#>>EXACTLY I LOVE CHARACTERS WHO JUST REFUSE TO DIE

[jungkoode]

FIVE SECONDS TO FREEDOM | 02

˗ˏˋ broken cars and police chases ˎˊ˗

"Sometimes the most dangerous thing isn't the race itself—it's who you trust to have your back when everything goes sideways."

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 5,5k

rating: mature

content: police chases, engine diagnostics, unexpected alliances, & the dangerous intimacy of small spaces

jimin's skyline r34 | y/n's toyota ae86

✧ author's note ✧

Well. Hi again. (ಠ_ಠ)

Welp. Here we are. Chapter 2?!?? Already??? I see you little freaks going feral for Latino!Jimin and I can only say: relatable. Honestly. You’re not wrong and you shouldn’t be ashamed. You are exactly as God (me) intended. Now sit back and enjoy the consequences of your lust because this chapter is rich in feral Jaque behavior.

NOW. As for my obligatory prefacing ramble that none of you asked for but must endure because I am mentally ill and this is my sandbox: I really, really loved writing this chapter. Early chapters carry so much weight in a story’s rhythm—they’re the place where you need to anchor, to plant seeds, to seduce the reader into forgetting they have jobs and responsibilities and instead need to sit here with me and spiral over my little fictional rats. And this chapter let me really dig into the interpersonal dynamics that are going to unfold like slow-burning emotional grenades later on.

Let’s talk Maya for a second—my angel, my demon, my unhinged menace in matte black nail polish. I’m so obsessed with female friendships and I will never forgive media for flattening them into either aesthetic sidekicks or exposition machines. Maya is real. Maya is sharp. Maya has her own shit going on that affects how she shows up for Y/N. She’s not a foil—she’s a force. And Y/N having someone like her, someone who gets it and doesn’t coddle but also doesn’t leave? UGH. Peak feminine solidarity. She gives me Yeji and Irya (FMU coded) energy in the way that her presence changes the emotional architecture of a scene just by existing in it.

And Maya and Taeyang?? HA. You thought that was banter? You thought that was throwaway dialogue? BE SERIOUS. I am planting a garden and you better water it, because that seed is going to grow into something chaotic and gorgeous and definitely juicy.

Speaking of juicy: Taeyang and Jaque’s friendship is so dear to me. Like. I’m sorry. That entire “bro I’d die for you but never say I love you or make eye contact for longer than 2 seconds” dynamic is sooo real and sooo important and sooo boy. I needed that energy in here. It’s just so honest. And yeah, Taeyang has a backstory. And yes, he speaks Spanish too. And yes, there are layers to how and why. (‘Tiz’? Tiz is not just a sound. Save that. Save it. Bookmark that bitch.)

Also random but crucial: everyone calls Taeyang “Yang” and not “Tae” because my mentally ill fanbrain kept jumping to Taehyung every time I typed it and I simply refused to confuse my sons like that. Thank you for understanding.

And okay—Y/N checking the RX-7? Y/N getting her hands dirty? That scene is everything. It’s not just for the car girlies (though I see you and I love you). It’s about proving narrative integrity. Your main character needs flaws. Needs competence. Needs internalized biases, too. The world doesn’t split itself neatly between heroes and villains, misogynists and feminists. It’s messy. Characters are flawed. They don’t have all the information. They say the wrong thing. They’re not mirrors—they’re human. Jimin is just arrogant and doesn’t yet have the context to understand who he’s talking to. And that’s what makes it compelling. He fumbles. And the point is not that he never messes up—it’s that he learns. And Y/N gets to have her reactions and process and growth through it, too. We love a dual-arc pipeline. That’s what gives us growth and payoff and tension down the line. Plot wise. Character wise. Relationship wise.

AND THEN JIMIN???? IN THE AE86???? That man is literally the bane of my sanity. He’s cocky. He’s relaxed. He has one arm up on the roof like he owns your apartment, your body, and your last two brain cells. I hate him so bad I want to sit on his face. He’s all smirks and muscle memory and unreadable glances. The worst kind of guy. And I mean that in the way that makes my toes curl.

And the best part? Y/N and Jaque aren’t even talking to each other. They’re talking to their own assumptions. Two people playing poker with half the deck missing, trying to parse subtext that neither has context for. They’re both so certain they have the upper hand, and they’re both so wrong. I love them so much. I want them to suffer and also kiss about it.

Okay okay I’ll shut up. Go read the chapter. Report back. Tell me what you noticed. Tell me what you felt. Tell me if you would also fold like wet paper if Jimin stretched out in your passenger seat.

Love you always,

Kiki ♡

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

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The sound that comes from Taeyang's RX-7 isn't right.

You catch it immediately—that telltale whine of a rotary engine pushed beyond its limits, the kind of noise that makes every experienced driver in a fifty-foot radius wince.

Taeyang's black Mazda limps into Daikoku like a wounded animal, steam wisping from under the hood, the distinctive growl of the 13B rotary replaced by an unhealthy rattle that has nothing to do with the aftermarket exhaust.

Maya whistles low beside you. "That doesn't sound good."

Understatement of the century.

You watch Taeyang kill the engine and sit there for a moment, hands still gripping the steering wheel. Even from this distance, you can read the frustration in the set of his shoulders, the way his head drops forward against the headrest.

He gets out slowly, like he's afraid sudden movements might make something else break.

The hood release pops with a sharp metallic click that echoes across the lot, and when he lifts it, a cloud of white steam billows out.

"Fuck." The word carries clearly across the parking lot. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

That's when you notice the other car—a lime green Honda S2000 that's still running, its driver standing beside it with his hands raised in what looks like apology.

Young kid, maybe twenty, with the kind of nervous energy that screams 'new money, bad decisions.'

You start walking before you consciously decide to move.

The scene becomes clearer as you approach—the S2000's front bumper has scrape marks. Fresh ones. Taeyang's examining something on the passenger side of his car—probably where contact was made.

"—didn't mean for it to get that heated, man. I was just trying to—"

"Shut up." Taeyang's voice is flat. Dangerous. "Just… shut the fuck up for a second."

The kid's mouth snaps closed.

Maya appears at your shoulder, silent backup, while a small crowd starts to gather.

Word travels fast when someone's car gets damaged in a race.

Everyone wants to see how it plays out, who's going to pay, whether fists are going to fly.

You catch a glimpse of Maya's face as she assesses the damage to Taeyang's car. She has a weird expression, far more personal than her usual detached amusement around these type of situations. Like she's taking this shit seriously for once.

You whip your head back to assess the situation—back to your more analytical side; the one you bring to every corner, every gear change, every decision that matters.

The S2000 kid is nervous but not running, which means he's either decent enough to face consequences or too stupid to realize how much trouble he's in.

In this city, this young, it's probably a mix of both.

The damage to Taeyang's car looks superficial from the outside—some scraped paint, maybe a dented quarter panel—but the engine noise suggests the real problem is internal.

Which means expensive.

Really fucking expensive.

"What happened?" Your voice cuts through.

The S2000 kid turns toward you, and his expression shifts the moment he recognizes who's asking.

Everyone in Daikoku knows you. Everyone knows your reputation.

And right now, you're not here as a racer—you're here as the person who decides how these situations get resolved.

"We were just—" he starts.

"I wasn't asking you." You don't even look at him, your attention fixed on Taeyang, who's still staring at his engine like it personally betrayed him. "Taeyang."

He runs a hand through his hair, leaving streaks of grease from whatever he just touched under the hood.

"Kid wanted to run here at Daikoku. Nothing fancy, just a quick pull to the back section." He's forcefully modulating his tone, but you can hear the anger simmering underneath. "Started clean enough. Then this fucking amateur decides he wants to get creative with the bump draft."

Your jaw tightens.

Bump drafting at Daikoku is dangerous enough with experienced drivers. With some kid who probably learned racing from video games? It's a recipe for disaster.

"Caught my bumper on the overtake," Taeyang continues. "Sent me into the barrier. Engine red-lined trying to keep control."

Which explains the sound. Rotary engines are temperamental bastards on their best days. Push one past its limits—especially when it's already running hot from racing—and expensive things start breaking.

You turn to the S2000 kid, who's been standing there looking progressively more uncomfortable as the story unfolds.

"Name."

"Uh… Hiroaki. Hiroaki Matsuda." He fidgets with his car keys. "Look, I already said I was sorry. I'll pay for the paint job, no problem."

Maya snorts. "Paint job."

"This isn't about paint," you say, voice flat. "How much cash you carrying?"

"I… what?"

"Cash. In your wallet. Right now. How much."

He fumbles for his wallet, hands shaking slightly as he counts bills.

"Maybe… forty thousand yen?"

You glance at Taeyang, who's now leaning against his car with his arms crossed. The expression on his face suggests forty thousand yen wouldn't cover a tenth of what this repair is going to cost.

"Forty thousand yen," you repeat. "For an engine rebuild on a built rotary. Do you have any idea what you just did?"

The kid's face goes pale. "Engine rebuild?"

"Apex seals," Taeyang says, voice clipped. "Side seals. Probably the whole fucking rotor housing at this point. You red-lined a bridge-ported 13B, genius."

The silence that follows is educational.

You can actually see the moment the kid realizes he's not dealing with a simple fender bender.

"I… I don't have that kind of money."

"Then we have a problem." You step closer, and he actually gulps down, audibly. "Because that car isn't just Taeyang's ride. It's his livelihood. You just cost him weeks of work. Weeks of races he can't run. Money he can't make."

The crowd has grown larger now, forming a loose circle around the drama. These kinds of disputes are part of Daikoku's entertainment, but they also serve a purpose.

Because everyone gets to see how conflicts get resolved, who pays up, who tries to run.

Reputations are built and destroyed in moments like this.

"Look," the kid says, desperation creeping into his voice. "I can get more money. Give me a week, maybe two—"

"No." The word comes out sharp enough to cut glass. "You pay what you owe, tonight, or you don't race at Daikoku again. Ever."

It's not an empty threat. Being blacklisted by you means being blacklisted from Daikoku. The most prestigious lot in Tokyo.

The kid knows it. You can see him running calculations in his head, probably wondering if he can liquidate something fast enough to cover the debt.

"My car," he says abruptly. "It's worth maybe two hundred thousand. Not enough for a full rebuild, but…"

"But it's a start." You nod toward the S2000. "Title's clean?"

"Yeah. No loans, no liens. It's mine."

You look at Taeyang.

"Your call."

He considers for a long moment, gaze moving between the kid and the lime green Honda.

It's a decent car—well-maintained, some nice modifications. Not enough to cover a complete rotary rebuild, but probably enough to get him mobile again while he sources the rest.

"Fuck it," he says finally. "Yeah. Transfer the title. I'll part it out to cover what I can."

Relief washes over the kid's face.

It's expensive as hell, but it beats being completely blacklisted from the scene he clearly wants to be part of.

"Maya," you say without looking away from the kid. "Make sure the paperwork's legit. No bullshit."

She nods, already moving toward the S2000 to check the registration and title—because Maya's dealt with enough car transfers to spot forged documents from across a parking lot.

The crowd starts to disperse now that the drama's winding down.

Entertainment's over, justice has been served, and there are other races to prep for.

You notice Maya leaning against Taeyang's broken RX-7 then, watching him poke around the engine bay with obvious frustration.

"So," she says, voice carrying that edge she gets when she's about to start shit. "This is what happens when you try to show off for someone."

Taeyang's head snaps up. "I wasn't showing off."

"Right." Maya's grin is sharp. "Just coincidence that you accepted a race from some amateur right after that girl with the pink Civic was asking about your car."

"That has nothing to—"

"Sure it doesn't." She picks at her black nail polish. "Because you're so level-headed when it comes to female attention."

"At least I don't start fights in club bathrooms," Taeyang shoots back.

"That was one time—"

"Last month."

"She had it coming."

Their bickering is interrupted by footsteps on gravel.

You don't need to turn around to know who it is—that particular stride has been getting under your skin for months.

"La puta madre, cabrón." Jaque's voice is a whistle as he approaches Taeyang's car. "What the fuck happened to your baby?"

"Yeah, la puta madre indeed," Taeyang responds grimly. "Some amateur with more money than sense happened."

Jaque reaches the RX-7 and immediately starts examining the engine bay with the focused attention of someone who actually knows what he's looking at.

Most posers in this scene can talk a good game about turbo specs and suspension setups, but few of them have actually held a wrench outside of basic maintenance.

Jaque, unfortunately, isn't a poser.

"Dude," he says, voice dropping to something more serious. "This is fucked. Rico needs to see this."

"Rico's busy prepping your car for tomorrow," Taeyang says immediately. "I'm not fucking with that."

"Hermano, Rico's been working on both our cars for three years. He's not gonna mind taking a look."

"He's got your tune to finish," Taeyang insists. "Tomorrow's race is too important. I can figure something else out."

"Like what?" Jaque's voice carries genuine frustration. "Take it to some random shop that's gonna charge you double and probably fuck it up worse?"

Maya snorts from her position against the car. "Boys and their loyalty issues."

Both men ignore her, but you catch the way Taeyang's jaw ticks at her comment.

"I'm serious, Yang," Jaque continues. "Rico can handle both. He's got my car for the night. Had him pick it up earlier for some final checks but the tune on my car is basically done anyway—just final adjustments tomorrow morning."

"And if something goes wrong with your setup? If the tune needs major changes?" Taeyang shakes his head. "You're racing for what, half a million yen tomorrow? I'm not risking that over my car."

Half a million yen.

That's serious money, even by underground racing standards. The kind of stakes that attract either the very confident or the very desperate.

Judging what you know about Jaque, it's probably the first one.

"Look at the scoring on the housing," Jaque says, pointing to something deep in the engine bay. "This isn't just apex seals, bro. This could be a full tear-down."

The genuine concern in his voice surprises you.

Not that he cares about his friend's car—that's obvious—but the way he's examining the damage suggests he might actually have some mechanical knowledge beyond basic maintenance.

"I know how bad it is," Taeyang says quietly. "I also know I can't afford to fix it properly."

The admission hangs in the air.

Financial reality is a bitch in this scene—a lot of people live paycheck to paycheck, dumping every spare yen into their cars to try and make a profit through the races.

You don't know what that feels like.

But you respect it enough to voice something out.

"I'll take a look at it."

Both men turn to stare at you like you just announced plans to sprout wings and fly away.

Jaque recovers first, that familiar smirk spreading across his face.

"Since when are you a mechanic, princesa?"

The condescension in his tone makes your hackles rise.

Just because you don't walk around covered in grease stains doesn't mean you don't know your way around an engine bay.

"Since I was sixteen and could outbuild half the idiots in this scene," you say, voice flat and unimpressed.

"Right." He drawls the word out, skepticism dripping from every syllable. "And I'm sure your manicure is really gonna help with rotary seals."

You look down at your hands—nails painted matte black, perfectly shaped but not impractical—then back up at his face.

"My manicure costs more than your car payment," you say sweetly. "But I can still rebuild a 13B faster than you can say 'thirteen bee.'"

Maya snorts beside you. "She's not wrong. Girl's been elbow-deep in engines since middle school."

"Is that right?" Jaque's eyebrows climb higher, and there's something in his expression that suggests he's genuinely intrigued rather than just skeptical. "And where exactly did you learn rotary engine repair? YouTube?"

This absolute jackass—

"Uncle's garage," you say, keeping it vague on purpose. "Started sweeping floors when I was eight. Graduated to actual engine work by fourteen. Rebuilt my first rotary at fifteen."

"Which garage?" Taeyang asks, sudden interest in his voice.

You hesitate—because any specific details might create connections you don't want. Connections to the Hayashi.

No fucking way.

Your reputation here was built on skill, not family money or connections. You've worked your ass off to earn respect based on merit alone.

"Just a local place," you say finally. "Been working there since I was—"

"Alright, I'll check it out with you."

The words stop you mid-sentence. You blink, processing what he just said.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He grins, challenge in his expression. "If you're gonna diagnose my boy's engine, I want to see this legendary mechanical expertise in action."

You stare at him. "You don't trust my assessment?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then why—"

"Because this should be interesting."

The way he says it makes your pulse spike with irritation.

Like you're some kind of entertaining novelty rather than someone with legitimate mechanical knowledge. Like he's humoring you rather than acknowledging your skills.

Fine.

If he wants a demonstration, you'll give him one.

"Whatever," you say, voice deliberately casual. "Just don't disturb me while I work."

You move toward Taeyang's car, pulling a hair tie from your pocket to get your hair out of the way.

You can feel Jaque's eyes on you on the periphery.

You ignore it.

Back to the work at hand—The RX-7's engine bay is cramped and complex—rotary engines pack a lot of components into a small space—but you've worked on enough of them to navigate the maze of hoses, wires, and manifolds.

"You got a flashlight?" you ask Taeyang.

He hands you a small LED light from his glovebox, and you click it on and lean into the engine bay, immediately focusing on the areas most likely to show damage from an over-rev situation.

The first thing you check is the coolant system.

Rotary engines run hot under normal conditions, and an over-rev situation generates enough heat to cause catastrophic cooling system failure.

You trace the hoses with your eyes and hands, looking for signs of bursting or leakage.

"Coolant seal's definitely blown," you confirm, voice slightly muffled by the hood. "But that's not necessarily catastrophic. Seals are consumable items anyway."

Behind you, you hear Jaque moving closer.

You can feel his presence even without looking—that annoying awareness you've never been able to shake.

Irritating, the way he seems to take up more space than he should.

"What about the scoring?" he asks.

You aim the flashlight deeper into the engine bay, examining the intermediate housing where the rotors make contact.

What you see makes you frown.

"Hand me that rag," you say to Taeyang.

He passes you the greasy cloth, and you use it to wipe away some of the accumulated grime around the housing.

The scoring is there, but it's not as extensive as you initially feared.

"It's there," you admit, "but it's not as bad as it could be. Most of this is just normal wear. The over-rev didn't help, but it didn't destroy everything."

You straighten up, wiping your hands on the rag.

All four of them are watching you with varying degrees of attention—Taeyang hopeful, Maya amused, and Jaque…

Unreadable.

"So what's the verdict?" Taeyang asks.

"The coolant seal definitely needs replacement. Probably the apex seals too, just to be safe. The scoring on the housing isn't great, but it's not rebuild-territory either. With some careful cleaning and new seals, you could probably get back on the road."

"How much?" The question comes out tight, like he's bracing for bad news.

You run quick calculations in your head.

Parts, labor, shop time…

"Maybe eighty thousand yen if you do the work yourself. Double that if you pay someone else to do it."

The relief on Taeyang's face is immediate and obvious.

Eighty thousand yen is still a significant expense, but it's manageable. It's the difference between being back on the road in two weeks versus being sidelined for months.

"You sure about that assessment?" Jaque asks.

You turn to look at him, eyebrow raised. "Are you questioning my diagnosis?"

"Just want to make sure we're not missing anything." He steps closer to the engine bay, leaning in to examine the same areas you just checked. "Because if Yangie gets this thing back together and it grenades on the first race, that's on us."

"It's on me," you correct. "I made the assessment. I take responsibility for it."

Jaque blinks at you, but doesn't comment. Instead, goes back to examining.

You watch him trace the same components you just checked, noting how his hands move confidently.

It speaks of someone who's spent serious time working on cars. Not just maintaining them, but actually building and rebuilding them.

Frustrating.

It would be so much easier to dismiss him if he was just another pretty boy with a fast car and no real knowledge.

But watching him work makes it clear that his reputation isn't built on luck or money alone.

"Coolant seal's definitely toast," he confirms after a few minutes. "But yeah, the housing damage isn't as bad as it looked. Good call on the apex seals though—no point putting this back together with worn seals."

You resist the urge to say 'I told you so.'

Barely.

"So we're good?" Taeyang asks, looking between the two of you.

"We're good," you confirm. "Just need to source the parts and find time to do the work."

"Rico probably has the seal kits in stock," Taeyang says immediately. "And if not, I know a guy in Yokohama who specializes in rotary stuff."

"What about workspace?" Jaque asks. "This isn't really a parking lot repair job, and Rico's spot is packed."

Good point.

Replacing rotary seals requires clean conditions, proper tools, and enough space to lay out components in order.

It's precision work that can't be rushed or done halfheartedly.

"I can get us bay time," you say without really thinking about it. "After hours."

The offer surprises you almost as much as it surprises them.

You're not in the habit of volunteering garage space for other people's projects, especially not when it involves the jerk and his circle.

But Taeyang's a solid driver, and this wasn't his fault.

And even if it costs you to admit it, you respect Jaque's loyalty to his friends.

"You sure about that?" Taeyang asks. "I can pay for the bay time."

"Don't worry about it." You wave off his concern. "Won't be a problem."

"When?" Jaque asks.

"Tomorrow night, probably. Give Yang time to source the parts, and give you time to handle whatever race you've got scheduled."

"Yeah," he says. "Tomorrow works."

The conversation is promptly interrupted.

A commotion from the other side of the parking lot.

Raised voices, the sound of car doors slamming, the general atmosphere of tension that signals trouble.

All four of you turn toward the noise, and you immediately spot the source of the problem.

Police cars.

Three of them, moving slowly through the lot with their spotlights sweeping across the assembled cars and people.

Not racing toward anything specific—just the general patrol presence that every underground meet dreads.

"Shit," Maya breathes. "Time to go."

Engines start firing up across the space, conversations cut off mid-sentence, and the universal message spreads without anyone having to say it out loud: scatter, now, before this turns into something worse.

You move toward your AE86 without hesitation, muscle memory taking over.

Maya's already pulling out her car keys.

Taeyang looks torn between his broken RX-7 and the need to get away from the police presence.

"Leave it," Jaque's tone goes harsh. "We'll come back for it later when things cool down."

"I'm not leaving my car—"

"Taeyang." There's a warning tilt in the way he says his friend's name now. "It's not worth the risk. We'll get it later."

"Your car's fucked anyway," Maya cuts in, already moving toward her Silvia. "Can't drive it, can't race it. What's the point of getting arrested over a paperweight?"

Taeyang's jaw ticks. "It's not a paperweight."

"Right now it is." She throws him a look over her shoulder. "Come on, don't be stupid."

The police spotlights get closer—radio chatter from one of the patrol cars loud enough to be heard.

"Shit, they got unmarked units too," someone calls out from across the lot.

The urgency ratchets up another notch.

"Tiz." Taeyang's voice carries frustration and something else—concern. "The fuck you gonna do without a car?"

"I'll figure something out—"

Maya's engine roars to life immediately, exhaust note cutting through the chaos. She leans out her window, eyes finding Taeyang across the lot.

"Taeyang! Move your ass!"

He makes a sound of frustration, but it doesn't take him even two seconds to start jogging towards her.

You don't miss the way his shoulders relax the moment he slides into her passenger seat. Like he's exactly where he's supposed to be.

Which leaves Jaque standing there, carless, while police spotlights sweep closer to your section of the lot.

"Y/N." His voice comes from directly behind you. Close. "You know the back exit?"

You unlock your door. "Yeah."

"Mind if I—"

"Get in."

The words come out before you can think about them; before you can consider the implications of Jaque in your passenger seat, in your space, close enough to touch.

You slide into the driver's seat and fire up the engine.

This is what home actually feels like—everything exactly where it should be, everything perfectly calibrated for your hands, your reflexes, your driving style.

Jaque opens the passenger door and the dynamic shifts immediately.

You hate how small your car feels with him in it.

The minimal interior that you love for its racing purity suddenly seems intimate rather than functional.

