#occurred to me that even this should be spoiler tagged

[asleepinawell]

me wearily opening twitter: please show me just one nice thing for once

twitter: baldur's gate 3 lets you fuck a bear

me: you know what? good enough

[thedreamlessnights]

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it. 

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing. 

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long. 

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path. 

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel. 

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face. 

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch. 

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war. 

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now. 

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

 “Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.” 

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same. 

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel. 

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best. 

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too. 

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees. 

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?” 

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.” 

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud. 

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything. 

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound. 

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood. 

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?” 

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision. 

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue. 

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind. 

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething. 

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief. 

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps. 

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him. 

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck. 

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it. 

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand. 

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again. 

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot. 

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment. 

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements. 

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble. 

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire. 

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals. 

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

 You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

[heizours]

GLITCHES

summary. when they find out that you're planning to delete the game under a few reasons

tags. gn! reader, grammatical mistakes may occur

cw. angst if you squint, mentions of explosions, sumeru archon quest spoilers on scara's part, they are lowkey freaking out like it's the end of the world

feat. xiao, scaramouche, heizou, zhongli, kazuha

note. there will be no endings/parts where the reader deletes or doesn't delete the game. to make it easier, the characters somehow already knows another way to prove their existence, and that it is ;)

< back to event m.list

INTRO.

Recently you have been busy for the past few days, as you're trying to accomplish all the works that was given to you before the given deadline.

And that also meant, not being able to spend the rest of your day opening the game. You really tried managing your time, but even that advice can't stop from the overflowing requirements that were continuously being given to you.

Which led to this scenario- apparently your laptop's storage has already reached it's limit, and because of that you can't save the file that was tasked to you

"Are you seriously playing with me now?" You grumbled under your breath, as this minor problem is starting to making you feel frustrated.

Meanwhile, your dear character has been very worried about you. He haven't seen you log in for the past recent weeks, and each passing day was a dreading feeling for him.

Till, all his answers have been granted when that familiar feeling came back again as he heard the sudden sound, which indicates of you logging in. The feeling of your presence, made him feel at ease again. But, of course, he seriously didn't expected it to be thrown away in an instant.

"Perhaps playing one last time, should erase the guilt I'm going to be feeling while deleting this..." You mumbled to yourself, not even the slightest aware that it was clearly heard by him beyond your screen.

Oh, no.

What have you done?

XIAO. 

any outsider would think that there’s nothing going on inside his mind. the truth is, he’s trying to understand if what you had just said was just a joke or not, that he didn’t even noticed that he’s actually panicking the minute he heard it.

Xiao’s breathed hitched in nervousness at the statement that he had just heard from you, not too long ago. His eyes widened in both shock and fear, as he needed to control his breathing so that you won’t be able to noticed the odd actions about him. 

He tried to keep his composure, but he really can’t as his thoughts continue to spiral and emerge from every corner of his brain. 

Did he do something that you didn’t like?

Is it because he isn’t build enough to surpass your expectations?

Or maybe, you just came up with that excuse to indirectly say that you’re tired of him?

No amount of words can be describe by the amount of predictions Xiao is coming up with, as he looked back to reflect on his actions if there is something that bothered you so much, that you refused to play the game for the past few weeks and now, you’re mumbling about deleting it from your gadget’s existence.

His eyes kept darting every where that is surrounding him, except the direction that leads to yours, as he could feel the sweat from nervousness and fear are starting to kick and come out from him.

“But- they were always so happy and glad after logging in. It’s impossible that they are getting tired of it l, they even always use my abilities and skills to complete quests..” He mumbled to himself.

He looked up to look at you again, and there was no denying that Xiao can see frown that was evident on your face even though you tried to hide it in the first place, while you’re taking every last explore in the map, to be worth it and cherished before logging off.

If there’s anything that affects Xiao the most, it is seeing you under the clouds.

Suddenly, the thoughts that were brewing inside him, were pushed out of the way, as this time a determination presence has made it known from within him.

He has made up his mind, and even if it will have to cost something, then so be it.

It might be considered as an irrational decision, but anything is a rational one as long as it involves your happiness and well-being.

“Before I knew it, you are the only keeper of my heart. You gave me such a blossoming feeling I can't be able to explain. Then in return, if this decision will be for your own good, then I’m willing to risk it all for you.”

SCARAMOUCHE.

it might be already expected that he would let out a sudden outburst like he usually does, but it was the complete opposite of it. he was as still as thin ice, since that statement alone from you had triggered and brought back such major flashbacks that he had experienced from his whole life.

For a thousand of years he has lived and wandered all his life, this was the very first time Scaramouche has experience that feeling once again.

He thought that it was all over, and that he had left all those incidents all in the past, but you were the trigger for those unpleasant memories to emerged back from the ashes.

He doesn't understand.

What do you mean by that?

Are you also going to be like her? like them?

Are you also going to abandon him?

Scaramouche felt paralyze by those thoughts, because just as he was about to become a playable character and is waiting for the anticipation to be welcomed in your arms, this is what he gets instead?

“That can’t be possible, in fact- they are always excited whenever I get cutscenes especially if they are unexpected ones- or maybe they didn't like my part for Sumeru's archon quest..?" He murmured to himself, as he covered a part of his mouth, while being deep into his thoughts.

He looked back up to the screen, only to see you very focused on defeating a group of hilichurls that you were commissioned to. But no amount of focus can cover the sadness that is displayed on your face.

Scaramouche often has a routine, that since he is still an NPC and can be able to also roam around whether your online or offline in the game, he had made it a point to himself, to subtly follow you wherever you go, so that he can also be able to secretly help you to defeat the opponents much easier than you expected.

He for once, thanked himself that he never got tired of doing it, even though he sometimes also ‘complains’ how it’s really troublesome to see, that someone as dangerous as himself, is discreetly following you around like a lost child.

He took one last look at you, before turning his back. But as he took force steps away from you, he had halt it. Once again, he turned around to look at you, as a small smile slowly crept up to his face.

Like he suddenly had a big plan on his mind.

After all, if you can be able to enter his, then he too can do the same to yours. Right?

“The hoax, they are just all a gigantic lie in the world I live in. But you, you were different from all of them, in you I found peace and assurance. So, can I be able to find the truth in yours?”

HEIZOU.

as expected from a detective like himself, he’s coming up with every equation, that can fit as the solution to your problem. he gives himself some assurance that it will take not that much of a time before he finds one....or can he be able to?

He is a prodigy, an amazing detective. Surely he can be able to find such major clues, and can put it into the puzzle that's missing it's pieces, to prevent you from erasing the game?

Heizou stands there with his typical detective pose, as he goes deeper in his inner thoughts.

Ah, maybe this can work!

I think I'm gonna have a change of plans, it will not work.

It's alright, I can be able to solve this. Hopefully..

His brain continued to brew and function like it used to be, but every time he comes up with something it was always met by a dead end.

If any passer by will be able to see him, they could literally see the imaginary smoke coming from his brain, and because of his frequent change in expressions.

One moment his eyes would light up, the second he will freeze in pure disappointment before replacing it with a frustrated expression, as he goes back at the starting line.

"This is quite odd...usually I can be able to solve cases with the help of my intuition, but how is it I can't find something for their problem?"

Heizou mumbled disappointedly to himself.

He wasn't even aware, that the "assurance" that he is telling to himself, will be the embodiment for him so start panicking, as the fear that he won't be able to see and feel your presence again, is starting to sink in.

Heizou looked back up at the screen, as the dreaded feeling in him continued to drop. Archons, he hated it so much to see you feeling like this.

If only he can just find a way disappear from this sham world, and can be able to do all the things he is already thinking of to comfort you, then he would gladly do so.

The moment that unintentional statement formed in his mind, a large bright light bulb appeared above his head.

'That's it!'

He snapped his fingers as he mentally exclaimed it.

It was a risky and impossible solution, but how could we say it as an impossible one, when we haven't even tried it yet?

He took a look at you, up at the screen before raising up his hand, as if he was trying to touch your cheek and comfort you, despite the digital barrier that is hindering him from doing so.

"You are the William to my Sherlock, therefore I would like you to wait for me [Name], I promise you I will be the solution to your needs."

ZHONGLI.

he flinched unconsciously from that statement. out of all the possible words he is already predicting to come out from you, this was by far, the most surprising one. can you imagine the look on his face?

Out of all the things that Zhongli has expected, this was the very least he had expected to happen.

It was a very rare yet memorable moment to catch the old archon to be off guard, and there is no denying that he did felt that way when you had spoken to yourself about how you're thinking of ending things already.

He completely understands it due to the experiences he had seen as a witness during his lifetime, as he also has his own beliefs that he can't be able to stop you, especially that it is not his right to know what's happening among your personal affairs.

After all, you're not even the least aware that he is alive and breathing lively inside the device you're using right now.

However, there is still this tingling feeling where he's a little curious of what is bothering you so much, that it this had to happen in this point of your life.

Did something not good happened?

Are you alright?

Will you still remain safe, even if you erase his existence?

Such countless thoughts started coming one after another, as the more he continues to spiral down through it, the more he is getting concerned about your condition.

"One shall not expose their identity especially if it's something unimaginable, but I clearly want to express how concern I am over you [Name].."

Zhongli voiced out to himself, because if he would do it in front of you, then there is a very big possibility that you're going to freak out and will be able to click that delete button without any hesitation, before he can even explain anything about that glitch.

Engrossed in his thoughts, he was snapped out of it after hearing a big explosion that was not that far from where he is standing at the moment.

He has hesitating if he should go after it, especially that there is a chance someone might have gotten in danger because of it, but as he took a look at you are right now, he decided that he would make the travel fast in order to get back to you in a flash.

As he arrived at the area, something worth shocking and unbelievable was existing right in front of his eyes. No, it wasn't an unpleasant sight but it was rather a complicated one.

There stood an unknown portal, and through the portal he can be able to see you, doing what you were doing, but in a more different perspective from what he sees behind the screens.

Zhongli took hesitant steps, towards it. There is an odd presence radiating from it. Knowing that he is usually a rational person, he would usually step back from it just to be safe, but instead he finds himself closing the gap between him and it?

He took again another look through the portal to make sure if what is behind it, is truly not something delusional just to lure him in.

He's not one to make a decision in a fast pace, but just seeing you right behind this portal he's standing in front of, is encouraging him to take the opportunity, as it will be a worthy choice to make and shouldn't be wasted.

His fingers shook, as he got closer and closer to it, and once it had collided with the portal, there was a blinding light that surrounded the area before it disappeared along with the thin air.

"Oh Dear, just how big of a trouble did I got into? Well, there is no time to blame myself. I guess it should be you who I am worrying about, after all how would you react to find me standing right in front of you?"

KAZUHA.

he was able to take that statement calmly on the outside, however the moment he had grasp what you had just said, there is no denying that something shattered inside of him.

It seem that time has stopped around him, the very moment those words had escaped your lips.

But, despite the unpleasant twisting and burning feeling in his chest, it's a surprise that he was able to take it well from the outside.

Do not be fooled though, for if you have the ability to go deep inside his mind, you would be able to see the countless thoughts that are appearing and whispering from within him.

What was the cause of this effect?

Can he be able to reverse it at least?

Are you going somewhere he can't be able to follow or reach?

Such an occurrence like this, brings back Kazuha from the burdens he had to carry because of his past and fallen status.

"I have no right to stop you from doing so, since I firmly believe that you are entitled to have goals and dreams. But, there is a bitter taste in my mouth that I can't be able to erase once you separate the both of us for the purpose of your path."

He mumbled to himself, as he places a right hand near his chest, while reminiscing the unforgettable moments he had with you before you completely take the chance, to erase his data and memories.

He was glad that he isn't part of your team party at the moment, because he can take this chance to just simply look and admire you from the barrier, and take in your breathless form before fading away like the glitches.

That is, until something bright yet risky have been planted on his mind. Not too long ago, he heard some gossips about a mechanism device, being able to grant a wish of whether it can be believable or not.

Now, Kazuha knows that such a device can't possibly be able to do a miracle like that, but even though he is denying it, there is still that glimpse of hope inside him, that he should go for it.

Knowing that he can be able to also roam around like the others that escapes your naked eye, he took one last yearning look at you, as he hastily began his journey, hoping and praying that he can be able to make it to that device before you can even plan to erase all of the game's existence.

"You are the summer to my autumn. Back then I didn't have someone I can be able to protect, but now that you're here, please continue to show me the bright light that leads to yours."

OUTRO.

Peacefully.

You were just sleeping very peacefully.

But, that peace was unintentionally disturbed by his arrival- which you didn't know at all.

You could feel something- no, someone softly caressing your face, as if you're a sensitive vase.

At first, you tried to ignore it thinking that it was just the gust of wind, and it soon stopped.

However, it didn't end there. The lingering and soft touches had already disappeared from your senses, but you could still feel the presence of that someone.

You could feel them staring right into your soul, and if you even show the slightest signs of being awake, who knows what can they do to you.

Despite the warnings you had gathered, your stubbornness still got ahead of you. Because as soon as your eyes fluttered open, the first thing you see is someone breathing above you.

Out of instinct, you push them and hastily grabbed the nearest object that you can use to defend yourself, but as you took another look at the said intruder, you could have sworn that this is a dream.

Unconsciously, you slapped your face with the both of your hands, attempting to jolt your soul to wake up. And the sound emitted a sharp sting, causing the intruder to panic.

"W-wait! I'll explain everything I know, j-just please don't continue to hurt yourself further." He frantically claimed, as he started to feel guilty for making you act like that.

You lowered down the object that you're using to defend yourself, but that doesn't mean that you're guard has also lowered down.

I mean, who would even lower their own guard down when they wake up to find one of the characters from the game that they are playing, are alive and breathing right above them, got into their property without noticing it, knows them and looks exactly like the character itself?

"A-alright, I'll let you. J-just please don't come any closer than that, since this moment actually took a big toll on me, and I'm finding it unbelievable to even believe it." You nervously replied back, as he nodded back eagerly in return.

You think it will only end here? How laughable, truth to be told, this is just the beginning of each other's story.

We may never know what are fate's plan for the both of you, but as they always proclaim-

'Everything happens, for a reason.'

comment to be added in the taglist!

[byeol-ssi]

Heloo! I loved reading you "sharing a bed" trop it was amazing 😭 would you mind if i request one with the tot men? 🥺

Your work stays awesome as always 😭😭

hearts sealed by starlight

✦ artem wing. luke pearce. marius von hagen. vyn richter. x gn!reader

✦ tags: sharing a bed (completely SFW, although slightly suggestive jokes are made in marius' part) + various tropes. slight spoilers for luke's part if you've never played through his personal story.

artem wing *. ⋆ fake dating relationship

"ARTEM?" your tentative voice comes out as a whisper of sound.

artem hums in response. it was beginning to feel like, somehow, the silence had gotten louder now that you were both settled in for the night — with you occupying the bed, and artem laying on his makeshift cot on the floor.

your head pops out from above, and you look straight into his eyes with what seemed like surprise.

"you haven't fallen asleep." a statement, not a question.

work had been exhausting, to say the least. on the other hand, he was uncharacteristically wide awake despite the fatigue he'd accumulated throughout the past few days.

artem sighs through a smile. "it appears you haven't as well."

a beat. then, "would you like to come up and talk?"

"about?"

"anything, really!" your head peeks further out in your sudden burst of excitement, the blanket around your shoulders slipping. "let's just think of this as a sleepover. we can even share the bed!"

his forehead creases, "we never discussed, nor drafted a written testimony, should an event like ... bed-sharing occur during our agreed time together within the scope of our contract."

"artem, it's fine. it's not like i would file a lawsuit against you." you shook your head, laughing. "i probably wouldn't win anyway. so, come up."

he frowns. if he was being truly honest, the contract and terms were there more for his sake, since artem doesn't really know if he could control himself around you without them in place.

but then you're already scooting over, and he finds himself swiftly slipping in beside you.

the sheets rustled as adjustments were made, and you both soon realized with slight, sinking, horror that the bed was much smaller than you anticipated — evident in the way your skin inevitably brushed against his with every movement.

you clear your throat, offering him a sheepish smile. "i think people will definitely believe our story now ... but you still seem worried."

"although i do trust the judgment of celestine and my peers, i sometimes wonder if i'd gone too far in trying to protect my reputation," he admits quietly. "i'm likewise ashamed for involving you like this."

aside from the strain that came regularly with his responsibilities, artem found himself under extreme pressure and criticism from his environment.

somehow, being single while he neared his thirties labeled him as "unreliable and untrustworthy", and the firm subsequently saw a decline in clients.

this unfortunate reality is what brought him to you. by agreeing to become his pretend (keyword being, pretend. other synonyms included: fake, not real, an act) romantic partner, artem would be able to secure his image.

"hey. we do what we need to survive." you slid a hand across the bed and threaded your fingers with his. "and also, i've never been this happy before. so, i want you to stop burdening yourself with guilt."

he swallows, trying to ignore the warmth that spread from your touch and your voice — so soft and incredibly kind.

artem throws an arm over your stomach, keeping you as close as possible. skinship and other forms of physical contact were deliberated upon prior to this entire scheme, although nothing in your agreement explicitly stated that these had to be made only within public view.

artem only hopes you don't report him for taking advantage of this loophole. "you might fall off," he reasons out.

fitting yourself against the length of his body, your answering smile is warm, sweet, and playful. "swear to fall with me?"

"i swear," he vows, and nothing more is exchanged between you that night. when the moon rises high enough to peek through the clouds, you've already fallen fast asleep in his arms.

and artem stays awake throughout, wondering if he should someday reveal the truth of his worries.

what he expressed earlier wasn't a complete lie, but truthfully, he's becoming less concerned with preserving his name the longer he spends in your presence and focusing more on figuring out how to keep you as his.

because artem no longer cared if this was all fake, as long as he could stay by your side.

luke pearce *. ⋆ reluctant allies to lovers

"you never said anything about us sharing a room," LUKE snaps brusquely, trapping the phone between his ear and his shoulder. "i only agreed to this because you insisted that we could find a potential cure around here."

