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eoieopda · 5 days ago

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triple-dog dare | lsm

“Bambi.”

The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario.

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

pairing: lee seokmin x reader summary: when you're left off the guest list to seokmin's parent's thirtieth anniversary party, you're content to keep your questions to yourself and stay home. seokmin, on the other hand, is not content. in fact, he pulls the one card he knows will always win. au: childhood best friends to lovers genre: fluff, angst, smut type: one-shot rating: 18+ only. minors do not have my consent to interact. wc: 13k cw: pov switches, complicated sibling dynamics (seokmin’s), there is in fact one (1) bed, halmonis gone wild, stupid childhood nicknames, fingering (v), oral sex (m receiving), multiple orgasms, implied penetrative sex (p in v). reader notes: afab, uses she/her pronouns, wears a dress/heels to the party, is implicitly an only child. the setting is intentionally ambiguous, so she's not implicitly korean and/or asian. there are no descriptions of body shape/size, complexion, etc. a/n: thank you to the incomparable @daechwitatamic for beta-ing this! it's been a long damn time since i've written anything, so this might not have seen the light of day without jo, the hype-man. on that note, i suck at summaries; just read the fic, lmao. svt masterlist. svt permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist.

For being the walking disaster that he is, there have been shockingly few moments in Lee Seokmin’s life where he’s needed to shove his oversized foot into his oversized mouth.

Prior to the incident at your apartment, the last time he’d embarrassed himself like this was when he’d asked his oldest sister, Soyeon, in earnest whether or not she was pregnant, only to learn that she was just bloated; and he’s just an ass.

To your credit, you’re far from cruel when he slips up, but that almost makes it worse. You visibly deflate when he asks his well-intentioned but ill-fated question, rather than letting him have it the way his two siblings would have done.

The day in question went like this:

He asked, “Did you reserve your room yet for the 31st? If not, we can double up. It’ll be a lot cheaper.”

And you blinked, stunned like you’d been slapped. “Have I what?”

It dawned on you both at that moment that, for whatever reason, his parents’ thirtieth anniversary party was in fact news to you. Two things then happened at once: you tried to hide your surprise and the twinge of pain that comes with being excluded; and he racked his stupid brain to find any explanation for why you had to feel either one of those things.

The best option he found was to gently toss his middle sister, Seonmi, under the metaphorical bus.

“Seonmi’s been working on something special for them. You know how she gets,” he waved dismissively. “So obsessed with finding the perfect napkins — ” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “— and creating custom cocktails, that she misses the forest for the trees.”

You didn’t look convinced. Likewise, you didn’t look any less uncomfortable.

Fuck.

“I’m sure it was an honest mistake.” To drive his point home, he reached from his spot on your couch to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. “I have a plus-one, so it’s not like it’ll be a logistical problem. You belong there as much as we do.”

And he meant it, wholeheartedly.

All his life, the running joke has been that Soonyi and Minseok Lee have four kids: two biological daughters, a younger son, and his otherwise unrelated twin, who spent more time sleeping on his top bunk than in her own home next door.

The way he saw it — and the way he’s sure his parents would see it — is that no family gathering is complete without you. That’s a hill he’d die on if need be.

You shifted in your seat, which caused his hand to slip off your knee, whether or not you meant for it to happen. Glancing uneasily out your window, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, mumbling, “I don’t know…”

Seokmin frowned. You didn’t see it, though, and therefore weren’t moved by it. Instead, you cycled through your anxious thoughts at high velocity. If he was still touching you, he’d be worried that your sparking brain might catch him on fire.

“What if it’s not a mistake? I mean, what if it’s a couples thing?”

He couldn’t even classify these questions as rhetorical because he wasn’t meant to hear them in the first place. Though you asked out loud, each one of them was for your ears only. From his half of the couch — miles away — his frown deepened, unbeknownst to you.

“You know, Seonmi follows me on Instagram; she’d know that Kai and I broke up a few months ago. Maybe she doesn’t want me to feel awkward? Even if I went, and I didn’t feel weird about that, her expecting it to be weird might make it weird, right?”

Fuck.

You’d spiral all day if Seokmin didn’t stop you. As much as he loves how thoughtful you are, he knows better than most that you have a tendency to take it too far, inflicting that relentless consideration on yourself until it wounds.

“Bambi.”

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

Begrudgingly, you’d conceded, just like Seokmin hoped you would. You sat with him while he figured out travel plans to the mountain resort, helped him visualize what the hell he needed to wear to an event like this. When the time came, you sent him half the cost for the room he booked, even though he repeatedly insisted that you didn’t need to chip in.

Now, that unsolicited sum sits untouched in his Venmo balance. You sit next to him on the night train out of town.

Sit, he thinks, is a bit of an understatement. You’re barely upright, so exhausted from your work day that his shoulder and side are bearing most of your weight. His arm went from tingling to numb an hour ago, but Seokmin doesn’t mind. There isn’t a burden he wouldn’t carry for you, up to and including you yourself.

Besides, he’s not worse off for being left to his own devices. In fact, he keeps himself thoroughly entertained by taking selfies of the pair of you. The aftermath will stay securely in his camera roll — largely because you’d kill him if you saw how squishy your face is, pressed against his coat, or how your little pout trembles slightly, almost as if you’re trying to talk through your sleep — but he still finds it worth the risk. This mochi-cheeked version of you is one of his favorites.

When Seokmin has amassed enough silly photos to comprise a dossier, he tucks his phone back into his pocket with a self-satisfied smile. You’re still out cold, so you don’t stir at his subtle movements or the sound of the concession trolley rattling your way down the aisle.

The girl manning said trolley is significantly outweighed by the thing itself. She hardly looks old enough to have graduated high school, he figures, and he can’t imagine how it is that she’s working at this hour — or how she got stuck doing this job, when it takes all she’s got to maneuver the giant metal contraption through all the train cars.

“Anything, sir?” She asks politely, albeit slightly out-of-breath.

Even though she’s speaking to him, her gaze is directed squarely at his hat, leading him to believe that she may also be too shy for her job. Nonetheless, it’s been two entire hours since his dinner, and he’s on the brink of starving to death, so he coughs up a few bills in exchange for several different snacks.

She could do him the kindness of assuming his massive pile of food is for sharing, but she doesn’t. She gestures to you and whispers, “Anything for your —?”

Seokmin intercepts the question, knowing exactly where it’s headed: in the same direction as the million others like it that he’s heard over the years.

“— parole officer?” He supplies with a smile, “No, this nap is fueled by a lot of crab rangoon. She’ll be out for the duration, I fear.”

Both halves of his response seem to stun her, which means he has to cover his inevitable laugh with a fake cough.

This bit of yours will truly never get old, although the implications that prompt it did a long time ago. It was a stroke of genius on your part, dodging inaccurate references to your relationship status by offering up something too absurd to converse around.

“You two make such a cute couple,” an Uber driver once told you.

“He’s not in a relationship,” you’d politely corrected him. “He’s in witness protection. I’m duty-bound to keep him and his identity safe.”

The silence turns awkward, so Seokmin thanks the girl and gives her a smile he hopes says, “you’re allowed to run away from me now; I won’t take it personally.” She bows her head a little too eagerly, then skitters off with a grimace, like she pulled something in her neck.

Alone again with you, he wiggles gently upright in his seat so that you can rest more comfortably against his pectoral, rather than his shoulder bone. Even though you’re still asleep, Seokmin swears he hears a quiet mmpfh, as if you’re expressing gratitude. He bites his lips to keep from smiling, knowing that smiling in your proximity is one step away from laughter: the only thing you’ve never been able to sleep through.

Instead of giving into the urge, he murmurs, “You should get paid royalties whenever we use that joke. Being as smart as you are should pay off.”

Now, he knows he’s not simply hearing things because you’re just barely loud enough to overcome your own mumbling.

“Agreed,” you sigh on an exhale before slipping to sleep off again.

“Well?”

There are two beats between his first question and his next: the unfilled gap you’ve left in the conversation and the cab’s trunk shutting firmly. “‘s that cool with you?”

Seokmin stares at you, staring at him. His expression is soft, like your lack of responsiveness is something to be fond of, rather than annoyed by. It’s unexpectant, too, leaving the door wide open.

You blink. “Sorry — I — What did you say?”

Hitting him when he least expects it, you shift your suitcase from your dominant hand so you can gesture properly to the bright, poorly crocheted bucket hat flopping over his forehead. “It’s a bit hard to hear you. That hat is so loud.”

His quizzically raised eyebrows drop in an instant. Likewise, that airy smile of his flattens into a straight line.

Bullseye.

“Is it me that you hate?” He asks, tone dead serious as he points his finger towards his own chest. “Or is it the very concept of whimsy?”

You’re too busy biting back a grin to protest when, without being asked, Seokmin reaches out and takes the handle of your suitcase into his own hand, as well as the garment bag you’d draped over your arm. Before turning away to abscond with both sets of luggage in addition to his own, he shoots you an incredulous look. It dissolves entirely before his face even disappears from view.

“This is an objectively delightful hat,” he mutters, nonetheless, in furtherance of the bit.

He spots a member of hotel staff standing on the sidewalk directly outside the hotel’s double doors and pleads his case to them. “She made me this hat, you know,” he announces, gesturing back to you with a nod.

The valet’s uniform hat casts a shadow under the lamplight, but it doesn’t do enough to hide the expression on their face. It is abundantly clear — even in the dark — that they didn’t hear a single word Seokmin said before he offered up that bit of trivia, seemingly apropos of nothing. They muster up a customer-service smile that doesn’t reach their eyes and tell him it’s a wonderful hat. Meanwhile, you roll your eyes from behind because nothing either of them just said is true.

That hat is the byproduct of delusions of grandeur and innumerable skeins of color-conflicting yarn. You made it for yourself, believing that you were the kind of cute and kitschy person who could pull it off; and inconsolable weeping Christ, were you wrong. It was — no, is — your greatest fiber arts failure.

Frankenstein’s floral monster would be in a secondhand shop somewhere if you’d had any say in the matter. It isn’t because you didn’t. Seokmin “rescued” it from the “to donate” pile on your bedroom floor. Since then, he’s worn it at every — public — opportunity, season be damned.

Admittedly, he’s exactly the kind of cute and kitschy person who can pull it off, but you’ve decided out of sheer pettiness to keep that appraisal to yourself.

You take your time catching up to him, both because his long legs make it hard to keep pace; and because the room is reserved under his name. After all, he’s the welcomed guest, not the reluctant party-crasher. The receptionist is already handing him a white keycard when you finally reach the desk. Seokmin holds it up between his index and middle fingers, closed-eye grin sparkling in a matching shade of ivory.

Though the journey up to your shared room is long, the real trip is being confined to an elevator with mirrors for walls.

No matter how hard you try to avert your eyes, you manage to keep finding some new, horrible angle of your stale, post-train state. It’s torture. Three versions of you stare back with deep, dark undereye circles; and all you can think about is how dull your complexion is — especially in comparison to Seokmin, who may as well be bioluminescent with the way he glows from the inside out.

It’s joy, you know, his primary state of being and something he radiates like no other. He’s happy to be here, happy that you’re here, and happy to be happy. Whether or not he means it to be, it’s infectious. Now, you feel yourself starting to smile, too.

Despite your quiet observation, you must have missed him looking at you. Seemingly out of nowhere, he carefully sets down your belongings, raises his now-empty hand, and cups the right side of your jaw. Unaware that you’ve frozen solid, he swipes his thumb carefully over your cheek, tilting his own head to the side and frowning.

“I got you bad, huh?”

You blink.

“The zipper on my coat,” he explains, laughing. “Looks like it took a bite out of you when you used me as a pillow on the train.”

For reasons you can’t possibly explain, the only word to roll off your tongue is a sheepish, “Sorry.”

For a second, Seokmin is just as confused as you are about whether you’re needlessly apologizing to him or his coat. He chuckles quietly at how easily distracted you both are, then he gets back to the point: “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

Your response comes unnaturally quick. Your pulse does, too, when you finally make eye contact with him. After clearing your throat, you give him a half-hearted smile, ignoring whatever medical event you seem to be experiencing. “I didn’t know it was there until now.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then rescinds his hand. You watch in silence while he re-encumbers himself with your luggage and turns back to face the elevator doors, which open almost immediately.

Seokmin steps out easily, like the weight of your respective burdens doesn’t mean a thing. “I’d say this way, please, but I’ve already forgotten the room number,” he admits with a sheepish laugh. “The keycard’s in my pocket.”

You take his cue and reach into the front, right pocket of his coat for the keycard. As soon as you see the room number, you snort.

“You booked room number 218 because that’s your birthday, and then… what? You forgot your own birthday?”

“I’m deeply flawed.” He sighs, put-upon. “Now, let’s go, Bambi. It feels like you packed a week’s worth of bricks.”

There’s no time to point out that you never asked him to carry your suitcase or bag for you in the first place. Likewise, there’s no opportunity to ask exactly how many bricks is a week’s worth. He’s on the move again before you can blink, energy evident in each step regardless of how late it is.

Once again, you follow Seokmin’s lead. Despite the signage, which is clearly visible on the wall, he walks confidently in the wrong direction, prompting you to grab him gently by the elbow and steer him the opposite way. His smile doesn’t falter; he plays it off as if he was just testing how closely you’re paying attention.

It takes several turns down several additional hallways before the pair of you reach your target. When you come to room 218, you tap the keycard against the reader, causing the lock to click open. You turn the handle, push the door open into the room, and step awkwardly out of the way so your personal bellhop can get by.

“This is what I was trying to tell you when you so viciously insulted my favorite accessory.” Seokmin nods his head towards the center of the room. “All of the rooms Seonmi included in the reservation block have a king-sized bed — singular. The rooms outside the block are criminally overpriced for ski season.”

It’s far from the first time you’ve doubled up, so you shrug. “Just like old times, right? Like, when you thought your house was haunted, and you forced your way into the top bunk with me?”

“First of all,” he says as he sets both of your suitcases down and places one hand on his hip, the other pointing at you. “We were six.”

After locking the door behind you, you toe off your shoes, smirking at him from over your shoulder. “What’s your second point?”

“It was haunted —” He insists. Then his stern expression melts into something smug, the way it always does when he’s about to blatantly rewrite history. “— and you asked me to come up there because you were scared.”

A laugh slips out of you automatically, but you selflessly decide to let him have this. Crossing to him, you pat him on the bicep, patronizingly simpering all the while, “You are the brave one.”

Even though you’re both cowards, and he knows it, he pockets this little victory with a pleased hum and a grin.

Turning away from him, you make a beeline for the closet area near the door. There, you shuck off your coat and hang it up, out of the way. While you do, Seokmin passes you both your garment bag and his. From there, the pair of you work in efficient silence: you, pulling your respective formal wear from their bags and smoothing out any wrinkles; him, tucking away your extensive collection of toiletries in the bathroom.

When everything is in its place, you turn back around and notice for the first time how beautiful the room actually is. Though the shades of the floor-to-ceiling windows are almost completely drawn, the snow-covered mountains are at least partially visible through the gap in fabric. If you had the time, you’d spend all day tomorrow sitting on the forest green, velvet chaise directly in front of the window, staring at frosty peaks so massive, they feel close enough to touch.

To your right, an electric fireplace heats the room, while a portrait-framed television hovers on the wall above the mantle, flipping through famous artworks as a screensaver. In between flashes of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms and Klimt’s The Kiss, you catch a glimpse of Seokmin’s smile reflecting on the black screen.

Awestruck, you turn to him and sigh, “Don’t let me get used to this.”

He jerks his thumb to his right, gesturing towards the bathroom. “Don’t judge me if I steal one of the bathrobes. They’re probably more expensive than half the shit in my apartment.”

“I won’t, but they’ll bill you for it when they figure it out,” you warn him. “On that note, do you need to shower or anything before I start my skincare side quest?”

Seokmin shakes his head, causing the crocheted abomination to flop. “All yours. My hair’ll get weird if I don’t deal with it tomorrow before we head out.”

And with that mental image of his insurmountable cowlick, you quickly grab your pajamas and shuffle off towards the bathroom.

The first few seconds after you close the door are spent gawking at the insanely intricate, geometric tile pattern in the walk-in shower. Thinking of how much time it must’ve taken to lay each one of them, you set to work on your own tedious task: your ten-step regimen of cleansers, toners, serums, and moisturizers. Seokmin says otherwise, but you don’t think any of them truly make a difference. As stupid as you know it is, the routine itself is therapeutic, even if your skin is no more bouncy and glowy than it was before.

When it’s all said and done, you emerge from the bathroom to find your best friend stretched out on the half of the bed nearest the door with his eyes fixed on his phone screen. It’s the side of the room he always chooses, claiming that it’s to protect you from any intruders, but you know the truth: he’s too much of a freeze baby to sleep near the window, and he knows you like it cold.

“Feeling refreshed?” He mumbles to the best of his ability; his sweatshirt hood is pulled up and drawn so tightly that it squishes his cheeks and chin, restricting his movement.

Chuckling quietly as you go, you pad over to your half of the bed and slip under the comforter. Like a moth to a flame, the other occupant sends his last text, tosses his phone to the side, and scoots closer to you, eager to siphon whatever extra body heat he can. His head winds up on your shoulder, while your cheek rests against the top of his head.

“Before you tell me that I look it, I’d encourage you to stare long into the abyss that is my under-eye circles.”

When he laughs, it’s merely a puff of air from his nose. “You never look as tired as you feel,” he says distractedly, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “Pretty miraculous, given how little sleep you get.”