He settles into the passenger seat way too nonchalantly, one arm draped along the door frame, fingers drumming against the roof.

The position does things to his shoulders, fabric of his shirt stretching across his chest. He tilts his head back against the headrest, and you catch a glimpse of the line of his throat in your peripheral vision before forcing your attention back to the road.

Fucking annoying.

"Cozy," he comments, and there's amusement in his voice despite the urgency of the situation.

"Don't touch anything."

"Kinda makes me wanna touch more, princesa."

He spreads his legs slightly, knee nearly brushing the center console, and now it's like the space between the seats has shrunk.

As if his mere fucking presence on its own fills the car in ways that shouldn't be humanly possible.

Besides the sufferable smirk you can hear in his voice.

When he reaches up to adjust the rearview mirror—checking behind you for police, probably—the movement draws your eye to the line of his forearm, the way his fingers curl around the mirror's edge.

His tattoos.

You had never really paid attention to what they show or the meaning they harbor.

Somehow, now, you're curious.

But right now, it's whatever; because you've got bigger problems than your passenger's… passenger-ness.

Like the police sweep happening behind you.

In your rearview mirror, Maya's Silvia falls into position behind you, Taeyang's silhouette visible in her passenger seat.

It's no mystery they're sitting closer than necessary—Maya's not exactly built for long-limbed passengers, but still.

Another set of headlights sweeps across the lot.

Not police this time—unmarked sedan, but with the telltale antennas and spotlight configuration that screams undercover unit.

"Fuck," Jaque mutters. "They're serious tonight."

"They're always serious." You shift into first gear, hands steady on the wheel despite the adrenaline starting to spike. "The question is whether they're smart."

"Smart how?"

"Smart enough to block the obvious exits before they started their sweep."

You've been through enough police raids to know the pattern. The smart cops set up checkpoints on the main drags before they move in on the lot. The lazy ones just roll in loud and hope to catch whoever's too slow or too stupid to run.

"Well," Jaque says, settling back into the seat with that stupid attitude of his that should not be attractive but somehow is. "Guess we're about to find out which kind we're dealing with."

The service road you're heading for is narrow and poorly lit, tucked behind the warehouse that borders Daikoku's rear boundary. Most people don't even know it exists—just a maintenance access that leads to a residential street about half a mile away.

It's risky. If a patrol car happens to be watching that exit, you're trapped.

But it's better than trying to leave through the main entrance where half the lot is already bottlenecked.

"You sure about this route?" Jaque asks.

"No." You downshift as you approach the narrow opening between buildings. "But it's better than sitting here waiting for them to run our plates."

The 86 slips through the gap with inches to spare on either side.

Behind you, Maya follows, her Silvia's wider body kit making the squeeze even tighter.

"Fuck, that's close," Jaque comments.

"Maya knows what she's doing."

"I wasn't worried about Maya."

You glance at him, noting the way his free hand rests casually in his lap, no white knuckles or nervous fidgeting.

Either he trusts your driving completely, or he's very good at hiding his nerves.

The service road stretches ahead of you, potholed and uneven, designed for maintenance trucks rather than performance cars.

You keep the speed reasonable—fast enough to put distance between yourselves and the police sweep, but not so fast that you bottom out the 86's lowered suspension on a hidden crater.

"So," Jaque says after a few minutes of navigation. "Tomorrow night. This garage where you learned to build rotaries."

"What about it?"

"Just curious. Not many people your age know their way around a 13B the way you do."

You can feel him watching you in the dim light from the dashboard, trying to read something in your expression.

Probing for information you're not willing to give.

And it's a bit unsettling, the way he's studying you. Because most people in the scene take you at face value—the skilled driver with the built AE86 who showed up one day and started winning races. They don't dig deeper because your driving speaks for itself.

But Jaque isn't most people.

"Not many people start working at eight years old," you say, voice neutral.

"Eight." He repeats the number like he's testing it. "That's young. Even for family business."

Family business.

It's a bold assumption, but a correct one.

Damn him and his perception.

"Not family," you lie smoothly. "Just a family friend who needed someone to sweep floors and organize parts."

"And this family friend taught you to rebuild rotaries."

"Among other things."

Jaque's quiet for a moment, and you can practically hear him processing this information, filing it away with whatever other details he's collected about you over the months.

The silence stretches.

Not comfortable. Never comfortable with him.

You reach for the gear shift, muscle memory guiding your hand through the familiar motion. Third gear. Engine settling into its rhythm.

The movement pulls your tank top slightly, fabric shifting against skin.

You catch it in your peripheral vision—the way his gaze drops. Deliberate. Unhurried.

He's looking.

Actually looking.

At the way the black cotton clings.

At the neckline that sits lower than you'd prefer but higher than most girls around here dare to wear.

At the curve that's always been more than other girls your age carry in this society, the one that draws attention you never asked for.

"Nice tank top." His voice carries that lazy drawl, eyebrows climbing with obvious appreciation.

Of course he makes a show of it—letting his gaze drift down and linger, like he's got every right to look. Like you're something on display.

Heat flares up the back of your neck. Instant. Unwelcome.

Is he fucking serious right now?

Your hand moves automatically, tugging the neckline higher.

Habit. Defense mechanism.

The same motion you've been making since you were sixteen and realized that this particular genetic lottery came with complications.

"Thanks," you say, voice flat as asphalt. "Compliments my urge to tell you to fuck off."

He laughs. Actually laughs, the sound filling the small space between you.

"Heeeey now," he drawls, and there's something in his voice that's pure trouble. "I wasn't complaining."

The back of your neck burns hotter. You rub at it with your free hand, trying to erase the feeling, the awareness of his eyes still on you.

Asshole.

"I am. Keep your eyes on the road, nuthead."

"I'm not driving, princesa."

"Then keep them on your own fucking side of the car."

His only response is a snort. Then, quiet.

Minutes pass.

The tension in your shoulders doesn't ease.

If anything, his sudden silence makes it worse—like he's thinking about something you don't want him thinking about.

"You know," he says finally, "most mechanics would charge serious money for rotary knowledge. Especially someone good enough to diagnose Yang's engine damage that accurately."

"So?"

"So I'm wondering why you offered to help for free."

You take a right turn onto a wider street, finally emerging from the industrial maze into a residential area. Normal streetlights, normal traffic patterns, normal life continuing oblivious to the underground drama playing out in parking lots across the city.

"Maybe I just don't like seeing good drivers sidelined by amateur mistakes."

"Maybe. Or maybe there's something else."

Before you can ask what the hell that's supposed to mean, Maya's voice makes an appearance.

She's pulled up beside you at a red light, window down, calling across the gap between cars.

"Babe, I know a place we can actually park without worrying about cops."

Taeyang leans forward in her passenger seat. "There's a 24-hour konbini about ten minutes from here. Lot's usually empty this time of night."

"Lead the way," you call back.

The light turns green, and Maya takes off with a chirp of tires that's totally unnecessary but perfectly Maya.

Show-off, your girl.

Gotta love her for that.

"They're interesting together," Jaque observes.

"They're idiots together," you correct. "Maya's been hung up on him for months, and he's too dense to notice."

"Or too smart to acknowledge it."

You glance at him, surprised by the insight. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Sometimes the timing's wrong. Sometimes other things have to happen first." His voice drops lower, more thoughtful. "Sometimes you're not ready for what someone's offering, even when you want it."

You glance at him for a second before your own voice fills the car instead.

"Sometimes, you don't have much choice."

Now it's his turn to steal a glance at you. He doesn't say anything else, however.

But the air suddenly feels denser.

Which is ridiculous.

You follow Maya's taillights through a series of residential streets, the Silvia's exhaust note echoing off buildings as she navigates toward whatever sanctuary she has in mind.

"So," you say, needing to fill the silence. "This race tomorrow. Half a million yen, Taeyang said."

"Yeah." The playfulness drops out of his voice entirely. "Something like that."

"Must be important."

"It is."

That's all he offers.

No details, no explanation of why this particular race matters enough to have Rico working on his car at night, why Taeyang was so concerned about disrupting the preparation schedule.

He's always like that, you note. Always loud and nosy about what he wants people knowing, but quiet and vague about what he doesn't want anybody knowing.

Like his mango allergy, apparently.

"Well," you say as Maya's brake lights flare ahead of you, signaling the turn into the konbini parking lot. "Don't crash."

"Worried about me, chiquita?"

"Worried about having to find a new rival," you correct, pulling into a parking space next to Maya's Silvia. "The scene's boring enough without you disappearing."

It's not entirely a lie.

Jaque chuckles as he reaches for the door handle. "Don't worry, gatita. I'm not that easy to get rid of."

Before you can respond to that—and you're not sure what you would have said anyway—he's already getting out of the car, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of hinoki and leather.

And the uncomfortable realization that some part of you was actually worried about tomorrow's race.

goal: 400 notes

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[ladystoneboobs]

so, one aspect of catelyn which i think is underrated (certainly the biggest adaptation loss which nobody talks about) is her, let's say superstitiousness, or better yet, let's call it genre-savviness, being one of the few adult characters open to magic and the supernatural in this fantasy world. we first meet her in the godswood, home of gods which are not truly hers, yet she is still very aware of their power. when she and ned talk of the deserter he killed, he hopes he won't have to go with the nw to deal with mance rayder, but she has even more fear of that idea bc there are worse things beyond the wall than just wildlings. ned scoffs and says she's been listening to old nan too much, but she's right. we already know from the prologue that she's right! and here she is, understanding the genre of their world better than her husband, who was actually born and spent his earliest years in this northern land of deep magic, listening to old nan's stories. same with the direwolves, where she was uncomfortable with them at first, but later believed in them as guardians from the old gods even after robb had lost his own faith. and once again, we know she's right even if she doesn't know the evidence to back up her instincts, bc summer and shaggydog did not fail bran and rickon and robb was almost certainly a warg like his brothers. (perhaps making it more fitting that she's the one brought back as a fantasy vengeance monster, not ned and robb, the most unbelieving dead starks.) and in her 2nd agot chapter, everyone focuses on her ambition in wanting ned to agree to the hand job (pun intended) and sansa's betrothal, and while she does recognize the value of their daughter being a future queen more than ned does, that's only her stated argument bc she thinks it's rational enough for ned to listen to. (if ambitious matchmaking were as important to her as to her father she never would have made those frey betrothals fandom loves to blame her for.) in her own head there's a deeper urge driving her. she keeps thinking of the dead direwolf with antlers in its throat, an omen which filled her with dread from the first she heard of it, before robert's arrival, and thinking of it again is what makes her desperate to convince ned not to refuse robert. she had to make him see. and really, she's not wrong, as jon snow would say. the dead direwolf was an omen of ned and robert getting each other killed. it's just one of those misread portents, with no way of knowing the danger to ned was in his loyalty to robert, not conflict with him. BUT the next time she's dealing with baratheons, she knows exactly what she's talking about. it's catelyn, not brienne, who sees the shadow slaying renly, and explains that it was stannis who did that through some dark magic. with no way of knowing how it was achieved and no prior expectation that such a thing were ever possible, she realizes with no hestitation that stannis was guilty and that his red witch was capable of pulling this off somehow. really, the only instinct of the supernatural she's wholly wrong about is her insistence that varys gathered his knowledge through some dark enchantment. however, though that might offend varys, given his own personal experience with a sorcerer, i'd say it's a reasonable assumption without knowing the dude had children moving through walls everywhere like oversized rodents. and imo it just shows she had a healthy respect and awe for varys's power which most other characters lack.

oh, oh, and let's not forget that she also believed in the curse of harrenhal, from her own childhood and the stories old nan told her kids. "and every house that held Harrenhal since had come to misfortune. Strong it might be, but it was a dark place, and cursed. 'I would not have Robb fight a battle in the shadow of that keep,' Catelyn admitted." sure, that wasn't enough to save robb, but he did not die from the curse of harrenhal. that doom was meant for his enemies from tywin lannister to roose bolton.

[mommysam]

steve's been knocking on doors trying to find eddie. he would be annoyed that all he's found are couples and groups in states of undress but this is some random house party, so it's what steve expects.

plus he's too relieved that he hasn't walked in on eddie being a part of any of it.

steve knows it's gross to feel this way. he trusts eddie 100%. it's not right to let past relationship problems cloud his judgement when it comes to what he has with eddie - who hasn't given him any reason to doubt.

but eddie is so new. been together for only 2 months now new.

and tommy was so old. childhood friend/fucked up situationship for 10 long years old. just ended for good a year and a half ago old.

so even though he knows, hopes, prays, that it's ridiculous to compare the two together, steve still checks the bathroom and makes sure the man on his knees in front of some blonde cheerleader isn't his boyfriend.

and then promptly ducks down to avoid a brush the blonde cheerleader throws at him.

'sorry!' steve apologizes. he hurries to slam the door closed and makes his way to the very last room at the end of the hallway.

maybe he left? eddie didn't want to serve here anyway, rich druggie clientele be damned. so even though they came together, maybe eddie had an emergency and-

steve cuts that thought off because well. he found eddie.

'baby!!' his boyfriend exclaims, alone, sitting on the floor in the middle of some random strangers room with a jar of peanut butter. he's got a spoon full of it half way up to his mouth and his eyes are red.

at least 4 brownies deep red.

the wave of relief he feels is actually pretty concerning, but steve will think about that some other time since he's too busy trying not to laugh at how ridiculous the long haird idiot looks.

'eddie, what are you doing?'

eddie looks guilty and for a split second steve thinks maybe he did walk in on eddie with someone else. (maybe he's waiting on them? maybe they already left?)

then eddie holds up the jar of peanut butter and says in the saddest voice, 'i needed it stevie, i don't remember how long it's been since i've had peanut butter. but i didn't think you'd find me! stay back! don't you come any closer!'

so this whole time while steve's been worried that eddie was off doing what tommy used to do to make him jealous, eddie just snuck off and hid away to eat peanut butter because steves' allergic.

starting to snicker, steve goes to sit across from him. 'i can be around it babe, im not gonna die.'

eddie rushes to close the jar, spoon shoved inside and all. he gives steve the stink eye. 'i know what peanut allergies can do to some people. i refuse to watch you blow up like a tomato.'

steve rolls his eyes and reaches out, acting like he's gonna touch the jar.

eddie yells. jumping to his feet, he scurries out of the closet like an over grown rat, 'steve harrington this is exactly why I was trying to eat this away from you!'

steves laughing now, giggling like a hyena. he can't believe he ever doubted this man.

later that night - after eddie has showered and brushed his teeth at least three times - when they're tucked away in eddies room under the covers, steve talks to him about his freak out. eddie apologizes for leaving him alone at a strangers party like that. he holds him close, gives steve a ton of kisses and promises to create a DND character that represents tommy.

'i'll turn him into a toad and kill him off in the most gruesome way imaginable. he'll be murdered to death, the kids will be traumatized. it'll be great. just you wait and see, my love.'

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

same anon as before, but now that im thinking about it a sheep hair dresser might work better instead lol

Yandere Sheep Hybrid Hairstylist

Reference to this Post

Oh he’s just like the wolf really 

He’s sweet 

He’s fun 

He’s a great conversationalist

And he just has a way with curls of all types

It’s his true heart that makes him that much different…

I can’t wait to see this idiot die on national TV

“Your Highness thank you for accepting my services!” 

While Emile isn’t exactly a wolf in sheep's clothing 

Emmet is

The sheep hybrid knows that he’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar

So he’s the sweetest darn sheep you’ll ever meet!

Who’s going to mentally curse you for your dead ends

This doesn’t even change when he meets you

Ugh why do they walk like that

“Get over here top model! Now let me see what I’m working with!”

Did they spit while talking to me?! Disgusting!! 

“Wow, I just love the sound of your voice! I really don’t mind it if you chat me up while I trim these edges.”

Why do I even have to work with this?!

“Wow, so it’s your friend who recommended me? Wow, I’m so honored!”

But it’s something in the way you smile at the end

Or maybe it’s how you tipped him 

Or the sound of your giddy laughter as you pridefully show your hairstyle to the friends you’re leaving with

He doesn’t know

And he won’t know even while screaming in the mirror at the bags under his beautiful eyes! 

He has to  ‘thank’ you for a boundless conundrum on why you refuse to leave his mind

On one hand, he believes it’s retribution 

Finally punishment for the thoughts others would consider offensive!!

Can he never have just this to himself!?

All for him to rethink it when he sees you in his place of business again

“Oh (Y/n) it’s…really great to see you are we doing your hair again?”

“Oh, not me this time! It’s for my friend I’m just here for emotional support.”

Has his heart ever felt like it was dropping into his stomach before?!

“Well, I’d love it if you stayed to catch up a bit! If you believe it I missed that lovely smile of yours!”

Was that the truth?

Spending time with you is like a bullet through a thick glacier

It’s new….so foreign….so different

Spending time with you allows him to learn more about himself 

A side of himself he genuinely thought died a long time ago

“Hey if you’re not busy tomorrow, there's a cosmetics convention I’m going to. I’d love to take you with me.”

“But I’m not into cosmetics like that. I might ruin your buzz if I’m not as into it.”

Buzz? Who says that?! It’s making me smile wider. Ugh can it get even wider?!

“You don’t have to like cosmetics to enjoy it. There’s all sorts of new tech that I think you’d like to see. No pressure though.”

Please come. It’d be embarrassing if you refused.

“Alright, I guess I should give it a try!”

“Oh yeah, that’s going to be so fun!”

Ew. I forgot this thing was listening to. Ugh, I’m going to have to find some way to ditch this cow.

“Ha yeah!”

All his life Emmet has been underrated, underestimated, unappreciated

He’s a sheep 

He’s supposed to be cute and sweet and meek and happy to people please

But he’s not 

He hates people

Hybrids and humans alike

They both think he’s less and he’s sick of it

It’s why he blows off steam the way he does

Burning whoever, whenever there’s an opportunity to 

Paying an assassin 

Or funding their political enemy

Or providing food and weapons to rebellious factions anonymously of course

That was his way of breaking out 

And he figured that was just who he was

A broken psychopathic sheep hybrid who was incapable of love 

Who hated humanity and adored getting out of the character he was supposed to play 

But with you….it all was brand new….he was new

“Here.”

“What’s this Emmet—OMG this is that cute makeup wedge tree that they were raffling out. How’d you get this?!”

“I know a guy…besides I’m excited to see what you’ll do with it…considering you did mention trying to paint your face for events more.”

“I did! Thanks so much!”

I can be kind

“Emmet look at this magic tape it literally like exfoliates a singular spot with a sticker!”

Boring. 

“That’s great, how about we find another fun stall just like this one.”

“Look you don’t have to pretend to like this…I’m not even sure I do!”

I can figured out 

“This food is soooo good!”

“They always have some top confectioners fly from around the globe. They say it makes you appreciate the make up more.”

“Em this has been great…thank you.”

I can feel….love

“Yeah, anytime.”

I never want this to end

He adores how with you, he discovers more of himself

And in turn you

With you in his corner easily accessed through a phone

He feels he can do anything

Even overcoming his intense disgust with  the mess that comes with killing others

Usually, something he leaves to others

But with you in mind…well, with you in mind cleaning the blood doesn’t feel entirely like a chore

Granted he isn’t a completely new sheep, he really despises the way blood sticks under his nails Maybe he’ll stick with burning

Still thinks lowly of everyone but now there’s something else

“I’m thinking this hairstyle. Can you do that?”

Ugh this wackjob is so indecisive, I wonder if I spray her in the face will she actually speak up

…though they’re kind of like (Y/n) in that way….maybe I’ll accidentally spill during the wash

“Sure thing, hon!”

With all the new things he’s learning about himself

His real personality 

He plans to break out of the mold others see him…just a little bit though

The naive and quiet sheep isn’t going to pull a total baddie if he stays that way

He’s going all in

Rejection isn’t an option because if there’s one thing he’s not lying about it’s that he takes matters of the heart very seriously

[ch0llies]

REVIVAL | CHRIS STURNIOLO

A story in which a messy breakup lands you in your best friend’s Boston apartment a year after high school, and you find yourself face-to-face again with Christopher Sturniolo—your first love. As your paths cross again, the bitterness of how you left him still lingers, fueling every hated glance. But with your best friend dating his brother, you know is there’s no escaping Chris—or the tension that refuses to die. Is this revival destined to reignite, or will it crumble under the weight of your unresolved past?

story warning: this story includes very toxic and abusive behavior. none of the actions or words in this series are justified and are written exclusively for entertainment purposes only. under no circumstances are they personally associated with chris other than just using him as the main character. read at your own discretion. now that that is cleared up, there will be filthy smut, angst, swearing, underage drinking, underage drug use, abusive behavior, morally skewed choices, toxic relationships, and overall mature themes. if any of this upsets you... don't read!

word count: 7.7k

CHAPTER TWO:

A week passes in a blur of days spent shopping and late nights half-heartedly scrolling through streaming platforms. You and Ava have mostly been lying low, letting the dust settle after the chaotic party where you first ran into Chris again. Still, life trudges on—your breakup wounds scab over bit by bit, and Chris remains a frustrating fixture you occasionally see, thanks to Matt’s involvement with Ava.

Tonight, though, you’re supposed to forget about all that.

Ava bounces into your bedroom, brandishing a bottle of cheap vodka like it’s her prized possession. “Guess who scored a last-minute invite to that frat party?” she singsongs, tapping her foot in excitement. “You and me, babes. I heard it’s super fun—though it might be more about the free booze than anything.”

You glance up from your phone, arching an eyebrow. “Isn’t this the college we were thinking of applying to after our gap year?”

She grins, tossing you a crop top of the school’s logo. “Exactly. Consider it… research.”

Thirty minutes later after you prettied up, you’re in a cramped Uber, weaving through Boston streets toward the campus. The plan is simple: have fun, dance a little, maybe scope out the scene for next year. Even so, you can’t help the tiny flutter in your stomach. A new environment, new faces. It feels like a reset you didn’t realize you needed.

The frat house is exactly what you’d expect: loud music vibrating through the floorboards, red Solo cups strewn over every flat surface, sweaty clusters of students dancing as if finals don’t exist. Ava wastes no time finding the makeshift bar—a battered folding table stacked with punch bowls and half-empty liquor bottles.

“Cheers,” she declares, handing you a neon cup of something fruity and suspiciously strong.

One drink turns into two, and by the d of college jungle juicethird, the lights start to blur around the edges. You can’t remember the last time you let loose like this, your head pleasantly spinning as you sway with Ava to whatever pop remix is thundering through the speakers.

At some point, you both end up on a sticky leather couch, howling with laughter over absolutely nothing. An extremely tall, extremely confident frat boy attempts to flirt with Ava by demonstrating his “epic” ability to chug from a funnel—only to spill half of it on his shirt. You nearly fall off the couch laughing, tears streaming down your face.

Then Ava tugs you outside to the porch for some fresher air, the two of you leaning over the railing like you might topple right off it. Her hair is stuck to her forehead, and your phone is dangerously close to slipping from your back pocket.

“This is so fun,” Ava squeals, throwing her arms around you in a giggly hug. “I needed a night like this.”

A warm, liquor-fueled glow blooms in your chest. “Same,” you admit, hugging her back. “No drama, no messy ex situations, no—”

A shrill ringtone interrupts you, and Ava fumbles for her phone. She squints at the screen, then tosses it aside to the porch bench in favor of gulping more punch straight from your cup. “Ugh, telemarketer,” she mutters, ignoring it.

Unbeknownst to either of you, the phone somehow butt-dials Matt, whose name flashes on the screen before the call timer starts ticking.

