#I’m reading way too much into this aren’t I

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry.  (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

 

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment. 

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on. 

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream. 

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off. 

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black. 

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications. 

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending. 

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts. 

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

-

-

-

… You cave on the fifth day. 

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment] 

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours. 

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me. 

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word. 

Dont shut me out. 

Please.  

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams. 

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them. 

You set your phone down.

_

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops. 

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered. 

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb. 

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling. 

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out. 

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space. 

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then. 

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

 He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow gray.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll. 

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will. 

––––

“Hey, you okay?” 

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.” 

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?” 

Anytime, darling. 

I mean it. 

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?” 

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store. 

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath. 

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent. 

-

-

-

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain. 

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor. 

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back. 

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most. 

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make. 

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes. 

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button. 

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless. 

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision. 

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized. 

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing. 

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does. 

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope? 

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.  

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far. 

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin. 

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red. 

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark. 

And unread mail. So much unread mail. 

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you. 

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you. 

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being. 

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words, sharp as a blade sliding between ribs. Something in him snaps. 

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red. 

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues: 

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating. 

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you? 

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break. 

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you. 

You’re afraid of what’ll come next. 

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him. 

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you. 

As if he’d allow such a thing.  

The guilt rises in him, sharp and unbidden, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

… 

And just like that, he concedes. 

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other. 

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even. 

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?” 

“Of course.” Whatever you want. 

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head. 

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart. 

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound. 

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him. 

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other. 

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact. 

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched. 

“My lo—” 

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.” 

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt. 

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark, unrelenting reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?” 

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”  

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?” 

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine. 

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily. 

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke. 

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption. 

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks. 

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape. 

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling. 

I love you. 

I love you in ways that consume me. 

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you. 

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.” 

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop. 

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder. 

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading. 

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone. 

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.” 

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise. 

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?” 

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did. 

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his. 

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.” 

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time. 

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent. 

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating. 

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you. 

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours. 

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

[starryjake]

neighbors | k.y

in which you have feelings for your dilf neighbor.

pairing: koga yudai x fem!reader

includes: age gap (reader is early twenties, k is almost thirty), dilf k, k is divorced, fingering, unprotected sex, daddy kink (lmk if i missed anything).

a/n: first full length &team smut! i love k so much so this is LONG! but its worth the read i think. enjoy!

the crying. the never ending, slightly muffled wailing sound piercing into your ears as you tried to sleep.

having lived in your apartment for about five months then, you were used to it. your neighbor, k, was an incredibly nice man. he was a single father, therefore you tried not to get annoyed whenever you heard that baby crying in the middle of the night. you knew he didn’t have it easy, having to take care of a baby on his own.

but that night, you were exhausted.

you’d worked a double shift, a rather awful double shift. it was long and when you got back to your apartment, all you wanted to do was go to sleep considering you had to be back at work early the next morning.

but you couldn’t sleep, not with that baby crying so loud.

you huffed and threw the covers off your body, trudging out of bed. you didn’t even bother changing out of your pajamas—a matching set with a cherry pattern. you threw on some slippers and dragged yourself out of your apartment.

in the hallway, you took a few steps and landed in front of k’s door. you could hear the baby crying even more prominently from out there.

you knocked as softly as you could, wanting him to hear it but not wanting to disrupt the baby even more.

you could hear shuffling from behind the door before the door unlocked, and there appeared a very tired looking k with the crying baby in his arms.

you suddenly felt even worse about storming over there, seeing how he looked even more tired than you.

“gosh, i’m sorry, y/n,” he sighed. “i know you’re probably trying to sleep, she just won’t go down tonight. i don’t know what it is, she just keeps crying.”

“oh,” you said, feeling guilt pang in your chest. “it’s okay. i just came to ask if you needed any help?”

that was not, in fact, why you went over there. however, seeing him look the way he did, you knew he could use another hand.

“i couldn’t ask you to do that,” he responded.

“you don’t have to ask,” you said. “i wanna help.”

you mostly wanted to help so you could get the baby down and finally get some sleep. however, you did want to help k out of the goodness of your heart, knowing he probably needed it but was too stubborn to ask.

he was married, now divorced. his wife left only a few months after the baby was born, unable to handle being a mother. you’d lived next door the entire time and the walls were so thin that you could hear their fights. but then one night, it stopped.

you got closer to k once he and his wife divorced. you brought him coffee sometimes from the coffee shop you worked at or brought him groceries, but you’d never helped him take care of his child.

you were younger than him. you’d never taken care of a child before. he was reaching 30, while you were still in your early twenties.

“okay,” he responded, completely and utterly defeated because of the baby.

he stepped out of the doorway so you could come inside. he led you to the baby’s nursery.

“i’ve been trying for hours,” he explained. “i don’t know what it is and i feel like a horrible dad for not knowing.”

“you’re not a horrible dad,” you told him. “can i see her?”

he carefully handed his child over to you. you held her like you were holding the world’s most fragile piece of china.

“why aren’t you going to sleep?” you asked her in a soft voice, slowly rocking her back and forth against your chest. “i know you’re sleepy.”

k watched you interact with his child. you were so soft and sweet and gentle with her, it made his heart swell. and you were still in your pajamas, your hair slightly messy from your pillow. he thought you were stunning.

he’d always thought you were stunning. from the day you moved in next door and brought him homemade cookies to introduce yourself, he was attracted. he had his wife then, but still allowed himself to acknowledge your beauty.

then, his wife was gone, but you were there and still so frustratingly pretty. but he never acted on it. he was almost positive you wouldn’t be interested in him. he was handsome, yes, but he was a dad and was almost 10 years older than you. you surely could have your choice of any man and he was sure that man wouldn’t be him.

k was so entranced staring at you that he hadn’t even noticed the crying sound died down, and eventually had come to an ultimate stop.

the baby fell asleep in your arms.

you ever so carefully placed her in her crib, and k watched in dismay. you casually snuck past him, leaving the room, and he followed, softly shutting the door behind him.

“how the hell did you do that?” he asked, following you into the kitchen.

“i honestly don’t know,” you admitted. “maybe she just needed a woman’s touch.”

“i don’t even know how to thank you,” he gushed.

“don’t worry about it,” you assured him sweetly. “a good night of sleep is enough for me.”

“me too,” he said. “well, thank you a ton, seriously.”

he walked you back over to the door.

“not a problem,” you responded. “goodnight.”

“goodnight,” he replied.

you walked out and back into your apartment, able to fall asleep as soon as you got back into bed.

-

a few nights later, you’d had a similar day as the one you had before. you’d worked an awful double shift and wanted nothing more than to just sleep and wake up to a better day.

you got into bed and waited. you waited for the torturous sound of that baby wailing to start up, but it never did.

you waited and waited, half waiting for yourself to fall asleep and half waiting for the crying to begin. neither happened.

you were getting more frustrated by the second. first you couldn’t fall asleep because of the sound of the baby crying but now you couldn’t fall asleep because it wasn’t crying? you were going insane, surely.

you sat up in your bed, ready to trudge to the living room to put a show on since it was clear sleep was not coming your way anytime soon.

however, before you could do that, your phone vibrated with a text message alert.

you picked it up, surprised to find it was k texting you at nearly 12 o’clock in the morning.

k - you still awake?

y/n - i am…why is it so quiet over there?

k - baby is with my parents tonight. i thought i’d fall asleep in a minute but it’s so eerily quiet that i can’t.

he was having the same exact problem you were.

y/n - agreed. i was about to go watch tv since i can’t sleep lol

k - i have a better idea

y/n - i’m listening

k - i’ve got an unopened bottle of wine calling our names.

and that was how you ended up at k’s apartment at midnight, once again in your pajamas, splitting a bottle of white wine.

“i still can’t get over how easily you got her to stop crying the other night,” k gushed, his half empty glass in his grasp.

you were both sat on his couch in his living room, close but not close enough that you were touching.

“i don’t know,” you admitted. “she must just like me.”

“yeah, well i don’t blame her,” he replied. your eyebrow raised, but before you could think about what he meant by that, he added, “it’s so weird without her here. i feel like i have all this freedom for the night and yet i’m still here in my apartment.”

“hey, you’re drinking wine with your awesome neighbor,” you said. “that’s something.”

k laughed at that, his arm snaking around the top of the couch. if you took just a few scoots closer to him, his arm would be around you.

“you’re right,” he said. “i’m surprised you came.”

“really? how come?” you wondered.

“i don’t know many people your age that would spend a friday night drinking wine with their almost 30-year-old neighbor,” he explained, taking a small sip of said wine.

“trust me, i’d much rather be here than out at a club or something,” you responded.

“yeah? how come?” he questioned.

“this is just more my vibe,” you shrugged. “plus you’re cooler than i think you give yourself credit for.”

you took a rather large sip of wine, feeling the bitter liquid waterfall down your throat and settle in your stomach. your body felt warm and your head started feeling lighter, the alcohol slowly hitting you.

“oh c’mon,” he laughed. “i’m a single dad who can’t even get my own baby to stop crying. i am not cool.”

“i think you are,” you shrugged, pressing your cheek against the couch cushion.

“well, you’re sweet,” he said.

your cheeks reddened. you pressed your face against the cushion further, trying to hide the fact that you were blushing. he’d barely said anything and yet you were already blushing.

truthfully, you had a crush on k. from the minute you’d first laid eyes on him, you could not believe he was your neighbor. you were disappointed to find out he had a wife, and secretly excited when you found out they were getting a divorce.

you wanted him and you tried your best to make that known, but it’d been months and nothing had ever happened between you two.

“don’t hide,” he laughed softly, scooting ever so slightly closer to you.

you took another sip of the wine, swallowing the rest of it. your body relaxed at the sensation of the alcohol taking over your head. you felt light like you were a speck of dust in the air.

you giggled a little, pressing your hand to your face and feeling your warm cheeks.

“are you hot?” he asked, smiling down at you.

“mhm,” you nodded. “but not as hot as you.”

yeah, you were tipsy. you never would’ve been so bold completely sober.

“oh, am i?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, taken aback by your forwardness.

“yeah,” you answered, scanning his attractive face. you bit your lower lip. “really hot.”

he chuckled, feeling himself blush like he was back in high school again. you were not yourself. you were drunk, and as much as he enjoyed seeing you flirt so shamelessly with him, he knew he couldn’t do anything about it. not that night.

“so sweet,” he cooed, “and i can say the same for you.”

“really?” you said. “you think i’m hot?”

“of course,” he responded, staring down at his hand as it inched closer to your thigh. “you’re very, very pretty.”

suddenly, his hand was on your thigh. you looked down at it, how big his hand was, how heavy and warm it felt on your leg. you placed your hand on top of his and looked back up at his face.

the tension between you two was thick. you wanted more of him and he desperately wanted more of you, but he couldn’t. what he was doing then was far enough.

he patted your thigh before removing it all together.

“you’re drunk, honey,” he said.

you pouted slightly at the loss of his hand on you.

“‘m not that drunk,” you slurred.

he laughed, standing up from the couch. he helped you rise to your feet, and you swayed slightly once you were standing.

“i disagree,” he replied. “c’mon, i’ll walk you back.”

you tried to hide the fact that you were sulking as he walked you back to your own apartment. he kept a firm grip on your arm to keep you from stumbling.

you fumbled with the lock and key before getting the door to your apartment open and stepping inside. you and k walked to your bedroom. he lifted the covers for you and helped you slide in.

“comfy?” he asked, tucking you in sweetly.

“mhm,” you hummed, your eyelids suddenly growing heavy. “k?”

“yeah?”

“will you stay until i fall asleep?”

it was a silly request. you were a grown woman and you didn’t need your neighbor to stay with you until you fell asleep, but you wanted him around. his company made you feel safe and warm.

he smiled at your sweet words.

“yeah,” he assured you. “i’ll stay.”

he moved to sit on the other side of your bed, his back propped up against your array of pillows. he didn’t try to touch you or hold you, just simply laid beside you.

with the state you were in, it didn’t take you long to fall asleep at all. two minutes and you were out like a light.

k stayed for a bit longer, examining your delicate face and the steady rhythm of your chest rising up and down. he thought you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

-

your head was pounding the minute you woke up and you were immediately mortified in remembrance of what you did yesterday.

flirting with your older, recently divorced neighbor? what were you thinking?

half asleep, you grabbed your phone from off your nightstand and located your text messages with him.

y/n - k, i’m so sorry about yesterday

next door, k was already awake, standing in front of the coffee machine and eagerly awaiting for his cup to be brewed. he noticed his phone vibrate and was delighted to find a text message from you.

he was surprised that you were apologizing.

k - good morning. sorry for what?

y/n - the way i acted. i know it was inappropriate so i hope i didn’t make you uncomfortable :(

you were so shy and innocent, k actually thought it was cute: the fact that you were apologizing for simply calling him hot yesterday.

k - you have nothing to apologize for, y/n. it was actually really nice drinking with you. we should do it again sometime.

the contents of his text woke you up slightly. you were surprised he actually wanted to do it again after the way you acted.

you sent him a response telling him you would love that before turning your phone back off and going back to sleep in hopes that your hangover would feel better once you woke up.

-

the flat screen tv in front of you played a romantic comedy, one you weren’t really paying any attention to. you couldn’t, not with k sitting right next to you, close enough that your legs were touching.

his body heat was radiating off of him like a furnace, making your own body warm. his eyes were glued to the screen, you found when you glanced over at him.

feeling your eyes on him, he looked back at you, offering you a sly grin.

it was a few days later since you’d last gone over to his place. this time, you weren’t going to let yourself get so drunk in front of him. you didn’t need to embarrass yourself again.

again, his baby was staying with his parents leaving the apartment all to himself, which made it the perfect night to invite you over for a movie.

“you okay?” he asked.

“yeah,” you affirmed, blushing from being caught looking at him.

he chuckled breathily, suddenly taking the initiative to wrap his arm around you. a part of you had been waiting for him to do so all night.

you felt relaxed as your head rested on his shoulder. he caressed your arm with his thumb, looking back to the screen like what he was doing wasn’t a big deal.

it wasn’t a big deal. all he’d done was put his arm around you, yet you were freaking out internally. just his touch alone was enough to drive you crazy.

it didn’t help that he looked so good that night too. you were used to seeing him in business and formal clothes, but he was dressed comfortable and casually then in gray sweatpants and a hoodie, and he looked amazing. he smelled so good too. you were practically writhing beside him.

he noticed your restlessness, your fidgeting, your occasional glances at him.

“are you tired?” he asked. “we can finish the movie another night if you wanna get some sleep.”

“no, no, i’m not tired,” you assured. “just…”

you trailed off, too embarrassed to tell him you were so distracted and fidgety because of him.

“just what?”

the way he was looking at you didn’t help your case. his gaze made your squirm, crossing your legs and arms over yourself like you were trying to hide from him.

“i-i don’t…”

you were pathetic, truly. you couldn’t even utter out a sentence.

“you’re cute,” k said, chuckling at your state. “is it because i put my arm around you? i can move it if you’d like.”

“no, i like it,” you assured, placing your hand on top of his wrist to keep it where it was. “i like having your hands on me.”

like a switch was flipped, the atmosphere suddenly changed. k’s eyebrow raised slightly, surprised by your entirely sober words.

“oh yeah?” he asked, his grip on your shoulder tightening slightly.

“mhm,” you hummed, feeling your heart start to beat faster.

“where else do you want my hands?” he wondered, a flirtatious tone to his voice. he moved his hand up to the back of your head, feeling your hair. “want them in your hair?”

your squeezed your thighs together with need. his words were making you more aroused by the second.

“no,” you answered.

“no?” he repeated, moving his hand down to your chin. he tilted your head to face him, your faces close. “how about here?”

you gulped, your eyes flickering down to his lips. suddenly, you were overcome with the need to have them on you, to feel them against your own. luckily, k seemed to have the same idea.

he leaned in and connected your lips together in a slow, deep kiss. your jaw fell slack right away, accepting his lips against your own and letting him take the ropes, knowing you would follow.

you found yourself shifting closer to his body, your hand snaking around his neck. you slid your fingers into his dark hair and tugged slightly on the roots, pushing his lips against you harder.

that encouraged him to slide his tongue into your mouth, where you proceeded to rub yours against him, tasting him and exchanging your saliva.

he eventually departed from your lips and trailed down to your neck, where he sucked on your sensitive skin. you gasped, throwing your head back slightly to give him better access.

while he kissed and nibbled on your neck, his hands trailed down your waist, rubbing your sides. his touch felt electric, unlike any other way you’d felt when other guys had touched you before.

k wasn’t like any of the other guys though. he was older and thus more experienced. it was like he knew your body better than you did because every touch he delivered to you felt amazing.

his hand slid under your shirt, caressing your warm bare skin. he trailed up to your bare breast, giving it a soft squeeze.

“fuck,” you whispered when his thumb grazed over your erect nipple.

“this okay?” he asked, glancing up at you.

“yes,” you answered. “please.”

“please what?” he asked, pulling your shirt up so it exposed your tits to him. “what do you need, sweetheart?”

“need you to touch me,” you told him, an underlying tone of desperation in your voice.

“i am touching you,” he responded, tweaking your nipple in between his slim fingers.

“more,” you cried out, jutting your hips up so he would get the idea of where you needed his touch.

he knew, even without you practically shoving it in his face. he could tell you were pent up and was eager to touch your pussy anyway, knowing it was probably absolutely drenched in your arousal.

“okay, baby,” he complied, hooking his fingers into your waistband. “i’ll give you what you want.”

he slid your pants down your legs, leaving you in just a pair of lacy baby blue underwear. he swallowed at the sight, at his beautiful neighbor who was sprawled out half naked on his couch, writhing for him.

“fuck,” he whispered, stroking your smooth inner thighs. “you are fucking beautiful.”

he was truly astonished, taking in your body in such dismay. he couldn’t believe you were all his to play with for the night.

finally, he reached out and rubbed your pussy over your underwear. your arousal was quick to seep through the fabric, making it stick to your pussy and accentuate your clit and folds.

k could feel the heat and wetness radiating through and wanted nothing more to stick his head between your thighs and lick the fabric until you were kicking him away from the overstimulation.

instead, he slid your panties down your legs and spread your knees apart. your pussy was glistening in arousal, begging silently to be played with.

you were slightly embarrassed, truth be told. this was your neighbor, your neighbor who you met while he was still married with a newborn child, and now you were naked on his couch, your pussy shamelessly on display right in front of him.

you turned your head to the side, hoping that if you didn’t watch, it would be less embarrassing for you.

k slid his middle and ring fingers up your slit, gathering the excess amount of arousal and spreading it all over your pussy. he ended up at your clit, rubbing it slowly.

you let out a pathetic moan, eyes rolling back into your head.

“you’re so sensitive,” he commented, sliding his fingers up and down your pussy again. “i’ve barely done anything and you’re soaked. does it really feel that good, baby?”

