#occurred to me that even this should be spoiler tagged

[asleepinawell]

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

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

me: you know what? good enough

[acourtofquestions]

🚨 SPOILERS🚨

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 50

Rowan's hands tightened on Aelin's shoulders as the words settled into her, hollow and cold.

"Maeve is a Valg queen?" he breathed.

Aelin said nothing. Couldn't find the words. Her power roiled. She didn't feel it.

Nesryn nodded solemnly. "Yes. The kharankui told us the entire history."

And so Nesryn did as well. Of how Maeve had somehow found a way into this world, fleeing or bored with her husband, Orcus. Erawan's elder brother. Of how Erawan, Orcus, and Mantyx had torn apart worlds to find her, Orcus's missing wife, and only halted here because the Fae had risen to challenge them. Fae led by Maeve, whom the Valg kings did not know or recognize, in the form she had taken.

The life she had crafted for herself. The minds of all the Fae who had existed that she had ripped into, convincing them that there had been three queens, not two. Including the minds of Mab and Mora, the two sister-queens who had ruled Doranelle. Including Brannon himself.

"The spiders claimed," Nesryn went on, "that even Brannon didn't know. Even now, in the Afterworld, he doesn't know. That was how deep Maeve's powers went into his mind, into all their minds. She made herself their true queen."

The words, the truth, pelted Aelin, one after another.

Elide's face was white as death. "But she fears the healers." A nod toward Yrene. "She keeps that owl, you said—an enslaved Fae healer-should the Valg ever discover her." For that was the other piece of it. The other thing Nesryn had revealed, Chaol and Yrene adding in their own accounts. The Valg were parasites. And Yrene could cure their human hosts of them. Had done so for Princess Duva. And might be able to do with so many others enslaved with rings or collars. But what had infested Duva ... A Valg princess.

Aelin leaned back into her chair, her head resting against the solid wall of Rowan's body.

His hands shook against her shoulders. Shook as he seemed to realize what, exactly, had ripped into his mind. Where Maeve's power had come from that allowed her to do so. Why she remained deathless and ageless, and had outlasted any other. Why Maeve's power was darkness.

"It is also why she fears fire," Sartaq said, jerking his chin to Aelin. "Why she fears you so."

And why she'd wanted to break her. To be just like that enslaved healer bound in owl form at her side.

"I thought—I managed to cut her once," Aelin said at last. That quiet, ancient darkness pushed in, dragging her down, down, down-" I saw her blood flow black. Then it changed to red." She blew out a breath, pulling out of the darkness, the silence that wanted to devour her whole. Made herself straighten. Peer at Fenrys.

"You said that her blood tasted ordinary to you when you swore the oath." The white wolf shifted back into his Fae body. His bronze skin was ashen, his dark eyes swimming with dread. "It did."

Rowan growled, "It didn't taste any different to me, either."

"A glamour-like the form she maintains," Gavriel mused.

Nesryn nodded. "From what the spiders said, it seems entirely possible that she would be able to convince you that her blood looked and tasted like Fae blood."

Fenrys made a sound like he was going to be sick. Aelin was inclined to do the same.

And from far away—a memory-that-was-not-a-memory stirred. Of summer nights spent in a forest glen, Maeve instructing her. Telling her a story about a queen who walked between worlds.

Who had not been content in the realm in which she'd been born, and had found a way to leave it, using the lost knowledge of ancient wayfarers. World-walkers.

Maeve had told her. Perhaps a skewed, biased tale, but she'd told her. Why? Why do it at all? Some way to win her-or to make her hesitate, should it ever come to this?

"But Maeve hates the Valg kings," Elide said, and even from the silent, drifting place to which Aelin had gone, she could see the razor-sharp mind churning behind Elide's eyes. "She's hidden for this long. Surely she wouldn't ally with them."

"She ran at the chance to get hold of a Valg collar," Fenrys said darkly. "Seemed convinced that she could control the prince inside it."

Not only through Maeve's power, but because she was a demon queen.

Aelin forced herself to take another breath. Another. Her fingers curled, gripping an invisible weapon.

Lorcan had not uttered a word. Had done nothing but stand there, pale and silent. As if he'd stopped being in his body, too.

"We don't know her plans," Nesryn said.

"The kharankui have not seen her for millennia, and only hear whisperings carried by lesser spiders. But they still worship her, and wait for her return."

Chaol met Aelin's stare, his gaze questioning.

Aelin said quietly, "I was Maeve's prisoner for two months."

Utter silence in the tent. Then she explained—all of it. Why she was not in Terrasen, who now fought there, where Dorian and Manon had gone.

Aelin swallowed as she finished, leaning into Rowan's touch. "Maeve wished me to reveal the location of the two Wyrdkeys. Wanted me to hand them over, but I managed to get them away before she took me. To Doranelle. She wanted to break me to her will. To use me to conquer the world, I thought. But it perhaps now seems she wanted to use me as a shield against the Valg, to guard her always." The words tumbled out, heavy and sharp. "I was her captive until nearly a month ago." She nodded toward her court. "When I got free, they found me again."

Silence fell again, her new companions at a loss. She didn't blame them.

Then Hasar hissed, "We'll make the bitch pay for that, too, won't we?"

Aelin met the princess's dark stare. "Yes, we will."

A Valg queen.

That's who had held his Fireheart. What sort of power had tried to break into her mind.

What power had broken into Rowan's mind.

All their minds, if she could glamour her blood to look and taste ordinary.

He felt the tension rising in Aelin, a raging storm that nearly hummed into his hands as he gripped her shoulders.

Yet her flames made no appearance. They hadn't shown so much as an ember these weeks, despite how hard they'd trained. Occasionally, he'd spy Goldryn's ruby gleaming while she held it, as if fire glowed in the heart of the stone. But nothing more. Not even when they'd tangled in their bed on the ship, when his teeth had found that mark on her neck.

Elide surveyed them all, their silence, and said to their new companions, "Perhaps we should determine a plan of action regarding tomorrow's battle." And give them time, later tonight, to sort through this colossal mess.

Chaol nodded. "We brought a trunk of books with us," he said to Aelin. "From the Torre. They're all full of Wyrdmarks." Aelin didn't so much as blink, but Chaol finished, "If we get through this battle, they're yours to peruse. In case there's anything in them that might help." Against Erawan, against Maeve, against his mate's terrible fate. Aelin just vaguely nodded.

So Rowan forced himself to shove away the shock and disgust and fear, and focus upon the plan ahead. Only Gavriel seemed able to do the same, Fenrys staying where he was, and Lorcan just staring and staring at nothing.

Aelin remained in her chair, simmering.

Roiling.

They planned it quickly and efficiently: they would return with Chaol and Yrene to the keep, to help with the fighting tomorrow. The khaganate royals would push from here, Nesryn and Prince Sartaq leading the ruks, and Princess Hasar commanding the foot soldiers and Darghan cavalry. A brilliantly trained, lethal group. Rowan had already marked the Darghan soldiers, with their fine horses and armor, their spears and crested helmets, while they'd strode for this tent, and breathed a sigh of relief at their skill. Perhaps the last sigh of relief he'd have in this war. Certainly if the khagan's forces hadn't yet decided where they would take this army afterward. He supposed it was fair-so many territories were now in Morath's path-but when this battle was over, he'd make damn sure they marched northward. To Terrasen.

But tomorrow-tomorrow they'd hammer Morath's legion against the keep walls, Chaol and Rowan leading the men from inside, picking off enemy soldiers.

Aelin didn't volunteer to do anything. Didn't indicate that she'd heard them.

And when they'd all deemed the plan sound, along with a contingency plan should it go awry, Nesryn only said, "We'll find you ruks to carry you back to the keep," before Aelin stormed into the frigid night, Rowan barely keeping up with her.

No embers trailed her. Mud did not hiss beneath her boots.

There was no fire at all. Not a spark.

As if Maeve had snuffed out that flame.

Made her fear it.

Hate it.

Aelin cut through the neatly organized tents, past horses and their armored riders, past foot soldiers around campfires, past the ruk riders and their mighty birds, who filled him with such awe he had no words for it. All the way to the eastern edge of the camp and the plains that stretched past, the space wide and hollow after the closeness of the army.

She didn't stop until she reached a stream they'd crossed only hours ago. It was nearly frozen over, but a stomp of her boot had the ice cracking. Breaking free to reveal dark water kissed with silvery starlight.

Then she fell to her knees and drank.

Drank and drank, cupping the water to her mouth. It had to be cold enough to burn, but she kept at it until she braced her hands on her knees and said, "I can't do this."

Rowan sank to a knee, the shield he'd kept around her while she stalked here sealing out the cold wind off the open plain.

"I-I can't—" She took a shuddering breath, and covered her face with her wet hands.

Gently, Rowan gripped her wrists and lowered them. "You do not face this alone."

Anguish and terror filled those beautiful eyes, and his chest tightened to the point of pain as she said, "It was a fool's shot against Erawan. But against him and Maeve? She gathered an army to her. Is likely bringing that army to Terrasen right now. And if Erawan summons his two brothers, if the other kings return—"

"He needs the two other keys to do that. He doesn't have them."

Her fingers curled, digging into her palms hard enough that the tang of her blood filled the air. "I should have gone after the keys. Right away. Not come here. Not done this."

"It is Dorian's task now, not yours. He will not fail at it."

"It is my task, and always has been—"

"We made the choice to come here, and we will stick to that decision," he snarled, not bothering to temper his tone. "If Maeve is indeed bringing her army to Terrasen, then it only confirms that we were right to come here. That we must convince the khagan's forces to go northward after this. It is the only chance we stand of succeeding."

Aelin ran her hands through her hair.

Streams of blood stained the gold. "I cannot win against them. Against a Valg king and queen." Her voice turned to a rasp. "They have already won."

"They have not." And though Rowan hated each word, he growled, "And you survived two months against Maeve with no magic to protect you. Two months of a Valg queen trying to break into your head, Aelin. To break you."

Aelin shook. "She did, though." Rowan waited for it. Aelin whispered, "I wanted to die by the end, before she ever threatened me with the collar. And even now, I feel like someone has ripped me from myself. Like I'm at the bottom of the sea, and who I am, who I was, is far up at the surface, and I will never get back there again."

He didn't know what to say, what to do other than to gently pull her fingers from her palms.

"Did you buy the swagger, the arrogance?" she demanded, voice breaking. "Did the others? Because I've been trying to. I've been trying like hell to convince myself that it's real, reminding myself I only need to pretend to be how I was just long enough."

Long enough to forge the Lock and die.

He said softly, "I know, Aelin." He hadn't bought the winks and smirks for a heartbeat.

Aelin let out a sob that cracked something in him. "I can't feel me-myself anymore. It's like she snuffed it out. Ripped me from it. She, and Cairn, and everything they did to me." She gulped down air, and Rowan wrapped her in his arms and pulled her onto his lap. "I am so tired," she wept. "I am so, so tired, Rowan."

"I know." He stroked her hair. "I know." It was all there really was to say.

Rowan held her until her weeping eased and she lay still, nestled against his chest.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered

"You fight," he said simply. "We fight. Until we can't anymore. We fight."

She sat up, but remained on his lap, staring into his face with a rawness that destroyed him.

Rowan laid a hand on her chest, right over that burning heart. "Fireheart."

A challenge and a summons.

She placed her hand atop his, warm despite the frigid night. As if that fire had not yet gone out entirely. But she only gazed up at the stars.

To the Lord of the North, standing watch.

"We fight," she breathed.

Aelin found Fenrys by a quiet fire, gazing into the crackling flames.

She sat on the log beside him, raw and open and trembling, but … the salt of her tears had washed away some of it. Steadied her. Rowan had steadied her, and still did, as he kept watch from the shadows beyond the fire.

Fenrys lifted his head, his eyes as hollow as she knew hers had been.

"Whenever you need to talk about it," she said, her voice still hoarse, "I'm here."

Fenrys nodded, his mouth a tight line. "Thank you."

The camp was readying for their departure, but Aelin scooted closer, and sat beside him in silence for long minutes.

Two healers, marked only by the white bands around their biceps, hurried past, arms full of bandages. Aelin tensed. Focused on her breathing.

Fenrys marked her line of sight. "They were horrified, you know," he said quietly. "Every time she brought them in to … fix you."

The two healers vanished around a tent.

Aelin flexed her fingers, shaking the lightness from them. "It didn't stop them from doing it."

"They didn't have a choice."

She met his dark stare. Fenrys's mouth tightened. "No one would have left you in those states. No one."

Broken and bloody and burned—

She gripped Goldryn's hilt. Helpless.

"They defied her in their own way," Fenrys went on. "Sometimes, she'd order them to bring you back to consciousness. Often, they claimed they couldn't, that you'd fallen too deeply into oblivion. But I knew—I think Maeve did, too— that they put you there. For as long as possible. To buy you time."

She swallowed. "Did she punish them?"

"I don't know. It was never the same healers." Maeve likely had. Had likely ripped their minds apart for their defiance.

Aelin's grip tightened on the sword at her side.

Helpless. She had been helpless. As so many in this city, in Terrasen, in this continent, were helpless. Goldryn's hilt warmed in her hand.

She wouldn't be that way again. For whatever time she had left.

Gavriel padded up beside Rowan, took one look at the queen and Fenrys, and murmured, "Not the news we needed to hear."

Rowan closed his eyes for a heartbeat. "No, it was not."

Gavriel settled a hand on Rowan's shoulder.

"It changes nothing, in some ways."

"How."

"We served her. She was ... not what Aelin is. What a queen should be. We knew that long before we knew the truth. If Maeve wants to use what she is against us, to ally with Morath, then it changes things. But the past is over. Done with, Rowan. Knowing Maeve is Valg or just a wretched person doesn't change what happened."

"Knowing a Valg queen wants to enslave my mate, and nearly did so, changes a great deal."

"But we know what Maeve fears, why she fears it," Gavriel countered, his tawny eyes bright. "Fire, and the healers. If Maeve comes with that army of hers, we are not defenseless." It was true. Rowan could have cursed himself for not thinking of it already. Another question formed, though. "Her army," Rowan said. "It's made up of Fae."

"So was her armada," Gavriel said warily.

Rowan ran a hand through his hair. "Will you be able to live with it-fighting our own people?" Killing them.

"Will you?" Gavriel countered.

Rowan didn't answer.

Gavriel asked after a moment, "Why didn't Aelin offer me the blood oath?"

The male hadn't asked these weeks. And Rowan wasn't sure why Gavriel inquired now, but he gave him the truth. "Because she won't do it until Aedion has taken the oath first. To offer it to you before him ... she wants Aedion to take it first."

"In case he doesn't wish me to be near his kingdom."

"So that Aedion knows she placed his needs before her own."

Gavriel bowed his head. "I would say yes, if she offered."

"I know." Rowan clapped his oldest friend on the back. "She knows, too."

The Lion gazed northward. "Do you think ... we haven't heard any news from Terrasen."

"If it had fallen, if Aedion had fallen, we would know. People here would know."

Gavriel rubbed at his chest. "We've been to war. He's been to war. Fought on battlefields as a child, gods be damned." Rage flickered over Gavriel's face. Not at what Aedion had done, but what he'd been made to do by fate and misfortune. What Gavriel had not been there to prevent. "But I still dread every day that passes and we hear nothing. Dread every messenger we see."

A terror Rowan had never known, different from his fear for his mate, his queen. The fear of a father for his child.

He didn't allow himself to look toward Aelin. To remember his dreams while hunting for her. The family he'd seen. The family they'd make together.

"We must convince the khaganate royals to march northward when this battle is over," Gavriel swore softly.

Rowan nodded. "If we can smash this army tomorrow, and convince the royals that Terrasen is the only course of action, then we could indeed be heading north soon. You might be fighting at Aedion's side by Yulemas."

Gavriel's hands clenched at his sides, tattoos spreading over his knuckles. "If he will allow me that honor."

Rowan would make Aedion allow it. But he only said, "Gather Elide and Lorcan. The ruks are almost ready to depart."

[prettyboykatsuki]

HELP ME FIND A WAY TO BREATHE | M. FUSHIGURO

♡ tags ; afab + fem!reader, aged-up characters (20s), mutual pining, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, canon divergent, sex pollen, dubious consent (they are both very enthusiastic to fuck but it is still sex pollen), brief one bed trope lol, light femdom, praise kink, penetration, unprotected sex / creampies, making out, not beta'd we die like [REDACTED MANGA SPOILERS] 18+

♡ wc ; 14.1k (???)

♡ a/n ; hello! happy june, and welcome to my first of three installments part of my @ficsforgaza intiative. please go check them out and join us in fundraising for the people of palestine.

no other really notes on this one other than it's egregiously horny and even more sappy. a super lovey-dovey pining fic. title from sleep walking by bmth

♡ synopsis ; megumi has loved you for as long as he's known you and then some - which is why he avoids going on overnight missions with you at all cost. he's going to kill gojo-sensei when he gets back.

“You should be more firm with Gojo-sensei about stuff like this,” Megumi leans back, eye twitching as he voices his complaints. “You know he always puts it on you because you won’t say no.”  

You’re sitting next to Megumi reclined in your seat. He doesn’t even have to turn his head to know what face you’re making - a forgiving smile, your eyes crinkled at the corner as you shrug unbothered.  

“It’s fine with me,” You turn your head to look at him a little better, pulling your eyes way from the window. “Just how it goes sometimes, you know? Plus, Sensei was nice enough to upgrade us and sending us on these expensive seats. When else are you gonna ride in one of these?”  

Your smile reaches your eyes, light filtering through the windows in quick motion bursts as you speed along the rails. Megumi knew that’s what you were going to say. He shakes his head.  

“Don’t make excuses for him,”  

“Don’t be so prickly,” You reprimand, a long sigh leaving your lips. You reach across the armrest and pat Megumi’s shoulder “If we finish up early, we should go sight-seeing. There’s lots of temples in Sendai I’ve never seen before.”  