You’re both oblivious to this as you keep giggling and shouting random observations about the party, the music, the questionable bathroom lines. Ava’s volume goes up a notch with every passing second.

“Dude, I swear—this is the best night!” Ava yells, dancing in place with no music outside. “I love you, girl—best friend forever, woo!”

Inside the phone pressed awkwardly beneath her leg, Matt’s eyes are probably widening in alarm at the yelling. He can only hear snippets of your conversation—loud shrieks, bursts of laughter, and occasional words like “dangerous,” “drunk,” or “someone fell over.”

Meanwhile, Matt is in the passenger seat of his car, scrolling through social media as Chris drives back from them dropping Nick at the airport. He was going to visit a film college in LA. It’s already late, and they’re stuck in some mild traffic near the outskirts of the campus you and ava were partying at.

Matt’s phone buzzes. He glances at the screen: sweetheart. Heart kicking up in concern, he answers.

“Ava?” he asks. But instead of a coherent response, he hears yelling, heavy bass, and what sounds suspiciously like you two shrieking.

“Hello? Ava?” Matt’s voice grows urgent as he picks out phrases like “Oh my God!” and “We’re so hammered!”

He pales. “Chris, something’s up. Ava’s in trouble, or, or I don’t know—they’re screaming and…”

Chris cuts in “Y/N is there too?” 

Matt just nods.

Chris frowns, gripping the steering wheel. “What do you mean, trouble?”

Matt toggles the screen to see Ava’s location. “They’re at some frat house at the college campus only a few miles from us right now. If they’re drunk and something went wrong…” He doesn’t finish, anxiety threading through his voice.

Chris curses under his breath and flips the turn signal, pulling a uturn. “Fuck. We’ll go check it out.”

Ten minutes later, you and Ava are back inside, rummaging for jackets you drunkenly tossed somewhere. The world tilts with every step, but you’re not worried—this all feels like good, harmless fun.

Then the front door bursts open, and Matt’s familiar voice booms through the chatter: “Ava? Y/N?”

Ava whips around, nearly tripping over someone’s foot. “Matt!” she cries happily, stumbling toward him. “Oh my God, you came to party too?”

He catches her, relief and frustration mingling on his face. “I thought you were in danger. You butt-dialed me, screaming your head off.”

“Huh?” Ava tilts her head, eyes unfocused. “I… butt-dialed?”

Behind Matt, Chriss hovers in the doorway, scanning the chaotic living room with furrowed brows. You lock eyes with Chris briefly, your buzz making everything feel a little surreal.

Chris looks halfway between annoyed and relieved. His gaze flicks over you—messy hair, glazed eyes. He shakes his head. “You two sure know how to get yourselves in trouble.”

Ava only giggles, patting Matt’s chest. “We’re not in trouble, you big worrywart! We were having fun.”

Matt sighs, then glances at Chris. “Let’s just get them out of here, okay?”

In a blur, you’re ushered out of the stuffy frat house and into Chris’s car. Ava clings to Matt in the back seat, slurring apologies and jokes in equal measure. 

You decide not to sit shotgun with Chris. That leaves you squished in the middle of the back seat, half-leaning against Ava, half avoiding Chris’s side glances in the rearview mirror. The closeness and the alcoholic haze mix into a swirl of heightened awareness.

“Next time you decide to party, maybe don’t dial Matt in the middle of it,” Chris mutters, catching your eye in the mirror again. “We thought you were being attacked or something.”

You bristle at his tone—he sounds equal parts concerned and reprimanding. “We’re fine,” you snap, words slightly slurred. “It was an accident.”

“Yeah, well,” he huffs, tightening his grip on the wheel, “you scared the crap out of him. And me.”

Matt’s arms are wrapped around Ava, who’s busy giggling into his shirt. “You guys have no idea how panicked I was,” he mutters, relief evident now that he sees you’re both physically okay.

As the car zips through the city streets, passing bright storefronts and bars, your eyelids grow heavier. The combined warmth of the car’s heater, Ava leaning on you, and the vodka in your veins weighs you down.

Finally, you pull up in front of your apartment building. The moment the engine shuts off, Matt twists around in his seat. “Nick’s gone, by the way,” he says, a touch abruptly. “Dropped him at the airport earlier to go visit some colleges. So, it’s just us tonight.”

You’re too buzzed to question the timing of that info, and Ava seems unfazed. She basically tumbles out of the car, laughing when her heel snags on the curb. You follow, pressing a palm to the cool exterior of the car for balance, while Chris and Matt exchange glances—equal parts concerned and amused.

Inside your apartment, Ava makes a beeline for the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets until she triumphantly produces a stack of plastic cups and the battered ping-pong balls you’ve both used for impromptu “drinking games.” She smirks at you, eyes bright with mischief.

“Let’s turn this night around,” she announces, leaning dramatically against the kitchen counter. “You guys up for some pong?”

Chris scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Pretty sure you two have had enough drinking for a lifetime,” he mutters, eyeing the way you’re still swaying on your feet.

You roll your eyes, tossing your jacket onto a nearby chair. “Relax. It’s not that late—and we’re not that drunk.” You catch yourself on the edge of the table and give Ava a pointed look. “Well, mostly. Plus you two can just crash here if Nick’s not home.”

Matt sighs but cracks a small grin. “I’ll play only to make sure you two don’t, I don’t know, pass out mid-throw.”

Ava’s face lights up, like she’s just hatched the best idea in the world. She leans in conspiratorially. “I say we raise the stakes: strip pong.”

You blink at her, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “Strip pong?”

“Hell no,” Chris interjects immediately, but there’s an amused tilt to his mouth that betrays he’s not totally opposed.

Matt runs a hand through his hair, eyeing the increasingly giddy look on Ava’s face. “What do you mean, ‘strip pong?’”

Ava bats her lashes with dramatic flair. “Every time your opponent sinks a shot, you either drink or remove a piece of clothing. Drink too much, you’ll probably lose anyway—so it’s a win-win.”

Chris snorts. “That is a terrible idea.”

“Which means it’s the best idea,” you counter, the alcohol loosening your tongue. A reckless thrill buzzes through your veins. “C’mon, don’t be a buzzkill.”

Ava claps her hands, beaming. “Right? Let’s do it!”

Before anyone can mount real objections, she’s already clearing space on the kitchen table, setting up two triangles of cups. The environment shifts from the earlier tension into something mischievously charged. There’s a giddy sense of inevitability—like you all know this is reckless, but you’re too caught in the moment to stop.

It starts off almost tame—Matt pairs with Chris against you and Ava, cups half-filled with cheap liquor you still have leftover from last weekend. The first couple of rounds go smoothly enough. You miss a shot, Ava misses a shot, the guys miss a shot. A few drinks go down.

Then Matt sinks one with surprising finesse, and Ava clutches her head. “Ugh, I’m still so drunk already.” She flicks a glance at you. “Should I strip or drink?”

“Your call.” You giggle, swaying into her shoulder.

Ava shrugs and peels off her crop top with zero hesitation, leaving her in a skimpy bra. Chris stiffens across the table, flicking his gaze away, while Matt tries really hard—and fails—to keep his eyes respectfully diverted. You can’t help but laugh, your cheeks flushing in the stuffy air.

Game on.

One shot after another, the pile of clothes on the floor grows. Your shoes. Ava’s shoes. Matt’s socks. Chris’s hoodie. Ava loses her jeans next, and you see Chris suck in a breath, determinedly not staring at her toned legs. You can’t decide if it’s hilarious or strangely hot, but the alcohol swirling in your bloodstream makes the whole thing feel surreal.

Your turn comes, and you land a perfect shot right in the center cup of Matt and Chris’s formation. “Ha!” you crow triumphantly, swaying a bit on your feet. “Chug or strip, boys.”

Matt groans, tossing back a shot instead. You see the grimace twist his lips as the cheap liquor burns down his throat.

Chris goes next. “Fine,” he grumbles, lifting the hem of his T-shirt and tugging it off in one fluid motion. Your gaze flicks over his chest. Something low in your stomach clenches, and you tear your eyes away before he catches you staring.

Another round passes in a blur of sloshing cups and fumbling giggles. Ava calls out your name, but you barely register it—too busy trying to line up your shot and not topple forward. You miss, and the ball bounces right into your own side of cups.

“You know what that means,” Chris teases, voice threaded with amusement. “Strip or drink.”

You weigh your options, biting your lip. “I’m basically out of clothes,” you mumble, glancing down at your half-zipped skirt and your bra. “And I’m not chugging more, or I’ll be on the floor.”

Biting the bullet, you slip out of your skirt, leaving you in panties and your bra. Ava cackles, hugging your side like you’ve just achieved some glorious victory. Chris just rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes, but you see the flush creeping up his cheeks. Matt tries to busy himself setting the next ping-pong ball in play.

Before you know it, the table is down to just a few cups on each side. Ava, also stripped to bra and panties, shoots you a giddy grin.

It’s the final round of the game. You’re both swaying on your feet, flushed from alcohol and adrenaline.

“Oh my God, we lost again,” Ava groans, pressing a hand to her forehead. “We’re out of clothes to lose, unless…”

Her eyes dart to you, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. You catch on immediately, your own cheeks already burning from the booze. “Right,” you say, heart thumping. “We could distract them.”

Ava shrugs with exaggerated nonchalance. “Strip or drink, right?” Without missing a beat, she reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, letting it slide off her arms.

Your pulse quickens. Glancing at Chris trying not to stare—trying and failing. Matt however looked like his eyes were going to fall out of his head as they made direct contact with avas tits. With a reckless smile, you reach for your own bra clasp. “Oh, what the hell,” you mutter. One tug, and it falls away.

Matt chokes on air and Chris rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flicking anywhere but your bare skin—until he finally sneaks a glance he can’t quite hide. It’s obvious he’s caught between exasperation and attraction.

But you and Ava decide to up the ante. You trade a look that says, Let’s really throw them off. Giggling under your breath, you loop an arm around Ava’s waist, tugging her closer until your mouths meet in a slow, tipsy kiss.

Ava’s free hand comes up to your tit, and the warmth of her lips lights a spark of shock and amusement through your chest. The boldness of it, the gleeful madness—it’s enough to make your head spin, even without the alcohol. You hear a sharp intake of breath from the boys’ side of the table.

“Oh… fuck,” Matt manages, blinking rapidly.

Chris stands stock-still, ping-pong ball forgotten in his hand as it drops to the floor, eyes locked on the two of you as if he can’t decide whether to look away or lean closer.

Your kiss with Ava lingers just long enough to ensure the boys are thoroughly distracted. When you finally break apart, you shoot her a triumphant grin, adrenaline surging. She laughs, resting her forehead against yours.

“Guess it’s your turn,” Ava purrs, turning her attention to Matt and Chris. “Are you two gonna throw, or what?”

Matt’s throat bobs; Chris glances at him, and they both snap to attention, suddenly remembering the game. But the shot is rushed—Chris lobs the ball, and it bounces wildly off the table, nowhere near any cup.

You and Ava exchange a gleeful high five. “Distraction success,” you declare, still breathless.

“That’s so not fair,” Matt blurts, cheeks tinted pink. “We—uh—didn’t exactly expect that.”

Ava shrugs with mock innocence. “I don’t give a fuck.”

“Your turn to strip or drink,” you remind them, placing your hands on your exposed hips.

Matt and Chris exchange looks of defeat. With a resigned sigh, Matt takes off his pants, stepping out of them in just his boxers. Chris follows suit, hooking his thumbs under his waistband and tugging his own pants off.

You steal a glance—yep, they’re both standing there in boxers, and it’s pretty clear they’re more turned on than they’d like to admit. A flush crawls up Chris’s neck as he tries to hide the telltale outline of his arousal. Matt stares holes into Ava, as if he can’t wait to get his hands on her once the game is over.

Ava bites her lip, stifling laughter as she leans into you. “I’d say that’s game over,” she whispers conspiratorially, both of you grinning like you’ve just pulled off the biggest prank in history.

Matt finally grumbles, “Yeah, we’re done here.”

Matt’s eyes dart between Ava—topless, flushed, and giggling—and the mess of clothes and cups on the table. Something in him snaps, like he’s done waiting. In two strides, he closes the distance, hooks an arm around Ava’s waist, and hoists her off her feet with a growl of mock exasperation. She squeals, clinging to him as he marches toward the stairs.

“Matt—!” she protests through laughter, but she’s not really protesting at all.

Neither you nor Chris misses the way Matt’s fingertips dig into Ava’s side, or how Ava’s lips find Matt’s neck before they even reach the second step. Then they disappear upstairs, leaving you and Chris alone in the aftermath of the wildest game of strip pong you’ve ever played.

You stand there for a moment, heart still hammering. You’re topless, wearing nothing but your underwear, and Chris is in nothing but boxers. His chest rises and falls with each breath, tension radiating off him in waves. It’s strangely silent without Ava’s giggles and Matt’s banter—just the faint thump of the door closing above and the pulse of your own blood rushing in your ears.

Finally, Chris’s gaze lifts to yours, and there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “So…” he drawls, voice a touch raspy, “you just gonna kiss Ava like that, or… what?”

A tiny spark lights in your chest, fueled by the lingering buzz of alcohol and the reckless rush of the evening. Instead of answering, you cross the room in a few unsteady steps. There’s a daring glint in his eyes—like he half-expected, half-hoped you’d call his bluff.

Your hands find his shoulders. “Or what?” you echo softly, leaning in.

He doesn’t get the chance to respond. You press your lips to his with a sudden, heated urgency, adrenaline spiking at the feel of his bare skin against yours. His fingers curve around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth of him—his scent, the faint taste of cheap liquor still on his tongue—sends a shiver racing down your spine.

Chris drops onto the couch first, eyes full of an urgency you haven’t felt in ages. You swing a leg over his lap, bracing your hands against his shoulders as your mouths collide in another feverish kiss. His hands roam over your waist, sliding up your sides as you melt into him, grinding against his bulge, pulse thrumming with reckless desire.

You moan softly when he tilts his head, lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck. Each warm press of his mouth sends shivers rippling down your spine. He grazes your collarbone next, taking his time, and then dips lower, brushing his lips over the swell of your breast. You gasp, fingers curling into his hair as the heat between you both intensifies.

His breath is warm against your skin when he murmurs your name, voice tinged with want and just a hint of disbelief. You answer by tugging him closer, letting him kiss his way back up to your neck, losing yourself in the dizzy rush of being half-naked and tangled in Chris’s arms after years.

Just as his hands slide up your back, mapping every curve of your body, a sudden, jarring crash rattles the ceiling. It’s immediately followed by a startled yelp—loud enough to slice clean through the haze of lust enveloping you both.

You tense, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with Chris. His chest heaves under your palms, and there’s a flicker of concern mixed with reluctance in his gaze—clearly, he’s torn between checking on the commotion and staying right here.

“Did you hear…?” you start, breath ragged.

He exhales sharply, forehead brushing yours. “Yeah. We should—”

Another noise, like something being knocked over, leaves no room for debate. Whatever’s happening upstairs, it can’t be ignored. You slip off Chris’s lap, both of you scrambling for balance while you catch your breath. The heady mixture of heat and urgency remains, thrumming in your veins, but you know you have to push it aside—at least for now.

With one last shared look of frustration and lingering want, you and Chris take off toward the stairs, bracing yourselves for whatever mess might be waiting up there—heartbeats still pounding from the kiss you just left behind.

You and Chris take the stairs two at a time. The second you shove Ava’s door open, the sight inside nearly stops you in your tracks:

Ava’s sprawled on the floor beside the bed, clutching her forehead and moaning in exaggerated agony. Matt is kneeling on the mattress, stark naked, dick hard and out, one hand covering himself while the other hovers in shock near his mouth. His eyes dart between you, Chris, and Ava, unsure whether to rush to her side or dive under the covers.

“Oh my God,” you exclaim, rushing over. “Ava, are you okay?”

She sucks in a shaky breath, wincing. “No, I’m not okay!” she yelps, tears of pain and laughter mingling in her eyes. “He went too hard with the backshots! My forehead slammed right into the headboard! And then I fell off the fucking bed!”

Chris stops in the doorway, takes in the scene with wide eyes, and then—without a word—he meets Matt’s gaze and smirks. Matt, sheepish and half-panicked, still can’t hide the flash of pride in his eyes. Chris crosses the room, offers him a quick fist-bump-turned-handshake, and murmurs, “That’s my boy.”

You stifle a disbelieving snort at their little moment of bro solidarity, then refocus on Ava, who’s groaning dramatically, clutching her temple. “Oh, Ava,” you sigh, gently brushing her hair aside to check her forehead. “We heard a bang—are you bleeding? Does it hurt really bad?”

Ava nods, tears in her eyes, though you can’t tell if she’s more embarrassed or in pain. “I swear, if I have to explain a concussion from Matt’s… enthusiasm, I’m gonna lose it.”

Matt, flushing scarlet, finally crawls off the bed. He grabs the nearest shirt to toss on, but then abandons it in favor of helping you lift Ava to a seated position. “I’m so sorry, babe,” he says earnestly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah, well,” she mutters, pressing a hand to the side of her face, “now I’m pretty sure my head has its own heartbeat.”

Chris, arms folded across his bare chest, shakes his head—though there’s a faint grin curving his lips. “Let’s just get her some ice, some water… maybe a helmet next time.”

Ava huffs, half-laughing, half-sniffling. “Funny,” she groans, letting you help her stand. “So fucking funny, Chris.”

You guide Ava toward the hallway, Matt trailing right behind, still apologizing under his breath. Meanwhile, Chris lingers for a second, surveying the rumpled bed and smirking to himself like he’s savoring a secret joke.

He catches your eye before you all head downstairs, the ghost of a smile on his face—a silent reminder of the steamy moment you shared just before this chaos. 

The four of you make your way downstairs, with Ava leaning on you and Matt hovering close behind, still wracked with guilt over her throbbing forehead. Chris trails behind, looking more amused than alarmed, though concern flickers in his eyes each time Ava winces.

You guide Ava to the couch and gently lower her, then scurry off to grab an ice pack from the freezer. Chris follows, rummaging in a kitchen drawer until he emerges with a clean dish towel. He wraps it around the ice pack and hands it over to you. Together, you return to the living room and settle the makeshift cold compress against Ava’s swollen bump.

She hisses at first contact but eventually sighs in relief. “Okay,” she mumbles through still-watery eyes, “this is helping, I think.”

You rub her shoulder softly. “Better?”

Ava nods, blinking away the last of her tears. Slowly, that mischievous spark returns to her gaze. She glances from the ice pack to you and Chris—who are both still in your underwear—and lets out a dramatic groan. “Wait, I’m still naked. Now y’all need to ditch your underwear, too. I feel exposed.”

You snort, cheeks warming. Chris smirks, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t think so,” he says, voice tinged with amusement.

When neither of you moves to strip further, Ava sputters a laugh then pauses, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “Wait, did I interrupt something earlier?”

For a moment, the silence in the living room is deafening. You and Chris exchange a look, neither of you wanting to address exactly how close you’d been to going all the way.

Chris clears his throat, shifting his stance uncomfortably as he adjusts himself in his boxers. Ava takes one look at that and squeals in horror and glee all at once. “Oh my God! I did interrupt you!”

“Relax,” Chris mutters, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. “It was just a… horny mistake.”

Something in his dismissive tone sets you off. A spark of anger flares in your chest, snapping you out of your tipsy haze. “A horny mistake?” you echo, voice sharp.

He lifts his hands, like he’s not sure what he did wrong. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

But you’re already on your feet, body buzzing with a mixture of embarrassment and irritation. Without another word, you storm toward the stairs, heat pooling beneath your skin. As you stomp up the stairs, Ava spins on Chris, her eyes blazing.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” she snaps, ignoring the throb in her forehead as she points an accusing finger his way. “Calling it a ‘horny mistake’? Seriously? You couldn’t be more of a dick if you tried.”

Chris rubs at the back of his neck, clearly taken aback by her sudden fury. “Ava, I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up,” she cuts him off with a venomous glare. “You do not get to stand there, practically half-naked, and act like she was just some afterthought.”

Matt steps in, hands raised in a soothing gesture. “Hey, hey—let’s calm down. It’s been a crazy night—”

“Oh my God, Matt, do not start,” Ava snarls, turning her wrath on him. “You nearly gave me a fucking concussion upstairs! And now you’re gonna defend him, too?”

Matt winces, guilt etched all over his face. “I’m not defending anyone, babe, I’m just—”

“Just what?” Ava scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Trying to ‘calm’ me down like I’m some hysterical child? Newsflash: I’m pissed for a reason!”

Chris opens his mouth, maybe to apologize, but Ava shuts him down before he can get a word out. “No. I don’t wanna hear it right now. You said something shitty, you hurt her feelings—so congratulations. You did something dumber than Matt ramming my forehead into the headboard, and that’s saying a lot.”

Matt make a face somewhere between embarrassment and frustration. “Ava, come on—”

“Don’t ‘come on’ me,” she snaps. “And don’t fucking follow me, either, because I need to check on my girl, and both of you need to learn how to stop screwing everything up for five minutes.”

With that, she whirls around, leaves the boys downstairs, and marches upstairs after you, ice pack pressed to her head, muttering a final, “Assholes,” under her breath before disappearing into your room to find you while Matt stares at her ass. 

Moments later, you hear a soft knock at the door. Then Ava slips in, still swaddling the ice pack against her head, sporting the same disheveled look from all the chaos.

“Hey, babe,” she murmurs, voice laced with concern. She closes the door gently and moves to sit beside you on the bed. “I totally chewed him out, by the way. Don’t know if he’s still alive downstairs.”

Despite yourself, you can’t help a small, reluctant laugh. You roll onto your side, making room for her under the covers. She settles in, cuddling up with you as if it’s second nature—because, really, it is.

You sigh, pressing a hand to your face. “I just… I don’t know why I’m so mad. It was fun, it was stupid, it got interrupted, and now—”

Ava hushes you gently, tucking her arm around your waist. “Hey, it was a lot. You’re allowed to be upset.”

You exhale, tension draining from your shoulders. Having Ava there, warm and comforting, soothes the swirling mess in your head. “Thanks,” you whisper, nuzzling against her just enough to feel supported.

She chuckles softly, pressing the cold pack to her own throbbing forehead. “No problem. Just keep me from getting a concussion, yeah?”

You both share a tired laugh. Eventually, the apartment grows quiet again. Somewhere below, Matt is likely still hovering worriedly, and Chris… well, who knows. But for now, Ava’s presence gives you a moment’s peace—wrapped in a blanket, side by side, nursing your bruised hearts and heads in equal measure as you fall asleep next to each other.

Morning light streams through your bedroom curtains, rousing you from a restless sleep. Your head throbs faintly, a not-so-subtle reminder of last night’s drunken chaos. Ava, sprawled beside you under a tangle of blankets, groans softly, pressing a hand to her bandaged forehead. Neither of you notices the quiet right away—until you pad into the living room in search of water and see that the boys are gone.

“What the hell?” Ava mutters, blinking blearily around your apartment. “No text, no note…” She checks her phone and scoffs. “Nada.”

You rub sleep from your eyes, mind still foggy. “Maybe Chris and Matt went home before their parents noticed they were gone all night?”

Ava’s jaw tightens. “Screw that. They could’ve woken us up or something—especially after what went down.” She tosses her phone aside. “Get dressed. We’re going over there.”

You’re too groggy to protest. Five minutes later, you’re stuffing yourself into the baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants Ava thrust into your arms while she drives—white-knuckled and furious—through the morning traffic toward the Sturniolo family home. Her eyes stay fixed on the road, jaw clenched like she’s ready for war.