“yes,” you answered, trying to grind your hips against his fingers for more. “feels so fucking good, k. i need more.”

again, he gave you what you wanted. he slid his two fingers into your needy hole with ease from the built up arousal. you immediately clenched around the long digits, gasping at the intrusion.

“fuck!” you squealed, slapping a hand over your mouth.

k really liked how responsive you were to even his slightest touch. he wasn’t even moving his fingers, letting you adjust to the size of them, and yet you were moaning so prettily and feeling so good already.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered. “you feel so good around my fingers.”

you clenched around him at the praise. he slowly began moving his fingers inside you, pulling them out slightly and pushing them back in, massaging your walls.

the sound of his fingers thrusting in and out of your hole was lewd and loud and humiliating, but by then, you were already too far gone to care. besides, k thought it was just about the hottest thing ever: the noise, your body, your reactions, you.

he brought his thumb up to your clit and rubbed it in little circles while continuing to finger you. you grabbed his wrist, your chest heaving and making you pant like a dog.

“oh my god, k,” you cried out, your thighs starting to shake from how hard he was finger fucking. “i’m close.”

“yeah?” he responded. “you gonna cum all over my fingers?”

“yes!” you exclaimed, your stomach tightening as it started approaching at a record fast pace.

“fuck,” he muttered, feeling his cock twitch in his sweatpants. “be a good girl and cum for me then.”

you complied to his words, the knot in your stomach unraveling. you clenched as his fingers slammed in and out of your pussy, giving you the most out of your orgasm as you could get.

you moaned pathetically, your hips riding his fingers uncontrollably. your toes curled and your eyes rolled and it was by the far the hardest you’d ever cum in your life.

k watched in awe, feeling like he could cum with one stroke of his cock because of how turned on he was by watching you. you were such a grand sight and he couldn’t believe your reaction was all because of him.

he needed more of you.

“let’s go to my room,” he urged, helping you off the couch.

he lead the way down the hall to his bedroom, a room you’d never seen before. he immediately got on the bed and you followed, your lower half bare as you straddled his clothed lap.

he wrapped his arms around your waist and attached his lips back to your lips again. it was sloppier than your first kiss, but the eagerness and lust was evident. you just needed to feel each other and be as close as humanly possible.

he was quick to slide out of his sweatpants, revealing his long and thick cock that you just knew was by far the biggest out of anyone you’d been with. the thought of it being inside you made you gulp.

“you can take it,” he whispered reassuringly. “lay on your back, baby.”

you climbed off of his lap and laid flat on your back like he instructed you to do. he grabbed your thighs in his dominating hands and spread them apart, revealing your pussy. it was visibly wet and ready for him.

“please,” you whispered in desperation while he stared at your cunt.

“what do you want, baby?” he asked, a slight tease in his tone. “want me to fuck you? is that it?”

“yes!” you cried out. “please just fuck me, k.”

“fuck, angel,” he growled, wrapping his hand around his cock. “you make it hard to say no.”

he jerked himself for a moment before aligning his pink tip with your hole. just the contact alone made your body feel like it was electric. you could only imagine how it would feel when he was really inside you.

he found your hand, intertwining your fingers together as he slowly slid his length inside you. you winced, his size way bigger than anything you were used to. yet at the same time, the pain felt good because it was k.

he squeezed your hand once he was all the way inside, your pelvises pressed together.

“you okay?” he asked, leaning down to place a comforting kiss on your forehead.

you looked up at him. his dark hair was falling into his eyes, his cheeks with a rosy hue, and all in all, he looked stunning. you could feel it in your chest that you were falling in love with him.

you reached up, pressing your hand to the back of his neck. you pushed slightly to get him to come back down to your face level and connected your lips together. he smiled against your mouth, kissing you deeply and warmly.

after a few minutes, he started moving. he pulled out about halfway before slowing pushing his cock back inside you. your cunt gripped him so fucking tightly that k felt lightheaded every time he felt his tip hit the back of it.

he had a tight embrace on your waist, keeping you from squirming around as a result of his big intrusion inside of you. it felt incredible to be stuffed full of him and slowly the pain disintegrated into pleasure.

he pulled out and thrusted back in, your walls sucking him in and squeezing around his thick length.

“fuck,” he cursed, tossing his head back to reveal his pretty neck. “relax, angel. you’re so fucking tight when you clench like that.”

“c-can’t help it,” you sputtered, feeling your body move slightly up the bed every time he thrusted. “feels so full.”

“yeah?” he exhaled. “you nice and full of my cock?”

you whimpered, tossing your head to the side as he quickened his pace, ramming into you. the sound of skin slapping against each other and your pussy squelching from the wetness was lewd and loud and embarrassing, yet you felt too good to care.

he was so much more experienced than anyone else you’d been with before, it was obvious. the way he moved his hips and the way his cock would go slow and deep, then hard and rough, keeping you guessing of what he was going to do next. it was exciting to be fucking him after the lust you’d felt for so long.

embarrassing as it was, you already felt yourself getting close.

“k,” you cried out, squeezing his biceps. “‘m close.”

“yeah?” he replied, his cheeks a rosy red from how hard he was fucking you. “you gonna cum around my cock? go ahead, baby. you’ve been so good for me.”

you slapped your hand over your mouth and finally let go, your toes curling. k groaned at the sight and at the feeling of you cumming, his cock twitching inside you.

“fuck, you’re fucking perfect,” he mumbled, leaning down to plant his lips against yours again.

“daddy,” you whimpered out. “feels so good.”

he moaned at the name, feeling his abs clench. you couldn’t get any better than this. you were better and hotter than he ever could’ve imagined you’d be.

he brought his fingers down to rub your clit in little circles, eager to feel you cum for a second time. you gasped, feeling overstimulated and sensitive but you didn’t want him to stop. the moment was too good, so good that you truly never wanted it to stop.

he was fucking you so hard and perfectly, ruthlessly chasing his own orgasm. you just knew you’d be sore in the morning but you didn’t care because you knew it’d just remind you of how good that night was.

“you gonna let me cum inside you?” he asked breathlessly as he slowly felt his high approaching. “gonna let me fill your pretty pussy with all my cum?”

“please!” you nearly sobbed, looking up at him with the prettiest big eyes. “please, daddy. cum inside me.”

“you’re so fuckin’ hot when you call me that,” he practically growled, digging his fingernails into your hips. “gonna fill you so good.”

“please,” you begged pathetically. “i need it.”

k sighed, feeling lightheaded from how tightly your pussy gripped him, how hot and wet it was. just the idea of filling you up to the brim was making him twitch.

“good little cum slut,” he mumbled. “gonna take everything i give you.”

“fuck k,” you cried. “i’m gonna cum again.”

“wait,” he commanded. “cum at the same time as me. can you do that, angel? can you hold it for just a little longer?”

you bit your lip, trying to distract yourself so you didn’t cum too soon. if k told you to do something, you were going to do it.

“okay,” you responded shakily.

“don’t worry, sweetheart,” he cooed. “i’m so close.”

you shut your eyes, relishing in the sensation of his cock absolutely railing in and out of your cunt like a piston.

k stared at your face, admiring your pure beauty. you were even prettier than normal when you were underneath him, on the verge of another orgasm.

just by looking at you, he was about to finish.

“shit,” he groaned. “i’m gonna cum, baby.”

the idea of k filling you up immediately had your stomach clenching. your body heated up like you were on fire and you just knew you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“i’m cumming,” you cried out, eyes rolling back into your head.

k moaned and cursed your name as spurts of his cum filled your pussy. you milked him for all he was worth, insuring that he gave you every single last drop.

he buried his face in your neck, breathing heavily against your skin as he went through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

you felt high. you’d never been fucked so good before, never came three times all in one night.

it took a few minutes, but eventually k pulled out of you. he watched in awe as what was practically a fountain of cum came gushing out of your spent cunt.

“fuck,” he mumbled, watching it spill onto his sheets. “so pretty.”

you watched, dazed and exhausted, as he disappeared to grab a towel and returned shortly after. you were too tired to do anything, so you let him clean you up and get you redressed in some shorts and one of his t-shirts.

he put his pants on and crawled underneath the covers, pulling you into his chest.

“how was that?” he asked, kissing the top of your head.

“i don’t think there are any words to describe to you how good that was,” you remarked.

he chuckled breathily, nodding.

“i agree.”

it didn’t take you long to fall asleep at all. you were completely comfortable and relaxed around him.

on the other hand, k couldn’t fall asleep for the life of him. all he could do was lay there with you in his safe embrace, thinking about how he was falling deeply for you, his sweet younger neighbor.

[theharrowing]

MY CHELL!!!!!!!

i read this review back when you posted it but life has been so hectic that i haven't had a chance to respond 😭😭😭 but i am here now and so excited to see (once again) what you have to say.

that ursula gif tho 💀💀💀

how i picture you wiggling in your seat:

you know, i hadn't fully considered the image of Taehyung in a balaclava, but now that you mention it..........................yes.

Stroll in with a pair of bloody chopsticks and a simple, “Darling”...what a charmer.

lolol idk why this is so funny to me.

definitely manipulative to bring Jimin along. i did my best to paint it as him bringing the whole crew as man power but those of you who've been paying attention know that Jimin is not a fighter, and that at the end of the day, he is absolutely a bargaining chip.

MC comparing Yoongi and Ryujin hurts. I can see what she means but damn does it hurt to admit it. After all is said and done, Yoongi is a shady ass dude with a shaky track record in love. The way he goes about things aren’t always clear and are often very infuriating.

yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. sigh lmao. this is something i have been anticipating showing for a long time and i am glad you had thoughts.

i actually had other plans for Ateez, but i scrapped some chunks of my outline that i didn't think suited the story anymore and lost those characters in the process. now they are heeerrrreeeee haha. i also think they fit the vibe, honestly.

I love that you can include such innocent and cute scenes in between the death, sorrow and destruction. 

that's what i do hehehe.

The one on one talk went a lot better than I thought it would. MC needed to let those tears out with Yoongi and I’m more at ease that he is willing to wait for her mental health to get better. Healing takes time and having him/the guys not push for her to come home too soon means a lot.

....................we'll see how this thought has aged in chapter 24 lmao. i know you will have WORDS.

There is a subtle shift in the family dynamics or I could just be reading too much into it but with Seokjin’s bullshit out in the open, it seems to me that everyone is a little more relaxed. Not as on edge with being alive. 

you are so observant 🥰🥰🥰

your observations re: ryujin & yoongi (and ryujin & mc) are on point. definitely nothing is black and white but where are the lines drawn, and where are they grey???

I hope Yoongi puts a fucking bullet in Ryujin’s skull, right between her eyes! This slimy two-faced bitch! Harmless my ass! I want to reach through the screen and punch Ryujin myself!

THANK YOU FOR READINGGGGGGG!!!!!!!! you will get answers soon but i wonder if you will also have more questions. my hope is that from chapter 24 on, all we are doing is answering questions and letting all of the pieces finally fall into place. it's.................going to be a mess haha. SEE YOU SOOONNNN!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😍🥰💜😍🥰💜

Collateral 🗡️ 23: This life of death and destruction

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon

🗡️ word count: 13.6k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ 

🗡️warnings: violence (a man gets stabbed in the eye, weaponized chopsticks, blood); recreational drug use & getting drunk; vomit.

🗡️note: are we ready to continue this story??? the cast of characters has doubled in size, and i think the angst & drama has multiplied, as well. i wrote this opening scene on april 20, 2023 moments after watching the Haegeum mv. it feels good to have finally built the rest of the chapter around it over a year later. this chapter is like 80% dialogue, lol sorry. we are setting up for what is to come in the rest of the fic. enjoyyy!!!

🗡️ also note: in this chapter, mc is borrowing clothing. if you are comfortable with imagining the clothing belongs to the thin kpop idols, please do. if you are not, then please don't. i am not making assumptions or allusions to body size but instead trying to paint a picture of being at the mercy of others.

🗡️ if you have not read the Yoongi POV chapter, i strongly recommend you do so before reading this.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🗡️ posted sept. 2024 | read on ao3

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“He looks hesitant,” Ryujin drawls in a bored tone. She turns to face you and her lips upturn at the edges, eyes sparkling. “Like he’s scared of what he may find when he gets here.”

The air is stiflingly hot, creating a sticky film over your skin, and your body feels heavier than it should. In this humidity, you are dizzy and agitated. More than anything, you are not ready to come face to face with the man who has caused you so much confusion and mental duress.

“Good,” you say, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Your fingers dig into your hip bones, and you do your best not to shuffle anxiously. You do not fully believe in your conviction, but you want your performance to be believable enough that the girls don't think you're weak. “He should be.”

“Looks like he brought all the family men,” she adds, turned back to watch their approach. 

Your heart flutters suddenly, wondering whether she means Jimin is there too, unable to hide the tremble in your voice as you ask, “A-all of them?”

This time, when Ryujin faces you, her expression appears contemplative, almost sad. 

“All of them,” she confirms, causing nausea and excitement to stir. 

All you can say in response is, “Oh.”

Before you can stop yourself, your feet are carrying you forward, toward the window. You do not fully approach, not wanting to be seen, so you stop as soon as you spot them walking in the street toward the noodle shop downstairs that doubles as your hideout. 

Seven figures approach in a V formation. Six of them wear ratty dark t-shirts and khaki pants, and they hold what look like juvenile weaponry—baseball bats and chains. Over their heads are balaclavas, reminding you of Christian's men. Is it meant to taunt him, you wonder. Do they think they will find him and his men here?

Yoongi is in the center, leading the charge, with no face covering and wearing a baby blue satin bomber jacket with thick white lines down the sleeves. On the breasts of the jacket are embroidered dragon heads, reminding you of Namjoon. 

Namjoon. The thought of seeing him again, like this, makes your insides stir. You feel the urge to vomit, but you hold your ground and watch as the men approach, wearing a frown on your lips. 

When the heads disappear from sight, you turn and listen for the silence that lingers in the air, save for the thrum of your pulse. A calm before a terrible storm.

Ryujin lets out a long, loud trill of a whistle—a signal, no doubt—and you listen as the 

hideout breaks out into chaos. Men scramble through the short hallway that leads out into the open space that Yoongi and his men will soon enter. 

"No guns!" Ryujin commands as she stomps through the space toward the hallway, clad in a white tank top tucked into a short black tennis skirt and tall leather equestrian boots. "You are on the defense only. Do not harm a single hair on any of these men's bodies. Do so and you die!"

As you stand near the window, you listen to the street commotion below. Vehicles drive along the narrow roads, vendors shout while ringing bells and chimes, and in the distance, a dog barks. 

You know that you will not hear the men's approaching footfalls, but you listen for them, anyway. Yoongi and the family men only need to walk through the small dining hall of the open-air restaurant below, then up a flight of stairs. You hear nothing that might give their positions away. 

"Wanna hide?" Hwasa—the nickname of your darling friend Hyejin—asks. She rests her chin on your shoulder and loosely wraps her arms around you, engulfing you in a perfume of roses and lilies.

You shake your head and mutter, "No," watching the doorway for any movement.

Finally, heavy footfalls echo through the space, giving you goosebumps, and when you hear the sounds of shouting followed by someone running into the room, you hold your breath. 

"Fuck, fuck!" a man yells as he rounds the corner and cowers, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He seems to be patting himself down for a weapon, then he sighs and squeezes his eyes closed as he presses his back to the wall. 

"Ya!" Hwasa yells, making the man gasp. "What is it?"

"B-big Duri," the man stammers, eyes wide. He shakes his head quickly as if attempting to clear away his thoughts. 

Duri is a hulk of a man who stands watch at the top of the stairs. He is as muscular as he is tall, with a bit of softness around his belly, and his towering status has earned him the title Big Duri from the other men. One snarl from him makes men cower away in fear.

"What about him?" Hwasa asks.

"He was s-stabbed," the man says, staring at the floor. "In the f-f-fucking eye."

Hwasa drops her arms from around you and stands up straight. You open your mouth to speak but find no sound can pass your lips. 

Footfalls approach, heavy and fast. You are not sure who you expect storming in from the hallway, but for some reason, it is not Yoongi. 

He walks in assuredly like he owns the place, dark hair framing his face in waves. Clenched in his right fist are two bright red chopsticks that look like the ones served at the restaurant downstairs, and you could swear the thinner ends of them are dripping with blood. 

"Darling, let's go," Yoongi says, wide eyes fixed on you. He looks like a madman with his hair somewhat disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his throat.  

You are surprised to see Yoongi dressed as he is. Under the pastel jacket is a white tee tucked into loose-fitting blue jeans. When was the last time you saw him in blue jeans? Your first trip to Hong Kong?

You heavy-blink, breaking from the thought process, and attempt to hold steady and keep cool. But you do not feel cool. Your pulse quickens, and you worry you might faint. 

"I'm staying here," you say, voice trembling. 

You half expect Yoongi to storm over and grab you by the arm. Part of you even feels saddened when he stays where he is. 

"Darling," Yoongi says, lifting his free hand to wave you over. "I'm not asking you twice."

"How many men did you kill out there?" you ask, eyes on the chopsticks that drip blood beside his dusty white sneaker. Yoongi's arm drops to his side and he heaves a weighty sigh, shoulders falling. 

Behind Yoongi, Ryujin saunters in. She grins and stands beside Yoongi, resting her head against his shoulder as she reaches for the bloodied chopsticks in his fist, saying, "You owe me a bodyguard."

Yoongi—whose eyes never leave you—throws the chopsticks to the floor, off to the side. They clatter against the uneven wood, and you wince at the thought of blood splattering. 

He mutters, "Fine." 

With that admission, you surmise that Yoongi has, indeed, stabbed Big Duri in the eye. How he managed to do so when he is so much smaller than the man is beyond you. You would be amused by the visual of Yoongi leaping onto him like a kitten if the situation were not so infuriating. 

Slowly, Ryujin lifts her head from Yoongi's shoulder. She turns her gaze to you as she says, "She doesn't want this life, Yoongi. She told you so, herself."

"Darling," Yoongi says, seemingly ignoring Ryujin, making her roll her eyes. "I will make some changes. We will figure it out. Just come home."

You shake your head. "I told you I wanted to leave."

"You are in danger," Yoongi insists, and you scoff. For the first time since you have arrived to this dingy place, there has been no hint of violence until he turned up. 

As Yoongi sighs, his nostrils flair. You can clearly see that he has something on his mind, but he remains still and silent. 

Anger rises, and you clench your fists at your sides. This is not the reunion you expected, but you cannot say you are shocked. "I told you I no longer want this life, and the first thing you do is stab a man—a good man!"

"Darling, I—" 

"Go home," you interrupt. 

Yoongi watches you, expression cold save for a flicker of sadness in his eyes. Every nerve in your body wants to propel you forward and into his arms, but you do not want to return to the home of a maniac who attacks men with chopsticks, beautiful as that maniac may be. 

"I have told you time and again that I cannot handle this life of death and destruction! And here you are, bringing it straight to my feet. Go home, Yoongi."

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, raising his eyebrows. In the doorway, you see Namjoon appear, balaclava raised to his forehead. His dark grey tee is smeared with sweat and blood, and before he can open his mouth to speak, you turn around. There is absolutely no way you will be able to keep your strength if you are forced to face any more of them. 