That comment warms you up so thoroughly, you wonder if he can feel it. Then, you wonder if that was the point. You intend to tease him for that, but then it dawns on you how fidgety he’s being. It’s rare for him.

“You okay, Thumper?”

It feels silly, using that nickname after so long. Your clumsiness stuck around for the ride, continuing Bambi into perpetuity; but he grew out of his companion name when he hit puberty, and his giant feet were suddenly proportional to the rest of him.

He’s certainly no bunny, nor is he a child, but the low ebb of anxiety rolling off of him reminds you of the scared little neighbor boy you used to know. It fits, even if it is silly.

At first, Seokmin begins his explanation without peeling his gaze off his restless fingers. “Apparently, Seungcheol and Mingyu are in town.” Then, his eyes slowly lift up to find you peering down at him. “They want to meet up to go snowboarding before we leave.”

Ah.

There it is: the top-secret look in his eye that only you can decipher. The one he’s been practicing for years, at your insistence, for moments like this, when he needs to be talked into something. When he needs to be brave and avoid missing out on something he’d love, solely because it freaks him out.

You respond the same way you always have; the way you once pinky-promised you always would: “I triple-dog dare you.”

He sighs deeply, neither fully resigned nor relieved, but then he nods. His head knocks slightly against your shoulder as he does. “I’ll do it.”

And that’s that; it’s settled.

Or so you think.

A beat passes in silence, until Seokmin suddenly pipes up again, “But you’re going to have to hold my hand on the chair lift, or I’ll pass out and fall to my death.”

“Deal.”

You grab his hand now in consideration of your promise and scratch affectionately at his palm. Surprisingly, his thoughts haven’t made him clammy. His skin is even softer than usual, likely due to the expensive hotel lotion he’s undoubtedly now harboring in his suitcase. Tongue firmly in cheek, you look at him sideways.

“Just — leave the hat in your suitcase, okay? The snow will be blinding enough.”

Seokmin’s been dressed and ready for at least thirty minutes, but you’re still standing exactly where you have been for the last forty-five. Face pinched, you turn this way and that in front of the mirror, smoothing fabric that’s already wrinkle-free, apparently for the hell of it.

“I’m oh-for-three.” Your exasperated sigh is punctuated by your bare, right foot stomping on the carpet. It doesn’t make the impact you likely hope it will, at least sonically. It does, however, speak volumes about how close to the ledge you are.

“All of them looked good,” he says earnestly. “I think this one is my favorite, though, if that means anything.”

Apparently, this is the wrong answer. Your wild-eyed gaze lifts from your own reflection until you’re staring him dead in the eye through the mirror.

“Why did I even pack this?” You ask, “Do you see this?”

Suddenly, you lift a manicured hand to point at your neckline, from which he’d admittedly been averting his eyes. “This is too much cleavage for a family function, isn’t it?”

As quickly as you glanced at him in the first place, you go right back to fussing with your dress, thankfully missing the way he swallows thickly.

Fuck, now he’s staring — but you’re the one that made him look in the first place — and he can feel heat rising to ears, a dead giveaway. His sudden silence does enough to communicate his struggle. He has no idea how to respond without vaulting over the boundaries of your friendship.

Is it hot in here?

Deciding to rely on his usual tactic, he jokes his way out.

“If you think I’ll ever side against tiddie…” He forces a grimace, shaking his head gravely. “Then you really don’t know me at all.”

You laugh loudly, and whatever one-sided tension filled the room snaps like a twig. Better still, the smile you give him stays on your face while you reassess your dress. Seokmin takes it as a personal victory that you commit to his choice, rather than cycle back through your options for the second time.

While this means that you’ll both be able to hit the open bar sooner rather than later, the biggest upside is that he no longer has to keep excusing himself to the bathroom so you can change again, and again, and again.

You finish up quickly, tossing on jewelry, and then turn to him. His shoulder keeps you steady while you slip into your devilishly high heels. Seokmin pays them little mind now, however; his attention is drawn to the accessories you’ve chosen. Sure, they match perfectly with the rest of your outfit, but that’s not what strikes him. It’s the fact that everything you’ve picked was gifted to you by his parents at one point or another.

Unable to stop himself, he reaches out and gently taps on one of your dangling earrings. “Eighteenth birthday,” he muses to himself.

Then, both his gaze and his hand lower to your necklace. He skims his fingertip along the delicate, gold chain, inadvertently making you freeze up. “Christmas 2019?”

You shake your head slightly, though it barely counts as movement.

“Ah,” Seokmin corrects himself. “2020.”

Sensing that he’s somehow made you uncomfortable, he reels himself back in and clears his throat. “Shall we?” He asks, furnishing you with a bent arm to loop yours through.

You take his cue, link your arm to his, and sigh, “I suppose we shall.”

The walk to the elevator is quiet, in that neither one of you says a thing. Seokmin can hear the gears in your head turning, though, without any conversation to drown them out.

You step inside that glorified, mirrored box; and for a few minutes, he lets you work through the thing he knows ruined your sleep last night. That is, until he hears your breathing come a little quicker than usual.

“Hey.”

It was supposed to be a jumping off point. He was going to go from there and reiterate that you belong here with him. The plan was to reassure you for as long as it takes to get you to believe it, but you look up at him almost helplessly, and his Etch-a-Sketch brain is wiped clean in an instant.

The very best he can do is smile and offer a single word: “Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes twinkling.

Your plagued frown curves slightly back in the right direction. The creeping shroud of doom lightens, if only a little bit.

“That’ll do, pig.” You swat his arm, but he says it again, emphatically, “That’ll do.”

Halfway through you scolding him for quoting Babe at a time like this, the elevator door reopens, ready to regurgitate the pair of you out onto the ballroom level.

Unlike the lobby, which sits only one floor below, this floor looks like it was ripped straight from the pages of a fantasy novel. Everywhere he turns, there’s something new — and vaguely elven — to look at. Fairy lights hang in perfectly spaced arches from the lofted ceiling, delicately illuminating the exposed, wooden beams above. The chandeliers — plural — are crafted out of antlers of some kind, cutting between rugged and highly refined.

As stunning as it all is, Seokmin’s mind snags on a single conclusion. You’re the one who voices it, though, much to his surprise.

“This is the most Seonmi thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you whisper to him, all without taking your eyes off the extravagance in front of you. “Is this a dress rehearsal for her wedding next year?”

He bites down on his lips hard to keep his laughter to himself. Of course, you’re dead on. Nothing about this space feels like his parents, who are supposed to be the sole focus of this entire event. He already found it odd that they agreed to such a big to-do in the first place — especially when it would require their loved ones to go out of their way, literally and financially — but this is….

“Am I being petty, or is this kind of… selfish?”

Petty, no.

Psychic? Probably.

“You’re right, and you should say it.” Seokmin nods and withdraws his arm from yours so that he can drape it properly around your shoulder. “This way to the beer, please. We’ll need it.”

Merely four steps in the direction to the bar, and a screech rings out from somewhere neither of you can locate. In fact, Seokmin’s head is turned the opposite way when someone launches themself at you, damn near ripping you from his hold.

“Oh, my god! I knew you’d come!”

Soyeon’s relief in seeing you is palpable. Seokmin can practically feel his bones being crushed as she hugs you tight, swaying from side to side. He catches a glimpse of your expression, which barely peeks through the curtain of his oldest sister’s hair; you’re far happier now than you were in the elevator.

His sister kisses the side of your head. “I missed you so fucking much. I love my residency program, but I hate how far away it keeps me.”

A solid minute passes by like this. When it starts to get unbearable, Seokmin clears his throat, hoping to remind his sister that she hasn’t seen him in months, either; and he’s also standing right here.

Instead of greeting him, Soyeon shoots you a wry smile. “Who is he today? A fugitive you’re harboring?”

In tandem, the two of you appraise him with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. See, this he didn’t miss: being both of his sisters’ least favorite younger sibling.

“Oh, no, though I can see why you think that.” You shake your head, then reach out to pat his shoulder patronizingly. “If anyone asks, this is a foreign diplomat, and I’m the interpreter he can’t understand a word without. Best not say hi to him; he won’t know what you’re saying.”

Soyeon nods, though Seokmin wonders if she truly gets what you’re trying to achieve. Not quite, he realizes a moment later. Instead, she covers his chin with her hand so she can squeeze both his cheeks at once.

“He’s adorable,” she coos. “Doesn’t look old enough or mature enough for diplomacy, though.”

Seokmin rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be doctors, can we?”

Again, in tandem, all eyes on him widen with feigned shock. Between overlapping gasps of “he does understand!” and “someone’s been studying!”, he shakes off his sister’s touch and scowls.

“If you’re going to keep bullying me, can you at least do it at the bar? That way, I can numb my suffering with booze.”

At this, Soyeon drops the charade and pulls him into a hug like a vice grip. She holds him so tightly that his vision starts to get spotty. It’s not until he gently pats her back, begging for air, that she lets him go.

“I missed you too, Thumper,” she swears, prompting you to snicker.

Now, he’s annoyed for a completely different reason — one that makes even less sense to him. That nickname hasn’t bothered him in the last decade, so it shouldn’t now. Then again, the only person who’s called him Thumper since middle school is you.

The rules are different for you, if they exist at all.

“And I promise to catch up with you later, but I’ve got five thousand questions for Bambi, and the answers aren’t half as juicy with you around.”

Just like that, his plus-one is subtracted.

As much as you love Soyeon, she’s no Seokmin. With him, talking is easy; he never rushes to fill silences, doesn’t steer the conversation with a white-knuckled grip.

On the contrary, his oldest sister comes forward with a pickaxe, smashing through small talk while she mines for the wild stories she thinks she’s missed out on since moving away.

You don’t blame her, really. If you spent all your hours in a hospital, only sleeping in the lulls between other people’s trauma, you’d probably become just as intense — the human equivalent of a cracked-open fire hydrant — in the search for closeness, too.

In the thirty minutes you sit with her, you brief her on all the cliffhangers you’d left her with the last time you saw her.

Yes, you’re still stuck with your lease in the same apartment; and the old lady next door still regularly sets off the building’s fire alarm by accident.

No, you decided not to stay with Kai and haven’t spoken since the breakup; he needed more of your time and energy than you wanted to sacrifice for him.

No, Seokmin still hasn’t gone out with anyone that you know of in months. In fact, it’s been so long since either of you have touched on this topic, especially compared to how little time he and the last girl were together, that you can’t even remember her name.

Beyond that first, limited fact, you keep your mouth shut about the rest. It’s not your business to share; and it wouldn’t kill her to ask Seokmin about himself for once.

The longer you spend with her, the more frustrated you find yourself getting, although you keep this fact to yourself, too. Soyeon and Seonmi have both spent their lives fussing about Seokmin, talking about him like he’s some helpless baby, without doing much to get to know him.

That’s it.

If you were at all confident that Soyeon would take the initiative, you’d let her find all of this out on her own. She won’t, you know, but maybe it’ll sink in if she hears it from you.

“Seokmin’s doing really well, now that you mention it,” you offer, though she barely mentioned him in the first place. “He got promoted last month; he’s now lead architect on that massive commercial lot downtown. Apparently, it’s still a secret, whatever it is they’re putting there. Must be something special.”

Seokmin is something special, you all but yell inside your head.

Soyeon’s eyes brighten.

Nobody loves secrets quite like she does. You wait for the barrage, anticipating all the questions to which you’ll have to respond with “seriously, I don’t know,” but they don’t come.

Instead, she puts her drink back on its coaster, reaches out, and squeezes your wrist with her slightly chilled hand. “I’m grateful that he’s always had you, Bambi. If he didn’t, I don’t know if he’d lean in to opportunities like that.”

The look on her face tells you she means it. Maybe that’s what makes your stomach sour: that she can sit there, hearing of Seokmin’s accomplishments, and still find a way not to credit him for them.

Anger ignites inside of you. The flames lick up your esophagus, ready to explode, and you suck in a breath with every intention of letting her burn.

But then an arm slinks around your waist. Seokmin’s head bumps slightly against yours until you’re cheek to cheek.

“I hope I’m interrupting something.”

For a second, you think his slight tipsiness caused him to misspeak. Tilting your head to the side the best you can, you look at him out of the corner of your eye and catch his very subtle wink.

Soyeon opens her mouth, but Seokmin makes his wish a reality.

“Sorry, sis,” Seokmin says, entirely unapologetically. “I just found out that the band takes requests; and I’ll be goddamned if Bambi and I don’t show you clowns the meaning of dance.”

It takes no encouragement whatsoever for you to slip off your stool, get to your feet, and inch your way closer to his side. Then, like a starting gun was fired, the two of you bolt clumsily away from the bar, with you shouting “sorry!” over your shoulder as you go.

Your heels skid against the dance floor when you finally reach it, but Seokmin steadies you before you can eat shit in front of god and everyone.

“You’re way too expressive, you know that?” The fact that he’s out-of-breath doesn’t keep him from laughing. “I could’ve seen that grumpy turtle face of yours from space.”

Unintentionally, you prove his point, drawing your eyebrows together and frowning. “I do not —”

“— Also, I lied,” he interrupts yet again.

This, coupled with the everything else going on, leaves you too stunned to speak.

“This band is all trot, all the time. They don’t take requests — trust me, I tried — but if you stay here with me long enough, we can kill two birds with one stone.”

Seokmin doesn’t wait for you to answer because he knows it’s a yes. He doesn’t wait for you to assume your position, either, and instead holds your left hand in his right before placing your right on his left shoulder. This close, you feel the urge to tell him how handsome he looks with his hair parted off his forehead. You don’t, however.

The music swells behind you. Seokmin leads, and you follow, swaying slowly and moving across the floor.

“Two birds?” You remember to ask, one eyebrow arched.

His right arm lifts. “Spin,” he whispers. You step under his arm, then twirl. While you’re facing the opposite direction, he continues, “There. Do you see it?”

“Oh, my god.”

You do.

The bar stool you were just occupying is now filled by Seokmin’s great-uncle, Hajoon, while his new and much younger girlfriend, Yunhee, hovers near his shoulder. Even from this distance, you can see the look of abject distress on Soyeon’s face, totally unhidden by her attempt to seem engaged.

You return to your position in front of Seokmin, your hand accidentally landing on his bicep, rather than his shoulder. Flustered by the deceptive bulk there, you immediately scoot your palm back to where it belongs.

He leans in so that only you can hear him. It doesn’t feel necessary at all, given how loud the band’s horn section is, but you don’t recoil this time.

“They had me trapped over by the appetizers,” he explains, low voice making you shiver involuntarily. “Every time he started a story with when I was your age, I wanted to point out that Yunhee hadn’t been born yet.”

You can’t help the laugh that erupts out of you and therefore can’t pull your head away from Seokmin’s ear in time to save him. Instead of wincing or complaining, he looks at you and breaks into laughter of his own as soon as your eyes meet. The effect doubles, and before you know it, both of you are teary-eyed.

“How the hell did you get away from him?”

It’s a feat you've never once managed. Uncle Hajoon’s inability to read a room is equal parts due to his horrible hearing and his tendency to never stop talking. Even if he did leave space in the conversation for you to excuse yourself, you’d never successfully get the message across.

Seokmin lifts his arm again but not for you. He takes his leave to spin himself, simpering as he goes, “That’s where Yunhee came in handy, actually. I didn’t know she had it in her, but she’s not as much of a dud as we initially thought.”

“Oh?”

“She told him that I should be able to dance with my girlfriend, and he shouldn’t keep me any longer.” He shrugs. “It didn’t seem like the time to correct her.”

All the heat in your body goes straight to your cheeks. Nonetheless, you attribute it to the dancing and choke out, “No royalties for me, then.”

“Not this time.” Seokmin shakes his head. “I said that Soyeon was trying to catch up with everyone and would love to hear his stories.”

You bite back a grin. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“Maybe.” He smiles with every single one of his teeth. “But you’re free.”

“Surprisingly so. I haven’t felt the Eye of Sauron on me at all yet.” Just in case your statement serves as a jinx, you glance around the room for Seonmi. The tension you’ve been keeping in each one of your muscles slackens when, once again, your radar is blip-free.

“Dinner was supposed to start ten minutes ago. If I had to guess, she’s either leaving a scathing Yelp review or personally waterboarding the chef as we speak.”

“Both at the same time,” you counter, earning a wry smile. “She inherited your mom’s self-assuredness. If she believes she can, she will.”

After the pair of you dance through two more songs, the band breaks, and the hotel’s battalion of waiters come in, bearing domed, silver trays. Seokmin takes off in a hurry for your assigned table in the far corner of the ballroom, so famished that he barely remembers to tug you along behind him.

Through the meal and all its complimentary wine pairings, you do your best to focus on the conversation. Seokmin introduced you to the few people sitting with you that you haven’t had the occasion to meet yet. While he does what comes naturally to him, charming them with ease, you struggle for the first time to pay attention to him.

A few tables over, Seonmi sits down with her fiancé, joining the company of her parents; Soyeon and her date are there, too, leaving Seokmin out by design. Like an insane person, you can only watch her, rather than Seokmin’s blatant theft of bites from your plate. She laughs at whatever jokes her mother cracks, but you’d recognize that look of veiled angst anywhere. She isn’t happy, you realize. You can’t avoid the feeling that you’re the reason why she isn’t.

Time passes, somehow too quickly and too slowly. The plates are emptied, then cleared away by the wait staff — except for your half-empty glass, which is your third. Much like the other guests at your table, the joyful buzz you’d been feeling so far leaves, too.

All that’s left is you, Seokmin, and that ominous, storm cloud you can’t seem to shake.

“You’ll probably feel better if you talk to her.”