"just think of it as a vacation! you don't need any added stress, so don't worry about it and have fun. but not too much fun, if you catch my meaning. also, try to keep your hands to your —"

luke promptly ends the phone call as he steps back into the bedroom. two lamps had been left burning by the bedside tables, casting the space in a soft, warm glow.

you were already tucked into bed, cream-colored sheets dipping with the shape of your figure. you look up when he enters, setting the tablet in your hands aside. "was that doctor aaron?"

luke nods, dropping to the armchair. he rubs his forehead, trying to center himself. he's aware that he was being irrational, a far cry from his usual self.

the tension hanging precariously between you both wasn't the most ideal as well — another issue he admitted to being the cause for acting so cold and standoffish.

you purse your lips. "is something wrong? did he have any new leads?"

"no, no. he was just ..." playing matchmaker where his services were clearly unwanted, his mind provided. he coughs into his fist. "checking in."

an awkward silence ensues, one you break by nodding to where he was sitting. "okay ... are you sure you're comfortable sleeping there?"

"i've slept in a lot worse places. this is fine."

a sigh leaves your lips. "you don't have to. we can share, alright?" you propose, more forcefully this time. "i'd rather not have dr. aaron find out and scold me for not taking care of my patient."

ah, right. it wasn't unusual to find yourselves paired up frequently and you've played plenty of roles together in the past — albeit begrudgingly on luke's part.

and when you accidentally learn about his illness, you agreed to become his nurse/investigative partner as per the meddlesome doctor's request.

why? luke has absolutely no clue.

it takes all of his self-restraint to not glare at the bed, which would be the bane of his existence for the next ten hours.

"fine," he concedes. he lifts one side of the sheets, revealing your bare legs underneath. there wasn't anything remotely scandalous about your nightwear, but he squeezes the phone in his hands, terrifyingly similar to how a scandalized victorian woman would clutch her pearls.

he placed the gadget down with much more force than intended, and hopped into bed as quickly as humanely possible.

a cool palm — yours, he realizes — presses itself unannounced on his forehead, brushing away his bangs. he sits up jerkily, confident he was redder than a tomato.

"luke, you look like you're burning up. have you taken your medicine? how about some water?" you soothe gently, raising your hands to show you meant no harm. "or would you like me to leave? i can find somewhere else to stay the night, no problem."

and this is exactly why he dislikes working with you.

he doesn't even know you that well — has been trying not to learn more, has been doing his utmost to keep his distance — and yet, you relentlessly look out for him without making him feel as if he was glass.

and all luke wants to do is surrender.

he blew out another frustrated breath, stubbornly denying how you made him feel. it wouldn't be right. it wouldn't be fair. he shouldn't aspire for the bond between you to develop into something more.

not when he'd be leaving you too.

and so, he remains resolute in his decision to push you away — like all the other times in the past.

before you got too close. before his heart fell any further.

"it's nothing," he rasps, swinging a leg over the bed. "you should get some rest."

"do you ... want me to hold you?"

luke's entire brain halts, as does his attempt to escape. "wha — what?!" he sputters, heat climbing up even further on his cheeks.

"i heard it helps," you shrug. a yawn eclipses the next words that leave you. "doctor aaron said so."

he almost groans. luke should decline. conjure some sort of excuse or half-ass lie. drive the wedge between you even deeper than it already is — once and for all.

yet, when he clears the thickness lodged in his throat, something else comes out of his mouth entirely.

"yeah?"

you nod, motioning for him to come closer. "yeah."

he blinks. just this once, he convinces himself.

"okay." his nerves settle when he shuffles hesitantly into your waiting arms. his arms wrap around your torso as you settle back down on the mattress, burrowing deeper with his weight above you.

your hand starts carding through his hair, the sensation so relaxing that his eyes begin to droop shut. without thinking, he breathes you in, calming his heart in the process.

after a long while — when more stars eventually come out of their slumber and take their place in the night sky — you whisper, "are you feeling much better?"

he does. but that didn't mean he wanted to let you go.

"could we stay like this a bit longer?" he mumbles, lips grazing your collar bone.

you don't deny him. "sure, luke. as long as you want."

marius von hagen *. ⋆ arranged marriage

"you can take the left side," MARIUS offers, quietly going around the hotel room and flicking off the lamps.

you embrace the soft pillow in your hands a little tighter, trying to ease the nervousness quivering in your stomach. you find refuge in the queen-sized bed — which was ironic, considering that the bed was the last place you should be in given your present circumstances.

"is this another one of your cheesy pick-up lines?" you joke, attempting to lighten the subtly-charged air by adding, "because you're always right?"

the corner of his lips twitch the slightest before he shakes his head in amusement. "i am. but also because you always sleep on the left."

the sky had already deepened to a purple haze that reminded you of marius's gaze as you regard one another silently for a drawn-out beat.

your eyebrows draw up when his observation slowly sinks in, and you likewise couldn't help the suspicion that laces your tone. "i do? how do you know that?"

"you're my spouse." he shrugs easily. the bed shifts as he settles in next to you; the rustling of covers accompanying his movements. "these are things i should know."

you ignore the way your pulse trips over itself. instead, you flipped on your side to face him, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "but we've never even ..."

marius raises an eyebrow, and the smirk that followed after spelled purely of mischief.

"what? slept together?"

at your appalled expression, marius tips his head back and bursts into laughter, his hair a splash of color on the satin sheets. you're certain the warmth surging up your neck could rival even the hottest of stars.

"why would you phrase it in that manner," you grumble, sitting up and smacking him playfully with a pillow.

it was true. you've been married for a couple of months now, but still slept in separate bedrooms. he'd generously offered you a space of your own at his own house, and you'd always managed to get adjoining rooms during business trips.

this time, however, your parents were adamant about finally sending you off on a honeymoon they planned and prepared for — much like your marriage, and everything else that concerned your relationship — when you both initially refused and made excuses to take one shortly after the wedding.

his arm shoots out to grab hold of the pillow, bringing it down to catch a clearer view of your face. he stares at you for a few seconds, his expression softening, but his smile never slips.

"i check on you every night whenever i arrive home from work."

oh.

oh.

"and despite how spacious the bed is, i somehow always find you taking up the left side," marius continues, completely unaware of how your heart just shot itself up your throat.

"it's not really meant for one," you answer breathlessly, awkwardly huffing out a laugh. your hands fiddle with the edge of the pillow, "maybe we should start ... you know."

"sleeping together?" he unhelpfully — and too cheerfully — supplies.

your entire face bursts into flames again, but you refuse to let it show. "yes. you're my husband." you stick your chin up, feigning nonchalance. "it's only natural for married couples to share a bed. it'll also allow us to become more comfortable with one another in the future."

he'd be yours for real, if only you knew, and if only you asked.

carefully, he brushes your cheek with his knuckles, the ring on his finger glinting in the dark. "if it's alright with you."

"it is." you lean into his touch. certain you won't be running away from him anytime soon, he opens his arms out to you.

you duck your head to conceal your smile, laying your cheek against the center of his chest.

"but only sleep. no funny business, mr. von hagen."

marius wonders if you could hear the beating of his heart sounding out your name.

"i would never. sweet dreams, mx. von hagen."

vyn richter *. ⋆ childhood best friends to lovers

a hesitant knock resounds on VYN's bedroom door. he glances at the grandfather clock, takes note of the time, and smiles inwardly.

it seemed like you'd never changed. 

"come in," he calls out.

the door creaks open, and your head peeks in first, your shoulders and the rest of your body obscured behind the polished wood.

"hey."

"good evening. was the bedroom not to your tastes?" he asks, something that sounded very similar to amusement lacing his voice.

embarrassment flickers across your face before your eyes narrow in defense. "no, you know exactly why i'm here. can i please stay?"

"you're very welcome to. come in," he repeats, already fixing the sheets and fluffing the pillows to your desired liking.

you finally step in, closing the door behind you and heading straight for his bed. he stifles a laugh when you flop down — ruining his handiwork — and pat the space next to you.

he complies, although he settles in much more gracefully. "i presume you were experiencing some difficulties falling asleep?"

"it's nothing new." you nod, throwing the duvet covers across both of you. it flutters down similar to a butterfly's ceasing wings, cocooning you together.

"you're aware that i am a licensed psychiatrist, right?"

"how could i ever forget your two doctorate degrees?" you snort, rolling your eyes playfully. "you only mention them like — all the time."

he chuckles, lightly pinching your nose. "do not play smart with me," he tuts fondly, evading your attempts to swat his hand away.

you tackle him into an embrace instead, which he reciprocates. when you've both quieted from your fit of laughter, his hand moves to rub circles on your shoulder blade.

"still, you know that i can help you with this." he urges, more earnestly now.

you shook your head. truth be told, your response is one he's already predicted, but it wouldn't hurt to try and convince you once more. convince you like he's done for several years already.

"you're my best friend. i don't want you to take a look inside my brain. that's just weird and scary," you'd whispered to him on an evening similar to this. only this time, the features he's long memorized on your face were a whole lot younger. 

"why not?" vyn prods. "it wouldn't change anything."

"you can't promise that. not when there might be something truly wrong with me. or even worse, you'll bear witness to pieces of me that might lead you to regret ever becoming my friend." 

'impossible. i adore you too deeply, and cherish our memories together too fondly, to ever consider any part of you unsightly,' he'd wanted to argue back then. 

he only refrained from doing so and bit his tongue because that would mean upsetting the delicate thread in which your relationship hung.

it would mean crossing the line of platonic and leaving the safe barriers of "in-betweens". and vyn was not about to hastily gamble it all away with a poorly thought-out confession.

neither of you needed to say it aloud, but losing one another was yours, and his, greatest fear. 

"nah, s'okay. i fall asleep just fine whenever i'm with you." you yawn, bringing him out of his fleeting flashback while you snuggle deeper into his side — far too close to be "just best friends".

"really now?" he murmurs, masking the satisfaction that fills his heart and threatens to bleed into his tone. he presses you closer to his chest, his other hand wrapping around your waist, intent to hold you like he's done so, so many times before.

you hum, looking up at him one last time with a dazed smile on your face. "yeah. your bed is always much more comfortable than mine. maybe i should find one similar to yours."

or you can stay here, in my arms, forever, vyn thinks. he doesn't mind waking up with dead, aching, limbs for the rest of his life as long as your face was the first thing he woke up to each morning.

"sleep now," he tucks your head underneath his chin. "or else you'll keep me up all night with your rambling." 

"you adore my rambling," you add petulantly.

even though you never said the words to each other, both of you knew.

"i do. now, rest. wake me if you must," vyn says over your head. 

i love you. 

"mhm. good night, vyn."

i love you too.

✦ byeol’s notes: just to be clear, these were submitted waaay before i closed my requests. i worked on this quite late since i wanted to prioritize my event first, so i apologize for the exremely long wait!

✦ reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! thank you and ily ♡

[ten-cent-sleuth]

I know I’m not a big part of the xReader community, as I rarely read it and even more rarely interact, but I wanted to try making some friends there so I’m going to be posting a Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader multichap soon! Usually, I like to write 4k+ chapters and to have everything completed before posting the first chapter, but since this multichap will serve as my entries for July Break Bingo, I’m going to try something different this time.

Each chapter will be whatever length it ends up being at first (I’ll bolster them all in the revision stages later), and I will post them here as soon as they’re done. Once every chapter is posted, I’ll go back and edit, and then I’ll post the new version on AO3. I look forward to sharing the journey to a good copy more closely with my readers!

However, that does mean there will be some inconsistencies to be suffered through. Especially since this multichap will be a case fic, I’m expecting plot holes as well as OOC moments to abound. I apologise in advance, welp.

Now, for the more fun info!

Below is my empty JBB card if you are curious to see what will be giving the fic some direction. I intend to get a blackout with this multichap. 👀👀👀

Synopsis: Your father hires Sherlock to investigate your husband’s death…a decade after it occurred. Why is your father suddenly concerned foul play was involved? And what is motivating Sherlock to take on a case that has every expectation of being dry and uninspired? (Takes place in the world and time after the Enola Holmes film but before the sequel.)

Warnings: please see this post for those and feel free to send me an ask if you need more details (I’m keeping them separate to avoid spoilers)

Masterlist: A Galling Yoke Part 1 … Part 2 … Part 3 … Part 4 … Part 5 … Part 6 … Part 7 … Part 8 … Part 9 … Part 10 … Part 11 … Part 12 … Part 13 … Part 14 … Part 15 …

Status: on hiatus [as of 2024-04-24] (but Part 15 should be a satisfying ending until the next update) – please let me know if you would like to be tagged with updates! :)

Thank You, God, for letting me write this and thank you, dear reader, for reading. <3

[mycurrent-hyperfixation]

Dance With Me, Baby (Locklyle Fic)

Summary: Lucy doesn't listen one too many times and it leads to a situation she did not expect to end up in.

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.9k

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x Lucy Carlyle

Tags: fluff, pining, angst

Warnings: Mild spoilers for the books!

A/N: Another Locklyle fic for this lil fandom. Thinking of maybe doing a part 2 so let me know what you think.

Unfortunately, Lucy could remember every excruciating detail of the series of events that had led to her current situation. And it had all been her fault.

It had started a few weeks ago, when Lockwood had whisked through the door with a swish of his coat and a grin on his face. Lucy and George had been in the kitchen; George making the tea, and Lucy trying against all hope to ignore the Skull’s incessant nagging. Having given up on trying to persuade Lucy to let him out of the jar, he had instead tried a new approach.

“Let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out…”

Even Lucy had to admit that it was certainly an effective tactic, for she had never wanted more than to hurl that jar – skull and all – straight out of the top floor window. Normally, Lucy would have just twisted the lever on the top of the jar to stop the Skull’s never-ending torment. But it just so happened that that very week, George had managed to get the lever stuck open during one of his infamous experiments on the Skull. The experiment had included a bath, a large bottle of resin and the house’s only pasta strainer. What exactly had occurred, Lucy had no interest in knowing. 

Either way, Lucy had come to discover that a ghost truly never needed to sleep nor required to pause for breath. It was safe to say she was at her wits end when Lockwood came bouncing into the kitchen. 

A twitch had developed in Lucy’s eye over the previous few days, partly as a tick from her constant state of annoyance and partly a product of her complete lack of sleep. She tried desperately to get it under control as Lockwood talked. Thus, between her preoccupation with her twitch and the Skull’s persistent chattering, the only words she heard from Lockwood that afternoon were “party” and “invited”. And whilst this would normally be enough to pique her interest to listen further, the only thing she cared about in that moment was finding somewhere in the house to put the Skull where his voice could not reach her. 

It was only that night when Lucy finally got some peace and quiet after her and George had managed to drown out the Skull’s talking. They had wrapped it in a silver net, put it into another silver case and surrounded said silver case with three sets of iron chains. The words from Lockwood’s conversation that afternoon floated dully through her head, but she was too focused on making it all the way up the mountainous stairs to her bed before she passed out to pay them any thought. In the end, the words slipped from her mind just as her consciousness had: instantly and resolutely as soon as her head hit the pillow.

The second strange instance that had contributed to Lucy’s predicament occurred two days later. It was early in the afternoon when Lockwood returned home, a smile on his face and a garment bag slung across one shoulder. But in truth, Lockwood returning home with a garment bag was actually a far more frequent occurrence than one might have thought. He did ruin on average one coat a week due to their line of work; two if the week’s cases were particularly demanding. In hindsight, Lucy should have noticed the logo on the bag – not a store that Lockwood usually frequented for his coats – and queried him about it. But she had only just woken up and George had finished making her eggs on toast and, in all honesty, she couldn’t really bring herself to care.

The third and final event that should have clued Lucy in to what would become a disastrous event happened only hours before said disastrous event occurred. Lucy and Lockwood were sitting quite comfortably across from one another in their respective armchairs; Lucy going over their case book and Lockwood going through his tabloids.

‘I was thinking…’ Lockwood interrupted the silence, his voice oddly timid in the still air. ‘Maybe it would be a good idea to practice…you know…before the party.’

Ah yes, the party that Lucy knew almost nothing about.

‘Yeah,’ Lockwood continued almost hesitantly. ‘You know how I mentioned it the other day? I just think it would be a good idea to learn each other’s…rhythms.’

Lucy had furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and had been about to voice several questions, when something else came out of her mouth entirely.

‘Do you smell burning?’

The next thing both of them knew, two voices were yelling from the kitchen. Lucy and Lockwood both leapt from their chairs and raced towards the commotion. Pushing the door to the kitchen open, they were met with a wall of smoke, George in a frilly apron, and Quill Kipps holding a pair of oven mitts that were very much ablaze.

Later, when both the blaze and George’s anger at the house’s only oven mitts being destroyed had been extinguished – both an unfortunate byproduct of Quill’s attempt at making Yorkshire puddings – Lockwood had approached Lucy once more. 

‘So, about the practice…’ 

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Lucy said, too tired from trying to save the house from burning down to pay much attention to anything. ‘Can I just meet you downstairs in, like, an hour?’

Lockwood had stumbled out his agreement and Lucy had quirked an eyebrow at his uncharacteristically timid demeanour before retreating back to her room. She really had had no clue why Lockwood was acting so weird over rapier practice.

And so, an hour later, Lucy had learned of her grave mistake. 

‘Dancing?’ she all but blurted out.

‘Yeah, for the ballroom party at Fittes,’ Lockwood said with a quirked eyebrow. ‘You know, we’ll have to sneak away to the Black Library to steal the manuscript since our Orpheus society stint went…badly.’

Now both of them were very obviously confused.

‘And that involves…dancing?’ Lucy asked.

‘Lucy, where have you been? We talked about this weeks ago. We need to make ourselves seen for as much as the party as possible so it doesn’t look like we’re up to anything.’

‘Can’t we just…mingle?’

Lockwood ran a hand through his hair in exasperation.

‘I really don’t see what the issue is. The dance floor will give us the best vantage point to scope out the party without looking suspicious so-’ Lockwood’s gaze shot back up to Lucy, something indistinguishable behind his eyes.