The Sturniolo house stands in a quiet neighborhood, the driveway empty except for Matt’s car and Chris’s familiar ride. Their parents must be at work, leaving the place wide open. Ava parks haphazardly at the curb, kills the engine, and practically launches herself out of the driver’s seat.

“Ava, wait—” you call, scrambling to keep up as she beelines for the front door. She doesn’t bother to knock, just pushes it open and stomps inside, her slippers squeaking on the tiled entryway.

The living room comes into view: Matt is leaning against a side table, sipping coffee, while Chris is sprawled on the couch, eyes on his phone. Both look up in unison, equal parts startled and guilty, as Ava storms in.

“Well, good morning,” Chris says slowly, arching a brow. His gaze flicks over to you, lingering just a second longer, before swinging back to Ava. “Didn’t expect you here so soon.”

Ava plants her hands on her hips, ignoring the twinge in her forehead. “You two took off this morning without a single word—after everything that happened last night. Seriously? You couldn’t even leave a note?”

Matt sets his mug down with a sigh. “Ava—”

“Don’t you ‘Ava’ me,” she snaps. “Look at my face!” She lifts the cloth pressed to her injury. “I practically have a concussion from your dick and Y/N got humiliated because Chris decided to call it a ‘horny mistake.’ Yet you just sneak out and think it’s all good?”

Heat flushes your cheeks at the mention of Chris’s words. Meanwhile, Matt glances sheepishly at you, then Chris, clearly unsure how to diffuse this. “We weren’t exactly sneaking out,” Matt tries. “We just figured we’d let you both sleep it off. You were wasted—”

“Shut up,” Ava hisses, turning her glare on him. “You’re the one who practically slammed my head into the headboard, and now you’re defending him for being an ass to my best friend? Come on, Matt.”

Chris sets his phone aside and stands, hands slipping into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Okay, I get it,” he says tersely, meeting Ava’s anger head-on. “We messed up. We should’ve said something.”

Ava’s eyes blaze. “Damn right, you should have.” Then she whips around to face Matt again. “Or a text—something.”

Matt rubs the back of his neck. “We’re sorry, babe. Really. We know we screwed up.”

Ava scoffs, lifting her chin. “A little courtesy would be nice. I have a possible concussion and you guys just bounce? Unbelievable.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, remembering the tension, the moment you and Chris nearly shared. He glances at you again, something akin to regret flickering across his face. You swallow hard, hugging yourself. You’re not sure if you want to confront him or disappear.

Matt reaches for Ava’s arm, voice softer. “We didn’t mean to make things worse. Last night got so crazy… we figured space might help.”

Ava yanks her arm away, “I don’t need space. I need communication you fucking idiot!” She tilts her head, leveling a glare at Chris. “Especially from you. You have anything else to say about my best friend and your ‘horny mistake’?”

Chris exhales slowly, shoulders sagging. “I shouldn’t have called it that. It came out wrong.” He looks directly at you. “I’m sorry.”

Ava rubs at her eyes, taking a long, shaky breath. She suddenly looks more worn out than furious, and you realize the weight of her hangover might be as heavy as her anger. With a small groan, she presses a palm gently to her sore forehead.

“You know what,” she mutters, sagging into the couch, “maybe I’m just—” She sighs. “I’m just hungover, cranky, and my head still hurts. That’s all.”

Relief flickers across Matt’s face. He steps forward, resting a cautious hand on her shoulder. When she doesn’t shove him away, he leans in, kissing her head softly. “I’m sorry about… everything,” he murmurs. “Let me make it up to you. We’ll go grab breakfast—my treat. You, me, Chris, Y/N… we could all use some food right now.”

Ava looks around the quiet living room—Chris with his hands in his pockets, you standing off to the side and finally, she nods, a faint, tired smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah,” she relents. “I could eat.”

Matt exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours. “Great,” he says, relieved. “Let’s go. There’s a Denny’s not too far from here.”

Chris glances your way, a silent question in his eyes—You good? You nod, trying to move past your lingering annoyance. Breakfast might be the first step toward smoothing things over… or at least not making them worse.

Fifteen minutes later, the four of you are crammed into a booth at Denny’s beneath too-bright fluorescent lights. There’s a collective slump in your posture, as though the whole table is nursing hangovers or leftover tension. But the aroma of coffee and frying bacon starts to lift the mood.

Ava flops an elbow on the table, reading the menu with one eye open. Matt, sitting beside her, rubs slow circles on her back, whispering apologies here and there. Across from them, you and Chris hold your menus like makeshift shields—unsure if you’re truly ready to talk yet, but at least the scents of hash browns and eggs ease some of the awkwardness.

“Ugh, I can’t decide,” you mutter, eyeing the pancake combos.

“Waffles,” Chris counters immediately, glancing up from his own menu.

You arch an eyebrow. “Waffles?”

He flips the laminated page toward you, jabbing a finger at a picture of crisp, golden-brown waffles drizzled in syrup. “They’re superior in every way. Texture, flavor pockets, structural integrity—waffles win.”

“Structural integrity?” you repeat, a disbelieving scoff escaping you. “I don’t care about ‘flavor pockets,’ Chris. Pancakes are fluffy and comforting.”

He snorts, setting his menu down like he’s ready to present a thesis. “Fluffy is just code for ‘soggy if you don’t eat them in five seconds.’ With waffles, you get these perfect little squares to hold your syrup. Pancakes are basically sog-biscuits.”

Your mouth drops open. “They are not sog-biscuits! You can’t beat a stack of warm, buttery pancakes.”

He leans forward, eyes narrowed in mock challenge. “Oh, I can, and I will: a stack of warm, buttery waffles, plus that satisfying crunch on the outside.”

You’re about to retort—something about pancakes being the foundation of every breakfast place in America—when Ava peeks up from her menu, looking a bit more alive. “If you two start a food fight over which carb is better, I’m going to need another ibuprofen. And Y/N is right. Its pancakes.” she warns, though there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips.

Matt slides her a small grin, then turns to you and Chris. “You know what’s better than waffles and pancakes?”

All three of you look at him skeptically, and he chuckles. “French toast.”

Ava rolls her eyes but pokes his side playfully. “You’re so extra.”

“Guilty as charged,” he admits, raising a hand for the waitress. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll get the pancakes to show solidarity with Y/N’s taste buds.”

Chris feigns a horrified gasp. “Traitor.”

“Uh-huh,” Matt deadpans. “And Ava can get waffles so she’ll stop having to listen to you two bicker.”

Ava groans dramatically. “Why the fuck do I have to eat waffles,” she teases, resting her head on Matt’s shoulder. Despite the jab, there’s relief etched in her features—like the tension in her shoulders has finally lifted a bit.

You catch Chris’s eye across the table and, despite yourself, a small smile creeps up. The argument feels less about pancakes and waffles and more about exhaling the stress of the last twelve hours.

“Fine,” you concede, flipping your menu closed. “But only because I’m starving.”

Chris huffs out a soft laugh, doing the same with his menu. “Yeah. Me too.”

And for the first time since last night’s chaos, you and Ava and the boys breathe a little easier—sitting in a too-bright diner with questionable coffee, letting the warm promise of breakfast slowly piece things back together.

After Matt paid the bill and grabbed your leftovers, the four of you step out of Denny’s into the brisk midday air. Breakfast felt like a temporary truce—banter over waffles and pancakes masking the undercurrent of unresolved tension. But as you all pile into Matt’s car—him behind the wheel, Ava in the passenger seat, you and Chris in the back—there’s a sense the peace won’t last.

Matt starts the engine, carefully guiding the car into traffic. Ava scrolls through apple music for music, and for a few minutes, the only sounds are of the passing cars. You stare out the window, head still pounding from a mix of caffeine. Beside you, Chris sits with his arms crossed, gaze fixed on the seat in front of him, as if waiting for the right moment to speak.

Eventually, Matt hits a pothole so deep it rattles the whole car, and Chris nearly loses his grip on his takeout container. He mutters a curse and shoots a glare at the back of Matt’s head. “Could we not hit every crater in the road?” he growls.

“Sorry,” Matt says flatly, clearly not in the mood to argue. “Boston roads aren’t exactly a smooth ride.”

Ava twists in her seat, rolling her eyes at Chris. “You want to drive instead? Be my guest,” she challenges, though her voice is weary.

Chris exhales, as if already fed up. You can’t help but notice he keeps casting sidelong looks your way. Finally, he shifts toward you, opening his mouth like he’s been holding back words that can’t wait any longer.

“So,” he says, his tone deceptively casual, “you ever gonna explain what happened after senior year? Because last I remember, you were all set on college—then you vanished.”

A spike of tension hits your stomach. “Things changed,” you say curtly. “It’s none of your business, Chris.”

He lets out a short laugh. “Funny. You made it everyone’s business when you wouldn’t stop talking about your big future. Then out of nowhere, poof—you’re gone.”

Heat flushes your cheeks. “I didn’t vanish. I took a gap year. Not that it matters to you.”

Chris’s jaw tightens. “It matters because you ghosted me. One minute we’re talking, the next you’re off with someone else like I never existed.”

Ava glances over her shoulder, wanting to intervene, but Matt shakes his head slightly. He keeps his eyes on the road, tension etched across his features. You feel the interior of the car tighten as Chris’s accusation hangs in the air.

“Are we seriously doing this right now?” You laugh in disbelief.

He cocks his head to the side in complete seriousness. “I don’t know, are we?”

“Fuck you, Chris. You know that’s not why I stopped talking to you,” you snap, though the guilt of lying twists in your gut. “I didn’t ghost you because of some other guy, so drop it.”

“Right,” he spits back. “Because that’s totally how it looked when you got a boyfriend and never bothered to call again.”

“That’s not what happened,” you hiss. “Can we not do this right now?”

Chris ignores your plea, leaning closer, voice low and charged. “I think it’s really convenient how you had all these big plans—until you bailed on them, and me. Don’t act surprised, I'm still pissed.”

Anger flares in your chest. You clench your fingers against the seat. “Don’t rewrite history just because you’re mad. You think you were a saint? You barely acknowledged me half the time besides when you wanted your dick sucked. Don’t act like I was the only one who messed up.”

Chris’s eyes blaze. “You know that's not true. I was obsessed with you. And we were kids. We didn’t know how to handle—”

“Stop acting like that excuses everything!” you cut in, voice trembling with the force of your emotion. “You never asked what I wanted. You never said if you wanted more. Then you blame me when I moved on?”

He sucks in a breath, looking ready to throw another barb, when Matt’s voice finally cracks through the tension. “Hey!” he barks, sparing a quick glance in the rearview. “Cut it out. Both of you.”

Chris grits his teeth, but you can see he’s holding himself back. You’re vibrating with leftover fury, blood pounding in your ears. Ava twists again, her gaze darting between you and Chris. She looks torn between yelling at you both or letting Matt handle it.

Chris exhales, folding his arms. His voice is a bitter mutter. “Guess we’ll never know if you’d have stuck around if you hadn’t had a backup plan.”

Your anger surges anew. “Don’t you dare imply I was just waiting for something better to come along!”

Before Chris can retort, Matt hits the brakes harder than necessary at a yellow light, causing everyone to jolt forward. “That’s it!” he snaps, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “We can talk about this when we’re not moving at 40 miles an hour, okay? I’m not letting you two kill each other in Avas car.”

A taut silence falls, your chest heaving with unsaid words. Chris slumps back in his seat, staring out the window with a thunderous expression. You rub your temples, frustration and guilt churning in your stomach.

By the time Matt pulls up to the Sturniolo house, the tension in the car is suffocating. Chris throws open the back door and practically leaps out, not sparing you a second glance. Ava sighs and unbuckles, eyeing you and Chris warily. Matt parks, shoulders rigid, then steps out to follow his brother.

You remain in the back seat for a moment, heart still hammering. Ava glances at you, sympathy flickering across her features, but she doesn’t say a word. She simply gives a weary shake of her head, then trudges after Matt.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, you climb out. You catch a glimpse of Chris disappearing inside, posture tense. Your anger hasn’t cooled, but beneath it lies a pang of something else—regret, maybe. Of course, you’re both too stubborn to admit it.

Ava returns to the car and slides behind the wheel. She waits, eyes on you. “Ready to go?”

You nod numbly, slipping into the passenger seat. As she drives away, the echo of your own shouting plays on repeat in your mind, mingling with Chris’s accusations. It’s as if the old wounds have been ripped wide open, and neither of you knows how to stop the bleeding.

MASTERLIST

tag list: @mattsobvimyfav @sturnsvelocity @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002

[bradleysass]

Year - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 530

“What a year it has been!” James sighed dramatically, slumping onto the couch.

Regulus, who had been peacefully sipping his tea and pretending he didn’t live with an actual cartoon character, blinked at him. “It’s only March, Jamie.”

James groaned. “Exactly. Three months! Three months of chaos. Three months of stress. Three months of—”

“Three months of you making terrible life choices,” Regulus corrected.

James gasped, clutching his chest like Regulus had just stabbed him. “Me? Me? Excuse me, but I am a victim of circumstance!”

Regulus arched an unimpressed eyebrow. “You voluntarily signed up for a charity marathon after not running for six years.”

“It was for the kids.”

“You threw up behind a tree at mile four.”

“Again. For the kids.”

Regulus sighed. “You also tried to assemble IKEA furniture without reading the instructions and nearly cried when it collapsed on you.”

“That’s a normal human experience, Reg. No one actually reads the instructions. It’s about the journey.”

“It was a nightstand.”

“...A very complicated nightstand.”

Regulus rolled his eyes and took another sip of his tea. “Fine. What else, then? What has made these past three months feel like a year?”

James sat up, ready with a dramatic monologue. “Regulus. Love of my life. Keeper of my soul. We got a dog.”

Regulus scowled. “You got a dog. I distinctly remember telling you no.”

James waved a dismissive hand. “Details, details. Anyway, our wonderful child—”

“Your demon spawn.”

“—our beautiful child Cheddar has ruined our lives.”

Regulus snorted. “Oh, so now you admit it?”

James groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. “He chewed my trainers. He pissed on my work laptop. He somehow—somehow—locked me out of our own flat last week.”

Regulus hummed. “That was a great day.”

“I had to bribe the neighbor’s kid with a tenner to break in through the window!”

Regulus smirked behind his teacup. “And yet, you still refuse to discipline him.”

James crossed his arms. “I can’t discipline something that looks at me with those big brown eyes. He’s just a baby.”

“He is the devil in a golden retriever’s body,” Regulus deadpanned.

James ignored him and continued. “Also! Also. There was the Great Pancake Fire of February.”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “James, I swear to Merlin—”

“Who knew maple syrup was flammable? Not me! But apparently, the fire department did.”

Regulus exhaled slowly like he was reconsidering every life choice that led him here. “James. It’s only March. I cannot stress this enough.”

James flopped back onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “That’s what makes it worse. If this is what three months look like, how will I survive the rest of the year?”

Regulus leaned back, utterly unimpressed. “At this rate? You won’t.”

James groaned again, draping an arm over his face. “At least make sure Cheddar gets my record collection when I die.”

“No. That dog does not need more ways to destroy this house.”

James peeked at him with a grin. “But you’d miss me, right?”

Regulus rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight back the small smirk playing on his lips. “Unfortunately.”

James grinned wider. “I’ll take it.”

[koiiiji]

windbreaker characters & their possible love trope (part 2)

warnings : smut part with wooin but i tried to make it more sensual then sexy, prob fluffiest stuff i ever wrote, as usual it might be ooc, not proofed read on your own risk!!)🧣💞🦢

thank you all guys for 287 followers!!(i wrote when it was 260!!) i hope my works makes your day a lil bit better and set some mood. i really appreciate all likes, reposts and especially!! comments and replies, in love with @sugardollie-907 @hjunsjoy @cozyunderworld @dialoguestetatet and wildylisa but idk why i can’t tag((( and so so many other people who comment (but i swear this holy five lives rent free in my comment section and it such a blessing🙏🏻)

thank you to every-everyone who supporting me, my works, it’s so gratifying to come here and see all notifications about your feedbacks!! also want to say thanks to all wb authors who ever posted and posting!! another source of motivation and inspiration🫵🏻😌💋💯🎀

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

vinny - a friend’s sister. you were definetely dom's or jay's sister, and vinny was so annoyed by you in the first place. not because of your personality or you annoyed him directly, but you were that "genious" in your sport, and vinny unitentionally compared you to jay jo, who were gifted with talent from birth. he was angry or annoyed to the point of goosebumps, he didn't even understand exactly what he was feeling, but he understood that this was a very strong storm of emotions and he was fixated on you. honestly? when your brother watches your competitions or casually tells about your successes, Vinny records it in his memory and will congratulate you later(dom as an older brother will 100% hype you up, fight me. he would show his phone to hummingbird crew with tearing puppy eyes “look, my lil gremlin winning those competition of hers”🥹🥹)Vinny would rather die by biting his neck than admit his feelings to someone, so it happens accidentally, maybe your chat went further than congratulating each other on winning competitions or your calls to him to find out where your brother is hanging around today. but because you were tired after the competition, you fell asleep leaving the chat open and not responding to his messages, leaving him on read. not to say that Vinny was offended by you, he just snapped at you for 3 days in a row, refusing to respond to messages. you had to take the situation into your own hands and hold his hand after another training and talk. “ta hell you want?” he said, frowning down at you. “just to talk and clearly” - you explained the situation to him and told him why you didn't answer, but since Vinny didn't know how to apologize and he had certain trust issues, it turned into another skirmish. it was evening and it was unnoticeable how the clouds thickened and the rain began to fall, but it didn't seem to bother two of you much because you were standing and yelling at each other for a reason you both didn't understand. Vinny's patience had always been zero, but now it seemed as if he was on the verge of reaching another stage of rabies. while you were shouting at him that you didn't understand why he started this quarrel at all, he just exhaled irritably and unknowingly blurted out “FUCK! because i was worried about you!!” as the argument reached its peak, Vinny's frustration peaked, his heart pounding with a mixture of anger and apprehension. yet, amidst the chaos of their exchange, a surge of emotion overcame him, compelling him to act on the impulse he'd long suppressed. with a sudden surge of courage, Vinny closed the distance between you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. eyes met, mirroring the intensity of emotions, as Vinny leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. the rain continued to fall, its gentle rhythm enveloping both of you in a cocoon of intimacy as you melted into each other's embrace. Vinny’s body pressed to yours, rain-soaked and trembling, as the warmth of the spring evening mingled with the cool touch of the rain. in that moment, amidst the soft glow of the night lights and the soothing patter of raindrops, time seemed to stand still. the world around you faded into obscurity, leaving only the two bodies locked in a passionate embrace. as your lips parted, a sense of relief washed over, breaths mingling with the cool night air as you savored the sweetness of the moment. in the gentle caress of the rain and the warmth of each other's touch, you found solace, knowing that despite the storm raging around two of you, they were anchored in the calm of their love. as you kissed beneath the spring evening sky, a sense of peace washed over them, the tension of their argument melting away with each tender caress. In that fleeting moment, surrounded by the gentle embrace of the rain and the comforting glow of city lights, they found solace in each other's arms, their love renewed and strengthened by the storm they weathered together.

wooin - fake relationship. he commited it in the first place. since his work wasn’t permanent and he was constantly on the move, hanging here and there, Wooin thought it would be nice to have something permanent in his life. he needed excuse to tell his family why he can’t visit them on weekends - his girlfriend doesn’t feel well. them asking him all this “start a family” questions? sorry, y/n isn’t ready yet. some unforeseen situations? oh, y/n can be his trusted person. something didn't go according to plan? he can rely on y/n, if it isn’t something too difficult or dangerous. as a substitute he will gift you something, or will took you somewhere, thanking you for being his backup. genuinely it wasn’t something like friends with benefits, no, you two clearly share a bond, but it was something on the edge, as everybody thought you were dating. and in fact all this acts, you being his backup, him giving you small gifts, taking you on dates, sharing a bed - it all feels more like a relationship. but you never had this conversation, after another hot sex you could fall asleep together, for sure, but in the morning one of you definitely woke up in an empty bed. of course, it also happened that you woke up together, but in the morning Wooin was simply unbearable, and more often it ended with too caustic jokes. and it was always on the edge, you weren't in a relationship, you weren't friends, you weren't strangers, you were all together at once. at some point, it started to get exhausting. you noticed it first, but Wooin started talking about it first... well not actually talk, but mutter in the crook of your neck… today’s sex was different, the encounter was filled with a blend of sensuality and intensity, both of you asserting your desires while maintaining a balance of power. you bite each other, when it feels like too much, but immediately kissing and licking bite place, each of you tried to get leading role while another didn’t let it happen. today, Wooin's approach was different - not sloppy, fast and erratically, but slower, more deliberate, his touch gentle yet his thrusts firm. you were suffocating in his arms, and it seemed to him that he was drowning in the smell of your hair, your moans, how you trembled slightly from his hands on your chest, hips and neck. Wooin burrowed his nose deeper into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily and sniffing your scent. it was intoxicating, that feeling when you were next to him, when his hands slid over your body, your soft sobs, how the emotions on your pretty face changed depending on his pace. now, with his whole body pressed against you from behind, one hand holding your hip, and the other between your head and the pillow, his palm rested on your collarbones. while he was slowly sinking into you, and you were smiling and almost purring with pleasure, he caught himself thinking that he liked your smile. he likes to spend time with you, he likes to use an excuse in front of his parents and call you his girlfriend. his. Wooin liked the idea of you being his. he liked you. along with these thoughts, his pace increased, now he was digging his fingers into your thigh, and the other hand slid to your breast, squeezing it a little harder. you were both lost in your pleasure as you moaned louder and louder, he pressed his nose harder into your neck, whispering something that you couldn't make out. at one moment, he lifted his head, biting your earlobe, and pulling it slightly towards him, in a burst of emotion, he whispered "i like you"*

kwon - stranger to lovers/soulmetes - for the first time it seemed like someone corsed you. you moved to new flat in different district of Seul and now it was time to transport your stuff from old flat. everything started when you recieved message from a men who drove the car with your stuff, saying that he is stuck on a street because there are some stupid cycling competition and usual road is closed. amazing, you already were so stressed and here some cycling competition, but thankfully in the evening you finally recieved your stuff, mostly some boxes, small and big. when you were about to pick another heavy box you felt that it seemed strangely light. when you rise your eyes you saw a young man around your age. you thanked him for helping and he turned out to be almost your neighbor, one floor above and to the left of your neighbor's wall. next time you saw Kwon Hyeok in evelator…and you two were stuck there…for 3 hours…you were about to meet with your friends and, as you learned later, he was about to pick something to eat in nearest market. week later you met him in random cafe, where you decided to have a dinner alone, the owner of the cafe came up to you, saying that all the seats are occupied, but since you are alone, there was an empty place, behind the bar, just next to a guy your age (the old man grinned and has obviously already married you two in his head) so when you sat down carefully and apologized for the intrusion, you recognized that it was Kwon. you ordered your food and few drinks, and had a nice time together. and after a month of such unexpected encounters, you began to suspect 2 things - either fate brings you together, or he is a stalker. thankfully when you ran into each other again in the same cafe and drank a lot more this time, you admitted that you suspected him, and he, in turn, thought the same - that you were weird stalker girl who followed him around, and in that evening you laughed together from many things. when it was time to leave he understood that you were so drunk that you couldn’t even stand straight, so he took you by the elbow, hugged you with his free hand a little bit higher than your waist and led you home. along the way, of course, you mumbled something about how you like one handsome boy and he seemed like not paying attention to you and probably not even interested and why you're still alone…and then, under the soft glow of streetlights, amidst the hushed whispers of the night, it happened. in a moment that felt both inevitable and surreal, your lips met in a tender kiss, sealing the bond that had been silently growing between you. in that stolen moment, amid the chaos of the city, you found solace in each other's arms, knowing that fate had finally brought you together as more than just strangers in passing.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

* i’m sorry, i don’t really know how to finish this part with wooin, as it already feels too ooc, it was more self inserted, like i was inspired by my latest situationship, bc i was in fucking same situation(it didn’t end well) , and it’s still kinda my roman empire, so i leave space for your imagination… if u don’t mind of course…🥹

[revenantghost]

Man, I think the best and worst part of Knives’s character is just how compelling he is*

I get it. You get it. We all understand exactly how and why he is the way he is. So many people have put this idea into better words than I could. He witnessed an unspeakable horror at an incredibly young age. He knew he was different, that he was other, and a worry set deeply into his bones that humanity would reject him for being born who he is. 