He’s always more observant than you give him credit for. You snap out of your zoned-out stare across the room in order to look at him. You frown. “I doubt it. She already looks pissed. Me parading my presence here despite her isn’t going to help anything.”

“Bambi,” Seokmin sighs, not impatient but gentle. “She’s not exactly warm, but she has always liked you. There’s literally no reason why she wouldn’t be happy to see you —”

You open your mouth to argue.

“— that happened over twenty years ago, and you really need to stop feeling guilty about it —”

You close your mouth, cross your arms self-consciously, and sink in your seat. Despite yourself, you glance over at him and catch the way he’s looking at you. He doesn’t need to say the words out loud for you to hear them.

It’s either the unspoken dare, his reassuring, soft-eyed smile, or all the blasted merlot that does you in. You’re not sure which of the three was the coup de grâce, and as you slink off towards her table, you realize it doesn’t matter. For one reason or another, you’ve decided that fear isn’t going to get the better of you this time.

Seonmi somehow senses you coming. Even without the band underscoring your movement, your timid steps across the mahogany parquet should’ve been impossible for anyone to pick up on.

Must be an older sister thing, you think, being doomed to keep a perpetual eye on others.

She doesn’t say anything when you slip into the chair next to her, which doesn’t bode well but isn’t a deal breaker, in and of itself. The important thing is that she doesn’t get up to leave. You tell yourself that this is a good sign. The knot in your stomach begs to differ, however.

Say something.

Say anything.

“Everything’s… lovely, Seonmi, seriously.” You gesture around you, smiling, but she only gives you a cursory look. “You’ve really outdone yourself with this one.”

Seonmi takes a sip of her cocktail — something bitter, the petty voice in your head assumes — and lets the corner of her mouth rise slightly. If it’s the closest thing you’ll get to a smile, you’ll take it. She hasn’t granted you a proper one in the decades since you got gum in her favorite Barbie’s hair.

“Thanks, kid,” she sighs, setting the drink back down on her personalized, cardboard coaster.

You can’t remember the last time she called you “Bambi”, let alone your real name. Just like Seokmin, you’ve always been a child to her. Apparently, you always will be, no matter what you do.

Her grip around the glass remains rigid, not unlike her overall posture. Condensation weeps under and around her manicured fingers, uninhibited. You watch those droplets soak through the coaster’s design, darkening her parents’ initials and wedding date, while you mull over whose turn it is to talk.

Ultimately, as is usually the case, Seonmi makes this decision for you. Without so much as a glance at you out of the corner of her eye, she muses, “It was a lot of work, getting all the details ironed out.”

You pick up on the subtext immediately. One of those details would’ve been the guest list; another, the invitations. Seokmin assumed it was all an accident and said as much to you no fewer than a hundred times, but this little comment from his sister blows his assurances to smithereens.

Your exclusion wasn’t an accident at all.

Suddenly, somehow, the room is twenty degrees colder. You shoot a panicked glance over to where Seokmin was just sitting, wanting nothing more than to slink back to his warmth with your tail between your legs; but he’s not where you left him. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

“Ah,” is the best you can do.

And then the two of you sit awkwardly in silence while the seconds age in dog years.

You should’ve brought a drink over with you so you’d have something to do with your hands. Or your phone — except you left it on its charger, you idiot — or a time machine, so you can revoke your bullshit decision to walk over here in the first —

“He deserves that, don’t you think?”

The combined suddenness of her voice and the switch in topics makes you jolt ever so slightly. You try to pass it off, to pretend that you’re simply adjusting the skirt of your dress, but your efforts go unnoticed. Seonmi is too busy pointing casually ahead, drawing your focus to the center of the dance floor.

Like absolutely no one else is watching, Mr. Lee twirls around his laughing wife, his heart-shaped smile beaming so brightly that it almost hurts your eyes. The love of his life has to hold one of her hands over her mouth to keep her laughter from bursting out; the other hand is raised with the rest of that arm, allowing her husband to spin himself underneath. When he’s halfway through, she surprises him, drops her arm down, and embraces him fully, giggling all the while.

It almost makes you tear up — Mr. Lee’s unabashed, silly love, and how much it reminds you of his spitting-image of a son; the way Seokmin’s mother’s eyes sparkle in the same blissful, radiant way his do. Maybe the same can’t be said for his older sisters, but it’s abundantly clear where Seokmin came from. It’s even clearer where he should end up.

“Yes,” you breathe, and it almost sounds like a laugh because of course, he does. Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Is that really a question?”

No, you realize too late, it’s bait.

Without batting an eye, she counters, “Is it really so hard for you to let him have that?”

Seonmi turns her head to look you dead in the eye. Confusingly, despite her words, there’s nothing in her tone or gaze that reads like malice. If anything, the slight furrow of her brow shouts concern.

Your mind is spinning too fast to keep up with. Whatever her next move is, you’re too dizzy now to see it coming and too disoriented to follow it. With the knot in your stomach tightening further, you stammer, “Is — what?”

“God,” Seonmi drops her face into her hands. “You don’t get it, do you?”

A fish on dry land, all you seem to know how to do is open and close your mouth. You may not be literally flailing, but with the state your mind is in, you may as well start.

“Seokmin loves love.”

She says each of these words slowly, like she’s trying to hammer each nail through a thick skull.

“It’s the one thing he’s wanted most since he was a kid, yet I can count on one hand the number of short-term relationships he’s been in. He doesn’t ever bring anyone home to meet us; he doesn’t bring anyone to weddings, or parties, or holidays; he just brings you.”

Of course, you’ve been right there through all of his situationships. He’s always scant on details when they end — and you’ve never pressed for any — but you know better than anyone that nothing has stuck long-term.

You’ve never thought about how odd this really is, but with Seonmi spelling it out for you now, you can’t come up with a single, good reason why someone as objectively incredible as Seokmin can’t make these things work — or why, even as you rack your brain, the only constant you can find in his life is you.

She glares now, as if she’s daring you to speak; as if you’ve got anything she’d deem worth adding. The bulldozer revs up again, whether you’re ready or not: “You’ve always been the only person he saves space for, whether or not there’s a place for you, and he has no room left in his life for someone to love him like that —”

Seonmi points again to her parents, who are circling slowly on the dance floor, talking softly to one another.

“So, what is it? Do you truly not see what he’s missing, or are you choosing not to because you like his attention?”

Your eyes burn with tears, but you can’t let them fall, and you can’t wrap your head around why that is.

Who are you hiding them from: Seonmi or yourself?

The longer she stares at you, the muddier it gets. You don’t want her to be right. You don’t want to be the kind of person she’s describing; but there’s something awful whispering in the back of your mind, saying that you might be.

You’ve left every relationship you’ve been in, telling everyone who asks in the aftermath that you like being on your own better. But that’s bullshit. It’s not your own company that you keep when you’re single; it Seokmin’s.

He makes sure that you never spend a day feeling alone, that he’s always available over the phone in the rare times he’s not physically with you. As his best friend, he treats you better than every single one of your exes ever has. Like you’re worth more than anyone else will credit you.

What kind of friend are you if you feel relieved whenever his relationships expire?

Seonmi’s hand drops, landing half-heartedly clenched on the tabletop. Just the same, her voice drops until it’s almost a whisper.

“I am begging you,” she pleads, eyes narrowing desperately as they search yours. “If you don’t want him, someone else will. Please just — get the hell out of their way.”

By the time you reach the elevator, all you’re left with is a blur. You’ve already forgotten how the conversation ended, or which one of you was the first to get up. If she said anything else to you, it was drowned out by your own hammering pulse and a looping chorus of voices validating your biggest fear, stating in no uncertain terms that you don’t belong.

You’re shaking when you reach your floor. Heels clicking under unsteady footsteps, you make for room 218; and as you go, you shove your hand into the well-concealed pocket of your dress for the keycard Seokmin forgot to grab himself on the way out earlier.

He’s certainly not in the room when you finally step inside, although you have no clue where he’s gone. It’s for the best. The door closes behind you, and with no one to see it happen, you burst into tears.

All rational thought flies out the window, shaken off by the tornado of utter confusion tearing through your brain. You grab your suitcase, needing nothing more than to be anywhere else, and begin haphazardly throwing your things back inside of it.

Why did you still come with him, knowing it wouldn’t end well? It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve told him no; he would’ve listened if you truly meant it.

If you didn’t mean it when you initially tried to squirrel your way out of this, why not? Was it just your friend asking sincerely that won you over without a fight; or was it because you knew, deep down, it’d hurt to see him bring someone else?

Why would it hurt?

The answer to that will crack the foundation of everything the two of you have built, but only if you admit it to yourself. It can’t threaten you if you don’t say it out loud, don’t make it real.

So, you won’t.

You’ll bury it deeply enough to forget about, repour the concrete, and tiptoe through the rest of your life with your best friend still at your side.

That is, if your friendship survives the weekend — rather, your sudden departure from it — at all.

“Halmoni, it’s time to go back to your hotel, okay?”

He coos this, as if he’s pleading with a toddler at bedtime, because that’s exactly what it feels like to wrangle the drunk, 80-year-old clinging to his arm.

Physically, she needs to hold onto Seokmin to keep herself steady. Mentally, she’s ready to run and has made several attempts to do just that when she thinks his guard is down. It’s no wonder the hotel staff cornered him and begged him for help; she’s too wily for those who don’t know her.

The manager had at least done him the courtesy of hailing a cab. It sits out front, warm and waiting, while he shepherds his grandmother through the lobby.

“— and another thing!” She slurs.

There is never not another thing. She shouldn’t bother concluding her sentences in the first place; she’s never done talking.

“I told your sister — I said, Sunny —”

Seonmi, he dares to presume, although he doesn’t dare to correct her.

“— you can’t have stuff like this —” She gestures animatedly, albeit vaguely around her. “— in places like this and expect retirees to pay for it! I said — oh, what did I say? — Ah, I said, ‘find me the cheapest motel in the area, or I’ll be staying in your room with you’ —”

Her kitten heels hit the brick outside with an angry thwump.

Seokmin can’t help himself. “She didn’t go for that?”

“No!” His grandmother squawks.

The driver sees the ball of a woman wobbling his way and quickly exits the cab, skirts around it, and flings the back door open for her.

“I can’t imagine why, halmoni,” he lies through his teeth, which shine down on her in his best, least sincere smile. “You’re a blast in a glass.”

She roars with laughter, even while two grown adults work together to pour her into the backseat without bumping her head on the doorframe. “Glast in a blass!”

“Exactly. Can you —?”

He gives up before he finishes voicing his request; it’s no use. Instead, he bends down to hug her and finagles the buckle of her seatbelt while she’s too distracted to fight him off. That click is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, after the clunk of the door shutting her in.

By the time Seokmin turns to the cab driver, his grandmother is fully slumped in her seat, pilled peacoat rising and falling with every wine-laced breath.

“I am so sorry.” He sighs, which devolves into a sheepish laugh, and fishes all of the cash out of his pocket. No tip could possibly cover the emotional toll of this ordeal, so he does his best and gives the driver everything he has.

The driver’s eyes widen. Seokmin gets the impression that he doesn’t quite understand the task he’s undertaking.

Poor bastard.

Seokmin continues, “My grandfather is at the inn already; he didn’t feel well enough to come here, but he’ll be ready to get her inside once you drop her off.”

“Sounds easy enough.” The driver smiles and holds out his hand to shake.

Seokmin reciprocates, and he declines to explain just how wrong that assessment is. He thanks the man and chirps a quick goodbye to his grandmother before rushing back inside.

Walking into the ballroom, he hopes to find you and Seonmi laughing about whatever misunderstanding had gotten in your way before. At the very least, he expects you to still be sitting next to each other at the same table. That would be good enough, he thinks; he could assist in repairing the situation from there.

The problem, it seems, is beyond his help. Neither one of you occupies the same table. If his quick scan tells him anything, you’re not even in the same room.

No matter which way he turns, he can’t spot you. His sister, on the other hand, is near the far corner, having what looks like a nightmarish conversation with their parents. There are approximately five billion things Seokmin would rather do than get in the middle of that, but you don’t have your phone on you, and he has no other way to find out where you went.

Above the heads of the two women, Seokmin’s father catches sight of his approach. They lock eyes; there’s something insane in his father’s gaze. The older man shakes his head, mouthing “no.”

Seokmin stops short, raises his hands with the palms up to get across his confusion, and mouths back, “Bambi?”

In response, his father extends a single finger and points upwards. He then makes a shooing motion with his hand. His wife and daughter are so engrossed in their argument that neither of them catches the pantomime or Seokmin’s quick exit, back the way he came.

On the elevator ride upstairs, Seokmin worries. The most likely explanation is that you went to find your phone so that you could find him – but you haven’t texted or called him in the time he’s been looking for you, so he supposes it isn’t likely after all.

Maybe, he thinks, the wine caught up to you. You’re not as strong a drinker as you think you are. While he walks down the hallway to room 218, he steels himself. Even though you both hate it, he’s ready to hold your hair if he walks in and finds you with your head in the toilet. That dress looks too good on you not to be expensive; he’d rather talk you out of your embarrassment tomorrow than have you shell out for dry-cleaning.

You didn’t deadbolt the door behind you, which strikes him as odd. In fact, you didn’t even close it properly; it isn’t latched. All he has to do is tap on it for the door to open.

“Bambi?” He calls out before stepping inside entirely, thinking it’s only decent to confirm in advance that he’s not an intruder. “Sorry for disappearing. I had to pour my grandmother into a cab – it was exactly as awful as it sounds.”

The faint rustling sound he hears isn’t coming from the bathroom, which is both dark and unoccupied. Part of him wants to take this as a good sign, but the rest of him wonders if he’s walking in on a burglary. That flicker of fear is followed by a stupid sense of validation:

You always laugh at him when he cites this as his reason for choosing the bed closest to the door; you claim it’s statistically unlikely. Finally being able to say “I told you so” after a robbery wouldn’t make either of your belongings magically reappear, of course. That said, it might make him feel a little better.

But the figure rooting through your suitcase isn’t a bandit at all. It’s you with your coat on.

“Um,” he starts, unintentionally startling you. “What is….”

His question peters out when you look up at him. There are broken mascara tracks down your cheeks, as if you tried to wipe them off without actually looking at them. Above them, your wide eyes are wet, like you’re seconds away from crying all over again. Even worse, you’re trembling.

Seokmin’s only instinct is to reach for you. Before he can wrap his arms around you, you jerk away from him. “Please don’t.”

So, he stops, though he doesn’t understand why. This is quite literally the only time in your life that you’ve pushed him away.

“What’s going on?” Ideally, he’d project calm at a time like this. He just sounds desperate. “What happened with Seonmi?”

“She — um, she didn’t — It wasn’t that bad; I’m just… You know how sensitive I get when I drink wine.”

Like a switch flips, a half-hearted smile takes over the bottom half of your face. It’s not real; if it was, your eyes would light up and crinkle at the corners. Whatever that look is, it’s bullshit.

Seokmin gestures to your suitcase, where everything you brought with you has been unceremoniously shoved. “Sensitive enough to, what, run away? No. I’m not buying it. She said something — or did something — to make you this upset. Bambi, what happened?”

His urgency is selfish, he knows it. Seonmi’s always been way too intuitive for her own good. There’s no way she hasn’t noticed the way he looks at you when you aren’t looking; how god-awful he is at acting platonic.

He tries — has been trying, for a long time now — to shake these feelings off because he knows you’re not emotionally available. Because he knows who he’s supposed to be for you, and how devastating it would be if he threw your friendship away.

That devastation is right in front of him now; and it’ll push you out of his life forever if he doesn’t shut it down. He has to get in front of it.

You strike first, though. “Seokmin, why didn’t you bring anyone else?”

There are two ways for him to interpret that question: with the emphasis on anyone, meaning not you; or as an escape route. For your sake, he chooses the latter.

“She gave me a plus-one, not a plus-two,” he says softly.

Despite his tone, it must hit you like a punch. You nod curtly, once. “Got it. Basic math. Thanks, Seokmin; that was never my strongest subject.”

Foot, meet mouth.

You immediately set back to work, reaching for the lid of your suitcase to close and zip. Before he thinks once, let alone twice, his hand darts out and flattens against the mesh inner pocket on the top, preventing you from doing so.

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “Not happening.”

You don’t scowl at him the way he expects, nor do you even stop to look at him. It’s far worse than that; your eyes start swimming, focused helplessly on your suitcase.

When you speak, your voice cracks. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I knew that this invitation shit wasn’t an accident; I knew I wasn’t welcome to —”

“— You came anyway.” Seokmin doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the point is moot. Softening at the edges, he quickly continues, “And I’m glad that you did because I don’t want to be here with ‘anyone else’.”

It’s not the whole truth, so it may as well be a lie. You know him too well for him to get away with it; it was stupid of him to try. Your head turns, and the slight narrow of your eyes says it all.

I triple-dog dare you to tell me the truth.

This fork in the road has two dead ends. His only options are to do just that or double down and lie straight to your face, while you see straight through him. Either option pulls the pin, he figures, so it’s no longer a question of who gets hurt; it’s who gets hurt worse.

Seokmin jumps on the grenade.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else!”

It comes out too loudly, startling you. In a way, it’s angry, too. He wishes could project that anger onto Seonmi for starting shit, as usual, but the person he’s maddest at is himself for putting you both in this position.

For the first time ever, he can’t decipher the expression on your face. He’d shove his foot into his mouth to try and keep himself quiet, but his adrenaline is firing on all cylinders, and he can’t seem to stop shouting.