‘What?’ Lucy asked.

‘Do you…’ Lockwood paused, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. Lucy didn’t like where this was going. ‘Do you not know how to dance?’

Now it was Lucy’s turn to throw her hands up in exasperation.

‘Why on earth would I know how to dance? We didn’t exactly have balls up north! I was too busy fighting ghosts and trying to get away from my mo-’ Lucy stopped herself. Lockwood knew of her mother. At least enough to understand why Lucy wanted to stay out of the spotlight. But still, she averted her gaze to the floor and fought the urge to run away.

A silence grew between them then, something thick and heavy and filled with something Lucy could not name. She thought she saw Lockwood’s hand reach towards her, but then it was flicking upwards to run through his hair once more. 

‘I could… I could teach you?’ Lockwood said, his voice far softer now, tentative even.

And so that was how Lucy found herself in one of the strangest situations of her life. 

One of Lockwood’s hands was connected in hers, his other laying featherlight on her waist. She wished that she had not worn such a short top – she had thought it was rapier practice after all – for now, every so often, she could feel his fingers brush against her bare skin. He was avoiding the area, she was quite sure, for his hand was slightly higher than it needed to be. But every so often, his fingers would slip down and Lucy would blush.

And they were dancing.

Well, ‘dancing’ was probably too kind a word, Lucy knew. Lockwood was certainly dancing. Lucy on the other hand could not stop tripping on her own feet and stepping on Lockwood’s.

‘I’m so useless at this,’ Lucy said more to herself than anyone. But she did not pull away.

‘You’re just new to this,’ Lockwood said. ‘I couldn’t dance at one point either, you know?’

‘What, when you came out of the womb?’

Lockwood laughed, and Lucy realised she could feel the vibrations from his chest. They had started their practice as far away from each other as they could possibly get. But now it seemed that, somewhere along the way, they had gotten closer and closer until Lucy found her body almost completely pressed up against Lockwood’s. He was warm, she realised, and somehow smelled even better than he usually did. She turned her head quickly away as she felt another blush creep onto her cheeks.

‘My mother taught me to dance when I was little,’ Lockwood said, his voice soft. Lucy remained quiet, knowing that times like this, when Lockwood felt comfortable enough to open up, were a rarity that could not be interrupted. ‘We would dance around the living room whilst my father danced with my sister. It was more us just being silly rather than anything serious. But it was…nice.’

‘It sounds nice,’ Lucy said softly. ‘Sounds…homely.’

They were swaying softly to the music as they spoke. It was something classical, slow and delicate, from a CD Lockwood had procured. Lucy closed her eyes as she listened to it; the lightness of the piano keys slowly building to something grander. It was nice. To listen to something other than the moans and screams of the dead.

‘You like the music?’ she heard Lockwood say. 

She hummed her affirmation.

‘It was my father’s, but I found it in my sister’s room. She always loved classical music.’

‘Well, she had good taste,’ Lucy mumbled. 

Faintly, as if the feeling were far away, she felt Lockwood’s hand slip down once more, the warmth of his touch brushing against her skin. But this time, he did not remove them. 

And Lucy did not want him to.

When she reopened her eyes, she found Lockwood staring intently down at her. Their faces were close now, close enough that she could hear the softness of his breath. Another blush crept up Lucy’s neck, and although she could feel it meandering onto her cheeks, she could not bring herself to tear her gaze away from Lockwood’s.

‘I think I’ve found my tactic,’ Lockwood said. Lucy furrowed her brow in confusion. ‘If I keep you distracted, you’re much less likely to kill my feet.’

Lucy could not help the laughter that burst from of her. She punched Lockwood lightly in the shoulder. 

‘Prick,’ she said before she, truthfully, accidentally stood on Lockwood’s foot again.

‘See?!’ he said and Lucy laughed once more.

And that was how George found them some time later, dancing slowly in the basement, bodies pressed up against one another, as they laughed in each other’s embrace.

[ad-hawkeye]

You came up on my recommended feed at the perfect time bc I have Artem brainrot rn AND YOUR ANALYZATION OF ARTEM’S CARDS ARE FANTASTIC! I’m one of the few players that avoids most CN server spoilers, and I’ve been abstaining from pulling most cards so I can pull for 3rd anni(which now I’m kinda questioning if I should LOL), so I missed out on a TON of content for all of the male leads. BUT, from the very few cards I had pulled this past yr, I did notice an odd shift in Artem’s personality. Although, I wasn’t too sure if it was just me being dumb or if it was a real thing that was happening. And after reading some of your posts I kinda want to re-read Artem’s Second Anni Card again bc I was so excited for the artwork from that event, that I didn’t pay much attention to the story LOL However, now that I’ve seen what you’ve said and what many other Artem fans have said, I’m sure my feelings weren’t wrong. And now I’m sad 😢

Artem was my favorite bc his relationship with Rosa felt the healthiest and was built on respecting each other’s boundaries, learning how to set boundaries, and working as a team, while also having a more traditional framework of a male leadership role(which I’m extremely fond of). Artem never restricted Rosa from spreading her wings as his work partner or as his life partner, he simply asked if he could come along beside her where ever she wanted to go. AND LIKE HIS ORIGINAL PERSONAL STORY IS A PERFECT EXAMPLE OF THIS BEHAVIOR! Rosa makes a reckless decision to go get evidence, without Artem, for a the domestic violence case they were working on and almost gets hurt in the process. After that, Artem scolds Rosa for being reckless and for not taking better care of herself. And Rosa doesn’t take it lying down either! They equally argue and get their grievances out in the open, feel bad about later, and apologize. (THE COMMUNICATION IS SO REAL 😩) FURTHERMORE! This incident leads them to learning and understanding how differently they work as lawyers. Artem learns that Rosa is a lot more personal with her clients and handles her cases with an empathetic approach, while he works more pragmatically, so through this case they learn to work to each other’s strengths as partners, covering for what the other person lacks. And the chapters this incident took place in solidified my growing love for Artem bc unlike Luke or Vyn(I’m not sure about Marius bc admittedly I haven’t read his original personal story 😅), Artem doesn’t hinder Rosa by being overprotective like Luke or push her beyond her capacities like Vyn tried to do in his original personal story. Artem allows a natural course of growth to occur in Rosa, while being a hedge of protection for Rosa BUT ONLY when she seems to REALLY need it, and the same can be said for Rosa towards Artem.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk, sorry for ranting 😅

WAHHH YOU'RE TOO KIND!! ;_; thank you so much for the sweet words, it really means a lot!!! i'm so so happy you enjoyed my ranting and raving, honestly having a community of super awesome people to talk about this with has been such a comfort and ive made some awesome friends from my time here, even if we don't chat as much anymore!

and omg, do NOT ever feel bad for ranting in my inbox!!!! i've been ranting about tot in the main tag for two years at this point and i will Always be thrilled to read delightfully written meta such as yours!!!!!

i have to say, i entirely agree with all of this. and i mean ALL OF IT. his personal stories 2, 3, and 4 are my absolute favorites of his and gosh that's like. prime artem to me, i think. your ask reminded me of some meta i read such a long while ago about his second personal story (link can be found here, it's SUCH a good read)

i think a huge issue is that artem originally always felt like the antithesis to your typical daddy dom boss character. when you start playing tot, appearances wise, he looks and even comes across as one. but these initial appearances are quickly shattered.

he is absolutely inexperienced with interpersonal relationships. he fumbles the bag CONSTANTLY with rosa. he's terrible at holding conversation, he's constantly apologizing for being boring. he needs his own fucking boss to wingman (haha. wing) for him. he blushes if mc looks at him the wrong way. he's kinda strange. but he's earnest and genuine. he respects rosa's boundaries. he makes mistakes, but learns from them. he gives rosa time to think over her feelings for him so she can still say no to him if she changes her mind.

it's the contrast between this and his initial appearance that makes him interesting. what is extremely bizarre with artem's recent writing is it feels like someone who only read artem's introduction scene got some vague pointers and was like oh. your typical daddy dom boss guy. okay yeah i can write this. and then they did. which . defeats the whole entire point of what made artem compelling in the first place. he was compelling BECAUSE he subverted this trope. by just making him play the trope straight, you remove any and all intrigue from his character.

by not building off of older cards, you abandon all of the plot lines he had set up. they undid any angst in his stories. they dropped his issues with his parents. they downplayed neils impact on his life. he doesn't even grieve for him anymore. he doesnt even think about him most of the time. what happened to entwined fate? praying for neil's safety? what about neil being his father figure? neil potentially betraying the nxx? are we just going to ignore that now so we can watch artem be an insane freak who just apparently woke up with the skills of a sex god, forgot all of the lessons he learned, and doesnt care about consent anymore?

god, now IM ranting.... regardless. youre so right. i hear artem's newest cards are good so im praying those rumors are true : ((

EDIT: SORRY I MEANT TO TALK ABOUT HIS THIRD ANNIVERSARY CARD!!! it's not as bad as his second anniversary card. i know the bar is in hell but it's something. it's pretty contrived in the grand scheme of things (like why are they moving into a house...?) and has some weird moments, but is ultimately not as bad as it could have been in the slightest. i'd say its biggest crime is being boring as sin. holy fuck. i put that shit on 2x speed and i still found myself wanting to fast forward. like nothing happens at all???? it's so bizarre HAHA

[magicshopaholic]

Movie Night (Hoseok x OC)

Summary: Hoseok hosts movie night, but finds he can’t concentrate with all the flirting.

Pairing: Hoseok x OC

Genre: Humour, unreolved issues, hints of angst

Word count: 5.8 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Alcohol, spoilers for the movie Get Out!

A/N: Took me a while but my favourite children are back :') Contains one of the first scenes of theirs I ever envisioned. This fic takes place approximately four months after Double Take, about a week after Stranger Things. Can't wait to hear what you guys think <3

Tagging: @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @meirkive @dreaming-with-happiness @xjoonchildx @tarahardcore, @kflixnet (drop a message if you want to be added)

Listen to: “should i stay or should i go” by the clash

hoseok masterlist | main masterlist

A phone call wakes Chanyeol up before his alarm does.

Clearing his throat as his eyes stay shut, he fumbles for his phone on the hotel bedside table and answers it. “Hello?”

“Hey, what’s up? Listen, you’re coming over today, right?” Hoseok asks, without waiting for a response to his first question.

It takes Chanyeol a couple of seconds to process these many words. “What?”

“Today,” repeats his best friend patiently. “You’re coming over?”

“Uh - yeah.” He frowns, rubbing at his eyes. “Why?” 

“Just checking.”

“No, why as in, why are you calling and not texting?”

“I did text you, but I didn’t hear back.”

“Yeah, because it’s -“ Chanyeol moves the phone away from his ear to squint at the screen “- eight in the morning on a Saturday. Dude, what are you even doing up?”

“Dance practice,” supplies Hoseok. “Anyway, I wanted to check with you…” There’s a pause while his voice trails away, sounding uncertain.

Chanyeol frowns, brain still fuzzy. “I know your address. You texted it to me.”

“No, I know…” Hoseok clears his throat. “I was wondering if I should invite your sister.”

No part of that sentence makes sense to Chanyeol in this context. “My sister?”

“Yeah… wait, you know she’s in Seoul, right?”

He scoffs, sitting up slightly now and wincing as he straightens his back. “She let me in on it, yeah. I was going to have lunch with her today. How do you know she’s in Seoul?” Something occurs to him then. “Wait, did she call you or something?”

“No, I ran into her a couple months ago.”

“Where?”

“The - the grocery store. Anyway, my point is,” he continues quickly, “now that I know she’s here - and you’re here - should I invite her?”

“Um, I dunno. It’s your house, man.”

“Right.”

When Hoseok says nothing else, Chanyeol frowns. “Since when do you hang out with my sister, anyway?”

“Since never. It’s just, you know, polite. Since I ran into her and everything,” he explains. “And because you’re her brother. I mean, you have lunch with her and then leave to come over to my place when she knows I’m here - and she knows that I know she’s here -“ Hoseok exhales, and Chanyeol can practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

“You know, she’s not going to care,” says Chanyeol slowly. “She probably has plans already.”

“Oh. How - how do you know?”

“Because she’s had plans every single weekend since she turned sixteen.” He has no idea where this conversation is going. “But like I said: it’s your house. You do whatever you want.”

“Yeah.” Hoseok is quiet for a moment, and Chanyeol can tell he hasn’t heard a single word. “Alright, cool,” he says after a few seconds. “I’ll see you later today. Bring beer. And about Chaeyoung - you’re probably right.”

“Sure I am,” yawns Chanyeol, already sinking back into bed.

“Yeah, like, it would be polite to call her but if she’s got plans - I mean, I wouldn’t want to put her out -“

“Exactly,” he mumbles against his pillow.

“Maybe if you were moving to Seoul or something - but let’s not overthink this too much…”

The next thing Chanyeol knows, he wakes up to the sun streaming brightly into his room and his phone still in his hand. He vaguely remembers speaking to Hoseok; just to check that he hasn’t missed something important, he brings the phone up and checks his notifications to see one message from his best friend.

You know what? Just text me her number.

—

Hoseok ends up giving Chanyeol a lift to his house, when it turns out that the latter’s hotel is less than ten minutes away from the studio. 

“- heard that I couldn’t sleep so they gave me - and get this - specialty foam pillows, because apparently that’s a thing now -“

Hoseok guffaws as he pulls into his building. “Did they help? Like, should I get a bunch for my house?”

“I mean, they were soft,” allows Chanyeol.

“That’s what made them special?”

“No, they had some weird vibrator thing inside.” When Hoseok raises his eyebrows, Chanyeol rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t like that, dumbass.”

“Hey, I believe you. No wonder you didn’t get my texts.”

“That and the jet lag,” allows Chanyeol, unstrapping himself as the car switches off. “But I’m all well-rested now.”

“Good. I invited a couple of my friends over, too. That’s cool, right?”

“Sure. Like I said: I got my sleep and I’m ready to, like -” He makes a vague gesture with his hands and moves his neck around “- party.” When Hoseok snorts, Chanyeol rolls his eyes. “Knock it off, not all of us are professional idols.”

“There’s an unprofessional kind?” Hoseok chortles at his own joke while his best friend clicks his tongue, punching his shoulder as they enter the apartment. “Beer’s in the fridge. I have soju and vodka, too, if you want it.”

“Vodka? It’s four pm.”

“Yeah, but you’re ready to party.”

“Not if it’s a party of one,” disagrees Chanyeol, making his way over to the fridge and emerging with a can of Budweiser. “I’ll wait for your friends before I start getting shitfaced. Or I’ll wait until it gets dark,” he adds, shrugging.

“Uh, yeah, about that,” says Hoseok slowly, leaning sideways against the TV cabinet as Chanyeol settles on the couch, “I invited your sister.”

To his surprise, Chanyeol chuckles. “Yeah, she told me. She was even more surprised than I was.”

“She - oh.” He frowns. “Okay. Why?” When his best friend simply raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, okay, I know why, but… do you think it’s that weird that I did? I mean, I ran into someone from my childhood and then her brother comes over to my house a couple months later - wouldn’t it be rude not to call her?”

Chanyeol seems to think it over before sighing. “You know, you’re right? And if it were anyone else, I’m sure none of us would give it a second thought.”

“But she was the annoying kid that lived next door,” finishes Hoseok, rolling his eyes. “That was, like, a hundred years ago. I’m over it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she is, too. I mean, she is coming, after all.”

“Huh.” It hadn’t occurred to Hoseok until this moment that he was worried at all that she wouldn’t. But there’s a strange sort of relief at the confirmation from Chanyeol himself, that somewhere out there, his best friend’s sister isn’t mad at him anymore.

Hoseok hadn’t given Chaeyoung much thought since he’d run into her at the liquor store; not because he didn’t care, but because the majority of his mind space in those few months had been at the studio, and the rest on rehearsals. Still, it had been nice to see her - a blast from his past that, he’d realised only later, was a pleasant reminder of the families he missed so much.

It hadn’t even occurred to him to mention the chance meeting to Chanyeol. An insane part of him felt like he was helping her hide something; the fact that she was in Seoul, and in a liquor store no less, was far too incongruous for him to wrap his mind around. Chanyeol, he felt, would probably burst a blood vessel if he knew. 

Besides, Chanyeol had been in Tokyo for the last two years, working for an investment bank that sucked the very life and soul out of him; the last thing he needed was to worry about his sister. Hoseok hadn’t considered reaching out to her again, though, not until Chanyeol mentioned he was visiting Seoul and Hoseok had remembered with a jolt that he’d been a horrible friend for not looking out for little Chaeyoung while her brother was overseas. 

So, it seemed only natural that he should invite Chaeyoung as well. Just the image of both siblings at lunch, the younger one mentioning how she’d run into Hoseok months ago, Chanyeol’s confusion at why they’d never spoken again, him coming over and demanding an explanation, Hoseok stuttering about his busy schedule, Chanyeol shouting tearfully that he’d betrayed him on every level, a vase smashing somewhere -

No, it was better that he invited her before things escalated. After all, she’d been perfectly pleasant at the liquor store and there was nothing to say that, given time, they might not become good acquaintances themselves. He’d called Jimin and Jungkook over for this exact reason; he figured Chaeyoung might be more comfortable with people closer to her own age. Taehyung had been invited as well but he’d declined, and given recent events, Hoseok hadn’t pushed. 

Jimin and Jungkook arrive soon. There’s some initial whispering in the hall, where Jimin mutters with exasperation that he hadn’t quite tried to bring Taehyung along, and Jungkook anxiously asks Hoseok if Chanyeol is “nice”.

“Just - get in there,” instructs Hoseok, steering them into the living room where Chanyeol is sitting on the edge of the couch, talking into his phone. He raises a hand in greeting and apologetically mouths “sorry”, leaving Hoseok to watch as his band members dive for his alcohol stash.

