognize, and it had Chris falling asleep within minutes.
It’s a pity Eddie doesn’t sing more often. He has a beautiful voice.
“Y es que no te has dado cuenta de lo mucho que me cuesta ser tu amigo,” Eddie continues. Buck’s pretty sure he’s heard this song before, but the words don’t linger in the air long enough for him to register it.
Between the singing and the fingers playing with his hair, Buck really almost falls asleep again, but Eddie’s singing to him. There’s no way he’s missing this, so he bites his tongue hard enough to ache, focuses on the sting, and makes sure to stay awake.
“Ya no puedo acercarme a tu boca sin deseartela de una manera loca,” he murmurs, and, okay, Buck understands enough Spanish that the sentence has his cheeks heating up.
His Spanish is pretty rusty now, but there were days once upon a time where he could pick up chicks in Peru with a heavy American accent and a cheesiest Spanish pick-up line his bartending friends dared him to use.
He’s not sure Eddie knows that, though. Doesn’t think he’d say I can’t get close to your mouth without wanting it in a crazy way, if he knew.
Buck’s blushing, he knows. It’s taking a crazy effort to keep his breathing even, especially when Eddie continues. Buck doesn’t catch the next line, even though he’s trying to focus on it. His body really is tired. He really does want to go back to sleep.
Eddie hums a bit of the song, the melody wrapping around Buck like a blanket.
“No quisiera yo morirme sin tener algo contigo.”
It’s similar to the first line he sang, and it makes Buck’s breath hitch.
I would not want to die without having something with you.
Eddie stops instantly, hand stilling. Buck turns on his lap so he’s looking up at him. He squints up at Eddie’s face, smiling softly to himself at his expression. Eyes a little wide and a little panicked, cheeks a little pink, but he’s smiling so sweetly when he notices Buck’s not going anywhere.
“You know I understand Spanish?” Buck says cheekily, tilting his head. Eddie groans, his head tilting back. It exposes the long column of his throat, and, for the first time, Buck doesn’t feel guilty for not looking away.
Eddie’s eyes stare down at him, a twinkle in the warm, honeyed brown of his iris. He looks a little flustered, and Buck wants to kiss him so, so bad.
That’s the whisper. The one he’s been refusing to let get louder, because he couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t risk the best relationship he’s ever had.
For once—for once—he doesn’t think it’d ruin anything. Not when the hand not currently in Buck’s hair moves to grab his hand and twines their fingers together.
“I did not know that.”
Buck nods, thinking over the song’s lyrics.
“Did you mean it?”
Eddie nods; his smile is tiny and loving and fond, but it looks like it could just as easily take over his face if this moment didn’t feel so private.
“I did.”
“I can’t—I can’t get close to you without wanting to kiss you, either,” Buck admits. His heart isn’t hammering wildly in his chest like he thought it would if he ever got enough courage to say this.
Eddie’s grin grows cheeky. “I didn’t say that,” he teases, because Buck definitely mistranslated a little bit. He got the gist, though.
“No, you just said you don’t wanna die without having something with me.”
“Maybe what I meant is a friendship.”
“Eddie?”
“Hm?”
“Just kiss me.”
Eddie’s smile is brilliant, but Buck doesn’t get to look at it for long. Too busy closing his eyes and leaning up so he can meet Eddie in the middle and let their lips meet. The angle’s a little awkward, not quite a spiderman kiss, not quite normal, either. Buck’s sideways and his arm’s twisted uncomfortably to prop him up, but it’s still the best first kiss he’s ever had.
Buck can feel how much Eddie loves him with the soft, slow drag of his lips against his. Can feel it in the way it’s just lips, just soft, easy, almost shy. Their lips stick a little as they pull away, and it’s giddy. He feels a bit like a teenager, the way just one kiss has him breathless.
“Hi,” Eddie whispers, face still close enough to Buck’s that he feels the words as a breath on his smile. “I love you.”
Buck wants to laugh. There’s some emotion in his chest that’s bubbling, threatening to spill over, and he wants to let it. Wants to laugh until he can tuck all of Los Angeles inside the pocket of his joy.
He feels so indescribably happy.
“I love you. I love you.” He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’s never gonna get tired of saying it.
“C’mere,” Eddie murmurs, trying to angle Buck’s head so he could kiss him proper. Buck gets with the program faster than he’s ever gotten anything in his life, scrambling to straddle Eddie on the couch, and does his best not to get high on the way Eddie’s eyes go dark. The way they go half-lidded, the way his pupils seem to swallow all of him as his hands slide up his thighs.
Buck leans in and kisses him again. Despite their position, it’s just as tender as the first one. He kisses him until he can’t breathe, until he’s dizzy, until he feels a promise of more trapped between their bodies.
And he lets the whisper take root until it’s shouting in his chest.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Eddie kisses him again. He doesn’t silence it.
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Have you ever noticed that whenever people do protag switches it's always dr1/sdr2 or sdr2/ndrv3 but never dr1/ndrv3? I feel like that has unthought of potential. May I ask how you think that would go in both cases?
Ooooooh, I love it. Let's see. Let me try not to let my character biases factor in here, lol. (And you can obviously ask for elaboration on any of this, because clearly I'm not going to be super focused. Pretty much just stream of consciousness.)
In all scenarios, at least some of the deaths would happen differently, to different people, by different people, etc.
The Shuichi in THH scenario depends so heavily on which character he attaches himself to right away, lol. Unless we mean Kaede in THH?? Okay, that gets its own section. Yeah, let me section this...
Shuichi in THH
Like I said, this one depends on which character he attaches himself to right away. It could be Hina for her positivity and energy; she's probably the closest to Kaede, there. It could be Taka, who is also high energy and has the added bonus of being called the Ultimate Moral Compass. Shuichi really wants someone to be decisive and strongly believe in something when he feels he can't, and I can see Taka being that person for him. Where Shuichi's scared of doing the wrong thing and hurting people, he can feel assured that what Taka believes is generally going to be right.
Also great because, for all his passion, Taka's actual observations about the school are generally very surface level, so having Shuichi tag along will give him more information to report in his booming voice, while Shuichi gets to chill in his shadow.
When Taka and Mondo have their sauna showdown, I think Shuichi wouldn't go to bed when nighttime comes; he is more loyal to Taka than the nighttime promise. So he'd see the whole inception of the Ishimondo friendship, and I think it would take him a while to trust Mondo. There would be definite "Are you sure about this guy?" energy between him and Taka once Mondo is rolled into their friend group.
And due to Shuichi's overlap of being unfailingly loyal and super harsh when someone brings it out of him, I think the moment Byakuya talks crap about Taka, Shuichi would be the entire Byakuya Hate Squad.
Toko and Genocider would be interesting, because I think Shuichi's fear of convicting someone and ruining their life or getting them killed would interact in an interesting way with the prospect of Genocider Syo, who has gotten away with tons of murders because no one caught her...but then also Toko, who is just a temperamental artist who doesn't want to kill anyone and I bet Shuichi's read "So Lingers the Ocean". I think Toko and Syo would be a reason for Shuichi to confront his feelings about punitive justice. They're practically two diametrically opposed arguments in one body: Syo kills because she likes to, she doesn't regret it, she will keep doing it if no one stops her, but Toko has no choice but to be involved in it, etc. Idk. It's still a bad look for DID representation, so maybe we can take or leave that whole plot thread, but it would do interesting things for Shuichi's character, thematically.
He and Kyoko would work together frequently on investigations (in more of a parallel play kind of way) but not really develop the same bond of trust that she had with Makoto. They trust each other's competency, but beyond that they're not especially close.
Also, when Junko reveals this is a battle of hope versus despair, he would tear apart her whole argument. Like: No, this is a battle of whether subjecting people to absurd conditions might make them hurt each other, and the answer is obvious. Grow up.
It'd be interesting, lol.
Kaede in THH
In this case, I think she'd start off fully believing that someone is going to rescue them. She meets Byakuya and she's like, "Perfect! There's no way someone won't come looking for this guy. This will all be over soon." Since the situation in THH is more grounded than in V3, I think she wouldn't be nearly as serious about getting out until after the first motive. And even then, she's not the one who starts the killings; I still think that would be Sayaka.
I don't think any of the THH motives would really get Kaede, so she might not kill anyone.
I think she would flirt with Chihiro. She would think Chihiro is the cutest thing, and she would say so, and Chihiro would blush profusely. I think those two would get really close, and Kaede would encourage Chihiro, in Chapter 2, that they're already strong in their own way, which would cause them to really focus on using their talent to help the group.
She would also flirt with Mukuro, for however long that lasts. And she would be excited about Sayaka; another musician!
I think Kaede would absolutely match Toko's energy so hard. Toko would definitely have crap to say about her looks and probably her proportions, and Kaede would throw it right back. Honestly same deal with Syo. They would be the toxic yuri to end all toxic yuri. (This is my first time saying "toxic yuri". Did I do it right?)
I hope she makes it long enough to see the music room. She would have a field day with Junko.