And he was right. It was so much worse than he could have ever realized. He was born to be an object for humanity to use as they see fit. All he wanted was love and peace for himself and his brother. And after seeing that? What they did so mercilessly to Tesla? Who can blame him for not believing in any future with humanity in it. Who can imagine a future without unbelievable strife and prejudice when you’re outnumbered and are seen as an item to dissect and toy with as you see fit

And yet

And yet

In his fear, in his need to control and correct, the cycle continues. The abused becomes the abuser. He assaults his brother multiple times. He takes away Vash’s autonomy and manipulates his body without his consent. Hell he happily experiments with/tests and uses Vash’s body while unconscious. He says he loves Vash while refusing to hear a word coming out of his mouth. Because, if he has a moment of doubt, any hint of weakness, all of that anger slips away and he becomes that boy again--afraid and weak and alone

In his fear, he takes plants. He strips them of their independence and will, denying them their souls. Again, he uses the bodies of his siblings against their will. He displays their corpses to keep him angry instead of putting them to rest. He kills and breaks apart the body of his sister so that he doesn’t have to die, so that he can be reborn. He willfully denies the thoughts, dreams, and pains of his sisters and instead absorbs them, impregnates them, tries to kill them in the “right” way

In his fear, he drove humanity into hurting his kind more. He forced their hand into injuring and killing more plants than they’d ever dreamed of harming. He’s the one that put Vash into a constant position where he’s gaining mountains of scars. (His brother who, on the opposite end of the spectrum, has let the cycle of abuse continue while using himself as a shield instead of breaking free from the pattern.) He uses and discards the humans near him no matter the kindness and devotion they shows him

The same behavior Knives shows everybody and everything else

He’s awful. Absolutely sick and perverted and so stuck in his own mind that all he does is hurt and hurt and hurt

And yet

I get it. I’ve been traumatized to the point where all I want to do is cause pain in return. To feel that justice can exist and will come to pass, no matter the cost. To be so afraid that anger is the only safe emotion you can cling to. It’s what makes him one of the most compelling antagonists I’ve ever seen. Kudos to Nightow for fucking me up about Knives and his pain more by the day, honestly

*Except for ‘98 Knives lmao, that man is fabulously unhinged and overly dramatic about everything and I love him for it

[karofsky]

Nandermo is canon. Full stop.

They’re openly, irrevocably in love with each other. They have shown time and time again that their devotion to each other will always come first. Nandor’s codependency is suffocating and Guillermo’s inability to adjust to human society is because he’s never actually wanted to. Everything has always been about him refusing to move on from Nandor, because he never has wanted to, but was always too scared to admit it to himself. Nandor has called him on it, and finally we’ve seen him accept that his place is with the vamps, and beside Nandor.

Nandor who doesn’t WANT romance. He wants companionship. He plays the song and dance because it’s a fun game, and because it’s kept him from admitting just how much Guillermo means to him. His sense of true love was always muddled in what others had and what others thought he needed, and not what he actually wanted. He wants his family, and he wants the one person he genuinely, canonically believes fate brought him to. He understands that in all nearly 800 years of his life, everything was bringing him to Guillermo. He’s told him that. Loving Guillermo is his purpose— the one thing he’s always been actually searching for.

Guillermo who equally has been trying to to force himself into a box. “If my loyalty isn’t tied to getting what I want then what is it.” Guillermo who had a whole year to himself, and another year on top of it telling himself that he was in love with a man who he only told lies to. Freddie was only ever a distraction the same way Marwa was. He tricked himself into believing this was the life he wanted, the romance he wanted, and it all predictably fell apart when his inability to give up Nandor got in the way.

Paul Simms and the writers, since season three, have only ever treated them with care. They’ve openly called attention to the fact that it’s a love story, and a fucked up one. They’ve also openly said that it will never be what most people want out of a romance. For years. That doesn’t change the fact that they’ve now made it canonically clear that these two characters are soulmates. They are not platonic, they are not Two Besties, they are not purely familial. They are two neutron stars that are locked by gravity to one another, who only ever will be locked to one another, and will crash and burn and die together. They are that weird, homoerotic, fucked up, “what’s up with those two” relationship that we’ve always called them, and now they’ve openly accepted to one another.

A kiss would be great. They deserved a funny little sex scene. We aren’t going to get them, and that doesn’t make it any less queer, or any less of a canon love story, because for the first time, I’m finally seeing the weird, unconventional, fucked up queer romances that I, in my own queer life, have always had or wanted. I love so strongly and so fiercely and so loyally, and it’s often unspoken. The people who are important to me I keep with me for my life, even long after they leave. I don’t need my love to look like what people expect, or tick off boxes of What A Relationship Is. My romance is in that devotion and yearning for closeness and companionship.

Fall in love with your best friend and feel exactly no pressure to change anything about it (I have). Have crushes and flings that are fun for fun sake, or end messy because you get in too deep, or things just don’t work out and That’s Life (I do). Be devoted to your friends like you are your partners, make out with whoever you want, allow yourself to blur the lines of your relationships to what you and those relationships want to be. And if you like the structure of a classic romance, and enjoy said song and dance, that’s fine too. But please ask yourself why, when looking at other relationships that don’t, that you consider those less valid in your eyes. Why do you turn your nose up at those who refuse to see the love and see the queerness, and then you yourself look that love and queerness in the eye, and say “it’s just not enough, though.” A love and romance not being for you does not make it any less valid as a love and romance. In fact most people probably should not want what Nandermo have at all.

But Nandermo are it for each other. They’ve now accepted it. They have so much time (as little or as long as they physically have) together to figure out what else they want in their relationship. After 15 years they both are FINALLY on the same page. Wherever they go next is up to them, and I’m so thankful that they are looking to leave that open-ended. Because those that know, KNOW. I know it, the characters know it, the writing team knows it, Harvey and Kayvan know it. If people want to convince themselves it’s purely platonic love, that’s on them, but everyone who has watched six seasons and seen, canonically, EVERYTHING, has seen it for a reason. The love is written, and the love has been addressed, now conclusively. Nandor and Guillermo are in love with each other, they know they are in love with each other, and they know they’ll never have a love like this outside of each other.

[simp-ly-writes]

Love and Zombies

─────── · · A Smosh FanFic

Pairing: Spencer "Brody" Agnew x gn!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: Amanda has called in sick on the first day of filming a new series for the Smosh Games channel, Dread. You create a hopeless romantic character, their ultimate goal? to find love (and to make sure others find it too ;)).

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, enemies to lovers, protectiveness, jealousy, angst, tension, fluff, light swearing, mutual pining, confessions, friends to lovers, cheesy, social media au (near the end).

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,641 | PART TWO

─ · · A/N: Something a bit different but I hope you all enjoy nonetheless! (y/c/n) = your characters name.

─────── · ·

When you got pulled from the marketing office only to be placed in a Smosh Games video you did not know what to expect. Lights and Cameras commanding down upon you as you took a seat beside Spencer and across from Courtney and Shayne while thinking about what could be read from the seating placement had your cheeks heating up as you whispered a Hello, not wanting to interfere with the sound peoples tests.

Shayne talked back in a full toned, "Hello!" that already have you feeling more embarrassed for not knowing what exactly to do on camera even when they were not rolling. "Got your character chosen?" Courtney asked as Spencer nodded his head, curious as to your answer only for your eyes to go wide with excitement.

"Yes, I do. But I want to see your reactions to them recorded," you tease just as Alex Tran calls for you all to take your positions and another person walks around to the head of the table, the game master themselves- George Primavera. You latch onto Spencer hand under the table, squeezing it in excitement, not having seen the rest of the casting call for your favorite dungeon master.

"And three... two... one... action!"

"Hello everyone, and welcome to Smosh verses Zombies. I George Primavera and I will be your Dungeon Master and Host for this session. Now can the players please introduce themselves to the camera," George announces taking the time to look over all of you as you all physically fall into character.

Shayne as Benardo, the nepo-baby artist. Courtney as Savanah, the bestie that always has your back. Spencer as Brody, the hater of everything and everyone with a secret. And your character, (y/c/n), the truly hopeless, romantic.

"You are never gonna find love," Spencer spits out, immediately turning to you, chest puffed out as he stares just past your face. You make the first eye-contact before looking down at the table, brows furrowed and let out a sigh, "Well, if you speak of it like that way. It will be you who will never be finding love, Brody." You spit out his name, refusing to look him in the eyes before offering Shayne a flirty smile and giggle, "now, Who are you?"

Spencer scoffs from your side, mumbling some snide remarks while glaring at Shayne who flips him off. "I'm an artist, looking for a muse, if you catch my drift?" He adds with a wink as you fan your face and bat your eyelashes. You can image the paint dripping off his True Religion jeans and white t-shirt. "I like the sound of that."

"You two are going to die first," Spencer states with his arms crossed. "Is that jealousy I hear?" you slowly pan your head over, taking in his features as you play with the rings on your fingers.

"Fuck no, thats gross," he retorts before Courtney interrupts, "I stand with (y/c/n), theres not much out here so might as well find someone to love and keep you entertained." Spencer looks visibly pained by this statement as he refuses to speak and the game proceeds to start.

─────── · ·

As bricks are being pulled one by one and with some near death experiences. You and Shayne are both going steady with a relationship, flirting, reaching across the table to hold hands and fighting back to back alongside one another. Courtney had acting the middle ground between you and Spencer throughout the game while Spencer's character was reaching his breaking point. George had been eating up the tension between the two of you, both still haven't looked at one another since the introductions, and he was scheming for a reaction.

"Will you two stop fucking in the back of my truck, fucking hell," Brody yells while gripping the steering wheel. Savanah is in the passengers seat, snickering and laughing at the scene.

"Do you want to join then?" Bernardo yells back in the small space just before the vehicle is stopped and you all lean quickly forwards in back in your chairs. You grip the table, shaking before moving to a stand and point at Brody.

"You know what, Brody-" you spit out his name with such vice, looking at him through his glasses and into his eyes. Deep down you can see Spencer smiling and begging you to go on and seize this moment, he loves watching you act so confidently in front of him- the cameras long forgotten. "-I am so done with you and- and your hate. If you don't want to be happy in life then so be it. But stop casting your grumpy old, stinky cloud all over me and Benardo-"

Spencer gags at the mention of his name in relation to yours before he two stands. George, the game master claps his hands excitedly from behind you, eyeing the tower with a knowing look. "-and you know what, if I was the owner of a car, I would have long since forgotten about you, have left you in the dust to die alone just like you want!"

Brody blinks at you before taking to a stand, his hands shake as Savanah and Benardo both lean closer. Benardo opens his mouth to make a statement before Courtney has a hand clapped over Shaynes mouth, glaring at him- daring him to interrupt this moment as you and Spencer now stand chest to chest. You both get a sudden wave a deja vu and to what... you both don't address before taking your seats once more.

"Wow..." George claps, smiling at you both as you stare at one another in a silent conversation. "...Now since you both have made no progress one again, the zombie hoard has made the distance and is about to attack you all, I am going to have to ask you to either pull or sacrifice-"

"I'll sacrifice!" Benardo announces. Hands placed on the table as he jets up, looking at you with pure adoration. "I will sacrifice for the love of my life."

"Benardo..." you let out a breath, partially of relief the other of a realization sadness as you shake you head. "Y-you don't have to do this you know, I'm sure theres another way. We could drive faster, we could-"

"There is no other way," Spencer announces, leaving no room for argument in his tone as both men nod to one another. Benardo takes one last look at you, blowing you a kiss that you catch and place on your heart before Shayne acts like he is getting electrocuted and falls to the ground beneath the table.

"You all stand there in grief, horror, and in partial awe so I am still going to have to ask you all to pull yourselves back into the truck," George says as you well your eyes with tears and make the first clean pull and move into the passengers side. Savanah goes next and succeeds, now sitting at the back of the truck. Brody is the last to pull.

You watch the side of his face not wanting to lose another... friend and having wanted to understand the weird tension and bring it finally to an end. Brody succeeds as you all drive to safety.

─────── · ·

You character and Brody would carry that awkward tension, the thin line between hate and love as you bantered and pointed guns in one another faces before shooting a zombie behind the other. You were surprised to learn the vicious protectiveness of Brody's character to yours often throwing Savanah out as bait to save you and she too was now getting sick of being the constant middle man.

Savanah called you out. "Its either you admit to your feelings to one another now, or I am going to announce to everyone the things you have said behind one another's backs. Grow up you two, its making all of this a lot harder than it should be. I mean, I think even Benardo saw it and agreed."

You could hear a few gasps from off camera that reminded you of the set you were playing in, the character you were playing as and the lights and cameras felt way too imposing once more and you shrunk down into your seat. An unknown guilt crept its way through your shaking hands as Spencer turned to you, grabbing one suddenly before letting out a large sigh and soon all of the background noise faded into the back of your mind.

You could not tell if Spencer was Brody, or Brody was Spencer in that moment as he spoke out- admitting to his jealous and distance to your past partners and the true feelings he held for you. Only finding them when your life was on the line, zombies banging on the door of the shelter you all thought to have found, that he loved you- he loves you.

And in not finding the right words to say right away, you pulled Brody- Spencer into a hug and whispered into his ear, unsure and uncaring if the mics would pick it up as well, I love you too.

─────── · ·

"CUT! Amazing work everyone. Thats an official wrap on episodes one and two. After lunch we will be filming the finale, so be sure to take a rest and plan those skits," Alex yelled as the house lights came back on, your eyes blinking out of character as your arms fell from one another and back down to your sides.

You and Spencer both watched as everyone gradually flooded out of the room. Courtney and Shayne both passing you a smile before turning down the hall. "You are one hell of an actor," Spencer starts with in a teasing tone that you match, "I could say the same to you as well."

─────── · ·

🔔 Smosh Games just posted! watch now?

─────── · ·

Jenga Decides Our Fate | Smosh vs. Zombies (ep.1+2)

Smosh Games ✓ [Subscribed] Like 56k | Dislike | ... 7.77M subscribers 1.1M views 3 months ago will we be able to survive?? click to read more

3,139 Comments

username21 YOU CANNOT JUST LEAVE THINGS LIKE THAT. I REFUSE TO WAIT ANOTHER WEEK 😭

username99 Did (name) say it back? Did. (name). say. it. back. I NEED to know!!

↳ username41 the public needs to know! we will revolt in these comments! we have done it before! 😡

username28 (name) and Spencer looked so taken by one another during their rant scenes. It was pure poetry, I love smosh!

username11 i genuinely cannot tell if they were acting or not.

username21 so worth the wait for the new content! can't wait for the new episode, I hope that Shayne is not dead for good, maybe he can come back in a new character?

↳ username07 yes! in love with this idea. I really like Savanah (courtney's character) would also like this idea XD ↳ username21 ikr! they looked so done with Brody and (y/c/n) lol

username12 that hug healed me ❤️

username30 someone reawaken be when pt.3 comes out, i refuse to live in a world where (name) and Spencer are not both canonically and irl together

username44 In love with this video concept. what about an alien invasion next time??

↳ smoshgames ✓ great idea! ↳ username44 omg! Smosh Games just replied to me ↳ smoshgames ✓ and we'll do it again 😉 ↳ username44 i can die happy now.

username23 shayne and courtney played so good characters. i was so incredibly invested in shayne and (name)'s romantic arch.

username40 must have been weird for courtney to see her husband flirting with another person... /sarcastic (i know they are all friends and that this is their job).

username76 would love to see Ian in the next series. his dark humour would hit differently. ❤️

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: you all are so cool, thank you for reading this! 😊

─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1

[genocidalbbg]

Ash Lynx, and the Importance of Closure

In Banana Fish, Ash dies.

He gets Eiji’s letter, and in that one distracted moment, he’s stabbed by Lao.

He reacts on instinct, kills him with a single shot, and then he goes back inside the library. He walks, not runs. He’s almost calm. He sits at a table, holding Eiji’s words in his hands, and then… he dies. Quietly. No blood-spattered floor, no last words, no audience. Just Ash, the letter, and this tiny, satisfied smile on his face. Like, for a second, he was at peace.

But here’s the thing: in the anime, we don’t actually see him die. Not explicitly. And that changes everything.

We’re so used to death in media being loud or clear or cathartic in some way. Characters die, sure, but when they do, we know. There’s a final moment, a dramatic goodbye in the middle of a war, or a more subtle scene in a hospital bed, surrounded by people who love them. And even if it’s sad, it’s also a ritual. There’s usually a funeral. A scene of mourning. Some kind of narrative closure.

But Banana Fish doesn’t give us that, especially not in the anime. We don’t see Ash fall, we don’t see his body discovered. Nobody runs in, screaming his name. There’s no one there to hold his hand, no confirmation. Just a still frame, his quiet smile, and then the credits roll.

And because we don’t get that closure, it’s easy, too easy, to start wondering: is he really dead?

Maybe he made it.

Maybe he just passed out.

Maybe someone found him in time.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

But no. That’s the ache of it. That’s what lingers.

When you read the manga, it’s different. There’s no more room for doubt. We see Sing looking at Ash’s body at the obituary, probably identifying him.

We see the aftermath, in Garden of Light, where we see Eiji mourn him. We even hear from Max through the letter he writes to Ash ten years later, telling us—him—exactly where he’s buried, and how life has moved on, giving us a glimpse into the lives of those Ash left behind.

And for readers, especially those who first experienced the anime’s ambiguous ending, that glimpse is a balm.

When I watched the anime, I was stuck in denial. I didn’t want to believe it. The way the ending was framed, it made it feel like maybe there was a chance, and I desperately clung to that, even though deep down I knew better.

The manga didn’t make it easier, necessarily, but it gave me peace, because as heartbreaking as Eiji’s, or Sing’s, or Max’s grief is, it gave me something solid, something real.

Ash was gone, yes, but he was loved, and he was remembered.

And that’s just so human. There’s a reason why, during funerals, people leave the casket open. Why dogs are allowed to sniff their dead owners. Why we cling to things like last words and keepsakes and places to visit.

We need proof. We need to see it, to touch it, to make sense of it, because when we don’t, it’s like part of us refuses to move forward. Our minds go back and back and back again, as if we can change the ending by replaying it enough times.

That’s what the anime did to me. It left me in that limbo. It didn’t give me the final scene, the grief rituals, the confirmation. It just… ended.

And maybe that was the point, because real grief often doesn’t come with neat endings.

People die when no one’s watching. Sometimes they don’t get a proper goodbye, sometimes you’re left with a half-finished message, or a voicemail, or nothing at all. Sometimes they just vanish from the world, and you’re expected to keep going.

Sometimes, all you’re left with is a bloody letter and the vague memory of green eyes, a cocky smirk, and a beautiful, immortal soul, belonging to someone who burned too bright for the world to hold onto, someone who never got the future they deserved, but who carved themselves so deeply into you that letting go feels like betrayal.

Because how do you move on from someone like Ash Lynx? How do you accept that he’s gone when everything about him felt unforgettable?

That’s the worst part: when grief has no clear ending, it becomes a loop. You carry it around in your chest like a second heartbeat, you go back to the same scenes, over and over again, trying to change something, trying to find meaning where maybe there is none.

Banana Fish doesn’t let you move on easily. It sits with you, it lingers, it reminds you that not all stories end the way they should, and that love doesn’t always get the chance to grow old.

Ash died alone, with no one there to comfort him, no last embrace, no hand to hold, but in that letter there was love.

There was hope.

There was a promise that his life mattered to someone, deeply. That someone would have remembered him.

For the rest of us, for the people watching, reading, there’s no comfort in how the anime closes the curtain. It doesn’t reassure you. It lets you sit there, wrecked, grieving someone who feels real, someone unforgettable who should’ve lived.

But that’s what makes Ash Lynx immortal, isn’t it? Not just the tragedy of him, but the memory. The way he stays with you long after the story ends.

In the way Eiji, and everyone who’s ever been around Ash, remembers him.

In the way we do.

[fuji09]

It will always baffle me how some will see Stiles as self-centered and with zero character growth.

Let's focus first on self-centered.

Stiles is a teen who lost his mother in a traumatic way, has abandonment issues, afraid his dad will die, afraid he will lose his best friend/brother Scott, and he's constantly putting everyone's needs before his own.

He helps assholes even though he doesn't want to, he saves Derek's life multiple times even though they aren't exactly friends, he loses sleep researching what happened to Scott, encourages Scott to be the hero but also to let himself want things.

He took the danger, close calls, and risks when Scott was still learning control, he helped his friend get control over the shift when he was only human, he hyped Scott up when he needed, and he also called Scott out on his bullshit, because a true friend doesn't agree with you when you're wrong, they call out your bullshit. They helped each other through hard times, they covered for the other, they both risked their lives to help/save each other.

But Stiles is self-centered? Yeah, not buying it. Everyone has self-centered moments but that doesn't make them self-centered people. There's a big difference between the two. If you want a self-centered character, Jackson Whittemore is right there.

Stiles takes care of his dad. He refuses to put him in danger, even at the expense of their relationship. He'd rather his dad be safe and have a shitty relationship than endanger his dad to preserve their relationship.

He cares about Lydia to the point he goes off with Peter, the alpha, the bad guy in season 1 to keep him from killing Lydia after Peter bit her. He refused to leave until he knew someone (Jackson) was coming out to her to help her.

He stared the alpha who was looming over Lydia down, risking his own life to protect and save her.

Now let's focus on zero character growth.

Stiles in season 1 and Stiles in season 6 are two totally different Stiles and if you can't see that, then you're just choosing not to see it.

Stiles in season 1 is carefree, infatuated, makes jokes all the time, wants to be cool and get the girl (Lydia), and wants to help save the day any time there is danger and it's exciting and kinda fun. He's a teenager.

Stiles in season 6 is reserved, given up on pursuing Lydia and had a relationship with another girl (Malia), doesn't care about being cool, still wants to help save the day but its clearly no longer exciting and fun, he legitimately wants to help people. He's an adult.

How can anyone look at him and not see any change?

Stiles goes through a lot throughout the series, and yes I know so does everyone else, but this post is focusing on Stiles and his character growth.

Stiles grows up and we see it. But we also see his smile fade throughout the series. He goes from smiling all the time to barely at all. He grows as a person but he also loses that innocence.

1. He stops pursuing Lydia.

Throughout season 1 and season 2, Stiles is pursuing Lydia, the girl of his dreams, someone he has had a crush on since third grade. Even though he can see it's pointless, Lydia is with Jackson, he still makes his feelings known and hopes one day Lydia sees he's better than Jackson.