Introductions take place after that; there’s a bit of small talk that follows it, about work, about Tokyo, about what Hoseok hyung was like before Bangtan. Hoseok doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but there’s a definite awkwardness in the air that seems to be stemming from nothing in particular. He tries his best to intervene and bring the topic to something as neutral as possible, but eventually he’s forced to admit that idols and investment bankers may not have much in common at all.

Chanyeol, for all his talent, has always been a bit of an introvert, enough that he looks for others to usually lead a conversation - indeed, Hoseok had always been his consummate extroverted friend. Jimin he can tell is trying to be as normal and welcoming as possible, but something seems to be troubling him. Hoseok makes a mental note to ask him about it. On the other corner of the couch, Jungkook sits quietly, eyes wide and curious as he takes in the awkward conversation and chuckles appropriately.

This goes on for nearly twenty minutes. Now under pressure to turn this evening around, Hoseok is just about to propose selecting the movie when the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it,” he says, standing up with a flourish and striding halfway across the living room while the others are still turning their heads. Hurrying into the hall, he turns automatically to glance into the ornate mirror by the door and runs a hand through his hair to flatten it, when he stops. It occurs to him all of a sudden who might be on the other side of that door and before he can think about it, he ruffles his hair and turns to open the lock.

“Hey,” says Kang Chaeyoung, a handbag hanging from one forearm and a wine bottle in the other hand. On her head is a beret, a navy blue one that matches perfectly with the blouse under her white jacket. She frowns and cocks her head to the side, apparently at the low voices from inside. “Sorry… am I late?”

“No, not at all,” he replies, stepping aside to let her in. A faint scent of perfume wafts up as she enters, unzipping her boots in the corner. 

“Oh, uh - this is for you.” She hands him the bottle. “It’s a Chardonnay,” she explains, “but a nice, fruity one.”

Hoseok waits for her to continue but when she doesn’t, he nods once. “Wow. Um, you - you didn’t have to bring this,” he says, recalling how Jimin and Jungkook had strolled in, comfortably empty-handed, and Chanyeol had been punching him in the shoulder when he’d arrived.

Chaeyoung frowns. “Isn’t that what people do? Bring wine when they go to someone else’s house?”

Yeah, adults do. But he doesn’t say it, still reeling from the fact that every interaction he’s now had with her in Seoul has been in the midst of alcohol. He can’t help but wonder if she’s too young to be frequenting this much booze, but Chaeyoung snaps him out of that train of thought.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Hoseok looks up at her, now with her hands folded across her chest. He shakes his head immediately. “No, of course you didn’t. This was very nice of you,” he says sincerely, holding up the bottle. “Thanks.”

She returns his smile tentatively and follows him as they head inside. In the living room, the scene seems to be just as bleak as it had been two minutes ago, until Chanyeol and Jungkook spot the new guest. 

“Everyone, this is -”

“Hi, I’m Chaeyoung,” she says brightly, making Hoseok’s attempt at an introduction moot. Jungkook, who’s already stood up, bows and stutters his name as well. Behind him, Jimin stands up and flashes her a sparkling smile. 

“Hi, I’m Jimin. Hyung, you didn’t say someone else would be joining us as well,” he says, turning to Hoseok.

He narrows his eyes. “Didn’t I? My mistake,” he says, shrugging, for the truth is that he had no way of knowing if Chaeyoung would actually turn up. “Chae - I mean, Chaeyoung is Chan’s sister.”

“Really?” Jungkook’s head whips between both siblings as Chaeyoung takes a seat on the armchair next to him. “How much - I mean, what’s your age gap?”

“Four years,” supplies Chanyeol. “It’s started to seem like less, though, lately. No?”

She chuckles, taking off her jacket. “Only to you, oppa.”

“You two actually look quite similar,” remarks Jimin. “Except you’re…” He trails off as he looks at Chaeyoung and scrunches his face, clearly embarrassed. “You have longer hair,” he finishes.

“I’m going to keep this inside,” pipes up Hoseok then, holding up the wine. “Anyone want anything? Chae?”

Chaeyoung considers this, therefore missing the interested looks that Jimin and Jungkook give Hoseok. “I’ll have wine,” she decides. Jungkook asks if he can have another beer, and Hoseok silently nods and heads into the kitchen.

As he begins gathering the drinks, uncorking the wine and bustling around with the cans of beer in the fridge, he hears a burst of laughter from the living room that makes him freeze. He frowns, terribly confused, for until five minutes ago it looked like it would take something groundbreaking to liven the evening.

Hoseok tiptoes across the kitchen and slowly peers into the living room, afraid to breathe lest he ruin the mood. It occurs to him that he might be being rather dramatic, but it’s only because out of all the things that could have livened up the evening, Chaeyoung hadn’t been his bet.

“Here’s your drink.” He hands it to her a minute later, feeling his face flush unexpectedly when she smiles and takes the glass from him.

“So all three of you were friends when you were younger?” Jimin asks, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs.

“These two were,” answers Chaeyoung, pointing at Chanyeol and Hoseok.

“So were you,” says her brother, being, in Hoseok’s opinion, quite generous.

She gives him a look. “Was I? Really think about it, oppa.”

Chanyeol simply smiles bashfully while Jungkook nods beside her. “My brother never used to let me hang out with his friends either,” he says knowingly. 

“We let you hang out with us,” disagrees Hoseok, somewhat uncertain. “I mean, not all the time,” he allows, “but once in a while. Right?”

Chaeyoung shrugs easily. “Eh, it’s not important,” she says dismissively, waving a hand. “We got a life eventually,” she chuckles, glancing at Jungkook who grins.

“Should we pick the movie?” Hoseok asks abruptly, clapping his hands and grabbing the remote from the coffee table. He opens Netflix and hands the remote to Chanyeol, who begins flipping through the menu.

“We’re watching horror, yes?” He asks, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Ah, I love horror,” agrees Jungkook, snorting at Jimin’s doubtful expression.

“I don’t mind horror,” says Chaeyoung, positioning herself comfortably and facing the television. She leans over to pick up a handful of chips from the bowl on the coffee table as she looks at the screen. “Oh, not Train To Busan, though. Seen it too many times.”

“Yeah, no, we’ll look for something else…”

“We can watch Godzilla,” suggests Jimin hopefully.

“It’s supposed to be scary, hyung…”

“It is scary! Jin hyung got scared watching it, too.”

“Everything scares Jin hyung,” says Jungkook dismissively. “Oh, we can watch Get Out! I haven’t seen it since it came out.”

“Me neither,” says Chaeyoung, nodding. “A classic. Has everyone here seen it, though?”

“Yup,” says Chanyeol.

“I haven’t,” mutters Jimin. He turns to Hoseok beside him on the couch. “You haven’t seen it either, have you?”

“Er… no.” Hoseok frowns, scrolling through his phone. Nothing about a horror movie sounds like fun to him, but he’s ready to give it a shot if everyone else wants to. “It’s just… are we sure we want to watch it? I mean, Chaeyoung,” he says, watching her as she turns to look at him curiously. “Don’t you… not like horror movies? I was just reading about it and -”

“You what?” Her jaws drops open and she huffs. “You read about it? Oppa, you just ruined it for yourself!”

“No! I didn’t - I didn’t read the movie. I just read, like, the synopsis,” he explains hurriedly, ignoring how she rolls her eyes. “And it seems really scary.”

“Oh, don’t worry, hyung,” chimes Jungkook, shaking his head reassuringly. “It’s not any blood and gore or anything. It’s just… you know. Slow and…” He frowns deeply, trying to think of the right words to express the exact type of horror in this film.

“Slow, unsettling and debilitating fear throughout,” supplies Chaeyoung, her amusement clear.

Hoseok nods, not trusting himself to speak. “Oh. That’s - that’s… just fantastic. But, um… I thought you didn’t like horror movies.”

She frowns. “Why would you think that?”

“Because the last time we all watched a scary movie together, you ran out of the theater crying and locked yourself in the women’s bathroom,” he points out. “You didn’t come out until your dad threatened to take away your toy jewellery box.”

Chaeyoung gasps, her eyes unfocused as she apparently tries to remember. “Wait, you mean when we watched The Host? Oppa, I was nine.”

“Yes, and that kind of experience can traumatise a child,” he says wisely.

“Maybe, but I’m not one of them.” She gives him a look. “Are you sure you want to watch this movie?”

The answer is a resounding no, and it’s a testament to how much he hates horror movies that even a girl who’s only ever been in the peripheries of his life, knows this. 

Still, his response is to give her a look. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because even though I cried and ran away and what have you,” she begins, resting her elbow on the arm of her chair to lean towards him, “I also remember you jumping so hard you spilled your popcorn all over the ground.”

Hoseok feels himself flush again as Jimin lets out a tinkling laugh. “That’s pretty on-brand for Hoseok hyung.”

“Really?”

“I just meant -”

“Dude, we watched that Japanese horror movie and made it,” points out Chanyeol. “Get Out really isn’t that bad.”

“Exactly; even Jimin hyung won’t get that scared in this one -”

“I’m not the one who -”

“Okay, fine,” interrupts Hoseok loudly. “I wasn’t actually complaining about the movie. I was just… being mindful pf my guests.” He gives Chaeyoung a sideways glance.

She raises her eyebrows. “Who, me? I’m good.”

“Fine.”

“Yep.”

There’s a pause before Chanyeol speaks. “So are we watching the movie or what?”

“I’m good with whatever the host wants.”

“And I’m good with whatever my guests want.”

“How does that answer my question?”

“Just press play,” Hoseok sits back on the sofa and hopes he isn’t coming off as too disgruntled. Next to him, Chanyeol chuckles and obliges, looking terribly amused. “Shut up,” he mutters, leading his friend to let out a laugh that he immediately disguises as a cough.

The movie begins and the group descends into a state of cautious concentration. Despite the lights not being dimmed out, Hoseok can start to feel the stress of having to make it through a scary movie. He really doesn’t like them; he hoped his point of contention had been hint enough to Chaeyoung, but apparently he wasn’t clear enough - or, true to form, she did what she wanted to get what she wanted, and everyone else followed suit.

When the first jump scare occurs, he squeezes his eyes shut, wishing more than anything that Seokjin were here…

Think about something else, anything else. He tries to recall dance practice this morning. Everyone had picked up the steps by now and their choreography was finally coming together. Namjoon still needed to work on the counts in the first chorus, though, and Taehyung was missing the same beat in the bridge every time. Jungkook was excellent as usual, but even he needed to regulate his energy to save it for the dance break… 

A sound pulls him out of this focused train of thought. It’s persistent, and sounds a lot like whispering. Turning slightly, he glances past Jimin to see Jungkook on the other corner of the sofa, his head tilted towards Chaeyoung’s as they point at the screen and murmur. Hoseok can’t make out what they’re saying, but spots Jungkook smiling slightly and nodding.

It gives Hoseok a bad feeling. The two of them whispering to each other about the movie only reminds him that he hasn’t seen it, meaning he has no idea how much more terrifying it’s going to get. Besides, now that he’s noticed the whispering, all he can hear is the whispering. It’s vaguely distracting, and he wonders why Chanyeol isn’t telling her to cut it out.

It doesn’t seem as though he’s noticed, though. Neither, for that matter, has Jimin.

“Hyung?”

Hoseok jumps a little. “What?” he mutters, turning to Jimin and trying to ignore how his heart feels like it’s about to detach from his chest. 

“Can I get another drink?”

“You know where the beer is,” whispers Hoseok. “Help yourself.”

“Okay. You want anything?” 

“Get me a seltzer.”

Jimin nods, then turns to Jungkook on his other side. “Oi. Do you want another drink?”

Jungkook seems to consider it, then nods. “Another beer? Thanks, hyung. Oh, wait!” He leans over conspiratorially to Chaeyoung. “Do you want another drink?”

From her spot on the armchair, she nods immediately. “I can have another glass.” She picks up a piece of popcorn and throws it at her brother, seated across the room in the other armchair. “Oppa,” she whispers loudly, “you want a drink?”

“Beer,” he answers instantly, before tapping Hoseok’s shoulder. “Oi, Hoseok. Do you want -”

“Good Lord,” groans Hoseok, rolling his eyes. “You know what? Why don’t we have an intermission? We can all refresh our drinks, too.”

“Good idea,” says Chanyeol to his immense relief, pausing the movie. “Washroom is…”

“Inside, to the left.”

As his friend disappears inside, the whispering transforms into full blown chatter, this time about the movie.

“I don’t trust the dad,” says Jimin instantly, looking rather troubled.

“Just the dad?” Chaeyoung asks, tilting her head.

Jimin gives her mock-annoyed look, making her laugh, while Jungkook shrugs. “I love movies where you can’t trust anyone.” He turns to Hoseok. “Hyung, are you liking the movie?”

“Oh, yeah, you haven’t seen it before,” remembers Chaeyoung. “So who’s creeping you out more? The dad or the mom? Or the gardener?”

Hoseok resists the urge to say everyone when it occurs to him that he has no idea what’s transpired in the last twenty minutes of the movie entirely. But before three expectant faces, he bites his lip. “The, uh… the maid. Definitely.”

“Oh, good one. Yeah, she’s suspicious as hell…”

“Who, the mom?” Chanyeol asks as he returns and takes his original seat, a brand new beer can in his hands already. “She’s the best.”

“The best?” Jimin asks, a little incredulous.

“You know what I mean. She’s the most exciting one.”

“But, hyung, she’s also the most dangerous…”

Chaeyoung stands up and goes to the kitchen with her empty glass as the conversation continues. Hoseok listens quietly, feeling lighter than before at the sight of his friends conversing more freely with each other. Even Jungkook seems to be coming out of his shell, a reasonably unusual occurrence when he meets new people.

Which reminds him.

Hoseok excuses himself and heads to the kitchen as well, where he sees Chaeyoung peering at his bottles of soju, her refilled wine glass balancing between her fingers. She turns when he enters, giving him a brief smile before going back to examining the label she was reading.

“Hey - so, I just wanted to check in,” he says after a moment, leaning awkwardly against the doorframe. For some reason, he’s suddenly very aware of how lanky he is, feeling as though he’s all joints and bones. “Hope, uh, hope my friends are being nice to you?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re great,” she replies easily, turning momentarily again and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Right, right. And… you’re not uncomfortable or anything?”

“Um, no. Not at all.” She frowns. “Why?”

“No, just -” He shakes his head and winces. “You’re the only girl here and… I dunno. You sure they aren’t being, like… fresh with you?”

Chaeyoung turns and stares. “Not really, dad.”

Hoseok ignores this. “Okay. I only ask because I saw you and Jungkook talking through most of the movie. I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t being weird.”

Her forehead clears somewhat. “Oh, no. He was just being nice. He’s quite sweet, really.”

“He’s - okay. Thought I sensed, like. A vibe.”

“Don’t worry about it. Jimin’s more my type, anyway,” she adds casually after a moment, her gaze still on the soju.

“Huh. What?” 

Chaeyoung turns around and blinks. “What?”

“He’s your type?” The words are out of Hoseok’s mouth before he can stop them. “What, uh, what do you mean by that?”

She frowns. “Um… nothing, really. He just seems more outgoing, that’s all.”

“Okay. Because when people say someone’s their type, they usually mean it in the context of…” But the word doesn’t come to him. “Well, in a different context.”

“Well, I meant it in the context that in terms of personality, I tend to get along with Jimins more than Jungkooks.” She looks confused. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all.” A moment passes. “It just looked like you were getting along well with Jungkook, too.”

“I was…” If it’s possible, Chaeyoung looks even more confused than Hoseok feels. “Seriously, what - what did I do?” She asks this, not defensively, but with a bit of a sigh, as though this was to be expected.

“Nothing. Really.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m just… I don’t host very often,” he explains lamely. “But I’m glad you’re getting along with them, I guess.”

She watches him for a moment before replying, as though waiting to see if he’ll say anything else. “Okay, then. They’re being very nice. So… you can chill.”

“I - hey. I’m chill. Alright?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m chill. Cool. Whatever. I’m totally - I’m frigid.”

Chaeyoung stares at him, lips pursed, while Hoseok finds himself wishing he was still watching that terrifying horror movie over having this conversation. Before either of them can say anything, though, Chanyeol enters the kitchen. 

“Hey, I was looking for a bottle opener…?” He looks up to see both occupants of the kitchen, as though just realising who they are. “What’s up?”

Hoseok takes a beat as Chaeyoung simply shakes her head and turns back to the soju. He shrugs. “Nothing. Just catching up.”

Chanyeol raises his eyebrows. “You two?” he asks incredulously, being far too obvious in Hoseok’s opinion. 

He deliberately doesn’t look in his sister’s direction as he responds. “Yeah. I was making sure she found a drink and… and she was telling me how she’d like to date Jimin.”

Chaeyoung’s head whips around. “What?” Her eyes dart to Chanyeol. “I wasn’t -” She breaks off and exhales through her nose, glaring at Hoseok. “Dude, what the hell?”

“Me? You’re the one who said he was your type,” he counters. “I didn’t even ask; you volunteered that information all by yourself.”

“Yes, and by saying he’s my type, I’m virtually humping him,” she snaps, making both men groan instantly.

“Don’t say hump!”

“Jeez, Chae, what is the matter with you?”

She glares at them, jaw dropping. “Okay, you’re both really weird right now. And you -” She rounds on Hoseok. “You are raining on my parade.”

“What parade is that exactly?”

“My - like, my social life. I was just being nice to your friends -”

“Okay, you know what? As your - your older brother’s friend, I’m going to give you some advice about -”

“I don’t need your advice! And - don’t you point your beer at me!”

“I’ll point -”

“Okay, whoa! Time out!” Chanyeol exclaims, taking a step forward and holding up his hands. “Come on, guys.”

Both Hoseok and Chaeyoung fall silent. While she simply folds her arms across her chest and conspicuously shifts her gaze to Chanyeol, Hoseok glares at her for a moment before rolling his eyes and glancing at his best friend.

Chanyeol waits for a moment. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Now which one’s Jimin again?”

Chaeyoung huffs. “Alright, I’m going to go back to the living room before I scream,” she says in a low voice, manoeuvring around both men and stalking out of the kitchen.