“And I’m really fucking sorry to say it because I know you don’t want to hear it, not from me or anyone else. So, you can leave, alright? I’m not going to stop you.”

The force of the surprise almost knocks the air out of him, so quick that Seokmin can’t process what’s happening until his back is flush to the wall behind him — until your hands, flat against his white button-up, curl to grip the fabric, and you kiss him so hard that he sees stars.

You’re surprised too, it seems. When you pull away, chest heaving, you freeze in the same way he does. Eyes searching the other’s, unsure of what to do now that twenty-plus years’ worth of boundaries have been blown to bits.

You whisper, “Are you still sorry?”

Of the five million feelings swelling inside of him — fear, kind of; joy, yes; fucked up by your blown-out pupils, definitely — regret isn’t one of them.

Actually…

He cups your face in his hands like water from a spring, drinks down the sight of you in this new and perfect light. “I’m only sorry that it took me this long to tell you,” he confesses before kissing you back twice as hard.

You’d ask Seokmin to pinch you and prove to you that you’re not dreaming, but the fear you feel at the thought of waking up is too overwhelming.

Even if it wasn’t, he can’t help you, can he?

His hands are far too busy.

Your pretty dress is long gone now, having been shucked off and tossed somewhere out of sight. In its place, it’s Seokmin’s body that now drapes over yours, warm in touch and tone, like molten gold.

His middle and marriage fingers curl inside you, working you up again; and all you can do is cling desperately to his hair, whimper, and wait for the fall.

“I take back what I said earlier,” he murmurs between nips and kisses at your neck.

You can’t ask him to elaborate. You’re too close to careening over the edge for the second time tonight; too busy babbling fucking nonsense.

His simper against your throat reverberates all the way down, lights up your every nerve in tandem like a switchboard. “Only an idiot would tell you to be less expressive.”

The pad of his thumb swirls over your clit; its movement synchronizes with his middle finger inside of you, targeting your weak spot. He presses down on that spongy patch of nerves, and your hips buck involuntarily, a hallmark of your body begging for you while your words fail.

“You were right, though.”

You summon all your concentration. “I’m always right,” you counter. Seokmin pulls his mouth away from the underside of your jaw just to look at you pointedly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

He picks up the pace of his ministrations, pulling no punches. You’re teetering on the ledge with no real ability to lift your own neck; your head crashes back against the pillow as you wail, clenching and gushing around his fingers.

“I do know how sensitive you get,” he snickers before slipping his fingers from you and sweeping down to kiss you sweetly.

The ringing in your ears has barely subsided, but you’ve decided not to take anymore of his teasing laying down. Slipping your fingers from his hair, you move your hands to his shoulders; and with whatever muscle control you still maintain, you flip him off of you, onto his back.

“How long —”

You climb over his lap and straddle him, placing your palms flat against his chest. It’s as much a show of dominance as it is a carefully disguised trick for balance.

“— have you been waiting to say that?”

Caught red handed, Seokmin shoots you that trademark, heart-shaped smile. His cheeks were already flushed from the effort he just expended on you; that perfect pink only deepens when he blushes and laughs, “What, you think I can’t come up with killer lines in the heat of the moment?”

You scratch your nails gently down the lines of his abdominal muscles. “Nope,” you purr.

Sitting up on his elbows, Seokmin tilts his head to the side and narrows his dark eyes at you. You’re nowhere near used to seeing him look at you like this, like you’re something to be devoured. The feeling of being wanted so badly makes your stomach flip.

“Give me some credit, won’t you?” He asks, voice low. “You’re a knockout; you’re naked in front of me for the first time; and it’s a miracle I can talk at all when I feel this concussed.”

When you lean in, he licks his lips expectantly. You’re close enough to kiss him, of course, but you stop a few millimeters shy of your mark and watch him fight the urge to pout. His eyes search yours, almost pleadingly.

“Is that why you’re still not naked?”

Seokmin’s next move is to reach for the black briefs he’s still got on, but you stop him, encircling each of his wrists with your hands.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut with a patronizing shake of your head. “You’re fired. I’m in control now.”

If the little sigh he lets out is any indication, he is very much on board with your self-promotion.

He takes your cue and reels himself in, allowing you to move further down his body, your fingertips hooking under his elastic waistband and tugging as you go. When his length finally springs free, you duck your head to take him into your mouth, beyond eager to feel his weight on your tongue.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, eyelids fluttering, while you swirl your tongue around his head. “Feels s-so —”

The rest of his sentence gets stuck in his throat; you take what you can of him down your own throat, working whatever remains with your hand.

Seokmin wants so badly to watch, you know he does, but he’s sensitive, too. His head tips back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open.

It’s messy, the spit dribbling down your chin and the sound brought forth by the suction of your mouth around him. The obscenity of it all spurs you on. Nothing inspires you quite like Seokmin’s breathy whines and low moans, though. Above all else, it’s his reaction to you that slicks the inside of your thighs.

You’d give him the ending he deserves, right down the back of your throat, but you feel his fingertips graze your shoulder, beckoning you to look up at him.

Voice rough, he pleads, “Come here.”

With his steadying hands on you, you move back into your original position with your bent knees on either side of him. You immediately spot the indent his teeth have left on his lower lip, which is now slightly swollen. Delicately, you brush your thumb over the mark. “Oh, you’re a goner.”

Seokmin looks at you pointedly. Though you tease, you’re even worse off: drunk on the taste of him, as much as the sight of him underneath you, wanting you just as badly.

“Alright, alright,” you concede. “I am, too.”

The hand you use to wave dismissively at him then reaches down between your thighs, fingers wrapping around his cock and lining it up with your entrance.

“But I’m taking you down with me.”

And you do.

So thoroughly that you barely recall him staggering off to the bathroom when all is said and done, the wash cloth he returns with to clean you up, or the way you slump into his waiting arms before promptly falling asleep.

You sleep so soundly, in fact, that you don’t stir when the sun blares through the open curtains. Likewise, when Seokmin carefully maneuvers himself out of the tangle of your limbs and places your head on a real pillow instead, you’re none the wiser.

What finally gets to you is the clatter of the expensive, hotel-issued shampoo clattering against the floor of the shower, echoing off the tile like a sonic boom. You sit bolt upright in bed, staring bleary-eyed in the direction of the bathroom.

As if on cue, Seokmin pokes his head out of the doorway to see if you managed to sleep through the noise. Damp hair splays over his forehead, hanging just as loosely as his lazily-knotted bathrobe. If you weren’t still too sleepy to function, you’d love nothing more than to grab him by that tie and drag him back to bed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Bambi,” he coos, though his mouth is full of both toothpaste and a toothbrush in a distinctly greener shade of blue than usual.

You merely point at his mouth with a half-powered look of distress, otherwise unable to put your suspicion into words. He doesn’t get it; he glances down at his chest, looking for what he assumes is a stray glob of paste.

When you finally do speak, it’s a prayer: “Please tell me that’s not mine.”

Seokmin blinks at you, then down his nose at the toothbrush he’s using. He cocks his head to the side, opens his mouth to assure you it isn’t, and finally, when the realization makes his eyes widen, he groans.

You wail, “Noooooo!”

Memories of your last trip together clash before your mind — specifically, attempting to navigate a drug store in a foreign language while you shopped for the replacement toothbrush Seokmin is currently holding.

Ears bright red with embarrassment, he ducks back into the bathroom. Immediately, you hear a rush of water from the tap, which nearly drowns out his feeble cry of “I’m sorry!”

“I know it’s an honest mistake, but how do you make it twice?”

You collapse back onto the pillows and bury your face in your palms; and you stay that way, even when you hear him padding softly over to you. The mattress shifts under his weight as he makes his way, one knee at a time, until you feel him looming over you. His hands reach out and gently pull yours from your face.

Before you can get any ideas, Seokmin flattens himself on top of you; a weighted blanket, smelling like vanilla and spearmint. He folds his arms across your chest and props his chin up on the top of his right wrist, bright eyes sparkling as he peers up at you.

Suddenly, you find it very difficult to be annoyed with him. The worst part is that none of this is by design. He always just looks at you this way, not to get out of trouble but because you’re you.

Your hand reaches out of its own accord and brushes the remaining damp strands off his forehead. When your touch lingers, Seokmin leans into it, warming your palm with his cheek.

“Hey,” you say, after failing to come up with anything better.

He beams. “Hi.”

“Why are we awake at this hour?”

That smile of his evaporates slowly, giving way to a grimace you’ve seen before. “Seungcheol and Mingyu want to meet up at the ski lodge before the post-brunch crowd gets there,” he explains. “And I told my parents we’d get breakfast with them first, since yesterday was… well, mostly a disaster.”

“And it will conveniently provide you with time to think of a way out of snowboarding?” You chuckle quietly and pat his cheek.

Seokmin shakes his head firmly, then stretches his neck enough to kiss you.

“No,” he mumbles defiantly against your lips. “I never back down from a triple-dog dare.”

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zahri-melitor · 1 year ago

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I am FORGING ONWARDS, given I'm down to 3 more Holiday Specials to go, then getting back to this year's Santa story.

Next up is 'Tis the Season to be Freezin' (2021)

Window Shopping - Robin and Mr Freeze. I finally get a new Tim story in a Holiday Special and it has to be BTAS!Tim. Anyway Tim goes to buy Bruce's christmas present from a not-at-all suspicious shopkeeper who mysteriously has gifts nobody else does:

Interesting beard, sir, as is that Spock in command yellow holding a lightsaber.

Only to be interrupted by Mr Freeze freezing Old Gotham Square during an oncoming blizzard so he could reminisce about something good from his childhood. Tim talks Victor down and gets him back to Arkham, then we get to see the Christmas presents he's giving.

The Syphoning - Vixen and the Super-Pets. Fun Mari story! Penguin's captured the Super-Pets and is trying to steal their powers and mind control them to do his bidding.

I hate to say it, but this feels really fanficcy, down to Mari giving a speech to Cobblepot to go get some therapy.

Bizarro v Seasonal Depression: Dawn of Climate Change! - Bizarro.

Bizarro text gives me a headache, I'm sorry, particularly reading a story written wholly in it. In any case, this story is about a bunch of villains melting the 6 polar icecaps of Bizarro World and Bizarro getting the water vapour refrozen into a single icecap.

Stay Frosty - Firestorm and Killer Frost.

I liked this one! Killer Frost has reformed, but Firestorm is on monitor duty with her and doesn't quite trust that she has turned over a new leaf. Eventually he trusts her, after they take down the Royal Flush Gang together.

Snow Date - Polar Boy.

Firstly, Andrew Dalhouse deserves some praise here for the colouring job, which I really enjoyed.

Polar Boy and Comet Queen have a date while enjoying the ice sculptures of winter festival characters on different planets that Polar Boy made. Also they defeat Captain Freeze who wanted to steal Captain Cold's cold gun.

A Change of Heart - Harley Quinn and Blue Snowman. It's interesting when occasionally the pandemic gets a form of reference in comics. Here's it's a new lethal virus that causes pustules, which has infected Ivy. Harley tries to cure Ivy, first by getting the virus frozen (which freezes Ivy into a block of ice) then stealing an ancient healing rod to heal her.

Only this theft interrrupts a sting operation run by Hawkman and after some confusion, Harley and Blue Snowman team up with him.

Hawkman gets the rod, they heal Ivy with the power of friendship (okay 'heart, community, belief') and all is well.

Christmas: Cold and Fast - Flash and Captain Cold. This is essentially a sequel/rewrite of a A Flash Christmas Carol from 2016 - it hits all the same beats.

Captain Cold has dressed up as a donations Santa and is collecting to get toys to all the children of Central City. Barry suspects Snart's just doing it for Crimez reasons but gets talked into helping: Snart creates snow and an ice rink for the city, while Barry delivers all the presents while dressed up as Santa.

We also get a surprise last minute appearance of You Know Who.

Break the Ice - JLQ.

Solstice party for the Justice League Queer.

Oh hey, Ray Terrill! I haven't read any of your recent stuff.

This is...fine? The crew have to calm down Sigrid Nansen, Ice Maiden, who is having a breakdown about identity (and now wants to be Glacier). The themes. They are obvious.

#DC Santa read along

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orxna · 3 months ago

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"I don't like them, they make me forget where I am sometimes."

Orana's reply is sharp, though she doesn't mean for it to be. More fear than cruelty--She doesn't want to wake up and think that she is back in Tevinter, and at least with Cole she knows that he will understand that. Knows that he will feel the way she winces in apology and her fingers nearly miss a stitch.

"Loup, Hawke's mabari, used to sleep in the bed with me but he is too old to travel now." Besides, Skyhold would be too cold for his old bones. The poor dear had a hard time getting around the estate when she'd left to come after Varric. Every time she receives mail from Kirkwall she worries it will be a letter from Aveline it will be ill news of Loup.

"I've had less sleep doing harder work, I will be fine Cole."

@orxna || From Here

He felt the lie forming before it reached her lips.

It was a simple comfort to soothe her worries, a way to steady herself. It was grounding, and he couldn't fault her for the need of something therapeutic. She was under so much pressure and stress, so many people hoping she was their Hope.

He nervously shuffled forward and knelt down beside the pile of clothes she'd already finished, folding them for her when she was done. His hands were clumsy; it was a task he was still learning. He watched the mages fold their things but he'd never had to do it himself. His work was passable, but only just.

Still, he wanted to help if he could. It was this or offer to stay with her in the night while she slept and he doubted that would go over well. He knew he could be unsettling, and he knew most people didn't like being watched while they slept. Perhaps he could sing her to sleep. Would that help? It did for the younger mages in the circle, but did it work on adults?

"Sleep hurts," he murmured. "Mind booming, terror dogging your fleeing steps...have you asked Adan for a sleeping potion?"

It wouldn't rid her of nightmares entirely, but perhaps she would sleep deeply enough that they would struggle to find her in the night.

#bushelofmuses #bushelofmuses; Cole #v; the oncoming dawn

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abelflints · 11 months ago

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hellooo!! your secret pal here :D for your gift, would you prefer it to be something fluffy/cute (i.e. more on the romantic side) or more on the spicy side (nothing nsfw of course! just mild spice) ? do you have any preferences? also if it's not too much of bother could you tell us some fun facts bout Vax? (i love his design btw!! he looks so cool!!) thank you in advance and have great day! (=^･ω･^=)

Omg! Hii 🥰 Hope you're having a good day too, anon! Okay, so... for the gift, I guess something more fluffy/cute, please😌 And thank you for what you said about my ILW MC! I love his design too, hehe... As for facts about him... I'll put those under the cut!

Okay so, I have entirely too much to say about Vax 😳 You don't have to read nor include any or all of this! I'm not great at summarizing, so it is what it is! I'll start with the shippy stuff! I don't know what you're planning, so I'll just give the full low-down anyways, brace yourself, I'm sorry, anon 😭 Vax's pet names for Lincoln (not used until near the end of the game, and generally only used in private): - My dawn - My purpose - My path - My salvation Romance Basics: PDA: dislikes being openly affectionate, and just in general being open about his positive emotions at all, checks coast is clear beforehand. Grumpy if caught or teased – not embarrassed of Lincoln, just doesn’t like getting caught expressing feelings. May warm up to a few public kisses as the romance progresses. Words of Affection – won’t say I love you, not directly. Expresses it via actions and more round-about phrases. A mess at flirting near the start, would nestle his flirts in between put upon coughing fits, then splutter something completely different and mildly insulting when asked what he just said, lol. Not a singer, but might gruffly sing a few slightly romantic goth song lyrics in between cuddles.

Physical Affection – favourites include kneeling down to brush his lips over Lincoln’s knuckles and kissing the inside of Lincoln’s wrist, has danced with Linc to records Vax inherited (mostly goth records.) Will die before he lets people see him being romantic though, so doesn’t happen in public. Also likes cuddling, but will pretend he doesn't.

Realisation – had feelings for Lincoln before the finale, but only occurred to him he loved Lincoln during a pivotal decision near the finale, which.. I don't know if you've played it lives within, so that's all I'll say!

Ways Vax says "I love you": Casually: - down-played comments, e.g: you’re… tolerable, I don’t hate you, you’ll do.. for now (frowning, but there’s a sparkle of affection in his gaze if you know where to look) - comments that mean the opposite, e.g I hate you (said with a petulant scowl, but his face is spasming with an oncoming smile.)

Deeper into the relationship: - simply just trailing his finger over his heart, then tapping and holding it there, or holding his hand there - “I am yours” - “My footsteps echo yours” - “I would live for you” – means more than “I would die for you”, he’s reckless, would die for anyone – but to live for someone? That’s putting in the effort.