Makoto in V3
Finally, this. Wait, actually...
Makoto in V3 replacing Shuichi
Yeah, it occurs to me I have to split this one, too. Okay. I think if Makoto were in Shuichi's place, he would also partner up with Kaede. I think when the whole "tunnel escape" sequence happens, he would suggest that they go to bed and try again tomorrow before everyone reaches the "Screw this forever!" threshold.
I like to imagine, as a result of this, trying the tunnel escape would be a daily thing for a while. Just a scheduled thing that the group regularly does together, much like breakfast. They might give up on it after Chapter 1 or 2, but I just imagine it lasting longer as an activity than in canon.
He wouldn't notice the bookcase thing, so whatever Rantaro was planning would happen. I think, in that chain of events, Makoto and Kaede notice Kaito's little gathering taking place and go see what's going on there, someone spots Rantaro opening the bookshelf or just sees the bookshelf opening, and they reach the conclusion that the mastermind (or Monokuma) is making their move, resulting in a kerfuffle in which Rantaro is killed. Something like that.
I'm not saying who killed him just now; the sequence of deaths is its own thing.
I like to imagine that Kokichi calls Kaede and Makoto the team's mom and dad.
I think Kaito would be unsatisfied with Makoto's manliness, but I don't know that he'd invite him to workout sessions like he did with Shuichi in canon; I think, where Shuichi reads to Kaito as actively unconfident and in need of boosting, Makoto more reads as overly apologetic and easily manipulated/malleable. And depending on how long Kaede survives, I think Kaito would be less likely to treat Makoto as his sidekick than to just say that he, Kaede, and Makoto are all a powerful trio. (Maki does get roped in eventually, but it starts with them.) After all, Makoto isn't an accomplished detective; he's just a normal guy doing his best. And even when he does a really good job, it doesn't make Kaito all that insecure. The vibe is just different. (An Ultimate Detective effortlessly surpassing Kaito's efforts versus an Ultimate Luckster surpassing Kaito's efforts through high efforts of his own.)
The lack of Shuichi means the group does not have a detective. I think a result of this will be that Kokichi would be a bit more active in guiding the protagonists towards clues.
Maki still falls in love with Kaito, and she's also super protective of Makoto, mainly because he's short and can't take a hit. (If Kaito ever punched him, he would pass right out. But I don't think Kaito does punch him.)
Whenever Tenko talks to him, he reflexively apologizes. It's a running gag. His narration will be like, Why am I apologizing? and This was a pretty weird conversation...
Makoto in V3 replacing Kaede
Now, in this case, I'm imagining Makoto manages to trip out of the locker, does a full tumble over Shuichi, and bumps his head on a desk. Just full disaster stuff right off the bat, and Shuichi panics like "Are you okay??" and checks his head, makes sure he didn't bump it too badly, etc. I'm specifying this because Makoto won't be as energetic right out the gate as Kaede, but I do think Shuichi would really like and trust him if he stayed with him for longer than a second, so this is a contrivance to make sure Shuichi stays with him for longer than a second. Some luck, if you will.
(It might not be totally necessary; if they wake up in the same room, it makes sense for Makoto and Shuichi to stick together through the introductions. But this is just to make sure, lol.)
In this version of Chapter 1, they try the escape tunnel a normal amount of times and then give up on it, never to attempt it again (until Electrohammers).
Shuichi notices the bookcase, and they do set up the cameras, but there's no shot put ball trick. Rantaro dies a different way (likely orchestrated by Tsumugi) and the cameras are crucial evidence in the trial that follows.
Because of the steps needed to get to the camera plan, there's a running gag where Miu sees Makoto and Shuichi as her subs. Kaito sees Makoto and Shuichi as his sidekicks. (In this version, the nightly workouts do happen.)
Kokichi tries to make Kaito jealous of Shuichi's closeness with Makoto. (Kind of like, "Why would Shuichi need you when he has Makoto?")
In both versions, I like to think that Tsumugi relates to Makoto on the basis of plainness...or competes with him over it, to his confusion.
And in both versions, I think Makoto finds Angie really cute at first and they hang out a few times, before she starts the Student Council thing. He's kind of her friend. When he doesn't join her, it lowkey hurts her feelings a lot, but she expresses this by casually calling him a heretic.
Aaaand, in both versions, Makoto is the only person Kaito can best in the arcade games.
#danganronpa#makoto in v3 au#shuichi in thh au#kaede in thh au#makoto naegi#shuichi saihara#kaede akamatsu#kiyotaka ishimaru#chihiro fujisaki#ishihara#saimaru#fujimatsu#fukamatsu#naehara#saikoto#kokichi ouma#kaito momota#miu iruma#rantaro amami#tenko chabashira#tsumugi shirogane#angie yonaga
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4. Star-Crossed Strangers
Barbarian. Biker!Jake
*18+, Minors DNI!
A/N: Here’s chapter four! As always, enjoy, & leave me your thoughts, comments make me really happy (:
Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!
Chapter Warnings: Mentions of death, violence, parental altercations, explicit language, mentions of sex, Jake dancing (it needs a warning)
Jake stood outside of Rex’s front door with the key clutched tightly in his hand, his breathing heavy and labored.All he could do was stare.
It was going on noon. You both had woken up around nine that morning, sharing a small breakfast of toast, eggs, bacon, and coffee before you left into town for a while. It took from that point up until now for him to muster enough courage to go over there, and now, he couldn’t manage to muster enough to go inside.
He thought briefly about turning around and forgetting about the whole thing. Nothing in there was probably worth shit anyways, he could have the whole place demoed and the lot cleared out by the weekend.
It was a solid idea.
Yet, he stuck the key in the knob anyways, remembering you had to jiggle the lock a bit before turning it. The door swung open, and the muggy heat from inside hit Jake so hard he had to turn away briefly. After a few moments he stepped inside, but only a couple steps, leaving the door open behind him.
Dust particles waltzed in the light streaming in from outside, casting an eerie glow upon the dismal space that held a trove of memories for Jake. Beer bottles adorned the coffee table, keeping company with abandoned cigarettes and an ashtray that had long surpassed its capacity. The worn-out couch and recliner, now cloaked in a thin layer of dust, seemed frozen in time, remnants of a life that had ceased to thrive. Jake had a pretty good feeling that the dust had settled long before Rex's departure.
The hum of the refrigerator drew his attention to the kitchen, where dishes mingled with scattered mail and miscellaneous items, mirroring the disorder on the dining room table. This chaotic scene wasn't new; the absence of a dining room table had been a constant in their lives. His survey continued, revealing old Barbarian memorabilia and pictures adorning the walls, while Rex's helmet, oddly pristine amidst the disarray, occupied the recliner.
As Jake moved toward the helmet, he halted, catching sight of the sizable hole in the wall next to the front door that was left there the night Jaxon died. Time had done nothing to mend it, and clearly Rex was in no rush to patch it up either. A wave of dizziness washed over Jake as he recalled the night that gaping wound had been inflicted, another indelible scar etched into the trailer's history.
10 years earlier…
In a daze, Jake traversed the living room, the weight of disbelief clinging to him like an unseen shadow. The earlier events, so surreal, danced on the periphery of his consciousness. The harsh reality of his best friend's demise, a violent echo in the vastness of the Nevada desert, refused to weave itself into the fabric of his understanding. Even as he accompanied Jaxon's lifeless form to the mortuary, the profound gravity of the situation lingered, yet to fully take root in Jake's shattered sense of reality.
Amidst the muffled voices of Rex and other Barbarians outside the trailer, Jake couldn't decipher the exact words exchanged. Yet, he didn't need clarity; the weight of unspoken truths hung thick in the air. As he paced, the events of that fateful day replayed in his mind, unfurling from the moments preceding their journey to the unforgiving desert.
The memory of Rex's insistence that Jake take a different post gnawed at him. Back then, it seemed a peculiar demand, but now, understanding had become of him, the beacon of light in the abysmal pit of reality.
Refusing to accept what his intuition already grasped, Jake resisted the belief that his father harbored such cruelty. Yet, the inevitable truth loomed over him.
The roar of bikes outside interrupted his contemplation. As Rex entered the trailer, shutting the door behind him, the air thickened, and Jake felt the walls closing in. Eyes locked with his father's, he sought a hint of remorse, a trace of regret in those weathered features.
Regret was there, but it carried an undercurrent Jake couldn't place—a deeper lament, perhaps.
When the distant echoes of engines faded, Jake's voice, heavy with pain, pierced the silence. "You knew, didn't you?"
Rex remained silent, the unspoken confirmation lingering between them like an unbridgeable gap.
"You knew Jaxon and Nicky were walking right into danger. That's why you assigned me as a spotter instead of on post with them."
His father's gaze briefly locked with his, a fleeting expression passing over his face before vanishing into the depths of resolve.
"Jake, there's a code of honor—"
"No bullshit!" Jake erupted, crossing the room with a flash, jabbing a accusatory finger into his father's chest. "You sacrificed my best friend for this damn motorcycle club without giving him a choice!"
