#waiting for the fix-it fanfic

[justalittlechocolatemilkshake]

My heart rate was literally elevated after watching the teen wolf movie because of how much yelling at the screen I was doing.

[starrystevie]

18+ | cw: public handjobs, coming in pants | crossposted on twitter

“are you okay?”

realistically, eddie knows the answer to steve’s question is no. he’s not okay. he’s sitting in a club booth hard as nails with a flush no doubt covering his whole body. he should say no, far from okay, but instead he says-

“yeah, of course im fine.”

steve brings the back of his hand to wipe at his brow, crinkling his eyebrows together in confusion as he flashes an all too well knowing smirk eddie’s way. 

“you sure?” he asks smartly, leaning over the table to grab his rum and coke. standing back up, he tilts his head. “you look a little… bothered.”

eddie narrows his eyes and looks back out to the dance floor to see the girl steve was just dancing with crossing her arms over her chest. she’s pretty, clearly thinking she was making headway with steve, probably making plans in her head about marriage and babies with freckled cheeks.

eddie sighs and slumps over the table, balances his head in his palm as he plants his elbow on the sticky table top. 

how is eddie supposed to tell him that no, he’s no where close to alright? his cock is leaking into his nice jeans and it’s all from the way steve looks as he grinds into a pretty girl. as he tilts his head back to let the neon lights bounce off his pretty sun kissed skin. as he threads a hand into his own sweaty hair to push it back off his forehead. as he threads a hand into her curly hair to keep her where he wants her. 

he has to stop thinking about it.

if he doesn’t, he’s going to cream his pants and that would make for an even worse evening. 

“im good, man. it’s just a little hot.”

steve nods absently as he sips at his drink, as he looks eddie dead in the eye. eddie sighs and steve smirks again. he’s well and truly fucked.

suddenly, steves sliding into the booth, arm coming up to rest behind eddie’s head. he sputters, floundering as steve gets closer, close enough that he can smell his sharp cologne mixed with sweat, a smell that drives him wild. 

“oh.” steve says simply.

eddie flicks his eyes up to meet steve’s to ask what he’s talking about only to find that he’s staring at his hard on. the humiliation that rushes through eddie must cloud his vision when he thinks he sees steve’s smirk get wider, all teeth like a wolf on the hunt.

“fuck.”

he’s been caught. eddie whispers the curse into the air of the crowded nightclub but steve still hears it. his fingers drop down to just barely graze eddie’s shoulder, causing him to shudder. 

steve huffs out a laugh. “looks like i was right, you are bothered.”

eddie groans and drops his head with his eyes closed. “yeah, yeah, laugh all you want.” if he was flushed earlier, it grows tenfold now. he can feel the heat emanating off of him, warm enough that he feels sick with it.

he wants a hole to open up and swallow him. he wants to run out the door and never look back, saying au revoir to the fairytale idea of ever being with steve. he wants to crawl into his bed and jerk himself off under his covers and think about how hot the humiliation is that runs through him when steve looks at him and-

“you want some help with that?”

eddie freezes. steve’s breath is hot against his ear as he leans down to yell over the music, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin, the fingers that were teasing along the very tip of eddie’s shoulder pressing more intently into him.

“…do i want some help with what?” he murmurs, sliding his eyes open to glance at steve as he pulls back.

there’s something electric that zings through him as their eyes meet. the lights flash and steve is covered in red, glinting off his teeth like he could go in for the kill.

eddie thinks, knows, that he’d let him if he really wanted to.