When he sees Lydia truly loves Jackson in the season 2 finale, he stops pursuing her. Even though Jackson leaves for London, he understands Lydia won't love him that way and he stops pursuing her. He stops trying to flirt with her. He stops giving her extravagant gifts. He stops hoping she will return his feelings one day. They become amazing platonic friends. He begins to truly love Lydia as a person without romantic feelings or hoping to get anything in return out of it.

That's some character growth if I ever saw any.

2. Stiles loosens the reigns on his dad.

From the very start the fear of losing his dad is quite evident. He forces his dad to eat better healthier foods, he has all his dad's passwords and goes through his stuff. He listens in on police radio and shows up at crime scenes.

In season 1 and season 2 Stiles refuses to let his dad find out werewolves exist, not just for Scott and Derek's safety, but for his dad's safety. He's so worried that once his dad knows, it will put him in danger. Not realizing that his dad not knowing could also put his dad in danger. He argues a little with Scott about it in season 3a and when Scott relents, Stiles tells him that no, he's right. Stiles decided to tell his dad. He loosened his grip on protecting his dad because Scott felt it was best and Stiles trusts Scott. Stiles faced that fear and decided to tell his dad.

That's character growth.

3. Stiles stares death right in the face.

Stiles has always shown fear of dying or being severely injured. He freaks out but still insists on helping and hides whenever it's necessary.

But in season 3a at the motel, Scott was going to kill himself. He doused himself in gas and lit a flare to set himself on fire. What did Stiles do? He didn't freak out, he stayed completely calm. He didn't hide, he walked right into that puddle of gas right up to Scott telling him how they are bothers and he loves him and that he needs Scott in his life, inching closer to Scott the whole time.

Then he tells Scott if he's going to take his own life, then he has to take Stiles with him. And then he grabbed the flare and gently took it from Scott.

Stiles was willing to die with Scott in an attempt to save him. Read that again. Stiles was willing to die with Scott in an attempt to save him. He had to try to save his best friend and he risked his own life in the process. How can someone watch that scene and not see how Stiles has grown as a person?

Stiles was also willing to drown with Derek in the pool in season 2. He refused to let go of Derek and they weren't even really friends yet, more like begrudging allies. But he held Derek up for two hours in the pool and when he couldn't keep them above water anymore, he didn't let go of Derek, he sank with him. He would rather die with Derek than save himself and let Derek die alone. And this was when Lydia was waiting on him to come back! She was pissed at him for a while afterwards but he sacrificed the possibility of getting closer with Lydia to not only look for the bestiary to help Scott and Allison, but to also keep Derek from drowning.

How can no one see his growth?!?!

4. Stiles went to Scott when he realized something was wrong with himself when he was possessed by the nogitsune.

Everyone knows that classic trope in zombie movies where someone gets bit but hides it from everyone else and by the time everyone else finds out, it's already too late and the bitten person kills at least one person.

Stiles didn't do that in season 3b. He was up front from the start. Tells Scott he knows something is wrong with him. When he sees he did all these horrible things, he doesn't keep it to himself. He could have been scared and selfish. Hid it from everyone else. But he didn't. He did the right thing, something a lot of adults have trouble doing.

This shows he has matured and grown as a person.

5. Stiles stands up for Derek and the Hale family.

It's no secret that Stiles and Derek got on each other's nerves a lot. Stiles was vocal about not liking Derek for a while, but in season 1, when Chris Argent and several hunters confronts Stiles, Stiles mouths off to Chris. He stands up for Scott here but he also stands up for Derek and the Hale family. He calls Chris out on how hunters have done monstrous things to the alleged monsters (werewolves) and how they aren't above corruption.

Jackson was there and looked terrified. Every man had a weapon but Stiles stood his ground.

In season 2 Gerard Argent kidnaps Stiles, beats him to try to get info out of him about where Derek is and where their hideout is, and then once done with him he sends Stiles home the next day to be a message to Scott.

Only Stiles doesn't break. He doesn't give Gerard the answers. He doesn't throw Derek under the bus to make the pain stop. He takes it and still mouths off. What teenager do you know that would take basically torture without breaking? He showed so much strength and loyalty not just to Scott or Derek, but to all the werewolves, even though he could have easily been killed for it.

Are you starting to see the character growth now?

That's just 5 instances on Stiles' character growth. Obviously you don't have to like him. We all have characters we don't vibe with and that's ok. I just think it's unfair to say he doesn't grow at all in the series. Stiles having character growth doesn't take away from Scott's, Derek's, or Lydia's growth. It adds to it.

He's the most relatable character because he's this flawed human among supernatural creatures. We can see ourselves in him because he's human. That doesn't make his character boring or bad.

Stiles is a great character, even though he stays human. He goes from being a teenaged boy to a grown man in front of our eyes.

[ambrosiagoldfish]

HI! Can I request Vox, husk or anyone else with a s/o who has an addiction problem?

Yes I know my Grammar and punctuation is out of line 🙏🏽

Hazbin Hotel x Addict!Reader

(Vox, Husk, and Angel Dust)

Viewer Discretion is Advised!

Warning: Drug/Alcohol Abuse, Gn!Reader, Reader being defensive, happy-ish endings.

Request Box: Open

Word count: 1170

A/n: Hi! Thank you for the request! This is my first time writing both Vox and Husk so I had to do some research (and by research, I mean reading 2+ hours of how other write them) to get an idea of their main characterization.

I really enjoyed writing this as I personally have my own experiences with addicts and how it’s affected me as a person. So this was also a little bit of a vent post if anything. I also added Angel cause I think it fits the theme but also he’s one of my comfort characters and writing for him made me happy.

Hope you enjoy <3

Proofread like once so sorry for any mistakes!



Vox

He’s used to being friends/knowing addicts. I mean one of his closest allies (And TOTES not previous hook-up buddy) Valentino, is also an addict who also employs many as well. So he’s not a stranger to it.

So mostly he’s indifferent to it, almsot desensitized to it. He doesn’t really see a danger to it, I mean we’re in hell and you can’t exactly OD and die

But of course, death isn’t the only thing that can happen when you're an addict. The breakdown of you as a person often happens, as well as you being reckless with money. And this is where Vox starts to have a problem.

If you’re in a relationship with Vox, then clearly you mean a lot to him, he may not be the most expressive about it but he does. So to see the partner that he has opened up to and grown attached to deteriorate slowly in front of him is something he refuses to accept.

So one day he cancels a meeting with his staff and calls you to his office so you two will be alone. When you get there he gives you a cup of coffee and you catch up a bit. How was your day? Have you ate yet? Those kinds of things.

Until finally he decides to just break open the floodgates with one simple statement.

“Darling… I think you should get clean”

You were caught off guard at first

“It’s fine, What’s the problem? we’re in hell”

He then comes out with his honest opinion

“*Sigh* I know it’s hell and you can’t die… but surely you can see how it would make me a bit… worried for you.”

He paused

“I mean even last week you spent all the allowance I gave you on it and you would have starved if I didn’t buy you food, surely you can see why it’s a fucking problem!”

Eventually after talking and depending on how it goes you either agree to go clean or it ends with an argument and he’ll just try again later.

If you agree, he’ll make sure he’s with you ever step of your sobriety. Considering he’s one of the top rising Overlords and owns VoxTech he’s got money so He’ll higher the best people to help you go clean(Do therapist exist in hell?)

“Thank you dear, you have no idea how much this means to me”

Husk

Similar to Vox in a lot of ways but also really different. He himself is an addict with alcohol so he clearly understands the struggles of it.

He has lots of walls up but for someone who “lost the ability to love” he sure does care a lot for you. I don’t think he would try a get you to go clean, at least not right away (or even at the beginning of the relationship) simply cause he thinks he doesn’t have a right to judge. So in all honesty he might just let you be.

That is until he realizes that you do it to forget things and ignore your problems/past. He knew first hand that drowning your sorrows away with your choice of addictive vice did nothing but harm you.

Then when you two are alone at his bar he’ll talk to you about it in a similar way he did with Angel. Perhaps a bit more softer than he did with Angel but even then “softer” is a bit of an overstatement.

“Look, I know you got a lot of shit that you don’t want to think about… but doing this *sigh* it’s not going to work, at least not in the long term.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

He laughs. I mean, you were right. He was single handedly the worst person to be judging you. But surely you can understand his point of view, right?

Either way though, he leaves it alone again. Occasionally bringing it up when you’re both alone. He expresses the same sentiment about it each time hoping that eventually, hopefully…you’ll come to see from his perspective.

When you do finally see that he’s worried for you and understand why, you agree to go clean. Which, for once in a long while, made his supposedly cold dead heart melt.

“Glad you finally came to your senses… Seriously, I’m glad…”

Angel

He is THE addict of the show, so obviously he knows what you are going through and THEN some. Now,. Here’s the thing, how he handles it depends HEAVILY on when exactly you got with him/when you started having you addiction problem.

If you started dating him when you already were an addict he most definitely wouldn’t question anything about it. Hell, chances are you both might have taken part in it together. And it’s only when he starts making progress in the hotel (post EP4) is when he starts realizing how bad of an influence you both were on each other.

If you started sometime AFTER you both started dating then this boy would honestly feel terrible about it, ESPECIALLY after EP4 when he actually started being sober more often. He’d feel like he was a bad influence on you and that it was his fault you turned to your addiction.

Either way though, he will eventually realize that he doesn’t want you to be/continue to be on the same path he was. He’d talk to Charlie about arranging you to stay in the hotel, either in your own room or you guys could share one (he would honestly prefer the latter) and then after the preparations are made he would finally ask you too

Angel wasn’t expecting it to be easy, he gets what it’s like to suddenly be asked to go clean. And he knows how addicts act when they don’t get there vices, how he acts. So he mentally prepared himself for the worst first before asking you to come over and talk.

“Uh… Y/n can I talk to you about somethin’?”

You nod your head

“I’ve been thinking and… I think you should crash here at the hotel with me… and’ go clean.”

You only laugh “Angie I’m glad this hotel thing is workin’ for ya but that’s not really my style. No- I mean, I’m fine!”

Angel knows he put you on the spot, so he lightens off a bit but continues pressing on. He explains how he feels and how he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, to end up where he is. The poor boy starts crying honestly with how much he’s worried. He rarely opens up to people so this was a big step for him.

Seeing how much he cared and worried about you really put into perspective how important this was to him. So you agreed after some thinking.

“*sniff* thank you Baby, I’ll be there with you every step of the way… I love ya’ you know.”

[sewersaga]

HOPEDRUNK EVERASKING: moze, jing yuan, aventurine x reader

header art creds: nixeu on patreon! pls go support them bc this is almost exactly how i picture reader lol

pairings: foxian reader x unnamed individual (for the plot,) foxian reader x moze, foxian reader x jing yuan, foxian reader x aventurine(end game), (all separately but in the same timeline she's an old slutty fox ok)

warnings: implied sa/coerced sex, trauma tm, sexual cotent (the closest i'll EVER get to smut, too much yapping, none of the pairings except the last one are healthy so if you're a moze or jy stan idk what to tell you, no names are used on purpose but it's pretty obvious who's who, the first man is not a canon character!! read this for more context on the last few paragraphs

bee talk: this is an extension to the aforementioned fic set in @kii-nami and i’s hsr universe! (hence the mention of her gorgeous angelic lovely glorious oc alisa in the last section) i owe her my high school diploma and firstborn child

word count: 11.5k

When you were a little girl, you dreamed of a fairy tale romance.

You’d hide your face behind your books, pretending to study the various medicines and their uses so not as to fail your tutor’s harsh examinations, but your mind was worlds away. Back then, nothing was off limits, nothing too selfish, too rash, too inconceivable. 

Yes, a noble youth would indeed one day sweep you off your feet, and take you far, far away from this life filled with pressures and scorn. It was a naive little dream, but it was all yours nonetheless. 

At night, awake amongst your schoolwork and your notes, you’d imagine what such a man would be like. He had to be handsome, of course. Charming. Being rich would be a nice bonus, too.

He had to be able to make you laugh when the expectations of your family made you want to curl up in a ball and cry. And when you inevitably shattered, he’d have to be willing to piece you back together again. 

When you were a young adult, freshly graduated and bright eyed, you learned that real life romance didn’t work that way. You couldn’t just conjure up an image of your ideal suitor and expect him to materialize before you like magic. Still, your heart had an irksome little tendency to attach itself to the wrong people. 

The first one came to you, bruised and bloodied. 

Battle had wrought upon him its fair share of injuries, crimson red in various states of drying smeared upon his tanned skin. Despite his condition, the only wound you were tasked to stitch was a small gash on his chest, a few centimeters below his collarbone. 

Despite not being new anymore,  the contusions your brother assigned you to treat were nothing more than busy work for someone of your knowledge. You got the feeling he wanted to keep you as far away from the horrors of war as possible, but one didn’t need to see dying men to hear their mournful cries. 

The man winced as you stitched his laceration closed, casting his gaze somewhere behind you, fixed upon the dead and the dying that surrounded him. “Did you need more painkillers?” 

He blinked, turning back to you as if remembering your presence. “No. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Oh,” You spoke softly, your hands never halting their ministrations. The wound was small enough that you were already almost done, and considering his overall condition, the pinching pain of the needle was probably the least of his worries. “You flinched, so I thought I was hurting you.”

“It’s not you,” You felt his gaze upon you, and hyper focused on your work, you refused to look into his eyes, afraid of what you might find there. “Have you ever seen a patient die?”

You stopped abruptly, his sudden inquiry leaving you sufficiently rattled. “What?” You looked up, but his attention was elsewhere, focused upon the other wounded patients in various states of agony. Realizing he wasn’t going to elaborate and meant exactly what he had asked, you sighed. “Not one of my patients, no. But in this line of work, people are always going to die.”

He laughed, and you bristled, tying off a surgeon’s knot with more force than intended. “Aren’t you too young to be speaking like that?” He craned his head to look down at you, his tail swaying slowly behind him with mild amusement. “How old are you, anyways?”

“Not much younger than you,” You replied, beginning the final stitch. “Haven’t you ever learned it’s rude to ask a woman her age?” He chuckled again, and you poked the skin of his chest. “Stay still, or I’ll never finish.”

“What if that’s what I want?” He asked, rather brazenly, and you shook your head almost subconsciously. 

“I don’t care what you want,” You tied off the final knot. “And unless you want to end up like those dead patients you care so much about, make sure to keep this clean.” You put your instruments to the side and he leaned back, letting out a sigh of relief. You realized then that despite what he had said, the process had been rather painful, if not uncomfortable at the very least. “And try to stay alive, alright?”

“Sure, sure. I look forward to seeing you again.” He stood up, stretching with a light groan despite the mangled state his body was in. You watched him limp away with mild horror as he threw you an absentminded wave. 

“You won’t.” You stated resolutely, but he was already too far down to hear you. 

He was right, of course. You saw him again on many, many different occasions. Sometimes he’d have a minor wound that just absolutely required your attention. Other times he requested a consultation with his favorite medical professional over whatever splendid meal your brother and the other cooks had prepared for dinner. The night he stole you away from the camp, you realized you’d fallen for him.

You watched him under the waning moonlight, sharing a bottle of rice liquor he’d somehow taken from the field hospital. He’d worked his way into your heart rather easily. But it wasn’t a bad thing then, your vulnerability, your propensity to fall wholly and completely.

“You’re such a liar, [Name].” Despite addressing you directly, he didn’t meet your gaze, his own fixed upon the stars. 

“What do you mean?” He took a swig of liquor. There were so many stars that night. 

“You act like you don’t give a shit,” You scoffed abruptly, snatching the bottle from his loose hold. The liquid burned your throat. You weren’t yet used to drinking, and your mind felt clouded with a heady sort of fogginess. “But you care about every single one of those patients more than anyone else.” 

“I don’t.” You shake your head, blinking away your disorientation. You stared ahead, and your head felt so heavy that your body began to lean upon him almost subconsciously. “I don’t care.”

“You’re a liar,”  He repeated, much softer. His hand cautiously wound its way upon your back to adjust you to an upright position, but found itself more comfortable around your waist. You didn’t move, nor did you complain. “It’s not a weakness, you know. Caring about people.”

“You think I don’t know that?” You spoke bitterly, but hardly above a whisper. He was so close then that you could hear every breath, feel the rising and falling of his chest. He lifted the bottle to his lips with a shaking hand. “If I care about them, and they all die, then what does that leave me with?”

“Your heart,” He was so close then. Your head felt so heavy. The stars were blurry and bright. “Your empathy. Lose that, and then there would really be nothing left of you.” 

“You have the wrong idea of me.” You were hardly aware of the way you were nuzzling yourself further into his side, conscious only of the warmth of his body, and barely of the words he spoke almost directly into your ear. 

“You can say that, but you know that I’m right,” The hand around your waist pulled you closer into himself, as if such a thing were even possible. Your vision was hazy, and every sensation felt amplified. “I like you, [Name].” You parted your lips to respond, but they were met with the mouth of the bottle that he held to your lips. You swallowed as he tilted it upwards, no longer feeling the pain of its acrid taste upon your tongue. His free hand found your chin as he set the bottle somewhere on the ground beside you, wiping a stray drop of liquor from your bottom lip. 

“I like you, too.” You said those four words for the first time, your face in his tight grip. He kissed you, tasting like rice liquor and fallen stars. 

He wasn’t anything like that imaginary lover you’d dreamed up as a little girl. Not even close. But still, you loved him, and he needed you. 

You had information he didn’t have, secrets discussed in clandestine rooms by ailing officers receiving treatment. You had a body to keep him warm at night, his grip upon you as tight as it was that night he kissed you under the stars. You gave him everything you had, even when the only thing you wanted was to be left alone.

Or, perhaps, the only thing you wanted was to be wanted. It didn’t matter, because everything soon came crumbling down, coating you in ashes and stardust. 

There was so much death, so much destruction. Had you known he was working with them you would have never—

But you had. You had unknowingly done the worst thing you could have ever done. And it was already done. They were already dead. There was nothing you could do to save them. 

So, you had no choice but to leave. Traitor, rogue, fool. All of these descriptors could be attributed to you. But they could never call you a liar, for you had never loved him with anything less than your whole heart. 

The second one appeared to pull you from the endless shadows of the abyss.

Some years after the disaster, you remained in the most desolate corners of the Yaoqing in an impromptu self imposed exile. Every night you’d lay down restlessly, tortured by the cries of the dead and damned echoing in your ears, and every morning you’d wake up with their blood between your teeth. It was an unbearable sort of existence, but every cell of your being knew that you deserved it. 

And you knew that you weren’t the one who suffered. Not really. You knew it was your cross to bear as the one responsible to live with the guilt of what you had done. Running away was selfish enough, and you found the endless punishment of remembering your misdeeds each and every day to be more than fitting. 

And thus you punished yourself, every single day. Cold river baths, freezing nights spent underneath the elements, deadly medicine trials. You’d do anything to feel a fraction of the pain and suffering you’d indirectly wrought upon others.

Yes, you’d continued to hone your skills even under such circumstances, collecting medicinal herbs and creating various antidotal elixirs in the subconscious hope that one of them would kill you.  It was a self centered, cowardly wish, but it was all yours nonetheless. 

Each night you spent in exile, those long dashed dreams of romance turned into feverish vignettes of death. It teased you, seduced you relentlessly, and each time you awoke in a cold sweat, wasting away further and further by the day. Your obsession with self deprivation quickly grew out of hand, and you hadn’t realized how sick you were becoming despite the evidence making itself known upon your person. 

One night, you danced with death itself. It held you like you were the finest treasure in the world, kissed you like you were too good to give up. Death dripped venom upon your lips, and you swallowed it like sweet ambrosia. 

And then, it disappeared into nothing, crow-feathered and equally as fleeting. 

You didn’t wake up that morning. Or the next one. Or the morning after that. 

They told you that you’d been asleep for five days. The kind folks of a small village on the fringe of the Yaoqing had diligently cared for you, patched up the wounds from your exposure to the elements and nursed you through your medicine and hypothermia induced fever. 

They didn’t know who you were, of course. News traveled slowly to this region, and to them, you were simply a weary, sick traveler in need of their aid. 

It took a while to get them to tell you how you’d ended up here in the first place. Your impromptu research “base” had been far from all facets of civilization, you’d made sure of that fact. And of course, you weren’t exactly in the state to ask many questions when you’d first woken up. 

Once your fever had finally broken, the woman caring for you became candid about the good samaritan who’d saved your life. “He was an odd gentleman. Didn’t say a single word. Dark clothing, hood over his head, ashy hair. Brought you here cradled in his arms like you were a treasure.” You weren’t sure how to respond. 

You left early the next morning while the village was asleep. The night was so quiet, and with the whispers of your deal with death at your heels, you made for the forest from whence you came.

It took an entire day to make it back to your previous spot. Whoever the man was who brought you to your caretakers had to have had either superhuman speed, strength, or both. Not to mention the gall to disappear before you could thank him properly. 

It didn’t matter. Now that you were healed, you were ready to settle into your old routine.

But you realized while collecting some herbs for an antidote that it seemed a little odd to continue your pursuit for reprieve when someone, mysterious as he may be, had put so much effort to drag you from the abyss with his bare hands. 

Almost subconsciously, you dropped the handful of plants you were holding. Your body moved on its own while your mind remained preoccupied, searching every dark corner of the area for some sort of sign. The wind obfuscated your search, rustling the leaves of the trees, and your shadow taunted you with its insistent presence as the sun set in the westward direction of that little village.

Having thoroughly run through your options, you stopped in the middle of a clearing. You noticed for the first time after your long day of travel that you were exhausted, and suspected that perhaps you hadn’t fully healed from your bout of illness. Instinctively, your gaze drifted to a patch of the herbs from earlier just a few meters away from you, the bright flowers seeming to beckon to you. You stood up, intending to heed their call. Perhaps now was as good a time as any to—

“Looking for someone?” A quiet, almost uncertain voice spoke from the farthest reaches of the clearing. You froze, lithe fingers brushing against the leathery petals of the poisonous flower. 

Frightened and suddenly hopeful, you glanced over your shoulder only to find no one there. You turned your attention back to the flowers, and the wind pummeled at your back with unknown urgency. A ghostlike tap on your shoulder, and you turned around to find him standing behind you. 

Tall, hooded, clothed in dark hues, and ashen haired, he looked exactly as the woman had described him. Despite having shown himself to you, there was an air of insecurity to him, as if he was unsure of exactly why he’d done what he did. 

Still, he tilted his head at you inquisitively, seemingly content to stay silent until you’d given him an answer. 

“Yes,” He didn’t react, continuing to stare at you in that odd, unreadable way. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” He returned your question, his gaze flickering toward the patch of foliage behind you. “And after I took you all that way to the village.” 

“It was you.” You responded incredulously rather than answer his question. “I’ve been wanting to thank you, but they say you disappeared before I even woke up.” You tilted your head at him, mirroring his actions. “Why?”

“There was no further need for my presence.” He stated bluntly, once more glancing behind you. You fidgeted with your hands behind your back like a guilty child. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh,” You were sufficiently caught off guard by his lack of willingness to allow you to skirt around the question. “Well, I thought I might have left some things back here. Medicines and such,” You unwittingly and rather tellingly gestured to the plants that seemed to be so very intriguing to him. “Just wanted to come back and check.”

“Wrong answer,” He stated matter of factly, and your eyebrows furrowed. “You didn’t have much with you, but I left all your belongings and medicines with the villagers.” He blinked, his expression as unchanging as if he hadn’t completely called your bluff. “I made sure to warn them that one dose too many could kill the average Foxian.”