Torn between remorse and unyielding pride, Rex swiftly defended his actions. "You want someone to blame? Blame Nicky. He's the dumbass who false-fired and fled!"
"I blame both of you!" Jake thundered, his face flushing with escalating anger.
"All I did was fulfill my duty and lead this club to the best of my ability," Rex asserted firmly, his demeanor holding a defiant edge. "That's all I've ever done."
Jake scoffed, so infuriated that calm had now taken over his body, “leader. Yeah, right. You’re no fucking leader, Rex, you’re a fucking coward. You’re a shit leader just like you’re a shit father.”
Rex's anger reached a boiling point, and in the fevered intensity, he lunged toward Jake. Anticipating the move, Jake retaliated. The two men clashed in a chaotic tussle, more a collision of forces than a refined fist fight. They grappled fiercely, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Finally gaining hold of Jake's shirt, Rex, fueled by his anger, propelled them both into a violent collision with the wall, causing it to crumble behind Jake.
“You watch your mouth talking to me boy,” Rex huffed as he held Jake firmly into the hole behind him, “you remember regardless what you think, I am your leader.”
Everything Jake already knew clicked in that moment. Rex was so caught up in the Barbarian life that he would never be able to see Jake’s pain as his son.
‘I am your leader.’
Not ‘I am your father.’
Jake shrugged himself out of Rex’s hold, to bothered in that moment to grab any of his belongings. With only his wallet in his pocket, he went and grabbed his helmet of the table, along with the keys for his bike.
Rex watched silently as Jake made his way to the door. He knew, for whatever reason, that his son wasn’t just going for a ride to clear his head. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be seeing Jake for a long time after that, but decided he’d grapple with that later.
Instead, on his way out, Rex called behind him, “yeah that’s right, run away when things get rough. Just like your fucking mother.”
Jake slammed the door behind him, and Rex thought that was the end of it. But before he heard the sound of Jake’s bike, he heard the sound of his front window crashing, a large rock tumbling through the opening and rolling to his feet.
“Fuck you!” Jake shouted from outside.
After the shock wore off, Rex ran and opened the front door of his trailer just in time to watch Jake speed out of Cactus Creek for the last time.
That, was one of the very last interactions Jake had with his father. And now he was dead. In that moment something ticked in Jake that set him off completely. He didn’t know if he was more sad, or angry, but he knew he had to let it out.
He lurched forward with a closed fist, placing another hole in the wall next to the one that was left there that fateful day. When he didnt feel any better, he did it again.
He walked over to the coffee table and kicked it, sending its contents flying into the air and scattering about the living room.
“Fuck!” He shouted, “Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck!”
The pictures that once hung on the wall went crashing to the floor as Jake pulled them down one by one, curses flying from his mouth all the while.
He shouted for Jaxon, he shouted for Rex, he shouted for leaving, he shouted for coming back. His rampage continued until he’d exerted all of his energy, falling into one of the dining room chairs out of breath.
He didn’t know how long he was sitting there before you entered the trailer. You looked around cautiously, taking small steps over broken glass and crumbled pieces of dry wall.
“Jake,” you called out softly, making your way over to where he was sat and kneeling in front of him. His head was in his hands, his elbows resting on his lap, “Jake what happened?”
“I’m sorry,” his voice was mumbled, and from the way it sounded he might have been crying. “There’s too many memories here and I- I can’t-”
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay,” you reassured him as you rubbed soothingly along his back, “you dont have to apologize.”
He looked at you then, remnants of tears in his eyes, his face beet red. He then turned to assess the damage he’d done. If the place weren’t already a shithole, he’d probably feel a bit of remorse.
This is what ten years of running from your problems looked like.
You continued rubbing his back in attempts to soothe him, the two of you sitting quietly for a full three minutes, the door of the trailer still hanging wide open.
“Hey,” you said calmly, causing Jake to peer over at you, “why don’t we go home?”
Home.
You stared into his eyes with genuine concern, and you were surprised that he held your gaze for as long as he did.
Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
He stood from the chair and began shuffling towards the door, glancing one more time at the now three holes left in the wall. He was out of the house before you, and you picked up the keys from the floor to lock the door behind you.
There was still a lot you didn’t know about Jake. You didn’t know how deep the pain went when it came to his father, to the Barbarians. But seeing the destruction he’d left in Rex’s house gave you a pretty good idea of how troubled he was in his mind.
Jake was pretty much back to normal by the next day after a night of drinking at the Tavern and a few rounds of mind-blowing sex with you. The two of you never talked about what happened that day, but every time you went outside, you found yourself eyeballing Rex’s trailer, thinking about the mess that laid behind the door.
That Friday morning, you sat outside in a lounge chair, catching early morning rays of sunlight while Jake inspected your beat down car. One of the Barbarians, who conveniently owned a tow truck, lugged it back to your house last night, and now Jake was assessing the damage.
You’d steal glances at him every so often, shamelessly turned on by how sexy Jake looked covered in a bit of sweat and motor oil.
“I don’t know Cherry,” he warned, standing up straight and wiping his hands on a spare rag, “I think this old thing is more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Shit,” you sighed, dropping you head in your hands, “how the fuck am I supposed to get to work? I can’t keep depending on Angela for a ride.”
Getting to work was the least of your worries. Having to get a new car was going to set you back months. You couldn’t afford months.
Jake looked empathetic before a light bulb went off. He glanced across the street to Rex’s house. His bike, covered in tarp, and the chocolate brown 2000 Chevy Silverado that Rex hardly ever used.
“That old Chevy in my dad’s driveway,” he pointed it out to you, “I think it just needs a new battery and it should run just fine.”
“You’re just gonna give it to me?”
Jake shrugged, “well, yeah. You know, until you can get something of your own. But it’s no rush or anything.”
You weren’t used to generosity, and definitely not on this scale, a car was no small thing. But you were in no position to turn the offer down, so instead you smiled graciously.
“You’re the best, you know that?”
Jake smiled back at you before lowering the car’s hood, sitting on top of it so that he was positioned directly in front of you.
You stared at one another for a moment before he broke the intensity.
“I wanna take you out, Cherry.”
Your brows drew together causing Jake to chuckle. You weren’t opposed to the idea in the slightest, just simply surprised.
“Not many places to go ‘out’ here.”
Jake reached forward to squeeze your bare ankle, “I’ll figure it out. Just be ready by seven and wear something pretty.” He stood and kissed your forehead again, something he was doing quite often lately, before smoothing a hand over your head, “I gotta go meet with the guys. I’ll be back later, okay?”
You looked up at him, the sun haloing around his head, inspecting the scar on his eyebrow that was finally beginning to fade.
“Okay.”
Jake slid into an empty chair beside Steeljaw just as Ace was calling the meeting into order.
Steeljaw reached down and retrieved an ice cold beer from the cooler by his feet, using the handy bottle opener on the side to remove the lid before handing it to Jake.
“Thanks,” he raised the bottle before taking a sip and focusing on Ace at the front.
“Alright Fellas, I’ll keep this as short as possible so we can all get on with our days. I spoke with some of the men from the EDS and we’ve got a meeting set up with them for tomorrow in Corona. We’ll need to head out pretty early to make it in time.”
There were a few murmurs amongst the crowd, but no one seemed opposed.
“Now there’s no need for all of us to make that trip, so only Sector Ones and Sector Twos will be going. Sectors Three and Four will stay here, hold down the fort till we get back.”
Sectors, for the Barbarians, ranked the level of your membership. Sector One was usually leadership positions, Sector Twos being other long standing members of the club. Sectors Three and Four were the probes and other guys who have yet to really prove themselves.
Jake was a Sector Two, as was Steeljaw, and Madcap, and Ski Ball, and a few other guys Jake was pretty close with. But so was Nicky, unfortunately.
He looked across the room to where Nicky was standing, hardly surprised that Nicky was already scowling over at him. Jake scoffed, shaking his head and facing the front of the room again.
“We should only be gone a couple of days, so make sure you tell your ladies so we have no problems. If I have one more of them coming and bitching at me I don’t know what the hell I’ll do.”
Laughter sounded off in the room, “alright, next order of business…”
The rest of the meeting carried on for only another five minutes before Ace was dismissing them. The men poured out into the Tavern, but Ace caught Jake before he could leave the room.
“You ready?” He asked him.
Jake response was delayed, “don’t know why I wouldn’t be.”
Ace nodded, though his face held a look of uncertainty. He hesitated, “If it’s too soon I can-”
“Ace,” Jake interjected, his voice clipped, “it’s cool. I’ll be cool. I’ve done it a dozen times before.”
“Okay, okay,” Ace conceded, “I hear ya.”
Silence lingered between them before a smirk crept up on Ace’s face.
“You got time for a few rounds of pool, or do you need to get back to your Cherry Bomb.”
Jake nudged him playfully, shaking his head at his school boy antics, “come on, I’ve been waiting to whoop an old man’s ass in pool all day.”