Megumi doesn’t say anything to that. You haven’t moved your hand from his shoulder either. The touch is subconscious and friendly - and makes Megumi want to light himself on fire. He’s almost sure this is one of Gojo’s famous schemes, since there’s little to no reason he couldn’t handle a request like this one by himself. Or at least, Megumi could’ve gone alone and prevented himself from being alone with you on a trip for several consecutive days.  

(He’s got a special talent for avoiding this exact thing - always planning ahead and switching things around so this kind of incident never occurs. He’s had a ninety-nine percent success rate. Without Gojo’s meddling, it’d probably be one-hundred) 

There’s not a lot of information about the mission at present. The case files were barely filled out when he got them - only three papers tucked away neatly in a manila folder. On those pages are a few reports of cursed energy in the area and a map - outlining the general perimeter. From what intel the two of you do have, the concentration of said cursed energy in an abandoned commune. Megumi thinks it spells trouble, but some part of him is holding onto hope that it’s an easy to deal with curse. Something quick - so the two of you can be back on the next train ride to Tokyo.  

Pitiful yearning fills him when your hands float away from his shoulder and settle back into your lap. You’re lost in your own thoughts, eyes lidded as you stare outside of the window. He doubts you got much sleep last night. You always stay up before long trips. He sighs a little.  

“We’ve still got,” He checks his watch. “At least another hour and fifty minutes. Now’d be the time to get some rest.”  

You startle at the sound of his voice, a yawn escaping you. “No,” You whine, lips formed into a soft pout that makes the corners of Megumi’s lips twitch. “Won’t you be lonely without my company, Megumi-kun?”  

He gives you a long suffering sigh. “No. I have a lot to read. Get some sleep.”  

Your frown deepens but Megumi doesn’t budge. The both of you make prolonged eye-contact until you final give in after another yawn interrupts your protesting. Your eyes are barely open as is. How stubborn of you.  

“Wake me up like fifteen minutes before we’re there, please?” You relent.  

Megumi just nods. You smile at him and his heart beats loudly at the sight as you close your eyes and succumb to exhaustion. He starts scrolling on his phone, opening his library app to read when your head falls onto his shoulder. He goes stone stiff - body locking up and blood pressure sky-rocketing before he regains control of his senses and loosens his muscles so you don’t end up waking. He leans his head back against the cushion of the seat and takes a deep breath.  

His phone buzzes in his hand, mood dropping as soon as he sees who it’s from.  

don’t respond: my dearest megumi-chan ! have the two of you arrived safely? 

Megumi thinks about not responding, quickly reminded of the fact Gojo-sensei would not only keep texting him but abuse the ‘Notify Anyway’ option given half the chance. Ignoring the oncoming migraine, he types back carefully in order to leave you undisturbed.  

(sent 6:58pm) we’re on the train now.  

The reply is instant.  

don’t respond: oh my… how late. was there a delay.  

(sent 6:58 pm) yeah.  

don’t respond: tsk…why pay all that money for the good seats if this was the outcome... 

don’t respond: well. nothing you can do now. get a hotel in Sendai and check out the location during the day. 

Megumi squints at his phone, scowl forming instantly.  

(sent 7:02) a hotel?? what for??  

don’t respond: megumi-chan… i raised you better than this. you are going to let a beautiful young maiden walk around the dark unknown at night?  

He makes a face of disgust at the phrase. Not that Megumi thinks you aren’t beautiful, but hearing the sentiment from Gojo-sensei’s mouth is truly nauseating.  

(sent 7:02) … we’ll get the hotel. 

don’t respond: wonderful ! and if i may offer you some advice my dear boy  

(sent 7:03) please don’t.  

don’t respond: do not miss your chance ! this beautiful gift your sensei has bestowed upon you to make progress in your youthful love 

Megumi scowls. He knew that was it.  

(sent 7:04): You disliked “do not miss your chance ! this…”  

dont respond: [IMG ATTACHMENT]  

Megumi stares at the attached meme (a dog gyaru posing) with a grimace - no doubt borrowed from Itadori or Kugisaki. He frowns, disliking that one too before putting the messages between them on mute and opening the app to read his book. He’s been reading a lot of his usual nonfiction. Lately it’s an autobiography of a famous Japanese author - Soseki, the father of all modern novels. He’s gotten farther into it than he thought he would since he’s only had it for a few days. The writing is engaging.  

He bought it per your recommendation too, so he wants to finish it. The sudden memory of that makes Megumi blush again, his skin prickling under the fabric of his uniform. 

 You’re still sound asleep beside him, your breathing even and steady. If he focuses, he can see you clearly from the corner of his eyes. The soft plumpness in your lips, and each of your lashes sitting against your cheek. 

He keeps focused on reading, though - and prays that the train ride goes a little faster.  

__ 

“Hey,” His arm feels stiff as he moves it away from you gentle, making sure to keep your head upright and steady on the seats headrest as he wakes you from your sleep. “We’re almost here.”  

He sees your eyes stir behind your lids, nose crinkling as you regain consciousness. He’s grateful you can’t see him smile at you as you wake up. Quickly getting his face back to it’s baseline neutral, he waits for you to wake up as you pull away from him and sit up. You let out a long yawn, rubbing underneath your eye as to not smudge your makeup. Blinking the sleep away from your vision, you finally open your eyes. Megumi watches on in silence, trying not to look too endeared.  

“Good morning,” You say as a half joke. Megumi doesn’t bother hiding his laugh. 

“Morning.”  

You smile at him, pleased by his response. You pat around your body looking for your phone, visibly relieved when you find it. Megumi continues watching you as you pull it up, resting your hands on the pull-out table in front of you. You chuckle at your screen. Megumi raises his eyebrow in interest.  

“Did you talk to Gojo-sensei?”  

He nods. “Couple of hours ago. Why?” 

Instead of replying, you pull your notification center down and show Megumi the barrage of texts sent two hours-ish prior. Your phone must’ve been on DND while you were asleep since Megumi hadn’t heard them either. There’s at least ten messages. Megumi scowls in displeasure, and you break out into a terribly lovely laugh seeing it.  

“See what I mean? If you give sensei an inch, he’ll take a mile. Why is he texting you this student this much?” 

You can’t suppress your giggles. “Don’t be so hard on him. He’s a little lonely now that you’re old enough to do things by yourself - that’s all.”  

“Then he should bother me instead of you,” Megumi grumbles. Your smile doesn’t fade.  

“He texted you afterwards, so I guess it’s a start.”  

“Stop being so nice to him.”  

You laugh again. Megumi tries not to smile and ultimately succeeds.  

You study him for a brief moment before reclining a bit.   

“Guess I’ll have to be extra nice to you, then.”  

A blush crawls up the back of his neck almost instantly. Your grin has a crooked edge, a touch of mirth and amusement that makes Megumi want to crawl into somewhere dark and disappear. Warmth and restless makes home in his ribcage, your perception endlessly tormenting. You don’t tease him more than that, allowing Megumi catch his breath.  

“I don’t even know how that’d be possible.”  

“Really?” You say without missing a beat, not even looking at him as you gather up your things. “I can think of plenty of ways to be even sweeter to Megumi-kun, though?”  

He can feel the blush deepen. His cheeks are undeniably crimson by now, he’s sure - and he can barely stand the soft quality in your voice long enough to breathe. You’re still calm, the words genuine but undeniably tilted along the axis of teasing. If Megumi were any less stubborn, he might even beg you for mercy. He is, of course, incredibly bull-headed and refuses to do so. He huffs a little instead. 

“You make it sound like there’s some quota for it.” He says, kind of lamely. Your eyes flutter, something passing in your gaze - gone before Megumi can get hold of it and know what it is. You make an impassive noise, but don’t say anything in reply. Your non-answer makes him think that you might really have one. He tries not to blush any more than he is now and shakes the thought off.  

“You all ready to go?” You ask finally. He lets out a sigh of relief.  

“Yeah. Should be.” Megumi replies, looking down at his phone for the time. It’ll be closer to 9:30 by the time you get out of the station. “Dunno if you read Sensei’s messages but he told us to stay the night at a hotel first since it’s already this late and it’s nothing urgent.”  

Your brows raise in surprise before you nod. “That’s probably smart. As much I’d love to be done sooner, probably not the best idea to go lurking around in the night. We’ll do that, then.” 

“I’ll start looking at hotels,” Megumi adds.  

“Thanks for being so helpful, Megumi-kun.”  

He rolls his eyes. “Uh-huh. You’re welcome.”  

__  

“This is…really the only place with available rooming for tonight?”  

Megumi looks at you with an absent grimace, affirming you with a curt nod. You glance at each other, sharing mutual disbelief and basking in the solidarity of your absurd situation for a bit. A long silence stretches over you both, a weighted quiet that makes Megumi wish a giant curse would literally swallow him into the ground.  

He wishes he had some explanation for this. His name meaning blessing feels like a spit in the face given how deeply unlucky everything about this mission has been so far. 

Of all the hotels in Sendai, the only one within reasonable distance of your mission site that is accepting last minute is a love hotel. A love hotel is something of a non-issue. It’s a tourist misconception to view them as kinky paradises. More modern love hotels are usually just short stays - last minute bookings with cheap prices and always adult. The full blown kinky stuff tends to stay in the several entertainment districts scattered across Japanese metropolitans.  

It’d be nice if that was the case here, but based on various reviews and the neon flashing blue sign at the top of the building - this is definitely the kind of love hotel for couples. The kind used for sex. It’s the only one in proximity accepting last minute bookings, and the only hotel for miles. Megumi lets out a long suffering sigh. He can see you smiling sympathetically from the corner of his eye.  He pinches the bridge of his nose as a new wave of regret settles in his bones.  

“I’m sorry,” Megumi says, unsure of what else to say. He is truly and deeply sorry for the level of misfortune he seems to have around you. You shake your head in reply, shrugging.  

“Let’s make the best of it,” You respond, pausing before going on. “Sensei is going to be really annoying about seeing this charge on his card, huh?”  

Megumi must look as distraught as he feels because you laugh immediately at his expression. You squeeze his shoulder sympathetically, though you clearly find it funny. “Sorry, sorry. It’ll be fine. Maybe he won’t notice.”  

 Gojo-sensei tends to keep tabs whenever people are away on missions. It’s a common precaution for sorcerers, and when more experienced sorcerers relegate their own work - they are solely responsible for that task. Megumi can only hope he’s too busy to keep watch on it for the night. Realistically though, it means Sensei will definitely see.  

Megumi decides to overlook this information as best he can. At least for now. 

You trek into the hotel with your away bag, Megumi in-step behind you with his head hung low. 

It sounds corny to him retroactively (he can’t help but cringe when he says it aloud), but Megumi had foolishly hoped he could be somewhat useful to you in this mission. Every fight the two of you have been in together, you’ve saved Megumi’s skin at least once. He’s incredibly aware of the increasing debt between you. Thank you’s and paid dinners stopped being enough a long time ago. He wasn’t…hoping to be a knight in shining armor or anything like that - but he really wanted to do more this time since you’re already going together.  

You probably understood that talking to the front desk in these conditions would give him a hernia and took the responsibility on without complain. You make these acts of consideration look easy and natural - smooth like the flow of water. Megumi has yet to learn how to swim against the tide instead of getting swept up in its motion.  

Despite Megumi’s countless attempts at repaying your kindness, he’s never been able break even. He reflects on this as you speak to the woman at the front desk.  

The lobby of Hotel:SAPPHIRE is exactly what someone might expect from an actual love hotel. The lights are dim even up front and there’s a lot of glittery, mildly gaudy decor. Aside from the front desk, the first floor hosts some kind of amenities store and a lounge or bar.  

 Megumi’s awareness of his surroundings is making his blush worse. He’s not concerned by being seen in a love hotel, as much as he’s hung up on the idea that people are assuming you’re both a couple. Rationally, he knows that means nothing. You’re two people of the opposing gender and similar age - of course people would think that.  

Still, it makes him so…ugh…shy, he could genuinely die of misery.  

He tries his best to zone out, but ultimately can’t. He tunes in to listens to you talk to the woman at the front desk instead.  

“There’s probably no double beds here, huh?” You ask. The woman at the front desk gives you a confused look of both sympathy and apology. You shake your head with a pleasant smile.  

“Yeah. I thought so. What’s the nicest room you have?”  

“We have a queen room, with a queen bed, couch and a jacuzzi. It has one of our more spacious bathrooms as well.”  

Megumi closes his eyes. Your reply is chipper. “Sure! We’ll take that one.”  

“And how long will you be staying?”  

“About five days?”  

His eyes snap open. Megumi gives you an incredulous look from where he’s standing. You turn back with a small smile as if having predicted it and then shrug again.  

“I still wanna go sightseeing.”  

He can’t say anything to refute you in the moment, despite how much he’d like to push back on the idea. You’re definitely enjoying yourself, at least. Maybe he should’ve expected that. You’re not exactly the type to get easily embarrassed. Even getting the words of complaint out feel too humiliating given the context. He sighs.  

“Whatever,”  

The woman at the front desk, increasingly baffled by the nature of your relationship, puts you down for five days before handing you two room cards.  

She briefly explains some of the perks, and gently points you to the small store which freely offers things like lube, condoms, scented lotions and oils, and bath products. It’d be great if some meteor hit Earth right now and killed him (and only him) instantly. You give her your kindest thanks and take the two room cards, turning around to pass one over to Megumi. He gives you a long look. You reply with two thumbs up and goofy grin.  

“Let’s go to the little store place!”  

“Why the hell would you want to do that” Megumi hisses, blushing profusely. You are predictably nonplussed by his reaction.  

“I want to see the scented lotions. A souvenir. If you will.” 

It’s truly imperative to to him in that moment he remembers how often you’ve saved him from mortal peril. He relents easily after that, trailing along behind you.  

It’s less of a store and more of a display case of possible lewd items on four sides of a centered wall, with just enough space to walk around. Megumi stonewalls as soon as the two of you are within five feet of it. You take your time looking through the different thing and snickering at the display case.  

At one point, you tug Megumi’s sleeve and snap him out of his trance. He begrudgingly follows your gaze, eyes widening at the display case of condoms. There are so many condoms. He didn’t even know they made that many kinds.  

“Maybe we should bring one? You know, just in case.” You do a stupid wiggle with your eyebrows. Megumi is painfully aware it’s just jokes, closing his eyes with a deep sigh, elbowing you lightly.  

“Fuck off.” 

Your voice is sing-songy as you continue your tirade.  

“You never know, Megumi! What if end up in a condom emergency trying to fight curses?”  

“Please shut up.”  

Your laughter sounds again behind your closed fist, but you’re merciful and turn the corner to look at everything else.  

You indeed pick up two scented lotions and a bath bomb before you finally agree to retire to the room.  

__  

Megumi is rendered speechless when you finally unlock the door to your room.  

He isn’t sure why. He should’ve expected much worse.  

The room is big as promised. Probably three times the size of his own dorm at Jujutsu Tech. There’s one bed in the middle (certainly king-sized, not queen) - with a couch and glass table adjacent to it along the back wall. The couch is upholstered with a creaky, gold fabric and the walls are painted mostly white with the exception of one wall being painted sapphire blue, decorated with a rose mural. The throw pillows and complimentary blanket share a familiar loud pattern, incorporating all three colors and stitched with gold threads.  

There’s rose petals everywhere. On the bed, floor, and the table. The glass table accompanying the couch even has two champagne flutes and complimentary bottle to go along with it. There’s a present box on the bed, wrapped in shiny white wrapping paper and a sickly sweet, red bow.  

Megumi doesn’t want to know what’s inside.  

You shut the door behind him after dragging in the rest of your luggage.  

The two of you take in the view together for a minute before Megumi hears you break out into a long fit of laughter, making him jolt. He looks over at where you’ve dropped down into a squat, giggling hysterically beside him. He feels suddenly winded from the days events as you break the tension.  

After you gather yourself you stand to your feet and look at him warmly, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes. Megumi wishes he could take it as easy as you.  

“Ahh…hehehe..” You put a hand over your mouth trying to suppress the sound as you turn away. “Okay, sorry. Uhm. Hah. Do you want to shower first or should I?”  

Megumi responds reflexively. “You can shower first.”  

You nod, yawning as you stretch your arms up. He forces himself not to look at the way your shirt rides up over your stomach. Patting his shoulder after collecting yourself, you shoot him a tired but reassuring smile. At least he knows you’re both exhausted.  

“Thanks, Megumi-kun. Do me a favor and order room service, please? I’m starving.”  

He nods. “Do you want to look at the menu?”  

You wave your hand dismissively, taking your bag and turning to the bathroom. “I trust you know me well enough to know what I want.”  

The instant preening internally makes Megumi want to crawl in a hole. He’s glad you can’t see him.  

“Yeah. Go shower, already.”  

“Mm,” You make a noise as you stretch. “Will do.”  

__  

The room is unnaturally dim.  

There’s a movie playing in the background as both you and Megumi sit on the bed. You’re doing some work on your laptop - typing in short bursts every few minutes. Megumi has no idea what you’re working on. You’re oddly meticulous with paper work but aside from the disaster of finding room and board - there isn’t anything to report on.  

Whatever it is though, you’ve been working on since you finished dinner an hour ago - nursing your beer while typing away.  

Megumi glances at you from the corner of his eyes, heart unfairly racing at the lack of distance between you. He really should be past this. Your skin is damp from the shower and you smell like the scented lotion from earlier which makes him feel weird and warm. He decided to drink with you, but his tolerance is much worse than yours so he feels a little tipsy. He isn’t sure if that’s better or worse. Dealing with everything sober hasn’t been very fun.  

He’s staring at you openly but you’re too preoccupied to take notice. He’s kind of grateful. His fingers tap the sides of his can as his eyes flits up to the cheap action movie playing on the TV.  