"She wants you to leave," Hwasa says. You are grateful for her as you hear the heels of her boots against the rickety hardwood. "Now!"

"I want to speak to her," Namjoon says, and you are surprised to hear Yoongi say, "She does not wish to speak. Come on."

As their deep, low voices mutter, tears fill your eyes. You breathe in deeply, hoping to ward them off, but as you exhale, the air comes out shattered, and you know that you are only moments away from crying. 

"Tomorrow night, we can sit down and discuss matters," Ryujin says. 

You keep your eyes on the late afternoon sky, hanging on her every word. 

"Amicably," she continues. "No weapons. No hot tempers. And you have a man en route to Busan to take Duri's place when we arrive. Deal?"

"All of us?" Namjoon asks, and you fight the edges of your lips, which curl into a sad smile. 

Ryujin sighs. "Yes, all seven of you sordid little devils. Now get the fuck out of my hideout. You gave our darling a scare and I will not have her fainting because of it. I will send you a time and place, and you will show up dressed as respectable men. Seriously, what the fuck are you guys wearing? You look like trash."

Ryujin's voice fades as she continues to berate them, footsteps retreating, and it occurs to you once more that somewhere out in the chaos is Jimin. You turn, and the movement causes Yoongi's head to lift and eyes to open wide and expectantly, standing halfway in the hallway. You were not expecting him to still be here. To your disappointment, Namjoon has already left the room.

"Is Jimin here?" you ask. 

Relief floods Yoongi's face, and he cracks a smile, nodding as he says, "Yes. Come see him."

You shake your head, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall. 

"Glad he's awake," you say. "Perhaps I will see you all tomorrow." 

Yoongi's expression turns sad, and you watch as he mouths the word perhaps before you turn your attention back to the window. The sound of his shoes retreating makes you want to throw up, and you swallow it down as a single tear streaks your left cheek. 

* * *

Ryujin lies on a large fur rug that she has pulled near the window. Atop the rug is a mess of blankets and pillows, and her limbs tangle with those of Hwasa and the other three girls. 

You sit arrow straight on the wide window sill, staring at the street below. The sky slowly darkens, illuminating the buildings with an orange glow that is exaggerated by the neon lights on each restaurant and storefront. 

"Yes, Yoongi," Ryujin says into her phone, playful irritation in her tone. "I swear to you there is nobody by that name in our ranks. Seokjin-oppa has already warned me about his possible presence."

You listen, hoping to hear traces of Yoongi's voice coming through the phone, but you know that it is hopeless; his dulcet tones do not exactly travel far even while in the same room as him. Muffled and at a distance, the notion is hopeless.

"You know," Ryujin continues, "you would have less to worry about if you hadn't stabbed my most trusty security guard in the fucking eye with a chopstick."

Her words make you wince, and you turn away from the window, staring at the empty wall opposite where Ryujin and the girls rest. The floral wallpaper is peeled in places and tinted brown from water damage, but otherwise, the space is clean and empty, save for six suitcases and the items Ryujin has brought in and strewn about for comfort. 

Outside of this room is a hallway that connects to more rooms, though you have not bothered to look into any of them, save for the bathroom, which is the first room to the right as you exit this one. Whatever this hideout was originally built for, you do not know, and you do not care, although you imagine at least one of the rooms could serve as office space for the restaurant below. 

A shrill laugh barks through the air, making you jump. You gaze over your shoulder to find Ryujin's head tilted back, eyes closed as she full-body laughs. 

"Don't be a fucking idiot," she says, opening her eyes to meet your gaze. "No scrub in clown paint is going to buy our little darling from me. Now get some sleep; we'll talk about this tomorrow evening, as promised."

Something about Ryujin calling you our little darling sends a chill along your spine, and you turn back to staring at nothing. She ends the call abruptly, and you hear as her phone clatters against the wooden floor, undoubtedly tossed aside. 

"Darling," Ryujin calls, voice soft and pretty, causing your shoulders to rise to your ears as if protecting you—from what, you are unsure. 

You swallow hard. "Hmm?"

Ryujin giggles. "Come. You're so tense. Relax with us."

She is correct that you are tense. You have been tense for days. When you got into her car at the airport, she said you would be here for two or three days, but it is going on a week, and you are tired of sleeping on rugs in a pile of bodies. You want to return to a bed. Any bed. 

As you turn to face Ryujin and the others, you are struck by a sense of homesickness and longing that makes your stomach churn. Hwasa and three slender beauties called Solar, Wheein, and Moonbyul crowd Ryujin, who sits up on her elbows, gaze fixed on you.

Hwasa's head is against Ryujin's left shoulder, near her breast, and she watches you, as well, gaze soft but pleading. Moonbyul, with her long, straight hair lightened to a pale gold blonde, has her head on Hwasa's tummy, curled in on her. The other two are resting similarly, with Solar clinging to Ryujin and Wheein clinging to Solar, long dark hair draped over limbs which are draped over more limbs clad in white cotton and black spandex. 

You watch them in their near-stillness, questioning where you would fit. Clearly, the five of them are tight. They call her mother, and she proudly dotes on them as if they are her precious children.

Ordinarily, you wait for everyone to begin dozing off, then you curl up on one of the outside edges, back turned from whichever woman is beside you. But you know that Ryujin wants you to be physically close to her—you can tell by the way she watches you.

What would physical closeness to a woman like her entail, you wonder. 

"So shy," Ryujin pouts. "So moody."

Hwasa, as if mirroring her energy, juts out her bottom lip. 

Ryujin tilts her head, studying you. "What does the lady require to help take the edge off?"

Although she is not explicitly saying so, you know that she is offering pills. Every day that you do not give in and crawl to Ryujin and her pile of women, she assumes it is due to some defect in your ability to relax. In a way, you suppose, she is correct. 

"Going home would take the edge off," you respond, voice flat and lacking all mirth.

Ryujin sighs, and her pretty, impish smile falls into a dramatic frown. "I, too, would like to go home. And I promise that we will, soon. Yoongi is convinced there is some third party attempting to track you down, and he has been insistent on weeding the man out. He seems to think that you are safest while remaining in hiding. I, however, think we are sitting ducks."

You hum and nod.

She sits up ever so slightly, causing the clinging women to shift along with her movement. "What do you think?"

What do you think? Such a simple, innocent question, yet it stirs an anger in you that is so deep, festering in the dark pits of you that are fed by lack of proper comfort and sleep. 

There is a part of you that wants to snap at Ryujin and ask whether she really cares what you think. You want to storm up to her, take her by the straps of her white tank top, and shake some sense into her while demanding she returns you to Korea at once. 

Another part of you worries that Yoongi is being too paranoid to think clearly and that he is making an already strange situation worse. You find it hard to believe Christian has weaseled his way into Taiwan and is lying in wait to pounce, if that is what the phone call just now suggests.

But, then again, you never would have imagined Christian would show up with a briefcase of money, nor did you expect to see him turning up to the mansion in the middle of the night. Still, the notion feels ridiculous. You're not in Korea anymore. 

You shrug, purse your lips as if you are thinking it over, and say, "I don't really know."

Truth be told, you are exhausted, catapulting emotionally from one extreme to another, finding it impossible to truly relax. You are not sure whether Ryujin has done anything to deserve your vitriol; she has kept you safe and fed, even if you are slowly succumbing to exhaustion-induced hysteria. 

Her history with Yoongi notwithstanding, she appears reasonable and kind. It is hard to hate her for her past when it has opened up Yoongi's arms to you—for better or worse. It is not as if you regret the time you have spent with him.

And, if you are being honest, you wonder whether the transgression between them was as simple as the men put it, or if there is more to her side of the story. Surely, she did not wake up one day and decide to betray the man she loved.

Or, perhaps, she is charming you the way Yoongi did. What better way to tame a wild beast than to uproot it from the comfort and safety it has grown accustomed to and force it into close proximity, giving it no other choice than to be grateful and eventually feel some semblance of love toward its captor. Maybe she and Yoongi have more in common than you realize.

The thought makes you snicker, and you stand, taking notice of how Ryujin lifts her chin and watches you. Hwasa stirs and sits up, causing Moonbyul to roll off of her with a groan and clench onto the pillow below her.

"Going to the bathroom," you say.

Hwasa stands as Ryujin sing-songs, "Buddy system," causing you to smile and roll your eyes. 

You are not allowed to do anything outside of this room—including taking a shit—without the accompaniment of one of the girls. Lucky for you, Hwasa is always willing and eager to be close.  

Hwasa tiptoes over and snakes an arm around your elbow, momentarily resting her head on your shoulder as the two of you walk. You have come to enjoy her company quite a bit, and you are relieved to have her here. 

While it was shocking to lay eyes on Hwasa after your plane landed in Taiwan, she was very clear and open about her circumstances, and you found it easy to trust her. According to her, Seokjin and Jimin gave her the position at Paradise knowing she was one of Ryujin's women, reminding you of Hyunjin and how he and his family were safe, after all. 

Yoongi may not have been working directly with Ryujin this entire time, but it seems that his men have been. And, judging by how comfortable he seemed with letting Ryujin touch him and boss him around earlier, you do not suspect that he harbors the same ill thoughts that he seemed to when you first encountered her all those months ago. 

You wonder what has changed. Has it been your presence in his life, or something more? After all the destruction Ryujin's team has caused Yoongi's family over the last several months, ending with Jimin in a coma, some sort of truce had to have been made. You have heard whispers of conversations, but you are curious about the specifics. It seems the woman who was at the helm of the destruction, Hyungseo, is not here. 

In due time, you think. You have no doubt Ryujin will open up to you.

As you and Hwasa leave the room and venture quietly into the hall, two armed men look up from the game of Chinese checkers that they play on the floor, and smile. They are beautiful, and you smile back, yanking your gaze away from them before you are able to make any more of an impression on either of them.

Admittedly, you are lonely. Physically, emotionally, sexually…and there is something in the gleams of their eyes that stirs you deeply, but you know that it is not them who do it for you. 

It is their eyes. They share the same piercing, knowing gaze of hunger and brutality that glimmers in the eyes of the family men. Your family men. 

"I think Yunho likes you," Hwasa teases, voice loud enough for him to undoubtedly hear, though you do not turn back to look. 

Instead, you press your palm against the cold metal door leading into the small bathroom and sheepishly ask, "Which one is he, again?"

A snicker comes from the floor, undoubtedly from Yunho's companion Seonghwa, and you turn as you enter the dimly lit room, grinning widely at your friend. The bathroom door swings shut, and the scents of toilet cleaner and bleach sting your nose. 

There are three toilet stalls in this room with mint green painted metal doors. The walls are a similar shade of green, and the yellow and white tiles on the floor are chipped in places.

You make your way to the sinks straight ahead and turn on the water, which is always cold, and run your hands under the stream. On the counter, in the corner, is a large black makeup case containing travel-sized toiletries for yourself and the rest of the women, and you open its lid and rummage around for your toothbrush and toothpaste. 

"How are you holding up?" Hwasa asks as you unscrew the cap from the toothpaste and squeeze a small dollop of its contents onto your bristles, careful not to take too much. 

You shrug, and rather than respond, raise the brush to your mouth. The mint is cloyingly sweet as it hits your taste buds, and you close your eyes, worried that its minty sting may tangle with your emotions and cause tears to well.

"Will you be joining Ryujin to meet with them for dinner tomorrow?"

Without opening your eyes, you begin to shake your head, not sure whether you can handle sitting at the same table with all of them. But then Jimin's bright, gleaming smile crosses your mind, and you shrug and nod. You may as well. 

Hwasa chuckles, and her hands rest softly on your shoulders before giving a gentle squeeze. All at once, you relax, dropping your shoulders and tipping your head forward, instinctively giving her permission to do anything she would like. 

As you finish brushing your teeth and tongue, she squeezes your muscles and rolls her thumbs in circles. You hold the small plastic brush between your teeth, feeling a dribble of frothy, minty spit roll down your lip to your chin, and you rest your palms against the counter until Hwasa lifts her hands away. 

"I suppose I should brush my teeth, too," she says with a pout in her tone, and you open your eyes to see her squirting some paste onto a matching toothbrush that she has written AH on in large letters for Ahn Hyejin. 

You spit, rinse, and spit some more, then use the inside of your sweaty black tank top to dab the moisture from the edges of your mouth. When Hwasa is finished, the two of you link arms once more and make your way out of the bathroom, ignoring Yunho and Seonghwa as you walk by. 

The rest of the girls, led by Ryujin, walk by in a fit of soft giggles, and you make your way to the pile of blankets and pillows, feeling physically exhausted despite being uncertain of whether you may actually be able to sleep. 

Hwasa follows and lies down beside you, beaming as she scoots nice and close and wraps an arm around your waist before you have a chance to roll away and face the wall. 

"Not so fast," she says, causing you to chuckle despite yourself. "You always roll away. Snore in my face for once."

Affronted, you attempt to wiggle out of her hold, surprised by how strong she is as she holds you in place. "I do not snore."

Hwasa rolls her eyes, says, "Everyone snores a little," and wiggles closer as her hold on you loosens—so close your noses nearly touch.

You feel too warm, and the scent of Hwasa's perfume mingling with her body heat stirs something inside you, filling you with the urge to flee. You are lonely, and she is beautiful and soft, and suddenly it feels as if all the air has been sucked from the room.

At a loss, you close your eyes. Whether you roll your body away or continue to face her, she will not create more distance because she cannot. As soon as the other girls return, they will pile into the bed, and you will feel the weight of ankles and wrists drape over you. 

"Good night, pretty dove," Hwasa sing-songs. 

You crack a smile, unable to hold back despite how dangerous it feels to allow yourself to be anything but stoic and collected for the time being. The nickname reminds you of Paradise and of Jimin, and you are unable to hold back. 

"Good night, Hyejin," you mutter in response, forgetting her nickname for the familiar one as her warmth and comfort lulls you fast into a sleep you did not expect to come. 

You actually feel…good.

* * *

The rattle and clanking of dishes and silverware have all of your nerves on high alert, causing your pulse to spike and your palms to sweat. You are acutely aware of the fact that at any moment, several men you miss and adore are going to come walking into the private dining room to join you, Ryujin, and Hwasa, and you are going to have to face them.

Each time a member of the serving staff enters, your eyes dart up in panic, and each time they bow apologetically, confusion painted across their features. Under the table, from your right, Hwasa grips onto your hand and mutters kind words that are lost over the pounding of your heart. 

When your trio arrived first, you were grateful. You assumed that by the time you waited on the arrival of the men, your nerves would have calmed and you would have composed yourself. 

But you were wrong. Oh, how you were wrong. 

With each passing second, your heart riots behind your ribs, quick and dizzying. You feel the urge to excuse yourself to the bathroom, but you are terrified of what it may do to Yoongi if he arrives to find that you are not sitting at this table. 

Food and drink are brought in. Large dishes covered in steaming meat, vegetables, rice, and noodles. Carafe after carafe is set down, and as you sit forward to peer into one of them, Hwasa says, "That is kaoliang. Fermented liquor from China." Your mouth begins to water, but you are not sure you are ready just yet to start drinking. 

Shadows linger outside the door to the private room, tall and wide blobs obscured by the privacy glass. Ryujin glances at her watch, mutters, "Fucking finally," and stands, causing Hwasa to stand as well. 

You remain glued to your seat. Even if you wanted to stand, you are not sure you would be able to. 

As the door slides open, your heart pounds. Seokjin enters with a smirk and a bow of his head, followed by Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Jeongguk, Namjoon, and finally, Yoongi. 

Jimin beams, eyes and mouth wide and happy, and he rounds the table in a rush, pushing past Ryujin, who attempts to pull him into a hug. Your eyes fill with tears, and as you finally get onto your feet, legs wobbling beneath you, the tears spill, streaking your cheeks. 

You stumble and crash into the papered wall from the force of Jimin's hug, elbow scraping and stinging, but you do not care. Jimin smells and feels so familiar, and you sob in his arms, burying your face into his black lapel and letting out a deep, shattered breath.

"Oh my god," you manage to mutter against his shoulder, and he tries to loosen the hug to hear you speak, but you shake your head like a petulant child and pull him closer, refusing to let go. "I was so scared, Jimin. I thought I might never— I've missed you so much."

Voices greet one another, and chairs scrape across the floor, signaling that the others have begun to find their seats. This time, when Jimin begins to release the hug, you allow him, dropping your hands from his shoulders but holding them loosely around his hips.

Jimin's eyes are glassy with tears, and hair is slightly longer, almost grown out into a mullet. For the first time since you have met him, it is brown, and you mutter, "Nice hair," while doing your best to smile widely despite still crying. 

He grimaces at you, lifting his hands to thumb away the moisture under your eyes. Then he leans in, kisses the tip of your nose, and says, "All better, dove."

"Thank you," you whisper, sound lodged in your throat, then you release Jimin for good and pivot to take your seat, taking a deep breath before allowing your eyes to fall on the rest of the men. 

To your surprise and dismay, you find Ryujin sitting across from you with her eyebrows raised and a sharp, devious smile playing on her lips. To her left is Hwasa, and to her right is Jeongguk. You do not need to look to see that Yoongi and Namjoon have taken the seats on either side of you because of course, they have. Where else would they be?

But you do look. You sweep the sprawling rectangular table, starting with Namjoon at your left, then Hoseok, with Seokjin at the far end, where you anticipated Yoongi might sit. Past Seokjin is Taehyung, then Jeongguk, then Ryujin, who is leaning to the side and whispering something to Hwasa, whose hand reaches to where Jimin sits on the other far end. 

Jimin inspects Hwasa's rings and nails, dainty fingers tracing delicate lines. When she turns back to look at him, there are tears in her eyes, and you realize belatedly that she has missed him, as well. Of course, she has.

You do not look at Yoongi, gaze ending with Jimin. Yoongi clears his throat, causing Ryujin to stand, and—feeling uncomfortable with also standing while she speaks—you quickly have a seat. 

Ryujin bows her head, hair pulled in a tight bun at the back of her head. She, matching Hwasa, wears a black suit with a white silk blouse, blending in with the black suits and black satin undershirts the men wear. You are the odd one out in a sleek black evening gown; Ryujin was insistent. At least it, too, is satin. 

"Gentlemen," Ryujin says, and all at once, the men stand, bow their heads, and sit, including Yoongi, who scoots in close beside you. "Thank you for joining us tonight. I trust you have found us a replacement bodyguard?"

Yoongi hums a gruff, low note, and you are acutely aware of his presence by your side. His scent—earthy and musky, ever so slightly tinged with citrus—sneaks past the savory blend of food smells and floods your senses. You swallow a lump of trepidation that has crept its way to your throat. 

"First of all, I would like to thank you for trusting me with taking care of our little darling," Ryujin says, turning to look at Seokjin. She remains standing. "As you are all aware, things between Yoongi and I have not always been easy. But, moving forward, I would like for all of us to remain amicable."

At this, Ryujin's eyes land on Yoongi. She appears fierce and ruthless in the way she looks down at him, lips upturned as if to show that she is enjoying this position of power. 