“Two years living in Genoa and this is my first time coming here.”
Geno’s was Genoa’s only Italian restaurant, and it was just about as fancy as the people in that town could get. It was located in central downtown, situated between a dive bar and a recently closed furniture warehouse. The warm glow of string lights adorning the ceiling casted a warm and inviting ambiance over the modest yet charming space.
Jake grinned at you from across the table, admiring the way the candle flickering on the table lit up your face.
“Yeah, it’s a hidden gem. My mom used to bring me here whenever she was around. Not exactly fancy, but it’s our kind of fancy.”
You returned his smile, noting the way his face seemed to brighten with the memory. Jake seldom delved into discussions about his mother or any personal aspects of his life. It didn't faze you, though; that’d be hypocritical. After all, you had shared very little about your own life with him.
But it was nice to hear the little things.
“That’s really sweet.”
Jake picked up his menu, and you hesitated briefly before offering your own memory to him, “my mom’s favorite restaurant was Applebees.”
He looked up at you with an amused look, followed by a hearty laugh. You liked his laugh, you liked making him laugh. You wanted to do it again.
“She used to make me tell the waiters I was twelve up until I was like fifteen. I think at a certain point they knew but kinda didn’t give a shit anymore.”
His laugh grew louder, but luckily, the place was close to empty.
“That’s good stuff, Cherry,” he sighed, taking a sip from his water to collect himself, “you look beautiful tonight by the way.”
You weren’t one to blush often, but in that moment you did, even if it was only momentarily.
“Thanks. Not so bad yourself,” you played it cool, lifting your chin while Jake smirked at you.
Finally, you picked up the menu and scanned it, “so, what’s good here? Any family favorites?”
“Wellll,” he answered, “Vicky always swore by their lasagna. She said it’s ‘like a warm hug on a plate’. And you can’t go wrong with their garlic knots.”
Your eyes lit up with amusement. “Warm hug on a plate, huh? I’ll take Vicky’s word for it. Lasagna it is.”
The waitress brought out the bottle of Pinot that Jake ordered, pouring you both a glass before setting the bottle on the table. She quickly scribbled down your order and walked away.
Jake raised his glass in your direction, “to you, Cherry.” You raised your glass in return, cocking an eyebrow, “to you, Barbarian Prince.”
Yes, Jake hated that nickname, but coming from you, it wasn’t so bad, he rather liked it.
In the simplicity of that Italian restaurant, with its rustic charm and timeless appeal, Jake and you made room to savor the present while honoring the echoes of the past.
Once dinner and a bottle and a half of wine were finished, you and Jake walked along the streets of downtown Genoa, by no means crowded but still active nonetheless. You were hand in hand, as if you’d been a couple for a long time. Not like two broken strangers who met barely a week ago and some how sort of lived together.
But it was comfortable, it felt right.
As you neared the end of the street, you could hear the sounds of upbeat country music pouring out from a juke joint on the corner. Jake stopped and looked at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “you wanna go dancing?”
Your eyes went wide in shock, “really? You don’t strike me as the dancing type.”
Jake feigned fake offense, “Cherry you wound me,” he began dragging you across the street in the direction of the music, “now I have no choice but to show you just how much of the dancing type I am.”
You resisted his tug, but it was no match to his adamancy, “Jake, that place is full of nothing but old people.”
He looked back at you and sent you a goofy wink, “all the better. Come on Cherry, the night is young.”
The first place you stopped was the bar, ordering two double shots of whiskey each, knocking them back before hitting the dance floor.
You were right, it was nothing but old people, and Jake was right too; all the better. They seemed to be a lively bunch, everyone hitting the dance floor at some point during the night. Couples glided and twirled around, dancing close to one another and never slowing down. You and Jake blended right in, laughing and joking the entire time as you guys tore up the dance floor right along with them.
Jake was indeed a pretty good dancer. He led with ease, and every so often he’d roll his hips into yours, and the old ladies around you seemed to be more affected by it than you were. Of course the alcohol in his system was making him a little more confident than normal, but that’s what made it more entertaining.
Though you loved dancing, you weren’t the greatest at it, but that night you couldn’t care less. This was the most fun you’d had in a long time, and in that rundown juke joint surrounded by people twice your senior, you felt like you could let go.
Spending time with Jake had a way of making you feel like that, you were starting to enjoy it.
As you continued to dance, Jake broke away from you and began dancing on his own, shimmying to the music. Once again, all of the woman in the room were distracted, some of them cat-calling him from across the bar. You were doubled over with laughter in the middle of the dance floor as people continued to shuffle around you.
“Don’t you ever,” Jake shouted to you over the music, “say I’m not the dancing type every again.”
He pulled you back into his arms as you continued to laugh, feeling the alcohol’s full effects.
“Come on,” Jake chuckled, “it’s getting late, let’s head out.”
You checked your phone and were surprised to see that you guys had been there for over two hours.
“Okay,” you purred as you hugged him close, “let’s go home. I want you to show m some of those moves again.”
You and Jake went at it for hours when you got home, both of you trying to fuck the alcohol out of you system. It pretty much worked, but it left you both feeling drained, your sweat-slick bodies tangled between one another and the sheets.
Mötley Crüe droned lowly in the background as Jake ran his hands through your tousled hair.
“I have to go to New Mexico in the morning with the club.”
You didn’t answer right away, letting his words sink in before turning to gaze at him.
“How long are you gonna be gone?”
“No more than a couple days. It’s quick business.”
Nodding, you began tracing along one of his tattoos as silence lingered again.
“We haven’t spent a day apart since you got here,” you teased a bit, causing Jake to chortle. But you looked back up at him then, more serious in your expression, “why do I feel like I’m gonna miss you?”
As he did often, Jake leaned down and kissed your forehead, “I know, Cherry. I think I’m gonna miss you too.”
You nestled closer too him, and he welcomed you in, giving you a squeeze, “I’ll bring you something back, how does that sound? Something to let you know I was thinking about you.”
A smile crept up on your face then, and you didn’t bother trying to hide it. It was true, that after everything that’s taken place over the past week, you still didn’t really know Jake, nor did he, you.
But for some reason, there seemed to be an understanding that neither of you cared about that. What you had right now worked for the both of you. You were wounded in your own ways, and you brought each other comfort, it was as simple as that.
So you decided not to argue, instead you leaned into the bliss of it, “alright.”
Jake grinned at you, “alright Cherry.”
Taglist: @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy
#greta van fleet#gvf#greta van fic#greta van fleet smut#jake gvf#greta van smut#greta van fleet fic#jake kiszka#jake kiszka fic#greta van fleet fan fiction#jake kiszka smut#jake greta van fleet#greta van angst#greta van fluff#gvf fanfiction
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ooc || stafford family history i guess?
@forgotteneilionora Kate this is so much rambling nonsense i hope it makes a small bit of sense lol
Stafford Parents
Okay but I am LOVING the idea that their parents put a lot of importance in action-- I definitely think it makes a lot of sense for both sisters!!! I am imagining since their mother died so young were actively involved in their father's royal affairs as soon as they were old enough? (especially considering Eilia was the heir which would technically make aria the spare?? which aria DEFINITELY ignored at all cost-- she def would spiral any time she considered that possibility.) i was wondering if perhaps aria, when she was old enough too, took up the mantle of being a patron/etc to these different things/groups/etc around Astaira which had originally been her mother's! i feel like the court/friends/whatever had tons of stories about her mother (because Aria would've been like..2 years old when she died I think?) that she'd heard over the years and she was aspiring to be as good as her mother! i dunno where this would really come from (mostly their dad i guess?) but i think they were trying to push the idea that being a queen/ruling class is about caring for the country and its people and their happiness/safety reflects back on a successful monarchy ruler. (also now wondering if they considered themselves/the queen/king "gods chosen" in the same way roderick does-- it seems like maybe that's not how the old religion would really see them but that's neither here nor there really...)
also knowing that their dad died pretty early on and while they definitely have more memories of HIM that their mother I could see where the whole lot of them have this very idealized versions of both their parents in their mind that is almost impossible to live up to in some way? that might be part of the reason why she (and maybe eilia too?) has this very strange idea that she isn't doing enough to try and fix the situation they're all in thanks to roderick!!
and because this is sort of a stream of consciousness word vomit rambling thing i'm ALSO wondering if even though they had fairly good familial relationships, maybe there was not really a forum to express emotions/concerns/etc within the family unit which is why now Aria/Eilia are in this weird sort of 'i don't want to be a burden/i am a burden/i don't want them to feel like a burden!' cycle because they aren't really that great at expressing their emotions to each other?? the whole like "we have to be strong for each other/our country" and a kind of guilt trip "things could be WAY WORSE" sort of thing
Old Religion/Guardians/Etc
so to then pivot to Aria's abilities... i think she has had the ability for as long as she can remember! my idea was She talked a lot about seeing things/creatures/etc as a kid and I image her family probably thought she was just a kid who had imaginary friends, etc… but then as she got older and the stories continued/she could better articulate exactly what she was seeing they were like “ohh okay, that’s not just imagination.” Knowing there’s sort of two paths to follow when one has the ability to see/sense the guardians— being okay with it or kind of going crazy— she was probably kept a bit more secluded for a time so that if she did go the crazy route, she wasn’t out in public raving like a loon. I DO think pretty quickly it was concluded she was not going to lose her mind BUT then her abilities set up another set of concerns— even though the idea of seers wasn’t necessarily treated as a crime in Astaira it still would open her up to being a target from foreign entities (#roderick) along with potentially being seen as promoting the “old religion” despite the fact Astaira had a more open view on people’s religions! so the decision was made that it needed to remain a secret amongst the family (which really wasn’t that hard honestly). also now thinking this all maybe happened not long before their father died so she was kinda struggling with coming to terms with this ability/what it meant while they're all in mourning and her older sister is now the queen! (which obviously meant aria saw her less and while i think aria always knew that was going to happen it was still a shock/hard thing for her to deal with and i think aria tried to step up and be that person for siobhan but never felt like she actually was any good at it!) buuut anyway I think she had to figure out a lot of this guardian business out for herself along with trying to keep it under wraps so again it’s a part of her life she MAYBE put some unnecessary pressure on??