Miscellaneous Shippy Headcanons: 1) Lincoln has a sketchbook full of candid sketches of V, Vax delves in sometimes to pen grumpy, but-loving-in-his-own-way type comments in the margins, Lincoln writes back. 2) V and Linc have matching preserved-rowan tree sprig necklaces where the sprig rests just above their hearts, gifted by Linc. Both have different gems knotted alternately into the full length of the cord. V's has: Polished fossil wood chunks (shiny brown) Gargoyle-head shaped opal pieces (white holographic. gargoyles to ward off evil.) Linc's has: Pink tourmaline chunks Butterfly-shaped blue topaz pieces. The gems were picked especially to represent each other 🥺

3) V's necklace is scented with Lincoln's cologne, if he gets really anxious he can turn around, hold the necklace up to his lips and kiss it 3 times and inhale the scent to calm him down 😭 he doesn't like people seeing him doing this though, so he will be as secretive about it as he can. Onto the non shippy facts! Main Hobbies: - DMing for Dungeons and Dragons - a very animated dungeon master, in contrast to his usual grumpy self. - Moth and butterfly study and care - big lepidopterology nerd, inherited from his mom, keeps her butterfly and moth ID book with all her notes in a secret place on him at all times. - Creepy Toy Making - think.. Coraline. makes animals, and people, thoughts and prayers for whoever stays in Lincoln and his eventual apartment's guestroom, cuz it's just filled to the brim with those terrifying toys😭 Other Hands-On Hobbies: - LARPing - diorama creating - fictional map-making - stop-motion animation creation - cosplay

Media Consumption Hobbies: - watching critical role - playing bloodborne - playing dark souls or any other soulsverse games - watching slasher movies - listening to goth, metal, or dark cabaret music Dislikes: - authority - the number four (he's scared of it after the end of the game, because of... secret reasons) - cheese - pizza - sweet dessert (unless it's coated in ketchup or sour cream, questionable taste, I know 😯) - being told what to do Fave animal (besides butterflies): Pangolins That's it! Well done if you got this far, thank you, bye! 🤭

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 2 years ago

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Zack Snyder's Justice League: Part II

by AnarchyRules

"Darkseid is not finished with Earth. The Anti-Life Equation is here somewhere. We have to find it before he does. There's a war coming."

The Justice League unite to stand against the oncoming darkness brought about by Darkseid and his army built from the carcassess of a hundred thousand worlds.

The sequel that we all deserve. Inspired by the storyboards based on Snyder's original plans for the film but retooled to filt the version of the story we got in Zack Snyder's Justice League so no Bruce/Lois lovechild.

Words: 1496, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Justice League - All Media Types, Justice League (2017), DC Extended Universe, Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Man of Steel (2013), Wonder Woman - All Media Types, Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins), Aquaman (2018)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Victor Stone, Arthur Curry (DCU), Lois Lane, Barry Allen, Diana (Wonder Woman), Joker (DCU), Slade Wilson, Calvin Swanwick | Martian Manhunter, Dick Grayson

Relationships: Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Diana (Wonder Woman)/Bruce Wayne, Arthur Curry/Mera (DCU)

Additional Tags: Post-Zack Snyder's Justice League (2021), Movie: Zack Snyder's Justice League (2021), Canon Compliant - Zack Snyder's Justice League (2021), Sequel

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/47881408

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the cape crusader #gotham #dc universe #ao3 #ao3feed

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vannahfanfics · 4 years ago

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Dawn and Dusk Part V

Before you read, here’s Part I, Part II, Part III, and Part IV!

Category: Romantic Fluff, Angst

Fandom: Yona of the Dawn

Characters: Soo-Won, Yona

Requested by: @lilc77 (Tumblr)

Hey, friend! I hope you’re ready for more YonaWon! This is for the first of the batch that you requested for the theme “sexual tension and desire.” I thought it would fit perfectly within my ongoing “Dawn and Dusk” series of oneshots, so I hope you enjoy the latest installment!

The study echoed with gentle flip of pages. Yona sat among the towering tomes, her legs tucked primly underneath her so the thick, leather-bound book could rest on her thighs. Her dawn-colored eyes scoured the printed words carefully, though in the back of her mind, she doubted that a biological survey of Kouka Kingdom’s bird species would prove fruitful in her endeavor. Though she knew nothing would be hidden in the text, she entertained herself for a few moments more with the detailed illustrations of the songbirds and descriptions of their behavior. She got like this from time to time, looking for escape in the useless paragraphs after yet another day of finding nothing.

Her fingertips skimmed over the inked drawing of a finch, its feathers painted in brilliant watercolor hues. The “sunrise finch,” it was nicknamed, not only for its brilliant red and yellow plumage, but also its propensity to be the first of the indigenous birds to rise. It awoke in the mere minutes before dawn to herald the oncoming sun with sweet tunes of the morning. Yet as the golden sun spilled across the trees, it would fall silent, its beautiful song swallowed up by the dawn chorus of other birds. Brief and fleeting, like the sunrise it worshipped.

Yona wondered if that was her fate, to be brief and fleeting like the dawn.

Sighing, she closed the book and replaced it on the shelf. Rather than grab another from the small stack beside her, she sat there a moment, reaching back to massage the flesh of her shoulder. Though soaking in the bath— however brief that was thanks to her surprise encounter with Soo-Won— had improved the strain significantly, she still found it twinging throughout the day. Perhaps I should retire early and give it some rest, she wondered, but looking down at the books next to her, Yona knew that would not happen. She had to keep searching, searching for any clues to the puzzle that existed between herself and Soo-Won.

She turned to the window, where the moonlight streamed in to bathe the study in white, at least where the soft yellow light of the lantern beside her could not reach. She wondered if there was a bird that also called to the setting sun and rising moon. Did it mourn the loss of the sun, or did it welcome the appearance of the stars and night sky? Perhaps there was no bird at all, but a king’s fanfare is close enough, she supposed. Dusk had ruled this land ever since her father’s death, as the pale moon sat upon the throne, merely reflecting the light of the sun. A false light, but, did that mean it was no less worthy? She wondered that as she gazed at the sliver of moon hanging low in the sky. Dusk, dawn… It was all light, wasn’t it, chasing away the darkness?

Who am I to truly say which is better? Yona thought with a sigh, looking back down at her lap. She felt her eyes begin to burn with the familiar sensation of salty tears brewing in the ducts. She often got this way when the watchful nights closed in, cast in light only by her flickering lantern. Everything was still so confusing; she knew not what path to take, what she should do for her people. It was maddeningly frustrating. She really only knew one thing these days, and that is that she still loved Soo-Won, achingly so, despite everything that had happened.

The first tear slipped down her cheek just as the door to the study opened. Yona quickly swept it away with the sleeve of her kimono as Soo-Won walked in, a look of mild surprise on his face.

“Ah. You’re still here? It’s awfully late.”

“I could say the same to you,” she said, but not icily. “I wanted to look through another book or so before finishing up for the night. What about you?” she asked as he navigated through the stacks upon stacks of volumes covering the floor and sat at his small desk. He picked up his quill with a tut, uncapping the inkwell and dipping the pointed tip of the writing utensil into the black muck.

“I have some reports that I have not yet read or signed off on,” he explained, skimming the contents of the first page before scribbling his signature on the bottom. He set it aside for the ink to dry, then began reading the next.

Yona looked back to her stack of books, knowing that she should pick one up, but her desire to investigate any further had suddenly vanished. She looked back to the shelf, then stood to retrieve the book of bird species. She flipped back to the page about the sunrise finch, then slowly walked over to Soo-Won. He glanced up when she approached, then looked down at the open book in her hands.

“Soo-Won… Have you ever seen this bird?” She turned it around so he could see the illustration. He studied it for a moment, then nodded.

“Yes… They actually nest in the palace gardens,” he explained, and looked up when Yona gasped in delight. How had she never known such a gorgeous bird had a home in the plants right outside her window? Well… It wasn’t exactly often that she found herself up before dawn. However, that would soon change. She would wake up first thing tomorrow to catch a glimpse of this bird.

“Thank you. I’ll leave you to your paperwork,” Yona said, then looked down at the bird and its brilliant sunrise plumage. She wondered if it would be as stunning in person. She was sure it would be. The anticipation brought a smile to her face, and so she replaced the book on the shelf. The sooner she got to sleep, the sooner the dawn would come.

Soo-Won spoke as she headed to the door.

“You were crying.”

She stiffened. He had seen? She’d thought she’d been slick. She could feel his aqua eyes boring into her back, making warmth spread all over her back. His stare beckoned her like a siren call; she was helpless to his song, causing her to turn slowly around to face him. His expression wasn’t judgmental, not that she had expected it to be in the first place— it was sad, or guilty, even.

He turned in his chair so he could hold his hand out to her. Entranced by that silent magnetic melody, Yona’s body moved of its own accord; she crossed the room to take his outstretched hand. His touch was soft as his fingers moved over hers, giving just the slightest tug to pull Yona until she was standing in front of him. He reached up with his free hand to brush over the tear stains she’d thought she’d scrubbed away, ghosting over the slightly reddened skin with a heartbroken look.

“How is your shoulder?” Such an innocent question so at odds with the way his fingers skipped down to her shoulder, fingertips inching under her kimono to brush over the skin. She tried not to twitch at the electricity that shot through her nerves. Her body was stunned, electrified by his ministrations, but her tongue seemed to work just fine.

“It’s better.”

He didn’t say anything, just tilted his head while continuing to massage the top of her shoulder. Her heart thumped against her chest as her kimono sleeve slipped fully off her shoulder, exposing her upper arm and even the barest hint of the curve of her breast. Soo-Won’s eyes flickered up to hers, inspecting the minute twitches of her fate for discomfort. He didn’t find any, because why would he? By now, he knew the depths of Yona’s feelings, the way she yearned for his touch despite everything that had happened.

When did his other arm snake around her hips? It had circled around her without her knowing, so she gasped when she felt him pull her forward until she bumped against his knees. He quirked a brow— a silent invitation. She bit down on her lip, debating.

Would any good come from yielding to her desires? She should focus on ferreting out his plans for her kingdom, not yielding to her more base compulsions. Yet as Soo-Won’s aqua eyes met hers, she felt her inhibitions melting away as easily as that silk had slid off her shoulder. With a breath of his name, she climbed onto his lap, pressing every inch of their bodies together that she could. Soo-Won’s hands pushed into her dawn-colored hair with a reverent sigh, prompting her to crane her head back into his palms.

He pressed his mouth to the column of her throat in an open-mouthed kiss. He lingered there for several moments, and then murmured against her skin, “I’m sorry. Ever since we met again, I have caused you pain.”

Yona’s throat bobbed against his lips as she swallowed. Her eyelashes fluttered to fight back the tears, but they came anyway. Soo-Won must have felt the tears dripping down into his hair, because he sat up to press wispy kisses over her ruddying cheeks to catch the salty streams. “My selfishness has caused you pain,” he murmured against her face. “I tried, but… Yona, I love you so…”

“I know,” Yona said with a shuddering breath. “I know. I love you too, Soo-Won, though it vexes me.” She curled her neck so she could bury her face into his hair. She inhaled deeply, and the scent of him flooded her nose— parchment, rose water, and a crisp coolness she could only characterize as moonlight. She wondered if she smelled like the dawn, spicy and warm?

Soo-Won kissed the junction of her neck and shoulder, drawing her out of her thoughts. Just as a small bit of lucidity returned to her, he began a path up her neck and over her chin to claim her lips in a steamy, hungry kiss. Yona perched on his lap while his fingers roved up and down her back, leaving sparks in their wake. She tangled her tongue eagerly with his, and he tasted like cool moonlight, too. Her mind clouded over like it was filled with cotton as heat built up within her, like she was a pot filling with steam.

Just as she felt ready to burst, he pulled away. Cool air rushed through her, chilling the warmth inside of her, and she exhaled shakily. Soo-Won petted her cheek with that sad look on his face again. She still trembled atop him, not sure how to feel. These short, passionate moments between them had become such a regular occurrence that it was hard to feel guilt or shame anymore.

“Soo-Won,” she murmured, and his fine eyelashes fluttered when he looked up at her. They’d just exchanged some very passionate kisses, but she still blushed when she meekly asked, “Would you… Would you show me the sunrise finch tomorrow morning?”

He seemed surprised by her question, his eyes going wide. Then, his face relaxed into a sweet smile.

“I would love to. It has been a while since I’ve seen them myself.”

When Yona prepared to get off him, his hands tightened around her hips.

“Stay?” he asked, quietly, pleadingly. Yona tensed at first, then slowly relaxed when she saw the way he was staring down at his desk— so sadly, so miserably. Yona knew she ought not to, but she draped herself over him anyway, nestling her head on his shoulder. He held her against him with one arm while he turned to resume tending to his documents. Yona closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling of his chest rising and falling against hers, his heartbeat thumping against her sternum. It didn’t take long for hers to synchronize with his. Lulled by the melody of their tandem breaths and heartbeats, Yona found herself drifting into a comfortable sleep. The dawn would come eventually, and Yona would have to tend again to her priorities. However, for at least a few sweet hours, she would allow herself to bathe in the cool white light of the dusk— in Soo-Won and his deep, unconditional, heart-wrenching love for her.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#yonawon #suyona #sooyona #soo-won x yona #soowon x yona #suwon x yona #yona x soowon #yona x soo-won #yona x suwon #yona of the dawn #akatsuki no yona #akayona

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orxna · 6 days ago

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Here Lies the Abyss

Orana finds that most of the insults and taunts are not worth her time. She has heard worse in her life, remembers the vile things that used to fly from Hadriana's mouth when she was angry. The fear demon knows things because it is a thief, a wicked thing that only wants to hurt her and what can words do to her, truly? Orana thinks, for once she may have higher defenses than anyone else trapped in this hellscape. Of course, when the terrible thing targets Hawke her hackles rise. She simply cannot help it,

"I'm alive because of Hawke," She snaps at the creature, "So are many others, that matters."

It is then that she takes Hawke's hand loosely in her own, Marian allows it and even in this dreadful and melancholy place a smile tugs at her lips. It is not the wide cocky grin with little light meeting her eyes that Hawke wields like a shield. It is a little thing, a twinge of her lips and a creasing of the corners. Orana smiles back softly, they are trapped here together though she has trouble saying it aloud. She hopes the way she squeezes the other woman's hand communicate what the Herald struggles to articulate.

She's half tempted to use her other hand to grab hold of Varric and draw him close as well, to find comfort in what's left of her little marcher family. She doesn't, because Varric needs both hands to use Bianca and she must keep the Mark ready in case of danger. Marian likely also needs her spare hand, but Orana thinks she needs a steadying one more.

It goes like that for some time, they trudge through an endless haze of green smog. Sometimes, when Orana pauses to read the gravestones upon their path it nearly solidifies. Little, fingers pulling at her sleeves as if they could drag her down into the graves themselves if only she would give them the strength.

The Nightmare's tauntings do not cease, but Hawke's name is surreptitiously absent as it needles relentlessly at her other companions. Orana finds herself frowning but they are certainly baring the barbs with enough grace. Thus, the Herald pushes it from her mind, focusing only on one foot in front of the next and getting out when--

"Why don't you play us a song, Dulcissima."

With a single phrase Orana's limbs seize in the same manner as her lungs. The voice isn't right, it's not his voice but it's so close. She can practically hear the clack of his staff upon the blood red tiles. She cleaned them, she knows she cleaned them. Again and again but the crimson only spreads, only smears because she stepped upon glass before he called her forward. Her father writhes in pain, the red in his veins pulling him apart at the seams because he is not grateful enough to Danarius for his gifts.

He's dead but he's here, he's here, he's here.

Hands press into her arms, cradling both elbows and Orana's body drops, all fight seeping from her limbs. A high, keening wail dies in her throat, smothered by panic and past experience. Don't make a sound or else he will only twist the knife. Play melodies beautiful, prim and quiet 'till finger pads tear and nailbeds bleed or else it will be worse--

"--Orana. Orana, it's Marian--"

"Ease up, give Melody some room to breathe--"

"I can perhaps pull her out of it but it may cause--"

"If you even think about touching her I'll--"

Coarse hands cradle her face, gently tapping at her cheeks and Orana blinks.

"Hey there, Melody. You with us, again?"

Varric's voice is steady even though she can see the slightly panicked set of his eyebrows as she stares up at him. Up, she's laying back against something hard and metal. She cranes her neck to find herself propped up against Hawke. Her cheek nearly scrapes against the sharp jut of Marian's breastplate before the dwarf in front of her is tugging her forward. She sits up with little resistance, her limbs still trembling.

But Hawke's hands soothe up and down her arms, pulling warmth and feeling back into the limbs. They linger this way for a few minutes, Varric and Hawke murmuring assurances that Danarius is dead. This is only a trick of the Fear Demon. Had they more time, the two would linger longer until Orana's eyes lost the glassy edge but they can only wait until her limbs are steady enough to hold her weight again.

Hoisted up between the two of them, once her feet are solidly below her Marian pulls Orana and Varric both into a nearly bone crushing hug. Varric grumbles lightly, but Orana knows it's only for the benefit of their other companions whomst Hawke pointedly did not include.

The hug is the warmest she's felt since they crashed here in the Fade.

#v; the oncoming dawn #//i have been sitting on this half-finished for Ages #//but here it is #//I'm gonna go lay down

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

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Klainetober one-shot - “Neck Nibbles” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Kurt wakes up to something biting his neck. Blaine claims it's a mosquito. When Kurt wakes in the morning, he discovers that perhaps Blaine was lying ... (2336 words)

Notes: A re-write for the @klainetober prompt 'vampire'. Follows 'One of Those Nights'.

Read on AO3.

Kurt feels a slight pinch, like the prick of a tiny needle injecting into his neck, and in his sleep, he swings a hand to bat the culprit away.

“Oof! Kurt!” Blaine groans, taking the hit square in the eye.

“Wha---?” Kurt mumbles, only partially awake. “What are you doing?” He snorts in a, frankly, unattractive way - a way reserved for muttering in his sleep - then shifts positions, rolling his hips left, then his body, till he’s lying on his side facing away from his boyfriend.

“I’m not doing anything,” Blaine replies. “Go back to sleep.”

Kurt arcs an eyebrow, but he doesn't open his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Go back to sleep."

Kurt would say that Blaine sounds suspiciously awake and coherent for two fifty-two in the morning, but it’s times like these that Kurt forgets his boyfriend is a vampire, not the dapper Prince Charming he fell in love with back at Dalton.