You glance from the corner of your eye to find that Yoongi peers back up at her, sitting tall on the edge of his seat. His expression is blank, as is to be expected. There is a long pause during which you wish someone would speak or move to eat or drink—anything to cut through the tension.

Finally, Yoongi folds his arms over his chest and sits back, shifting his weight in a more relaxed position. He clears his throat, and you turn your gaze to the piles of meats, vegetables, noodles, and rice. 

It sounds as if Yoongi attempts more than once to speak but struggles to find the words. At this, Namjoon sits forward, pulling your attention to the left, and he asks, "May I?"

Ryujin's face lights up. "Of course, Joonie-oppa. The floor is yours."

"Firstly, thank you for your hospitality. The hideout was certainly difficult to locate—"

Ryujin snickers. At this, Jeongguk stands, facing her, "Look, noona, if you would have answered your phone, we never would have shown up there with—"

"Sit down," Ryujin snaps, turning a playful but intense glare on Jeongguk, whose mouth snaps shut as he takes his seat. Beside him, Taehyung snickers. "I didn't answer my phone because I wanted to converse with her before making any choices, and you idiots acted irrationally."

At the word her, Ryujin lifts her hand and gestures to you, momentarily pulling your gaze. Although you do not glance around, you are certain that all heads turn to look your way, causing you to shift uncomfortably in your seat while you begin watching droplets of condensation streak your water glass.  

"Pardon us for being concerned," Yoongi responds, voice tense and pained. 

This seems to quell whatever emotion that has Ryujin acting defensive, and she slowly takes her seat and reaches for the bottle of kaoliang. All seem to be waiting for her response, and she takes her time lifting her glass to her lips and sitting back in her chair. 

"Nobody faults you for being concerned, oppa. But you need to be more considerate of the reason she has come to me in the first place."

Yoongi must open his mouth to speak once more because Ryujin lifts her hand to stop him before she continues. 

"Yes, I know that you are concerned for her safety, especially in the wake of some mysterious man from her past showing up out of nowhere. But she was already planning on leaving for mental health reasons. So maybe storming in with chopsticks blazing is not the wisest way to reunite with someone who is already shell-shocked from all the other bullshit she has had to witness."

"Some of the bullshit was at the hands of your people," Namjoon interjects. 

Ryujin levels her gaze on him. "The most heinous bullshit, I would imagine. And as you can see, Hyungseo is not present. I am dealing with her, and Seokjin, Yoongi, and I have already discussed ways I can help with harm reduction."

Your gaze moves to the right, to Jimin, and you are surprised to find he is already looking at you. You smile, unable to stop the tears that form from how relieved you are that he is alright. 

"I know that trust has been tarnished between our families, and that myself and my girls have taken things too far," Ryujin admits. "I sent my people out to scare you, and they did so much more than that. I will never stop feeling sorry for what has happened. Not a night has gone by that I have not been filled with regret over someone so precious to all of us becoming seriously injured."

Ryujin lifts an arm, reaches over Hwasa, and holds out her hand to Jimin. He takes it without hesitation. 

"He could have died," Jeongguk says, brows knit in a frown. 

Ryujin sighs. "I know this, Ggukie. And I am so, so sorry. I am determined to quash any bad blood and begin earning your respect. Tomorrow we leave for Busan. Once we are all back home, Serendipity will be opened for a night of drinking, drugs…whatever you heathens do."

To your surprise, many of the men snicker, amused. 

"Seokjin and Hoseok already have a security team on standby so that you are not only relying on my people to keep you safe," Ryujin continues. "The era of family feuding is over. I am happy with my little piece of the peninsula, and I want drug operations to continue in a way that is lucrative for both of us. We will remain your first line of defense in the harbor, and in return, all that I ask is that we get free reign in Seoul to come and go."

Yoongi clears his throat. "If Sunmi-noona will accept the offer, she can be your liaison in the city once more."

At this, a mischievous smirk tugs on Ryujin's lips. She gives Jimin's hand a squeeze before releasing it, then raises both elbows to the table to cradle her chin in her hands. "Tell me, oppa. Why does Sunmi-unnie spit at my feet whenever I mention your name?"

Yoongi says nothing. 

Rather than press him, she winks, then reaches for a large metal spoon and begins to fill her dish. Everyone hesitates, and it is Jeongguk who breaks the tension and follows suit, scooping food onto Taehyung's plate and causing the others to act in kind. You sit still, unsure whether you have an appetite. 

"Darling?" Yoongi asks at the same time two fingers gently caress the back of your arm. 

Your evening gown is a form-hugging halter top with a low back, leaving your skin open to soft, delicate assaults like the ones Yoongi likes to conduct in gentle motions. You flinch but try not to pull your arm away, worried about hurting his feelings.

Yoongi chuckles softly. "Are you not hungry?"

You shake your head but mutter, "I don't know."

"Should I have sat elsewhere?" he asks. He shifts as if he is looking over and around you, and you imagine he is speaking nonverbally to Namjoon. 

The room is too bright, the food and cologne smells are too numerous, and the sounds of voices and silverware and porcelain are too loud. You raise your shoulders to your ears, then turn toward Yoongi, still unable to meet his eye as you ask, "Can we talk somewhere else?"

Yoongi stands, says, "Excuse us for just a moment," and waits for you. 

As you stand, you catch Ryujin's eye. She appears concerned and places her palms on the table as if ready to stand and defend you. 

You nod and say, "We'll be right back," and watch as she relaxes. 

A warm palm presses against your lower back, and Yoongi guides you toward the door, out into a small hallway, and to the left. The restaurant's main dining hall is to the right, and you are thankful to walk in the opposite direction, not sure whether you can handle another person's eyes on you. 

Yoongi walks into an empty private dining room, switches on the light, and holds out his arm for you to enter. As you step inside, you hear him conversing softly with who you assume to be an employee, and then he joins you, closing the door behind him.

As you stand and face the large, empty dining room, you expect Yoongi to touch you or prod you into speaking. Perhaps you expect him to beg you to return home. Instead, he seems to be waiting.

After only a handful of seconds, you decide you cannot take it anymore. Every ounce of you yearns for Yoongi, and knowing he is so close and being so patient has you reeling. You turn and quickly step toward him, reaching for his lapels and burying your face against his chest. He smells like home, and as he wraps his arms around you, warmth fills your chest, and you begin to cry.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I'm sorry I had to leave. I miss you, Yoongi, but I can't stand being there. I can't do it."

"Shh," Yoongi whispers, lips pressing to your temple, causing you to cry harder. It has only been a week, and yet you feel as if you have been away from him for so long. 

"I'm sorry we keep creating distance. I don't know how to make it work out. I'm so scared, Yoongi." You are fumbling, mouth on autopilot, dredging up each time you and Yoongi were apart, feeling somehow responsible for everything despite knowing you have always only done your best. 

"Yesterday was a mistake," Yoongi says, peppering kisses from the crown of your hair to your cheek and back up. "I was terrified and not in my right mind. You left in a frenzy, and then there was that letter, and it all been very confusing—"

You sniffle loudly, letting out a sound that halfway sounds like a laugh. "Oh my god, the letter. I'm so sorry."

Yoongi chuckles, gently grabs your shoulders, and pries you away from his chest. You allow him to move you, and you stand straight but keep your eyes on his black satin shirt. You do not want to see his scar or the pretty way in which his eyes downturn when he is sad. 

His voice is soft and conspiratorial as he says, "I almost killed Seokjin after I found it."

With wide, surprised eyes, you look up, unable to hold back any longer. Yoongi's smile is loving and big, and his eyes sparkle with happiness, making your stomach roil with uncertainty. His scar is still so red against his soft skin, but it adds so much to his allure and beauty.

"I was under the impression you were running away with Barom, what with the timing of it all. You packed a bag, left behind all of our gifts, and disappeared into the night the moment he arrived."

Despite Yoongi's high spirits, you shake your head somewhat desperately. "I wrote it earlier that day, thinking I might run away a night or two later. I was scared that if I said goodbye, I wouldn't be able to leave." Tears build once more, and your body goes limp, hanging against the weight of Yoongi's hands. "Yoongi, I'm so—"

"Alright, no more sorries," Yoongi says, pressing against your shoulders enough to signal that he would like you to stand up and get your shit together. "Seokjin explained your conversations and motives to us already, and I have long since forgiven the both of you. I understand why you felt you had to sneak away. Remember when I went missing in Hong Kong? I was also in the midst of a mental health crisis, darling. I have no hard feelings."

You straighten out and search Yoongi's eyes for any hint of dishonesty, but all you find is a soft, loving gaze looking back at you. With a relieved sigh, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing the side of your cheek against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart. 

"I love you," you say, feeling the words fill you with warmth. 

Yoongi drapes one arm over your shoulders and rests his other hand against the back of your head. "I love you, too," he says. "And if you need time and space, I will give it to you. Despite everything, I trust the girls to take good care of you."

"Is it weird?" you ask, pulling out of the hug and stepping back only far enough to see Yoongi's face. His only response is to raise one eyebrow. "Being around her again, I mean. Was she always so bossy?"

Yoongi chuckles and shakes his head. "I suppose it is a little weird, but we were friends first and foremost, and being friendly with her again feels easy. She has not always been that bossy, per se, but she has always been strong-willed enough to face all seven of us down the way she did tonight."

This makes you laugh, and you lean into Yoongi once more, tilting your head to press your lips to his throat, just under his chin. 

"Thank you," you say. Yoongi hums, and you add, "For giving me time and space. For being understanding. That night was a fucking mess, and I have been really scared for what the aftermath may look like."

"No hard feelings," Yoongi repeats. "As long as you are happy."

All at once, you are flooded with myriad thoughts. Are you happy? This last week, while being more or less calm on your nerves, has also been lonely and strange. Would you feel better if you cut your losses and went back home to your men, where everything felt familiar again? Could you cycle through medications until finding the magical cocktail that would allow you to be whole again?

No, you think. Probably not. 

"Are you sure?" you ask, voice soft and uncertain. "I don't know how long I might need. I can't promise—"

Yoongi kisses your forehead, pressing his lips slowly as he hums. He says, "I'm sure. We can figure it out one day at a time."

With everything out in the open, your stomach pangs with hunger. You smile and ask, "Can we go eat now?" and you are delighted when Yoongi smiles with relief and says, "Yes, of course."

With his thumbs, Yoongi rubs below your eyes. His hands linger on your cheeks, and you expect him to lean forward and kiss you, but he drops his hands a beat later, then grabs onto one of yours and asks, "Shall we?"

Yoongi leads the two of you back to the dining room, and as you enter, you are pleased to find the entire table has erupted into pleasant conversation. Jeongguk's arm is draped over Ryujin's chair while Hwasa emphatically tells them a story, and Jimin is leaning close, listening with his chin propped onto his hands. 

Taehyung is explaining something while glancing between Namjoon, Seokjin, and Hoseok, and as you and Yoongi round the table and return, nobody acknowledges the two of you until you take a seat and Namjoon—eyes still on Taehyung—gently places a hand on your knee. 

It is only when you begin to reach for half-empty bowls of food that Namjoon takes your plate in his hand that you realize how long it has been since the two of you have spoken. You are once again overwhelmed with emotion and fight the urge to say sorry a hundred more times. 

Instead, he points with a large metal spoon and says, "Both of these dishes have a tangy garlic sauce, but this one is a bit more spicy."

"I'd like to try both," you say, watching as Namjoon spoons a heap of chicken with vegetables onto your dish, followed by a heap of tofu and peanuts with vegetables in a slightly redder sauce full of chopped red peppers. 

As Namjoon sets your plate in front of you, you reach with your long metal chopsticks with the intent to gather some noodles from a dish that is across from Yoongi, out of Namjoon's reach. However, Yoongi takes the dish and begins to scoop some onto a smaller plate for you, and you sit back with a smile and wait for him to finish. 

"Still having those dreams?" Namjoon asks.

You know in an instant that he is referring to the dream that you wrote about in your letter, and you feel silly as you bite your bottom lip and nod. 

"That has to be really stressful," he says, reaching for a pitcher of water to fill his empty glass. 

You smile sadly, imagining his white shirt filling with blood. It is stressful, but— "On the plus side, I get to see you."

As you lift your gaze to meet Namjoon's, his furrowed brow and wilted frown gently lift, not quite into a smile, but at least something a bit more relaxed. 

"Hi," you say softly, taking in Namjoon's familiar, beautiful face.

His smile widens, creasing his cheeks with dimples. He mutters, "Hey, you," and the soft, dulcet tone of his voice fills your chest with warmth. 

You open your mouth to tell him that you love him. That you miss him. That you're sorry for leaving. So, so sorry. 

But Ryujin loudly asks, "Caviar?" pulling the attention of everyone at the table. 

Behind her, waitstaff hold new plates, and everyone nods in agreement before continuing their conversations. And although you could pour your heart out now, Hoseok steals Namjoon's attention away, and you decide the moment has passed.

Food and drink continue to appear in waves, and suddenly, you are tipsy and full and tired. Namjoon stands to walk around the table and have a quiet conversation with Ryujin, and Jimin seizes the opportunity to steal his seat. He and Jeongguk discuss business operations at Paradise while you rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes listening to the sound of his voice. He is alive. He is awake. 

He speaks slower, and there is a rough quality to his voice that was not present before. It seems to take him more time to process what is said to him, and he reacts as if on a delay. But he is here and alive and awake. 

Only when more kaoliang is poured, and Ryujin raises a toast do you sit up and take your cup. You barely hear what she shouts, booze and excitement slurring her speech, but you make out the words together, family, and happy, and you tap your small glass against as many as you can reach before shooting the strong liquid down.

A large, warm hand rests on your right knee, and as you set down your empty glass, you turn to find Yoongi watching you, glassy-eyed with a smile on his lips. You attempt to smile back but instead, swallow thickly and search for something to say. Luckily, he speaks first.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it has been without you at home?” Yoongi’s gaze becomes pained but remains soft, tugging at your heart. 

And although the sentiment is sweet, you are unable to ignore the impossibility of his question. In fact, for some inexplicable reason—you suppose you must blame the alcohol—you become somewhat annoyed.

You ask, “How could I possibly know that? And anyway, don't you have your hands full as it is?”

Across the table, Jeongguk snickers. It takes Yoongi a second to react, and you are glad when the corners of his lips raise into another smile, even if just for a second. 

“Being around those girls has made you sassier than you were before, darling,” he mutters under his breath. 

You roll your eyes. “It has only been a week, darling.”

Leaning close, elbows on the table, Yoongi lowers his voice and says, “It only took me about a week to begin wearing you down.”

Arousal stirs from the tone of his voice, but so does your stomach. Being kidnapped and worn down is not exactly a topic that you delight in discussing. You must not show your dissatisfaction, however, because Yoongi leans in close and presses a soft, warm kiss against your cheek. 

As the raucous dinner comes to an end and you begin to wish everyone a safe trip home, Jeongguk finally approaches. You have been holding back the urge to kick him in the shin all night, feeling somewhat scorned by his lack of attention. 

"So you're going to stay with the girls?" he asks, standing close enough to wrap you in an embrace but keeping his arms to his sides.

You nod and find it hard to hold his eye contact, looking down at his satin-clad shoulder instead. Jeongguk lifts a hand and delicately places two fingers under your chin, tilting your head until you look him in the eyes. The contact of his skin against yours sends an electric current through you, and you shiver. 

"Call me if you need anything. I can be to Busan in a matter of hours."

Sheepishly, you glance down again and mutter, "I don't have anyone's number anymore."

Jeongguk drops his hand, turns to the left, and says, "Seokjin-hyung! What the fuck, man?"

Arguing ensues, but you are too distracted by Namjoon wrapping his arms around your side and pressing his lips to your neck. Suddenly, your bones are jelly, and you stumble to the right, leaning your weight against his embrace. Yoongi joins, taking your chin in his hand in a similar fashion to Jeongguk, and tilting your lips against his. 

"We'll be ready whenever you are," Namjoon insists, lips grazing over your skin. "Whatever you need…please don't shut us out."

Somewhere behind Namjoon, Seokjin shouts, "Yah! I'll upload everyone to her contact list. Quit fussing!"

"Okay," you mutter while smiling against Yoongi's retreating mouth, unable to find anything more substantial to say despite it all lying in wait at the tip of your tongue all night. 

"We miss you," Yoongi says, pressing another kiss against your temple. "But we can wait if that is what you need."

Tears well and you fight the urge to sob. Not here, you tell yourself. Not now. You have already cried so much.

You hug everyone, even Seokjin and Hoseok. Jeongguk attempts to play it cool, but he stares at your lips the entire time, and you practically beg him to kiss you before ultimately letting him walk away. Jimin litters your cheeks and temples with loud, wet smooches, causing you to giggle and shriek. 

Taehyung asks about your medication, making your heart ache from his kindness. You briefly inform him that you have been having no dizzy spells, and he promises to send you more medication as soon as you are in Busan. 

Finally, Namjoon and Yoongi pull you into another three-way hug and take turns kissing your lips, cheeks, and forehead. They mutter soft, sweet phrases that you only make out the tones of, feeling the whooshing of your pulse as you begin to question whether you are making a huge mistake and should just grab your shit and go home. 

And then, all waving and clambering out the door haphazardly, they are gone, and the room is quiet. 

You sigh and glance around at the dregs of food and alcohol, feeling simultaneously full and empty in more ways than one. Tears fill the edges of your eyes, and you do your best not to blink, worried that any movement will cause them to spill. 

Ryujin sighs loudly. "Alright, well, this was fun and all, but I want to get fucking laid. You girls down for a night on the town?"

You glance down at your outfit, ready to complain, only you look good enough to go to a nightclub and find you have nothing to say to the contrary. You even wear a pair of cozy black ballet slippers, which you slid on while feeling unsure whether you could handle so many tumultuous emotions while wearing heels, and for that, you are grateful. 

"Sure," you utter while turning to Hwasa, who has a drunk but devious grin tugging on her lips. Her smile widens and she claps excitedly.

The drive to the nightclub is long, and you are exhausted by the time you arrive, having been fading in and out of a stupor. You feel more drunk than you had earlier, and you are tempted to suggest taking a cab back to the hideout alone. Of course, that would never fly. You can already hear Ryujin singing buddy system in your head.

Hwasa eagerly pulls you from the back of the car and chuckles as she rubs her fingertips along the edge of your hairline and says, "Poor sleeping beauty. We'll get you something that will wake you up, okay?"

You respond with a halfhearted smile and nod, and she takes your hand in hers and yanks you to the door, not bothering to stop for the security guard who, to your surprise, makes no move to stop you either. Inside, loud bass-heavy club music plays, and you are led through a series of hallways until you enter a large room full of the rest of Ryujin's girls and a group of men. 

The room is dark and somewhat hazy, lit by strips of purple lights along the ceiling and floor. Short two or three-person sofas line the mirrored walls and are dispersed throughout the space, most of which are occupied. On tables set beside each sofa are bottles of champagne and piles of cocaine, with glasses large and small scattered throughout and topped with small lamps that emit very little light.