(also on the same note going off all that awesome info regarding witches lizzy posted, i was also thinking that aria never had an powers manifest which could be potential drama in the future for everyone if something happened that WOULD make some power manifest-- especially depending on who that might happen in front of!)
anyway this is, like i said, semi insane sounding rambling about things and i'm always open to changing thoughts on ANY of this but yes... it is here XD
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Banana Fish Rec List
Here's a list of my favorite Bfish fics. I adore whump, so quite a few of the recs skew in that direction. Because Banana Fish whump tends to be particularly intense, I highly, highly recommend checking the tags and content warnings of each fic before reading. These aren't arranged in any particular order. Enjoy!
Love Letters by labingi
Status: Complete, 31,106 words
My Summary: Ash survives the stabbing by Lao, and goes to prison. He and Eiji exchange letters, and eventually emails, for several decades.
My Thoughts: This is one of the most nuanced, in-character BF fics out there. It is, at times, as painful as canon, but with a deeply satisfying ending. This work is a beyond gorgeous take on the BF characters. Probably my favorite on this list. Also, it is technically a Death Note crossover, but it honestly really isn't. DN elements are only mentioned a few times as a plot device.
Just Offscreen by @chaoslynx
Status: Complete, 6,728 words
My Summary: Foxx doesn't drop the cigarette in front of Ash. Foxx's men torture Ash, and he is eventually rescued by Eiji and Max.
My Thoughts: Read the tags on this one. Even for BF, it's pretty graphic. It's a really good fic though. It explores the implied elements of Banana Fish in explicit detail, and brings to the surface some of the underlying horror of canon. One common problem I see with fics and fiction generally is the tendency to use graphic subjects as a cheap shock factor. This fic does not do that. It handles the subject matter really well, and Ash's stream-of-consciousness POV is expertly done.
Eat the Elephant and its sequel, How To Walk Through Open Doors by Dodici
Status: Complete
My Summary: Ash makes it to Japan, and finds himself a little in over his head. Eiji is there to take care of him.
My Thoughts: Honestly, I really like the prose. It's really well written and the language just naturally reads like Ash's internal monologue. He says, does, and feels things without really understanding or bothering to think about why he does them in this way. The author captures Ash's perspective really well. Also, love me some realistic Eiji. I have a particular fondness for fics that flesh out Eiji's character even more than canon does. (Honestly, I get really hung up on characterization. I will usually stop reading an OOC fic)
I'll Save Myself by kanekki
Status: Complete, 30,324 words
My Summary: Instead of arriving at Dino's mansion the next day, Ash doesn't show up until about a month later. Eiji and Yut-Lung are held captive during that time. Continues until a little after the ending of the show.
My Thoughts: This is one of my personal whump favorites. Eiji undergoes a major personality shift that feels entirely realistic. He is still very much Eiji, but his time as a captive has deeply lasting effects. He also learns Yut-Lung's skill with needles, which is just cool. Also, Ash as sporadic-and-inexperienced-but-determined caretaker is an added bonus. The gang element is something of a side plot, but it's well developed. This fic really reminds me of the scene in episode 2 where Eiji is about to jump the wall and says something like "I'd rather die trying".
porgi, amor, qualche ristoro by ADreamingSongbird
Status: Complete, 18,763 words
My Summary: Ash has a very severe panic attack. Eiji comforts him through it.
My Thoughts. THIS FIC. This. Fic. It does something to me, honestly. It is just so, so tender and sweet. It's really well-written and a truly breathtaking insight into AshEiji's relationship post-canon. I reread it fairly often. The discussions of SA are handled very carefully and sensitively. Ash and Eiji are both well-written. The large volume of physical comfort feels like catharsis after canon's minimal and scattered touches, but it feels realistic. Like Ash would actually be comfortable with it in this context. It's hard to summarize exactly how much I love this fic.
Offset by superbrightsunset
Status: Complete, 3,859
My Summary: 5+1 about Eiji's physical strength as an athlete.
My Thoughts: Short, but very sweet. I love the caretaking in this fic. The style is very similar to the comfort aspects of Bfish canon. It's a good read for a quick AshEiji fix. Also, Shorter! And a light sprinkling of humor!
Save Me The Waltz (Alternate) by crowsnest
Status: Complete, 12,181 wrods
My Summary: Eiji is bfished instead of Shorter.
My Thoughts: This fic stuck in my brain for several weeks. Ash, Eiji, and Shorter all have to really go through it, but it is immensely satisfying for all three to come out alive and mostly whole in a way that seems realistic. This AU spans a few years, and leaves a lot of possible scenes to the reader's imagination. I really enjoyed reading this, especially the caretaking aspect.
Drugstore Cowboy by suffragettecity
Status: Complete, 2,048 words
My Summary: Ash goes to Shorter for a brief respite.
My Thoughts: I am in love with the atmosphere in this fic. It's uniquely platonic-ShorAsh. It's a fairly short one-shot, but the language is very immersive. There are little pieces of information scattered throughout that are deliberately unexplained, leaving the reader to make connections on their own. Overall a good read.
Okay. I might add more to this later. There are other fics I really like, but am too tired to rec. If anyone has any fics they want to share, please do!
(Also, I'm new to Tumblr and don't know the authors' tumblrs. Please tag them if you do. And if anyone wants their fic removed, please let me know and I will.)
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hello! i am not watching cellbits stream right now so i am a little lost, would you be able to tell me what is known about montelyson/romero richas (?? which name……) right now…? like is richas possessed or what…
Sorry for the wait, nonnie! I wanted to gather all the info i had on Montelyson so this can be also a recap on him!!
This post here has the rundown of all we knew about Montelyson until yesterday, today's discoveries I'll add later this post
Now, onto his diaries!!
He did 3 during his first appearances, with also the first Romero Richas paintings
"I feel limited to the thinner layers of the matter, as if my existence... Is collapsing day after day... I exist just for a couple moments... And my existence changes the world through...art...but is it really significant?"
"My art is inspired by a mix of the elements of an inorganic matter...but what's the reason within all of this? Why do I need that my art makes everyone believe that I'm here, that I'm real?"
"Sometimes I have to illustrate paints that are a bit....different...art that molds itself...that changes and transforms itself..."
"But what would it be? The colorful paintings that make everyone smile, vibrant colors and surreal shapes..."
"Or....my self-portraits?"
1/3
Here's a translation for the second book, and here's to the third book
This is one of Montelyson's "self portraits"
As for today, Montelyson talked directly with Forever and Cellbit. They said they were Richas Comfort and Nothing. They're also directly connected to Richas' grief over Bobby, and they showed up only after his death. They said Richas knows they're there (a given already) and how they were a part of Richas and couldn't really be hurt without hurting Richas. They ended the talk telling Cellbit and Forever they should talk with Richas in case they wanted more info
The answer if he's possessed or if its something he has within his mind is still not clear. To me, Richas has the consciousness of a previous islander, whose memory and thoughts weren't perfectly cleaned and now they're taking hold of Richas when they can
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Stream of consciousness political rambling. Because this is not fully thought through I'm putting it under a read more.
Something that bothers me about the typical social democrat 'tax the rich' suggestion (not that I'm outright opposed) is that it would make the most sense in a scenario where the wealth of the owning class is derived from their own countries proletariat, right? If you cannot overthrow that class, then reforms that attempt to squeeze some of that wealth back out into programs that could benefit the working class isn't an entirely bad idea.
But in a country like the US (UK, Canada, etc.), where is the wealth of our ruling class actually derived? What percent exactly is our labor versus that of other countries? You can't just fold your arms and tell capitalists they really should pay their fair share everywhere they do business. That they don't have to do that is kind of the point of this whole imperialism thing. But it certainly feels like 'how do we treat the loot of empire?' isn't being interrogated enough.