Hoseok sighs and shakes his head. “God, I forgot how much of a nightmare this can be,” he mutters, as they follow her at a slower pace.

“Yeah, don’t you just love it when ten years pass and nothing changes?” Chanyeol responds sarcastically, falling into his arm chair as the movie resumes. For the rest of the movie, no one says a word. Hoseok can’t be sure, but he thinks Jimin and Jungkook may have caught on to at least something, but he can’t worry about that now.

Part of him knows he needs to clear the air with Chaeyoung, if for no other reason than the fact that he doesn’t want to continue behaving like a sniping teenager. It’s not her fault that she finds a way each time to wheedle her way into his life, be it on the school bus with his classmates or in his apartment with his group members. He, Hoseok, had invited her here and if Chaeyoung can’t help but be so… so Chaeyoung, he at least can rise to the occasion and be a little more patient. 

“Whoa,” says Jimin in wonder as the credits begin rolling. “I did not see that coming. What a movie.”

“You didn’t get as scared as I expected you to,” remarks Jungkook thoughtfully. “Neither did Hoseok hyung, actually,” he adds, sounding almost disappointed.

Hoseok hyung didn’t, it’s true, but it’s only because he spent the last hour of the movie thinking of the various ways in which he can clear the air with a certain acquaintance from his past. “Show me something scarier next time, kid,” he suggests instead.

To his horror, Jungkook grins, while Chanyeol chuckles. “That is not a challenge he needed, mate. Anyway, I think I should head.”

“Already?” Jungkook checks his phone for the time. “It’s barely nine.”

“I have an early flight tomorrow,” he replies apologetically, standing up and stretching. “But text me the link to that YouTube video when you find it.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Cool. Chae, come on, I’ll drop you on the way.”

As Jimin and Jungkook begin debating whether they should head back, Hoseok notices Chaeyoung nodding and putting on her jacket, eyes on the floor. There’s a bit of bustling as everyone gets ready to leave and moves collectively towards the hall to put on their shoes. Chanyeol gets a call and steps into the corridor to take it, and Hoseok takes the opportunity to get his sister alone for a moment.

“Hey.”

Startled, Chaeyoung gasps a little when she hears his voice. “Uh - hey.”

“Listen, I…” This is harder than he anticipated. “Sorry about… before.”

She nods slowly, pausing before speaking. “Did I do something wrong, though?”

“No,” he says immediately. “I just got a little…” Again, he can’t think of the word. He tries it differently. “You’re the kid I grew up with. I didn’t realise it, but I guess I still see you as the eleven year old who insisted she was old enough to go-kart with us. I mean,” he adds with a little chuckle, “don’t you kind of still see me as the fifteen year old kid who used to hang out with your brother?”

She seems to consider it before shaking her head. “Not really.”

It’s not the answer he was expecting, but he nods. “Fair enough. That’s on me, I guess.”

“You know,” she says after a moment, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket, “I hope you don’t feel an obligation to keep in touch just because we ran into each other accidentally. I mean, Seoul is a big city. I can understand if you don’t want…” She trails off, and he senses the air shift slightly.

He frowns, not understanding it. “I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want you to come.”

She narrows her eyes at him, but more knowingly than snidely. “You invited me because I’m Chan’s sister.”

A part of Hoseok, an old, fading part fueled by only memories and habit and nothing else, is glad she knows this. It feels shameful to admit it, though, and he wonders for a moment if she’s waiting for him to confirm it. Before he can respond, however, Jimin and Jungkook arrive behind him and step in between them to head out.

“We have to go, hyung,” says Jimin while Jungkook waves to Chaeyoung. “Yoongi hyung asked us to pick up coffee on the way and the place will close soon.”

“Yeah, and there’s some international package with the guards at the dorm,” adds Jungkook, shrugging. “There’s no one at home so we need to sign for it.”

“We’ll be on time for practice tomorrow, though!”

Hoseok waves them away as they hop into the elevator. At the other end of the corridor, Chanyeol looks like he’s wrapping up his call. Chaeyoung seems to notice this, too, and turns to leave when Hoseok stops her.

“Chae, look,” he begins nervously. “Whatever may have been my reason to invite you… I’m glad you came,” he says honestly. “It was good to see you again.”

She looks for a moment as though she doesn’t believe him. But then her mouth curves into a small, playful smile. “Even though I still think Jimin is my type?”

Hoseok nods, the smile frozen on his face. “Yeah, this was a nice moment. Let’s not ruin it.”

Chaeyoung’s shoulders deflate slightly but she still looks more upbeat than before. “Alright,” she says, taking a step backwards. “Goodnight, oppa.”

“Goodnight, Chaeyoung.”

—

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

[penrose-quinn]

Green Light | Part Eleven

"You look like you're about to drown," you reasoned as if the closeness needed one, straddling your legs on his lap.

Shinichiro hooked a hand behind your knee, uncertain if he's cradling you to him or if you're lifting him up because he felt as if he's already flung himself from the bridge, six feet deep into rushing water, and you're diving down the river to go after him but somehow, nothing was agonizing when your hand brushed the hairs on his arm, then the vein stretched out like a branch on the bone of his wrist.

He mulled over how you could think that you'd only ever destroyed what you touched. His little finger nudged your knuckle a bit and you curled on him like you're making a promise to be careful with his heart.

pairing: shinichiro sano/gn!reader

content tags: they/them pronounces for reader, but ‘their’ is only used once. childhood friends. angst and hurt/comfort. slice of life ft. gangs. idiots to lovers. old friends trying to reconnect but are being dumbasses about it. they don't deserve the friends to lovers tag because they're stupid and pining. the second part of my sad attempt at writing shinichiro’s backstory but he isn’t a [redacted] here. dysfunctional relationship (for shinichiro and izana). underage smoking and mentions of gang violence. non-explicit sexual content at the end (no gendered terms). tokrev manga spoilers.

a/n: this backstory wouldn’t make a lot of sense if you hadn’t read the first part :’) he isn’t a [redacted] here lol, but i’m still tackling on whatever went on between shinichiro and izana (and everyone else). i won’t accept that he missed out on his adult years in this timeline and simply had to suffer on the other. i’m putting the best of what i could make up and write in this version of his backstory so i very much appreciate every like/reblog/comment this receives!  

m.list ❁ read on ao3 ❁ part 12

There was a time you asked him what he wanted to do someday when he was at the peak of attaining everything.

You were still at the edge of eighteen. Still entangled in each other from the riverbank.

Shinichiro felt a nudge from your socked foot against his leg. Your boot was safeguarded close to his armpit for keeping it away from you. His hair was even mussed-up for it, but he couldn’t recall what the both of you were fighting about earlier ago.

You claimed that you were serious and he shrugged because he had the Black Dragons.

“You’re still planning to be in the gang after high school?”

During that time, it didn’t occur to him that you wouldn’t. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Be real. You can’t keep punching guys and meddling in their unresolved issues forever! It’s unsustainable. You’re more than that, Shin.”

You shook your head in disapproval like Takeomi though he would’ve probably enthused him to keep ruling over Tokyo, be the King.

Takeomi basked in their era like a man who found immortality and you just denounced him for letting the shameless power-trip rot his brain. Shinichiro chuckled, even though you accused him of it too. Called them losers.

You told him you wanted to go to college.

Everyone’s expected to, was what he wanted to say because that’s the least thing any good, grateful child should do for all their parents’ hard-earned labor. He hadn’t visited their grave in awhile. Mused over what flowers to bring them while you meandered on how you’re going to get a job, save up a lot of money to have a place of your own: high-rise studio, spacious room, and a balcony with a nice view of the city. 

Shinichiro didn’t appear like he was listening though his lips fondly tilted up throughout because the sun rose with your voice and he never doubted you.

“You will,” he said finally. He knew because you could see the future.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t know what’s gonna happen to you without me.”

You sounded a little vulnerable. Shinichiro attempted to reach for your wrist but his fingers fiddled around the cold button of your cuff sleeve instead. He didn't want to think about what you actually meant, digressing with a remark that you looked good in the gang uniform, and you just rummaged for his pack and lighter in his pocket with a scoff.

He's lying down on the ground, one leg bent to the other and arms behind his head in the lackadaisical manner where he’s looking forward to a weekend of nothing because he hadn’t really crossed that point where he could have a life untethered to where he was now.

The both of you were still covered in wet grass stains till daybreak, and the world moved on.

How could age stack up like bills, pilling high until it left one bankrupt?

Shinichiro used to count how many stitches he had in a bad scar from a fight. Now, he counted his gains and losses over the years. Learned to budget the good left for himself. The best he could do was work. He had to make this work.

S•S MOTORS used to be a small, forgotten building wedged in the bustling landscape of Shibuya.

There’s the skeleton of an exposed ceiling, water stains on the walls, and a smashed window at the backroom. Shinichiro constantly mulled over if this was worth the loans while toiling himself over wet plaster on cracks. He’s starting from scraps again, though he figured he could be the architect of his future from here and he had a vision unveil itself in the ruins of a building, of the aspirations of a new generation.

Kanda went to see him yesterday. He was with the current president of the Black Dragons.

I want to bring back that place where everyone can belong, Shinichiro-san.

A family, a place to belong; Shinichiro reminisced how much he dreamed to build a home.

Company was divided into strays, regulars, and new customers.

Shinichiro still thought of you, walking in here one of these days.

It felt odd when everyone began to come to terms with your absence – his friends didn't have much to say about you anymore but they hoped you're faring well – and then, perhaps without being deliberate, passed his sentiments over to Seishu to the point the boy had probably ceased to guess what kind of presence you would be in his motor shop.

Seishu stayed in longer than he should, this hovel of scattered hopes and broken machine parts though he liked to watch him work in earnest, digging a hand wrist-deep into an engine as if he could find a damaged, beating heart inside.

He never spoke of that aloud, most of the time he didn’t speak at all, though he never had to tell him what happened to his face or how he's used to people seeing the burn scar before him. Shinichiro just saw a lost boy with raw, torn knuckles.

His thoughts went to Izana, and then back to Seishu, if he had somewhere to return.

He’d wander back in here the next morning.

Seishu opened up that he had a childhood friend who was smarter than him.  

It’s a brief, trusting exchange, though what seemed like one of passing felt more momentous than what it was.

Shinichiro grinned, claiming that it's nice they had something in common. Seishu tilted his head at that before perusing the dead husk of a Suzuki Intruder, eyes frosted over in latent thought. He didn't question him about it like how he would on calmer days, sharing about scuffles and stories rekindled over a freely offered soft drink to soothe the bruises.

There's an irony to Wakasa punctuating on how he shouldn't be feeding the kid with too much sugar. Benkei stepped in the room with him, brandishing a paper bag of meat buns. No one hesitated to bring back the old man misunderstanding to get a rise out of the big guy. Crates shifted together, grating against floorboards, unserious threats, more jeering.

Shinichiro sighed expectantly on how his startup business was diving down into a rowdy one.

There were little, amused blips in Seishu's unaffected expression every time.

Shinichiro asked Seishu if he liked motorcycles.

He shrugged, handing him a torque wrench from the set laid beside him. He’s already familiar of the tools and quick on the uptake with a reserved attentiveness that should’ve been pored more on his studies, though he’s at that rebellious age where he felt like he should be elsewhere than losing himself in the monotony of real life.

Shinichiro understood, remembering a time when his youth had been overbearing, not taken seriously, and full of pent-up, adolescent anger.

Seishu didn’t believe he held that kind of rage, and Shinichiro smiled because you’d probably say otherwise.

Even so, he’d tell him that it’s liberating being true to himself in the same breath he kept bringing up that school was a bit better than his motor shop because he didn’t want the kid to screw himself over a lifetime of stinking in gasoline and grueling manual labor in the future. There’s a lot of options for him, just give it a shot.

Shinichiro had gotten better at enthusing that without being intrusive about it. Or at least that’s his assumption when Ken seemed more motivated attending his classes after having a similar conversation some time ago. He wondered if Seishu might get along with him more than Manjiro. His brother was rather selective on his clique of friends and Haruchiyo devoted being by his side till now.

In the end, Seishu chose the path of a delinquent in the Black Dragons.

Perhaps, that’s better than being alone on the beat-up couch in his shop.

Shinichiro wanted to be one with static, to be pointless for a moment, even when no one’s going to come looking for him at 3 a.m.

All the lights were down, spilling in the syncopations of the city and the tired wheeze of his heater, though he turned it off a minute ago because he’s saving up for this month's electric bill. His bones creaked from his neck, oily with sweat and Tiger Balm, but somehow, it felt like his spine splintered in half. He’s already fatigued from figuring his shit out and he’s not even in his forties yet.

Was it weird he couldn’t imagine what you’d look like at twenty? He’d been losing inspiration lately. He didn’t want to dump it on you, though sometimes, he hated thinking of you like that to the point he wished he choked on his beer and let it all fizzle away.

Manjiro called him out for moping. Shinichiro threw back that he’s a brat. His brother recognized your tone in him and the question withered inside his mouth. Benkei and Wakasa only shared a pensive glance after he recounted it at the bar. He's out of the loop between them and they didn't make him feel better for it unlike Takeomi, who slurred out that he wouldn't be so miserable if he just got over you, tactlessly well-intentioned and unafraid of speaking out his mind in all the ways asshole friends did to show they cared.

Benkei excused it as one of his drunken tirades again because they were aware how Takeomi had been spiraling from his life, and although Benkei was looking out for them, the reassurance was painfully needless. Shinichiro could see it in Wakasa's quiet, apologetic gaze.

They formed a gang. Had skipped school to smoke his first joint in the garage, swore that they had each other’s back since the hot blaze of their teenage years. So Shinichiro pondered how long Wakasa had eyes like that, or perhaps he just hadn't noticed them in awhile because he hadn't hung out with everyone as much when time became scarce and life kept getting in the way.

Then his hand clenched into a fist as he reached for his phone. The shape wasn't right and there's a coldness to the cell on his palm. Right, he lost his old one weeks ago. What's your number again? Didn't you change your email a year after you moved?

Regret twinged in his chest when Shinichiro couldn't greet you on your birthday today, reminiscing on waking to your message last August when you asked him what it felt like to finally be an adult, tagged after a found your soulmate yet?

He’s still sad and single. Instead of a retort, you responded back that it's okay when the both of you could just be sad and single together.

It sucked that he couldn't ask how you were though buried at the farthest place of his mind, he wondered if you'd even reply.

Shinichiro wanted to tell you that he fell in love again though the one who already got sick of his heartbreak was Izana.

He wasn’t sure how to confide about their sister having a crush with that attitude. He figured that out when she began to reinvent herself in small, subtle ways: a new hairstyle, a song she never liked or listened to before. There were the long, fawning looks, but they lingered more in the after-school daydreams, tucked like a lock of hair behind the ear for her earring to twinkle and catch someone’s eye.

Nothing’s working to her favor yet. He could tell from the way her fingers played with her hair a lot more nowadays because she'd rather braid her feelings than confess, whoever it was.

A symptom of unrequited love, or at least that’s what he assumed it was for needing to fill the hunger with the shy hope of tying wishes on a bamboo branch on Tanabata. Manjiro would rather drag Ken to the food booths than dress in a summer yukata with her and Shinichiro had to rummage his in the old closet.

It’s patterned with waves but his mother had described how the seigaiha looked more like dragon scales against a sea of stormy, black cotton. It’s the same one with two holes at the bottom hem; the one that riveted a woman with two moles under her lip, meeting in line of a takoyaki stall. Because Manjiro wanted a bit of everything, Shinichiro ordered the one with assorted flavors and she had hers with mozzarella. A greasy smear of it on the corner of her mouth made her smile more charming, remarking how endearing it was that he’d accompany his sister in a yukata.

Shinichiro offered to buy her a candied strawberry for making his brother pull a face once she drizzled a packet of hot sauce all over her food, though really, he’s stalling for time so he could talk to her some more.

Hoshiko took a sweet bite of his sincerity and told him that she’s got all night. They would surprise themselves for having a mutual friend from Gareji Yago. She loved his sense of humor. He blurted out that her laugh sounded like magic, which had his siblings stupidly reenacting the exchange over the dining table for a month.

They swapped numbers anyway. It’s almost like a call for destiny until it wasn’t.

Shinichiro supposed the retrospection might be worth passing along in his letters.

It'd been the only consistent thing between him and Izana when he wasn't allowed to visit and his sentence was further extended for misconduct. He had to ask Benkei the other day what his experience in juvie had been like, and with a dark somberness in his gaze, he never forgot how no one really came out of there being the same person.

Shinichiro would let Izana be who he wanted to be, but he was still his little brother.

There’s nothing in the world that could change that.

Shinichiro was eleven when his father asked him if he’d like to have another sibling.

It was one of those countless nights his father missed out on dinner, though Shinichiro would pull out his food from the fridge and reheat it for him in the microwave. Leftovers always made his mother sad.  

He didn't quite comprehend the implication of his father's words yet, and one day he’d grow to harbor the sorrow, unwantedness, and pained resentment he never had in him, bursting from his fists like all boys did. Conflict had never been forgiving to his mother, but she would end up loving Emma and his father, regardless.

Shinichiro would ask a similar question to Manjiro years later, and a vestige of their mother lifted up his lips, sticky with the red bean paste of his taiyaki. His heart found ease from the sweet acceptance of his smile.

“Yeah, I'll definitely love him.”

Once Izana was out of juvie, they rode to a harbor in Shinisogocho.

He liked the sea best; a kingdom of star-studded waves, city lights. The vastness enthralled him, a kind of true calling to potential.

Shinichiro believed Izana was capable of many things so he filled the boy with dreams that couldn’t be bound in the legacy of a house. Manjiro had birthright, but Izana would always have freedom.

Either way, his siblings were meant to flourish. They’re his pride. That’s all Shinichiro could ever ask for.

There’s so much salt in the air that he lit a cigarette, blowing smoke like the distant beacon of a lighthouse – a warning.

No one ever told him that nicotine shouldn’t be something he was supposed to crave – he didn’t mean to poison you the way he did – though he would to his brother back then and it spared him a few more years until he could flicker one by himself on the same harbor, the same shade of night. Someday, the Black Dragon embroidered on his back.