“your little problem. or well-” steve breaks off and makes a clear look down, trailing his eyes slowly over eddie before bringing them back up to eddie’s face. “maybe not so little, huh?”

eddie blanches, a whine escaping him without his permission, something high and thready from the back of his throat. it’s a miracle steve can even hear it, but he does, taking it as the ‘fuck yes’ answer that it’s meant to be and sliding his hand down to rest on eddie’s thigh.

steve’s fingers tighten around eddie’s leg as he nods, the pressure quick and intense and enough to have him whining once more, shoulder slumping forward. he’s going to black out, he just knows it. his head is getting all foggy in anticipation.

when he looks down and sees just how hard steve’s breathing too, his chest expanding in time with the increasing pressure of his fingers, it all clicks in eddie’s head. this isn’t just for him like he thought it was. this isn’t just helping with his maybe not so little problem.

this is for steve, too.

once he realizes it, he sees the same realization wash over steve and the floodgates open. there’s a hand cupping his cock over his jeans as steve pulls the table closer to cover what they’re doing. it’s so much so fast and eddie takes in a gasping breath.

steve’s scooting somehow even closer to eddie until they’re pressed together hip to hip, chest to chest, with lips hot against eddie’s ear once more. eddie briefly wonders what they must look like but it’s dark enough that people aren’t looking over. not really.

if they did look over, they’d see eddie with his mouth agape, shoulders and head hunched forward as his friend must be saying something over the music. they wouldn’t see a hand working deliciously over him. they wouldn’t see the tongue flitting out to play with his earrings. they wouldn’t hear the absolute filth that steve is whispering that brings eddie closer and closer to the brink.

“god, i can’t wait to get my mouth on you,” he says and eddie feels like he can’t breathe, his hips bucking forward to chase after an embarrassingly fast orgasm. “think if you come in your pants, you can get it up again when we leave? want you to fuck me into the mattress until i’m fucking crying, til i'm begging for it. think you can do that?”

it’s too much. eddie turns his head and looks at steve with his lip pulled between his teeth. “what about her?”

he doesn’t have to clarify, they both know who he’s talking about. steve grins again as he quickens his hand. watches as red lights and bliss pass over eddie’s face.

“just wanted to make you jealous,” he breathes out, “she has your hair, y’know? wanted to feel like it was you against me.”

steve’s hand grinds into him once more and then his fingers are finding their way around his length in the denim, stroking him quickly. it's a bit too dry and it kind of hurts but they both correctly guess that eddie loves it a bit too dry, a bit too painful.

eddie chokes, eyes squeezing together as he comes in his pants like a goddamn teenager.

“there you go,” steve murmurs pressing a featherlight hidden kiss to his temple.

eddie jolts his hips through the aftershocks, unable to hide the whimpers that escape him. he doesn’t care about it, can’t care about it, not when steve picks up one of eddie’s hands to place on his own hard cock. he can feel a damp spot under his palm, and when he looks up at steve's face, he looks about as wrecked as eddie feels.

the only thing he can possibly say to steve is easy. “take me home. now.”

[eowynstwin]

playing the quiet game

Pairing: Price x f!Reader Rating: Explicit (18+) Word Count: 2.9k Warnings: Dominant/submissive dynamics, established relationship, implied kink pre-negotiation, a LOT of fingering (f!receiving), a lil Price angst Tagging: @dilfconisuer who I teased with this a while back, and fellow Price simps @yeyinde @guyfieriii @alittleposhtoad Author’s Notes: I shit you not, the clock struck midnight January 1st and fireworks started going off in the middle of writing the orgasm. Happy new year! Enjoy the smut.

Now on AO3!

The world is soft and cozy as you come back into it, a little fuzzy from over-washing and dyed in the cool tones of early morning. You’re in that delicious place at the edge of sleep, mind swaying between dreams and reality, body languid and draped on your side across the bed. Touch is the first sense that comes back to you—a warm weight at your back, hips flush with your rear and legs bent along the contours of your own. You shift a little, to give yourself an excuse to settle against it.

“Mm,” John murmurs as he notices you stir, mouth against your neck, nuzzling you slowly with the wiry brush of his facial hair. The hum of his voice is low enough to vibrate between your shoulder blades.

“Mm?” you respond, scent returning next. The new detergent he’s using, gentle and mildly floral, and the fresh pine of the shampoo he washed his hair with last night. The ever-present smokey molasses that’s permanently seeped into his skin. You keep your eyes closed, saving sight for later, imagining that as long as you see nothing, John and the sheets you’re both wrapped up in can be the only thing that exists.