After a little longr, you stretch your arms over your head and shut your laptop. 

“All done with your work?”  

You blink rapidly, momentarily taken aback before smiling. “Yeah. Finally.”  

“What were you actually doing?” 

“Started on the report and then dug around some old archives for information on the commune.”  

“Did you find anything?”  

You laugh humorlessly. “More or less? But nothing we couldn’t have figured out on our own. The commune was more like a curse cult but it ran functionally for almost ten years. They did some type of curse breeding.”  

“Curse… breeding? As in like…?” Megumi asks, making a face.  

“It’s what it sounds like? I think. There’s not really any more information. The uploaded documents were barely legible. How it works, why they did it, and if it was effective - we have no information on that. Just that there was some powerful curses in the area in the late nineties.”  

“In the nineties? So it’s been what, decades since any activity? Why now?”  

You shrug. “Best guess is that the sudden uptick in tourism caused it. You know, Sensei had some business in Sendai a few years back. It was right before Itadori-kun got hold of Sukuna I think. It’s not impossible for all of it to be connected.”  

Megumi sighs. “Don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”  

“I want to look into Gojo-sensei’s case right now but,” A yawn interrupts your train of thought. “We’ll need to be up and at ‘em early tomorrow.”  

“Right,” He says, immediately preparing to sleep on couch and praying you won’t notice. “Goodnight, then -“  

His plans are foiled fast of course. Before he can get up, you tug at the sleeve of his robe. Your face is flush from beer and sleep. You’re so effortlessly alluring to his brain he’s irritated. The motion picture casts a soft glow on your features, picturesque in how pretty you seem to be with no effort.  

“Where are you going?”  

“To sleep on the couch.”  

“I can’t let you do that,” You shake your head. Megumi says nothing. “I’ll take the couch.”  

He purses his lips. “Did you think I was gonna say yes to that?”  

You press your lips into a flat line. “No…not really. But.. I can’t let you sleep on the couch. It’ll be a long day and you need rest,” You smile at him sleepily “I don’t mind sharing the bed.”  

“Absolutely not,” He replies instantly. You pout at him. Damn it. 

“Megumi-kun, please? We can just put one of the pillows between us.”  

Megumi stares at you with a hardened brow. He knows from experience that a pillow would barely resolve the issue. A lesson he learned at fifteen where a similar incident had you both sleeping in the same tent.  

You move in your sleep. A lot. As a result, fifteen year old Megumi spent an entire night with you, paralyzed by the lack of distance and missing an entire night of sleep. Every muscle in his body in his body had set rigid like early onset rigor mortis from stress that night.  

He barely slept. Worse, the next morning Sensei had practically harassed him about his disheveled state. Megumi couldn’t look you in the eye for the rest of the mission, though he got over it eventually. Only because you seemed very troubled when he didn’t talk to you.  

You’re making a similarly distressed expression now at the thought of making Megumi sleep on the couch. He winces, swayed with embarrassing ease. The feeling fades after he sees how brightly you smile.  

“Thank you,”  

He wants to ask why you’re thanking him, but doesn’t know if he can handle hearing the answer so he says nothing. You turn the TV off and finish your beer and toss the can before returning to bed and undoing the covers. Megumi sits on the edge, watching as you rearrange the various pillows. You place a body pillow in between the both of you and fluff up another pillow to give to Megumi. You smile as you hand it to him, and he takes it with a soft blush.  

He reminds you to go brush your teeth and watches you pad off to go do it, sighing and trying to meditate before it’s his turn to do the same. The alcohol is wearing off quicker than he hoped.  

The room is nearly pitch black except for a single dim light when Megumi comes back from the bathroom. You’re already in bed, and you smile when Megumi emerges with a stupidly cute giggle following. He’ll never get used to you, he’s sure.  

Megumi craws into bed beside you. The bed is wide and spacious - and there’s plenty of room seperating you. He isn’t any less self-conscious of the fact he’s still sleeping in a bed next to you though, for better for worse.  

“Night, Megumi.” You mumble, barely awake. You’ll fall asleep fast. Megumi reaches over and turns off the lights.  

“Night.”  

He lays in the dark, facing the other wall and waiting for your breathing to go even. Compelled to turn towards your back, Megumi does so as quietly and unobtrusively as possible. He can make out your silhouette in the dark, tracing the outline of your shoulder with his eyes as he continues to feel incredibly nervous and lovesick. He’s been pining like this for so long, he finds it pathetic.  

 You’re less than a few feet away but he can barely bring himself to look at you. Oddly overwhelmed, he lets his eyes close and tries his best not to think too much about the next few days.  

__  

Against all odds, Megumi sleeps well and wakes up feeling better.  

You, of course, moved around a bunch in your sleep - ending up on his side of the bed with a single arm thrown across his waist and your face in his chest. He woke up earlier than you, thankfully - and carefully pried himself from your touch to take a cold shower in the bathroom and not die of embarrassment at the resulting morning wood. 

You were awake by the time he got out. After you were both ready for the day, you ate breakfast together and had coffee before leaving the hotel. The whole situation was more embarrassing during the daylight.  

Your hotel is a twenty minute drive from the site location of the mission. A quick taxi cab ride to a small temple. Navigating isn’t exceptionally difficult. The temple itself is somewhat obscured, not marked on any online maps. It’s well known locally though, enough that a taxi driver could take them towards the bottom of the hill where it’s located. It’s listed as a temple, but on further inspection it’s a small and worn shrine. The details about the shrines origin or history are unclear even.  

After arriving, you were both relying on the provided map. The commune itself is away from civilization. A couple hundred meters Northeast from the temple sight is a path through the forest - leading out to the clearing where the commune is supposedly located.  

The communes ruins are a one straight distance after that. If someone was taking a short hike, it wouldn’t be hard to find.  

So it isn’t difficult to find for the two of you either.  

Megumi’s shikigami follow along side him, divine dog sniffing along the trail. You’re up front, checking the path and making sure the trail is correct, as well taking notes for your report later on.  

You turn your head and share a look with Megumi - no doubt feeling the same thing he does. There’s cursed energy around here, but it’s weird and hard to trace. Neither him nor the Shikigami can make sense of exactly where it’s coming from.  

Eventually, you come across stone - laid deliberately like a pathway, and glance at Megumi with hopeful eyes.  

A clearing comes in view. Ruins, with cursed energy brimming somewhere within them fall into his sightline. It’s a bigger location that Megumi thought it’d be - stretching out far despite hosting so few residents. There are dilapidated cabins and other buildings, the place filled with overgrowth and ivy. Shattered windows, graffiti, and trash affirm to Megumi that this place was found by other people at one point or another.  

Megumi stands besides you as you assess the situation, silently taking the lead. You step forward, further in. A sigh leaves your lips as you turn to Megumi.  

“We’re here but,” You scratch the back of your neck. “What to do now is…”  

“What are you thinking?”  

You sigh. “Part of me wonders if we should split up to check the buildings, but the information is so vague that I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”  

“It’s fine.” Megumi assures. He’s not thrilled but splitting up for now is the best course of action. He can handle himself. He’s sure you’re worrying about that. “As long as we can hear each other, it should be fine.”  

Your concern muddles your features, brows drawn together as you frown. You relent eventually though. Megumi feels the corners of his mouth twitch up at how long you think about it.  

“Okay then,” You use your fingers to point towards the left half, right at what looks like an abandoned dormitory. “I’ll go look in there. Megumi-kun can go that way. And if anything sticks out, call for me immediately.” 

“Don’t worry so much.”  

“If it’s Megumi, I can’t help but worry,” Your reply comes in the same beat. He feels himself blush, casting his gaze to his Divine Dog with a frown.  

“I’ll be fine so let’s hurry up and look around already.” 

You still hesitate to part ways with Megumi, but you budge eventually. He waits for you to summon protection for yourself, watching in awe as you unzip a deck of cards from the side pocket of your uniform. Beautiful, steel enforced hanafuda cards shine in the daylight. You shuffle them with your eyes closed, feeling along the backs for the right one before sliding the set back into your uniforms compartment.  

You make a gesture to follow along with the command two-handed tanzaku, ten points - and Megumi watches the curse manifest around your arms. A strand of bi-colored tanzaku paper appears in your hand, razor-sharp with cursed energy. You coil it around your wrist before turning to Megumi with a small smile.  

Despite how often he’s seen you do it, the appreciation in your face at the newly summoned curse make his emotions bubble and swell with impossible longing.  

“Let’s meet back here if we get lost,” You say precariously. Megumi huffs.  

“We won’t get lost. It’s barely that far.”  

You pout at him. “It’s better to be safe then sorry.”  

He wants to ask when you’re doing when you drop down to your knees - but the words die in his throat as your hand comes up to pet his shikigami affectionately. You give it a small smile. “Please take care of Megumi-kun in my absence.”  

The Divine Dog lets out a pleased chuff that makes you smile.  

“….We’ll be fine,” He says - because as much as he would like to make fun of you for it, he finds it all terribly cute. You stand back up to your feet, seemingly more reassured. That’s good at least. “I’ll go ahead, then.”  

Megumi turns to leave before you can get another embarrassing word in edgewise, blush crawling up against his skin. Once he hears your foot steps fall lighter and lighter in the opposite direction, he takes moment to steel himself and prepare for the mission.  

It’s easier to tear his mind away from you when the threat of mortal peril looms - so for once, Megumi is just a little grateful to be a sorcerer.  

He takes a better look at his surroundings, shikigami sniffing along the crumbling pathways of the ruined commune and searching for a scent. It’s a strange place with a strange aura, aside from the curse. There’s not much way to describe other than tiny village. The half you’ve gone to explore seems to be nothing but houses and communal living - with some kind of central house if Megumi had to guess based on it’s layout.  

Where Megumi is walking along though seems to be amenities. On the right is open space - rustic wood stakes stuck into the ground with clothes-wire with a rotted fence separating it from another big patch of dirt. There’s signs tacked onto some of the structural poles along the outside, but they’re too dirty for Megumi to read. It’s easy to tell from how crude everything is that all of it was hand-made.  

On the left of him are storage sheds and old-crates that have somehow stood the test of time - covered in dust and dirt and moss. One of the storage sheds has a completely collapsed roof 

It’s entirely uninteresting, and that feels unsettling. The cursed air still lingers, but the familiar acrid scent doesn’t seem to be there. It’s something else, something new - and it’s simmering under the surface. Neither he nor his Shikigami seem to pick up on anything clearly. 

After a few minutes of walking, Megumi thinks they start to close in on the end of the trail. His shikigami suddenly comes to life. He looks forward.  

At the end of the trail, obscured by more forest and trail is a greenhouse. It’s made with all glass, and there’s moss and condensation surrounding it. Something about it feels alive, but Megumi can’t tell if that’s just his well-developed paranoia.  

“Go find her,” Megumi says. The shikigami makes an affirmative noise and darts off in the opposite direction as Megumi closes into the building and surrounding structures.  

The front door of the structure is pried open and pushed against the wall. It’s an interesting shape - a half-dome and much bigger than how it looks from the outside when Megumi steps in. Too big. It’s weird.  

All of the hair stands on the back of Megumi’s neck as he stands inside of it. He fits with plenty of space to move his limbs. There are raised beds along both sides of the facility - the material boxing them in now covered in dirt and dust. Overgrowths and some kind of small plant crush underneath his feet and surround him. It smells… sweet. Very sweet but distantly. Megumi can’t figure out what it is. Towards the back are gardening tools and a table with things on it.  

It’s here. This is the center of whatever unusual cursed energy he’s been feeling since they’ve been within one-hundred feet of this place. It’s in here, surrounding him.  

His skin starts to feel hot. He figures the presence of the glass might be concentrating sunlight and brushes it aside.  

He doesn’t get much time alone in his assessment of the place. A few minutes pass before you find him again, smiling at him upon your return. Megumi’s heart does a soft pitter-patter as you enter, his shikigami proudly behind you. There’s a sudden leap in his affection laying eyes on that doesn’t make sense. It’s unusual and unprofessional for him to get so caught up on it during a mission. He’s had enough with you to know how to tamp the feeling down. He has a hard time with it this time thought but shakes it off.  

“Did you find anything?” Megumi asks. Your tanzaku is wrapped around your wrist like a bracelet, Megumi notices.  

“Yeah, actually. Notes. I didn’t get much time to check and a lot of them were too water-damaged to read, but I think curse breeding might’ve been an inaccurate,” You say, scratching the back of your neck. “It seemed like something else. With different kinds of cursed energy, or something to create more output.”  

Megumi doesn’t know what that means, and it must show on his face because you laugh in understanding. “Yeah. It wasn’t clear to me either but I haven’t seen everything yet. I thought I should come here first so we can expel whatevers here.”  

“That’s the problem, though.” Megumi says. “Can’t figure out what exactly is here. The cursed energy is…”  

“Obscured,” You say easily. Megumi nods.  

“Exactly,”  

“Never seen anything like this before, honestly.”  

Megumi is surprised by that. You’ve been a special grade for a long time, the extent of your abilities equal to Okkotsu-senpai He doesn’t know how worried he should be. You’re focusing hard as you look around. 

He tries to do the same, wants to contribute more to the conversation but his mind feels strangely cloudy. He slept well he thought. Maybe the heat is bothering him more than expected. The uniforms have always been stuffy during summer.  

You step around around him to look at your surroundings better, but find the same problem.  

After a minute or two of aimlessly searching, something seems to click in. You drop down to your knee. Your fingers caress whatever is sprouting in the ground underneath you. Plucking one from the soil, you bring it up to your face and frown. You’re gentle with the petals. It looks like a clover of some kind, but the color is too bright - more like a small flower maybe. He’s never seen anything like it.  

Megumi feels his skin go hot again watching you touch it. It’s odd. Too sudden and almost nonsensical, how much magentism he feels towards your innocuous gesture.  

There’s another shift in the air, deliberate - and something moves underneath Megumi’s feet. Your voice is panicked as some sudden realization dawns on you, his shikigami barks loudly.  

Everything moves around him in a daze. His ears are ringing suddenly, heart thumping hard against his chest as the flowers beneath him move and distort into tendrils, curling around his ankles.  

“Megumi-kun, we have to get out of here. We have to—“  

Your words are cut short before he can heed them. A scream rips from his chest as the ground opens up and swallows him whole. 

__ 

He falls for a long time. It seems endless.  

His voice is trapped in his throat, despite his attempts to scream. His body weightless, crashes through empty space for what feels like hours. Despite the situation, all Megumi can worry about is you. You aren’t falling beside him though he’s sure you came in together. The whole that ripped the ground was too big for that not to be true. The thought of you dying is so familiar, but it makes Megumi want to throw up mid-air.  

The crash comes eventually. Bracing himself for impact as he falls backwards , he lands onto something like grass. It’s not painful in the least. His skin prickles at the sensations surrounding him. Saccharine sweetness distorts the air, an artificial scent clogging his lungs as he gasps and opens his eyes.  

He senses a presence next to him and turns to find you beside him in the grass. His body aches, both wanting to find relief in the fact you’ve appeared beside him and feeling uncertainty at the same fact. Cursed energy seeps through every inch of this place, and part of him worries you’re some kind of illusion or mirage. Regardless, he calls out for you and hopes you’ll answer.  

“Hey,” He tries saying your name but you don’t budge. He nudges your arm but retracts just as quickly, hissing - the sensation making his skin burn at point of contact. A hole sears in your uniform where he touches you. “Wake up, shit. Please wake up.”  

After another minute, your eyes open. Megumi lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. You groan as you sit up. Megumi sits up with you.  

“Fuck,” Your voice is thick as you sit with one leg up, a pressing a knuckle to your temple. “My head is pounding.”  

Megumi makes a noncommittal noise. “Yeah. I can’t tell what kind of domain this is.”  

“These were just apart of the curse, then. I felt something off of them but..,” You pick a flower up from the grass and it..moves. He frowns. “They must just be apart of the domain. Which means there’s a special grade behind this.” 

Right. Megumi has been too hung up on everything else to make proper note of that. He rubs the back of his neck as he tries to absorb his surroundings. The air around him is hazy pink. He can’t acclimate to it, breathing shallow. From the flower-curse you picked, to the plants on the trees nearby. It’s lush and humid, but the makeup in the surroundings is dreamlike. A woodland forest of some kind, maybe. There’s a waterfall and round body of water, a short distance away and trees on every side. It’s alarming in how beautiful it is, disconcerting since the cursed energy inside is potent enough to make all the hair on Megumi’s neck stand straight.  

“My, my. What delicious sorcery I’ve stumbled upon,”  

Megumi looks around to try to find the source of the voice but comes up with nothing. You and Megumi share a look in silent understanding.  

“An unregistered Special Grade in the underground of Sendai.” Your voice is resolute. It sounds so different to how you usually speak, firm and cold. “How did you obscure your cursed energy like this.”  

“So many questions. Don’t be so hostile to your host,” The voice is soft and feminine but deeply distorted at the same time. Grating. “I’m a benevolent spirit, little sorcerer - so I won’t kill you right away. Keep in mind you are in my domain. To attack me would be unwise. And I promise, you’ll feel good until the very end.”  

You quiet, assessing the situation. There’s so little about the curse that either of you can make out. The curse is intelligent enough to bargain - to reason, which means the danger you’re both in is substantial enough to be incredibly cautious. You realize it quickly, Megumi is sure. He shoots you a look, your brows furrowed as you try to make everything make sense.  

“What are you after?”  

“You must know, little sorcerer. Human desire is filthy thing. Money, power, fame.” The air changes around you - flowers besides you blooming higher and higher until you’re all but surrounded. The sickly sweet scent becomes stronger and headier. Megumi’s lungs fill with the strange gas, burning the back of his throat. He coughs, trying to expel it. “What beautiful curses are born from pent-up and unspoken wants.”  