Manjiro graduated from elementary around the time Izana was released though he remained disinclined to ask anything about Manjiro succeeding him in the gang.

In the silence between them, Shinichiro mentioned their sister instead. “Emma’s doing well. She got into fortune telling pretty recently, can you believe that? I still don’t get what’s all the fuss about horoscopes.” Shinichiro chuckled but it wasn’t shared. His brother almost looked dazed, out of touch. Out of reach.

“Her cooking is way better than mine. Maybe, you should try it sometime . . .”

The murmur of waves, ashes dropping. Izana languished on a long drag of his cigarette.

“Come have dinner with us,” Shinichiro tried.

His plea was lost to Izana, a shiny bottle adrift in the ocean, as he let another second pass and told him no.

By the time midsummer ended, Izana had turned fourteen; jarringly, grown into his limbs, about his shoulder blade’s height now, grown impatient when he made the major life decision to run away from the orphanage, screw the system.

All the risk-taking only brought tremendous frustration on Shinichiro because Izana didn’t even consult him about it. Contended with him on his questionable choices. That he’s secure with his underground connections, that he already managed to get himself a contract to an apartment somewhere within the realm of Black Dragons territory, not too far from the motor shop so he could visit him. Why can’t you just see that I’m taking responsibility for myself when you won’t—

Shinichiro wasn’t sure what kind of face he was making that broke off the conversation there. The silence stagnated further, and Izana must’ve been more shattered over their argument than he was. It left them irreparable for a night.

The first to make amends was Shinichiro, laying down his pride to atone, truly atone, and perhaps, the act was disarming to Izana.

Shinichiro had never seen him so distressed, and Izana believed him when his big brother said that he’s just worried for him, addressing that he’s right because he should’ve done something sooner.

Yet they didn’t live under one roof.

The implicitness of their bond had become complicated with the self-awareness. They still drank their weight on soda while rock songs hovered over them for the nostalgia trip, the ballad of their routine in the late, sun-glazed afternoon. They even liked their curry the same way. Medium spicy, the kind of heat Manjiro wouldn't appreciate in his mouth. There’s an eyeroll to every joke that didn’t land, the sneaking upturn of lips, the silver lining.

Some of his customers greeted Izana when he entered the shop. They didn’t refer to him when they spoke to Shinichiro about his brother. Izana stopped styling his hair up like Shinichiro one day, and everyone would look out for the autumn moon swaying beneath his ears, the sharp, wicked wit.

Shinichiro would gladly tune-up his motorcycle for free, asking him how’s he been doing lately. Izana wouldn’t bring up school or Emma, though he would about the gang and his ambitions for it. Shinichiro nodded to his every word, as if they’re talking about music or their latest excursion. He reminisced of their stroll at Tsukuda Bridge months ago, the river underneath evening-black and murky like the waves in Manila Bay.

There’s always an urge to drown somewhere in those depths, secrets and more secrets.

For the longest time, Shinichiro lacked the awareness that people puzzled over him until you'd say so someday, and in his reflections, being seen by you felt as if he'd been transparent enough.

Though perhaps, it hadn't always been like that because in needing to be closer, Izana fiercely searched for something in Shinichiro, imploring in the way he only knew how, and then return every other day, looking harsher than last time, hurting more than last time. He blamed himself for it too – everything’s wrong ‘cause of me – and Shinichiro wished he didn’t punish himself for existing, gently dressing the wounds with words and antiseptic.

“You’re my little brother. Nothing about you is wrong to me.”     

Izana came to him with the storm on his back.

Shinichiro had never been scared of lightning but he was from the truth in Izana's eyes. He knew the question before it could be asked and he didn't deny it.

Retribution had never felt so fast and unrepentant by his fist. It's all what he's taught him and more, self-defense.

On the ground, his head throbbed and Shinichiro still had a full set of teeth, a rasp to remind him that blood-related or not, nothing will change between us, all right? Izana held back on his punch and Shinichiro wasn't pretending to be tough by staying still for another.

He's just resigned in all the ways guilt could cripple a man, seeing his little brother bleed for the wrong, wretched reasons. It's not your fault, he wanted to say, but to reach out meant ruining him and he couldn't bring him the happiness that could take him away from that hell.

There's a despondence on the bite of Izana’s voice, a wavering, anguished sound.

"I never want to see you again."

Shinichiro thought he saw you.

“What happened to you?”

“. . . I had a fight with my little brother.”

Sympathy made Akemi’s gaze softer when she brought him at her place to tend to his wounds at a tragic time.

Shinichiro wondered if sisters were just always like that. They would glare at you like you were a nuisance but would help you clean up after your mess anyway.

Emma never outgrew it. She did a lot of the housework nowadays and she knew exactly where to find the medical box, hauling it out from the bathroom cupboard under the sink with a sigh. She’s careful with the antiseptic because she knew how it stung and she didn’t understand why boys were the way they were, railing on how useless her brothers were. Can’t even cook their eggs how they want it made, or something like that.

Then he mulled over your sister, the way she swabbed the graze on his chin, and from this proximity, he traced out the part of her hair, her cheekbones, and then so clearly this time, her eyes in both shape and sentiment, how she looked more like you.

Sometimes, it’s staggering how he didn't know Akemi as much as he knew you.

He grew up trying to impress her by balancing himself atop the jungle gym, admiring her as an adult when she was hardly one herself who was just learning how to apply makeup to conceal the deeper insecurities at fifteen, to become more feminine to appeal to guys who weren’t worth all the emotional damage. She still wore mascara, the drugstore kind that clumped around her eyelashes, but he realized the mature lines under them suited her more.

His shoulders ached in understanding, about what it felt like to be heaped with all this responsibility you never asked for.   

Perhaps, there’s a special kinship they could seek out in each other but he felt really stupid for seeing her now.

“I was so busy with everything else that I can’t help but feel like I neglected their feelings, what’s really hurting inside . . .”

Akemi serenely watched her daughter from the window. Keiko was in her yellow raincoat and sneakers, splashing on puddles from her dash to the maid café with a friend, and Akemi reminisced of you and her, muddy with youth and growing pains. Yours was so quiet and violent that it almost scared her. Shinichiro remembered that part too, raw like the scabs on your knuckles; remembered the threats and slurs they called her just to get a rise out of you; remembered most of them where from rival gangs that went against Seisaku.

You told him that all you ever saw was red and he didn't stop you for lashing out to her defense. He even fought alongside you.

Though having witnessed that side of you, Akemi recounted that she wound up yelling that you were acting like your brother. Her regret settled deep in her womb and you felt a little farther from her ever since. It wasn't like the both of you never reconciled and you would even claim now that she was just a teenager at the time.

“Siblings fight for a lot of reasons,” she said, but she also hurt you. Sometimes, she feared she might not have the opportunity to know you anymore because of it. Her eyes wandered wistfully to the window again. “I miss the both of them . . .”

Then she sighed, looking back at him. “I hope it gets better with your little brother.”

Shinichiro didn’t know what to say but it throbbed where it should, burning on his throat with remorse. I hurt him.

Akemi poured his cup again as if to fill in the silence with consolation and a meek hope that it’s never too late to reach out.

"You're not a bad person, Shinichiro-kun."

He drank his tea, tasting of tears.

"I'm a terrible big brother."

Shinichiro said it a second time to himself.

The world was cleansed by the rain, but his memories never absolved him.

He went home late that time, and they would ask him why he's bleeding. He would tell them he's fine and it would be like that for days. Something always festered in his silence.

The moment Izana stopped coming back to the motor shop so did Seishu.

Perhaps, this was what it’s like to mourn for the living.

Learning to cope with the hollowness in him that haunted the spaces of his room, filled with their shadows that had grown farther in the Black Dragons. Most would say the gang changed for the worse, gradually being embroiled in all criminal dealings, drugs and blood money.  An elderly storekeeper was stabbed from the gang's aggressions. He died before he could reach the hospital and it was all over the headlines that morning.

It's enough to provoke Benkei to demand a reason for letting it happen, and while Wakasa had stood between them, he matched his partner more in his solemn, self-contained fury. There's a glimpse of the legendary gang leaders that divided Kanto in half in the confrontation. When it came to legacy, their outrage was justified for sacrificing it all for him. Takeomi watched them until he felt the need to intervene because Shinichiro wasn't as upset as he should.

This wasn't their generation anymore, and the successors after the eighth weren't any better when they carried the inherent spirit of vindictiveness.

One of Manjiro's friends would be a victim to this, and his little brother would ask him one day to put an end to it with Toman, dressed in black and gold as to honor what Shinichiro and his friends had striven to become a long time ago.

Black Dragons had always been meant to be led by his brothers.

Shinichiro contemplated if Izana could make a home from the ashes of another and Manjiro was there to pick at its bones. He just wished he could do more for Seishu, attempting to save a semblance of it in the scarcity. He understood what all of this meant to him and why he couldn't seem to visit when he was in a coma for two weeks. The motor shop was closed far longer and he was concerned if there's a place out there for him.

The last time Shinichiro had heard of him was when he was still struggling in physical therapy. Seishu was recently released from juvie by then, following a different tyrant in the Black Dragons. He wasn't alone in the gang, and Shinichiro supposed with his old friend beside him, they could figure something out of the madness. Perhaps, there was hope if they remained together.

In the midst of things, Shinichiro couldn't really do much, fearing to cause more damage than what's done and living through the rest of it than just staying dead. 

“Do Mikey and Emma know?” you asked, hauling him back to you.

“After the accident in the shop, I told them everything. Figured I should, knowing it could be my last . . . Emma first, then Manjiro.”

Because it'd taken him surgery and a span of years to tell her the truth about Izana.

“It's unfair.” Emma shed a tear that day, crumpling in distress that made him want to scoop her up like she’s four, cooing softly, no, there are no monsters under your bed and your mother didn’t hate you.

He was petrified as she still sat there, hands clutching the skirt of her school uniform like how Izana would onto impossibly good, hopeful things.

"But you're my big brother too," she said before wiping her face and walking out of the room.

Shinichiro would still apologize to her, even though Emma never really stopped visiting him in the hospital with either Manjiro or Grandpa around.

The only time she did by herself was when they had an actual conversation without Manjiro's presence quelling her into a sense of peace and with a hum, recounted that she didn't know how to react when he reached her a bowl of red rice for breakfast weeks ago.

She panicked and got her first period on the day prior so she mistook it as a disgusting joke. Manjiro didn't even snicker. Shinichiro had little understanding on the tradition, expecting she'd be more knowledgeable about it than him, as he regretfully explained this to her. He forgot himself again with the shadow of a slight stubble, lending him a sad, sleazy look. He looked older too, and Emma chuckled softly at the memory. Old enough to be her father . . .

Because apparently parents cooked red rice for their daughters once they hit puberty, attempted to know what napkin to buy for them even if it's the wrong brand, console them from breakouts when they started flaring up like a disease.

It's the sort of stuff Emma had heard from the girls in class complain about because they didn't realize what they had, what she coveted for herself. No one was ever prepared when she came into their lives. She had two mothers but the both of them couldn't stay like her father, whoever he was.

Shinichiro and Emma ended up sniffling their emotions after that.

“Do you want to see Izana?” Shinichiro asked, but he knew.

Emma carried a certain poignance in her gaze. Abandonment could only mature her in such way.

She couldn’t look at him for the answer. Her lip wobbled. “Does he still want to see me?”

"Did you reach out to him?" 

"I want to," Shinichiro said it as if it’d been unheard for a long time, and all he could do was stare passively at tall, decades-old towers within Marunouchi, the road ahead of him, and nothing. "But I’m not sure what’ll happen if I see him again. The last time was . . ."

He hesitated. Opened his mouth and closed it again, feeling exposed all over even when something locked tight in his throat.

The words wouldn’t come out like they should. He hadn’t spoken about this to anyone for two years, but the rift was almost nonexistent. Regret lingered like it’s just yesterday. He worked his jaw some more, and the ache pulsed where Izana hit him.

Shinichiro often dwelt of a different time when things didn't have to be so broken and he would make the right choices. His siblings never had to be separated and they could just be kids lounging around to watch show reruns on the TV than do homework, sharing a childhood of being ordered around and overfed with greasy kushiage by their grandfather. Maybe, they would measure the other's height against the doorframe with a Pilot marker. Shinichiro would have to scold them for vandalizing though he fondly wouldn't remove their scribbled names over the years until they could work with him in the shop or move out to come into their own. It couldn't be perfect because he couldn’t live up to what a parent could offer but he hoped it'd be enough for him provide them a home where they could laugh and love over the table, throw stupid tantrums, weep loud, grow and make mistakes.

But never like the ones he had committed.

"Izana wasn't a mistake." Shinichiro knew this in his heart. "Everything I did was . . . right?"

He waited for you to challenge him. Tell him where he's wrong and amend. There wasn't a time you hadn't because you loved him enough to tell him about himself so he called out your name and you inhaled, slow and pensive, as your hand reached up to fold a strand of hair behind your ear, the other still entwined with his.

“I feel bad for Izana. He doesn't deserve that,” you told him as your thumb traced his open, trembling palm. His ring on you was warm from your skin. “I feel bad for you too. For agonizing about this for so long.”

The inflections of your voice were pained and conflicted, admitting that to him. “Look, I don’t think I could speak for him. I don’t know him, not like you do. But what you did, keeping something important like that, wouldn’t it have hurt less if you just told him earlier?”

“I figured there was probably a right time to tell him, but then things got out of hand so suddenly,” and he hated it so much; how it brought back the memory of his mother on her deathbed, not knowing when things would get better, not knowing where to place all his despair and indignation to the world but in himself. “He’d been through so much, and I didn’t know what to do . . .”

“I wouldn’t know either.” You gave his hand a firm squeeze. “I know you’re just trying to help, Shin. You care about him. I used to proofread your letters, remember? You wrote to him like you grew up with him. I always thought it was sweet, the way you asked about his day and went on about yours, how you welcomed him in it. Emma would know.”

Shinichiro rubbed his eye. He already sounded congested when he spoke up, feeling even more pathetic.

“I kept her from him too.”

“Why did you?”

“It'd hurt her, if she knew her brothers wouldn’t get along.” Emma was too young to undergo through a lot with the changes and losses in her life. “If they fought . . .”

A pause, then a sigh rolled off your lips. “Wouldn’t have made a difference if she couldn’t see him anymore.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I feel like I should. I'm just," he trailed off, head hanging low because his frustration was spilling from his eyes and—

You gently pulled his chin to you. “You don’t have to, not with me,” you reminded him, catching tears before they fell with the pad of your thumb, "all right?"

Shinichiro nodded. There were wet blotches on your cuff sleeve for brushing it under his nose because none of you brought a handkerchief so you figured this would do. A bit of him stained you and you didn't mind.

You told him to breathe, and he realized what he'd been holding inside for awhile before letting it out.

"I . . . I didn't have the best relationship with my big brother either. Held a grudge for so long that I thought I'd die hating him, but it doesn't matter now. Being upset of your ghosts," you drifted for a moment with a murky emotion he couldn't name.

A bus stopped by; the passengers stepping out in worn, clear umbrellas. You couldn't see them, blinking vacantly, as you went on.

"You’re not a terrible big brother. You got to know Izana. You were with him before he even became a delinquent. You never owed him anything. You weren't even blood-related. It would've been better if you didn't lie, but you loved him anyway . . .”

Then you glanced back at him. There’s something poignant about your eyes.

“That was never a lie, wasn’t it?"

“No,” was his answer. But . . .

“Your big brother,” Shinichiro started, “did he ever come back for you?”

“He can’t,” you sighed, falling back on his shoulder. “He died a year ago.”

Somehow, the two of you were in your house.

You told him it wasn't much of a home without your sister or her family.

Shinichiro contemplated how you would’ve lurked deeper into the emptiness for days had he not asked you to stay at his place.

Sleeves rolled up to your forearms, you ran him a hot bath. He threw back that you should go in first. You insisted that he should after hearing him sneeze awhile ago, despite his efforts to muffle it down his elbow.

The both of you remained stubborn and indecisive about it until you proposed that you join him in the tub instead.

Shinichiro had seen you nude before – perhaps not quite enough the first time – and it wasn't like the thought of your bare skin never crossed his mind. It's just that you're always covered-up, swaddled in layers that it's perplexing to him what it's like to look at you naked.

He remembered how you would cage yourself around your arms because you felt too sensitive out in the open. You didn’t like it when your nipples got hard, when the old scars jagged along your body as mementos of survival and belligerent adolescence. He still chanced on stealing a glance at your tattoo; dark and intricate, coiled around your leg like a tether. It's the part of you that remained unchanged.

He hoped for it. The desire was selfish and ruthless and all-consuming that it could be its own dragon.

You weren't one for bold statements though he couldn't help but contemplate how you carried it with you under your suit after all these years. Contemplated how the needle must've hurt, the social repercussions even more so, stung with blood and loyalty, though you were intrepid through and through.

Warmth bloomed in his chest. It wasn't the sweltering heat from the bathwater, but the realization rippling out of him the moment you dipped into the tub, both of your bare legs rubbing underneath, squeezed into a different brand of intimacy: curated perfectly for couples, couples who were at that awkward, fragile verge of discovering each other without breaking apart from their gazes.

"Can you come closer?" he asked. "You look faraway from the other side of the tub."

Then you came to him like a wave. Everything about you washed over him, sudden and all at once.

"You look like you're about to drown," you reasoned as if the closeness needed one, straddling your legs on his lap.

Shinichiro hooked a hand at the back of your knee, uncertain if he's cradling you to him or if you're lifting him up because he felt as if he's already flung himself from the bridge, six feet deep into rushing water, and you're diving down the river to go after him but somehow, nothing was agonizing when your hand brushed the hairs on his arm, then the vein stretched out like a branch on the bone of his wrist.

He mulled over how you could think that you'd only ever destroyed what you touched. His little finger nudged your knuckle a bit and you curled on him like you're making a promise to be careful with his heart.