“I’m trying,” Kurt complains, bringing the comforter up to his chin and holding it tight against him to protect his vulnerable neck. “But there’s a mosquito or something in here, and it’s bugging me … hee-hee … bugging me …” Kurt chuckles at his unintended pun, snorting again, which makes him laugh harder.

“I’ll kill it if it comes back,” Blaine promises. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm … okay …” Kurt agrees, shoving skepticism aside and snuggling against the hard body of his boyfriend, who usually opts to lie beside Kurt in bed even though he doesn’t need sleep. “As long as you (yawn) stay here to protect me.”

“Of course.” Blaine smiles, fangs bared as Kurt snores softly. “I’ll stay right here." He kisses Kurt lightly on the forehead. "I'm not going anywhere ...”

***

Kurt can feel the sun within his body telling him it’s time to rise - an occupational hazard of dating a vampire, this sixth sense about the oncoming dawn. It also means that Blaine has made himself scarce, banished to the dark corner of the bedroom by the closet where the sunlight doesn’t reach until noon. The sun has yet to breach the horizon and pierce his sheer drapes, but Kurt can feel it prickling behind his eyelids.

That’s odd.

Rarely does that happen unless he and Blaine have a hardcore make-out sesh with lots of biting involved. But weeks of putting in overtime at school and at the diner sent Kurt to bed early, so that definitely didn’t happen.

Heartbreaking.

Short of that strange symptom, his primary concern at the moment is the number that insect did on him last night. Kurt raises a hand to his neck, hissing when his fingertips come in contact with his sore skin.

“Ugh,” he grumbles, rolling his way out of bed. "Must have been a huge mosquito. Filthy bloodsucker ..." He cringes at his own remark, hoping he didn't inadvertently offend his boyfriend. He'll find out after he assesses the damage to his neck. Kurt has extremely sensitive skin. A single bite from a pernicious parasite can make him look like he has a goiter! He needs to figure out how much cover-up he’s going to need to apply before school.

His feet hit the floor, and immediately the urge to climb back into bed and hide under the covers overwhelms him.

He got a decent amount of sleep last night. Why is he so damned out of it?

Kurt stumbles blindly over to his vanity and drops onto the stool, groaning at the prospect of opening his eyes. The day would go so much easier if he could keep them shut, but that would probably make taking the subway way more challenging. Kurt blinks his eyes open, lids dragging over sticky corneas, objecting to the idea of letting light anywhere near his retinas. Kurt turns away from the mirror when a stream of light hits the reflective surface and brightens the room.

“Jeez,” Kurt mumbles, putting a hand to his aching head, shielding his eyes. “Hey, Blaine? Did you hand me a hard cider instead of a Diet Coke last night or something? Because I feel awful!”

Blaine doesn’t answer. A few more blinks confirm that Kurt’s boyfriend isn’t even in the room.

Uh-oh, Kurt thinks. That’s never a good sign.

Kurt rubs his eyes hard with the heels of his palms, blinking between rubs to kick-start the watering process. He manages to clear his bleary vision enough to get a decent glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, and his jaw drops.

“BLAINE!” Kurt roars when he sees the grotesque purple splotches running up and down his neck, covering nearly every conceivable inch of skin.

“Yes?” Blaine peeks his head in the bedroom door, biting his lower lip when he catches Kurt’s reflection in the mirror. “Can I help you with something, love?”

“Did you do this?” Kurt asks, pawing at his neck, running his fingertips over the marks, gasping in horror at the nastier ones.

“No?” Blaine says uneasily. “It was a mosquito. You ... you said so yourself.”

Kurt frowns.

Blaine is a horrible liar.

An incredible actor, but a horrible liar.

Not too long ago, Kurt and Blaine stumbled upon another vampire. A friendly vampire. Victim of circumstance, like Blaine, but for a far less comical reason. This vampire warned Kurt to be careful, said that now that Blaine was a vampire, he'd be better at hiding the truth.

But he isn't.

Not by a long shot.

He was a better liar when he was human.

Kurt pivots on his stool to glare angrily at Blaine since looking at his non-reflection through the mirror was getting irritating.

“A mosquito did this?” Kurt points to a particularly massive and vicious-looking bite, countering Blaine’s ridiculous lie.

“Y-yes?”

Kurt turns back to the mirror right as a more intense beam of sunlight hits the glass. He yelps, squeezing his eyes shut hard to avoid the glare.

“Dammit, Blaine!” Kurt leaps off the stool and races to the window to secure the black-out curtains. “You did bite me! I can feel it! All the way to the back of my brain!”

“Only a little,” Blaine finally admits, daring a few steps into the room.

“Only a little? I look like ground meat! Blaine!” Kurt staggers back to his vanity to better examine the damage.

“D-don’t freak out.” Blaine sits on the edge of the bed, watching Kurt set up his arsenal of foundation, intent on covering up the bruises. “The photophobia will wear off in a few hours.”

“It’s not the photophobia that’s bothering me.” Kurt opens a container of green base makeup to prep his violated neck. “If you wanted a late-night snack, could you have at least bitten a spot that won’t show? I have play practice this afternoon, and you know how important this is to me. I look diseased!”

“You could always wear a scarf,” Blaine suggests. "You have tons."

“I bought a new Marc Jacobs shirt with a V-neckline, and none of my scarves go with it,” Kurt argues, turning left and right, whimpering at his boyfriend’s handiwork. “And I was really looking forward to wearing it today.”

“Yeah ... I wanted to ask you about that …”

“Ask me about what?” Kurt asks, dabbing furiously.

“Why the departure from your leather jacket and t-shirts? I mean, you were into fashion when we met, but when I became a … you know …”

“Vampire?” Kurt offers flatly. He has come to terms with it, but, to be honest, there is a part of him that is having a hard time forgiving Blaine over it.

“Yeah, that,” Blaine says sheepishly. “You changed your look. And I know it might sound silly, but it meant something to me. Like, I transformed, and then you did, too. I thought you did it so we would match."

"I did," Kurt admits.

"So ... why are you buying designer clothes again?”

“Because this is an important production, and I want to look a little more professional,” Kurt explains. “I’m not doing it to hurt you if that’s what you think. I'm not that kind of person.”

Blaine nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Is it really that? Or is it because that blond with the sexy English accent is going to be there?”

"What?" Kurt stops fussing with his makeup, an applicator wedge slathered in primer poised an inch from his skin. "Why would you think ...?" Kurt's eyes go wide. “Wait, wait, wait …” He turns to face Blaine, whose gaze darts away to meticulously examine the threads of Kurt’s Valentina comforter. “Are you jealous?”

Blaine falls silent a moment, gets lost in thought. Then, as if suddenly remembering he's in the middle of a conversation, sputters a weak laugh.

“What? N-no. Not a bit. What do I have to be jealous of?”

“Exactly.” Kurt puts his makeup wedge down and scoots closer, placing his hands on Blaine’s knees. “What do you have to be jealous of?”

“Maybe the fact that you’re living the dream? Not just your dream, but mine, too. A dream I’m never going to be able to fulfill.” Blaine's eyes travel from the comforter to the floor, where a narrow ray of light spreads over the wood. “Or maybe … I'm jealous of this …” He sweeps a hand through the beam, his skin sizzling at the touch of sunlight.

“Blaine! Stop! Don’t hurt yourself!” Kurt reaches for Blaine’s burnt hand and holds it in his. He stands and pulls Blaine down the width of the bed, farther away from the window. Kurt sits beside him, rests his head on Blaine’s shoulder. “Oh, honey. We talked about this.”

Blaine shrugs the opposite shoulder, uncomfortable with laying his fears bare, but he doesn’t pull his hand away, curling his fingers over Kurt’s to keep them joined. Kurt looks into Blaine’s face, into glowing red eyes fighting to stay open as the oncoming dawn weighs heavy on him. Kurt knows Blaine’s transformation has been difficult for him to adjust to, but it has never been particularly challenging for them as a couple – not until Kurt landed the starring role in a play that had the potential to go from the humble student theater at NYADA to off-Broadway, with Kurt leading the charge. “No one is going to replace you. And that guy …” Kurt shakes his head. “He doesn’t even come close. Besides ..." Kurt grins "... I’m not the flirt in this relationship. You are.”

"Yeah, well, not so much anymore." Blaine chuckles, tired eyes lifting to meet Kurt’s.

"You have your moments." Kurt raises a hand to cup Blaine’s cold cheek. "You have to trust me."

“I do trust you.” Blaine turns into Kurt’s hand and kisses his wrist, right above the pulse that calls to him incessantly, echoing his need. Blaine doesn’t know if it’s the love he carried over into this immortal life or if that need has always been there, but he has a bond with Kurt – one that would devastate him if it was broken. “It’s that guy I don’t trust. I’ve been to your midnight rehearsals. I see the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.”

“And do you remember the way I used to look at you at Dalton when I thought you weren’t paying attention?”

“Yeah,” Blaine answers with a wistful laugh. “Yeah, I do.” If Blaine closes his eyes, he can see those furtive glances - Kurt's magical blue eyes grazing Blaine's face before returning to his books, smile growing, cheeks burning red.

God, he misses those days. Misses the excitement of newborn love, the kind of urgent, drama-filled attraction that happens only in high school. He mourns the fact that their life together, the one they had planned so carefully, came to such an abrupt end.

It was all his fault.

And nothing he can do will fix it.

“Well, I still do.” Kurt leans in close and presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips. Blaine smiles into it, wants it to go on forever, even when he feels his strength ebbing away. As the sun rises higher in the sky, Blaine’s need to find somewhere dark to rest amplifies, but he’ll do anything to stay like this and keep kissing his boyfriend.

But he can’t, even if he could convince Kurt to play hooky and stay home with him, and that’s one more thing he has to be jealous of.

“I should let you get back to your cover-up,” Blaine says, relinquishing his grip on Kurt’s hand. Kurt looks at his vanity, at the army of small bottles and jars awaiting him, all very expensive. And not a one of them more important than his boyfriend. Not even his clear, alabaster skin is more important to him than Blaine.

“You know what? Fuck it!” Kurt jumps up the bed and pulls Blaine along with him. “So what if I wear a scarf that doesn't match? No one at NYADA really knows fashion anyway."

"What about ... what about the play?" Blaine argues but he's not fighting. He couldn't if he wanted to.

And Lord knows, he doesn't want to.

"I’ll have the makeup girl cover them up. Let her earn her keep. This way, everybody gets to see the marks my baby gave me.”

“Really?” Blaine raises an eyebrow.

Kurt tugs Blaine on top of him, and Blaine carefully settles over Kurt’s body.

“Yup. In fact, I think I can handle a few more, if you’re not too tired, that is.” Kurt loops his arms around Blaine’s neck, threading his fingers into his hair. His skin may be unnaturally cool to the touch, but his hair still feels like silk. It’s one of Kurt’s favorite things about Blaine’s new body.

“I think I can do that,” Blaine says, biding past the daybreak and finding a clear spot on Kurt’s neck. “We’ll give that makeup girl a run for her money.”

#klaine #Klaine fic #klaine fanfiction #klainetober

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dominionleathershop · 4 years ago

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Audible Books

New Updated Audible List - There is NO real easy way to do this. To bad Tumblr does not allow the Rich Text Editor to change colors or I would have given you my favorites in this list...I am not going to do this in the native HTML language...too much a pain. If you really want, I can pull the books that are my personal favorites...and put them in MY FAVORITES list.

But I have organized it by GENRE, then before the title, I gave the “book series” of the book if one existsted separate by a “ - “ For example:

Hunger Games, Book 1 - The Hunger Games Hunger Games, Book 2 - Catching Fire

Biographies & Memoirs > Politics & Activism Mornings on Horseback The Fiery Trial: Abraham Lincoln and American Slavery Grey Wolf: The Escape of Adolf Hitler Bios & Memoirs > Celebrities Son of Bum: Lessons My Dad Taught Me About Football and Life Bios & Memoirs > Personal Memoirs Failure is Not an Option: Mission Control from Mercury to Apollo 13 and Beyond Bios & Memoirs > Political Figures Game Change: Obama and the Clintons, McCain and Palin, and the Race of a Lifetime Going Rogue: An American Life Bios & Memoirs > Science & Technology Leaders Steve Jobs Business & Careers > Management & Leadership Valley of Genius Astroball: The New Way to Win It All Children's Audiobooks > Science Fiction & Fantasy Mortal Engines, Book 1 - Mortal Engines Mortal Engines, Book 2 - Predator's Gold Classics > British Literature Brave New World Fiction > Historical Aubrey/Maturin, Book 1 - Master and Commander Fiction > Horror Robopocalypse Fiction > Humor The Supervillainy Saga, Book 1 - The Rules of Supervillainy The Supervillainy Saga, Book 2 - The Games of Supervillainy The Supervillainy Saga, Book 3 - The Secrets of Supervillainy Year Zero Fiction > Religious & Inspirational Left Behind Series, Book 1 - Left Behind Left Behind Series, Book 2 - Tribulation Force History > 20th Century D-Day The Second World War Operation Mincemeat: How a Dead Man and a Bizarre Plan Fooled the Nazis and Assured an Allied Victory The Sleepwalkers: How Europe Went to War in 1914 The Coldest Winter History > American Lone Star Rising: The Revolutionary Birth of the Texas Republic History > Americas Isaac's Storm: A Man, a Time, and the Deadliest Hurricane in History History > Ancient History The Storm Before the Storm: The Beginning of the End of the Roman Republic History > Asia Midway: The Battle That Doomed Japan, the Japanese Navy's Story History > Europe The Great Courses: Modern History - A History of Eastern Europe History > Middle East Crusade: The Untold Story of the Persian Gulf War History > Military The Civil War: A Narrative Volume I - The Civil War: Volume I, Fort Sumter to Perryville The Civil War: A Narrative Volume II - The Civil War: Volume II, Fredericksburg to Meridian The Civil War: A Narrative Volume III - The Civil War: Volume III, Red River to Appomattox The Story of World War II Literature & Fiction > Action & Adventure Kill Decision Aurora Literature & Fiction > Classics Dune, Book 2 - Dune Messiah Literature & Fiction > Horror The Stand Literature & Fiction > Humor & Satire Phule's Company, Book 1 - Phule's Company Mysteries & Thrillers > Espionage Jack Ryan, Chronilogical Order Book 1) - Patriot Games Jack Ryan, Chronilogical Order Book 10) - The Teeth of the Tiger Jack Ryan, Chronilogical Order Book 2) - Red Rabbit Jack Ryan, Chronilogical Order Book 3) - The Hunt for Red October Jack Ryan, Chronilogical Order Book 4) - The Cardinal of the Kremlin Jack Ryan, Chronilogical Order Book 5) - Clear and Present Danger Jack Ryan, Chronilogical Order Book 6) - The Sum of All Fears Jack Ryan, Chronilogical Order Book 7) - Debt of Honor Jack Ryan, Chronilogical Order Book 8) - Executive Orders Jack Ryan, Chronilogical Order Book 9) - The Bear and the Dragon John Clark, Book 1 - Without Remorse Mysteries & Thrillers > Suspense Daemon, Book 1 - Daemon Daemon, Book 2 - Freedom (tm) Invasion: America, Book 1 - Invasion: Alaska Jeff Aiken, Book 1 - Zero Day State of Fear One Second After Mysteries & Thrillers > Technothrillers Influx Mystery, Thriller & Suspense > Mystery Change Agent Mystery, Thriller & Suspense > Thriller & Suspense The Martian Legion Delta-v Nonfiction > Politics Nullification: How to Resist Federal Tyranny in the 21st Century Nonfiction > Social Sciences Of Dice and Men: The Story of Dungeons & Dragons and the People Who Play It Romance > Erotica Masters of the Shadowlands, Book 01 - Club Shadowlands Masters of the Shadowlands, Book 02 - Dark Citadel Masters of the Shadowlands, Book 03 - Breaking Free Masters of the Shadowlands, Book 04 - Lean on Me Masters of the Shadowlands, Book 05 - Make Me, Sir Masters of the Shadowlands, Book 06 - To Command and Collar Masters of the Shadowlands, Book 07 - This Is Who I Am Masters of the Shadowlands, Book 08 - If Only Masters of the Shadowlands, Book 09 - Show Me, Baby Masters of the Shadowlands, Book 10 - Servicing the Target Masters of the Shadowlands, Book 11 - Protecting His Own Masters of the Shadowlands, Book 12 - Michief and the Masters Science & Engineering > Science The Interstellar Age Science & Technology > Technology Social Engineering: The Art of Human Hacking Science Fiction & Fantasy Bobiverse, Book 1 - We Are Legion (We Are Bob) Bobiverse, Book 2 - For We Are Many Bobiverse, Book 3 - All These Worlds Evil Genius, Book 1 - Evil Genius: Becoming the Apex Supervillain The Witcher Saga - The Last Wish Science Fiction & Fantasy > Fantasy Dark Elf Trilogy, Book 1 - Homeland Dark Elf Trilogy, Book 2 - Exile Dark Elf Trilogy, Book 3 - Sojourn Expeditionary Force, Book 1 - Columbus Day Forgotten Realms: The Avatar, Book 1 - Shadowdale Forgotten Realms: The Avatar, Book 2 - Tantras Forgotten Realms: The Avatar, Book 3 - Waterdeep Forgotten Realms: The Avatar, Book 4 - Prince of Lies Forgotten Realms: The Avatar, Book 5 - Crucible Arrival Science Fiction & Fantasy > Science Fiction Old Man's War, Book 4.5 - The Sagan Diary The Expanse, Book 2 - Caliban's War The Expanse, Book 3 - Abaddon's Gate The Interdependency, Book 1 - The Collapsing Empire Sci-Fi & Fantasy > Fantasy: Contemporary Iron Druid Chronicles, Book 1 - Hounded Iron Druid Chronicles, Book 2 - Hexed Iron Druid Chronicles, Book 3 - Hammered Iron Druid Chronicles, Book 4 - Tricked Iron Druid Chronicles, Book 5 - Trapped Iron Druid Chronicles, Book 6 - Hunted Iron Druid Chronicles, Book 7 - Shattered Iron Druid Chronicles, Book 8 - Staked Iron Druid Chronicles, Book 9 - Scourged Sci-Fi & Fantasy > Fantasy: Epic Belgariad, Book 1 - Pawn of Prophecy Belgariad, Book 2 - Queen of Sorcery Dragonlance Chronicles, Book 1 - Dragons of Autumn Twilight Dragonlance Chronicles, Book 2 - Dragons of Winter Night Dragonlance Chronicles, Book 3 - Dragons of Spring Dawning Genesis of Shannara, Book 1 - Armageddon's Children Genesis of Shannara, Book 2 - The Elves of Cintra Heritage of Shannara, Book 1 - The Scions of Shannara Incarnations of Immortality, Book 1 - On a Pale Horse Incarnations of Immortality, Book 2 - Bearing an Hourglass Incarnations of Immortality, Book 3 - With a Tangled Skein Incarnations of Immortality, Book 4 - Wielding a Red Sword Incarnations of Immortality, Book 5 - Being a Green Mother Incarnations of Immortality, Book 6 - For Love of Evil Incarnations of Immortality, Book 7 - And Eternity KingKiller Chronicles, Book 1 - The Name of the Wind KingKiller Chronicles, Book 2 - The Wise Man's Fear Malazan Book of the Fallen, Book 1 - Gardens of the Moon Song of Ice and Fire - A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms Song of Ice and Fire, Book 1 - A Game of Thrones Song of Ice and Fire, Book 2 - A Clash of Kings Song of Ice and Fire, Book 3 - A Storm of Swords Song of Ice and Fire, Book 4 - A Feast for Crows Song of Ice and Fire, Book 5 - A Dance with Dragons Sword of Shannara, Book 0 - The First King Shannara Sword of Shannara, Book 1 - The Sword of Shannara Sword of Shannara, Book 2 - The Elfstones of Shannara Sword of Shannara, Book 3 - The Wishsong of Shannara Sci-Fi & Fantasy > Sci-Fi: Classic Dune, Book 1 - Dune Foundation, Book 1 - Foundation Foundation, Book 2 - Foundation and Empire Foundation, Book 3 - Second Foundation 2001: A Space Odyssey Ringworld The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress Stranger in a Strange Land Sci-Fi & Fantasy > Sci-Fi: Contemporary Angel in the Whirlwind, Book 1 - The Oncoming Storm Angel in the Whirlwind, Book 2 - Falcone Strike Books 1-3 - Arisen Omnibus Edition Commonwealth Saga, Book 1 - Pandora's Star Destroyerman, Book 1 - Into the Storm Destroyerman, Book 10 - Straits of Hell Destroyerman, Book 11 - Blood in the Water Destroyerman, Book 12 - Devil's Due Destroyerman, Book 13 - River of Bones Destroyerman, Book 14 - Pass of Fire Destroyerman, Book 15 - Winds of Wrath Destroyerman, Book 2 - 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skvaderarts · 4 years ago