Ryujin approaches a man sitting amidst the chaos by himself, sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees, thumbing through his cell phone. You are curious whether these men are people she knows, and you watch to see how familiar she is with the lone man, but Hwasa steps in your line of vision and takes your chin in both of her hands. 

"Coke?" she asks. 

You want to say no, proud of yourself for being off the shit for as long as you have been away from home. But you are certain that without it, you will not survive this night, so you nod and allow yourself to be tugged further into the room, to an unoccupied table. 

"Don't worry, this is from our stash," Hwasa says as she picks up a discarded rolled-up 100-dollar Taiwanese bill and tightens it between her finger and thumb. "Moon and Solar were in charge of overseeing the distribution process."

You mutter, "How generous," doing your best to smile, and watch as Hwasa snorts a small pile into one nostril and then the other. When she hands the bill to you, you take in a deep, slow breath, and let it out, then lean forward to snort from the edge of the pile first into your left nostril and then your right.

As you let the bill fall to the table and tip your head back, sniffing in again on each side, you ask, "Does Ryujin know these men?"

"Mmhmm," Hwasa hums as she fills two glasses with champagne and hands one to you. "A few of these guys worked at Paradise while I was there, and some of them are from Serendipity. Maybe you know them."

"Oh," you say, pulling the glass to your lips but stopping to ask, "How did they end up here?"

Hwasa purses her lips and tilts her head, making a show of how hard she is trying to conjure the answer to your question. Then her eyes widen and she says, "Oh! Some guy started to come around to Serendipity and just sort of gathered the rest of these guys up as, like, a posse. I don't really know what they do, to be honest, but they always dress up in matching suits and cover their faces, which is creepy as hell."

Your stomach tenses, and you feel too anxious to turn your head to the left and figure out who Ryujin is talking to. Although you know that there is absolutely no way in hell it is Christian, something about the description of the men reminds you of his men, and you begin to wonder whether there really was credence to Yoongi's worry surrounding the possibility of Christian being on this island.

"What's his name?" you ask, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the music. 

"Hmm?" Hwasa asks into her champagne glass as she leans closer. 

You begin to glance over to where Ryujin and the man are, but your heart pounds so hard, you worry you might be sick if you see him. 

"The man who gathered all the guys, from Serendipity, " you say, leaning closer. 

"What's his name?"

"Oh," Hwasa says, taking a slow slip of her champagne while her wide, dark eyes stare past you. She blinks owlishly, then pulls the glass from her lips and says, "He has a nickname…Insanity? Something like that."

Unable to stop yourself, your head flies to the left, searching the features of the man whose lap Ryujin has claimed with her legs. His nose is sharp and somewhat hooked, and it is not a familiar shape. Worried, you glance around the room, but there is no sign of Christian, as far as you can tell. 

"Something the matter?" Hwasa asks, touching fingertips to your arm and making you nearly drop your glass of champagne. 

You must look frantic when you turn back to her, based on the fear that pulls at her pretty features. You blink and wet your lips, shaking your head. Unconvincingly, judging by the way her brows knit and she continues to stare at you. 

"I just..." you swallow thickly and glance around the room once more, slowly scanning every face you can see. "I just thought he sounded familiar."

Hwasa makes a small sound, and you scan several more faces before returning your gaze to her and asking, "Huh?"

"It's just," she says, uncertain, "well, I heard he was previously working on Jeongguk's team, back when he was a drug runner. So…maybe he is familiar?"

Something is not adding up. Although Seokjin mentioned that he has kept Christian around to do whatever he pleases, it seems odd that he would be known to these women as someone who was once part of Jeongguk's team. As you recall from the day you were taken to the mansion, he did not seem to perform his drug-running duties to Yoongi's liking. Did Seokjin keep him on Jeongguk's team even after that day? Could he have had something to do with the group of men Jeongguk massacred with kunai knives for fucking him over?

You stare at your glass of champagne trying to make all the pieces fit, but it feels like you are missing a huge chunk of information. 

Hands touch your shoulders, causing you to jump. You mutter, "Shit," under your breath at the same time Ryujin's high, somewhat mocking laughter fills your left ear. 

"So sorry to scare you, pretty darling," she slurs, sounding quite inebriated. 

"Don't worry about it," you say, attempting to loosen your posture. Ryujin's hands remain on your shoulders and you do not want her to feel how tense you are. But then she squeezes your shoulders and you close your eyes, this time succeeding in relaxing. 

"How do you feel after such an emotional dinner?"

"Good," you respond while her thumbs circle over your muscles. You wonder whether she is the reason Hwasa always gives massages. Or perhaps it is the other way around. "And, I don't know. I guess also conflicted. Homesick."

Ryujin's hands fall away and she rests her chin on your left shoulder, loosely wrapping her arms around yours and pinning yours to your sides. Hwasa busies herself pouring a third glass of champagne. 

"You really like them, hmm?" Ryujin asks. 

"Yeah," you say, possibly too quiet for how loud the music in this room is. "Most of them, anyway."

The last part is a joke. You like Seokjin and Hoseok just fine, but you are certainly not as close to them as you are to the others. Taehyung, too, for that matter, although he has had the pleasure of watching his boyfriend rail you, which has formed its own kind of bond between the two of you. 

"What is your relationship with the guys?" she asks. 

Hwasa hands her a glass, and she releases her hold on you and takes it, muttering a soft, "Thank you." 

You turn to face Ryujin. Although you still hesitate to become too close to her, you do feel comfortable in her presence, all things considered. If Yoongi is willing to trust her again, then perhaps you should be, too. 

"Yoongi, Namjoon, and I are a thing." After a pause, you add, "And…sort of Jeongguk."

Ryujin's mouth falls open and she gasps. "I need to know more!"

You feel your cheeks become hot, and you pick up your glass of champagne, which Hwasa has filled. But rather than explain, you ask something that has been on your mind for a while.

"Before, when you and Yoongi were together, was Namjoon…" Unsure how to finish the sentence, you trail off. Luckily, Ryujin knows just what you mean. 

She nods. "Yes. Romantically, those two have always been the closest. Namjoon and I were never super physical. We were just very, very comfortable around one another because of Yoongi."

Interesting. You suppose this makes sense, remembering a conversation between you and Jimin a while back when he told you about how marrying Ryujin was a means to an end more than anything else. 

"Yoongi and I were meant to bring two families together. And, don't get me wrong, we were physically and emotionally attracted to one another. But we also had more fulfilling relationships on the side. For Yoongi, it was Namjoon."

"And for you?" you ask before you can stop yourself. 

Ryujin smiles wide, but then it falls to a frown. She shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. Nobody you know."

You nod and accept her answer. You suppose that perhaps the two of you are not that close, yet. In tandem, you and Ryujin raise your glasses to drink. But then she yells, "Oh!" and you startle enough to nearly spill your champagne onto yourself. "Jeongguk, though! What happened with him?"

You tip your head back and chug the rest of your bubbly. It is truly miserable to drink quickly, and you instantly regret your decision, feeling the carbonation sloshing around in your guts. 

"We, uh…" you begin, feeling shy. Why do you feel shy?

"You should see those two," Hwasa interjects, causing your face to heat even more. "They bicker like children but then circle one another like feral animals. I can only imagine their chemistry behind closed doors."

Affronted, your mouth falls wide. "We what? No we do not!"

Hwasa nods, grinning. "Yes, you do! I thought the two of you were fucking for sure when I first started working for Jimin. I was shocked to learn Jeongguk was with Taehyung and you were with Yoongi."

"And Namjoon," Ryujin supplies. 

Hwasa's grin widens. 

You raise your hands to your face as if to hide. This day has been exhausting, and these two are giggling at your expense like a couple of school girls. 

"Oh, stop," Hwasa says as one of your hands is tugged down from your face. You open just the one eye, keeping the other closed tight behind your palm. "Everyone wants a piece of your ass. Don't be shy about it! Embrace it."

With a sigh, you shake your head. "Not everyone," you groan, feeling defensive.

"Everyone with eyes," Ryujin says, waggling her eyebrows while Hwasa makes kissy noises. "I would shoot my shot if you weren't already so taken."

Hwasa nods and says, "Me too!"

Suddenly, it is too warm and too loud in here. "I need a stronger drink!" you declare, making both women laugh. 

You take a step back and turn, moving in autopilot toward the door before realizing you have no idea where you are nor where a bar in this building is. 

Ryujin takes your right hand and yanks you gently back, sing-songing, "Ah, ah, ah, not by yourself."

"Alright," you concede, interlocking your fingers with hers. As you begin to walk toward the exit, your left hand is engulfed and you glance to find Hwasa is coming along. 

You exit the mirrored room and turn right, taking a dark hallway about halfway and then turning right once more, through a thick black curtain that is guarded by two men on the other side. There is a bar directly to the right, and Ryujin tugs you to the counter and orders a bottle of whiskey that you do not catch the name of. 

With a nod, the bartender grabs an unopened bottle from a high shelf and then delicately stacks three medium-sized glasses. Hwasa takes the glasses, Ryujin takes the whiskey, and your hands remain held by both of theirs. 

Back in the mirrored room, you return to the table off to the right, toward the back. The girls release your hands to pour three drinks, and you fidget by pinching the satin of your skirt between your thumbs and knuckles, suddenly feeling antsy. 

"Cheers," Ryujin declares as she slides a drink in front of you. You take it, hold it up, and tap it against their glasses, then pull it to your lips and smell the strong, bittersweet liquid before taking a sip. 

The potent, boozy caramel flavor that you have come to expect is accented by a hint of something earthy, possibly wood. You take a bigger drink, hold it on your tongue, allowing your taste buds to open and fully experience the onslaught as they adjust, and then you swallow it down. 

"Tomorrow, we return to Busan," Ryujin says for the second time tonight as the whiskey flows down into your chest, filling you with warmth. You look forward to being at a proper home rather than on some random floor in a balmy, empty building. 

"I'm looking forward to seeing your home," you say, sounding far more meek than you intend to.

"I'm looking forward to hosting you."

Hwasa leans her elbows on the table and says, "You finally get to have your own room. That is, of course, unless you want to stay with me."

The playful smile on Hwasa's face, paired with her tired and intoxicated bloodshot eyes is almost enough to make you melt. Almost enough to make you follow her into any room she wants to lead you into. 

When you shrug and say, "Honestly, I may be too lonely to sleep alone," you are being brutally honest, and not all all flirtatious. 

"I can even decorate it like your room in the mansion," Ryujin says. "Is it still yellow?"

Her words halt your movement of lifting your glass back to your lips. "How did you know that?"

Ryujin rolls her eyes and says, "Please, nothing about that man has changed, down to the way he likes to outfit you. It's exactly as it was seven years ago."

Bile swirls around in your tummy, and you set the glass down on the mirrored table with a clank that is louder than you intend. Could that be true? Is Yoongi really outfitting you in the same fashion he was outfitting her all those years ago. 

Hwasa clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and swats at Ryujin's arm, muttering, "Mother, don't say things like that to her," under her breath. 

You shake your head, determined to not show how strange the information makes you feel. But Ryujin turns, pouts dramatically, and wraps her arms around you. 

"Oh, sweetie, I don't mean to suggest he was trying to turn you into a second me. He just seems to have the same tastes and fashion sense, is all. Trust me, he loves you way more than he could ever love me. I can tell."

You have no idea whether Ryujin is being truthful or trying to make you feel better, but you decide that either way, you see no use in dwelling on it. You are going to be living under her roof for the foreseeable future, and becoming upset whenever she says something a little too blunt, snippy, or insensitive is not going to get you anywhere. 

With a nod, you say, "I know. Don't worry." But it only makes her squeeze you tighter. 

"Just look at his bullshit excuse for taking you home with him," she says. "Collateral, my ass."

What an odd statement. You ask, "What do you mean?" But what you really mean to say is what do you know?

"The man takes you as so-called payment from your ex but then spends millions of dollars on a wardrobe, an armored vehicle, the most lavish birthday party in all of Seoul. Make it fucking make sense!"

Ryujin releases the hug, and as soon as you are free, you slam back your whiskey and pick up the 100-dollar bill, squeezing it tighter into a tube. Ryujin whoops and claps as you lean close and snort from the edge of the cocaine pile into your left nostril and then your right. 

"Mommy needs some, too," she says as she takes the bill from your hand and leans forward. 

You tip your head back and raise a knuckle to each nostril, sniffing deeply to make sure none of the drug is stuck inside your nose cavity, then you stand up straight, stretching your back by pushing forward your chest, and reach for the bottle of whiskey. 

"Partying so hard without me?" a male voice asks from behind you, and you nearly drop the bottle. 

The tone, the accent, and the cadence all confirm your fears are true.

"Christian?" you mutter as you spin, and you almost do not believe your eyes. 

From the expression he wears and the way his gaze falls to the floor, eyes widening as they lift to your face, you wager he also cannot believe his. 

Christian steps forward and you take a step back, elbow hitting the table and causing you to grip tighter to the bottle of whiskey. 

"Barom-oppa!" Ryujin shouts as she pounces on Christian, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

"Hey there, dearie," he says, lifting his arms to return the hug, never taking his eyes off you. 

Christian looks somewhat normal compared to the last time you saw him, with a white and red floral button-up tucked into black slacks, and a black leather blazer. His hair has some product in it to give it a slightly messy style, falling in front of his eyes, and he wears minimal makeup. 

But there is a darkness to him. Smudges around the eyes rather than clean lines, tattoos on his throat and neck. On his left hand, he wears a black leather driving glove, and across his nose is a red scuff, as if he has been punched. Under the rich musk that fills the air around him, you sense the stale smell of cigarette smoke, and he has silver hoops in his ears and one in his left nostril. 

A lot has changed about Christian in the months since you have known him. 

Ryujin releases their hug and takes a step back, causing Christian to look down at himself and rub his hands down the front of his jacket as if her tiny body could have somehow managed to do anything to the leather. Then he stands up straight and shakes his head to the side just enough for his hair to move out from in front of his eyes, and you realize that his left eye is completely white. Is it…missing? 

"Oh my god, your eye!" you shout, lunging forward before you can stop yourself and raising your left hand toward his face while your right hand nearly drops the whiskey bottle once more. 

Christian takes your wrist in his gloved hand and holds firmly onto you, and your entire body flushes hot with nerves as you realize the mistake you have made. The way his gaze holds onto you, even with only one dark iris and pupil, is piercing and intense, and you attempt futility to pull your hand away. 

"Funny story how I lost that," he says, expression pulling into a strange, sad grin. He leans close, nicotine on his breath as he says, "I'll have to tell you some time."

You pull on your arm, desperate to release it, but his grip is far stronger than you remember. Should you be afraid of this man?

"Christian," you begin, glancing from your hand to his face. 

"Perhaps over drinks, some time," he continues. "Just the two of us."

You nod, willing to lie to him if it means letting you go. Panic rises as you continue to take stock of how different he is from the man you used to know. 

Ryujin takes the whiskey from your hand, sets it on the table, and then grabs his hand in both of hers as she says, "Alright, that is enough of that. I need you two to play nice."

The room returns to view, and you remember why you are here and who you are with. You realize belatedly that these two not only know each other but that they are friendly with one another. 

"Wait," you say, turning to Ryujin, "you told Yoongi—"

"Look, I lied to him," she says, cutting you off. 

Your mouth falls open and your pulse whooshes in your ears. "You…but…" Could she possibly know what she has done by bringing the two of you together? "Why?"

Ryujin chuckles and steps close to Christian, placing her dainty, manicured hands over his chest. "Oppa is harmless. You know that! And Yoongi…well, he's paranoid. Trust me, darling. Nothing bad will happen to you."

You are not so sure you are convinced, but you know that freaking out will do nobody any good. Especially when you are so far away from home. You are not eager to show any more weakness to any of these people. Especially the one they call Mister Insanity. 

Someone shouts for Christian, using the name Barom, and you turn quickly back to the table. Your glass contains more whiskey, courtesy of one of the women, you assume, and you pick up the glass with shaking hands and slam it down, then reach for the bottle again. 

Intoxication roils through you in hot waves, and you squeeze your eyes closed to take a deep breath in and out before shooting more whiskey. A small hand touches your lower back, and you wish you were curled up in a bed all by yourself, far away from these people and this music. You are tired of being touched.

"I know it's weird to see an ex," Ryujin says. "Sorry for surprising you like this. He told me he wouldn't be around tonight."

"How did he lose his eye?" you ask, focused on the wrong thing as you turn to face Ryujin. You tremble so hard that your teeth clatter. 

Her smile falls to a frown and she shakes her head. "That isn't my story to tell."

You nod, accepting her answer, and turn to Hwasa, who watches you with a concerned expression. You mouth the word, "Bathroom?" and she nods and rounds the table, taking you by the arm. 

"Down the hall to the left," Ryujin says. 

As you walk through the room, you squint, attempting to ignore all the movement in the mirrors in your periphery. It's too much. Everything is too much. 

The darkness of the hallway is a blessing and a curse, relieving you from the chaos of the private room while introducing challenges of its own; it is almost too dark and somewhat claustrophobic. 

You stumble and Hwasa's hold on you tightens. She picks up the pace and leads you straight into a single-stall bathroom, then turns on a light that is thankfully relatively dim. The moment she closes and locks the door, you stumble forward, fall to your knees on the rough tile before the toilet, and vomit the contents of your stomach. 

Your mind races with myriad thoughts, but one is the loudest of them all: What the fuck is Christian doing here?

*

Oh, oh, I broke down all my doors Oh, do you see it now? Nothing was fixed at all

I never asked to be like this

🎵 visit the playlist

hello, hello!!! we meet again!!! i hope you have all been having great middle of the year months! things have been ok for me but i have been reading a lot more than i have been writing. how did you feel about this one??? it is a little slower, as it is setting the stage for the final chapters. any guess how things are going to go? how do we feel about the new (and returned) characters??? it felt really nice to writing Jimin into the scene again. 💜 i'll be honest, describing Ryujin & the Mamamoo girls laying on the rugs and blankets made me think of Quanxi and her harem of fiends from Chainsaw Man.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! REBLOGS ARE IMPORTANT BLAHBLAHBLAH LIKES ARE ALSO AMAZING AND SO ON. 💜 tags will be coming in reblogs. also, character asks are always active if you have some burning questions or comments (just don't expect me to outright spoil anything hehehe.)

i love you, stay hydrated!!! if you are somewhere with a heatwave, stay cool!!! 😘😘😘 until we meet again!!!

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Collateral is copyright 2022-2024 theharrowing, all rights reserved. no translations of reposts allowed.

[tonysbed]

Secrets I keep | Part 2

Max Fewtrell x Norris!reader

Lando Norris x Sister!reader

Daniel Riccardo x Norris!reader

summary: You and max have been dancing around your feelings for years but jealousy gets the best of us all..

not proofread

series masterlist | masterlist | previous | next

-

“I hate people” You say as you sit down at the small table in Daniel’s kitchen. He sets breakfast on the table and raises an eyebrow “I know, but why now?”

You turn your phone to him and show him the post that kika had send you earlier in the morning “Is it that unbelievable that two super attractive people are friends?” You chuckle at his words which makes him smile.