“How did you manage to carry me and my stuff too?” You quickly redirected the conversation, crossing your arms over your chest and sincerely hoping to distract him from discovering the real reason behind your return. 

“Simple. I have pockets.” He showed you the insides of his cloak, which were indeed outfitted with handy storage pockets. “And you aren’t exactly hard to carry.”

You reluctantly decided to continue your interrogation, much to your shared dismay.“Well, how did you find me here in the first place?” This particular question seemed to succeed in making him uncomfortable and he blinked quickly, seemingly caught off guard. “And why did you bring me there?” 

He closed his eyes momentarily, sighing resignedly. “I just happened to be passing through. You were unconscious, so I brought you to the nearest village.” He turned over his shoulder, walking back in the direction of the wooded area. “You ask too many questions.” 

“Well, thank you.” You called after him, quieter than intended. He didn’t respond.

He made it a few more steps towards the dense thicket before stopping abruptly, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Aren’t you going to follow me?”

You hesitated. “Where?” 

“Back to the village. You’re still sick.” He stated as if his intentions were entirely obvious. You blinked, incredulous. 

You followed him back, of course, complaining and bitching. Because he was right, you were still sick. And he had to carry you most of the way there, which was rather awkward because this time you were actually conscious. 

But the main reason you allowed him to take you back to the little town was because he hadn’t properly answered your question about why he even saved you in the first place. Because there’s no way he simply stumbled upon you in the middle of a desolate forest, far from the rest of humanity, to say nothing of cell service. A part of you wondered if he just wanted someone to be indebted to him.

You weren’t sure, but you didn’t get that impression. He was blunt, but undeniably kind, stolid, but somehow charmingly awkward. And if testimony from the villagers was to be believed, he was most talkative around you and others could hardly receive even a grunt from him. 

And after profusely thanking the kind folks that had so selflessly cared for you in your hour of need, and a week’s worth of well needed rest, you felt significantly better. Of course, your physical condition was back in good shape, thanks to a superfluous amount of meals cooked by your host and devoured by you (and that man never seemed to have an appetite, if the amount of his food he tried to discreetly add onto your plate meant anything,) and you regained some common sense. 

Yes, after some time with the villagers, who were entirely content with living a simple life far out of the reaches of the Xianzhou modern conveniences, you learned three simple truths. 

The first. What use were you to anyone if you suffered until you were nothing at all? You quickly busied yourself with day to day tasks—doing laundry, helping make meals, treating the scraped knees and skinned elbows of the children—and you learned that the better state of mind you were in, the more you could do for others. And that mysterious companion of yours seemed to have a sixth sense for whenever your guilt and self-loathing began to take over, and was so good at distracting you that you didn’t even know you’d been distracted until your attention was successfully diverted. Sometimes at night, plagued by images of the horrors you’d seen unfold before you, you’d hear rustling by your bedside. Thinking you were imagining things, you’d close your eyes again, only to open them blearily and find him standing by the window, his back towards you. You didn’t know why, but the fact that he stayed with you even then made it easier to fall asleep.

The second. Isolating yourself made things impossibly worse. Your unfounded fear that everyone could smell the evil on you and would treat you like a pariah was proved false daily by the kindness of your hosts, who treated you like a member of their own family. And even when the villagers left you alone, that crow feathered weirdo remained stuck to you like your shadow. As annoying as it may have been at first, it kept you away from your own thoughts, even if you were just sitting in comfortable silence. 

“Do you ever even sleep?” You asked one night across the still darkness, his back turned to you as he gazed out of the small window at nothing in particular.

“I don’t need to.” He didn’t turn around, but you knew you still had his full attention.

“Everyone needs sleep.” You teased lightly, tiredly.

He sighed. “Let me rephrase that. You need to sleep more than I do.” 

“I think I’ve done enough sleeping,” He didn’t respond, but you caught him glancing over his shoulder at your form in the small makeshift bed, sitting upright amongst the pillows. “Do you want to sit with me?” You weren’t entirely sure what possessed you to ask. You were even less sure what possessed him to agree, fixing you with an uneasy stare before awkwardly sitting beside you on the pallet.

You stayed up the entire night talking. Or, rather surprisingly, he did most of the talking. Neither of you discussed anything important, but his calm company was soothing, and as he spoke quietly of ordinary things, you found yourself closing the distance between the two of you. You moved gently, slowly, and at the same pace he unstiffened, allowing you to rest your head upon his shoulder.

You fell asleep like that sometime during the early hours of the morning. And perhaps you were dreaming, but you swore you felt a gentle hand stroking your hair as you drifted off.

And thus, the third truth was the most frightening. A part of your heart had attached itself to that man, for as eccentric as he was, he never left your side. At first, you attributed your feelings to the sole fact of him having saved your life, but as the days crawled on, that irksome flutter in your chest persisted. And the more time you spent with him, the more he began to talk, and the more you began to listen. You were never any good at that before. But with him, it came as naturally as breathing.

The first time you kissed him, he melted into you.

He had been laying beside you on the pallet, having become more comfortable with the casual intimacy and reassurance the two of you shared. Your faces were close, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breathing fanning across your face, how it quickened when you brought a gentle hand to the cut of his jaw. You spoke his name softly, and it seemed like he stopped breathing completely. “Thank you.” You whispered across the pillow. Then, you pressed your lips gently to his. 

Yes, he melted into you like it was something he was waiting for his entire life. And perhaps it was, because his existence seemed like a terribly lonely one. And every time he shut his mouth for fear no one would listen to a word he had to say, the piece of your heart he carried with him wrenched in his hand. 

He held you so tightly that the both of you feared if he let go you’d shatter. You were the first to relinquish your grip.

You left the village after a nondescript period of time, preemptively mourning the loss of the simple life shared with its inhabitants and your unorthodox benefactor. You’d all mutually decided it was the best decision for you, and although your next destination was as of yet unknown, you found yourself caring for the implications of the future less and less. 

It wasn’t out of a sense of nihility, though. In fact, it was quite the opposite, for that man who stayed by your side day in and day out had managed to possess your thoughts enough that you were unable to think of a future that didn’t have him in it. 

So, you traveled, sticking vehemently to the fringe towns on the outskirts of the Yaoqing where whispers of the current events of the more inhabited areas were few and far between. You slept beside him in their various inns or in the houses of generous townspeople, his watch by the window relinquished for an insistent focus on the way you breathed while you slept. 

You didn’t really know your way around your homeland, having only left the city on the grounds of your self banishment. So he led the way, sometimes carrying you, always holding your hand as you forged an unknown path with no destination in particular.

At least, that was the impression he had you under. 

“Looks like we’re getting closer to civilization.” You commented offhandedly, having just checked out of a month’s long stay at a riverside inn. The place had been lovely, and you relinquished your cold baths for warm soaks in the hot springs (which had taken an insurmountable amount of convincing for him to join you, which he only did when you reminded him that you had already seen him naked, a fact that left him sufficiently flustered.) 

He simply grunted in response, and you furrowed your eyebrows, for he usually was more than willing to entertain even your most frivolous remarks. Yes, something was different that day, and he’d hardly spoken a word to you despite maintaining a loose hold on your smaller hand. “Am I allowed to ask where you’re taking me?”

He didn’t answer. Your stomach twisted as you came to a horrifying realization. How stupid you’d been to not realize—

“We’re heading towards the city, aren’t we?” Thinking aloud, your words were less of a question, and more of a conclusion. He stopped abruptly, lowering his head. “When were you going to tell me?”

“I didn’t know how,” He spoke almost shamefully, his gaze still fixed upon the earth. “You know it’s what’s best.”

You dropped his hand, betrayed now that he had finally confirmed your suspicions. “I don’t know that. You know I’m never going back there. Who sent you? I should’ve known that they would do this.“

“[Name],”  He turned to face you. You didn’t say anything. The wind rustled through the trees. He sighed. “It was General Feixiao. She—“

“General? So she’s a general now?” It was your turn to cut him off,  scoffing bitterly with your venom tipped canines on display. “A promotion or two, and she’s sending her crows to take me back there. I should’ve known.”

“I don’t know what you think you know, but you’ve got it all wrong.” He almost looked hurt, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter. All of this to bring you back to the place you never wanted to see again, and to think you’d fallen in love with him—

How foolish you’d been. How idiotic for you to have been led astray by that wind that rustles feathers and claims naive hearts. 

Dusk approached. Your shadows lengthened. “I’m leaving.”

“If that’s what you want, then I can’t stop you.” He spoke, sounding bereaved. You wondered if he knew he still held your heart in his hands, the pumping blood cascading through his lithe fingers. 

“It is.” Perhaps you were a liar, for you knew what you wanted at that moment, and it wasn’t to leave him here, hope-drunk and silently begging you to stay. 

And it was your duty to deny yourself of the things you desired. 

You walked back into the direction of the woods as the sun set, the abyss claiming you once more. Your dreams dissipated like shadowy wisps as he left for the city, taking a piece of you with him.

And you left, as you’d promised to do, for you’d never lie to him the way he had to you. Not ever.

The third one offered you wisdom in a golden chalice, and you drank it gratefully, the warm wine burning your tongue as it slid down your throat.

The Xianzhou Luofu was positively the last place you’d ever expect to end up following your retreat back into the darkness. But alas, you had concluded that as long as you stayed on the Yaoqing, there’d always be someone trying to drag you back from whence you came. And you weren’t going back there, not ever. 

Getting there was the first challenge. Luckily, some of that man’s directional expertise had rubbed off on you, and you managed to head due south, following directions from the inhabitants of the places you stopped along the way until you made it to a smaller port city. 

When you smuggled yourself amongst the cargo on an unattended ship— something that would likely be next to impossible these days, you suppose— you had no idea where the vessel’s final destination was to be. You could’ve ended up on an entirely different planet for all you knew, and you didn’t care. The only thing you knew for certain was that you had to go, and it didn’t matter to you where. 

And you’d definitely underestimated the difficulty of the trip. You thought after traversing almost the entire perimeter of the Yaoqing, you could handle anything, and frankly, you had incorrectly concluded that you were small enough to hide comfortably on the cargo ship. 

You’d been terribly wrong. And funnily enough, you also failed to consider what would happen if the ship wasn’t as unattended as it had been once it finally arrived to its recipients. Luckily, it wasn’t a very long trip, but it was long enough to bring that thought— along with a sense of insurmountable dread— to mind.

And how incredibly stupid of you it had been to fall asleep halfway through the ride. 

You were shaken awake an unknown amount of time later by an uncomfortable prodding. You sat up straight, fluffy ears standing at attention. You rose fast enough to hit your head on a nearby crate, and looked through hazy eyes at a pair of Cloud Knights, one staring at you with alarm, the other seeming amused. “This piece of cargo wasn’t on the shipment list.” The latter sheathed his sword, the hilt of which must have been that mysterious poking that had woken you from your deep sleep.

You blinked the shock away, recovering as fast as humanly possible. “Double check that list. You must not be looking close enough,” You deadpanned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, stretching out your legs. “Gonna tell on me?”

His companion spoke, a hand resting nervously on the hilt of his own blade. “We’re required by nature of our job description–”

“I don’t give a fuck about your ‘job,’” You groaned, standing up, brushing the dust and cobwebs from the peachy fur of your tail. “Are you turning me in to your boss or not?”

The nervous, younger looking Knight turned to his companion for an answer, who shrugged in response. He turned back to you, and despite the bite to your voice, you realized you likely looked thoroughly disheveled and even more exhausted despite your little cat nap. In fact, if you could see his face, he likely would be looking at you with unadulterated pity. “Zhi Peng, look at her. We can’t just…”

“Haitao. Zhi Peng,” A deep, coarse voice sounded from the distance. Both knights startled, sharing a brief glance that remained unreadable behind their helmets. “What’s so interesting over here?” The man known as Haitao cursed under his breath. Zhi Peng looked like he was about to wet himself. 

“What do we do?” You whispered, but neither man responded verbally, and while Haitao shifted to cover your smaller form, Zhi Peng remained frozen in place, horrified. “Is that your supervisor or something?” 

Haitao simply nodded. “What are you two doing?” The supervisor called, and his voice sounded closer. 

Your eyes widened with fear. Haitao cursed again. “Just stay quiet.” 

“Zhi Peng, tell me immediately what is happening?” The supervisor hissed, and you heard the meek knight in question let out a strangled cry that sounded oddly like he had been grabbed by the breastplate of his uniform. 

“The cargo. There’s a stowaway in the cargo.” Zhi Peng managed through a choked voice, and there was a thud as he was released upon the ground. You scoffed quietly, your sharp canines digging into your bottom lip. Didn’t take the fucker much pressure to cave in, did it? Although you did feel bad that he’d been tossed around on your behalf. 

“Haitao. Is this true?” The knight who had you trapped beneath his form glanced once more at you, and then at his officer.

Then, he grabbed your arm tight enough to bruise, shifting to reveal your presence. “Yup. Found this little fox hiding amongst the military shipments.” 

“Mother fucker.” You hissed. His grip on your arm tightened as he dragged you in the direction of the disembodied voice that you’d heard earlier, which belonged to an even larger man in a slightly different uniform. Just your luck to get discovered by the most spineless little grunts out there. You couldn’t have been captured by an officer, or even a general?

The larger man scrutinized you, his shielded gaze lingering upon you for longer than you were comfortable with. “I know who this is.” 

You blinked. “That isn’t possible.”

“Yes, it is. You’re the nurse that deserted the Yaoqing army all those years ago,” You froze. So he did, indeed, know who you were. Again, just your fucking luck. “We keep close military contact with our allies.” 

“I prefer ‘medic,’” You deflected, shooting Haitao the nastiest look you could muster as you attempted to wrench free of his grip. “Even ‘practitioner' is acceptable.” The man refused to relent, and you let out a noise akin to a snarl as your bicep began to burn.

“I don’t care what you are,” The officer brushed you off as easily as swatting a fly, and your eyebrows furrowed with further annoyance at being treated so trivially. “Do you two remember your orders for a fugitive situation?” He addressed his two underlings, who vehemently nodded with a chorus of yes sir’s.

“Fugitive situation?” You protested, unable to ignore the way Zhi Peng flanked the unoccupied side of your body. “That’s not what this is.” The other soldier grabbed your other arm, although significantly gentler than his companion. 

Ignoring your objections, the officer continued to deliver orders to his men, who began to march you behind him as you headed somewhere entirely unbeknownst to you. 

You asked quite a few questions on the way there. Where are you taking me? Am I going to jail? Will there be a bathroom? Are you sending me back to the Yaoqing? I’m hungry. Although the last of which was more of a statement. 

The point being that none of your objections nor your questions received competent answers. And the moment you reached an area you would later learn to be called the Exalting Sanctum, the soldiers on the other side of you promptly let go of your arms. Before you could even massage the pain of their grasp away, their officer had grabbed you again. “You two are dismissed. The General will know what to do with her.” 

The knights bowed respectfully to their supervisor before departing, both sparing you a second glance over their shoulders, one you met with a look that hopefully conveyed just how much you despised them. Once they were out of earshot, the larger man grabbed you by the back of the neck. “Now listen here,” You yelped as he leaned down, his gruff voice directly in your ear. “The General has requested you be brought directly to him for whatever reason. I personally couldn’t give less of a shit what happens to a traitor like you, but clearly he finds you useful in some way,” You were unable to control the tear that spilled from your watery eyes at the pain of his large hand tightening around your neck. “So you better not fuck this up for yourself, alright?” 

You didn’t move, warm teardrops streaming down your ruddy cheeks. Realizing he wasn’t going to relinquish you until you responded in some way, you nodded, with quite a degree of difficulty considering his hand was still indeed wrapped around your neck. He released you, and you fell to the ground, coughing. He didn’t wait for you to catch your breath before taking you inside.

“General,” He led you up the carpeted stairs in the General’s office, the deep red color suddenly foreboding as the man’s words echoed in your mind. What use could the General of the Luofu possibly have for you if not to punish you for your desertion? You were so stupid, in fact, in a lifetime of stupid decisions, this was by far the stupidest thing you could’ve ever done— “I’ve brought the Yaoqing’s fugitive.”

The Cloud Knights stationed along the landing of the stairs didn’t spare you a passing glance as you approached the General’s desk. The man let go of you, instead shoving you in his direction before bowing chastely. “I know it’s been a while since we discussed the protocol for her discovery, so I thought I’d bring her here for you to decide what to do with her.”

White haired, long-lashed and heavy-eyed, the General regarded the man before him with complete disinterest. “Thank you,” His gaze landed upon you, the sorry state you must have been in, and his serene expression faltered momentarily. “But, please, remind me where in the protocol it states that it’s acceptable to treat a woman so barbarically,” Slowly, tiredly, he rose from his desk, approaching you where you stood shakily upon your sore feet. “It’s deplorable.” 

For the first time, your impromptu captor was speechless. “Sir, I…”

“No explanation is needed. You can expect further disciplinary notice in the next few days.” The General refused to even meet his eye, his attention instead focused concernedly upon you. “You are dismissed.” 

He didn’t say anything to you immediately upon the other man’s departure, still scrutinizing your visible condition— the bruises on your arms from the Cloud Knights, the dirt and dust still clinging to your clothes from the cargo ship— and you sighed. “Am I under arrest, General?”

He blinked, genuinely surprised. “Not at all.”

“Then what’s my punishment?” You shrugged, shifting your weight. “You know, for treason.” 

He raised an eyebrow at you, and for some reason you got the feeling that you two were each having completely different conversations. He gestured to the chair behind his desk. “Have a seat.” 

“That’s your chair.” You raised an eyebrow, and he simply nodded in confirmation. Realizing he wasn’t going to continue until you sat down, you sighed, doing what you were told. Your feet were killing you from being cramped up for so long, anyways.

Once you had made yourself comfortable, he began to speak. “You’re not under arrest, nor are you receiving any punishment.” 

“Then why did you request for me to be brought here immediately upon my capture?” You fiddled anxiously with the fabric of your clothes, anticipating his response. “With all due respect, General, sir, it’s a bit confusing.”

He stared at you for a moment, unreadable, before suddenly bursting out into boisterous laughter. “Ah, it is, isn’t it?” Your mouth fell open, surprised by his swift change in demeanor, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Allow me to explain. I’m well aware of your talent as a medical practitioner. And considering that you currently owe a debt to the Xianzhou Alliance’s military, well…” He gently rested his palms upon the desk, leaning over you in a way that was more expectant than imposing. “We’d like you to work with our branch of the Alchemy Commission.” 

“Me? Work for the Alchemy Commission? That’s all?” You were unable to suppress the breathless, incredulous laugh that escaped your lips. “Forgive me, sir, but that’s a rather light punishment.” 

“I already said you weren’t being punished.” He raised an eyebrow, simultaneously amused and concerned. “Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know. But there’s one thing I don’t want.” You bit your lip, considering the possible ramifications of telling him exactly how to torture you most effectively. “If you don’t intend to punish me, then don’t send me back there.” 

“Right. You were rather lucky to end up here, aren’t you?” He chuckled once more, and who knew the Luofu's General was so good-natured? You supposed a man like that needed some entertainment to liven up his day. But it wasn’t going to be you. 

“I wouldn’t call it luck,” You scoffed bitterly, absentmindedly moving your hair from behind your shoulders. You saw his eyes widen in shock, and realized with embarrassment that your subconscious movement had exposed to him the bruise that the brute of an officer had left from his grasp upon your neck. “Oh. Ignore that. That officer of yours got a bit too handsy.” You shrugged, despite the tears you’d swallowed down after the initial incident threatening to rise back up in your throat. 

“That seems to be putting it rather lightly, don’t you think?” His good mood was effectively dashed, his worried gaze fixed upon your neck. Suddenly self conscious, you moved your hair to cover it once more. “And rest assured, after his behavior today, he is no longer any officer of mine. That isn’t how my men operate.”

You scoffed, recalling the behavior of the low ranking Cloud Knights before you’d even met the officer. “If you sincerely believe that, you don’t know your men at all.” You gasped sharply upon realizing the ramifications of your words, quickly backtracking. “Forgive me, that was incredibly disrespectful. And I’m already in this position—” 

“It’s alright. I suppose I do have some more work to do on the ground as opposed to sitting up in this stuffy old office all the time.” He sighed, offering you a small, reassuring smile. 

“Sir, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place is beautiful.” You gestured to your comparatively luxurious surroundings.  “Not exactly what I’d call ‘stuffy.’” Anything beats that dusty shipment container. 

“Anywhere can become stifling if you spend enough time there. Beauty has nothing to do with it. I’m sure you know that just as well as I do.” He laughed awkwardly, almost self-deprecating. “Ah, look at me, rambling on again. I’ll alert your supervisor at the Commission of your arrival. Your lodgings will be arranged at a nearby inn, so go wash up and get a good night’s sleep.” He reached for a spare piece of paper that rested upon the surface of his desk, quickly scrawling the name of the inn for your reference.  “Your work begins at sunrise tomorrow.” 

You gingerly took the paper from him, folding it gently before sliding it protectively into the pocket of your shorts. “I don’t know what I did to deserve such generosity, but thank you. Sincerely.” 

“You don’t have to thank me. You’ll pay off your debt soon enough.” He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. Neither of you moved. As if realizing the impropriety of his actions, he quickly retracted his arm, instead offering you a small nod.  “Go.”

You rose from your— his — chair and made for the exit, already envisioning the hot shower and warm inn-cooked meal you were going to have. Suddenly remembering the constraints of respect, you froze halfway down the stairs, turning to offer the General a stiff, clumsy bow. 

You left with his almost-fond chuckle at your heels, intending to scrub the remains of your idiocy from your skin. 

The Luofu branch of the Alchemy Commission was significantly different from the one back home. Although the work hours were just as insane, its employees genuinely enjoyed their jobs, if your master was anything to go off of. 

Dark brown haired with cutely pointed ears and deep ruby eyes, Lingsha was incredibly skilled, and just as well-composed. She smelled lovely, too, a fact you noted as she showed you where each of the supplies were located.  As she explained the rules with which the Luofu’s branch operated, you found your mind wandering elsewhere, wondering what kind of woman you’d be if only you had a calm spirit, to say nothing of impulse control. 

“I diagnose ailments a bit differently. I’m sure you’re familiar with aromatic therapy?” Lingsha spoke as she stood before a presently empty cauldron. A nice, herbal scent lingered around it, and you concluded that she had to smell so nice from working around aromatics every day. 

“Yes, we use it quite a bit on the Yaoqing. I’m definitely not as skilled as you are, though.” Your intentions on your first day were to emphasize your competency without seeming too confident. The last thing you wanted was for your new boss to think you were trying to outshine her in any way.

“Anyone can learn, and you already have the background, so don’t worry about that.” Lingsha had mercifully not seemed to glean that impression from you, treating you with kindness despite you really only being there to work off a debt wrought by your own stupidity. “I can’t teach you how to utilize the cauldron, though.”

You nodded, offering her a small, grateful smile. “Let’s get to work, shall we?” 

Despite your feigned eagerness to get on the job, she tried to breach a different, non-work related subject with you come lunch break. “You know, I once traveled far from home too.”

Unimpressed, you chewed your braised pork. “Really?”

“I followed my master when she was banished. It was quite jarring at first, but I learned so much and improved my craft.” She picked at her food with her chopsticks, seeming to favor attempting to connect with you over shared circumstances more than eating. 

“I see.” You, on the other hand, did not much enjoy having your meal interrupted by useless talking, no matter how good the intentions behind it may be. 