“Fuck this is so irritating,” You seem to be in a similar condition, holding up your first to your mouth as you cough along side him 

“Human beings are so foolish in the face of lust, so inducing such a fever is easy. But the results can be so lackluster.” The curse is taunting, giddy at the prospect of you. “How lucky and I to come across such talented jujutsu sorcerers with such ripe energy, hm?’ 

“An underhanded method like this,” You talk mostly to yourself. “Your physical form must be weak, then. To obscure yourself inside of your domain.”  

Megumi can feel the cursed energy amplify, a sneer in the Special Grade’s voice.  

 “How clever.” It remarks sarcastically. “But not clever enough. It’ll be staring any minute now. Fight it to your hearts content, little sorcerer. I’m looking forward to the show.”  

It’s only a split second before the heat starts to sink into Megumi’s body. He burns so intensely, so suddenly - it makes every other sensation feel trivial. It’s painful, searing, and all-consuming. Breathless, he feels his vision blur as a strong wave of physical arousal completely dominates him. It’s like an injection, nerves on high alert as he pulls at the neck of his uniform and gasps. The flowers surrounding you bloom into something grotesque, an open mouth in the center hissing out more of the pink hazy gas that’s surrounding you before turning again, until you can barely see a few feet away from each other. Megumi can feel the cursed energy course through his body, like pure fire in his blood stream. His cock is hard as steel, makes him feel like he’s going to pass out if he doesn’t touch himself.  

Forcing himself to remain steady for as long as he can, he searches for you. Your condition isn’t better as you lean back on your palms - your chest heaving in out as visible arousal paints your face. You share the same pain, the same lust, the same fever. The thought of it makes Megumi’s cock stir again shamefully.  

“I’m sorry,” Megumi can barely make out his voice. It’s so painful. His entire body feels like it’s screaming but  he can’t bear the idea of forcing you to touch him. These conditions, this situation - this terrible heat. Whatever loose threads of rationale are keeping him afloat in these few minutes are begging him to find a way out of this. 

He knows it’s the circumstances. No one understands things like this more clearly than him but he feels deep resentment anyway. Mostly towards himself. “I’m sorry.. aah, fuck - I don’t want to force this.”  

“Megumi-kun.” You manage to voice some of your lucidity like he has, the brunt of it closing in. He feels like he’s only deluding himself, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. “Come here.” 

“No,” He almost screams it. He wants too. But he can’t find his voice to speak to you like that. He hopes the urgency reaches you. “I’m sorry. Shit, shit—”   

He doesn’t want to shatter the thing he’s so desperately protected - to ruin the relationship he’s felt so precious about so many years of his life. He doesn’t want it to happen this way. He can feel the self-loathing as he bites his tongue. 

 He’s dreamed of it so often, to touch you and kiss you and hold you. But at the hands of a curse feel so unfair.  

“It’s okay,” Your voice is so soft - a salve to his nerves. A balm to ache of his whole life, calm and smooth and so kind. He burns so deeply he wants to scream.  Your expression is somber but still assured. “It’s okay. It hurts right? So it’s fine.”  

He closes his eyes. Such a pure despair. Fuck. Tears well up his vision. The pain is unbearable without you. Perhaps it’s always been that way.  

“Please,”  

A desperate attempt to no one to wake up from this.  

“Megumi-kun,”  

It’s the sound of your voice, calling his name so assuredly even in the face of death, that finally makes Megumi shatter. The heat overtakes him. Posesses his sense and forces  him onto you like a lifeline.  

He throws himself at you in the grass, almost knocking you back with the force of his body. Both hands clasp your face as he presses his lips with yours with nothing but desperation. It’s less of a kiss and more of crash landing. He can feel his own conflict stirring inside of him but the relief of your touch drowns out his surroundings. All else in the world becomes silent except the taste of your mouth and the feeling of your face. How much he’s longed to this very thing, dreamed of it. Years. Over a decade of his life hiding in your beautiful shadow.  

You pull away from Megumi with a gasp and your face makes his entire body jolt. A flush dusts along your cheekbones as your hands reach for his shoulders. His head feels light. He can feel his cock twitch at the contact, suddenly gaining awareness of just how hard he is.  

“Megumi-kun,” You sound so serious it jolts him awake. His eyes open wide as he watches you undress hastily. You’re stumbling in your movements as you take everything off as quickly as you can - grabbing Megumi by the collar as he sits stiffly. “Take it off. All of it. Now, please.”  

At his wits end, he does. His hands tremble. His rational mind is fighting him at every gesture but his clothes feeling so constraining, binding him. His skin prickles, an itch skipping over his whole body as he takes everything off as fast as his hands allow. His vision is distorted from the heat. His uniform is sticky as he peels it off, drenched in sweat. He doesn’t see where they go, only feeling the relief as they come off his body. He looks for you unconsciously, immediately wanting to pull away from you as he finds you naked. The feeling is so primal it strikes fear in him. Another wave of unimaginable want pours over his skin like magma spilling across rock.  

He can’t count how much time he’s spent shamefully wondering what you look like naked. You exceed his expectations just like always, unbearably gorgeous. Soft edges and curves, scars and stretch marks - so unfairly enticing to his senses. He groans at the sight of you, eyes lidded in unadulterated, carnal want as you crawl over to him.  

Your hand pushes his shoulders back lightly towards the bed of grass underneath you both, until he’s flat on his back. He’s overwhelmed  when you crawl on top of him. You’re fever-sick just like he is, and Megumi is sure that you’re in just as much pain. 

But the face you make when you look like you want him is so fucking unfair.  

You’re beautiful and tricky and cunning and Megumi wants and wants and wants. Wants so fucking bad he might die, wants you so bad the heat in his body threatens to kill him without you. He needs you to touch him. Needs to feel your pretty hands slide across his body and touch whatever you want. 

 You lean forward to kiss him again much harder then before. Desperation makes kissing feel so pleasurable, so good. You feel so damn good. His mind is a blank slate, your tongue carving his wants into, rewiring his conscious to pine after you until the end. Your lips are soft - pillowy and plush against his own despite how much the kiss feels like little more but tongue and teeth. He wants to forfeit it all for the sake of this lasting a little longer, just as he has his entire life.  

Your existence a proof of his namesake - tongue and taste a blessing.  

Your body is soft and hot against Megumi’s skin but together the temperature cools comfortable. It’s sensual how slippery the sweat makes your bodies as you rub against each other. A mutual oasis, your tits squish along his abs and chest as Megumi holds you tight. Each time your nippls brush, his cock floods with precum.  

You slip your tongue into his mouth, and kiss Megumi sloppily. His cock pulses awake at the wetness, a strong wave of arousal backing him into a corner. Your pussy is barely hovering against his cock but Megumi strains. It gets pulled from him, an involuntary reaction. Cum spurts out of him, splashing up against your skin - dripping as it sticks to your pussy in hot spurts. He groans into your lips.  

“Did you cum from us kissing?” You ask, your voice completely gone. It’s you but it’s not. It matters but it doesn’t.  

He makes an affirmative noise and you giggle into his mouth, teeth bumping together as you kiss more. “Megumi-kun is cute.”  

He’s still so painfully hard. Electricity flares through everyone of his nerves as he slides just barely against your cunt. Fuck. You’re so wet. It feels so good it makes Megumi want to buck his hips and be inside of you already. Impatience makes his grip on your hips tight. His brain feels like it’s weighted with lead. He’s losing himself, losing his fucking mind like this. You taste sweet against his tongue as you sink your pussy down and grind against his length. You’re throbbing so hard Megumi can feel every pulse, the desperate spasming of your sex approaching orgasm.  

The filthiness of your arousal mixing together makes Megumi’s cock twitch against your clit hard. You moan loudly into his mouth and the sound sends him over edge, a life-time of pining make it hard to breathe as you take initiative and pleasure yourself with his body. He’s incredibly eager to allow you. Over and over, you slide your soft pussy over the length of his cock and balls - aimlessly covering it with slick, hips rutting and shivering with motion. Drools drips along the corners of your lips as you kiss him.  

He already wants to cum again, wants to take you in such a primal way it makes him dizzy. He feels whole thinking about what it might feel to cum so deeply inside of you. He’s thought about before, but the thought holds so much more weight in the state of his fever.  

But now it’s the only thing he wants. His teeth ache at the mere prospect. Of filling your pussy with his cum until it overflows and drips. Wants to see it pulse and push and spill and fuck it into you at your request. He wants to hear you praise him for it just like he always does, the desire much stronger than ever. Easier to admit in this curse induced sex.  

You’re breathless as you orgasm above him, on top of him - sliding along his cock and soaking his lower half with stickiness of your pussy. You pull away from his mouth to laugh delightfully. He’s so hard. He wants you so much he doesn’t know how to express it other than kissing you desperately - still restraining himself.  

It’s so much easier to catch his breathe now that you’ve both cum. Even painfully highstrung from the high with such a horrible temperature, something settles before it builds back up again.  

The relief is burdensome almost.  

“So we,” You’re breathless, more yourself and Megumi has never been happy yet so sad to see this glimpse of you again. “We both have to…haah.. cum. For the fever to slow...That’s something to work with.”  

Your expression is more serious as you lean forward, sweaty forehead touching his. It’s you doing it, not the curse forcing you both and that makes his body react. “Megumi-kun. Everything will be okay.”  

“I’m sorry. I didn’t,” He screws his eyes shut hard. “I didn’t want this to happen. This is..”  

He wants to say the worst possible outcome, but he doesn’t. You smile at him. “It’s okay because it’s you.”  

Even in the middle of all of this, you manage to get his hopes up in the worst possible way. He can’t do anything but laugh at that, genuine exhaustion starting to make him lose sense. Another wave is coming quickly, steadily. Taking a serious look at his face, you hold him close to you.  

“We’ll survive this. We’ve fought worse.”  

“You’re comforting me at a time like this,”  

You just smile at him. The heat spikes again, even more intensely than before and both of you stare at each other as the lust glosses over your expression. A pit forms in his stomach, the arousal spiking so high he chokes on it. You’re kissing again - no build up as you slide your tongue sloppily against his mouth and rub against his cock. It’s not enough this time, not even close. His chest is tight as he gasps the words against your mouth.  

“Inside.” He breathes the word between kisses, spit and saliva dripping down the sides of his face. “Need to be inside. Please, shit. Please.”  

“I want it inside.” You say and Megumi groans as your hands reach between your bodies - sticky from the mess. His cock twitches as soon as your hand wraps around the base of his shaft. You pump it twice as you sit up completely to get better accesses to it. The absence of your body makes him needy again.  

Pre-cum dribbles pathetically from the tip as you guide his cock to your pussy. Without any prep at all, you lean back and slam your weight down onto him with full force. It slides with no resistance - as you take him all the way down to the base with complete ease. Your body collapses into a shiver when you take him inside. You both cum at exactly the same time, your pussy sucking him in with a vice-like grip as he shoots another load into you. Inside of you so deep he’s aroused all over again. His cock is still hard as he fills you - and you ride your mutual high out before another brief moment of sobriety takes you. He’s briefly sated as you pas back down against him, littering bites along his neck.  

You smile at him when you pull back, suddenly lucid - bending down to meet his mouth in a kiss sober. He can feel himself blush as he joins you in the brief lucidity.  

“Megumi, you’re so big.” You say with breathless laughter. He almost wants to scream he loves you but buries it immediately.  

He groans. “I can’t believe you’re being like this given the situation.”  

You hum pleasantly and Megumi feels his heart tug.  The moment lingers to briefly before it’s interrupted again. It’s abrupt and makes you lean into his chest.  

“You sorcerers are boring me to tears,” The curse starts again, making you both stand to alert almost immediately. “Don’t be so shy now.”  

The Special Grade repeats the incantation of a technique.  

Cursed Technique: Hidden Desires.  

The air around Megumi changes suddenly. Instead of the lush oasis, he’s surrounded by a vague, all encompassing darkness similar to when he had been falling. He’s standing in it though he can’t see anything, not even himself. The fever has subsided despite him being inside the domain. Hidden Desires…from the speech the Special Grade went on earlier, he’s sure it’s related. He stands still, unsure of what to do before something appears in front of him.  

A sphere of cursed energy, a memory of some kind - at the brush of his fingertips. Despite his attempt to retract his hand, an outside force makes him touch it.  

Several emotions course through his entire body at one, passing through his mind steadily. He connects to your body, your cursed energy seeping into him as he touches whatevers in front of him. His skull throbs from the exposure of someone elses memories, the fever returning to his body one-thousand times hotter than normal. A life time breaches his mind but he doesn’t get to sift through any of it. 

 It comes to a sudden halt, and Megumi hears a whisper in his subconscious. He can’t make the words out properly.  

Arousal spikes into his body as what seems to be your desire manifests in his head. 

He does not know what reaction to have when memories and images of himself appear. Himself from your perspective, in perpetual motion - memories over the course of years crossed over with manifestations of your desires. All of it is him. Tied up, blindfolded, all other things. But him, always. Some visions are more tender than the rest. He can barely process the information, increasing stimulation making his brain fog once more.  

Fever spikes through him again. Confusion, embarrassment, and uncertainty make his stomach flip. He remains cautionary and assumes it’s another trick of the light.He doesn’t get to recover when he’s thrust back into the domain in the same position he was before he left. You look just as confused when he comes back.  

There’s not a moment to speak to each other, as the curse gets amplified ten-fold the minute he steps back into the domain. His entire body breaks out in a cherry red blush as arousal twists through his gut, curling up his neck. Claims his whole body all in on forceful gesture. The sensitivity is cranked so high, he can barely feel your hand your hand on his chest without his cock spilling pre-cum.  

Furious lust overwhelms him as you lean forward and meet his mouth again. It feels different somehow, the kiss. You press your tongue against his lips as Megumi’s cock twitches inside you. 

“Megumi-kun,” Your voice is shot. “Want you to fuck me. Fill me up. Be good and do it, okay? Fuck me so good,”  

The words alone are enough to break him from his state of mind. He takes one more look at you after you’ve granted him permission before flipping you over onto your back. He shudders as you wrap your legs around his waist - hands on either side of your head staring down hard, as he positions himself as deep as he can go inside of your cunt. It’s indescribable, the sensation of needing to fuck you. He’s never been one to chase his base instincts like this unless it’s life or death - but it feels so fucking good to let go. It feels like life or death to sate you with hi cum. Megumi is used to sitting on his hands and playing at indifference, but right now you let him take and take and take. Your hands cup his cheeks, your expression hazy with pleasure. He drops his head down to your shoulders and fucks you with every ounce of strength in his waist - animalistic and desperate to scratch the skin deep itch. He bites into your shoulder as you hips slam, the sound of wet-skin slapping against each other ringing in his ears - cum frothing white at the base of his cock and dripping down your ass each time. He needs to cum again, until the heat subsides.  

He barely gets a few thrusts in before his body strains in the familiar wake of an orgasm. The words to warn you come out choked as his hips slam against the backs of your thighs harder than ever- cumming inside of you again in what feels like seconds. It goes forever, balls emptying as he pumps his seed inside. You cum alongside him, at the same time - pussy throbbing hard around his shaft as he fills you with spend. It’s not enough, doesn’t give him the same relief this time. He needs more.  

“Fuck that’s so good,” You praise making him groan. “You’re so good, baby - fuck, Megumi.”  

You moan his name against his neck. Possession settles itself into his chest at the sound as you tell him to give you more, your hands on his ass to push his cock further into you. He fucks into you again - harder, faster, deeper - cumming every time. Pure adrenaline sends him careening down a cliffs edge, unspeakable fervor making it all but impossible to part from you. Scorching like the desert sun along his spine, a solar flare inside of his stomach as you cum together in constant motions.  

He can’t stop fucking you. He can’t. His body wont allow him even a minute seperated from the euphoria of your swollen cunt sucking in him like it needs his cum more than anything in the world. His brain feels like liquid matter in his skull, thrashing uselessly when he tries to will himself away from you. Delirium drives his every movements as Megumi fucks his cock into you over and over and over.  

You goad him with every thrust of hips - wrapped tight around his waist, fingers tugging at his hair. Praise bubbles from your mouth - champagne light against his skin but so impactful each time. His dick throbs every time you call him good, call him perfect as he fills you with his cum again and again and again.  

“My perfect fucking boy. Fuck me, that’s it.”  

It goes on like that for what feels like forever.  

He loses track by the time the heat starts to subdue again. The curse still simmers under his skin but he finds grounding after unloading a few more times. By then, he can feel how much he’s cum in you and can’t help  but blush. The hint of another wave tingles in the back of his head, and he can’t pull away from you without feeling sharp pain.  

But he does sober again eventually. He waits for you to join him, and tries not to feel sick at the intimacy of it. He’s back to his senses enough to feel utter embarrassment.  

Your voice is soft and exhausted. “Megumi-kun,” You’re so gentle to him. “What did you see?”  

He knows what you mean immediately, sensing you must’ve seen the same thing. “I think it might be another illusion of the curse.”  

“Why do you think that?”  

He can feel his blush darken all over his body. “It was uh, me. In the technique. Tied up and uhm. Anyway. I thought it might be something to provoke the other party into sex.”  

Your eyes go wide at the confession. “….Yours was me, too.”  

Oh. He blinks. You look at him again, too suddenly - peering at him through your lashes.  

“It wasn’t wrong,” You say. You seem scared, just a little. He’s never seen you like that before. “…If you saw yourself and some… kinkier stuff. It wasn’t wrong about that.”  

His throat suddenly feels so dry. 

 “What was…what did you see?” He asks.  

“It was me,” You say bashfully. “Mostly romantics and stuff. And some other stuff, but I don’t know if I should tell you, hehe.”  

He finds the action mercifully. He wonders if this whole thing is made-up when it dawns on him. Some type of fantasy. Maybe he was the only one down here from the start - and that’s why everything has felt so alarmingly right. 