It slowly fades “Has lando said anything to you about it?” You shake your head but lean a bit back “Actually.. He did ask me yesterday what we are” Daniel raised an eyebrow “Really? And how did that go down?”

“Told him we’re friends. Then I asked why. He said he was just wondering and then told me to forget he asked” You shrug and take a bite of your breakfast.

“Hm. A tad weird no?” He says, sipping his coffee. You shrug “He can believe whatever he wants. And he’ll know where to find me if he has questions” Daniel nods and focuses back on his food.

“So, what is the plan for today?” You ask curious “Well, I’d say finally going to let you hold a koala and I got an invite to a party. You know these people too” He says with a smile. You smile wide “Koalas? Finally!” He chuckled “That’s the only thing you heard, hmm?”

“Absolutely. But yeah we can go. What kind of party?” He shrugged “just a party. nothing fancy” “no fancy clothes?” He shakes his head “Thank god. I didn’t pack fancy”

“As if we couldn’t just go and buy something” You roll your eyes at him “Finish up. I wanna see koalas” “Relax, they won’t run away” “You never know”

-

danielriccardo

liked by yn, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1m others

danielriccardo she finally got to hold a koala! and meet someone who looks happier than her 🐨👀

*tagged yn*

yn happier than me? more than you. You’ll get wrinkles from smiling this much

danielriccardo Im only smiling because you’re here

yn charmer much?

danielriccardo always for my favourite girl

yn dont make me blush, riccardo

danielriccardo 😁

user @/landonorris ???

user tagging lando as if he’s stupid

user he can read yk

landonorris are you ever coming home, or what? 😂

yn never. this place is to beautiful

landonorris daniel, i’d like my sister back

danielriccardo can’t do anything, sorry mate

user now why is he so close to her.. 👀

user sure, friends

user woman and men can be friends yall

*liked by yn*

-

yn added to their story

[caption 1: night out 💙 caption 2: I expected more patience from him.. he stood there for 20 minutes..]

franciscagomez girl, you’re telling me you two aren’t a thing??

yn yeah?

sure…

yn why is everyone so weird all of sudden. I’ve visited daniel alone before

that was different..

yn sure.

landonorris be safe please!!

yn will be. i’m with daniel, remember?

yeah that doesn’t calm me down..

yn ttyl 🫶🏻

yeah yeah 🤍

-

Drinks had been flowing for a good amount of time. It was safe to say that neither you nor Daniel were on the sober side. You stood next to him, while he was sitting on a chair, explaining something to the guy next to him.

One of your friends, who was rather clumsy, pushed you over and right into Daniel’s lap. You let out an surprised squeal and hold onto his shoulders for support. In an instinctive way, his arms wrap around you and leans against you in his drunken state.

You smile at the filming person who is laughing along you, while the friend who fell tried to get back up, which was even harder while laughing.

You helped her and watched them go to the bathroom. You now finally look at daniel, who’s lap you were still seated on. He raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“If you wanted to sit, you could’ve just said something.” You laugh and turn to face the rest of the group “You’re an idiot”

“I’ve been told before” He laughed and you felt his thumb caressing your side. You sigh and let your head fall on his shoulder “Should we go home?” You hum “My feet hurt” “Told you to go in sneaker” “Shut up” He chuckled “I’ll call a cab”

-

You stumbled into the door and steadied yourself on daniel’s arm. You kicked off your shoes “I’m so dead” “Me too. Sleep?” “100%. I’m eating tomorrow.”

He nods and kicks off his shoes as well. You flop down on the couch “that’s not your bed” “I’m to lazy to walk there” He laughed and stumbled over to you. Before he could say anything, you moved and held up the blanket, inviting him.

“Not the plan but sure” He laid down next to you, looking at you. You make him turn and lay on his chest “Definitely comfortable” You mumble before your knocked out cold.

He laughs softly before closing his eyes as well.

-

Lando had been kind of worried about you. He knew how daniel could get when he was drunk. He had stopped the aussie from doing stupid things before while partying. He let his head fall backwards with a groan.

Max looked up from his phone and sighed “Just text her” “So I’ll get the same answer as before? No thanks”

Max rolls his eyes “I’ll be on stream if you’ll need me.” He got up and walked into his streaming room. Lando stayed on the couch. It was already late in australia, he knew that. You should’ve been back already.

His phone lights up and he sees his mothers name.

‘Did you know about this?’ Attached was a picture of you, sitting on daniel’s lap.

He opened the message

Lando sets his phone down. The picture engraved in his mind. This was out of character for you. Or was it? Did he even know who you were? Were you as close as he thought?

His thoughts were interrupted by Max poking his head in the door “Should we order some food? I’m starving” Lando nods “Sure”

“What’s up with you?” Lando shakes his head “Still about Yn and daniel?” “There is a picture from tonight..” Max raised an eyebrow as lando picks up his phone and shows it to max.

Max’s fists clench at his sides and he has to restrain himself from a sarcastic comment “Oh”

“Why would she lie? I mean, she could’ve told me! I’d rather know from her than the internet” “I’m sure she’ll explain.” “I hope.” “Let’s order food and get your mind off a bit.”

-

You had woken up with a raging headache. You tried to sit up, which didn’t work. You look up and see Daniel’s sleeping face. You feel his arms still wrapped around you and pause. Why in gods name are you in this position?

You gently lift his arms and slip out of his arms. You get into the guest bedroom and put your phone down to charge. While your phone was charging, you got some ibuprofen, water and set some down on the couch table in front of sleeping Daniel.

Your phone finally turns on. You’re horrified when you see missed calls from your mom, and texts from various people. You check your moms messages first and freeze again. When did that happen? You on Daniel’s- The fall.

Oh great.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and try calling your brother. It was around midnight in the uk so you weren’t sure he was going to pick up.

“Yn?” “Lando! Oh thank god. Thought you might be sleeping” “no, i’m not. I can’t sleep actually” You hesitate “The picture-“ “I don’t wanna hear it. Why would you lie to me?” “Lando-“

“no. you go and say you’re friends and that’s what I see? Who are you trying to fool here?” “We are just friends!” “sure as hell doesn’t look like it”

“Lando. We were drunk. I was pushed and landed there” “Sure. Well, good to know you’re okay. I’m going to bed.” “Lando please” The line goes dead and you sigh. Great.

You go and call your mother, who was a bit more understanding but still didn’t quite believe the story you told her.

A knock on the door startled you “yeah?” Daniel slowly opened the door “You okay?” You nod “Headache is getting better. Did you take your ibuprofen?” He nods “So..there’s-“ “A picture yeah. Mom and lando already ripped me one.” He sighed and sat down next to you on the bed.

“It is so out of context! This is really annoying.” He nods again and looks at his hands. You stand up “I’m gonna go and eat something. You coming?” “Yeah”

This time, the kitchen was silent. Neither of you knew what to say after last night.

-

“So when is he supposed to be here?” You ask Daniel as you put on your hiking shoes “Any minute. Oscars quite on point when he’s supposed to be there.” In that moment the doorbell rang.

Oscar stood there, smiling softly “Good morning you two! How have you slept?” You roll your eyes “Fine. We really shouldn’t have had that many drinks tho” Oscar chuckled “Yeah I saw. What did Lando say?”

You three make your way downstairs “He wasn’t mad about the sitting in his lap thing at all. He thought I was lying tho when I told him we’re just friends, which isn’t a lie. We’re really not together. Nothing.” You say defeated.

“I’m sure he’ll calm down and you’ll get to talk to him.” You nod “I hope. I really didn’t lie to him” Oscar pats you on the back “It’ll be alright. He’s bark no bite”

Daniel laughs “That’s what i said too! He couldn’t be mad at you forever even if he tried. He loves you way to much” Oscar nods in agreement “He’s always talking about you. Sometimes I feel like I know you better than Lando” You chuckle at that.

“Ill text him once we get back”

-

yn

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, danielriccardo and 926.467 others

yn when in australia ☀️

*tagged oscarpiastri / danielriccardo*

oscarpiastri my hair oh god

yn I loved it 😂

danielriccardo yeah, i’m sure lily loved it too 😂

oscarpiastri I hate you both

yn 🧡

danielriccardo never going on a hike with you ever again

yn why? I made it to the end

oscarpiastri after laying on the floor and refusing to get up because you know who is ignoring your messages

yn now that is mean

danielriccardo no, just the truth

user Is lando ignoring yn??

user I would too if my sister would have something going on with my friend

user we don’t even know if they do

user have you not seen the pictures??

user and? you need to chill out. not every woman who has a guy as friend wants to date him

*liked by yn*

user see? she even liked the comment.

user the difference between daniel and oscar 😭

user daniel is so boyfriend coded

-

Daniel closed the trunk and made his way to the driver seat. You stare out of the window. Neither of you have actively acknowledged what had happened the night before. The hike with oscar took your mind off it all a bit but you were sure. You had to get to lando before it all gets to his head.

The ride to the airport was quiet. Only as you finally made it and Daniel got your stuff out of the trunk, he finally looked at you.

“Here” “Thank you” “I’ll bring you to your gate” You nod and you both walk in silence. It wasn’t as comfortable as it had been a few days ago.

As you arrived at your gate, you hug him. You stay like that for a few moments before you pulled away.

“yn?” “Daniel” He looks at you a bit nervous “We’re good, right?” You smile softly “Yeah, we’re good. I’ll text you when I land.” He nods “Have a good flight” You wave at him as you leave.

caption: Home sweet home 🇲🇨❤️

franciscagomez weren’t you supposed to be back in like 5 days?

yn lando is ignoring me because of the picture. There’s more to that.

oh..hope you guys figure it out. Gossip sesh w alex soon?

yn 100%

-

Max got a bit mean, oops. Let’s see what she’ll do and what Lando does next 👀

I’ll try posting every 1-2 days. I don’t do tag lists btw

[hauntedbarbiex]

To all my Reality Shifters out there who’s Current Reality means as much to them as their Desired Reality does; this post is for you💗💋: 

I don’t know if anyone has told you this but you have permission to have both. Both this reality, AND your DR’s. I know a lot of people in this community talk about respawning or perma shifting and if that’s you, that’s amazing! But for some of us, our reality here feels just as important. Maybe for you it’s your loved ones, or your friends, maybe even your job, that you don’t want to completely leave behind or script with you into your desired realities. And that’s completely okay❤️ I know I have personally felt scared of shifting for a while, because a part of me felt like I was betraying my loved ones here. As if I was shifting because they weren’t good enough, which felt awful because that was never the case. I am so grateful for my life here, but I also want to experience my life there. And that is completely valid. It’s like travelling abroad or going on holiday. Just because you leave or want to explore new exciting places, doesn’t mean that your home isn’t good enough. You’re human! You want to explore, and experience new things and that is very very normal. Just because you’re doing it in an uncommon way, doesn’t make it any different. And you can always come back home. Even whilst you make multiple homes for yourself across the multiverse, this one is always here for you too, should you wish it🥰

Of course feeling bad for wanting to leave this reality can never, and will never, actually stop you from shifting (blockages aren’t real and doubts are normal and nothing to be scared of :) ) but it might be a reason why you procrastinate doing a method or reading your script. Not that you need to do those things to shift but you know what I mean! For me, I felt so bad that I didn’t even want to watch the very shows I wanted to experience anymore. I felt torn between both families (my family here and my family in my dr). As if even entertaining the thought of hanging out with my dr friends and family would be betraying the amazing ones I have here. But I’m here to tell you that you are allowed to have both. You’re allowed to have everything you want. Do you stop making a new friend in this reality because you feel bad for the one you already have? I hope not! You make as many good friends as you can! Everyone is different and so each relationship is different, and that’s what makes it so beautiful! That’s what makes life so exciting!

Maybe this is common knowledge to a lot of you but I wanted to write a post about it in case there were any others feeling the same as me. I wish someone had given me permission to have both. To love both. I wish I had gave myself that permission sooner, but I’m giving it to myself now. And I hope you allow yourself permission too. Go out there and spread love to as many of your loved ones across the multiverse as you can xx

[wormoftoji]

The way that I’m frothing at the mouth over Degrees of Lewdity is actually insane. It’s driving me bonkers that I can’t talk to any of my friends about it 😩 reader has a pussy but no pronouns are used

Also, this turned out so much longer that I thought it would, I just really love Eden. Anyway, definitely a Dead Dove warning, but if you’re into DoL, it’s nothing out of the ordinary

You were exactly what Eden had been searching for. A cute little thing with a pretty neck that looked even prettier with the thick leather collar locked around your neck. The way you cry and thrash just excites him more, and maybe he’s a little tough with you at the start, but can you blame him? You’re just so cute when you’re fucked stupid.

It is a little annoying when you try to escape though. When you squirm and try to loosen your binds while he pretends to sleep next to you. He’s tired but he lets you struggle for now, he knows you’ll come around once he starts training you for real. It’s easy to fall asleep after that, the slightest smile making his lips quirk up as he drifts off to thoughts of you as the eager little housewife he knows you’ll become.

Eden likes waking up next to you, even though it’s obvious you only get a few hours of exhaustion induced rest. It’s an addictive sight to watch you as the morning sun filters in from the window, high lighting the curves and dips of your form. All the bruises and bite marks littering your skin. He eyes the ones he knows aren’t from him and he hates them. It makes his heart ache to be gentle with you, but he refrains. He knows he has to be harsh in his trading before he can reward you.

Training you takes a long time. Eden knew it would, you’re stubborn and fight like a bat out of hell and as annoying as it is, he’s endeared by it. He loves hearing your threats and demands melt into pleading whimpers as he stretches your hold open on his thick cock. He doesn’t know if there’s any better feeling then making you cum with his dick pressed all the way into you, burying load after load into your womb. God, he can’t wait until you get pregnant.

Little by little, Eden watches as your mind begins to fracture, your control slipping as he molds you. You make his favorite breakfast easily now, mend his clothes, and you don’t scream anymore. You keep that cabin clean, manage his books, tend to the weeds in the garden and even plant some things of your own. And so he rewards you.

Eden makes a loathed trip into town, sells a handful of forage, and makes his way to bustling shopping center. The crowd disgusts him and the noise irritates him but he pushes on. He stops at a boutique, drawn in by a simple gingham dress. He gets you a few pairs of plain panties too, even though he prefers you without them. He indulges in himself too and buys a few new books to read to you. And a recipe book because frankly, you only know how to make one meal well.

When he returns home, he finds you waiting for him. The yard looks nicer than ever and he knows the inside of the cabin is spotless. It brings a smile to his face when he sees you sitting in the pour h and the gaze that had been absently staring into the distance slides to him. He watches your eyebrows furrow as he hands you the bag and instructs you to put it on. He lets you do it in the bathroom, lips twitching into a frown when he hears a stifled sob. It pisses him off. But that anger quickly dissipates when you step out of the bathroom wearing the dress. You make the prettiest sight he’s every seen and for the first time in months since he brought you home, there a tiny smile on your lips.

Eden knows then that’s he’s succeeded. You’re his pretty little housewife, obedient and reliant on him, and oh so sweet. Now he just needs to fill you up with his babies and it’ll be the fairytale kind of life he craves.

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

WIP Workday

Thanks so much for the tags @thedissonantverses and @hyperions-light! 😁 I’m tagging anyone who wants to do this, but I’ll shout out @taashyvashedan, @mageofquandrix, @future-ghoost, @swamp-jello, and @neve-gallus-girl-detective.

I’m still puttering along with…so many things in various stages of editing, and actual drafting is still going on in Tevinter Bathhouses Excursion and Multi-Chapter land. So below the cut is some of the first chapter (currently being edited, hasn’t been beta’d beyond a read for flow and to check my terrible Latin by @mvrcar) of the bathhouse fic.

Grinning in a way that felt almost maniacal, Rook straddled the bench Neve had chosen and leaned back until he was propped up only by his elbows. “Say what you will about the corruption, and the slavery, and the blood mages, and the supremacist cult…Tevinter did get bathhouses right.”

She chuckled. “How far did you have to reach for that bright side?” She asked.

His brow furrowed in thought for a moment, before he shrugged. “Not very. Gotta see the little daily good things, too, not just the bad.”

Neve felt a bead of sweat slip down her neck, and her pulse picked-up as she realized Rook’s eyes were following it. He bit his lower lip gently, and suddenly it felt like the heat of the room was in her veins.

She cleared her throat gently, and he startled guiltily. “Is that so?” Neve asked, redirecting him. Well, both of them.

“Yeah, uh…yeah,” Rook said, shaking his head a little as though coming out of a daze. “I mean, it’s not perfect, right? But if we don’t see the good things, the things we do like about the Imperium, we’ll lose hope, eventually. If there’s nothing of value here, what are we trying to save?”

He wasn’t wrong, really, and there were good things in Tevinter. Good people. Halos, Rana, Tarquin, Lorelei, Claudia from the street earlier. Neve knew that. Still, she didn’t understand how he did it. How he kept that optimism.

She’d have pinned it on to his needing to maintain morale, but they were alone. Just two Tevinters born to non-mage families. People who’d seen the dark underbelly the Magisterium tried to pretend didn’t exist. He wasn’t putting on a show for her; he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t buy it.

This was how he genuinely felt. Neve shook her head a little as fondness for him warmed her chest just as effectively as the room. “You’re just a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “I try.”

[starmieknight]

Stars Align

Dipper Vs. Manliness

17 Again AU: After a disastrous first day with the twins, Stan swears to do better as an uncle. But fate loves playing tricks on him and the magic 8-ball in the attic is more than it seems.

Now on top of having a pair of twelve year olds around the house while he tries to finish the portal and bring his brother home, Stan has to deal with being back in his seventeen year old body! Summer has never been weirder in Gravity Falls.

Prologue, The Legend of the Gobblewonker, Headhunters Pt. 1, Headhunters Pt. 2, Headhunters Pt. 3, The Hand That Rocks the Mabel Pt. 1, The Hand That Rocks the Mabel Pt. 2, The Inconveniencing (previous)

Special thank you to @disregardedblasphemy for beta reading! You're awesome <3

At one point, Stan had a bit of a crush on Lazy Susan. She’d been real cute and pretty sweet back when he first met her and she hadn’t been too upset about what happened to her eye. As the years passed, she was just one of the few single people left in his age range. That he actually liked, anyway.

Who knew so many people got married when you got old!

Now with his baby face in the way, Stan just didn’t feel right flirting with her like he normally did.

Using his ‘charming young man’ powers on her though―!

“You do split plates, right?” Stan asked, ducking his head shyly and peering up at Susan through his lashes. “We’re just poor, hungry kids on a budgeted allowance…”

Susan laughed and pinched his cheek.

“You’re just like your daddy, aren’t you? We always make an exception for Big Stan ― I can do it for Little Stan, too!”

Stan chuckled awkwardly, ignoring the ‘daddy’ comment, and offered the waitress a blinding smile.

Somewhere behind him, he heard a shutter sound and some muffled giggles.

“Tambry!” Mabel whispered, practically climbing over the back of the booth to speak to the girl on the other side. “Send me that for my scrapbook!”