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Apocrypha Chapter Nineteen: Parlay

Masterlist can be found Here! Thanks!

Chapter Nineteen: Parlay

(-~-)

The lights in the hallway had brightened slightly as the sun faded below the horizon. The windows grew dark as the light they had once provided fell from view and revealed the darkness from beyond them, signaling to anyone who possessed a view of them that it was now dusk and probably a good time to turn in for the night. The music that had played in the halls reflected this shift into night, switching off as to not disturb the occupants of the building. While it hadn't been very loud in the first place, it was still a help to those with hyper-keen hearing or simply an aversion to Chopin and Bach, if such people truly existed.

With the change in scenery came a change in mood overall, both from the beauty of the night itself and from the arrival of the Sons of Sparda as they made their way down the hallway towards their room. Vergil's face betrayed his desire to be further from his younger twin in that moment. He possessed no further desire to dwell on the matter at hand, and his younger twin knew precisely every detail of what he'd discussed with Nero in the lobby. It was beyond him to have a meaningful conversation with all three members of his immediate family tonight, owing to the fact that he intended to say something to V once they arrived, and he'd already reached an impasse with Nero for the time being.

But for the brief moment that his mind wandered towards other possible means of escaping his fate, he remembered his time in the underworld and the absolute shit show that everything had to be at the moment. With no acting ruler, the possibilities were endless. The only sensible explanation as to why no one had made an attempt to come after him just yet had to be that internal and external warfare had to be the primary concern of most residents of the underworld. Well, at least the ones with the mental capacity to actually worry about such things.

While the darker side of the Trinity tended to be populous and grand in it's scale and variety, it wasn't exactly packed to the brim with intellectual minds. For all her other shortcomings and disadvantages, Malphas had actually been one of the smarter denizens of Mundus's court. Though he despised quite literally everything about her, especially when it came to things like her appearance, scent, and general existence, he'd be remiss to glance over the fact that she was a powerful sorceress, the likes of which most mortals could only dream of emulating. But from what he understood, she was no longer alive. At least that was a positive outcome of his little "misadventure" in Redgrave City. If he knew who had taken care of her, he'd probably thank them before he eliminated them himself. One couldn't have a demon that powerful just wandering around to do as they pleased. Unless of course his younger twin had taken care of her on his way to fight him…

Nah, he'd still punch Dante in the face.

That had been his fight. How dare he strike her down before he got the chance.

"So are you gonna say sorry or not, Vergil?" Dante asked casually as he followed behind his older twin. It was slightly harder for Vergil to stab him from behind, and that slight logistical advantage might prove handy if the conversation continued on as it had up until this point." Because if you do, I wanna be there for that. Can't miss a once in a lifetime experience like that, ya know? Might even take a few pictures."

Vergil shot his snickering twin a livid glance over his shoulder, not at all appreciating the topic of conversation they were currently stuck on. While they were leaving to return to the office with the others in two days' time, this particular trip was starting to feel like it had already lasted a week. While that could easily be a result of Vergil's sense of time being slightly askew due to his prolonged stay in the underworld, or simply as result of the events that had unfolded that day, he honestly didn't care to think about it or discern a concrete reason. All he knew was that he honestly wanted to stab Dante right now and he was making an effort not to do so. There was a camera in the hallway, one of the few pieces of technology he actually recognized at this point.

Everything pertaining to electronics that had come into existence before his departure into the underworld (and some that had existed before that…) might as well be written in another language as far as he was concerned. But unless surveillance equipment had undergone a fundamental overhaul in the time he'd been away, he understood that whipping out Yamato and cutting slabs of jerky out of his younger sibling wasn't something he could get away with. Their hotel room was another story. Dante would do best to remember that.

"You would like that, wouldn't you? I'd say that I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that would be dishonest and I'm trying to improve certain aspects of my personality." Vergil said almost smugly as they rounded the corner and descended the second to last flight of stairs that led up to their room. They had been up there earlier in the day, but he still despised the idiosyncratic layout of the establishment they were boarding in for the time being. Everything else about it was… fine. He didn't feel one way or another about it. But the stairs and the small hallways were positively claustrophobic and he wanted to snap the neck of the person who had designed them. Maybe he'd toss them down their own stairs while he was at it…

Vergil needed something to kill. There had to be demons in this city somewhere.

The younger of the two sighed as he continued to snicker to himself, graduating to actual laughter. "Oh brother, you're just so damn funny, you know that? Tell me, how do you go through life day after day with a stick that far up your-"

"Dante. Don't start. I'm not cleaning your blood off of these stairs. They have carpet."

The twins casually glanced in Nero's direction as they approached him. He was headed in their direction and had caught the tail end of their little discussion. While he was sure that whatever they were going on about was more than likely Vergil's fault, he wasn't in the mood for this kind of shit tonight. They would have to do this another time, preferable when he and the rest of the general public weren't in the line of fire.

"Oh, come on, Nero! What else is housekeeping going to do to keep themselves busy this time of day? They could use a little excitement." Dante spoke in a manner so straight to the point and sarcastic that Nero actually couldn't tell if he was just screwing with them both or if he was actually serious. It could be hard to tell at times. Regardless, his answer was still the same.

"Look, just shut and go back downstairs before someone remembers that they can move faster than the old ass cameras in this place can keep up with. We're supposed to be getting dinner in a half hour, remember?" Nero said humorously. They had to make it to at least the end of day one before swords started getting put through people.

Dante shrugged constantly at the "suggestion" and turned to face the other end of the hall. "Hey, why not. There has to be a pizza place around here somewhere. And besides, I wasn't coming up here for anything anyways."

Vergil stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning around to face his twin brother with a semi confused and semi livid expression on his face. The sideways look he gave him spoke volumes as to his state of mind. He blinked for a moment before seemingly coming to some sort of internal conclusion. He was clearly skirting the precipice of his mental reserves. "You… then what did you bother coming up here in the first place, Dante? What could you possibly stand to gain from it?"

Again, Dante shrugged nebulously. Nero gave him a half knowing half warning look, preparing himself for whatever innate stupidity was about to unfold. He'd been around Dante long enough to be able to tell when he was just shooting the shit for the sake of it, and that wasn't quite what this was. But it didn't take a mental giant to see that that was exactly what this line of conversation was going to accomplish. Maybe he just liked to fan the flames from time to time? Or maybe it was an annoying younger brother thing?

"Honestly nothing. I just have nothing better to do. Don't you have a kid to be talking to?"

Before Nero could even blink, a blue spectral sword pierced the security camera that was mounted above the top of the staircase, filming the adjoining hallway. It was a good thing that there was only one present as it made things much easier to disable. Way back when, Vergil probably wouldn't have bothered, citing his generally lack of interest in other people seeing what he was doing. Most cameras didn't really pick up anything that quickly at the time. But this was the dawn of a new age, and he didn't feel like breaking into the security office and stabbing the control box or whatever it was to pieces after he was done making mincemeat out of Dante. That was too much effort for a fight that would be over with so quickly.

As the flimsy piece of optical equipment toppled over uselessly, Dante and Vergil practically launched at one another. The lights flickered on and off for a moment, allowing just enough time for Nero to move towards them to try and block the oncoming assault they were preparing to launch at one another. Where on earth had they even produced those swords from so quickly?! There was no way that either of them had simply stuck them down the backs of their pants. Did Dante's new blade come with a few notable upgrades? And did Yamato have its own pocket dimension?

To be honest, that made more sense than it should've given the context under which both of the weapons had been produced and forged in the first place. After all, they weren't exactly normal blades. Still though, he couldn't make Yamato do that during the short time he'd claimed ownership over it.

Just as the lights blinked back on, everything came to an unexpected stop. Nero did a massive double take at the scene before him as both Dante and Vergil blinked in apparent confusion at the sight before them. Standing with a look of what could only be described as unamused disapproval on his face between them was V. The young summoner was leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, nowhere near foolish enough to extend any of his valuable extremities to span the space between the two blades in an attempt to halt their progress. They were almost as tall as he was, after all. He had enough problems to deal with on a day to day basis. A missing limb wasn't going to be one if he had anything to say about it.

Both of the twins stared at him with a certain level of surprised trepidation and perplexed annoyance as they tried to piece together the exact moment he'd arrived, but neither of them came to a worthwhile conclusion. Nero, having more experience with the things that V was capable of was still somewhat surprised, but was honestly more relieved than anything else. It was good to see him out of the bed at the very least. Given the tone of the conversation they'd just participated in, he'd been under the impression that V was just going to turn in for the night. Had they accidentally woken him up or something? Maybe he had a stupidity detector built into Shadow? It wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

"... Would you not?" He said flatly, clearly unamused.

The three of them all looked at him as though he'd grown a second head. He'd said that in a tone of voice so close to telling them to fuck off that they actually had to double check who they were talking to for a moment. V had clearly had enough of their bullshit for one day, and Nero was honestly almost ready to laugh at how much he looked like he wanted to tell them to go to their rooms like the five-year-olds they were behaving like. Dante and Vergil glanced at him and then back at one another before collectively sighing under their breath and sheathing their weapons, allowing them to vanish back into the void they'd acquired them from. They then shared another look of pissed off annoyance at the fact that they had done so in unison, clearly not entertained by the twinly synchronization they had just indulged in.

"Fine by me." Dante said straight-faced, raising his hands in defeat, pirouetting dramatically in the direction of the stairs as he headed towards them." I was just leaving."

He clearly had no intention of getting into a disagreement with V. His melodramatic nephew clearly had a few tricks up his sleeve, and the sudden realization that he could teleport immediately moved him a few notches up his "nope" list. There was no way in hell he was going to take on two people who could teleport. That was the kind of psychotic death wish material that masochists reveled in.

Vergil glanced in the opposite direction, discomfort falling over him like a heavy fog. If he didn't know any better, he'd almost swear that he was embarrassed or something akin to it. Fighting with his twin in the hallway of a random hotel after busting a security camera instead of coming to speak with him wasn't a very good look, and he was fully aware of that fact. Everyone present was.

"As you wish, then." Vergil said, still not quite looking at his son." I was just on my way to speak with you."

V didn't really care to acknowledge that, instead opting to stare at him in silence, fully aware of the fact that Vergil was going to get tired of him doing so sooner or later and face him. People had been doing that to him for his entire life, and he knew how effective it was at making his skin crawl. Why not apply it in this particular case?

"I imagine you were." V spoke softly as though he was making an effort not to startle him away." I was starting wondering if you were ever going to approach me after you pulled me from the water and followed me here from the beach. And here you are."

There was a clear level of questioning dissonance to his statement, a certain level of silent anticipation that he carried himself with that was apparent to all who saw him. Perhaps it was the way he'd crossed his arms and leaned back as if to say that he was still waiting, or the way his gaze softened slightly as he looked at his father, but V clearly expected him to say something he wasn't saying. And Vergil had a feeling that he knew exactly what it was. The problem was that his brain and his mouth were not communicating at the moment in time.

"Nearly drowning you today wasn't my intention." Vergil paused for a moment, taking the opportunity to look up at him and actually make meaningful eye contact. He immediately drew V's attention, the younger of the two clearly taking him more seriously as a result." I suppose what I'm trying to impart upon you is that I regret doing so. Are you capable of forgiving my… misstep?

As V suspected, the word "sorry" wasn't strictly a part of Vergil's vocabulary. But still, he wasn't completely incapable of seeing that his father was indeed trying to apologize to him. A part of him actually found it tragically funny that he was so god awful at this, not at all surprised that this inability to properly express their repressed emotions despite a desire to seemingly running in the family. It was painful but touching to him all at once, his level of satisfaction with its level of implementation notwithstanding. V was more than willing to take this as one of those "it's the thought that counts" scenarios, especially after the conversation they'd had that morning.

"That isn't an unreasonable request. But I have a condition." V said, glancing in Nero's general direction," Have you ever apologized to Nero for what you've done?"

Vergil gave him a curious look, not so much confused as he was unsure where he was going with this line of questioning. He more than understood where he was going with this, he just didn't comprehend how they had arrived at this junction. What was it about today that made him wonder what the weather was like in hell this time of year?

Hot.

The answer was hot, with the exception of the few areas that were permanently frozen.

They were both. And it sucked.

"No, I don't suppose I have. For what in particular?"

The white haired summoner raised an eyebrow slightly, seemingly wondering where to begin. "... Everything."

A moment of self awareness seemed to hit Vergil as he glanced over at Nero. The shorter haired devil hunter stared at them blankly, internally questioning how he'd ended up in this conversation in the first place. All he wanted to do was go and eat dinner with everyone else and go to bed. It was still Nero's responsibility to get the children to actually sleep tonight.

Vergil closed his eyes for a moment, coming to terms with the fact that he wasn't getting out of there without saying something. While he knew that he was long overdue to do so, he genuinely wanted to just drop this and revisit it another time. But V had made a valid point, and perhaps it was best to just get it over with. It seemed that V was willing to take two half apologies in the place of one full one. How in keeping with his mostly reasonable persona.

"... Cutting your arm off instead of simply explaining my motivations was not a good decision. That hasn't escaped me. I'm glad it grew back." Vergil said simply, giving Nero a thoughtful but much more composed look than he'd had a few moments ago." Neither was missing out on the majority of your life. Or any of my actions this afternoon. I trust you've recovered and that we can come to some sort of compromise. "

Nero shrugged slightly, unsure of what to say. He appreciated that. At least he thought he did. The young hunter had spent so much time expecting to never receive any sort of apology for his father's actions that he was just now realizing that he didn't know how to process one. That had to be unhealthy.

Wait a moment…

"Tell you what, I have a condition too." Nero said as he folded his arms, reveling in the power he held over his father as the older hunter seemed to physically die inside. Now this he could get used to. Was this what it was like to be V?" You take care of the kids tonight and we can call it even on the whole back sanding thing. I'll get back to you on the rest of that."

Vergil sighed heavily at the prospect of babysitting. There was absolutely no way in the nine circles of hell that he would've ever considered spending the night alone with Nero's three children. While they seemed well behaved, all things considered, he just didn't want to. But it was only for one evening and then he could force Nero to regain custody of them…

"... Just this once, and never again. I don't fraternize with children."