Otherwise. Otherwise it would mean that you…  

“Megumi-kun,”  

He can’t breathe, but it’s for an entirely different reason. He wonders if he’ll die from his heart beating too fast.”Hm?”  

A bated breath follows a sweet smile.  

“Love you,” You mumble it against his mouth. The air is so vulnerable - more fragile than the wings of a dragonfly, more fragile than blown glass. “In that way….have for a long time. So long.”  

His reply is reflexive.  

“No you don’t,”  

You pause before bursting out into giggles. So beautiful and clever. He loves you with painful devotion. “That’s your reply to my love confession?!”  

“Shut up,” He hisses, though he can’t bring himself to make the words sound any meaner. He feels high.   

“I love you, Megumi.” You say more clearly. Your eyes shine with familiarity he’s adored for years. Even with all the fog and haze surrounding you, they’re clear and gorgeous. “More than anyone else in the world, I think.”  

He buries his face against your neck, struggling to get it out. He’s afraid to say it. Afraid if he confirms it that everything is going to collapse here. Like a dream that’s gone on too long. Megumi doesn’t want to wake up.  

He wants more than anything, for all of it to be real - even if it means he ends here.  

He won’t curse you after death, that way.  

He can’t find his voice.  

“Me too,” The weight of one thousand deaths, a thousand days of longing and loving and pining. It’s too burdensome to say. He’s afraid of what will happen to him - mind and soul, should he let himself admit what he kept so well-hidden. “I love you. You…”  

When he manages to meet your gaze, your eyes are welled up with tears. He panics. “Don’t cry. Sorry,”  

“You too. Don’t cry,”  

“I’m not—“ His vision blurs. Damn it.  

“I love you,” You say again and Megumi feels something inside of him mend. “I’ll say it as many times as you want.”  

He doesn’t sense a fever this time. But he braves himself to kiss you one more time. It feels more intense than all else. He kisses you soft and slow, lets himself melt into your affectionate touch and gaze. There’s love behind it so obviously it makes him want to cry. He might really start sobbing, but he’s distracted by your mouth.  

He feels boneless, throat tight.  

“I don’t feel any fever.” You tell him when you pull away from him. He presses his forehead to yours. “I like kissing you.” 

So embarrassing. “Yeah…”  

“Let’s make love one more time.” You offer, and Megumi looks at you in disbelief. Just as always, you’re collected but ridiculous. It’s oddly comforting. Megumi wants to believe in you, so he does. “Just one more.”  

The fever is no longer there, but the sensitivity is still strong in his body. Your mouths meet in a chorus of affection. Megumi is still hard, somehow. But he can feel everything much more clearly. Can understand the taste of your lips and the feeling of your pussy pulsing - that it’s for him and he feels so elated he wonders if it will ever go away. He kisses you gingerly and lets himself slide out as your hand goes to his nape.  

“You’re so good to me, Megumi,” Your words make him ache. A whimper leaves his lips. “My beautiful boy. It must’ve been lonely, huh?”  

“Yes,” His words meet a thrust, slow but deep. A communication of needs so raw he can barely show them to you without feeling shy. “So long. Loved you for so long.” 

“Me too,” You mutter. The praise pierces his heart, suffocates him in such a euphoric feeling he can’t help but gasp at each reminder. “I love you so much, baby. And we’re gonna get out of here and be together, right?”  

He feels his head fill with nothingness. Relief like cold air brushes along his skin. Like being bathed in cool water. You’re his cure - but that’s always been true. “Yeah. Please.”  

“You can’t run away, okay?”  

“I won’t,”  

“Even though I want to monopolize you?”  

He blushes but grunts with affirmation following another slow roll of his hips. “I want to be with you. Nothing else matters. A-and I didn’t hate it… or anything.”  

You smile at him. He loves you. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you. It’s all he can come up with - watching your eyes crinkle in the corners with nothing but delight. “Mm.” You slide a hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit soft as you moan a little. “Sensitive. Gonna cum soon.” 

“Me too,”  

He’s barely holding it together as is. It takes a little more to push him over the edge one last time. This orgasm feels different. Feels rooted in reality. The mutual pleasure grounds him completely, relieving his ailment despite the remaining hints of fever. He kisses you as he cums inside of you one last time, shuddering as you cum right alongside him. He whispers the words against your lips as you let go. He loves you. 

The fever cools down. It takes a while for him to slip away from you after everything, but he manages.  

“Sorry,” He mumbles, watching the cum leak out of you in embarrassment. You just laugh, patting his cheek.  

“It’s okay, promise.” You stand to your feet as Megumi tries not to be self-conscious about the way it’s dripping down your thigh. “I can’t feel the presence of the Special Grade. It must be watching from somewhere inside the domain.”  

“Yeah,” Megumi says, trying to find his clothes.”No idea how the curse broke. Maybe since we’re already curse users?” 

You hum noncommittally. “Yeah. Let’s… clean up best we can and get outta here, yeah?”  

Megumi smiles, soft and relieved. “Yeah.”  

__  

“Are you interested in hearing the details of the curse, my dearest Megumi-chan?”  

Megumi grimaces.  

“No. Why are you even here?”  

Gojo-sensei feigns a look of offense that makes Megumi want to strangle him. He wants to go home and bathe properly already but there’s always a lot of hooplah with unregistered special grades. He’s relieved in one sense of the word, though it’s not like Gojo’s appearance made any difference since you two defeated the curse together and promptly passed out.  

He woke up clothed, and not as sticky as he was during the fight. Apparently Gojo had found you both first and once you were awake, you cleaned him. 

He sits on a tree stump in the forest nearby, his eyes flitting over to to you. You’re debriefing an archivist for Jujutsu when he catches your eye. His heart pounds, blushing at the happiness on your face. 

He feels six-eyes on him and glares at Gojo, who’s currently hiding his mouth behind his hand.  

“How long have we been out?”  

“Mm,” Sensei holds up three fingers. “About three days? I only got here on the third and found you. I was here before, several years ago - for a related case. It took some time, but we fond information of the curse in one of the houses. Are you curious?”  

He’s surprised for a minute, groaning right after. “Just tell me.”  

“Special Grade Kuroyuri uses a technique called Fever, to induce what’s essentially heat - forcing all  parties into extreme physical discomfort that can only be alleviated by sexual contact - no matter the party,” He spouts off, pretending to push his glasses up. Megumi frowns at him.  “Fever works by inducing conditions related to inner  desires and producing cursed energy that way. However, as a result, should two people experiencing Fever - be capable of sating the others desire deeply, they are able to break free from it. As the condition is vague and difficult to achieve, it’s very rarely met which is what has allowed the domain to get so strong.” 

Megumi makes wide eyes. “So you’re saying…”  

“Megumi-chan, the stairwell to adulthood and true love saved you! How wonderful!”  

Megumi blushes as Gojo giggles, glaring at him. He should kill him someday.  

Gojo-sensei pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. “The painful years of pining were worth something Megumi-chan. To think your desires were so pure…” 

“Shut up! I’m going to kill you!” Megumi groans, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. “Do we have any idea why the curse was created?”  

“Seems the cult worshipped cursed energy as a measure of human experience. A curse intending to induce more cursed energy as evidence of their belief. Something like that. The details are vague, but we’re still looking.”  

Megumi sighs again. “Right. Thanks,”  

He puts a hand on his shoulder  as Megumi feels the exhaustion tamp down on him. He feels better and embarrassed as you pad over to him after you’re done.  

“Megumi-kun,” You smile at him before nodding to Gojo-sensei. He smiles back.  

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone,”  

Megumi shoots one last glare at Gojo before looking towards you. You sit down beside him on the ground, resting your head on his lap in a way that makes his whole body break out into a blush. He’s happy though.  

“I love you,”  

“What are you saying?”  

You look up at him. “Just want to make sure you know.”  

He looks down at you from where you lay and frowns. “How could I not?” And then, a little softer. “…It’s mutual.”  

You reach a hand towards his as you giggle to yourself. “That’s good.”  

Megumi squeezes your hand and closes his eyes. Better than good, maybe.  

__  

PROLOGUE:  

[ SEPTEMBER 4TH, 2018 | 4:45pm] 

Megumi waits a while before going into the courtyard, hoping that you’ll move and practice elsewhere if he waits long enough.  

He’s been sitting behind the wall for the last half-hour at least. No luck.  

He feels bad about avoiding you, but it’s the only course of action he thinks helps both parties.  

He doesn’t exactly like you. It’s easier to say he finds it difficult to get used to you is all. Your personality eludes him, and you remind a little too much of Sensei in how you act. Not to mention you’re already so strong. You get along well with everyone else, especially the other first years. You’re a nice girl so it’s obvious Kugisaki-san would favor you, and Itadori-kun can get along with basically everyone.  

But you and him have been at odds since your arrival to the Tokyo branch months prior. Megumi can’t figure out how to bridge the gap between you, and finds it hard to force himself to like you. He doesn’t dislike you, either though. It’s not something he can put words too.  

He feels guilty about it since you haven’t done anything to him to cause his discomfort. He just… doesn’t know what to do.  

Lost in thought, he nearly jumps out of his skin as someone stands over him where he sits, casting shadow on him from above. He opens his eyes to see you standing over him, an unreadable look on his face.  

“How long did you plan on waiting here, Fushiguro-san?”  

Megumi stares up at you before frowning, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “Sorry for disturbing you.” 

You’re hard for him to read, though you’re smiling. You seem amused as you step back, allowing Megumi to stand up at full-height and glance at you.  

“I don’t mind. I know you don’t want to train with me, but it’d be kind of pointless to try and find somewhere else so it’s better to just bear with it a bit.”  

He stares at you. You smile knowingly.  

“You’re surprised I know you were avoiding me?” 

He nods.  

“No offense Fushiguro-san, but it’s hard not to notice something like that when our grade is four people,” You’re a little smug but it’s not mal-intended, though it kinda pisses him off. “No hard feelings.”  

You say that then sit next to him behind the wall. He stares at you feeling more uncomfortable - but can’t will himself to get up.  

“What are you doing?”  

You smile again. 

“Messing with you,”  

He stares at you. You stare back until you break out into laugher.  

“Pfft, I’m sorry. I really am. You make it so obvious on your face when I make you mad..hah.”  

“It’s that part of you I really don’t like.”  

“Mm, yeah - thought so.” Your reply is nonplussed but not unkind. “You’re the moody, serious type. Sensitive.”  

Megumi watches you shuffle through your deck of cards - the ones you’d been practicing with for the last few hours. You peruse through the thick boards of your Hanafuda deck, silently stacking them into different matching suits and using them with your cursed energy. Megumi watches on as you manifest different thing. He wants to ask you about it but can’t find the wil. You’re so strong, despite how you act. The strongest of the first years even outclassing him.  

“It’s fine if you find me hard to be around, but don’t avoid me so blatantly.” You reason coolly. “It’s best we get along.”  

“…Do you want me to get along with you?”  

You laugh at that but he isn’t sure why. It’s nice.. the sound of your laugh when it’s sincere. This is the first time he’s ever properly talked to you, he realizes.  

“Of course! I like getting along with everyone, even someone as brooding as you.”  

“Why.”  

“It’s good for my public image.” You say seriously. He deadpans as you perk up and laugh again. “Kidding, I’m kidding!”  

“I’m going to leave.” He threatens flatly.  

“Fine, fine. Do you want to know the real reason?”  

“I don’t really care,” He responds. You smile at that.  

“I’m more than happy to tell you,” You say, completely ignoring him. “Despite your various character flaws, I think Fushiguro-san is kind of innocent.”  

“Huh?”  

You smile warmly. “Your philosophy to only save people you think are good I thought was cute. It’s a very simple way to think about jujutsu. I like that part of you, I guess? You were raised with a lot of love, I think. Since it’s a difficult way to live.”  

Megumi thinks of his life - thinks of Tsumiki and his sensei with some begrudging. He doesn’t know what else to ask you. He’s a little uncomfortable that you seem to know him so well with the little information you have.  

“Why are you a sorcerer then?”  

Megumi watches you stack your cards into a card house and collapse them, humming to yourself. You seem deep in thought for a while. The sunlight moves away from the clouds briefly, a beam of line brushing against your skin. Your lashes cast shadow on your cheeks. He’s never seen you so clearly.  

You answer with utmost clarity and confidence - all shiny grin. “Ah, well why not, you know? Since I’m super talented.”  

He stares at you, dumbfounded before the corners of his lips twitch. Somehow he understands you a little better than before, and he thinks that might’ve been what you wanted.  

“You’re an idiot.”  

Your grin goes even wider.  

“Let’s be good friends, Fushiguro-san. Okay?” 

“Sure,” He relaxes his back against the wall and shuts his eyes with a small laugh. “Why not.”  

[thedreamlessnights]

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

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

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

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

Word Count: 5.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing. You find nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

[saintobio]

₊˚✩ starlight.

pairings. l&ds xavier, fem!reader tags. 800+ wc. jealous bf!xavier, fluff, reverse hurt/comfort, main story long awaited revelry spoilers, altered some scenes, may or may not be inspired by his tender nights memory :’) dividers by strangergraphics.

xavier isn’t exactly the happiest when you returned to linkon city after being in the n109 zone. don’t get him wrong—he’s absolutely grateful that you came back safe and whole. it’s just that… he didn’t like how your eyes sparkled when you started mentioning his greatest adversary: sylus.

you’re obviously suppressing a smile too, as you reminisce the events that occurred between you and the onychinus leader. you’re particularly giddy about that moment at the auction, it seems, where you said you had to play the part of being sylus’s partner for the night.

dammit, xavier feels his chest tightening when he imagines those scenes in his head. he wants to cover his ears badly, but has no other choice but listen intently. all he can do is listen in silence and try to bottle every spark of jealousy that ignited within him. he has to pretend that he’s happy and proud of you, but then again, he just can’t freaking ignore the way your face lit up at the mention of sylus. 

xavier sighs as you continue your enthusiastic storytelling. fine, then. he sulks to himself. just have to get this day over with.

~

date night came, and as you walk through the city garden, you notice xavier’s silence grew more pronounced. you try to engage him, but his responses are rather curt, his usual warmth replaced by a cold distance. during dinner, even his favorite hotpot couldn’t lift his spirits. he would push the food around on his plate, barely having the appetite to eat.

huh? that’s new, you muse. xavier is usually the most excited to eat hotpot on a cold day.

when he takes you to your place later that night, the tension is palpable. you know you have to bring it up at that point. otherwise, this game of silence will never end.

“xav, is something wrong?” you try to ask in a soft, comforting voice. 

but xavier only shakes his head, forcing his usual endearing smile. “nothing’s wrong. you should go to sleep.”

~

that same evening, xavier sits at his desk, staring at his laptop screen for more than an hour. his fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitating before he finally types into the anonymous forum.

starlight123: what do you do if your gf keeps talking about another guy? i love her, but it’s driving me crazy. any advice?

he hits post and leans back, running a hand through his hair. the minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last. then, the replies start coming in.

anonymous user: talk to her about it. anonymous user: maybe she doesn’t realize how it’s affecting you. anonymous user: communication is key, bro.

but one comment stood out, cutting through the well-meaning advice like a knife.

anonymous user: it's game over for you, man. girls like toxic boys who treat them like dirt. you're too nice. she probably already slept with him.

xavier’s heart sank.. he quickly closes the laptop, feeling an uncomfortable pang on his chest. is he really losing you to someone like sylus?

~

the next few days are torture. xavier stopped responding to your messages. he stopped commenting on your moments posts. he won’t even ask you to play kitty cards or catch plushies on the claw machines. and even if you see him around, he’s always distant, giving you brief, obligatory smiles. he still greets tara warmly, but with you, there’s always this thick wall in between. he's acting like a stranger, as if he doesn't care about you, as if he's not dating you...

agh, you can’t stand it anymore!

one night, you find yourself knocking on his door, needing desperate answers for your desperate questions.

xavier then opens the door, sweaty and out of breath. a dumbbell lay on his living room floor, and his hair is pushed back, revealing a flushed face.

“new hairstyle?” you ask, stepping inside and noticing the sudden eccentricity in his movements. “what are you doing, boyfriend?”

xavier’s cheeks are limned with a red tint as he looks away. “nothing.”

“are you trying to gain more muscles?” you press, amusement edging your voice.

at this, he lets out a defeated sigh and finally faces you. “do you prefer tall, muscular guys?” the sudden question came out of nowhere, until it was followed by another, and that’s when you started seeing the pattern. “do you… do you like bad boys more?” 

“xav, why are you asking me this?” crossing your arms, you tilt your head so his avoidant eyes would meet yours. 

“well, you can answer me first.” 

“not until you look me in the eyes!” 

still, he refuses to meet your gaze and his voice wavers with insecurity when he spoke, “it's okay, i get it. you do prefer guys like that.” his eyes stays on the floor, turning his face away. “if so, then i may not be like them, but i can still make you happy in my own little ways.”

your heart immediately melts at his words. it all makes sense now. him working out in the middle of the night, him styling his hair up, him trying to act like he doesn’t care about you—he’s trying to be sylus!

stepping closer, you chuckle and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a sweet kiss. “xavier, you’re the only one i like. i’ll never replace you.” you place another peck on his lips, then on his cheek, then on his nose. “besides, sylus is annoying. i prefer the presence of my very adorable golden retriever boyfriend!”

“you really mean it?” his puppy eyes stares at you earnestly.

your response is a confident nod. “i swear it. and, duh! lumiere is way hotter than him.”

his arms encircles your waist, holding you tightly as he lifts your chin and plants a tender kiss on your lips. the tension eventually melts away as you reassure him with your touch and your words. in that moment, all his jealousy and insecurity faded, now replaced by the warmth of your love. “you’re mine,” he reminds, nose nuzzling into yours. “i don’t want to share you with anyone else.” 