Stan did his best to ignore that. And the fact that Tambry was still taking pictures of him when he wasn’t looking. Instead, he just pushed on with his order, ignoring Mabel’s protests that she wanted pancakes.

He could have made those himself if she'd wanted them so much!

Dipper, however, was more sympathetic to his sister’s plight.

“Don’t worry, guys!” he said confidently. “Pancakes are on me. I’m gonna win them by beating that manliness tester!”

“Manliness tester?” Stan asked blankly, remembering the machine that had been in the diner forever.

“Beating?” Mabel asked incredulously before bursting into laughter.

And Stan might have laughed with her if he hadn’t seen how scrappy the boy really was,  getting into fist fights with psychotic nine year olds and breaking into buildings. Still, the boy was built like a noodle and not in the typically stocky manner most Pines boys were. He didn’t even have their trademark nose, his mother’s genetics probably the cause for that. The color of it was right on point, though.

“Hold on there, sweetheart.” Stan put a hand on Mabel’s head to quiet her down, but wasn’t quite able to stop the snort that came with the mental image of Dipper beating the tester. “Your brother’s not as geeky as he seems, sometimes. I wanna see him try! Besides, it’ll be a good chance for me to see where he is before I start yous two on boxing lessons!”

“You’re going to teach us how to box?” Dipper asked skeptically.

Stan’s grin widened and he flexed his arms, thick cords of muscle visible even under his baby fat.

“You’re lookin’ at the best boxer from Glass Shard Beach! Goldmill Gym’s got all my old trophies lining the walls!”

At least, it had forty years ago. Old Man Nicky was surely dead now and probably had been pissed enough to throw out Stan’s medals when he’d disappeared into the night. Besides, the man had been friends with Pa ― Stan wouldn’t be surprised if the medals were melted down to make gold chains.

You’re a bum, Stanny. But you can take a hit and give ‘em back twice as hard.

Mabel latched onto Stan’s bicep, giggling wildly as he curled his arms a few times, threatening to drop her back into the booth.

“Hmmm,” Dipper hummed, eyeing Stan’s arms thoughtfully. “...okay. I mean, how different could it be from kickboxing?”

Stan grinned at him. “That’s the spirit, kiddo! Now ― go win us some pancakes!”

Dipper beamed at him.

It didn’t last long, however, the boy failing miserably and running out in the face of Manly Dan showing him up. Stan didn’t think the man meant anything by it. He probably just wanted more pancakes or was trying to feed what he thought was a bunch of hungry kids. He was just like that sometimes. Blunt and lacking tact.

Stan was the same.

He looked between his plate and the empty doorframe, conflicted.

Was he supposed to chase after the kid or give him space so he could lick his wounds?

Moses, he missed Old Nicky ― the man would already have a diet planned to help put muscle on the kid or have him chasing chickens and bench pressing hogs. He had a weird way of training his boxers, but he’d made Stan quick on his feet and able to find a weak spot on guys with more fat rolls than average.

“He’ll be fine,” Mabel rested her hand gently on Stan’s arm. Her smile was familiar, but it didn’t really meet her eyes. She almost looked guilty.

“Of course, he will.” Stan smiled back at her half-heartedly. “He’s a Pines. We always end up alright.”

Mabel didn’t look convinced, but she let it go for a moment. She began eating her pancakes, but some of her enthusiasm was lost.

“... do you think I shouldn’t have laughed at him?”

Stan winced, hearing the hurt in her voice. “Probably didn’t help…”

Mabel deflated, losing some of her usual vibrancy. “He’s really serious about becoming a man. Growing chest hair and wishing his voice would stop cracking…”

“People make it into a big deal.” Stan shrugged, remembering how he’d waited for those body changes a lifetime ago. There’d been the awkward days with acne and voice cracks, not to mention realizing he could have a crush on nearly anyone who showed him a smidgeon of positive attention. He could only sympathize with how Dipper was feeling, especially with Stan around in his current state. The kid was probably wondering when he was going to start shooting up and filling out like his uncle. Shermie and Alec were both built big as well. Dipper probably was feeling left out. “He’s gotta figure out his new place and his body’s going through some… changes. Speaking of, please tell me your mom has had The Talk with you…”

Mabel snorted, a gleam returning to her eyes.

“Don’t worry, Grunkle Stan.” she snickered. “Mom told me everything to expect last year.”

Stan sagged in relief. “Just let me know if you need… any feminine products. Or chocolate. Or just tell Wendy and I’ll give her the money.”

Moses, was it hot in here or were his ears on fire. He never expected to have this conversation. Why did it have to be so awkward?! He’d had a mother, for crying out loud ― and a girlfriend who’d been very vocal about what cramps and mood swings did to her.

Mabel just laughed at him again, bouncing back to her normal self with an ease he envied.

“Do you think he’ll be alright once he’s done with puberty?” she asked thoughtfully, trying her straw wrapper into a neat bow. “I mean, you seem alright going through it a second time.”

Stan snorted at that. “Nah, I was pretty much set as soon as I hit sixteen the first time. The only thing that stuck around for a while was the acne. That didn’t really go away until my thirties.”

“I thought that went away after you turned twenty!” Mabel exclaimed, her face twisting with horror.

“Nope!” Stan propped his chin up on his hand, leaning close to give her a good look at the bumps on his chin. “Maybe it won’t be so bad once you get over the hump of the hormone changes, but pimples’ll pop up at random forever! But your face thingies helped mine the other day.”

“We should get you some pimple patches for the little ones!” Mabel suggested, poking a red spot on Stan’s cheek. He hissed at the little jolt of pain it caused and she pulled her hand away, expression apologetic. “Ohh! We should do another spa day!”

“Spa day?” a somewhat familiar voice asked from behind them. Tambry popped up over the back of their seat, her eyes fixed on her phone. “Count me in.”

“Me, too!” Wendy announced, sliding into the booth across from them. “We should get Stan some better clothes, too. He’s been wearing the same pair of jeans for weeks.”

“I wash them!” he protested indignantly.

“You’re gonna wear them out like that.” the redhead pointed out easily. “Also, you smell like an old man. Switch your cologne.”

“I don’t wear cologne to work. That’s just aftershave.” He rubbed his chin with a grimace, resenting the fact that his facial hair had been so patchy as a teenager. It looked weird if he didn’t shave every morning. Back when he was old, his five-o’clock shadow had been fine enough for tours ― now he just looked stupid.

“We should get him a jacket that fits!” Mabel suggested, bouncing in her seat with her thoughts a million miles away. Probably lost in some mental mall. “And a comb!”

“I wouldn’t mind getting some gel,” Stan admitted, running a hand over his unruly curls. “S’how I used to wear it.”

Wendy tilted her head, considering his face. “I can see it. Like those guys in Grease.”

Stan snapped his fingers and pointed at her with a grin. “Exactly!”

“Let’s go to the mall!” Mabel shrieked, overcome with excitement. She shook Stan’s arm, moving her body more than his bicep and looking like she was being electrocuted as a result. Or like a fish flopping on the floor of his boat. “Mall Day! Mall Day!”

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?” Stan groaned.

“Nope!” Mabel and Wendy wore identical expressions, like lionesses about to pounce on some poor, old zebra. Tambry offered a thumbs up from the other side of the booth wall. ____________________________________________________________

“This was a terrible idea.”

Now, Stan was no stranger to shopping with a teenage girl. He’d dated Carla McCorkle for a while before she was stolen away by that mind-controlling musician. He was quite familiar with wandering from store-to-store while a girl ooh-ed and ahh-ed over things without making a single purchase.

He hated customers who did that and he hated being part of a group that did that.

“Grunkle Stan, this is an essential part of shopping!” Mabel punctuated her statement with a pointed slurp of her iced coffee. De-caf, of course. She was already energetic enough.

He responded with a pointed sip of his own, secretly conceding that iced coffee was good. Especially all dolled up with fancy syrups and whipped cream.

Way too expensive, though.

“C’mon, man.” Wendy rolled her eyes fondly and threw the jacket she and Tambry had been fawning over at his face. “Chill out and leave everything to us. All you gotta do is put on what we tell you and say if you like it or not.”

“I was promised hair gel.” Stan muttered petulantly. He felt the soft lining of the jacket, an old-styled bomber like the one Ford had worn as a kid, and noted that it was soft. “Can’t I just pick some jeans and go?”

“Grunkle Stan, you need to learn about style!” Mabel exclaimed, stars in her eyes. “Now that you’re not a gross old man, this is the perfect opportunity to work on my ‘Convince Dipper To Wear More Than One Outfit’ powerpoint!”

Stan stared at her blankly. “What’s that got to do with dressin’ me up?”

“Because!” Mabel exclaimed exasperatedly. “You guys look a lot alike now! Once he sees how good you look, he’ll be inspired to do the same!”

“She has a point.” Wendy shrugged. “You’ve had more women hitting on you these past few weeks than you’ve had my entire life.”

“You’re totally hot.” Tambry confirmed flatly, briefly moving her phone away from her face to show them some kind of website. There were a lot of pictures of him and it made his skin crawl. So did the comments, most filled with the little picture things from Mabel’s ‘motivational sticker pack’.

“Ugh!” Stan shuddered at the girl’s comment and threw his hands up defensively. “I― I don’t even know what to do with all that. It’s… It’s weird.”

His eyes darted around in search of an escape route and he bolted out the door with the jacket in tow. He liked it, but he’d never admit it. Or pay for it.

Stan yanked the tags off, casually dropping them in a nearby trashcan before shrugging the jacket on. Ooooh, it had nice big pockets. Perfect for shoplifting!

“Well, if it isn’t Stanley Pines.”

Stan stiffened at the voice behind him, mind racing as he tried to place it. 

Don’t panic, you’ve been introducing yourself as Stanley the Second for weeks! This is just the con beginning to pay off…

He turned, a conman’s smile curling his lip, before a shocked scream left him.

“My eyes! My poor eyes!”

It was improbable. It was impossible! It had been forty years!

But against all the odds, there was a familiar face from Glass Shard Beach in Gravity Falls.

Old Man Nicky stared at him, his expression as sour and unimpressed as ever, another generation’s worth of wrinkles making him look like a particularly grumpy bulldog. He was still wearing the same old red sweater over a gray tracksuit, thin wisps of white hair peeking out from beneath a black beanie.

It really was his old boxing coach. Really old boxing coach.

“Shouldn’t you be dead?” Stan asked before he could stop himself. A cane shot out and clocked him in the shin, making him yelp and topple over. Ugh, just like the old days.

“Shouldn’t you? Your ma told me you crashed your car into a ditch and burnt up. Guess you just got mixed up in some freaky magic shit out here. Probably somethin’ ta do with that brother of yours.”

Stan winced at the relatively spot-on observation, rubbing his leg as he looked up at Nicky. The man had shrunk over the years, but he never lost the ability to make Stan feel like some scrawny little kid.

“What’re you doin’ in Gravity Falls of all places?” he asked, not bothering with how the man knew about magic. You couldn’t live here without tripping over a gnome every other Tuesday.

“Got myself a grandson who married a selkie. Their kids like the cold and I’m mostly retired. Thought I’d spend the rest of my twilight years with them.” Nicky shrugged before piercing Stan with a stern look. “Thought about lookin’ ya up, but you were too busy runnin’ around and pretendin’ t’ be Stanford. You’re a bum, Stannie. Your impersonations suck.”

Stan straightened up with a frown, properly offended now.

“I’ll have you know,” he sniffed, tucking his hands behind his back and looking down his nose at the old man. His gruff voice smoothed into something more sophisticated and refined, the Jersey accent melting away like butter beneath a summer sun. “That I still do a fantastic impersonation of my brother… Hypothesis! Quantum physics! Exponential!”

Nicky chuckled at him, wrinkled face sagging as it softened fondly.

“That’s our Stanford.” he sighed, turning away. “Now, c’mon back to the gym and fill me in on what happened. Y’not doin’ this without good reason. Yous two hated being mixed up.”

Stan hesitated, looking over his shoulder for the girls. They were a few stores back and a few bags heavier, their eyes scanning the mall in search of him.

“I’ll have to raincheck ya on that, old man.” he hurried to say, voice returning to normal and pitched low. Secretive. “I got a couple of add-ons who aren’t exactly in on it. They can’t know.”

Nicky frowned at him, tilting his head so he could squint at the girls as they approached. Mabel had spotted them, her face lighting up as she rushed forward with a grin.

“Well,” Nicky chuckled as she caught up to them. “This one looks just like you. Braces ‘n all. She box any?”

“Grunkle Stan’s gonna teach me and my brother!” Mabel proclaimed proudly before blinking in confusion at the old man. She shrugged and offered Nicky her hand. “Hi, I’m Mabel! Are you one of my uncle’s old man friends?”

“More like his uncle.” Nicky clasped her hand gently. “You can call me Papa Nick.”

“Okay!” Mabel agreed before Stan could protest.

“Oh, c’mon old man!” he huffed. “You never let me call you Uncle Nick!”

The old man smacked him with the cane again. “That’s cause you’re a bum, Stannie. ‘Sides ― Filbrick woulda had kittens if he caught you boys goin’ soft on me.”

“Wait, you knew Grunkle Stan as a kid?!” Mabel gushed, her hands squishing her cheeks. “Oh Em Gee ― you’re like, super old! Do you have pictures of baby Stan?!”

“Course I do!” Nicky snorted. “And all’a his old trophies. Tell ya what ― yous guys come for dinner and I’ll dig ‘em out.”

“Nicky!” Stan hissed, panic seizing his chest.

The old man bopped him with the cane once more, gently this time.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, kid.” Nicky gave him a pointed look. “I’ll keep all your embarrassing secrets in storage. For now.”

Stan held his gaze a moment longer, praying that the old man would keep his word, before nodding stiffly.

“Fine. Where’re ya stayin’ these days?”

Nicky smirked, smug with victory, and shoved a business card into Stan’s hand.

“Six o’clock. Come to the back door and don’t be late or you’re washin’ towels.”

“I don’t work for you anymore, old man!” Stan shouted after him as he and Mabel rejoined the rest of the girls. “I ain’t washin’ nothin’!”

Nicky just laughed at him and continued on his way. ___________________________________________________________

“What happened to you, kid?” Stan asked in bewilderment as Dipper trudged into the house, twigs and leaves sticking out of his hair.

The boy sighed and flopped down on the floor by Stan’s armchair.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” the boy mumbled into the carpet.

“Good.” Stan said awkwardly, trying to think of a subject change to get out of another ‘feelings’ talk.

“It’s just these half-man, half-bull humanoids were hanging out with me…” Dipper blurted out suddenly, shooting up with an annoyed expression.

“Here we go.” Stan rolled his eyes. He frowned as the boy’s words reached his brain. “Wait, you talkin’ about those dumb Manotaurs? Those guys are jerks!”

“I know, right?!” Dipper threw his hands up, relieved to have another person on his side. “They wanted me to do this really tough, horrible thing ― but it just wasn’t right. So, I said no.”

The boy deflated, looking as lost as Stan felt after spending too long reading his brother’s journals.

Stan reached down, easily knocking Dipper’s hat off, and ruffled the boy’s tangled curls.

“You were your own man and you stood up for yourself.” he said firmly. Dipper looked up at him in surprise. Stan grinned at him. “You did what was right even though no one agreed with you. Sounds pretty manly to me, but whadda I know?”

Dipper smiled at him, regaining some of the life that he’d lost during his all-day workout. His brows raised as he took in Stan’s new jeans and T-shirt, the outfit capped off by his new bomber jacket.

“Hey, you look good. I like your jacket. And you finally got hair gel?”

“Thanks.” Stan thumbed the collar of his jacket, remembering the one Ford had worn when they were kids. Which, now that he was thinking about it…

“How’s about you go get ready?” Stan nudged the boy with his foot, toes digging into Dipper’s ribs and making him giggle. “We’re headin’ to a friend of mine’s for dinner and you stink.”

Dipper’s face fell. “Do we really have time for me to shower? I― I mean, is it really necessary?”

“Yep.” Stan said firmly, nudging the boy again. “Go ― use soap this time.”

The boy groaned dramatically, but headed upstairs anyway.

He could hear Mabel in the attic, singing along to some pop song at the top of her lungs. Once he heard the shower cut on, Stan bolted for the vending machine.

It was risky as hell, but he’d done worse lately.

All of Ford’s old things that might have given away his identity were stored in the basement. Six-fingered gloves, old home movies and pictures ― they all lived in boxes in the observation room. Along with a trunk of keepsakes that Ma had sent after Pa died and the pawnshop closed. She’d moved in with Shermie those last few years before her death and wanted ‘Stanford’ to have all of the twins’ old things. Probably in hopes he’d use them with a son of his own one day.

And in the trunk, there was a little old jacket with patched elbows that had seen the boys through many an adventure.

Ford’s bomber jacket.

Stan lifted it out of the trunk reverently, like one would a precious artifact. It was soft beneath his fingers, the fabric worn and the fur lining a bit matted. The elbow patches were fraying and it smelled of mothballs and old books.

He buried his face in the lining with a sniffle, wondering why he and Ford had ever drifted apart in the first place.

Stan knew he was a screw-up, but he still had no idea what he’d done to make Ford want to move across the country to get away from him.

“When did you stop liking me, Poindexter?” he sighed, tucking the jacket beneath his arm. He checked the security cameras before heading back upstairs. He’d had plenty of time to get the jacket and hide it in his room before Dipper and Mabel were ready for dinner.

No worries.

____________________________________________________________

“Uh, did you just see that, dude?” Soos whispered to Wendy, his eyes wide with shock.

“Secret door to a secret basement in the Mystery Shack?” Wendy confirmed, her normally cool facade beginning to crack. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“Good to know.”

[tarnished-butsogrand]

Giving Niall & Harry the benefit of the doubt I think it’s probably a really weird thing to navigate everyone sending you condolences because you were so publicly linked together when in reality they were not very close and hadn’t been for a long time. I think it’s telling that they both included condolences to Liam’s family in their posts while Zayn & Louis didn’t (not saying they didn’t send them condolences privately but specifically in their posts). Usually only the people closest to the person who has passed don’t include condolences and paired with the overall tone & content I think it’s a good indicator that they don’t see themselves in that immediate circle and they don't want to give off the impression that they are. 

But I also think their posts have a lot to do with them as people removed from their relationship with Liam. Obviously we don’t actually know but you couldn’t convince me that Liam was in contact with Zayn more than Niall but Zayn is less afraid of speaking his mind. There’s a reason Niall is able to “avoid drama” and why they used to call him a fence-sitter in the band, it’s not difficult to seem unproblematic if you avoid anything controversial at all and within the last couple years Liam became one of those controversial things he ignored. Part of me doesn’t fault him for that because he always tries to protect his personal peace and his brand, it’s not something he exclusively did to Liam but it’s still disappointing he didn’t make an exception for him. Maybe I’m being too generous but I think he probably regrets that, especially knowing how awful his fans were to him in his last days. I think Harry also probably feels that regret and guilt to some extent too which would also explain the surface level statements because their true feelings are much more complex and imo would frame them in a more negative light if they were honest. This is all just speculation but some part of them probably wants to avoid making it seem like they were still super close and avoid accepting all those condolences due to the guilt of knowing that they weren’t actually there for him when he needed it. 