You glanced at him under your dewy eyelashes, and when he asked if you hated him, you shook your head and leaned forward to embrace, your hair clinging like arteries on his damp chest, as you let him perch on your shoulder, his lips memorizing a freckle.

Shinichiro thought of the tattoo again, wondering if this was what it's like getting himself etched into your skin.

“How could you ask that, Shin?” you whispered back.

“I guess I’m just afraid.”

Despite his insistence to stay, you asked him to just wait for you in your bedroom, assuring him that it wouldn’t take long for you to collect his clothes from the dryer. He didn't turn on the lights and wearily dove into your covers, wet skin soaking through sheets, though he figured he smelled like you anyway as if that's enough to compensate for sprawling himself out naked and defenseless.

You found him like this later, clothes dumped on the dresser, towel discarded, as you climbed on top of him with the kind of languid grace that bordered to a sweet slowburn but he could tell that it's taking so much from you to not fuck him right there.

His hand was on your cheek, outstretched like he's still reaching for the moon, but it's just you and you're too considerate of him, placing a kiss on his palm. You didn't quite realize how much he felt like a beggar in that moment.

“I'll help you, if you let me.”

What he wanted to say was maybe, you should help yourself, then he'd laugh a little when the aggravation would chip away at you and he'd have to kiss it all better, or worse, didn’t matter which. He nodded. He needed you as your bodies met dripping, somewhere in the rain again, and your hair was akin to something like one and all the tangle of wild, disheveled emotions that hid the both of you from the world. 

"Your big sister wouldn't like you smoking in your room."

"You think I care about what she thinks with what I do in my room?"

"Yeah. A lot." Shinichiro peered at you from your pillow.

"That didn't stop us, though," you said after igniting your cigarette with his lighter.

His eyes watched the tendril of smoke lick up your jaw and the curve of your ear, studded with piercings. You forgot to remove them from the bath so he did it for you when he swept back your hair and you craned your head to him, sheets rustling below your bare waists in the shadow of early twilight.

He left the studs atop the dresser, losing relevance to him once he heard his name and you eclipsed everything, coaxing him to lie down on his back with a hand on his chest. Then a gentle stroke from his brow, a gentler coo, "are you feeling better?"  

Shinichiro closed his eyes and let himself drift from the pads of your fingers. The answer wasn't easy to read. He wanted you to ponder over him in circles. He's a lot needier when you granted him a reason to, but yes, he was feeling a bit better. Perhaps, you made him feel more that he'd draw your lips to him and suck the smoke inside your lungs to taint himself with the taste of your melancholia. Nicotine spared none of you from it.

"She's right, you know. Maybe you should stop smoking," he sighed out, a thread of smoke between breaths, his and yours.

"Stop talking about her," and the truth was he'd rather not talk about her at all, slipping his tongue in your mouth for a deeper conversation, one without words or pretense. Or the comfortable lies he’d tell himself to sleep and burn off with a cigarette in the morning.

The smolder of you turned him into a more honest man, even though his affections for you hadn't been a secret.

"I'll only stop when you do," you whispered.

Like that, you ended a conversation in the way you ended a fight.

You rendered him at a loss for words though he wasn't seeking to win and from a languorous stretch of movement, he reached you the ashtray himself. Then he smiled and remembered how it's so garish with the banana patterns on the dish that it stuck out in your room but you didn't mind purchasing it from the 100 Yen shop the other day, even though you didn't like to smoke here alone.

Something in the ashes would glow when extinguished; both of your fingers touching before you stole the ash tray from him and placed it somewhere on the floor, your outstretched arm shivering out goosebumps from the draft.

There's a small trickle from the windowsill puddling on the floor but you'd rather leave it like that than shut off everything again.

It's so quiet it hurts, so you had opened the window like a wound and the world wept.

A childhood framed in a window. The sole one you’d been gazing on for years, confessing that you didn’t really miss this room after you moved in and he wanted to ask you about it but faltered once your eyes fluttered shut, enjoying each other's presence in the cadence of the rain, awake.

It wasn’t a drowsy spell for you like how it was to him. Shinichiro had learned to adapt to the odd, irregular hours you slept, not quite meeting the other in time, even as it stood still the moment you overlapped him, a wave of warm, urging motion, and he was swimming in lazy endorphins as you spread out the comforter over the both of you, feet covered.

You didn't quite feel like a dream, achingly real and open like a door to this domicile that had been the size of your bodies.

Maybe you wouldn't believe him if he promised you that things would stay like this for the rest of your lives.

But he told you anyway, "I love you."

Exposition Corner:    

[1] Tanabata: a Japanese festival celebrated in the summertime as to commemorate the story of the two star-crossed lovers Orihime and Hikoboshi, who are only allowed to meet each other once a year as long as the skies are clear. A popular custom in Tanabata is writing wishes in a piece of colored paper (tanzaku) and hanging them on a bamboo branch.

[2] Segaiha: a wave pattern of layered concentric circles creating arches, symbolic of waves or water representing surges of good luck. It can also signify power and resilience. 

[3] Gareji Yago: this was actually the motor shop were Shinichiro worked at in the original timeline, and what I’m assuming before he got his shop (if Mikey’s accident didn’t happen). In here, I’m using this as the shop that’s owned by Yoneda, his boss/mentor I’ve referenced in the Bright Light series. 

[4] “[…] if Izana could make a home from the ashes of another and Manjiro was there to pick at its bones”: a reference to Kotsuage, a Japanese funeral ritual wherein family members gather around and pick up the bones of a deceased loved one together using special long chopsticks after the body is cremated. 

[5] “Because apparently parents cooked red rice for their daughters once they hit puberty […]”: to clarify, O-Sekihan, or red-colored rice cooked with Azuki beans, is usually prepared and eaten during auspicious occasions like New Year’s day or Coming-of-Age day. Regarding cooking red rice when a girl has her first period, it’s to celebrate puberty and there are some regions in Japan that still do it but serving sekihan isn’t as common for that as it is in festive celebrations.

In the context of the scene, please don’t think the red color of the rice is meant to represent period lol. It’s Emma misunderstanding it as a stupid joke and Shinichiro not being very good at explaining himself and being a bit misinformed (but he did what he did with well-meaning intentions!). 

[6] I love you: So Shinichiro actually said the unspeakable aishiteru [ 愛してる ], not to confuse it with daisuki [ 大好き ] which is more commonly used in confessing one's love (romantically) in Japanese. For my Non-Japanese speakers, this is just my tl;dr of these references [1] and [2] so I’ll try my best summarizing them!

Aishiteru does mean “I love you” but literally, it translates to “[I] am loving [you]”. 

“Loving” is written in the present continuous て-form as to emphasize the ongoing (ever-lasting) state of the feelings. It’s an expression to convey a serious and profound love that is only used in long-term relationships with a spouse and in rare, emotional occasions such as getting married or when someone is on their deathbed. It’s also hardly spoken to each other.

For cultural context, the Japanese are more reserved with their feelings. There are also many ways to express love but most of them are nonverbal. Conveying it isn’t usually spoken but rather acted on. The gist of it being the love for one another is mutually understood through actions and attentiveness without explicitly stating it.

Now with that said, I’ll leave how Shinichiro throwing the hard L-bomb at MC to everyone’s interpretation. (I’d actually love to read all of your thoughts on it if you’d like to share them with me! <3).

a/n: god, I really hope the way I write shinichiro's decisions and emotional trauma makes sense. no, nothing is resolved here. shin and izana (as well as inui) are still in non-speaking terms :’((((

part ten ❁ m.list ❁ part twelve 

[gayemeralds]

if you’re a new follower, or if you’re looking for something specific, here’s a master post over how i tag things and what all of my theories/timelines are! i try to stay up to date!

last edit: 4/3/24

general tagging system:

sega official speaks: any original posts

fic posting: usually just memes about fics im writing, or a link to a fic i posted on my ao3

master emerald brothel: asks (context for why it’s tagged as this here)

i try to tag characters, games, original posts, and spoilers but im not always consistent. probably don’t bother trying to ask me to tag triggers/whatever because again, im not good at tagging things consistently.

note: i hate the sonic movies. i will post about how much i hate them. im not looking for a debate. if you don’t like that i don’t like them, just block me.

note: i hate shadow the hedgehog (character). i will post about how much i hate him. im not looking for a debate. if you don’t like that i don’t like him, just block me. addendum: it’s a more nuanced opinion of him than this but like… i have a lot of conflicting opinions about sega’s usage of him and him as a character so im partial to just being negative

note: im very much a “game purist” sort of sonic enjoyer. so canontivity to me is dependent entirely on the games and i mostly post about the games. i do have knowledge and even tend to like other pieces of sonic media but the games are my one true love.

anyway if you happen to like what you see… i also happen to have a cash app… $justchillinghereman

timelines & theories

sonic is the original project shadow:

a theory that the original project shadow, who lived aboard the ark with maria and gerald, was actually sonic. shadow was created later on earth by gerald specifically to end the world after the raid occurred and maria was killed.

things i’ve written for the theory:

why do i get this feeling of deja vu: a series that focuses on the robotnik perspective of project shadow (shadow, eggman, and gerald) [status: incomplete, 1/4]

i won’t look back (i don’t need to): collection of stories centering around people unraveling the project shadow conspiracy (characters like vector, rouge, tails, and others exploring Sonic’s past and how it intertwined with shadow) [status: incomplete, 6/9 (hehe)]

more resources regarding the theory:

this master post (warning, it’s super long)

this chao island forum (note: there’s three parts to the theory. if you scroll down you should be able to find all three parts)

this youtube video (note: ties into the later theory of sonic being an alien, but discussion in the latter portion of it talks about sonic being aboard the ark)

this reddit forum

this tumblr post (note: mostly explored sonic x)

another reddit forum

sonic is a chao theory:

a concept that sonic actually evolved from a regular chao into the hero we know today. a strange stretch, but i promise, there’s some meat to this.

things i’ve written for the theory:

truth can run but not hide: tails finds something very weird in sonic’s dna…

more resources regarding the theory:

this youtube video (warning, kind of long!)

this tumblr post (discussion of sonic frontiers lore)

this tumblr post (smaller version of the youtube video)

sonic and the chaos force:

specifically, this theory is about the idea that sonic is the chaos force’s “chosen one”; it’s champion, if you will. sonic’s power regarding the emeralds actually has purpose beyond being a deus ex machina.

things i’ve written for this theory:

i see the chaos for everyone: a series about various characters meeting the chaos force, otherwise known as an embodiment of chaos energy. [status: complete, 7/7]

more resources regarding this theory:

this youtube video

this tumblr post

sonic is an alien:

for me, this theory ties into the concept that sonic is related to the ancients, as a descendant or a creation, take your pick. it mainly ties into the sonic is a chao theory, since it seems the koco and chao are genetically related.

more resources regarding this theory

this youtube video

sonic is metal sonic roboticised:

the theory that in the bad future of sonic cd, eggman managed to roboticize sonic into metal sonic. eggman then sends metal sonic back to aid his past self in the fight, but the butterfly effect now causes sonic to win, which leaves metal sonic stranded in the past.

things i’ve written about this theory:

beware your mind as it proves you wrong: a series of stories where characters investigate metal sonic’s connection to sonic [status: incomplete, 3/5]

more resources regarding this theory

this youtube video

another youtube video

and another youtube video

other things of note

chaos champion timeline:

taking a page from the sonic and the chaos force theory, this timeline acts as a franchise ending final game for the sonic series- where it’s revealed that the chaos force has been wanting to break free from their entrapment in the emeralds by searching for a proper host… who happens to be a hedgehog we all know and love. acting as sonic’s final adventure, this “au” explores the mythos and lore of the emeralds and connected deities and historical mobian figures while the race to stop the final apocalypse is on.

death swap au:

in which shadow survives the finalhazard battle, but sonic doesn’t. shadow grapples with overcoming his tragic history while trying to keep his promise to maria, and the new one he made to sonic. eggman, however, isn’t willing to take a break from his dreams of conquering the world, and continues to keep the new team sonic on their toes. adapts four games: end of sa2, sonic heroes, sonic advance two, shadow the hedgehog, sonic unleashed (and, as a spin off, sonic 06)

impact series:

in this series, various characters from the sonic media meet sonic the first time not in their respective first game appearance, but in a different, eye opening event: the flooding of station square in sa1. It’s a day that connects millions of people to Sonic, but it’s a day that causes a handful to eventually continue to cross paths with him (characters include: rouge, vector, vanilla, jet, silver, and more).

walk into my mystery:

this series explores the perception of sonic’s strange abilities and connection to large lore events (the echidnas, project shadow, etc) through the eyes of his friends. follows the sega way of telling a story… alluding but never outright confirming anything.

[aristocratic-otter]

Apologies, friends! I got overwhelmed this week and ended up falling far behind. I promise I'll get to every one of your posts!

In the meantime, thank you to @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @artsyunderstudy, @cutestkilla, @facewithoutheart, @j-nipper-95, @urban-sith, @palimpsessed, @hushed-chorus, @alleycat0306, @whogaveyoupermission, @sosoapi, @larkral, @theearlgreymage for the tags over the last week.

Tagging (for Wednesday, obvs) and blowing kisses to everyone above, and @annabellelux, @bazzybelle, @bookish-bogwitch, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @dragoneggos, @excalisbury, @erzbethluna, @frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @ileadacharmedlife, @ic3-que3n, @johnwgrey, @jbrrring, @krisrix, @letraspal, @messofthejess, @moodandmist, @nausikaaa, @nightimedreamersghost, @otherworldsivelivedin, @onepintobean, @prettylightsbigcity, @raenestee, @twinkle-twinkle-up-above, @upuntil6am, @whatevertheweather, @yellobb-old

Snippets under the cut

From: To Heal a Broken Mind:

 I just hold him, stroking his hair, as he slowly comes back to himself. 

Finally, his eyes open. “Wha’ happened?” he slurs. 

“A seizure,” I say shortly. 

“Why ‘m I on the ground?” 

I don’t want to distress him right now, so I simply say, “it was worse than usual.”

From: Westward Son:

I’m a damned coward. I watched my friends and family arrive and make camp from the dense branches of a weeping willow. I watched them go through their evening routine and, one by one, settle in for the night. And then I stood vigil for the rest of the night. 

I waited until Baz was out of sight this morning before I returned to the wagon train. I couldn’t face both of their reactions at once.

From: Raising Dragons:

Baz is exhausted. He had his exams this last week, and tonight is the first time he’s been able to sleep in our bed in a week, after nodding off over his notes every other day. I’m not even back to work yet. I don’t go back for months, so it is most definitely my turn to take the nighttime wake ups. 

I’ve got to step up. Be a dad. But I don’t know how.

From: Saving Simon Snow (New chapter tonight!):

“Y–you…you want to…do that? With me?” Merlin, I’ve thrown Baz so off his game that he’s actually stuttering. 

“I…” I pause, wondering what the right thing to say here is. I think we probably should have sex, yes, because I don’t trust Baz’s family or any of the other old families not to come up with a way to legally annul this marriage. It’s definitely occurred to me that they could decide to throw me back in prison now, and Baz would survive it just fine, since the conditions of his vow were met when his father had me released the first time.

From: my COBB (it has a name, but the name is a spoiler!):

I’m back at the front gates, and beginning to draw a crowd. 

Some of the newcomers are clearly guards or something, because they’re wearing the same strangely mediaeval looking uniform as the angry guy. But a lot of them are kids. Some as young as ten or eleven, I think. 

Is this a school? Or an orphanage? 

And I got inspired by a convo on the COTTA discord, so here's the bare beginnings of an Age of Sail AU (yes, a fucking seventh WIP) (Soon to be 8 unless I finish one of the nearly done ones first):

He’s standing across from me, frowning fiercely as I take my time thinking through the order he’s just given me. 

“Show me the cargo hold, cabin boy!”

The command, uttered in the perfectly posh and self-assured accent of the SS Watford’s most obnoxious passenger, caught me by surprise. Tyrannus Basilton, or Baz, as I’ve heard his mother calling him, has ignored me for the most part, since we set sail from the port of Southampton. When he’s come across me in his explorations of the ship, he doesn’t say anything, he just stares at me like I’m something particularly foul that he’s just stepped in. 

I hate him. 

From my other mystery project, which I've decided to share the name of today (I don't think it's too spoilery), The Naked Next:

“Well, everything looks right as rain, here,” I say, smiling at her coolly. “In fact, if you were any more perfect, you’d be in biology textbooks.”

“I am in biology textbooks,” she says flatly. “My physiology is unique, after all.” I stare at her, wondering if she’s kidding. Her lips remain a flat line and her eyes are flinty. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. 

[miraclesabound]

Homestead

Summary: Death comes to collect her evening appointments on August 29th. Also available on AO3.

Pairing: Bill/Frank (The Last of Us)

Note: This idea of Death from “The Sandman” coming to take Bill and Frank “home” occurred to me, and when I mentioned it to @blueeyesatnight, she did the tumblr chat version of flailing her arms in glee/fury and told me I had to do it. If you have complaints, she deserves at least partial blame.

Warnings: Death, suicide, mention of war crimes, spoilers for episode 3 of course.

Tags: @blueeyesatnight, @oonajaeadira, @joelmillerscoffeemug, @flightlessangelwings, @writeforfandoms, @morpheus-helm​

Death will admit, if asked, that she’s slightly surprised to be coming back to Lincoln, Massachusetts after all this time. The last time she was here, there was only one remaining life in the town - the others had either succumbed to the cordyceps outbreak or been murdered by those FEDRA jackboots. (Jackboots, she thinks to herself - what a perfect but horrific word for those thugs.) She’d expected to returned for the last Lincoln citizen quickly, but it’s been twenty years now. She’d figured he must have moved on.

Instead, she’s charmed to see that while the town is quiet, it’s been maintained. There are no streetlights to fight the dark of night, but she can see clearly - someone has continued to pour love into this place.

As she approaches the house where her appointment is, she can feel the presences of two hearts - not just one. This part she’d known about - it’s her first double pick-up in some time.