And I can already hear "Why talk reforms?! Tear it all down!" As much as I hate the way -progressive- liberals pull the covers up over themselves and mutter "But today isn't the revolution..." every morning to excuse their sloth, most of us know by now we can't will a revolution into being. So how do we reckon with all this if we're still attempting to engage with politics outside of the revolutionary moment?
And all types of chauvinists that don't like difficult questions will paint this as 'guilt' of course. But do we stand for anything at all if we don't have international solidarity? Can those who desire to get back that slashed welfare at any price actually call themselves Marxists? I'm reminded of how Marx and Engels talked of the English unions, or even Lenin on economism, etc... But it's so especially rotten here since, well, haven't you just wound up a Keynesian if your aim is reliving unsustainable post-war capitalist glory days?
On the one hand its dishonest to go about our business pretending none of this matters, but on the other "American lives (under the current order) should not get better" is not a political position with any legs here, for obvious reasons. It's tougher than the banana discourse because there you only had to put cheap year-round bananas on one side of the scale and all the rewards that could only be gained from liberation in the third world and the victory of the working class on the other and the banana defenders look super silly. But outside those hypotheticals, when we are organizing here and now, how does this factor in? Can it? AM I just moralizing over everything being blood money? Am I up my own ass?
So I'm left just bitterly rubbing my chin about it, like this is a crossword that I'm definitely going to figure out by myself if I ponder long enough.
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Collector’s Bounty: Part 3
Masterlist here. Enjoy!!
~~
Splitting, blinding agony yanked Jackson back to reality. It felt like he’d been shot in the side, sixteen rounds of lead all rapid-fired into one throbbing nightmare. He gasped for breath, but his chest seized in protest as he choked on a mouthful of plastic. A massive tube had been forced down his throat, protruding deep into his chest and scratching at his lungs, which were forced full of air just seconds later. He gagged, thrashing helplessly against the restraints and letting out a strangled cry at the fresh stabs of pain the movement sent through his body.
“More propofol,” he heard Aris order sharply, and he was dimly aware of a blunt pain in his arm, a thick substance forced through an IV. His head swam. The air was sucked from his lungs, and he coughed so hard his head began to pound.
“At least while we extubate him. Don’t want him damaging those lungs, especially if we decide to take one later…”
The words slid into each other, fuzzy and distant as the drugs overcame him once more. But this time, he was glad for it.
He faded back into consciousness, the next time, rather than the sharp, sudden lucidity of the hour before. His side pulsed uncomfortably, but the sensation lacked the agony of before, dulled to a slight ache. And the tube was gone from his throat. He could breathe. He sucked in a greedy lungful of air, even as the breath burned his sore throat, and tried to sit up. His head spun from the mere effort, and the wound protested fiercely, its dull ache turning into a throb, and he was forced to slump back down. But he could move his shoulders now, at least, push himself up on his elbows even while his wrists remained immobile— although now he was handcuffed to the bedrails of a cot, instead of strapped to the operating table.
He took a wary glance around, relieved to find he was alone in a small cell. It was bare but for the cot, the IV stand next to him, and the monitor beeping steadily as his vitals flashed across its screen. A sensor was clipped to his finger, a few layers of tape wound around it. As if he’d try to take off the only thing that would make sure his captors kept him, at the bare minimum, alive. An IV protruded from his opposite arm, likely providing whatever pain medication was taking the edge off the horror he’d woken up to the first time. It, too, was taped. As if he’d want to rip out the only thing keeping him from utter agony.
The flimsy white blanket covering him, however, was not taped onto him. And it was also the only thing Jackson wanted off. Some part of him needed to see the incision, in its fresh, ugly red glory. He needed to know it had all been real. Because until the blanket came off, he could hold onto the last shred of hope that Aris or Ryder had possessed the tiniest scrap of decency that prevented them from finishing the job.
He kicked uselessly at the thin cotton, only succeeding in getting the fabric tangled in his legs. A sob wrenched from his chest, and with it, a fresh stab of pain shocked itself down his side. The dam had broken and he cried with reckless abandon, tears streaming from his eyes down the sides of his face. His head began to pound in unison with the raw wound in his side, and all he could do was sob harder, until he was gasping for breath amidst dry, helpless cries. His tears had half-dried in a sticky film on his cheeks, and he couldn’t even lift a hand to wipe them away. Couldn’t even move enough to elbow the stupid fucking blanket across his face.
He heard the sound of a latch and flinched, furiously blinking away the last of his tears even though he knew nothing could hide his red-rimmed eyes and tearstained face.
“Aww, you’re really that upset to see me?” Aris smirked. “I’m flattered.”
“Fuck off,” Jackson mumbled halfheartedly, wishing he could at least pull the flimsy blanket over his face to demonstrate his disinterest.
“No can do,” Aris interjected cheerily, spinning a small keyring around a finger and bending down to unlock his handcuffs. “I gotta make sure you get up and walk around a bit.”
“It’s literally been— what, two hours?” Jackson protested. “Why do you care, you got what you wanted anyway…”
Aris shrugged. “Longer than that. We kept you in a drugged little stupor— and keep in mind, that comes out of my paycheck— for a bit so you wouldn’t be screaming those expensive lungs out. Maybe 12 hours? A little less? And even after we took you off, you slept maybe another eight. And the rest is doctor’s orders, love, I don’t make the rules. Ryder’s in charge of the med stuff, not me, and he told me to take you for a walk.”
Jackson’s head still pounded from the force of his earlier sobbing, but he gave a resigned nod, even as a shudder wracked his body at the thought of how much else they could have done to him in twelve hours. What else they could have taken. “Can I at least have something to put on then?” He managed weakly.
At that request, Aris raised his eyebrows with a smirk. “There’s no reason for me to not keep you naked now… but I’m feeling nice. So only if you beg for it.”
“What?” Jackson sputtered before he could help it. “I— I mean please. Please let me have clothes…”
Even saying the words drew burning red humiliation to his face, and he could barely suppress a twisted huff of laughter as the beeping on the monitor grew faster and faster with his panicked heart rate. Here he was, thinking begging would really make a difference. He’d seen how Aris had looked at him. How he enjoyed his power over him and nothing else. There was no use playing along.
But Aris’s grin only widened.
“Oh come on, if you say it like that, it’s like you don’t even really want it. And you do, don’t you?”
“I— I— no— I do— please just— please— aah—” Jackson stammered incomprehensibly, a fresh stab of pain in his side and his dizzying embarrassment clouding any rational thought he might have been able to force out.
Aris surveyed his flushed face, the way his eyes squinted at the pain from the incision, and he nodded. “I suppose I can reward effort, even for as terrible of a job you’ve done,” he digressed. “I’ll be back.”
As soon as the door’s lock slid into place, Jackson ripped the blanket off with his newly freed hands, eyes squeezed shut. He had to look, but at the same time, he couldn’t bear to.
Fuck it.
He wrenched his eyes open to find a swath of bandages around his torso, a bit above his left hip, and two smaller bandages scattered between his chest and stomach. He sat up, a wave of vertigo swimming through his head, and leaned over to grip the edge of the largest bandage. He took in a shaky breath, tensing on instinct, and ripped.
A thick, ugly cut marred his skin, haphazardly stitched together with black thread. Nausea gripped his gut, and he slapped the bandage back on, a weak cry escaping his lips as pain stabbed over the wound once more. Fuck.
He grabbed the thin pillow off the cot, pressed it to his face, and screamed, side throbbing from the effort, until his throat was ragged. The scream tapered off into a fresh wave of sobs, even as he tried to choke back the tears. He had to make a break for it while he was unrestrained. Before they took anything else. But he could barely sit up, let alone stand.
“Yeah, yeah, scar’s gonna be pretty bad,” Aris mocked, voice cutting nonchalantly through his cries. “What, did you think we’d change our minds?”
Jackson flinched, the pillow slipping from his fingers as he backed against one corner of the cot, curled against a bedrail. He wiped his face on the threadbare blanket and didn’t dare say a word— he didn’t trust himself not to start sobbing all over again.
Aris shrugged. “Well, not my problem. Think you can dress yourself?”
He nodded shakily, even though he doubted it. Even if he could manage to pull on a pair of pants, managing to get a shirt on while the IV was in would likely be an impossible task.
A soft bundle hit him square in the chest, and he unraveled it to find boxers, a pair of black sweatpants, and a ripped undershirt. He couldn’t help but be disappointed he hadn’t been given his old clothes back, but mostly, he was just glad to have anything at all. He waited for the dizziness to abate before slowly rising to his feet, legs buckling under his weight. He gripped the bedrail like a lifeline while he tugged on the boxers one-handed, relief washing over him with just the one bit of dignity.
“Yeah, yeah, Ryder didn’t want me to give your old clothes back ‘cause of germs or evidence or fingerprints or some shit, I don’t know,” Aris added with a shrug at his disappointed expression, eyes annoyingly fixed on Jackson’s body. “You sure you don’t need any help?”
Jackson grit his teeth, swaying dangerously as he struggled with the sweatpants.