[askchilchuck]

Hey, how can I help you?

(Please read below before interacting)

Hi! My name is Sophie! This blog has gotten enough traction that I feel the need to lay some ground rules for it.

1) This blog is intended to be PG13 so I don’t have to exclude younger fans from participating. I will not be answering anything that wouldn’t fly in canon, or is adjacent to it. Anything explicitly sexual, or can be construed that way will not be answered. This decision was made a couple months in, so do be advised there is some more suggestive content on the earlier posts on this blog. If you don't want to see that kind of content, stick to the newer posts.

2) Nothing related to suicide please. I tried playing it off the first time but between myself and some people around me, even the “KYS 🥰🥰🥰” jokes really aren’t funny, especially recently. Asks including it will not be answered.

3) No firearms. Related to rule 2.

4) Please no spammy asks. I’m honestly not sure how to answer them, and they clog up both the blog itself and the main tags.

5) No political asks. I understand how terrifying the results of the US election are, but I really need this place to be a break from all that. For my sake and yours. We both need spaces where we can recharge from this. Chilchuck doesn’t know what’s going on anyway, he deserves to live in ignorance from it. I love you.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s fun to bully him, but these things cross a line for me. Thank you for understanding.

If you’re an RP blog, you’re more than welcome to interact! Even if you’re not a Dunmeshi blog! I don’t always have the time to do reblog chains, though, so please don’t feel bad if I miss you there. It’s easiest for me if you submit RP as an ask when the box is open. Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause. If you’re 18+ and interested, I also do private RP on my Discord, linked on my Dunmeshi side blog.

IN LIGHT OF DUPLICATE CHARACTERS:

I think that’s awesome and also really funny. I encourage it. We’ve already got a loose MCU/multiverse plot line going on so we can totally make it work, too. Hell yeah. Hilarious. Love that. /gen

Blog lore:

This blog takes place loosely post canon. I try to avoid spoilers, but little things here and there are inevitable. Chilchuck has made up with his wife and they’re currently working on their relationship. Chilchuck is also in therapy. This is for a few reasons.

1) I don’t think he’d actually answer any of these if he wasn’t.

2) He doesn’t talk about it a lot, but it was one of his wife’s conditions before giving the relationship another go.

3) He just. Should be in general and I have control of it so it’s happening lol

My Chil is bi, but in the middle-aged “everyone’s had gay thoughts before” kinda way, cause I think it’s funnier that way. He also gets high from time-to-time now that he’s not dungeneering anymore.

Folks kept turning him into different things/animals, so goldstar/⭐️ anon gave him an amulet to put a stop to that. "Marcus" also altered the spell on the amulet to encompass all transformations, since inanimate objects weren't initially included.

Squeaker also used a device to prevent any crab transformations specifically from occurring, as well as ejecting all crabs within a 20 mile radius.

There’s also a cult stalking him for some reason. (This is an ongoing problem. They haven't hurt anyone, and they seem to only be targeting Chilchuck.)

The TVA (Marvel) is loosely involved as well as previously mentioned. Squeak fixed it (or so she thought. There's now a DMCU situation going on.)

Also, Chil’s knowledge of the blog/Tumblr varies depending on what would be funnier, but generally he’s aware of the internet. He only uses his phone to answer your asks, though. He has no idea how to do anything else and has no desire to. This means he doesn’t fact check people or knows anything about the greater internet experience. No one knows how he got the phone, or how it’s holding a charge. Don’t worry about it.

ADDENDUM:

Chilchuck has recently started googling slang, and anything else that might be confusing or annoying to him. However, he hates the search feature and trying to find answers on individual websites, and will take the AI generated answers without question.

I myself don’t talk in the main posts, unless it’s tagged #ooc. Otherwise, I’ll always talk in the tags if I’ve got something to say. Or replies. Or DMs. Main post is the only place I’m in character unless specified otherwise.

Emoji anons:

•⭐️/goldstar anon

•🦉/owl anon

•👻/ghost anon

•♡/heart anon

•🐭/mouse anon

•🍬/candy anon

•🥣/bowl (cereal?) anon

•🐻🏀/bear basket ball anon

•🃏/joker anon

•🟣/Gojo Satoru

•🪻

•🐦‍⬛

No other heart variants have been claimed. Also, heads up to all emoji anons, I’m going to start using just one tag for your asks going forward to make tagging easier! So I’ll just be using the emoji variant from here 💖

If you want to hang out with me in a less censored environment, I also run @chilfucked and @askchilchucknsfw which are 18+ only. I will ban all minors who so much as breathe on those blogs. I’m not joking.

I also reserve the right to update these rules as time goes on, so please check them again before submitting when the ask box is open again. Thank you!

[goldensunset]

MWAH <333 BELOVED ❤️❤️❤️

OK YEAH botw zelink is so. it’s so hhhhhgghhh y eah.,,, this game rewired 15 y/o me in indescribable ways can i just say. the chokehold they have on me. also ‘minor character’ how dare ye she’s the main character <3

also teba stan. good taste tbh hehehe nice. i’ve always found him a great guy who deserves more love

Send this to 10 other bloggers that you think are wonderful. Keep the game going, make someone smile!! ❤❤❤❤

can I seriously just send this to you ten times? I look forward to following your blog every day. Also I just beat my second divine beast and while both Sidon and Revali are hot, I think stoic warrior bird dad Teba is the real king and yes I realize i've just probably ruined my pristine image lol also the bodyguard trope is clearly my thing because boy this zelink is by FAR the best of them all. they really did invent romance holy hylia

anyway uhhhh

love you dear

[lucky-clover-gazette]

captive prince book 1 highlights & annotations

chapter 5

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Laurent moved off a few steps. Damen saw him lift a hand to the back of his own neck, as if to release tension. Saw him do nothing for a moment but stand and be quiet and breathe the cool air scented with night flowers. It occurred to Damen for the first time that Laurent might have his own reasons for wanting to escape the attention of the court.

i appreciate this hint of their future dynamic :)

A silence opened up around Laurent’s words. In it, their meaning changed. Herode began, ‘I—’ Then he looked at Damen, and his expression grew alarmed. ‘Is this safe? He’s broken his leash. Guard!’

context: laurent needs herode to think that damen deserved the flogging, so he took him somewhere private and broke his bindings, framing damen as disobedient. nice moment ruined >:(

‘If you’re concerned that my memory for wrongs against me is longer than ten months,’ said Laurent, ‘there’s no need for anxiety. I am sure you can persuade me you were genuinely mistaken.’

translation: “make it up to me, disloyal coward.” the way laurent deals with this person, who lacks loyalty and integrity, foreshadows how much he will struggle to hate damen, who has more loyalty and integrity than any sane person probably should

‘How thoughtful of you, Councillor,’ said Laurent. ‘He turned to Damen and said in a melting voice, ‘Your back must hurt terribly.’ ‘It’s fine,’ said Damen. ‘Kneel on the ground, then,’ Laurent said.

absolutely no strategy here, laurent just sucks. "oh you're comfortable for once? let's see what i can do about that." also the fact that laurent is trying to appear likable to herode but still cannot resist being a bitch to damen is sooo funny

His best feature was a pair of amazing blue eyes, unmatched by any Damen had ever seen, except for the ones he had recently been staring into.

damen has a talent for thirsting over laurent in the most backhanded manner possible

His skin was fair and his curling light brown hair was burnished with gold. He was exactly the type that Damen could have drawn down onto the sheets and spent a very pleasant couple of hours enjoying.

damen likes blondes mention #4. erasmus barely scrapes by, but the word “gold” tells us everything we need to know

‘Well?’ Laurent said. ‘Can you couple adequately, or do you just kill things?’

god he sucks. also, “adequate.”

Damen thought that given the choice between the lash and a conversation with Laurent, he might actually choose the lash.

‘He’s not very talkative,’ remarked Vannes. ‘It comes and goes,’ said Laurent.

laurent continues to shoulder the burden of being the funniest bitch in this entire court

Damen was sickened by the idea of some nobleman’s boy offering himself up to be hurt on the assumption that it would play to Laurent’s tastes. Then he thought of all he knew of Laurent, and only felt sicker, because of course the boy’s assumptions were probably correct.

context: i don’t think laurent is an equal-opportunity sadist, or even a sadist at all. he just really hates damen specifically, and mirrors the viciousness of his culture to survive

If there was anything explicit on view, it must be the absence of all desire to be where he was.

the garden scene. okay. 

first, context: a possible explanation for laurent volunteering damen could be a desire to see him experience a similar situation to his own abuse from his uncle, since damen is the reason laurent lost his protector. however, that doesn’t quite sound right to me, because wouldn’t seeing this whole tableau just re-traumatize laurent? then again, laurent’s life in the veretian court is pretty much endless re-traumatization, all day every day. so i suppose in his mind, he might as well get something out of his own shitty circumstances, and that something in this case is revenge. misery loves company, after all. 

also, sex to laurent is a matter of control and power, rather than love or pleasure. so to him, both this and the fighting ring might feel the same as any other kind of violence. he doesn’t care about the additional violation that sexual assault carries towards his enemies—and at the end of the day, laurent knows that he himself has probably been through worse. 

the exception to this is nicaise, or anyone else who laurent deems innocent and disempowered. those people, he will try to protect to the very best of his ability. but at this point in the series, laurent sees damen not only as a shitty person, but also a shitty person with power. he knows that damen is not a slave, but a prince. a prince who keeps slaves of his own. so in laurent-brain, i can see how this could be twisted into something justifiable. or just not worth justifying at all.

it still isn’t right, though. they could have done this and been just as horny about it with, like, dubious consent rather than none. i think i would feel more comfortable finding elements of this scene hot if that were the case, but i respect and appreciate that the point of this book is not simply to Be Hot. and to be fair—instant gratification, moral simplicity, and straightforward execution are not very compelling qualities for an erotic scene to possess. i’m just glad that the rest of the sex-adjacent scenes in this series between damen and laurent are explicitly consensual, because this scene would be harder to accept within the series’s ethical framework and the development of their love story if it happened multiple times.

i want to analyze the craft here, but i feel uncomfortable dissecting what i know to be a non-consensual scene in order to determine what makes it hot. but i also know, undeniably, that the events of this scene are hot, and that hotness was almost certainly written on purpose. 

for me, the hotness does not come from the lack of consent itself, but rather the action and dialogue happening on the page. i don’t think the lack of consent is necessarily meant to be hot here—it’s the absolute insanity of laurent’s approach to oral sex, and the power dynamic it creates, that makes the scene memorable. and those elements could easily be reproduced in a consensual scene and have the same effect. so i want to study those elements specifically, to see how they work as erotic writing, removed from the parts that don’t. 

tl;dr: the garden scene is unequivocally non-consensual. however, it is written in a way that eroticizes the circumstances. i can still study the writing where it is effective without finding the circumstances of the scene morally justifiable or hot, in fiction or real life. 

anyway. i'm trying to study the craft of scenes like this, so i'm going full analysis on this one. garden scene, summarized:  

setup: laurent is rumored to be frigid and does not partake in the sexual activities of veretian nobility. yet he goes along with this tableau, allowing damen to be used as a participant. i do not think that this is for laurent’s own sexual gratification, because i don’t think laurent is in touch with his own sexuality in general. sex means something different to laurent than it does to damen, and the other characters in the scene, and (i’d hope) to the reader as well.

beginning: ancel isn’t damen’s type. damen has no strong feelings about ancel as a person. he is not attracted to ancel’s frivolity or weak will. being serviced by ancel is not doing anything for damen. he feels smug about this. it gives him power over laurent, who has permitted this tableau in order to emphasize the power he has over damen.

then: laurent—who is damen’s type, his worst enemy, and the reason he’s in this situation in the first place—starts coaching ancel on how to give head. laurent is completely methodical and detached with his instructions, and is clearly focusing on psychologically tormenting damen, rather than getting off on the display. in other words, he is neither frivolous nor weak-willed. he’s exactly the opposite. 

meanwhile: damen, our pov character, is no longer immune to whatever the fuck is going on in this scene. he is into this and can’t hide it. he has lost the power he briefly had over laurent, and now possesses even less power than he started with. not only is he owned by laurent in the technical sense, but he is being owned by laurent in the horny sense too. 

and i believe that the intention is for the reader to understand how he's feeling—not to blame him for his interest, because this situation is clearly compelling, to damen and possibly the person reading. laurent’s ability to essentially mindfuck damen across the room, fully clothed, is honestly insane. cs pacat herself says that about laurent in a commentary video—he’s a mindfucker. it’s intentional and it’s the focal point of the scene. much later on in the series, i think damen even admits that he was paying attention to laurent the whole time. it’s hot. it just is. 

i’ll point out more specific things in the following passages, but that’s the gist of it. i'm cringing so hard posting this publicly, but if heterosexual women on booktok can post their whole-ass face and gps location while fangirling over colleen hoover sex scenes, i think i can share my messy gay mindfucking analysis on a website that hasn't been a part of the public consciousness since like 2017

Laurent was watching Damen’s face with the same cerebral attention that he might apply to a strategic problem. ‘He likes that. Do it harder,’ said Laurent.

craft note: laurent openly observes damen’s responses, notices exactly what works, tells ancel to do that specifically because “he likes it,” and that turns damen on even more

personal note: oh my god

Damen could feel his thighs tighten, then, minutely, spread, his breath quickening in his chest... He turned towards Laurent. It was a mistake to look at him. Even in the shadows of evening, Damen could see the relaxed arrangement of Laurent’s body, the marmoreal perfection of his features, and the detached unconcern with which he gazed at Damen, not bothering to so much as glance down at Ancel’s moving head.

craft note: damen loses his resolve, looks to laurent for mercy, and is just even more mindfucked by the fact that laurent is completely unaffected, not even interested at all

If you believed the Prince’s Guard, Laurent was the impregnable citadel, and took no lovers at all. Right now Laurent gave the impression of a mind somewhat engaged, and a body wholly aloof, untouched by ardour. The ribald fancy of the Prince’s Guard held a kernel of plausibility. On the other hand, the aloof, untouched Laurent was at this moment delivering a precise treatise on cocksucking.

god, this is SO fucking good. damen is basically admitting that he can’t believe laurent is entirely sexless, because he is managing to fuck him without even having sex at all.

craft note: that is the perfect moment to insert a crass word, after paragraphs of more clinical descriptions. i love that the only time we hear “cocksucking” in this scene is in reference to laurent not actually sucking cock, while it is (intentionally, i assume) not used in reference to the actual cocksucking that’s happening on the page. 

also, "precise treatise" cracks me up, as someone currently writing what could be considered a precise treatise on this scene.

The image of Ancel... was joined in his fragmenting thoughts by the sudden harsh desire to get his hands on Laurent’s body and exact revenge—both for his actions and for his airy absence.

damen’s desire to get laurent’s attention because he wants to fight him, but also because he wants laurent to see him come… diabolical writing. craft. whatever. this is an objective and academic analysis.

Damen was... pushed back down onto his knees. Laurent was seated opposite, legs crossed. Damen’s eyes fixed on him, and looked nowhere else; his breathing was still noticeable, and his pulse rapid, but anger produced all the same effects.

who’s ancel?

additional thoughts on erotic elements in the garden scene: i think what i like here, is that… yeah, it’s horny. it’s indulgent, easily the most blatant instance of kink we’ve seen so far. but it’s not really what i think frequent readers of this kink genre would expect, or even want to read—it is a subversion, with laurent completely disrupting the basic scenario that everyone else (but damen) in the scene wants to mindlessly enjoy. 

but that subversion, to me, just makes it hotter. there’s physical stuff happening, sure, but the real eroticism comes from the words, emotions, and power exchange between laurent and damen. the scene doesn’t give the reader the simplicity of “someone topped, someone bottomed, here are several pages of mechanical description.” the actual sex act is described almost clinically, just how laurent dictates. and it’s definitely not as simple as who’s topping and who’s bottoming—whatever the fuck happens here is way weirder and messier than that, and so much more compelling. 

basically, i think that this scene fails to be hot in all the ways a reader of this kink genre would expect it to be hot. the real hotness comes from the bizarre subversion we get instead, that we just have to kind of accept without any closure or explanation. it’s either an unsexy sex scene, or a sexy not-sex scene. maybe it’s both. either way, it’s insane.

how can i replicate this? 

set up a thing that follows expectations. don’t actually do the thing. do something significantly more insane than the expected thing. do not elaborate on the insane thing, leaving more questions than answers, and move on as if it wasn’t insane at all. this is a good method for not-sex scenes, too.

Laurent, for his part, was relaxed, one arm spread out over the back of the bench.

laurent lean #4

‘I’ll offer for you, if you like. When the time comes. I wouldn’t want you in my bed, but you’d have all the same privileges. You might prefer that. I’d offer.’

context: this is the best possible way laurent can protect nicaise within the confines of their culture. and “you might prefer that”—laurent wants nicaise to be able to foster his intelligence and talents (his "privileges") as a growing person, without having to be a sexual object.

‘He gives them all up,’ said Laurent, ‘even if you’re more enterprising than the others have been.’ ‘He likes me better than the others.’ A scornful laugh. ‘You’re jealous.’ And then it was Nicaise’s turn to react to something he saw in Laurent’s face, and he said, with a horror Damen didn’t understand, ‘You’re going to tell him you want me.’ ‘Oh,’ said Laurent. ‘No. Nicaise . . . no. That would wreck you. I wouldn’t do that.’ Then his voice became almost tired. ‘Maybe it’s better if you think that I would. You have quite a good mind for strategy, to have thought of that. Maybe you will hold him longer than the others.’ For a moment it seemed as if Laurent would say something else, but in the end he just stood up from the bench, and held his hand out to the boy. ‘Come on. Let’s go. You can watch me get told off by my uncle.’

context: nicaise knows that anything laurent wants, his uncle will not let him have. believing that laurent hates him and would offer for him out of spite, nicaise takes the offer is a threat. laurent, who isn’t threatening him at all, realizes that nicaise is right. laurent’s attempts at protection would only get nicaise hurt. the best he can do is banter with the kid and look after him from a distance. this house is a fucking nightmare.