Bill and Frank are in their bedroom, lying curled in each other’s arms. Their eyes are fluttering shut, but Bill notices the stranger in their room first. “...I dunno who you are, but you’re too late,” he slurs, the drugs already slowing his heart.

“Actually, I pride myself on my punctuality, Bill,” Death says. “Do you know me?”

That wave of recognition that she sees so often appears on Bill’s face. “Oh...I see.” He looks briefly panicked. “Are you here just for me?”

Death shakes her head. “I’m here for you both.”

Bill starts to sit up, and Frank groans at his side: “Babe, don’t let go, you promised...”

“I’m not letting go.” Bill helps Frank sit as well so he can see their guest. “A friend is here.”

Frank has the same epiphany Bill does when he looks in Death’s eyes, but in contrast to Bill, he smiles at her. “Ma’am, it’s good of you to come make a personal visit of it.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Death says. “Your town, your house, all of it - it’s lovely.”

“We did our best with it,” Frank tells her. His expression falls slightly. “I...don’t suppose we could see it one last time?”

“Of course,” Death says. “Follow me.” It doesn’t occur to Bill and Frank until they’re down the stairs that neither of them are having trouble walking.

--

It’s a beautiful night, and the three of them take their time walking back and forth on Main Street. The guys ask if Joel and Tess are ok, and while they’re saddened by hearing of Tess’s passing, Death tells them the truth - that Tess went bravely, and that Joel isn’t due in her ledger for a good long time.

The boutique door is still open, and while Frank and Bill are happy to stay in their wedding suits, Frank insists that Death try something on for herself. She agrees, knowing that this isn’t a delaying tactic on his or Bill’s part. Several items catch her eye, but the one that truly calls to her is an old black top hat. Frank chuckles when she puts it on - it looks absolutely fetching on top of her curls.

However, the expedition must draw to an end, and it’s actually Bill who suggests that they should be moving along. “I told you I was satisfied,” he says when Frank asks him. “And besides, we’ve left the note for Joel. He’ll know what to do.”

The group walks to the fence, passing through it without having to activate the switch. Bill takes a last look behind him. “It really was something,” he admits. “I hope someone else can make a home out of it.”

“I’ll bet they do,” Death says. “Come here, you two.” Bill and Frank take each other’s hands, and then she wraps them in her mighty wings.

[vollzz]

blackflame characters out of context!

tagged by the wonderful @space-writes, thank you!!! hope y’all are excited about blackflame because I have 20(!!) total chapters in this draft. the chapter names I have right now are placeholders and some are straight up too spoiler-y so there will be some redactions. game rules:

Rules: Include one character quote of your choosing ⁠from each chapter of your WIP (or as many chapters as you'd like). Give absolutely no context, save for what's between two parts of an interrupted sentence, should that occur. You may mention who said it.

I’m not specifying who is talking unless it’s part of the dialogue, so bonus points if you can guess who is saying what!

ready set go quotes are under the cut!

1. business as usual-

“You will forget you saw me here. You will turn around and walk to the other end of the estate before returning. If anyone questions you, say you saw an animal running about.”

2. the meeting-

“Would you believe me if I said I was taking inventory?”

3. eves-

“Perhaps if it was one of the mortal kings across the sea, I would entertain the idea, but Leon is incredibly uninteresting. I can barely stand to be in his presence, let alone seduce him - what is it with mortals and making the most idiotic choice of rulers?”

4. lorien-

“Calliope,” Tedrin crooned, “I can't say I know too much of Eves, but regardless of what your arrangement is, I wonder if we couldn't come to one ourselves.”

5. reunion-

“I’m sorry, if…” Lucas bit his lip. “If you’ve had experiences like that. It’s not right, that these uppity nobles think that just because you’re obnoxiously attractive they can take advantage of you.”

6.[redacted]’s party-

“Well, while I guess I appreciate your staunch defense of your fake fiancée’s honor, I'm asking that you please don’t ruin this outing with another dick measuring contest.”

7. dangerous territory-

“Very mature. I’ll have you know most women recognize the artfulness of the northern accent.”

8. consultation-

“There's every reason, you stupid whore,” James leaned forward, a newfound savageness in his voice, “I have to share Eves with you, some bitch that's traveling with a companion! Clearly they don't know about him, if you're sitting here in one piece.”

9. the heist-

“Agreed. It'll get some of the heat off our backs if we leave the guards be. I trust you to get it done, Calliope, but I will kill them if there's no other choice.”

10. blasphemy-

“So you just… talked all night then, I assume? Giggled to one another under the sheets?”

11. [redacted]-

“How interesting it is to see two little Lovers not ripping each other’s throats out. Is Eves getting bored with just one of you at a time?”

12. truth emerges-

“Spare me the worthless explanation, Calliope. If you truly must break my heart, it is only fair that I break yours in return.”

13. new beginnings-

“Look at you. You’ve barely eaten. You don’t speak, or even cry, or do anything besides sit on the godsdamned floor. Hate me all you want, but I’m not going to watch you shrivel into nothing. We’re going outside. Now.”

14. [hooo boy this one’s really redacted]-

“I do not feel that I can forgive you yet.”

15. [also redacted]-

“I can wipe your existence from this world with barely a thought. I brought your pitiful deity to their knees with as much effort as I expended on you. Be grateful you’re spared the fate that Eves endured at my hand, and perhaps consider that the next time you wish to disrespect me.”

16. [redacted] 2: electric boogaloo-

“To go from such elation to naught but vitriol… Were it not directed at me, I would find it fascinating.”

17. terror-

“I’m so sorry, Cal, I’m so sorry,” Lucas swallowed painfully. “I know you’re afraid. I’m not going to hurt you. We need to get out of here, okay?”

18. [redacted] also I haven’t written this yet lol

19. new destination-

“Pardon the outburst. Now, Calliope dear, if you will excuse me, I must go prostitute myself at Greylin’s insistence.”

20. [extremely redacted]-

“You are certain that Eves spoke of me? They mentioned me by name?”

wow that was a lot thanks for taking a look! I’m going to gently tag @sam-glade @squarebracket-trick and @awleeofficial. but also this one is fun and you get to share a lot for it so open tag too (and make sure you tag me so I can see I wanna read it all!!)

—-

blackflame tag list-

@hallwriteblr @kourumi @space-writes @at-thezenith @careful-fear @theunboundwriter @liv-is @eldritch-flower @kingkendrick7 @poetinprose

[heizours]

KISS IT BETTER

summary. the greatest lengths, that he is willing to do for you

tags. gn! reader, grammatical mistakes may occur

cw. scara's leak voicelines regarding ei, implied torture in dottore's part, kaeya lore spoilers (?), just those and over all a pure fluff abt what are this genshin men willing to do for you <3

feat. childe, albedo, pantalone, ayato, kaeya, scaramouche, dottore, diluc, zhongli, kazuha, cyno

CHILDE ── he never stops talking about you in front of his family. everytime he comes home to them, he would start going on and on about how such an amazing and loving significant other you are, and his family didn't have the heart to interrupt him because every word and confession that leaves from his lips, are all genuine and pure from his heart. the only way you will find out about this, is when he brings you to meet them for the first time, and in an instant his parents and his siblings are all smitten by you.

ALBEDO ── he has a journal dedicated to you, consisting of the little things and habits about you, when is your birthday, what are your likes and dislikes, the date of your anniversary, the promises he had noted while being in a relationship with you, such memories that he managed to capture and so on. sometimes, it would come to a point where he's starting to not mind of reading every single page of the book, over and over again - if you ever catch him doing it, he will just swiftly reply "well, i just find this more interesting and eye catching. do you want to read it with me?."

PANTALONE ── he spends all his fortune on you, whenever the both of you are out on dates and something catches your eye for more than 0.1 second, that product is in your hands in an instant. you, at least tried to tell him to lessen down his habit of buying everything for you when he almost bought a whole island meant for you, but all he ever tells you is "what should i do with this mora then? darling, this fortune isn't worthy to me when i have someone as you."

AYATO ── he will boldly break and reject countless arrange marriages for you. sure, it is his obligation to get married, but to be paired with someone he couldn’t see as his significant other? he would rather dispose it, than let his marriage suffer just like how his childhood was. why would he look for more if he has someone as perfect as you? if they prefer to not listen to his pleas, then so be it. he would cross that line for you, even if it takes for some of the citizens to turn their backs on him - after all, it’s you and him against the world. yes? right.

KAEYA ── he will always choose you, over both mondstadt and khaenri'ah without a single hesitation. sometimes, he just couldn't handle the pressure in his shoulders, that there will come a time that he will have to choose between his homeland and the nation he had considered where he lived in - that is until he met you. suddenly, his whole perspective of life changes and his mind was now unexpectedly on set. he had decided - if he can run away, then he would, with you and would live in a far away land where only the two of you would live in it and grow old together.

SCARAMOUCHE ── he is willing to change himself for you, to the point that he would take the risk to reset himself. resetting himself, where he would be back to his old wandering self again after being told to roam around, as free as he wishes like how his creator and mother told him. if he is going to do that, then he doesn't mind one bit - if it means that he's going to be destined to meet you again, but this time under normal circumstances.

DOTTORE ── he orders his clones to always keep an eye on you. knowing that he is always hibernating in his lab doing who knows what, he can't always be by your side all the time. if ever danger comes to you, that is too close from his liking, he would not hesitate to order his clones to protect you from it, and bring the said danger to him in an instant, who even had the audacity to lay a single finger on you. maybe, they would be the perfect test subjects for this mind blowing experiment he had decided to work on?

DILUC ── he would ask your parents' consent first before courting you, and he is more than prepared to prove himself worthy of being titled as your lover. he would also proclaim that you also do not have to rush yourself in answering him, he is willing to wait even if it takes forever. because if he could? then he would.

ZHONGLI ── he can give you the 5 love languages. words of affirmation? you bet, he's going to put a whole power point presentation on why he loves you so much. physical touch? he can be not clingy at all times, but expect lingering and soft touches with him every now and then. receiving gifts? he keeps every single gift you are giving him, whether it's considered to be given on a special or an ordinary day. quality time? this man is fit to be a househusband, he's going to give you all the quality time that you need when you are in need of one. acts of service? he's a gentlemen, and you bet he won't let you lift a finger.

KAZUHA ── he will not raise his voice at you when the both of you, are in an argument. he would scold you, but in a calm, gentle and soft spoken manner - and the respect and love for you is still there. he would point what was your mistake in that certain situation, but would also make sure that every word that comes out from him, wouldn't struck a nerve in your side or would do anything to make you more upset than it is.

CYNO ── he will take some time to explain what does his jokes mean. for other people, he just complains about how they can't understand the jokes that comes out from him, but for you? he'll spend hours and hours just so you can get it. and if he makes you smile or laugh in the slightest because of it? it miraculously cures the tiredness that he had endured all day long.

[inariizaki]

ENOUGH — DAIKICHI K.

sypnosis : you kinda feel guilty when seeing your boyfriend visit you every single day, and knowing you can't do the same because of your current state. but karube reassures you, that it's fine.

tags : INCLUDES AIB SEASON 2 SPOILERS. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. MENTIONS CHARACTER DEATH, AND BLOOD. TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF. might include typos. not proofreaded.

note : haii ! i'm sorry this took long! i was facing writer block right now, and i still have unfinished outputs to finish, so this is rushed. i'm really sorry!

many chaos happened before and after the tokyo meteorite occured. many buildings were destroyed. it also took the life of karube and arisu's friend, chota.

you were glad you and karube, and even your family, survived.

1 week after the tokyo metiorite chaos, your wounds were healing, but it was still not okay.

but as for karube, he was able to do the normal things he do back then, but he still wasn't okay. he was just close to being okay.

and you were soo jealous, and you felt kinda guilty too. since you couldn't check him up because of your state right now.

you were laying at the hospital bed, staring at the lifeless wall. looking at it blankly.

being alone in this room is indeed, boring. you hoped for karube to visit you, but just thinking about it, you can't help but to feel a little bit of guilt. you hated how karube was the one who needed to always check up on you when your parents couldn't be there to visit you. you hated it. you wish you could do the same. you wished that you could reciprocate the things he does for you, but you couldn't. since your wounds were too bad. but you appreciate it. you appreciate the thing he's done to you.

but little did you knew, just a kiss and a hug from you, is okay for karube. he thinks, you don't have to try and do the same as he does, because as long as he sees you're happy, and you care for what he does, he's fine.

the sound of the door opening made you jump. since it was really quiet in this room, and the air that wss coming from the air conditioner was the only thing that could be heard.

you turned your head to the door, only to see karube, with your favorite sweets. and you couldn't help but to smile at him cheekily.

“ what's all of this? what's the occasion? ” you asked, earning a chuckle from your boyfriend.

“ there's actually no occasion, love. it's just, i wanted to buy you these, since i know you love them. ” he says, which made you roll your eyes at him playfully.

you pout, “ no. i love you more than those sweets. ”

he sighed, “ i know. ”

you sit up to began eating the sweets that karube buyed for you, but before you could touch the sweets, karube nuzzled his face on your neck.

you chuckle, “ whaat? ”

“ nothingg. i just missed youu. ” he says. his face still nuzzling on your neck.

“ i missed you too. ” you said as you began caressing his shoulders slowly.

“ say, karube, ” you paused. hesitating if you should tell him or not. while karube, lets out a confused hum.

“ well, does it bother you...when you visit me? ” you asked, which makes karube lift his face, and look at you.

“ what made you ask that? ” he looks at you, tilting his head.

“ well, nothing. i just think that it's a bother that you have to visit me here every single day. i kinda feel guilty cause i....i can't go visit you like you do to me. and i feel like, i need to go and do the same thing. ” you explained.

“ my love, visiting you will never be a bother to me. i love seeing you everyday here. and knowing that you're getting better every single day, eases me. and you don't have to do the same thing. because seeing you happy whenever i do these things for you, makes me happy. it's enough seeing your smile, for me. it will always be enough. ” he says, caressing you cheeks.

“ i love you. ” he says, before kissing you passionately.

the kiss didn't last long, but it was romantic. you felt like you were in a romantic movie when karube kissed you.

“ i love you more than you think. ” you said, before pinching his cheeks.

he chuckles, “ you really love pinching my cheeks, don't you? ”

“ yeah. ” you nod, before pinching his cheeks again.

[clairelsonao3]

Characters Out of Context Tag

I have @j-1173 (whose post is here) to thank for this procrastination tactic today! The challenge is as follows:

Rules:

Include one character quote — of your choosing ⁠— from each chapter of your WIP (or as many chapters as you'd like)

Give absolutely no context, save for what's between two parts of an interrupted sentence, should that occur. You may mention who said it.

Have fun, no pressure!

I gave myself some additional rules: Since I'm up to 23 chapters of GSNBTR, there's no reason not to include one quote each from ALL the major primary and secondary characters up to this point, so I'm going to do that (it won't quite equal out to one per chapter, so the MCs will get a few extra ones!). And because I'm doing that, I'm going to try to choose quotes that kind of encapsulate the "essence" of each character, or at least who they were at that point in the story. Wish me luck!

Oh, and I'm not going to mention who says what because that makes it more like trivia. And if there's anything I love, it's trivia!

Ch. 1

“Is that any way to talk to me?”

Ch. 2

"What have you so-called ‘experienced slave handling professionals’ been doing to the poor kid?"

Ch. 3

"Now a guy can’t even have sex with his own property without some social justice warrior calling it rape?

Ch. 4

“And calculus, and physics, and engineering. If I were free, I’d be a certified nerd,” he said. “And probably rich, too. But who’s complaining?”

Ch. 5

"You can tell me, you know." 

Ch. 6

“Your back isn’t nearly as pretty as your face, boy.”

Ch. 7

“You’ve been quiet. Secretive.” She kept poking her rhythmically with one of her sculpted coral nail tips. “But inside, you’re glowing. I see it.” Poke poke poke. “So there’s no use denying it, sweetie. What’s his name?”

Ch. 8

"Thanks for the relationship advice, dickhead. Have you ever even seen a girl naked without having to hide behind a bush?"

Ch. 9

“Nobody does anything for me. Ever."

Ch. 10

“And why shouldn’t they?” he said. “I mean, what are we trying to do here, Keith? Disrupt slavery, right? You’ve been in the corporate world too long, that’s your problem. You don’t question things anymore."

Ch. 11

"He's not mine," she said. "He's his own."

Ch. 12

"You could never, ever let me down,” he assured her.

Ch. 13

"And by the way, if you’re looking at the master being away as an opportunity to get away with murder, forget it.”

Ch. 14

“I’ve always wanted to see the ocean. But he didn’t take me, so I’m stuck here with a shit ton of time on my hands, and you’re still in the hole from the last one.” 

Ch. 15

“You know who I’m talking about. You have to find him, Louisa,” she continued. “Immediately. Normally I would never betray the confidence of a slave who came to me like this, but I can’t reach him now."

Ch. 16

 “The stuff he said about you was really awful, Lou; I’m not telling you this to cause drama. I just wanted to warn you.” She glanced quickly at the boy again. “Both of you.” 

Ch. 17

“She learned, and grew, and changed. She had a pilgrim soul.”

Ch. 18

“You’re so wrong. If I could only give you one thing in this life, it would be to give you the chance to see yourself the way I see you. Now and always.”

Ch. 19

“And to never, ever give up on me.”

Ch. 20

"You know you seem to have a real problem telling the difference between people and things?”

Ch. 21

“And everything I said the other day, about not giving up? It all still applies. Nothing's changed. Whatever happens. We'll figure it out. We always do. ”

Ch. 22

“Well, it’s a perk, no doubt. She invites some of us here sometimes to hang out, and of course, for such a rich guy, Jake is pretty chill. I like his vibes.”

Ch. 23

“What’s he been telling you? I don’t trust him. He’s a snake.”

I don't think I forgot anyone, but there is one character missing. It's better to leave them out at this point for spoiler-avoiding reasons, though.

I'm gently tagging @tabswrites @mysticstarlightduck @whither-wander-whump in case they would like to participate in this!