His hand rests on your ribcage, and smooths its way down your hip and thigh. It travels back up again, then retreats—rhythmic, even, fingers dipping and spreading at the curves and valleys of your body. It’s at the same tempo as your breath, which is normalizing as more of your mind picks reality to set up in. You can feel him breathing, too, chest rising and falling against your back, warm exhales fanning across the bare expanse of skin he’s claimed with his mouth and mutton chops.

Down your ribcage, along your hip, and back up. His other arm, you discover as you shift again, is propping him up, forearm wormed into the wedge of empty space between your neck and shoulder and the bed. His knee nudges the back of your thigh.

He paints another soft, prickly kiss on your neck, and rubs his chin and cheek into your jaw. You don’t hide the moan it inspires.

“Keep it down,” he whispers. His hand splays on your thigh. “Thin walls, love.”

You make another noise, lower, somewhere in your throat. His hand is warm on your bare skin, soft and sturdy as it travels along your body, not quite kneading but giving enough pressure to sink in, to meld your flesh like clay with every pass.

“John,” you murmur. “Mm. John…”

“Shh,” he breathes into your ear.

You feel his lips on your neck again, feel his hand divert from its established path to smooth across your belly. The spread of his fingers is wide enough to graze the underside of one breast, and you can’t help the little inhale of anticipation you give. At the same, even rhythm, John drags the flat of his hand down your stomach to its lowest border, and you forget to breathe at all for that little minute before, once again, his touch retreats from whence it came.

His mouth parts on your neck. The hot graze of his tongue meets your skin before the press of his teeth claims the space, and his hand travels just a little lower with the next pass.

Some part of you wonders if you should figure out what John has in mind right now, compare it to what you actually have time for. Off-duty or not, you’re still on base. But then the top of his thigh aligns flush with the back of yours; and you realize, the thought settling into the soft place in your mind between sleep and waking, that he would be doing none of this if he had cause not to. He already knows that you love waking up like this. He knows what circumstances in which he should not wake you up like this. When it comes to you, John Price remains in comfortable, considerate control—and leaves you only with the task of saying yes, please or not now, thank you. He has never asked you to figure out the right place or the right time.

You don’t have to worry about anything. John has already worried about it for you. Your head feels light, airy; you’d think you were slipping back into sleep, if it didn’t suddenly feel like your skin was electrified. It’s a feeling that always comes with letting go and letting him be in charge.

“John,” you murmur again, the breath in your lungs escaping, the sigh mimicking the same one he always draws from you when you finally surrender.

The seal over your skin he has with his lips and teeth gives a sharp pull. “Someday I’ll figure out how to keep you quiet,” he says, low and amused as he disconnects.

The smile that rests against your skin sends sparks dancing across your scalp.

“Don’t stop,” you say, the quiet tone of your voice laced with a yearning you can’t conceal. “Please, John…”

His palm crests the jut of your hip and glides back inward, downward, fingertips skimming the crease of your thighs. The nerves there jump to meet him, buzzing suddenly with too much energy for your still half-asleep mind to moderate. He seals his mouth over a new spot on your neck, dragging the flat of his tongue, blistering hot, along your skin.

“You’re going to leave marks,” you breathe.

“The gear covers them up,” he murmurs, his voice a velvety purr. “Be good for me, love.”

Euphoria blooms hot across your face. “Yes, John.”

He growls a little, pleased with you, and his fingers dip into your panties and between your folds.

The jerk your leg gives is involuntary. John curls his leg further inward to meet it, to keep it pushed upward, as the heat of his broad hand cups your sex. You feel the tip of one finger trace along your perineum, and a whimper makes its way out of your throat before his other hand wraps around your jaw, tilts your head backward. His mouth finds your ear, the stubble pricking at delicate cartilage.

“Not going to tell you again,” he murmurs, just a little bit of the Captain leaking into his tone. “Quiet down. Aye?”

A shiver races down your spine, makes a home in your sacrum. You nod, as much as you can in his grip. You understand the shape of his control, the intention of it; he’s not looking for a verbal affirmation, and to give one would incur consequences. You’re not opposed to his consequences—often, they’re as sweet as his rewards. But right now you want to bask in this submission, want to earn what he’s already set on giving you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, tracing your lips with his index finger. His other hand kneads your pussy, that same up-and-down motion that he woke you up with, and his mouth returns to your neck, teeth sinking into another sliver of unmarked skin.