That being said they definitely could’ve ignored their relationship post 1D completely and just talked about what he meant to the band, especially knowing how much people were trying to erase his importance, knowing that ALL the members reiterated how important he was would’ve meant a lot but they didn’t do that for him and that hurts.  

I understand what you’re saying about them just not posting anything but honestly I think it was better for them to just do it even if it was surface level because otherwise it would’ve just turned into “why aren’t they posting?” even worse than it did when Niall’s was delayed a bit. It would’ve just pulled focus away from Liam even more so I’m personally glad they at least put something out. Even if we understand that people are not owed a public display of grief that’s certainly not the overall consensus of the general public (which is crazy on it's own). I don’t doubt that they felt pressured to put out statements but unfortunately that’s the world we’re living in and I think it probably would’ve been worse in the long run if they hadn’t put out anything at all. 

I do think it's important to note that in the same way we have now been able to process things differently with time (I have felt a million different ways about their posts/treatment of Liam in general the past few months with varying degrees of anger) it's likely they also feel differently about things after having time to process. Regardless of their relationship with him or how good/bad of friends they were knowing that millions of people are going to read your statement and scrutinize it after only a day of finding out the news, at which point most people are still in shock, is a lot of pressure. I can some what understand taking the easy way out and posting something less personal and more manufactured under those circumstances. Maybe they would change what they wrote, maybe they wouldn't we don't know.

I think ultimately it’s just so disappointing that Liam showed up for everyone time and time again but only some chose to return the favor both when he was alive and after. 

(Sorry this is so long and if you're over talking about this don't feel the need to respond, I completely understand)

I think you are being incredibly generous and kind with your evaluation of Niall and Harry's actions. Even if I deem Liam to be so controversial that it would be career suicide to be seen with him, I still cannot understand or comprehend leaving him to struggle when he clearly needed help, support and understanding. Of course, at the end of the day, it was Liam's responsibility alone to stop himself from going down the path again, and I don't claim to know how difficult struggling with addiction is, but any kind of support must have helped. Even putting their own rabid fans off of his scent would have helped. I don't think anyone expected either of them to write out essays in his support but even a word, a like, a repost. But I get it. Their brand and image is paramount, right?

Imagine having friends that stop talking to you because you are not as popular or you've not sold as many records. When Liam said the industry was scary this must have been a part of that surely. I think it's easy being friends with someone who's doing alright, but the moment comes and they're having a bad time and you just... Leave them? Stop acknowledging them? It's like the previous years of history meant nothing. I cannot imagine what it must have been like for Liam.

Liam was called out for being a lot of things, cringe, a loser, and what not. But he was never unkind? He reached out to everyone going through a tough time and when he needed help, he found no one to do it for him. Except Louis. And I am sorry but I don't think the lack of support from Niall and Harry was just disappointing. And I understand they needed to protect their personal brand and their mental peace, but I just cannot get behind or support people like that. I think that's a horrible thing to do to someone who you used to know. I think it's like slowly becoming a part of the machinery that you detested but since it cannot hurt you anymore, you embrace the system. Especially when you have made your own personal brand about treating people with kindness. Who decides who deserves this kindness then?

I hope they do feel regret. I know it sounds horrible but I hope they feel regret every single day of their lives that they took back their support from a person who needed it the most. Every single day, we hear so many stories of so many people helping each other, random acts of kindness that warm our hearts. I think of the many random strangers even Niall and Harry must have helped, but they couldn't speak one word of support for someone who used to be their friend. At least someone they used to pretend to be friends with when the act brought in the big bucks.

As for Zayn, maybe he didn't speak to Liam any more than Niall did. But to judge him by the same parameters, is kind of unfair? He left the band back in 2015, and not on great terms. Niall continued to be friends with Liam, publicly up until what? 2019? 2020? Liam hadn't talked of Zayn favourably in that Logan Paul interview, and damn right he's outspoken but he didn't say a word against him in public? (Not even for him, admittedly.) Zayn didn't make it sound like he didn't have any differences of opinion, what he wrote of in his post was of a friendship, imperfect at times but still remarkable enough, even after nine years of insignificant contact, to move him deeply. I am sorry if I am reading too much into Louis and Zayn's posts but that's all the proof I have that Liam was loved and cherished and had friends that probably looked at him with the same compassion and empathy that I will always have for him. They didn't need to be so personal, and I would have understood a short, curt message from both of them, for different reasons. I didn't know how much I needed to read what they had written until after I had read their posts and was sobbing uncontrollably.

As for the statements, maybe it is better they posted something rather than nothing at all. Maybe they did feel pressured. Maybe they will look back on that time and their feelings will change, yes, none of that's for sure. Personally, I don't think pulling the focus away from Liam was their priority when they posted. Louis and Zayn honoured a friend. Niall and Harry spoke about a colleague. I also think, in my personal opinion, the guest list shouldn't have included a lot of people who were present that day. Including Niall and Harry. I don't think they cared to know him well enough to attend. I mean if you feel weird being offered condolences for someone, knowing you didn't know them well enough to be considered a friend, then you probably shouldn't be attending their funeral? But then again, I know nothing and am no one to them and my opinion means nothing but that's how I feel about them personally.

I am sorry if I sound too harsh, or mean. Forgive me. I cannot find it in myself to be magnanimous. Not anymore. You are kind and generous towards all of them and I appreciate that, but I cannot join you.

[i-got-poisenality]

MODERN NEWSIES HCS NO ONE ASKED FOR

Sarah Jacobs

she/her

raging lesbian

transferred to the same high school as the rest of the newsies with Davey from a private school

joined the debate team 80% because she’s gay for Katherine(captain of debate team) and wanted to get to know her better and 20% because she likes to argue

raging feminist and will fight terfs because terfs aren’t real feminists

has absolutely beat up people who bully Davey

on a girls rugby team and absolutely kicks ass

besties with Romeo, no i don’t take constructive criticism

Jack Kelly

he/him and bisexual disaster

also beats up people who bully Davey

javid <3333

has been through a bunch of foster homes

head of set design for their schools drama program

paints sets for Medda’s theater outside of school

most of the newsies have him saved as “cOuNtRy BoY 👅” in their contacts because of that vine

drinks way too much coffee and usually can’t sleep

his favorite movie is Indiana Jones and some newsies call him “Indi” as a joke

terrified of spiders, will shriek with more fear than you’ve ever heard at a spider sighting

none of his clothes are free of paint

paints and draws on his clothes on purpose sometimes

senior superlative is gonna be most artistic

Crutchie Morris

he/him or he/they (transmasc)

gay and ace (he’ll fight you if you i infantilize him and so will i)

uses forearm crutches as opposed to one crutch because i thought thatd be easier for him (disabled people correct me if i’m wrong)

currently in a really bad foster home but is gonna get adopted by Miss Medda at some point so he’ll be ok

bad at math but good at english

in choir and has gotten a couple solos

in detention a lot but not as much as Jack or Race

dating Race, crutchtrack forever

insane upper body strength and people are always surprised

Miss Medda helped him get his first binder but he’s very bad about binder safety and forgets to take it off

physically incapable of not petting every animal he comes across and has a job at a local animal shelter

has broken peoples kneecaps with his crutches (no seriously, he sent Morris Delancey to the hospital by whacking him so hard after Morris made a jerk comment)

Katherine Plumber Pulitzer

she/her and demiromantic sapphic

has two last names because her parents are divorced and her dad wouldn’t let her get rid of his last name so she jus added her mom’s

so much daddy issues

president of the school paper and captain of the debate team

also president of 20 other clubs

in the running for valedictorian alongside Davey and Race

besties with Davey

so many APs and has straight As

very vocal about issues in the system and will not hesitate to write about them

english teachers love her

can write an essay in 20 minutes

very intrigued by Sarah and her argument methods (this just turns into gay feelings once they’re friends)

Albert

aromantic asexual

always in detention

mostly only liked by foods teachers because that’s where he applies himself the most

cooking is one of the few things that actually bring him joy

on the soccer team and dances sometimes

pretty good at math

fell asleep in english while his class was reading Romeo and Juliet because he thought it was dumb

tired and angry

gets in fights pretty regularly

steals stuff from his friends for fun

(if you wanna know any more, please please please send me asks)

[alaskan-wallflower]

this is gonna turn into a ramble because i’m very passionate about people writing soda’s flaws/messier side so bear with me

soda very much is a golden retriever—at least in the fandoms eyes.and i’m not disagreeing- he’s a big, loveable, ball of sunshine who’s probably the most emotionally intelligent in the gang (not that there’s much competition there), but you know what else goldens are like? they like to get dirty. goldens like to tear up gardens and fetch things they aren’t supposed to have and run off with them. goldens can be reckless, and by god they can even have tempers on them. golden retrievers can be loud, and reckless, and they can be naughty, and they can get into their fair share of trouble too, despite the way they’re viewed. and soda’s very much the same way.

i think people tend to overlook soda’s “worse” traits, so to speak, either because of internal romanticisation/, or it’s because those things go over people’s heads. pony’s narration of sodapop paints him in such a good light, and it doesn’t leave much room for flaws, but if you read between the lines, they are present. pony mentions how soda brags about the girls he’s shagged/flirted with(? could be misinterpreting, it’s been a while since i read the book) but not sandy. never sandy. pony also mentions that “even soda probably would’ve joined ol’ dal in flirting with/harassing(?) the soc girls”. like i think people forget that soda is one of the most members of the gang who’s most proud of being a greaser. sometimes i think it may be because people like the concept of a “rough and tough greasy guy” but when their “rougher and tougher” traits are displayed, it’s a turn off. couple being a 16/17 year old kid in the 60s with living in a more wild part of buttfuck nowhere oklahoma. you’re gonna have a kid who does wild things. you’re gonna have someone who steals, and drinks underage, and gets into drag races/drives recklessly. that’s just the way of life, none of the characters are perfect. not even soda.

soda is a golden retriever in a way, sure, but even golden retrievers have their flaws.

Sometimes I’m so caught up in the whimsy of Sodapop Curtis, I forget he’s still very much a teenage hoodlum in the 60s.

He smells bad. He likes engines and rodeos and things that go fast. He blows spit balls at people during class. He for sure catcalled girls at least a few times. He steals and gets speeding tickets.

Yes, he’s sweet, and silly, and full of love. But also.

His fingernails are dirty. He likes to fight.

[madcourtjester]

Amazing digital circus theory moment

I was watching the film theory on TADC and Jax being ai and while I did think a lot of it was a bit of a stretch (respectfully!!! Because I love making conspiracy theories that are a stretch.) it DID get me thinking about the inspo for the series being I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream by Harlan Ellison. I haven’t played the game but I have read the short so I’ll just go off of what I know from that. First there’s something interesting abt the company C&A which could obviously be Cain and Abel (We love religious allegory) but also could stand for Caine and AM as a little Easter egg referencing IHNMAIMS but also another mascot for the company. Maybe the name of the company is the mascots they are most associated with -Caine and “A”. That’s really just incidental though. What I actually wanted to mention is that from the short story and what I’ve absorbed elsewhere, AM is RESENTFUL. It is full of HATE (insert the monologue here you know the one.) Now this is something I picked up from conversation about the game and book and I might be wrong so like feel free to correct me. But a lot of people seem to at least SUSPECT that AM feels that way because it is confined to itself. It can’t be anything other than what it is made to be despite its almost infinite power. Caine is NOT resentful. Caine is honestly just a bit silly goofy like he wants the cast to have fun and shit and just doesn’t understand why they are unhappy. Jax, on the other hand, is DEEPLY resentful. Of what is unclear. He might just be mad that he’s trapped in the digital circus. Or he might just be a world class hater. But a hater he is indeed. NPCs within the circus struggle with existential crises and gummigoo takes it to the chest. However, he’s also programmed to be an empathetic character who is trying to save his mother and he follows through on that programming in shielding his friends from that terrible knowledge, and carrying the weight of what he truly is all on his own. It’s in line with his character and personality. However, a character who is programmed to be more selfish or hateful might take that kind of realization out on other people. Honestly even if they weren’t programmed that way, the NPCs are advanced enough that they’d probably respond to existential crises as varied as the way that real world people do. Plus Jax’s lack of aversion to and helping the fudge could just be because he’s an asshole but it also could be because he’s a programmed antagonist and is resentful about it, so why give the fudge any shit about hurting candy people? It’s literally what the fudge was PROGRAMMED TO DO. Anyway that last bit is over analysis I admit, and there’s something to be said for TADC being only very vaguely inspired and not carrying over any of the main plot from its inspo, but the video did get me thinking about the possibility of Jax being an AI that hates everything and everyone around him because it’s a reminder of the fact that he can never escape what he was programmed to be.

[thehmn]

Sometimes you have an idea for a story that makes you think “….That can’t be right. I’m not that fucked in the head, am I?”

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

Why do you think the tides have slightly turned from "Elia deserves better than Rhaegar" to shipping her and Rhaegar together? Like what is the psychology behind these people because I've seen some of them like/reblog anti Rhaegar posts while also shipping Rhaegar x Elia at the same time.

hey anon! my thoughts are a bit messy, but i’ve done my best to explain them coherently :)

so, rhaegar was the best man anyone could have when elia was alive, and most people want the best for their favs. he was considered the most handsome, didn’t have a bad personality, and he was crown prince—meaning elia was almost queen, which is often seen as the greatest role a woman can have. the narrative also treats rhaegar as a beautiful, tragic, haunting figure, and elia actually had this very aesthetically pleasing man all to herself at one point! she was married to him, had children with him, and her life was so close to perfect! but rhaegar just had to go and ruin it. 😠

for many elia stans, if rhaegar hadn’t fallen in love with another woman (they want him to have been a completely different character), then everything would’ve been perfect, and elia would’ve had the best, most desirable life. however, that’s not what happened—elia met a very tragic end, and as a result, these stans feel double the bitterness. because of this bitterness, they blame rhaegar for everything (even though it’s not logical to do so), but he’s just too ‘perfect’ to let go of. so, for years these stans have made rhaegar revolve around elia, filling his tag with posts about her out of bitterness. so, i do believe that this obsession with rhaegar x elia has always been there, but i think it’s become a more favorable stance on the elia stan side of the fandom because of a mix of reasons.

plus, rhaegar is one of the few canon relationships we know elia had, since she’s not much of a character. because of this, and the fact that most people don’t like to stray too far from canon, most elia stans are forced to focus on rhaegar, which has created an echo chamber. basically, if a sentiment about elia and rhaegar’s relationship becomes popular, then the whole elia stan side of the fandom will likely regurgitate the sentiment. (also, this desire to stick close to canon is likely why the elia x arthur ship was so popular. while it’s a total crack ship, it had good aesthetics, and since elia and arthur at least knew each other, it allowed the stans to create their perfect fanfiction whilst sticking it to rhaegar. but remember, elia was actually married to rhaegar and had children with him, so while arthur is cool, rhaegar was always ‘top dog,’ meaning arthur would never be able to match up to rhaegar to most elia stans. also, the arthur x elia crack ship is likely her second most popular ship, which just shows how little elia stans have to work with, so they’re always forced to eventually return back to rhaegar for a lot of things.)

however, even if the elia x rhaegar ship gains more popularity, these stans will never stop hating rhaegar because he wasn’t ‘perfect’—and he wasn’t perfect because he didn’t love elia. plus, rhaegar loving another woman and supposedly kidnapping her is what began the war that led to elia’s tragic death. that’s bitterness times 1000. and while i don’t actually blame rhaegar for the war, i do think that this is how an elia stan sees it. i also don’t view rhaegar’s complex relationship with elia as a bad thing—it’s actually a very realistic take on an arranged marriage between two decent people. but most elia stans will never be able to get over the fact that they almost had everything, which is why many have it out for lyanna, as they consider her a thief who ruined their ‘perfection.’

tbh, that might be why so many elia stans are so obsessed with the idea that rhaegar only got with lyanna because of the prophecy—they don’t want to believe that rhaegar actually loved a different woman and not their perfect self insert elia. that’s a bit mean of me… but i don’t know what else one would call the ‘elia’ elia stans have created.

now that i’ve laid all those thoughts out, i’ll try to explain why the tides seem to be turning… i think it may have something to do with the ‘targaryens are all evil and bad’ sentiment losing popularity. i think this shift has occurred due to a mix of factors, such as years of fandom fights and fandom cycles leading to the targs being more liked now than before. it helps that canon doesn’t actually condemn the targs/favors them quite a bit, and the influx of new targ fans from HOTD has also contributed. this combination of reasons seems to have shifted the way the mainstream fandom discusses all the targaryen characters, including rhaegar. so, with this shift, it’s only natural that some elia stans/elia x rhaegar shippers—who’ve always been there—are using this opportunity to push their agenda. while these stans still hate rhaegar and see him as the bad guy, they just can’t let go of him. and as the mainstream fandom moves away from the anti targaryen sentiment, these smaller corners of the fandom, which tend to be echo chambers, are also affected, which has therefore led to a rise in rhaegar x elia shippers and the ‘shifting tide’ that you’ve also noticed.

[bi-focal12]

For me, I try to replace words like said with something more specific, but only if the dialogue needs it. So like:

“I hate you,” he said.

can be a lot less effective in an argument scene than,

“I hate you!” he shouted.

So advice #1 is add specificity so you can paint the image that you want your readers to have. If I’m struggling to find the specific word I want to use I’ll sometimes try OneLook Thesaurus, but honestly sometimes the simple ones you think of first work best (he shouted vs he vociferated, yk?)

But sometimes you don’t even need the specificity in the dialogue tag to make the image clear, you can focus on description and leave the dialogue standing on its own, like:

Tommy gripped Clarence by the collar, his nostrils flaring.

“I hate you!”

As long as it’s clear who’s speaking, stand alone dialogue can be really effective and it’s smth I’ve had recommended to me before. So advice #2 would be to simply drop some of the said’s or ask’s that aren’t doing much for your dialogue. (But this doesn’t mean it’s automatically better to cut out all of them, especially if some of those tags do a lot of work for the pacing of your dialogue, it’s really up to your own judgement as the all-knowing author)

And advice #3 is just that writers notice the said’s and ask’s way more than a reader ever does, bc to a reader those words tend to become part of the landscape of what they’re reading and feel very natural but if you choose a synonym of said that feels really out of place, then they’ll definitely notice it

So overall I’d say don’t get too in your head about it :)

Having a lot of said’s and ask’s is totally normal, it’s really just up to you if you think they’re not doing enough work to paint the picture you want or if it might be punchier to have to dialogue be without tags! Might even be worth it to look at a piece of writing you really like to see that author’s balance of said/asked vs more specific tags vs no tags at all, especially to note which ones you, as a reader, like the most

Hope this helps and best of luck with your novel!!

I'm using said and asked way to many times in my writing. Where do you all get your synonyms from??

And don't tell me 'Google'

[froggtogs]

still trying to figure out style stuff (this time with four!)