“I’ve got it,” he bit out, even as his vision edged with black from the effort of standing. The second he finished tying the waistband, he collapsed back onto the bed, feeling just as exhausted but a little more human. He reached for the shirt with shaking hands, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to get it on. Not by himself. He’d either have to ask for help getting the IV out, forgoing the only medication he might be given at all, or withstand going shirtless.
He sighed. “I’d rather keep the IV in.”
Aris smirked. “I don’t mind getting a better view if you insist,” he teased, stepping towards the cot and holding out his arm.
“Now, up you go. Come on.”
Jackson couldn’t help but groan.
“I’m not gonna make it very far,” he protested weakly. “And aren’t you supposed to rest after surgery?”
“If it’s a nephrectomy, nope,” Aris said cheerfully. “Unless you wanna get blood clots and die after all this. I don’t really care, at least then I get the extra cash from selling a fresh heart.”
Jackson grimaced just at the idea, ignoring Aris’s outstretched arm and stabilizing himself on the bedrail as he forced himself back upright. “Fine,” he grumbled, legs wobbling beneath him.
“Ya gotta let go of the bed,” Aris added. “Not much of a walk if you stay in the same place now, is it?” He held out his arm again, a hawk waiting patiently to strike.
And Jackson could do nothing but take the bait. He took a shaky step, half-falling into Aris’s shoulder as he grasped his wrist with the last reserves of his strength.
And out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the grin that spilled over Aris’s face.
Taglist: @burntcoffeewhump @onlywhump @whumplr-reader @gala1981 @its-my-primary-whump @andithewhumper
#collector’s bounty#blue writes#aris#jackson hawthorne#organ harvesting whump#medical whump#whump writing#carewhumper
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Sugar (part 16)
Jake & Josh Kiszka x reader
18+ only! Minors do not interact!
Warnings: graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, language, dirty talk, masturbation, alcohol and marijuana use, aggression, upset, and dark themes
“Fuck, Josh…please.” You beg, but for what, you’re not sure.
His hand is braced lightly around your throat, holding you in place with an absence of force. He doesn’t need it, with you draped over top of his trembling body, back flush against his chest as he fucks up into you from below, he has you right where he wants you.
“What, sweet girl?” he breathes, lips pressed against your temple, legs curled up around you to pin you in place. “Tell me what you need.”
“I don’t know.” tears are streaming from your eyes still. Which incidentally, is exactly how you landed here. He’d woken up to you quietly crying. You’d hardly made a sound at all, but he’d heard you anyway. He’d felt the anxious waves of sorrow emanating from your soul, even in his sleep.
“Bad dream.” you’d lied, the truth too horrible to speak. If you say it aloud, you’ll be forced to face it head on. “Just c’mere and make it go away.”
“Tell me.” he repeats, kissing into your tangled hair.
You scramble to clear your head, searching for an answer just as the hotel room door clicks open, framing Jake, with a cardboard carrier bearing styrofoam cups of coffee in one hand, and a wrinkled white sack with a smiling cartoon donut splashed across the front, in the other.
He allows the door to swing closed and abandons the fruits of his morning journey on the corner table. “Well, what do we have here, sugar?” sauntering over, he studies your face intently as his brother never misses a beat. “You know how I hate to be left out.”
“Jake…” you whine, turning your face away to escape his scrutiny, feeling so completely on display as his gaze wanders over your tears.
“Don’t.” Josh calls softly, lovingly admonishing you. He doesn’t want to hear his twin’s name on your tongue right now, he wants his.
“Why’s she crying?” Jake addresses Josh, but keeps his stare trained on you.
“Bad dream.” Josh’s reply is winded and clipped, but it proves he’s blindly accepted your deception as truth, and it breaks your heart.
Is it really that much of a lie, though? This really is a nightmare.
“Aww, pretty girl.” Jake clicks his tongue and crawls onto the bed. Kissing the tracks of your tears. “Poor little love. You okay, baby?”
A nod is all you trust yourself with, but it seems to be enough, and he begins kissing down your jaw only to settle into sucking delicate bursts of warmth along your throat after pushing Josh’s hand out of the way.
“And you thought he could fuck it all away for you? Without me?” he’s teasing, but it brings forth a fresh stream of white hot tears.
“Don’t upset her.” Josh snaps with great irritation when he hears the sighing sob that slips past your lips. His hand snakes around to cover your heart soothingly.
“Not trying to.” Jake assures, sweeping his palms over your cheeks until they’re once again dry.
With Josh moving faster beneath you, the tip of his cock spoiling that beautiful little spot inside you, your head is becoming fuzzy, blanking out just the way you’d hoped it would. Jake is above you, nibbling and suckling at your skin, murmuring gorgeous, dirty, musings…his brother agreeing from below, adding his own sentiments.
You begin a frantic struggle with Jake’s belt, desperate to get your hands on his cock. To lose yourself in both of them. To forget.
“I’ve got it,” Jake’s voice is a rasping shell of what it normally is as he pulls your hand away, guiding your fingers to your slick, swollen clit. “You just baby this pretty cunt for me, sugar.”
Strangely, you shy away, like you haven’t been in much filthier positions with them a hundred times over. Perhaps it’s the emotions you’re trying so hard to stave off…
The drawl of Josh’s voice floats into your consciousness. “Do it, mama…touch yourself.”
His hand has found its way into your hair, clutching at it as though you are the calm in his storm, and maybe you are. Maybe that’s exactly what you all are, to each other.
Doing as you’ve been told, a hitching cry whines out of you when Jake slides two fingers inside your clenching cunt as Josh continues to fuck into you with a perfect rolling rhythm.
You find your ends together…with your fingers circling your throbbing clit, and Josh buried deep inside you. Jake spilling across your stomach with his fist tight around his cock, two fingers tucked up warm inside you where there should be no room left to be had thanks to Josh and his beautiful cock.
The room is humid and warm…stifling in the best way, filled with the sounds of your bodies writhing and curling together, desperate to be even closer.
You feel safe and loved between them. Cherished and protected.
If only you could stay, just like this, a cloud in both of their skies...forever.
~
Danny whips open the door, glancing around Jake’s dressing room as you pick through a meager selection of snacks. Does his entire rider have to be alcohol? Would it kill him to throw a candy bar or two on the list?
“Have you seen the twins?” he asks, as if you aren’t already involved with a task of your own.
“They’re off in wardrobe or something.” an idea dawns on you and you eye him over your shoulder. “Got anything sweet in your room?”
“Does Disaronno count? I have apple cider too, mix ‘em and it’s like Autumn in a glass, babe.”
“Jesus Christ!” you snap, sinking into a chair, defeated. “You’re all a bunch of alcoholics. Get out, they aren’t in here.”
He does the opposite and slips quietly into the room, soundlessly closing the door. “Alright. What’s going on? What’d they do?”
“Nothing, okay?” you feel badly for being so unkind to him, you just can’t seem to stop. “I just want a fucking candy bar. That’s all. Can you just, I don’t know…just find somewhere else to be?”
Back out the door he goes, and you almost call out to him…you should apologize – but the tears come instead. You work fast to gather yourself, Josh or Jake could come barreling in any second and then you’d be forced to lie about what has you so upset, and you detest being untruthful with them.
Instead, it’s Daniel that reappears, this time bearing a Snickers bar triumphantly. “Vending machine.” he grins, tossing it at you.
“Absolute fucking angel. That’s what you are, Daniel Wagner.” you swoon, as if he’s presented you with something precious.
“It’s both a blessing and a curse. So,” he plops himself down on the loveseat, splaying his long legs out in front of him. “Out with it.”
Your simple reply comes muffled around a mouthful of nougat and peanuts. “No.”
“You know I like you better than them.” he winks, “I’ll take your side.”
“They didn’t do anything.” you sigh, blissfully enjoying the treat you’ve been so badly craving.
“Sam? I’ll kick his scrawny ass, I swear.” he’s trying to make you laugh, but it only serves to make you cry…he’s too sweet for this whole world.
He moves to stand, no doubt ready to fold you into a comforting hug, but you hold a hand up to stop him. “I’m alright. I’m okay. I don’t want them to see me crying…they’ll ask a thousand questions. Josh won’t shut his mouth until he has an answer and I –” you trail off, gulping down a sob.
“Okay, so tell me.” he sounds worried now and with that comes the guilt. He cares so deeply. “At least tell me that you’re okay.”
“I’m late.” blurts out of you before you can think better of it, and you want to melt into the floor and disappear.
His eyes flit to the clock on the wall, “No, we’ve got time. S’like an hour before we go on.”
“No, Danny.” is all you manage to mumble, gaze glued to your shoes.
“Oh.” his back lands against the couch with a muted sound of shock. “Oh….”
“Yeah.” you nod, willing the tears burning in your eyes to go away.
The silence is deafening until, at last, he meekly questions, “Aren’t you guys, like, safe?” Right away, he thinks better of it, “You know what? That’s none of my business…”
“No, it’s fine.” you wave him off, what’s it matter now? “We are…but, you know, nothing’s a hundred percent.”