She sighed, noticing your unwillingness to converse. “All of this to say, I understand how you feel.”

Do you? You found yourself wondering, almost shamefully, for the woman’s intentions were clearly to make you feel more comfortable working away from home. But being young and irrational, you couldn’t help but believe your situation was undeniably unique. 

Of course, it wasn’t, nor were your experiences anything special. And realizing this, you kept your mouth shut, simply nodding in respectful acknowledgment of her statement. 

You finished the rest of your lunch in silence, your new mentor finally recognizing that you weren’t quite in the mood for conversation. You did, however, catch her sending a few fleeting glances your way, sometimes concerned, sometimes curious. 

The first day of your impromptu apprenticeship ended with barely any further words exchanged between the two of you. You parted ways with a few polite goodbyes, and you beelined for the closest restaurant with a myriad of conflicting thoughts swarming your mind. 

And the work did get significantly more bearable the longer you did it. Even the early mornings were alright, considering you had to get up in the wee hours of the morning back as a medic for the Yaoqing. Not to mention, with the minor ailments being the only ones Lingsha initially sent your way, you felt like you were back at the army hospital with your brother stifling you beneath his scrutinizing glare. It was all rather banal.

You weren’t the only one bored almost to death by day to day work, however.

The first time the General stopped by your office for a check up, you were on your best behavior. Convinced he was only there to observe your progress, you prepared to conduct a thorough examination  that addressed all of his concerns. 

“So, you’re telling me you’re experiencing extreme drowsiness.” You read from your notes, taking this far more seriously than you should’ve. He was indeed a patient, after all, and an important one at that. Even if he was just bullshitting you, you were under a medical obligation to heed his concerns. 

“Yes, doctor. My eyes are simply too heavy to hold open.” He spoke dramatically, although you got the sense he was holding back a laugh. 

“I’m not a doctor,” You simply stared, incredulous. “And there’s not much I can do for you in that regard. I can make you some tea?”

“Tea would be lovely,” He smiled up at you, although even with him being seated you were nearly at eye level.  “Come to think of it, I have the most wonderful tea set at the Seat of Divine Foresight.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit of a walk from here, don’t you think?”

“If you don’t want to travel all that way, I can bring it here.” He rose from the chair, towering over you once more as he made for the door. 

“Oh, you wanted me to drink the tea with you?” You began to follow him, and he sent you a mirthful glance over his shoulder. 

“You were the one who suggested it after all.” He noted, almost offhandedly, and you paused to consider the offer. 

“Well, I suppose I could take a lunch break right about now.” You also supposed that he’d never intended to leave the clinic without you, anyways. 

Agreeing to let him steal you away from your duties was a mistake. Because one lunch break became two, which became three, which became entire shifts once you realized Lingsha could easily handle the steady trickle of patients herself, and the General would always provide her an excuse for your absence— however ridiculous it may be. 

You met with him a few times outside of those sleepy afternoon hours, too. Once he realized your passion for fine Luofu cuisine, and having an impressive appetite of his own,  he took you to all of the best spots, and watched you fondly as you inhaled your meals. You’d share drinks afterwards, and without fail, he’d walk you back to the inn, sometimes with a gentlemanly hand hovering over your back so your tipsiness didn’t get the better of you on those tricky stairs.

And that was all it was, communion, camaraderie. Until the night you invited Lingsha along for dinner and drinks by way of apology for shirking your duties. 

You had far more of that familiar rice wine than usual, likely due to anxiety that the woman in question hated you for your truancy. After a few shots, you were limber and loose, your inside thoughts spilling from your tongue as if it were the most normal thing in the world. 

The General, despite his size and tendency to be able to hold his liquor, seemed a bit more far gone than usual, too, if the way he laughed and spoke quite louder than usual in response to your jabbering was anything to go off. Lingsha, in contrast, drank slowly, mindfully, sipping at her beverage while eyeing the two of you with a mix of concern and amusement. 

And neither of you really noticed when she gracefully ducked out, citing her early shift in the morning as her reason for departure. Your witty banter continued, your knee brushing his beneath the table, his much larger hand resting atop yours on the wooden surface. 

You kept drinking, of course. And things progressed. Very quickly. And you were, as always, horribly stupid. 

You remember him paying the bill, taking your hand as you stood up, swaying on your feet. The night was humid and starless, the condensation in the air contributing to the haze in your mind. He had a loose arm wrapped around your waist as you started in the direction of the inn. 

You remember, rather boldly, asking instead for a tour of his place. You remember him agreeing. 

His house was quite spacious. You stumbled past the entrance and he caught you, laughing intoxicatedly. You didn’t make it past the kitchen before he had you leaned up against the counters, his face centimeters away from your own. He was saying something, but your brain wasn’t registering. Rather than responding, or even asking him to repeat himself, you raised up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

Yes, things did progress rather quickly from there.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t remember— or enjoy — anything you partook in. In fact, you recall being rather entrenched in bliss as he had you pinned beneath him, your legs wrapped tightly around his hips to pull him impossibly closer. Your long nails clawed at the skin of his back and you were too far gone to tell him it was too much, or not enough, you weren’t really sure. Whatever the sensation was, it was incredible, your toes curling as he mouthed at the sensitive skin at the junction of your neck, a deft hand sliding between your bodies to push you over the edge. 

It was too much. And it wasn’t enough.

You woke up the next morning, somehow satisfied, moderately hungover, your face having been buried in his broad chest. Naturally, he was still fast asleep,  breathing serenely beneath you as long lashes brushed against his cheeks. 

And naturally, you sat up, oriented yourself, dressed, and left. 

It wasn’t anything you’d ever done before; slept with someone you cared about and left without another word. But you had a feeling it was the only way to do this without ripping yourself apart again, without leaving a piece of yourself behind beneath his once-pristine sheets.

And despite the way every single thing between the two of you had been turned on its side after a single night, you found yourself sitting behind his desk once more during your lunch break as he smiled down at you, gaze lingering on the poorly concealed marks just above the neckline of your shirt. You tugged it upwards as you’d been doing all day, but it was no use, for he leaned down to kiss you as if there weren’t numerous guards stationed around the entrance.

And you let him, like that’s how it was between the two of you all along.  

Which was to say that those breathless nights spent at his place after work became a frequent occurrence. And when you’d show up early to work the next morning, half asleep and abnormally chipper, Lingsha would only raise a suspicious eyebrow before telling you to rewash your hands and get to work. 

“I’ve always been quite curious if a Foxian’s sense of smell is as refined as mine.” Your mentor commented offhandedly after the two of you had just seen off a young Foxian patient who was experiencing abnormal tail shedding. Lingsha had performed some aromatherapy and sent the poor girl home with some oils to apply to the area on a strict regimen. 

You shrugged, your fingers absentmindedly and protectively rubbing through the silken fur of your own tail. “I wouldn’t say ‘as refined,’ but I’ve certainly got a good nose.”

She hummed in acknowledgment, peeling off her gloves. “Really? So can you detect the scent of other people on yourself?”

Your eyebrows furrowed as your hands continued working through your fur, unsure of the relevance behind her line of questioning. “Sometimes.”

“So, you must be well aware that you smell entirely of the General.” Your ministrations froze.

 You turned slowly to face her, only to see her expression as unchanged as before, examining her pristine cuticles as if what she’d said was the most normal thing in the world.  “I’m sorry?” 

“It’s not an unpleasant smell, it’s just so overbearing that your scent is layered all the way at the bottom.” She diverted her attention elsewhere, assuming an air of nonchalance as she began to rearrange her bottles of scented oil.  “What did you do, roll around in his bed or something?” 

You opened your mouth to respond, only to close it once more. “...No comment.”

“Aeons above. There’s my answer.” Lingsha groaned, setting a glass vial down with slightly more force than was necessary. 

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” You responded coyly, the embarrassment giving way to an unfamiliar yet deep seated urge to make her even more uncomfortable as a twisted form of deflection.. 

“That’s not entirely true. I want some answers.” 

And boy, did you answer her many, many questions. In fact, the remainder of your lunch hour was spent detailing the progression of the affair between you and the General. You were mildly disappointed that you missed out on spending the time with him, but you figured you could make it up to him in a rather meaningful way later that evening. 

Besides, the look on Lingsha’s face as you spoke— an amalgamation of shock, incredulity, and curiosity— was well worth it. And if the woman didn’t trust you before, she sure did now that you took the time to describe your sex life in intricate detail— in response to her insistent prompting, of course.

You met up with him that evening. And the next. And the one after that. And despite your habit of slipping out in the early hours of the morning like a creature of the night, you stuck around one morning. 

It was the dawn of your weekly day off, and you were positively exhausted from work and a myriad of other, irrelevant things, no thanks to the man who slept soundly beneath you. And even though you’d slept well enough yourself, you couldn’t help but feel restless as your cheek rested against the bare skin of his chest. 

You knew this was casual. It didn’t mean anything. Both of you understood that. But as you watched him sleep, your thumb absentmindedly tracing the mark beneath his eye, something familiar stirred in your chest. You didn’t want to leave. 

The feeling persisted as you ate breakfast with him, neither of you acknowledging just how far from the norm this was. It intensified as you stepped into the shower beside him, unwilling to leave each other alone for even half a system hour. It threatened to swallow you whole when he brushed your hair, large fingers raking through the damp strands as you leaned into his touch, horribly infatuated by the whole situation. When he kissed you in the pavilion after you walked him to work, you felt like you were drowning. 

What a stupid woman you were, you thought as you sat on the arm of his chair, his free hand wrapped around your waist as he pretended to focus on whatever dull paperwork sat on his desk. When the Master Diviner walked in, his grip tightened despite the look of unadulterated distaste she sent your way. “I had something important to discuss with you, General, but it seems you’re presently occupied.” Her words were dripping with acrimony, but you were too far beneath the waves to care. 

He hummed without sparing a glance towards the small woman. “Yes, I am presently inundated with paperwork,” His large palm slid further downwards, digging into your hip behind the desk. “If it can wait, we can discuss whatever it is at a later time.” 

The woman blinked, inhaling sharply at the shameless display before her. “Fine. I’ll come back at a much, much later time.” The General’s gaze remained fixed on the paper despite his attention clearly being elsewhere, if the hand caressing your backside said anything. “Or never.” Fu Xuan muttered to herself as she left, likely wishing to take her brain out and wipe it clean of the last five minutes. 

The more he made it clear he didn’t care who knew what existed between the two of you, if anything, the more you fixated on it until it was all you could think about. You’d been burned once, twice, by relationships wrought by your own selfless devotion, and you’d fallen into this one while caught in the throes of your own greed. So perhaps, it had to be a sign that this could work? 

And no matter how hard you tried, you could not stop yourself from craving his complete affections, in sharing every aspect of your life with him. Even though he was so often unreadable, you knew deep down that a part of you had stuck with him. You only prayed it was significant enough to last. 

One night, you held his face in your hands as you straddled his abdomen, and despite holding some of the control, you let him take everything from you that you had to give. When the both of you were thoroughly satisfied, he kissed you like you were his, and in all ways but one, you were. 

Your mouth didn’t give either of you much time to bask in the afterglow, for the moment you’d shifted to untangle yourself with him, it spoke without your common sense’s consent. “I’ve been thinking.” Perhaps this was a bad time, but you supposed there never was an ideal one for these sorts of conversations. At least you’d waited until he wasn’t inside you any longer. 

“Have you?” He said, his voice still low and rumbling in a way that made you shift uncomfortably atop him. “What about, my dear?” He pulled you down so your chest was flush against his, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your temple. 

You let out a quick gasp, trying to disguise the way his affection had left you reeling. “Us.” 

“What’s there to think about?” He responded good-naturedly, teasingly tugging at your tail.“We’re here, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but…” He clearly hadn’t yet grasped the seriousness of your train of thought, for his wandering hand abandoned the fur of your tail to grab a handful of your backside.  “Hey.” You warned, swatting it away as he laughed, unashamed.  “I guess I should start by asking this. What do you want from me?”

He blinked, his expression sobering as he finally caught your drift. “Whatever you’re willing to give.”

You scoffed. Despite your heart hoping otherwise, you should’ve known he’d dance his way around your questioning, ever-skilled at circumlocution.. “That’s a cop out.”

“I still don’t understand what you’re asking.” He clarified gently, his hands rubbing soothingly up your sides. Your annoyance deflated significantly, your body welcoming his touch. 

“Fine. I’m asking if you want me to be your girlfriend. Partner. Whatever you want to call it.” His hands halted their ministrations as he looked up at you, his expression indecipherable. 

“Where is this coming from?” He spoke after a beat had passed, tilting his head at you with what seemed like genuine confusion. Whatever it was angered you, because if he really had no idea what you were talking about, he must have been fucking you with his eyes closed. Because it was clear as day to the Cloud Knights, Lingsha, Fu Xuan, everyone who saw the two of you together, what was happening. 

“The fuck do you mean, ‘where is this coming from?’” Your annoyance morphed into a sense of betrayal, spilling from your mouth like murderous venom. “You take me out to dinner multiple times a week, I sit in your office all day like your little pet, I practically live at your house.” Then, the betrayal melted away to hurt.  “And still, I can’t tell exactly how you feel about me. That’s where it’s coming from.” Your sentence ended far softer, far more vulnerable than you intended it to. 

And he noticed, for a large palm came to cup your cheek in his hand, ready to wipe away the angry tears that threatened to fall. “[Name]—“

You pushed his hand away. “Answer my question,” You intertwined the hand you’d used to reject his touch with his own, still unable to part from him no matter how obstinate you felt he was being.  “We can take things slow if that’s what you want. No labels, or anything. I just need to know how you feel.”

You’d barely finished your sentence before he pulled you down to kiss him, slow and sweet. “I thought it was abundantly clear how I felt about you,” He spoke almost against your lips, your fingers still laced together, pushed up against the headboard. “You’re an incredible woman, [Name]. Witty, headstrong, beautiful,” His free hand brushed your bangs away from your face, coming to rest once more on your cheek.“But I cannot give you that which you desire.”

You hesitated, blinking confusedly at him.“What do you mean?”

“You know what you want, a trait that is inexorably admirable,” He paused, his gaze flickering away from your own to collect his thoughts. “But I know who I am, and it won’t be any good for you.”

Another cop out. Your canines dug into your bottom lip as you felt the pressure of your returning tears behind your eyelids. “You’re not being truthful.”

“I am.  I only want the best for you.” So that was how it was. Fine. You weren’t going to embarrass yourself any further by crying in front of him. You had lost so much in that moment, but you couldn’t let go of your fragile pride.

“I think I should go.” You dropped his hand, leaning back upon his thighs. 

He swallowed, looking reluctantly away from your watery eyes. “Perhaps that may be what’s best.”

You left that time, defeated and embarrassingly heartbroken. But it didn’t stop you from going back to him quite a few times, somehow convinced that what you desired deep down would change. But never once did you expect him to mold himself to your expectations, shouldering the blame for the failed relationship all upon yourself.

You were foolish then. For believing you could ever rid yourself of the desire to be loved wholly and completely. For believing you could change yourself rather than choose a different man to love. For suppressing your own heart beneath layers of impenetrable armor.

He taught you many things about yourself, rather inadvertently. You learned you could be alright on your own. You learned that love and sex were a gamble, a way to gain leverage on others without revealing the vulnerability that lay within your own losing hand. And you learned to stop denying yourself of the superficial little things you wanted, because you’d concluded that your heart’s deepest desire could never be fulfilled.

These lessons were incredibly valuable, and you held them close to your heart even as you sat aboard the mysterious Astral Express, gazing out the window at the vastness of the universe with your palms laying defeated in your lap. 

The fourth one took you entirely off guard, two lightning strikes in an open field, an asteroid upon a barren planet, a winning ticket out of a million losses. The chances of finding him in this life were astronomically low. But he was miraculously, blessedly lucky. 

Alisa would know more about this than I do. That is the thought that always crosses your mind in situations like these, when you watch him on the rare nights he sleeps peacefully, and something in your chest overwhelms you so much you fear you might die in his arms. You’d spent ages telling yourself you were never meant for love, and that little girl’s dreams of a fairy tale romance were never yours. But here you are, not only deeply enamored, but literally engaged, evidenced by that bewilderingly expensive gemstone on your ring finger. 

You can’t help but feel like you’d experienced everything in your life just for this terribly mundane moment, if not just for the way he looks fast asleep.

And perhaps you know more about love than you care to admit, for you’d proven your past self wrong on several occasions. You were alright on your own, sure, but you are far better with him by your side. Maybe you’d gambled your way into his heart, but your vulnerability is no longer a weakness. And now that you have the one thing you’d always desired, everything else is background noise. 

He means everything to you, you realized then. He is your heart, your ultimate weakness, your one in a million. You couldn’t leave this time, for there is nowhere else to go. 

You rotate the gold band on your finger absentmindedly, curling yourself even further into his body. He subconsciously pulls you closer, and you hide your face in his chest, smiling fondly to yourself. You hope he knows he’s stuck with you forever now. This love is blessedly and irrevocably yours. 

[lgbtlunaverse]

saw that qin su post and i literly dont think i could ever make out exactly WHY jgy felt he needed to kill his child or if he didnt why did he have to die? like if people found out would that really.....im not laughing but would that rly even be that bad?? like would people really care considering all about his father, their own sexual exploits, and how generally messed up powerfulrich peopls sex lives usually are anyways?? like was there something about the child like did he have a disability due to incest, but even then why would that mean he has to die lol they couldve just hidden him away and tell everyone he died! or just say hes not ~fit~ to be the heir so then he could just have another one lol?? or just have a child with a concubine and name him heir?? do you remember/know the reason or was it like paranoia or shame or

There is a big difference between jgy and his father. Jin Guangshan is the rightful Noble-born sect leader of the richest sect in the Jianghu, and Jin Guangyao is a bastard son of a whore who was thrown down a flight of stairs as a child for the crime of showing up to his father's house, and the reaction by the cultivation world at large to this news was that he had it coming and he should've known his place.

I would say that incest and cheating have a different level of taboo, yes. If it turned out Jin Guangshan had accidentally slept with his half sister that would have been more of a scandal than every single one of his previous exploits ever were, and the child would suffer most of all.

But the nobles of the jianghu don't see jgy as one of their own. They see him as fundamentally an outsider who they tolerate because he's good at his job, has access to money, and keeps his public record so clean they don't have anything to say about him except for his parentage. The moment he slips up they'll pounce on him like piranhas. Which... they do! We dont have to speculate about how they'd react, we see them do it in the story, with calls for his death and lurid glee, attributing his sexual deviancy to his mother's profession. What else could you expect form the son of a whore?

Did A-song have a disability? Maybe, we're told he was a bit slow, but it was subtle enough that no one thought anything of it (certainly not that the cause could be incest) before the news came out. But maybe it was more severe behind closed doors, and the only reason the rumours are so mild its that jgy has worked very, very hard to keep them that way. Who knows!

Why didn't jgy fake a-song's death? who knows! Too many loose ends? An actual dead child means no one to come back one day to ask his parents on why they sent him away, nor any caretakers you'd have to keep quiet.

Have another one? With who? His sister-wife?? (you name this and the concubine as different options so I can only assume)

So why not a concubine? Well, jgy has a chip on his shoulder about cheating and refuses to be unfaithful to Qin Su, even in ways that his society would condone. Especially if it would involve disinheriting his legitimate son in favor of the concubine's child which would basically be spitting directly in his wife's face.

But... A-Song was never the heir. Jin Ling was. Jin Guangyao was only ever acting sect leader until Jin Ling came of age. Jgy didn't need an heir, hence why he didn't need to have another child after A-song died.

So do I remember what this precise reasons were? no! And I never knew! Because no one does! It's left so unclear in the story on purpose, to leave us speculating just like the character are. Because mdzs is a story about how much you can, and can't, know another person. And so it deprives us of crucial information intentionally. jgy clearly feels responsible in some way, but that still leaves a wide variety of possible scenarios, which as I say in the post I love to play around with. (Maybe that other sect leader really did kill rusong but jgy had prior knowledge that that was likwly and still let it happen?) But anything confirmed? Zilch. Nada. We don't know why he did it, we don't even know if he did it. All we have is rumours.

[deangelis03]

We Need To Talk About Auguste!

Laurent's brother haunts all the narrative of the Capri trilogy and still we know almost close to nothing about him, execpt for all that glorification due to his position as Crown Prince, which puts him on an altar even Laurent has difficulty to take him off of it. Not only because the characters are always comparing the two of them (even Damen, who barely knew Auguste at all), but also because Laurent canonically adores and worships his older brother, putting him even higher (and here my intention is not to discredit Auguste. I'm sure he was hardworking and dedicated, but come on, guys, he was also human.)

Which takes us to the subject I've been very curious to discuss and see the fandom's POV about: The Parentification of Auguste. An inevitable event in almost all older siblings life (and I say this as an older sister who had to help raise her little one.)

Now, we know (or at least we assume to) the basics about Vere's Royal Family dynamics thanks to the hints in each book. From my interpretation (and you can correct me here) Aleron favoured Auguste, which lead us to conclude Hennike was closer to Laurent. We all know "Auguste was the protector and would do anything for his younger brother''. This adoration is mutual to both brothers. Now let's talk about Auguste's early years.

Let's talk about a lonely Prince. One who indeed got his parents attention grewing up, but only briefly and ended up delegated to his nurses as soon as more pressing matters appeared. His parents were King and Queen, after all. There was always something to do; and we know how noble children used to be educated. Let's think about an Auguste who was close to his father yes, but in a King and his Heir way, which to me looks like a professional/academic way. I'm sure they had their moments of course, all families do. But do you think someone truly knew Auguste before Laurent was born? Not Auguste De Vere, the Golden Heir to the Throne, just Auguste? I don't think so. Auguste was a Prince. His life was full of formalities and appearances, he was a symbol. There was always expectations on him. Until Laurent came along.

To me, Laurent's birth gave Auguste something he'd never had before. An equal . Auguste was a Prince. He had every luxury his heart could desire. People adored him. Were ready to die for him if necessary. But Laurent was neither servant or sovereign. For the first time in his life he was in a position that required nothing more than his very true self. He didn't need to be Crown Prince Auguste, to Laurent he was simply Gus. So I think he fell in love the moment his eyes laid on newborn Laurent and never stoped loving him ever since.

Nobody can convince me Auguste, who knew exactly how the experience of growing up alone even thought living in such an attentive place was, would ever let his sweet, dear baby brother go through the same. With Aleron always on a tight schedule being King and Hennike intercalating in between being bedbound due to sickness and doing her Queen duties, I don't doubt Laurent's nurses and tutors answered to Crown Prince Auguste most often than not. I can clearly see him teaching Laurent, telling him stories and listening to his; patiently dealing with tantrums or calming him after a scare. I can see Auguste putting his baby brother to bed (and allowing Laurent to sleep on his bed most nights). I can see an Auguste worried sick as he and Paschal care for a sick little Laurent and Auguste vehemently refusing to leave his side even though he risks getting whatever bug Laurent has or letting him win their secret little games.

For the first 12 years of Laurent's life, there is not a day Auguste is not present. He is there every step of the way. So much that it wouldn't surprise me if a baby Laurent had first called Auguste papa instead of Aleron because in his infant mind he had beautiful yellow hair just like mama so therefore that must be papa .

Laurent was the best gift Auguste ever received and his most prized possession, I'm sure of it.

Laurent did not just lost a brother at that camp in Marlas. He lost his father figure. The only one who cared and loved him without titles and expectations and just for who he truly was.