You settle into him, push your pelvis forward just a little, hoping he sees it for the offer it is rather than the demand it could be mistaken for. He chuckles against you, and teases one finger between your labia, brushes your entrance before flicking upward to surprise your clit. It makes your leg jerk again, and John only takes the opportunity to wrap around you more tightly. You feel him then, against your ass, in the cleft of it—he’s hard as iron, and ramrod-erect.

You suck your lips between your teeth, swallow, exhale a shaky breath from your nose. Pleasure radiates from the tips of his fingers, from the flex of his palm, as he traces the outlines of your sex at a pace too leisurely for early-morning sensitivity to handle. But you won’t make a sound. You’re going to be good for him. The ache between your legs begins to throb, and John must feel it, because finally he presses the pads of two fingers against your clit.

Your hips jerk against him. Sound almost makes it out of you. A gasp, a sharp inhale, but you swallow it down, and John smiles against you. He releases his teeth from you, presses a soft kiss beneath your ear, and takes up the same rhythm he’s been maintaining this whole time, a slow, steady caress that you want to whine at. His hand slides down to your throat, dwarfing the breadth of your neck—not squeezing, but monitoring. He’ll be able to feel any noise you make.

“I didn’t say you had to be silent, love,” he murmurs, fingers sliding down from your clit to swirl around your entrance—and squelching loud enough to let you both know that you’re drenched. “You just need to remember who that noise belongs to.”

You gasp when he slides a thick finger into you with not a moment of warning. “You—ah—you have to be specific, John,” you whisper, hyper-aware of your walls fluttering around him as he languidly pumps in and out of you. “I can’t be good for you if I don’t know the rules—ohh.”

He pushes in to the knuckle, curls his finger against the spot that has black spots dancing across your vision. Before they can blend together, overtake you, he withdraws, pulls out to circle your clit again, and you only wonder for a moment if this is the new rhythm before he gives the bundle a hard tap before pushing back in again.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, mouth open on your jaw, slipping a second finger into you. You have to clench your teeth to keep your mewl from becoming a moan. “And I did just wake you up, didn’t I?”

The stretch, the burn of new fullness, steals your ability to respond. The slow thrust of his hand picks up just a little, as if he wants to make it even harder for you to reply, but you’re determined. “Mm, John,” you breathe, “Let me be good for you.”

He goes still for a moment, fingers halting inside you, body tense as a drawn bowstring, and then his hand suddenly tightens around your neck—not cutting off your air, but utterly possessive, and he hooks his knee under yours to spread your thigh outward. Immediately he’s pistoning his fingers into you alarmingly quickly, and you only remember to stifle yourself at the last moment, turning a surprised shriek into a series of quick, high-pitched mewls. He thrusts against you, grinds his cock against your ass.

“You’re always good for me,” he growls into your ear, shoving in to the knuckle, flicking wildly against your g-spot. “Even when you’re not. I don’t fuckin’ deserve you, love, not a single thing you do for me.”

You want to refute him—want to tell him everything you give him is just a return on what he’s given you. But you can’t, and the only reason you can’t is that he’s fucking the breath out of your lungs with nothing but his goddamn fingers, meanwhile his cock tucked against your ass is so hard you can practically feel the throb of blood running through it.

And anyway, he doesn’t want you to tell him. This is no morning confessional, no whispered prayer to absolve his greed for you. He isn’t saying this because he thinks he’s taking advantage of you—it’s just the naked truth of what John believes, laid bare as if in offering. It’s the best way he knows how to tell you he adores you.

He’s explained all of this. You’ve told him he needs therapy. He’s laughed, and he’s agreed.

“Just don’t stop taking any of it,” you whisper, turning your head, finally opening your eyes to see his face, to drink in the muss of warm brown hair and the fray of uncombed beard. A gentle blue gaze, incongruous with the furor of his hand between your legs, meets yours. “Just don’t stop taking me.”