“Well, can I ask how you’re safe? Because this isn’t exactly a shining endorsement for it, and I’m trying to be a bit of a slut, now that I can.”
He’s trying to make you smile, and he succeeds…a little.
“Have you taken a test?” you shake your head and he latches on to the hope there. “See? There you go, you’re probably worried about nothing.”
“Hi, Danny, have we met?” you deadpan. “I’m the psycho who was in tears a few minutes ago over a candy bar.”
“In your defense, candy bars are fucking phemonenal.” you share a gentle laugh and then he catches your eye. “Which one, do you think?”
Your throat closes up and the room begins to tilt. “I have no idea. Oh my god, that sounds horrible. What the hell is happening? What am I gonna do, Danny? I can’t tell them.”
“Why can’t you tell them?” he argues softly. “You shouldn’t have to carry this all on your shoulders. I mean, if you’re afraid you might lose one if it’s the other’s, you can forget that right now. They both love you more than –”
“That’s the thing…” your tears are coming fast and hard now, streaming down your cheeks to converge and mingle together at your wobbling chin. “Identical, Dan. Remember? There’s no way to know.”
“Fuck…” he pushes his hand up through his bangs and huffs a whooshing puff of air out, as if the wind has been knocked clean out of him. “Okay, first thing’s first…a test. I’ll run out and get you one,” he glances at the clock again. “There’s time.”
“That’s not going to work.” you rasp around the lump aching in your throat. “How would you even get to a pharmacy? And what if somebody sees you?”
“We’re not that famous, babe.” he points out.
“There’s an arena packed floor to ceiling with screaming fans right now that says otherwise…and this entire city will be crawling with them right now. You can’t.”
You’re right and he knows it. “Alright…so what now?”
“Nothing now.” you wipe your face and rise to inspect your makeup in the mirror. You dab around at your eyes, wiping away a smudge of mascara, and then turn to him. “Want me to do your liner?”
“You don’t have to.” he sounds worried and anxious. Well, join the club, buddy.
“Come on.” you pat the chair in front of the mirror. “Let’s doll that pretty face up a little.”
Moments later, as you’re smoking his eye with a tiny brush, he speaks up gently “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make an incredible mama. Just wanted you to know that.”
“Ah, Danny…” he always knows just what to say. “my platonic prince charming.”
“That’s where you were supposed to say that I’d make an incredible uncle, but ya know, whatever.” he blinks up at the ceiling, a silent signal for you to get back to work on his makeup.
You share a soft, sad, laugh together as you lean in to accent his beautiful eyes.
~
The show has long since come to an end, but the onstage energy is still very much alive amongst the group that has congregated in Sammy’s room.
Tiny throngs of roadies and stagehands are dotted about the space, sharing drinks and conversation, while you watch from the sidelines, perched on a couch, doing your best not to draw attention to the fact that your miserable mind just wants to rest and slip into a deep, dreamless sleep.
“Hey there little red riding hood…” Daniel sidles up beside you, serenading you with a classic, trying his best to make you smile. “You sure are looking good…”
“You’re anything but a big, bad wolf.” you rest your head on his shoulder while he hums the rest of the verse, and watch as Jake and Josh lean in to speak to one another, back and forth, back and forth, like a choreographed dance that they both seem to instinctively know.
“You want to get outta here? Go back to my room for a little while?” he offers sweetly. “We could tell them I want to talk about the break up or some shit.”
“No, no…” you sit up and give his knee a pat. “You kicked ass tonight, you deserve to blow off a little steam. I’m fine, really.” you cross your heart to seal the deal.
He starts to protest, but the twins are abruptly standing before you. They’re so quick and silent sometimes, like sleek cats slinking rapidly in and out of sight.
“Here, sugar.” Jake presents a sweating glass of amber liquid. “You look thirsty.”
Waving him off as nonchalantly as you can, you do your best to sound casual. “I think I’ll pass tonight…I don’t feel like being on the bus all day tomorrow with a hangover.”
“Hmm.” he grunts, taking a long pull on the lowball. “How very lightweight of you, love. That’s not very rock n’ roll.”
“Good thing you’re the one with the band then, I guess.” you wink.
“I suppose so.” he winks back.
A blunt gets handed off to Josh, as a face you don’t catch passes by, and - ever the gentleman - he holds it out to you first.
You recoil as though he’s just offered you a grenade sans pin, and then hurry to recover. “Danny and I just smoked. I’m faded as it is.”
“No you didn’t,” he argues, with a confused shake of his head. “I’ve been watching all night and you haven’t so much as touched…” he trails off, searching your face for answers…while Daniel, sensing a shift, pads off to find Sam.
Josh, still silent with a confused frown, pulls his cell from his pocket to double check the date. The man can’t remember his own phone number, but he knows your cycle like the back of his hand. Mostly because he has the tiniest kink for it that he refuses to admit to.
Jake just looks unbothered, albeit slightly confused, until his twin turns to catch his eye. A wordless exchange takes place, and then Josh is pulling you to your feet, leading you out the door and down the hall to your room, with Jake bringing up the rear.
Lie. That’s what you’re going to do, you decide…because this isn’t real. You’re overreacting! You’re just a little late. No need to concern them. They have bigger fish to fry. Right?
You’re a raging coward, and you know it.
When you’re finally alone, Josh speaks first. “What’s going on, mama?”
Well, his favorite pet name certainly seems fitting to a degree it never has before.
Be cool, be cool, be cool. “What do you mean?”
“Sugar.” Jake sounds firm, boot stomping into the carpet with a muted clip. He’s read it on Josh’s face…something is wrong and he won’t have any of your shit right now.
“What?” Christ, you sound like a teenager trying to weasel her way out of trouble.
“Third week of the month.” Josh steers the three of you back on track. “And yet this morning, nothing. You haven’t had a drop to drink and you lied to get out of smoking. Now, what the fuck is up?”
Jake’s face turns white as a sheet as the realization sets in. “Oh my god…” he drops into a chair, rubs his fingers at his temples as if to will it all away, and then finds your eyes. “Talk to us, sweetheart.”
“There’s nothing to say.” you’re pacing around the room like a cornered wild animal. “Everything is fine.”
Josh, never one to exercise much patience, cuts right down to the thick of it. “What’s happening here, baby? Are you pregnant?”
You wrap your arms around yourself protectively and find the couch when your knees weaken, wincing at the sound of shock that escapes Jake as his brain short circuits.
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.” Josh strides over, bending to look you in the eye. “Okay, let’s all just relax a little and take a few deep breaths, right?”
“Whose is it?” Jake asks, staring off into space and very obviously not thinking.
“Are you serious?” Josh turns his attention to his twin. “She’d have no way of knowing under normal circumstances, nonetheless this…” he waves his hand between the two of them, “Besides, we don’t even know if…”
Josh is stunned into silence and you’re reduced to quivering tears when Jake snatches a decorative bowl from the coffee table and hurls it at the wall. It explodes into pieces, and then, like nothing out of the ordinary at all has occurred, Jake eases back into the chair…his heaving chest the only indicator of his distress.
“What the fuck?” Josh couldn’t look or sound more shocked if Jake’s head just happened to suddenly fall off, you’re sure of it.
“What the fuck?” Jake shouts, jumping to his feet while you flinch away from the scene. “What the fuck, Josh? Really?” He is now in his brother’s face, shoving at his shoulders gently, like he can’t imagine hurting him even in a fury. “I loved her first, you said it yourself…but I let you have her, just like I’ve always let you have fucking everything! And now I have to settle for all this.”
“Fuck you for that!” Josh shoves at his twin with aggression completely unlike himself. “I fucking shared her. I gave you that. I gave you both that. I’ve given everything up for you. Fuckin’ always. Whose dream are we living? Because it sure as shit isn’t mine!”
“Please…” you’re on your feet now, trying to put a little distance between them, sobbing so uncontrollably you feel you might hyperventilate. “Please don’t fight. Please, please, please…” you fall into the word, repeating it like a mantra that might make everything go away.
They watch you, with the concern they feel for you battling with the rage they feel for each other, until they step back in perfect sync, choosing you over their anger. Josh leads you back over to the couch and sinks to his knees once he’s got you seated.
He rests his head in your lap while you struggle to draw in a breath that doesn’t stutter. Jake watches the two of you with something indescribable and palpable radiating from him. Then, with a shake of his head he stares into your eyes.
“I want it to be mine…and I can’t do this anymore, sugar. You have to choose.” he whispers as if the two of you are alone in the room. And then he’s gone.
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#greta van fleet fic#greta van fleet fan fiction#greta van fleet smut#greta van smut#greta van fleet#greta van fic#fanfic#gvf fic#jake gvf#josh kiszka#jake kiskza#gvf jake#gvf josh#josh kiszka fic#josh kiszka fanfiction#josh kiszka smut#josh kiszka imagine#jake kiszka fanfic#jake kiszka smut#jake kiszka imagine
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