While Nero should've considered his father's description of his children a red flag, his mind was perfectly willing to consider this an acceptable solution to a mounting problem he'd been facing for the last hour or so. After seeing Kyrie in that bathing suite, he simply had to have a little alone time with her. He wasn't sure where they were going yet, but it would only be for an hour or so…

"Deal. Now let's go get something to eat. All this forgiveness is making me hungry." He said with a nod, more than certain that the others had probably left without them by now.

V stood up straight, no longer leaning against the wall. He turned and walked in the direction of the stairs, passing them as he went. The young summoner seemingly needing no further convincing. "While I doubt that any of the establishments in this town will compare to Kyrie's cooking, I'm inclined to agree. We should leave. I'm sure management will be up sometime soon to inspect the camera."

Nero turned in the direction of the stairs to follow him, nodding in agreement. He was willing to bet that his older brother was correct in that assessment. Both V and Kyrie seemed to be able to handle themselves in a kitchen. Vergil simply watched them both leave for a moment, thinking quietly to himself. Noticing their lack of company, they both stopped and glanced over their shoulders, more or less trying to assess what the problem was. "... Were you not coming, then?" V said quietly, his eyes betraying a hint of disappointment at the prospect.

The younger of the two mirrored him, though clearly more confused than disappointed. He got the impression that Vergil didn't eat very much. "Yea, are you staying?"

After a moment, Vergil shook his head, quietly admitting defeat. He'd considered staying behind to think and mentally prepare himself for the task at hand, but he decided against it in that instant. Turning them both down seemed like a bit of a lateral step backwards.

"I'll come."

With that he started after them, the two seemingly pleased as they nodded and turned back towards the stairs. V lingered a bit longer, opting to wait for Vergil as he had done for him on several occasions leading up to this. As Vergil approached, V spoke quietly under his breath, so much so that Nero couldn't hear him despite the fact that he was only a few yards away.

"I apologize, but it seems I have nothing for you to carry this time. You'll have to contain your disappointment."

Vergil repressed the urge to show how entertained he was by V's little quip and followed after him. So he possessed a sense of humor after all. And as for the bag… there would be another time. They then headed towards the stairs, content that the matter at hand had been resolved for the time being and completely unaware that Dante had heard every moment of their exchange from the bottom of the stairs, simply choosing not to ruin what would otherwise be an important and positive moment for them. At the end of the day, that was all Dante really wanted for his twin anyway. He couldn't think of a better prospect than what had just unfolded, and he hadn't even needed to threaten to shoot Vergil.

Perhaps there was some hope for him after all.

(-~-)

#DMC #Apocrypha #V #Vergil #Vitale #Nero #Dante #DMC5 #Post DMC 5 #DMCV #Devil May Cry #Devil May Cry 5 #Devil May Cry V #A03 #a03 fanfic

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punkscowardschampions · 4 years ago

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Ali & Tommy

Ali: [Let us assume he has gone back to school now and this was a weekend affair] Ali: You forgot your 🕯 Ali: expect it in the post, minus the disappointed note from Ro I've taken out Ali: ✈️ trips not guilt trips, welcome Tommy: leave it in, LOVE to hear what she's gotta say about why I'M the one being a holy show Ali: You aren't respecting the sanctity of her offering, is very much the point and gist Ali: she put more letters to it, as standard Tommy: 'course she did Ali: It does mean a lot to her Ali: but yeah, nice to have my 📅 to myself again, can't lie Tommy: meant so much she fucked off soon as the 🎂 candles were out Ali: You know she isn't the party 'til dawn sort Ali: anyway, they'd be coming in for morning service 😅 Tommy: I know it's her party & she can 😭 if she wants to Ali: If I'd known that was the theme, could've made party bags with 🧅 & 🧻 Ali: well, at least you were in your element 🕺 and you kept Meena and Carly entertained Ali: the hostess not being overly concerned herself, like Tommy: this family's hostess with the mostest has & always will be me, honey Tommy: what else do they teach me at this school, like? Ali: I had no idea you were at finishing school, my apologies Ali: how's things with keeping a man then, Holly Housewife? Tommy: Why stop at strutting with 📚 on our heads when we could do it in 🩰 perfectly en pointe, carrying a sulky ballerina all the while? Basically a Latin motto Tommy: & yet I still can't keep a man, cheers for the reminder Ali: Maybe now you're of age they introduce the final string to your bow Ali: quadruple threat = 🎤🕺🎭🍆 Tommy: 😂🤞🙏 Tommy: stole your girl regardless, tell her to call me when she's slept off the festivities Ali: No doubt she will when she's between the next couple of parties 😜 Ali: your girl is here actually, helping Ro 'organise' her presents Ali: dunno where she parked her 🎃 Tommy: I'll join Fraze in the red corner 😍💋💔🤬🎯👿🥤🤡🥵🛑💘 Tommy: those dolls do go walk abouts if you don't keep a 👀 but obviously she was 🤞🙏 I was still there Ali: He might misconstrue that and come to fight for her honour Ali: 🤞🙏 she's in LDN too, naturally Ali: lots of them are haunted, but that last part of your sentence there is the MOST 😱 ever Ali: it's weird when you approach anything fuck boy like Tommy: miscommunication is his thing™ no hard feels or feelings full stop, 'course 💪🚫😭🚫😍 Tommy: what can I say? being back DOES things to me Tommy: it's all the positive masculine role models this family has Ali: Guess it beats a total lack of @Joseph Ali: though he sent her some book about musical theory so he still manages to be the favourite somehow 🤷 Ali: and hey, dad is the best Tommy: v catty & then cuddly of you, Kit Tommy: he doesn't respond to MY efforts at being a daddy's girl exactly the same way somehow 🤷 Ali: we're both living up to what's expected then 😼 Ali: could just be I'm better at it than you though Ali: if your ego will allow it Tommy: can't let our sister fly that flag alone, like Tommy: as for who's better at kissing the arse of authority figures, don't need to dignify that with an answer 'cause my school report will Tommy: you ain't never been a pleasure to have in class Ali: I might genuinely have to shoot myself if anyone ever said anything so asinine about me so you're right Ali: that would be such a waste of potential, not until I've lead a more scandal-filled existence Tommy: you could respect the hustle Tommy: it's getting me 🩰 perks Tommy: disciplined is the head that wears the 👑 hoe Ali: I know all about discipline, trust me Tommy: we've all read 50 shades, you can't take it as gospel Tommy: Ro could write a better bdsm bibe when she's done at church Tommy: bible* Ali: It's all fun and games 'til I walk in on her flagellating herself Ali: how are we explaining that to the shrinks Tommy: that she misunderstood a more sexy f word? Ali: we don't want to look like we're trying to lock her up for that Ali: way too retro, bro Tommy: She wants to be catholic Tommy: I didn't make the rules Ali: No, then da really would hate you Ali: she's got worse Tommy: Yeah Tommy: I know, no amount of drama from the golden couple could detract Ali: not that I haven't heard enough about that though Ali: guess there's too much to put in a passive-aggressive note Tommy: 🙄🥱😴 Tommy: She wasn't even THAT late & tbh I wouldn't have blamed her for doing a Joe no show Ali: I would've understood if she was upset when she wasn't coming Ali: I am when Joe doesn't, whatever Ali: but I think she was actually MORE upset that she did come in the end, and not just because she was messy, but because Ro thought she wouldn't Ali: I don't get it, they're complicated, always have been but ??? Tommy: she can't hold being a good sister over her, like you can't me being the most fabulous brother in existence 🏆 Tommy: the fuck ups are more fun to bring to a 🥊 Ali: I guess that's more likely than them being all 💕💞 Ali: but fucking hell, does it hurt to hope Tommy: it's hurting you 😿 Tommy: she'll be too hangry to hope Ali: I have no hope or agenda for your 🏆 or 👑 dear brother Ali: but seriously Ali: what does she want Tommy: like you said ???? Tommy: there's every chance I'm bringing too much McKenna magic to the motives & she don't wanna bear a grudge til the end of her days Ali: because it doesn't sound like her at all Ali: if you can't be honest in the DMs where can you, eh, to quote that romcom Ali: fucked if I know what to do about it right now though Ali: maybe I need to sleep off the festivities, or get something to eat Tommy: long as you're not so hysterical you run into the path of an oncoming car, to recall another faithful role of hers Ali: have you adapted that for the stage? Ali: get 5 of you to be the 🚗 Tommy: dibs 'cause I can't do the accent Tommy: not that loads of 'em posh kids can either Ali: they'll have spent enough time gentrifying the east end to have it down, offensively so but all adds to the hysterics Tommy: I'll pitch it then 💡 Tommy: go down better than her 🎤🎵 Ali: better than her when she got hit by the car, like Ali: give me credit or I'll turn up and make a SCENE Tommy: like I wouldn't be LIVING for that Tommy: if we are being honest in the DMS Ali: I'll work on my RICKKAAAAAAAAAAAY Ali: maybe can convince Ro to be Sharon Tommy: hang around your ma in law & you'll ace it in no time Ali: Ha Ali: she'd accept Peggy, not Pat Tommy: fair, Laoise's ma's the one more likely to express herself with big earrings & animal prints Tommy: but I don't know if Sam Mitchell is a favourable role for Carls, what did she ever even do? Ali: Are you trying to tell me it's NOT a look? 🤔 Ali: or that you rate Laoise's mum? Ali: The character, nothing, the OG actress lost her nose so we're all agreed that's a no Tommy: I'd rate seeing her da on the doorstep in nothing but a bow tie for how mortified she'd be when I uploaded it Tommy: Grant's also no, he knocked Martine on her arse way before that car Tommy: but if she's Phil, you're Sharon so that's a yeah from me, like Ali: Don't, her dad always gave me those vibes Ali: and you ain't actually on the street still to have to witness that 🤮 Ali: I don't know how she'll feel about going bald, I'll float it gently before getting out the clippers Tommy: Do Rock's while you're there, he looks feral Tommy: even that nonce wouldn't have him Ali: You know his ears would get chapped Ali: hair is essential or he'll fly away on the breeze Ali: and we'd all be devastated, obvs Tommy: don't start me thinking about that scene in Dumbo, cheers very much Tommy: 😭😭😭😭😭😭 Ali: Such a depressing film Ali: disney gives me bad vibes Tommy: the park is creepy & you won't catch me there Tommy: whether or not Walt was a Nazi it's still a nah from me Ali: Wee bit concerning that emotional manipulation and forced fun trumps facism/literal Nazis for you but we'll 🤐 Ali: ma is in enough of a mood and she'll only direct it at me so nah Tommy: well his racism is disputed depending whether you're in camp 😇 saint him 🙏 or camp cast him into the hellfire 👿 Tommy: the forced fun & emotional manipulation is just facts Ali: 👿 advocate Tommy: I'm gonna go to hell 🤞 he's an ally Ali: 😬 Ali: it's a punishment, not a holiday Tommy: it'll be a grand hol for my pores Tommy: love a sauna sesh Ali: that London smog is not it Ali: how black is your snot? Tommy: as Ro's soul 💀 Ali: Thomas Tommy: Alison Ali: 🛑 it Tommy: she'd 🖤 to hear it but FINE Ali: you're an enabler, it is known Ali: not the kind of encouragement I'm after tah Tommy: enabling you & your lady love to have a good time, yeah 🕺💃 Tommy: & I fully expected her to turn up with a pet raven is all I'm saying Ali: the best was made of it by all, despite it all Ali: even her, in her way Tommy: despite Kayne appearing 🤵🥀 & all in her case Ali: yeah Ali: ugh Ali: he's harmless enough, bless him Tommy: she'd beg to differ right now Tommy: you're gonna wanna hide the 🍄🍄💀 til she calms down Ali: You don't need to tell me Ali: I think he's just really oblivious Ali: like all lads Ali: it wasn't you know...assaulty Tommy: It's not his fault she's team true love's kiss & he AIN'T it Tommy: who could EVER measure up to the 💭💞 Ali: standards, cool Ali: unrealistic expectations, less so Ali: but I can't really advocate for reality at this point in the game Tommy: You don't need to tell me, sis Ali: you're team turn-a-stage-kiss-real, yeah Ali: it's more realistic than fairytales, anyway, look at strictly Tommy: I'm team when's my life been a shitty made for netflix flick never mind a 🐸🤴📖 Tommy: crushing realism ftw Ali: 💔 Ali: If you didn't have a tragic love-life to complain about, you'd be too insufferable 🤴💩 Tommy: comforting Tommy: I'd HATE to morph into Fraze of a few years back Ali: I'll let you know if you start getting freckles Tommy: I'd know if I woke up with those brows Tommy: nowhere to hide, like Ali: 👺 Tommy: 😂 Ali: What are you getting ma for her bday/have you got already (suckup) Tommy: I left it there if you wanna find & shake the 🎁 Ali: Wow, you really didn't wanna pay postage that bad huh Ali: I'll see if I can 🔮 Tommy: with what? I'm skint after buying hers & Ro's Tommy: & it'll be 🎅🎄🎁 before too long Ali: that's what people really mean when they say dance don't pay Ali: gifting an interpretive dance is nothing but pretentious and unwelcome Ali: I can bodge together however many crafts I need and save my dolla Tommy: been there, tried that one Tommy: so much for your so called genius Tommy: ain't even thought of earning any by busting out the 🎅🎄🎵 classics for a busking sesh, works with 🩰 too I'll have you know Ali: 'til you knock over an old lady and have to leg it, like Ali: and if you hadn't noticed, I've been a little busy making a replica Ro, tah Ali: my creative juices are juiced right now Tommy: I'll make it look like part of the show & have the punters eating out of my palm when I catch & twirl any 👵 before they touch ground Tommy: yeah well you've got time from now, fair game on all things yule from Nov 1st Ali: 👌👌 clearly the LDN ones are more receptive because they're vicious 'round here with their 👜s and I'm only trying to give them the tea they ordered Ali: if ANYONE should advocate for Christmas not dragging, like Tommy: it's Irish dancing or fuck all back there, 365 🌧 or ⛅ Tommy: little girls scam every bit of that trade Ali: ironic when it's catch these hands in every other aspect Ali: so you'll fit right in, eh Ali: feel traumatised yet? Tommy: I'll do my best, as ever Ali: 🤴 Ali: meanwhile ma will have to make do with whatever IOU present I can knock up Ali: maybe I'll babysit, that's never not gonna work Tommy: she was on about going out 🍽 wasn't she? Tommy: Carls will never not be down either Ali: get him to make her a cake Ali: sorted Ali: providing he washes his hands...a full hose down may be necessary actually Tommy: she's survived the 🧁 he brings back from school & we've all seen the state of him at day's end Ali: yeah, cheers for the immunity boost little 🦠 Ali: fair, I'm pretty sure we put some weird and wonderful things into our bakes at his age and no one died Ali: Laoise nearly but you know Tommy: close but no 🚬 Tommy: typical of that bitch Ali: sure a 🙏 was said to finish the job at mass Tommy: if you see her ma mascara running in an lbd, I demand to be the first to know Ali: I'll pap her in her time of distress, it's fine Ali: I can hide up trees for HOURS if needs must Tommy: I'm not above piggybacking on the 'tragedy' to get better grades or a hol Tommy: do your part, like Ali: she won't fall for 🍄 again Ali: her brother might if Ro puts 'em in her gob Tommy: 💞 Ali: more of a mood than without Ali: add a little danger Tommy: she'd appreciate the drama more than anything he could ever do Ali: 💔 Tommy: nah, we're not shipping that Tommy: not today Ali: You gotta make some bad decisions before you make the right ones Tommy: a bad decision was the colour of her 👗 Tommy: the last thing that girl needs is a boy right now Ali: Okay you can't come for anyone vis a vis colour, boy Ali: even if I still see it when I close my eyes after however many weeks sewing Ali: but you may have a point re. a boy Ali: just, some socialisation wouldn't hurt Ali: and as far as they go, he's harmless Tommy: 'Course I do, she can barely exist in front of us Tommy: if they went on a date, what's she gonna do, order a glass of water? Ali: like you haven't seen her fake eat a plate of food Ali: it's only noticeable to all us that she's not actually putting any in her mouth Tommy: 🔮✨ Tommy: if he's TRULY harmless he don't deserve to be harmed by her attitude Tommy: which anyone else not bound by family love & loyalty would call something loads harsher Ali: Don't Ali: I feel bad enough for Meena sometimes Tommy: @ Carly too & we all know it Ali: Yeah, Carly can handle it though, she's mostly unphased even if it is a total thing 🙄 Tommy: She's a 👸😇 I doubt Kayne is that pure of ❤️ or intentions tbh Tommy: & Meena can handle anything so Ali: he's deffo a virgin though Ali: which yes, makes for more desperation, but he can't be that forceful if he dunno what he wants, you know Ali: yeah but God knows why she wants to come 'round here and get more of it at times Tommy: No shit, Kit but everyone's seen a porno, it's not the 70s Tommy: dress for it all you like Tommy: maybe she wants to get out of her own 🏡 Ali: everyone also knows it's bullshit Ali: whatever else she's got that much about her Tommy: does he though? Tommy: all I'm saying Ali: either way, it isn't like she's going to have a miraculous change of heart Ali: we all saw how well it went Tommy: Yeah but what if it makes her heart set on finding someone else to play 🤴 Tommy: you'd know better than me what goes on in her head Ali: She's 15, I don't see how any of us can say or do anything to stop her if that's what she does want Tommy: 15 technically Tommy: 🤷 Ali: If we can't make her eat, you know Ali: what hope do we have for anything beyond that Tommy: 0 Tommy: & it's fucked Ali: Yep Ali: but it's not as if that bombshell has only just been dropped, I guess Ali: we'll carry on doing what we can Tommy: 🔮✨ Ali: ✌💚

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