[ten-cent-sleuth]

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

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

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

Now, for the more fun info!

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

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

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

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

Status: on hiatus [as of 2024-06-05] (but Part 15 should be a satisfying ending until the next update) – please let me know if you would like to be tagged with updates! :)

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

[mycurrent-hyperfixation]

Dance With Me, Baby (Locklyle Fic)

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

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.9k

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x Lucy Carlyle

Tags: fluff, pining, angst

Warnings: Mild spoilers for the books!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Do you smell burning?’

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

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

‘So, about the practice…’ 

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

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

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

‘Dancing?’ she all but blurted out.

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

Now both of them were very obviously confused.

‘And that involves…dancing?’ Lucy asked.

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

‘Can’t we just…mingle?’

Lockwood ran a hand through his hair in exasperation.

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

‘What?’ Lucy asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they were dancing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hummed her affirmation.

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

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

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

And Lucy did not want him to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ad-hawkeye]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[magicshopaholic]

Movie Night (Hoseok x OC)

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

Pairing: Hoseok x OC

Genre: Humour, unreolved issues, hints of angst

Word count: 5.8 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Alcohol, spoilers for the movie Get Out!

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

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

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

hoseok masterlist | main masterlist

A phone call wakes Chanyeol up before his alarm does.

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

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

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

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

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

“Just checking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where?”

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

“Um, I dunno. It’s your house, man.”

“Right.”

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

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

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

“Oh. How - how do you know?”

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

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

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

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

“Exactly,” he mumbles against his pillow.

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

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

You know what? Just text me her number.

—

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

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

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

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

“That’s what made them special?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vodka? It’s four pm.”

“Yeah, but you’re ready to party.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I do something wrong?”

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

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

“Everyone, this is -”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We can watch Godzilla,” suggests Jimin hopefully.

“It’s supposed to be scary, hyung…”

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

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

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

“Yup,” says Chanyeol.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She frowns. “Why would you think that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

“I just meant -”

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

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

“I’m not the one who -”

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

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

“Fine.”

“Yep.”

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

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

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

“How does that answer my question?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hyung?”

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

“Can I get another drink?”

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

“Okay. You want anything?” 

“Get me a seltzer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Inside, to the left.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which reminds him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh. What?” 

Chaeyoung turns around and blinks. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I - hey. I’m chill. Alright?”

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t say hump!”

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

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

“What parade is that exactly?”

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

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

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

“I’ll point -”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, for sure.”

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Chaeyoung.”

—

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

[charlottesbookclub]

king of all birds – chapter four

king of all birds masterlist

Summary: alistair and amice discuss their father's odd behavior; alistair experiences a moment of overwhelm

Warnings/Tags: references to suicidal ideation, description of a panic attack (could also be read as an autistic meltdown)

Words: 1382

Helpful Terms:

Matins – prayer in the morning, around daybreak

Vespers – prayer in the evening, around sunset

Author’s Note: I don't have a ton of rambling meta commentary to share before this chapter lol 😅😅 I really wanted to do a scene that demonstrated just how suffocating his family's expectations are to alistair, so I tried to do that here. I based his panic attack/autistic meltdown on my own experiences (I often can't tell the difference between one or the other since for me they often occur simultaneously from the same stimuli), but I tried to introduce a stimuli/trigger that I thought would be particularly difficult for him, which in this case is the idea of being constantly watched or observed. this is def a bit of a heavier chapter, but (spoiler alert!) he gets to go hunting in the next one as a little treat ☺️☺️

In the wake of Jocosa’s rapid departure, the silence in the room was thick and heavy. The tapestry-covered walls pressed in from all sides, and the heat from the fire was suffocating. Finally coming back to himself, Alistair collapsed onto a chair. Head in his hands, eyes closed, the hurt that had been ripping at his skin had flown off in the sudden scuffle, leaving nothing but a dull ache in its place.

“I should not have said that.” Alistair muttered into his palms. The words were not for Amice’s benefit; he knew that she was likely just about to tell him as much herself. It was something more akin to confession – a hope that some higher power would hear his sins and forgive him for his transgressions. 

“Yes, but she should not have said that either.” Amice’s words were softer than Alistair had expected. He removed his face from the confessional of his hands and chanced a look at his sister. She was now seated across from him, leaning forward in a mirror image of his defeated position. 

“Just because she should not have said it does not make it untrue.” Alistair watched her face carefully as she processed his words.

“Alistair,” she reached out to grasp his hands in hers, “no one wishes you dead.” He shook his head minutely, trying to decide how Amice would receive his honesty if he chose to bestow it upon her. In the flicking firelight, her features were chased with sadness like one might chase armor with glittering gold. 

“Sometimes…” he faltered for a moment, needing to look away in order for the heavy words to finally escape his mouth, “sometimes I do.”

“Oh my dear brother,” were all the words Amice could manage before she pulled him into a tight embrace. The motion, though he understood it was meant to be comforting, was foreign to Alistair, but he allowed her to hold him for a moment before he gently pulled away.

“Please do not speak of this to mother,” he entreated in a whisper. Amice merely nodded. They both knew such information would only shatter their mother’s broken spirit further, and she was only just beginning to climb out of the moat of her grief over Oliver’s death. Silence reigned in the room again, though lighter this time. The fire crackled, and Alistair watched as its dancing light set the figures on the tapestries into motion. Squadrons of soldiers marched around the room as vines twisted and flowered in the corners. On one wall, a group of hunters dove after a thrashing boar, while on the opposite a wedding procession wound its way through gates and towers. Alistair scowled. 

“I must know,” he began quietly, “are there serious discussions as to my betrothal? And why was I not made privy to them?” The wound stung a little, but Alistair did his best to ignore the pain. Amice sighed deeply.

“Jocosa spoke out of turn.”

“When does she not?” Alistair rejoined. This earned a small huff of laughter from both of them.

“What I understand of the matter is that Mathilda’s family feels we still have a viable arrangement to uphold, since they are still willing to provide their daughter along with her dowry, and we still have a male heir.” Alistair snorted in displeasure. “Mother fears that we risk further harm to the family’s reputation if we were to renege on the marriage agreement that was drafted between Noll and Mathilda. She did not want to mention it to you until she understood more of the details, as it was father who outlined the terms and who is presently unwilling or unable to continue his involvement in the matter.”

“It seems he is presently unwilling or unable to continue his involvement in any matters.” Alistair snorted in frustration, pushing himself upwards to stand again. Amice followed his movement with her eyes, but made no motion to follow.

“Has he spoken to you at all?” she asked quietly. “I have heard almost nothing from him since…” she let her words trail off, knowing Alistair would take her meaning. He shook his head.

“We’ve exchanged a few brief words here and there, but nothing of import.” He ran a hand through his hair, measuring his next words carefully. He didn’t want Amice to trouble herself more than he knew she already did, but he also greatly desired her thoughts on what to make of their father’s strange behavior.

“I have, however, noticed odd movements from him of late.” Amice’s eyes flicked up to his face, silently entreating him to continue. “As you well know, I myself keep unusual hours,” he allowed himself a small smile, and Amice chuckled. 

“The early falconer gets the quarry, is that not the saying?” she teased, eliciting a small laugh from Alistair. “But please, tell me what you have seen,” she gracefully steered the conversation back to the topic at hand.

            “Oft lately when I am with my birds before Matins, I see him returning to the estate.”

            “From which direction does he ride?”

            “From London.”

            Amice stood then, hands clasped tightly together. She took up Alistair’s former post before the great fireplace, pacing slowly back and forth, the hem of her gown shushing softly against the floor as her slim form cast new shadows upon the embroidered figures that silently peopled the room.

            “What business could he have in London if he attends to no matters here?” she pondered, partially to herself and partially to her brother. “And at what hour must he be leaving to return so early in the morn?”

            “After Vespers,” Alistair offered. “I made a point to linger with my birds in the tower far later than is my custom in order to see him depart.”

            “There can be no dealings in London that would require such hours.”

            “There can be no honest dealings in London that require such hours,” Alistair added.

            “And you know no further details of his doings?” Alistair merely shook his head in response.

            “I know only that he rides out alone with barely a word to anyone.”

 ��          Amice’s lips pressed into a firm line as she continued her slow pacing, her mind clearly far from the tapestried room. Alistair fidgeted. The woven eyes of the figures the covered the walls seemed to fix upon him. Hunters and knights, lords and ladies, boars and birds, royalty and wildmen turned their gazes to him, observing his every movement as he fussed with the cuffs of his shirt that suddenly felt too tight. Was this what Noll must have felt upon the executioner’s block – standing before all, pierced by eyes from all angles, invisible arrows driving into his flesh? For perhaps the first time since he had been told the news, Alistair’s heart stirred with pity for his elder brother. To be so exposed – so observed – would make even the brashest soldier feel like flushed quarry. The very knowledge of so many eyes upon one’s form pierced the skin and cut to the bone before the killing talons or the fatal sword ever found their mark.

Even though they were made of thread and fabric and not of mortal flesh, the multitude of eyes upon him sent sickly patterings up and down his skin as though thousands of tiny mice were crawling upon him. He rubbed at his arms compulsively, the fabric twisting uncomfortably against his skin, making the tips of his fingers burn and itch, yearning to rip the offending garment from his body. Beads of sweat formed at his temples and slipped down his back. The heat in the room must have reached a stifling new height, as Alistair’s throat seized, and his breaths would not come as he bade them. The only thought left in his mind was that he must flee. He heeded this impulse and bolted from a room, leaving a confused Amice to wonder at his sudden and unannounced departure. However, this was not the first time he had absconded from an interior room so suddenly, and Alistair was certain that Amice would correctly deduce his destination. As he fled gasping from the suffocating walls of the estate, Alistair’s feet led him first to his falcons, and then on to the cool, deep green of the forest.

[penrose-quinn]

Green Light | Part Eleven

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

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

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

pairing: shinichiro sano/gn!reader

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

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

m.list ❁ read on ao3 ❁ part 12

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You told him you wanted to go to college.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d wander back in here the next morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shinichiro asked Seishu if he liked motorcycles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I'll definitely love him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come have dinner with us,” Shinichiro tried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet they didn’t live under one roof.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Izana came to him with the storm on his back.

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

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

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

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

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

"I never want to see you again."

Shinichiro thought he saw you.

“What happened to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He drank his tea, tasting of tears.

"I'm a terrible big brother."

Shinichiro said it a second time to himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shinichiro and Emma ended up sniffling their emotions after that.

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

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

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

"Did you reach out to him?" 

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

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

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

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

But never like the ones he had committed.

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t know either.” You gave his hand a firm squeeze. “I know you’re just trying to help, Shin. You care about him. I used to proofread your letters, remember? You wrote to him like you grew up with him. I always thought it was sweet, the way you asked about his day and went on about yours, how you welcomed him in it. Emma would know.”

Shinichiro rubbed his eye. He already sounded congested when he spoke up, feeling even more pathetic.

“I kept her from him too.”

“Why did you?”

“It'd hurt her, if she knew her brothers wouldn’t get along.” Emma was too young to undergo through a lot with the changes and losses in her life. “If they fought . . .”

A pause, then a sigh rolled off your lips. “Wouldn’t have made a difference if she couldn’t see him anymore.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I feel like I should. I'm just," he trailed off, head hanging low because his frustration was spilling from his eyes and—

You gently pulled his chin to you. “You don’t have to, not with me,” you reminded him, catching tears before they fell with the pad of your thumb, "all right?"

Shinichiro nodded. There were wet blotches on your cuff sleeve for brushing it under his nose because none of you brought a handkerchief so you figured this would do. A bit of him stained you and you didn't mind.

You told him to breathe, and he realized what he'd been holding inside for awhile before letting it out.

"I . . . I didn't have the best relationship with my big brother either. Held a grudge for so long that I thought I'd die hating him, but it doesn't matter now. Being upset of your ghosts," you drifted for a moment with a murky emotion he couldn't name.

A bus stopped by; the passengers stepping out in worn, clear umbrellas. You couldn't see them, blinking vacantly, as you went on.

"You’re not a terrible big brother. You're not a perfect one either, but no one is, I think. You did get to know Izana. You were there for him before he even became a delinquent. You never owed him anything, weren't even blood-related. Sure, you're both complicated, maybe bonded over that and something more, and expected things that aren't aligning to what you want. It would've been better if you didn't keep so much of who is from him, but I'm not gonna beat you up to what already happened. I think you should just move on."

Shinichiro said your name, unsure if it's to protest or to process what you're saying.

"He won't see you, Shin," you reminded him. "It's the most closure you could get right now, unless he changes his mind."

He sighed, letting it sink. "You're right . . ."

"I know it's hard." Then you glanced back at him. There’s something poignant about your eyes. "You still love him, huh."

“Yeah,” was his answer. But . . .

“Your big brother,” Shinichiro started, “did he ever come back for you?”

“He can’t,” you fell back on his shoulder. “He died a year ago.”

Somehow, the two of you were in your house.

You told him it wasn't much of a home without your sister or her family.

Shinichiro contemplated how you would’ve lurked deeper into the emptiness for days had he not asked you to stay at his place.

Sleeves rolled up to your forearms, you ran him a hot bath. He threw back that you should go in first. You insisted that he should after hearing him sneeze awhile ago, despite his efforts to muffle it down his elbow.

The both of you remained stubborn and indecisive about it until you proposed that you join him in the tub instead.

Shinichiro had seen you nude before – perhaps not quite enough the first time – and it wasn't like the thought of your bare skin never crossed his mind. It's just that you're always covered-up, swaddled in layers that it's perplexing to him what it's like to look at you naked.

He remembered how you would cage yourself around your arms because you felt too sensitive out in the open. You didn’t like it when your nipples got hard, when the old scars jagged along your body as mementos of survival and belligerent adolescence. He still chanced on stealing a glance at your tattoo; dark and intricate, coiled around your leg like a tether. It's the part of you that remained unchanged.

He hoped for it. The desire was selfish and ruthless and all-consuming that it could be its own dragon.

You weren't one for bold statements though he couldn't help but contemplate how you carried it with you under your suit after all these years. Contemplated how the needle must've hurt, the social repercussions even more so, stung with blood and loyalty, though you were intrepid through and through.

Warmth bloomed in his chest. It wasn't the sweltering heat from the bathwater, but the realization rippling out of him the moment you dipped into the tub, both of your bare legs rubbing underneath, squeezed into a different brand of intimacy: curated perfectly for couples, couples who were at that awkward, fragile verge of discovering each other without breaking apart from their gazes.

"Can you come closer?" he asked. "You look faraway from the other side of the tub."

Then you came to him like a wave. Everything about you washed over him, sudden and all at once.

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

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

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

You glanced at him under your dewy eyelashes, and when he asked if you hated him, you shook your head and leaned forward to embrace, your hair clinging like arteries on his damp chest, as you let him perch on your shoulder, his lips memorizing a freckle.

Shinichiro thought of the tattoo again, wondering if this was what it's like getting himself etched into your skin.

“How could you ask that, Shin?” you whispered back.

“I guess I’m just afraid.”

Despite his insistence to stay, you asked him to just wait for you in your bedroom, assuring him that it wouldn’t take long for you to collect his clothes from the dryer. He didn't turn on the lights and wearily dove into your covers, wet skin soaking through sheets, though he figured he smelled like you anyway as if that's enough to compensate for sprawling himself out naked and defenseless.

You found him like this later, clothes dumped on the dresser, towel discarded, as you climbed on top of him with the kind of languid grace that bordered to a sweet slowburn but he could tell that it's taking so much from you to not fuck him right there.

His hand was on your cheek, outstretched like he's still reaching for the moon, but it's just you and you're too considerate of him, placing a kiss on his palm. You didn't quite realize how much he felt like a beggar in that moment.

“I'll help you, if you let me.”

What he wanted to say was maybe, you should help yourself, then he'd laugh a little when the aggravation would chip away at you and he'd have to kiss it all better, or worse, didn’t matter which. He nodded. He needed you as your bodies met dripping, somewhere in the rain again, and your hair was akin to something like one and all the tangle of wild, disheveled emotions that hid the both of you from the world. 

"Your big sister wouldn't like you smoking in your room."

"You think I care about what she thinks with what I do in my room?"

"Yeah. A lot." Shinichiro peered at you from your pillow.

"That didn't stop us, though," you said after igniting your cigarette with his lighter.

His eyes watched the tendril of smoke lick up your jaw and the curve of your ear, studded with piercings. You forgot to remove them from the bath so he did it for you when he swept back your hair and you craned your head to him, sheets rustling below your bare waists in the shadow of early twilight.

He left the studs atop the dresser, losing relevance to him once he heard his name and you eclipsed everything, coaxing him to lie down on his back with a hand on his chest. Then a gentle stroke from his brow, a gentler coo, "are you feeling better?"  

Shinichiro closed his eyes and let himself drift from the pads of your fingers. The answer wasn't easy to read. He wanted you to ponder over him in circles. He's a lot needier when you granted him a reason to, but yes, he was feeling a bit better. Perhaps, you made him feel more that he'd draw your lips to him and suck the smoke inside your lungs to taint himself with the taste of your melancholia. Nicotine spared none of you from it.

"She's right, you know. Maybe you should stop smoking," he sighed out, a thread of smoke between breaths, his and yours.

"Stop talking about her," and the truth was he'd rather not talk about her at all, slipping his tongue in your mouth for a deeper conversation, one without words or pretense. Or the comfortable lies he’d tell himself to sleep and burn off with a cigarette in the morning.

The smolder of you turned him into a more honest man, even though his affections for you hadn't been a secret.

"I'll only stop when you do," you whispered.

Like that, you ended a conversation in the way you ended a fight.

You rendered him at a loss for words though he wasn't seeking to win and from a languorous stretch of movement, he reached you the ashtray himself. Then he smiled and remembered how it's so garish with the banana patterns on the dish that it stuck out in your room but you didn't mind purchasing it from the 100 Yen shop the other day, even though you didn't like to smoke here alone.

Something in the ashes would glow when extinguished; both of your fingers touching before you stole the ash tray from him and placed it somewhere on the floor, your outstretched arm shivering out goosebumps from the draft.

There's a small trickle from the windowsill puddling on the floor but you'd rather leave it like that than shut off everything again.

It's so quiet it hurts, so you had opened the window like a wound and the world wept.

A childhood framed in a window. The sole one you’d been gazing on for years, confessing that you didn’t really miss this room after you moved in and he wanted to ask you about it but faltered once your eyes fluttered shut, enjoying each other's presence in the cadence of the rain, awake.

It wasn’t a drowsy spell for you like how it was to him. Shinichiro had learned to adapt to the odd, irregular hours you slept, not quite meeting the other in time, even as it stood still the moment you overlapped him, a wave of warm, urging motion, and he was swimming in lazy endorphins as you spread out the comforter over the both of you, feet covered.

You didn't quite feel like a dream, achingly real and open like a door to this domicile that had been the size of your bodies.

Maybe you wouldn't believe him if he promised you that things would stay like this for the rest of your lives.

But he told you anyway, "I love you."

Exposition Corner:    

[1] Tanabata: a Japanese festival celebrated in the summertime as to commemorate the story of the two star-crossed lovers Orihime and Hikoboshi, who are only allowed to meet each other once a year as long as the skies are clear. A popular custom in Tanabata is writing wishes in a piece of colored paper (tanzaku) and hanging them on a bamboo branch.

[2] Segaiha: a wave pattern of layered concentric circles creating arches, symbolic of waves or water representing surges of good luck. It can also signify power and resilience. 

[3] Gareji Yago: this was actually the motor shop were Shinichiro worked at in the original timeline, and what I’m assuming before he got his shop (if Mikey’s accident didn’t happen). In here, I’m using this as the shop that’s owned by Yoneda, his boss/mentor I’ve referenced in the Bright Light series. 

[4] “[…] if Izana could make a home from the ashes of another and Manjiro was there to pick at its bones”: a reference to Kotsuage, a Japanese funeral ritual wherein family members gather around and pick up the bones of a deceased loved one together using special long chopsticks after the body is cremated. 

[5] “Because apparently parents cooked red rice for their daughters once they hit puberty […]”: to clarify, O-Sekihan, or red-colored rice cooked with Azuki beans, is usually prepared and eaten during auspicious occasions like New Year’s day or Coming-of-Age day. Regarding cooking red rice when a girl has her first period, it’s to celebrate puberty and there are some regions in Japan that still do it but serving sekihan isn’t as common for that as it is in festive celebrations.

In the context of the scene, please don’t think the red color of the rice is meant to represent period lol. It’s Emma misunderstanding it as a stupid joke and Shinichiro not being very good at explaining himself and being a bit misinformed (but he did what he did with well-meaning intentions!). 

[6] I love you: So Shinichiro actually said the unspeakable aishiteru [ 愛してる ], not to confuse it with daisuki [ 大好き ] which is more commonly used in confessing one's love (romantically) in Japanese. For my Non-Japanese speakers, this is just my tl;dr of these references [1] and [2] so I’ll try my best summarizing them!

Aishiteru does mean “I love you” but literally, it translates to “[I] am loving [you]”. 

“Loving” is written in the present continuous て-form as to emphasize the ongoing (ever-lasting) state of the feelings. It’s an expression to convey a serious and profound love that is only used in long-term relationships with a spouse and in rare, emotional occasions such as getting married or when someone is on their deathbed. It’s also hardly spoken to each other.

For cultural context, the Japanese are more reserved with their feelings. There are also many ways to express love but most of them are nonverbal. Conveying it isn’t usually spoken but rather acted on. The gist of it being the love for one another is mutually understood through actions and attentiveness without explicitly stating it.

Now with that said, I’ll leave how Shinichiro throwing the hard L-bomb at MC to everyone’s interpretation. (I’d actually love to read all of your thoughts on it if you’d like to share them with me! <3).

a/n: god, I really hope the way I write shinichiro's decisions and emotional trauma makes sense. no, nothing is resolved here. shin and izana (as well as inui) are still in non-speaking terms :’((((

part ten ❁ m.list ❁ part twelve 

[inariizaki]

ENOUGH — DAIKICHI K.

sypnosis : you kinda feel guilty when seeing your boyfriend visit you every single day, and knowing you can't do the same because of your current state. but karube reassures you, that it's fine.

tags : INCLUDES AIB SEASON 2 SPOILERS. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. MENTIONS CHARACTER DEATH, AND BLOOD. TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF. might include typos. not proofreaded.

note : haii ! i'm sorry this took long! i was facing writer block right now, and i still have unfinished outputs to finish, so this is rushed. i'm really sorry!

many chaos happened before and after the tokyo meteorite occured. many buildings were destroyed. it also took the life of karube and arisu's friend, chota.

you were glad you and karube, and even your family, survived.

1 week after the tokyo metiorite chaos, your wounds were healing, but it was still not okay.

but as for karube, he was able to do the normal things he do back then, but he still wasn't okay. he was just close to being okay.

and you were soo jealous, and you felt kinda guilty too. since you couldn't check him up because of your state right now.

you were laying at the hospital bed, staring at the lifeless wall. looking at it blankly.

being alone in this room is indeed, boring. you hoped for karube to visit you, but just thinking about it, you can't help but to feel a little bit of guilt. you hated how karube was the one who needed to always check up on you when your parents couldn't be there to visit you. you hated it. you wish you could do the same. you wished that you could reciprocate the things he does for you, but you couldn't. since your wounds were too bad. but you appreciate it. you appreciate the thing he's done to you.

but little did you knew, just a kiss and a hug from you, is okay for karube. he thinks, you don't have to try and do the same as he does, because as long as he sees you're happy, and you care for what he does, he's fine.

the sound of the door opening made you jump. since it was really quiet in this room, and the air that wss coming from the air conditioner was the only thing that could be heard.

you turned your head to the door, only to see karube, with your favorite sweets. and you couldn't help but to smile at him cheekily.

“ what's all of this? what's the occasion? ” you asked, earning a chuckle from your boyfriend.

“ there's actually no occasion, love. it's just, i wanted to buy you these, since i know you love them. ” he says, which made you roll your eyes at him playfully.

you pout, “ no. i love you more than those sweets. ”

he sighed, “ i know. ”

you sit up to began eating the sweets that karube buyed for you, but before you could touch the sweets, karube nuzzled his face on your neck.

you chuckle, “ whaat? ”

“ nothingg. i just missed youu. ” he says. his face still nuzzling on your neck.

“ i missed you too. ” you said as you began caressing his shoulders slowly.

“ say, karube, ” you paused. hesitating if you should tell him or not. while karube, lets out a confused hum.

“ well, does it bother you...when you visit me? ” you asked, which makes karube lift his face, and look at you.

“ what made you ask that? ” he looks at you, tilting his head.

“ well, nothing. i just think that it's a bother that you have to visit me here every single day. i kinda feel guilty cause i....i can't go visit you like you do to me. and i feel like, i need to go and do the same thing. ” you explained.

“ my love, visiting you will never be a bother to me. i love seeing you everyday here. and knowing that you're getting better every single day, eases me. and you don't have to do the same thing. because seeing you happy whenever i do these things for you, makes me happy. it's enough seeing your smile, for me. it will always be enough. ” he says, caressing you cheeks.

“ i love you. ” he says, before kissing you passionately.

the kiss didn't last long, but it was romantic. you felt like you were in a romantic movie when karube kissed you.

“ i love you more than you think. ” you said, before pinching his cheeks.

he chuckles, “ you really love pinching my cheeks, don't you? ”

“ yeah. ” you nod, before pinching his cheeks again.

[sswirlicuee]

My Hero Academia: The Movie You’re Next & World Heroes’ Mission Review

I went to see MHA : You’re Next and just got out of the cinema. Today is the first day of its release where I live. I’ve been meaning to write a review of the most recent theatrical release (‘Movie’ from here on), World Heroes’ Mission for a while, so I guess I’ll combine them together here.

Before going into the review, I’d like to first outline the structure of a typical movie adaptation of major action Anime franchises (e.g. One Piece, Bleach, Naruto etc.) These adaptations follow similar patterns : there is an Incident, which is caused by Movie!Villains, and which somehow involves Movie!Allies. The main cast, usually the Lead Character, will team up with Movie!Allies to defeat Movie!Villains in order to restore peace. Usually, these adapted universes will not have an impact canon timeline, but can occur as a result of canonical events. It is important to note that the seiyuus behind Movie!Villains and Movie!Allies significantly influenced the plot, namely the nature of the Incident. It is also my personal theory that the production companies created the Movie around whichever seiyuus/celebrities were rising in their career at the moment, since they are the major factor in the success of its release.

For someone who prides myself in being a lover of adaptations, I will say this : all theatrical adaptations are boring because they are predictable. They obsessively follow this same structure without deviation. Any creativity was limited within these frames. I wish the production companies would come up with a new pattern already. The only entertaining factor then, for me, is how the plot evolves within these constraints.

Thus, I’ll analyse these 2 Movies based on the portrayals of the following elements : 1) Movie!Villains & Movie!Allies ; 2) the recurring cast and 3) the Incident.

Should I even put a spoiler alert tag? I mean, we all know how it ends. But well, for etiquette’s sake, here it is : SPOILERS BELOW.

Movie!Villains & Movie!Allies

WHM : 

Ally - Rody (CV : Yoshizawa Ryo. Yes, the actor), 

Villain - I forgot his name (CV : Nakai Kazuya. That’s Zoro and Hijikata-san for you.)

YN : 

Allies - Giulio (CV: Miyano Mamoru) & Anna (CV: Nukumi Meru. Who is this girl, I’ve never heard of her before?) 

Villain - Dark Might - (CV : Miyake Kenta, also the voice of All Might)

YN is a typical love story with a happy ending. I understand why they cast Mamo. When I first saw the announcement, I even went ‘Wow!… but why Mamo?’. Mamo gave his Tokiya-type performance, namely the cold yandere character. It’s not bad, of course. It’s just what you’d expect of Mamo. However, it didn’t really add any value either. Any newcomers could have done an equally good job (for the billing of fewer zeros as well, I’d assume). Maybe they cast Mamo only for promotional purposes? I don't think that's the case though, considering the popularity of the existing cast... The casting for the female Ally, however, was a very interesting choice. Apparently she’s a rising model and talent. I quite enjoyed her performance. She brought something fresh to the performance of household names. I did feel fed up with the damsel in distress plot though, and I wish she’d have more lines. Such a waste of potential. As for Dark Might, I kind of understand if what they were trying to do was make homage to Miyake Kenta. But wait, he wasn’t that senior in the Japanese show biz either… I don’t know, now.

WHM was probably one of my most favourite theatrical adaptations across franchises in recent years, mostly because of the casting of Yoshizawa Ryo. I’m a big Ryo fan, sue me. I think the casting choice was very interesting. One of rare celebrity casting in Movie history. And a very successful one at that, I’d say. Rody has remained one of the well-loved non-canon characters by fans even to this date, judging from fan engagements on Pixiv and other media. Bones really made the right move with this casting, honestly. Which was why I was a bit surprised when they went back to casting a big-name seiyuu like Mamo for WHM’s successor. They could have done better… Or maybe that was why they cast the model girl? Anyways… Rody’s character was very fun, and I think it fit Ryo’s acting. And when Rody’s quirk was revealed, I was like, now that’s awesome! More on this under ‘the Incident’.

Nakai-san’s casting was more likely an honorary role, I think. He didn’t degrade nor improve the villain character. I only recognized his voice upon my rewatch, though. Maybe I hadn't been paying enough attention? But I have to say, this Nakai villain was really hard to defeat. Or maybe because Izuku was up against him alone? When Dark Might was defeated by Izuku, Shoto and Bakugo, I was like, that’s it? Why was he so easy to defeat? Nakai-san took like hours to go down.

The recurring cast

I suppose there is no need to list them out here — we already know them.

So in both YN and WHM, the spotlight was mainly on Izuku, which was typical of Movie adaptations. I have to say that I enjoyed his interaction with Rody more than Giulio though. Maybe because of the road trip, which was very gay? I have to say I really enjoyed the Portuguese setting in WHM more than the Italian setting in YN, as well (also me: currently living in Paris). And I liked how they sequenced the battle cuts for Bakugo and Shoto in WHM. Their fights were very passionate, even if the big three didn’t manage to get to fight alongside one another. In YN, it was just Shoto mostly getting pulled around by Izuku’s Black Whip. Like, Shoto baby, what’s going on!? Get your shit together already! Just kidding. I love you my baby Shoto. Also, I like how Endeavour, being the No.1 hero, had stepped up and took the wheel in WHM. In YN he was mostly delegated to supporting All Might and the mission.

One thing has been bugging me: what happen to Be-san in these Movies!? Bones, what on earth is going on? Why didn’t you let Eraserhead say a line at least!? In WHM, even Present Mic (CV: Yoshino) managed to get 1 line in. Be-san didn’t appear in any of these Movies. Although Be-san is not my main, I’d really like to understand why.

The Incident

WHM : some guy (CV: Nakai Kazuya) decided to terrorize the world with science. Honestly I already forgot the plot.

YN : some Italian mafia guy who was obsessed with All Might decided to become him (‘Dark Might’) and terrorize the world.

To be honest, the Incidents are very insignificant. They’re interchangeable and just something that brings elements #1 and #2 together. The last Incident in recent theatrical adaptations that left an impression on me was One Piece Film Red. I really liked how they confronted Shank’s daughter to the recurring cast. However, the execution was mediocre. So as a theatrical release, OP Film Red was more or less on par with the rest of any Movie adaptations, that is, unmemorable. But I digress here.

In YN, there’s this girl Anna, who had Quirk-enhancement quirk. She was usually together with her butler Giulio, who got recruited because he had Quirk-suppression quirk. (Ah, a match made in heaven…) Somehow she got abducted by this random mafia guy who had Alchemy quirk, and who intended to use her as amplifier for him and his army. The mafia guy used her power and transformed himself into Dark Might. The Good Guys™ managed to rescue her eventually, thanks to the help of our recurring cast. In the end, Anna and Giulio both lost their quirks (I think?), but decided to stick together anyways.

Now, my only gripe about this is: they could have embellished several aspects of this Movie. For example, they could have made it an outright love story. Since it is a love story, after all. Giulio’s prosthetics were another thing they could have worked with more. I really liked the imagery of Giulio, who had lost so much, but who still dragged his semi-handicapped body to go after Anna. And Anna shouldn’t have been reduced to a typical damsel in distress waiting to be rescued either. Give her more agency, man! She really had cute design and promising voice actress. The assets were all there. 

Also, there was the question of the clash of ideologies. Our main three each managed to get a line in on this subject, but the film could have expanded on this further. That said, I found a lot of similarities between Dark Might and Movie!Villain in One Piece Film Gold (what’s his name again? Grand Tresoro?) Wait — I went and looked him up. Couldn’t believe that the voice of Gild Tesoro was Sakurai, what on earth… — their design, motivations, and goals were very similar. They even used gold coins as weapons. Giulio and Anna didn’t have anything to say about this ideological clash either. Did it not concern them, their living in Italy and not Japan? Theirs was a personal struggle, which had nothing really to do with the Incident, except Anna happening to possess the quirk that Dark Might needed.

As for WHM — a shameful waste of potential. Bones had created truly awesome Ally and Villain in Rody and Nakai-san. But the way they told the story kind of ruined it. Rody and Nakai-Villain were polar opposites, a mirror image of each other. The Villain — whose name I couldn’t be bothered to look up. I only remember that he had blue face — was born with a quirk that repelled everything around him. His quirk was also autonomous, meaning he couldn’t turn it off no matter what he tried… As a result, he couldn’t receive hugs and kind touches from his loved ones, among other things, which made him a bit psychotic. As such, he felt isolated from the rest of the world, and ended up wanting to dominate it. As his polar opposite, Rody was born with a quirk that he was understandbly ashamed of and a quite useless one at that… the bird Pino, which would always express his true emotions. Like the Villain’s, his was similarly autonomous. The nature of Rody’s quirk was revealed towards the end of the Movie, in a cut where Izuku reminisced and said something along the line of ‘Isn’t it amazing, your quirk being not being able to lie?’ Along with this revelation, the Villain’s origin story was also shown. Both the Ally and the Villain had quirks which they had no control over. It also raised the following question : would they rather not have quirks at all, than to have the quirks that they were born with? It was Izuku who broke through their walls and made them appreciate what they had, in one way or another. And the most meaningful thing was the fact that Izuku, the one who led them towards the answer, was quirkless to begin with. I called it a shameful waste of potential, because the studio could have confronted Rody against the Villain directly and highlighted these problematics. That said, Rody remained my favourite Moive!Ally of all times. Firstly, because of Ryo. But most importantly: in a world where most people are born with special abilities, capable of amazing things, you alone are not being able to lie and have to live with this fact. Isn't that beautiful?

WHM had so much potentials. It could have turned out better, more memorable, becoming a breakthrough even, if not for its structural contraints. However, Bones did what they could within these limitations, and still managed to deliver something captivating. After seeing YN, I’m quite relieved that it didn’t manage to top WHM (at least for me), but also disappointed, that the studio went back to their preconceived formula again. To conclude, YN was just your average shonen theatrical adaptation, no more, no less.

Also, Burger King France did a MHA collab this autumn. Here's their goodies!