Dark brows draw together, etching a crease into his forehead. That blue becomes electric. “Never,” he growls, and takes your mouth with his.

His hand leaves your throat to join the other, and a third finger enters you as he resumes the massage on your clit that he’d left off. His tongue sweeps along the ridge of your teeth, probes inward to dance along your own, and at the same time he spreads his fingers inside of you, stretching you so far that you don’t think there isn’t a place in you that he isn’t touching. You think he’s filled your entire body with just his fingers, because there isn’t room in you anymore for your lungs to expand beyond shallow, whining breath. Your legs are shaking of their own accord, muscles twitching every time his fingers brush just the right spot on your clit, and you know he’s realized what he’s found when the flicker of his touch does not leave that spot.

You moan, low and breathy, keeping the sound in the back of your throat. You feel nothing but John, know nothing but the warmth of his arms caging you against his body, the searing burn of his fingers stretching you almost as wide as his cock can. His body is moving with yours, his hips pressing yours forward, shoving you farther into his hands and onto his fingers. The sheets are a mess of wrinkles around your moving bodies, and you finally remember your own arms, your own hands as they’re gripping the fabric without your input.

When your touch finds his forearms, when your nails dig into the broad muscle of them, you feel it coming fast. It’s fluttering around his fingers, pulling tight against the muscles in your thighs. Foreshocks have your body undulating against his, and you know, when his fingers thrust deep and stay there, that he can feel it coming, too.

“That’s it love,” he growls into your lips, kissing you between words. Three fingers curl into you, and you wonder if your body can break apart from the pleasure of their simple pressure behind your clit. “You’re being fucking perfect—I can feel it, fuck—come on, you’ve more than earned it, come for me—”

And all it takes for you then is his words, the rasp of his breath against your mouth, for ecstasy to explode in you from the tips of his fingers, pleasure bursting outward in a shockwave that wracks your entire body. Your breath comes short and quick as it takes you, and you whimper John’s name until he kisses you again, saving you from having to control your own volume as you lose control over everything else. He keeps fucking you as you shudder against his body, keeps up the frantic pace of his thrusting hand and the vice-like pressure he has around your clit, sending aftershocks across your body that keep you shaking and near-sobbing against his mouth. He does not let you get away from it, does not let you escape his hands, and does not stop until you go limp and boneless in his arms.

You come back to yourself, eons later, still breathing hard, panting in sync with John. His hold on you has slackened, arms still around you but loose enough that it’s easy—if not prompt, as it still feels like your muscles are jelly—to turn over to face him. He’s gazing at you, as if he wants to drink you in with his eyes alone, and that gaze is heavy-lidded and content. Neither of his hands have gone southward, searching for his cock or his own release. This is not unusual. He’s told you before that he knows he’ll get his eventually. And you know by now, too, that sometimes John finds more satisfaction in your orgasm than his own.

Every sense has come back to you now. His facial hair is softer than it looks, as you cup the side of his face, and the smell of detergent and shampoo is mingled now with the humid weight of the perspiration you two have worked up. The taste of him—you realized belatedly that he must have gotten up and brushed his teeth before this, because it’s lightly minty—is still on your tongue. His breath is heavy, but even and quieter than yours, obscured somewhat by your own pulse thrumming loud in your ears.

But the best experience is the sight of him—painted in the warming tones of a day starting to get on, t-shirt tight across his chest, skin a little flushed and shimmery with moisture. He smiles at you, blue eyes liquid with open affection, as you stroke his mustache. He’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

“I can’t believe you did that with your fucking fingers,” you laugh.

The smile spreads, creasing at the corners of his eyes. “I’m glad you let me.”

It’s a softness that he always expresses after he’s done anything to you. Whatever he thinks he deserves from you, he never hides his gratitude for what you give him.

When you lean in to kiss him, he meets you halfway. It’s a kiss that he lingers in, lips moving softly against yours as one hand comes to rest lightly on the back of your neck. Your elbows don’t want to prop you up for much longer, though, and you have to break away to lay your head back down.

“Good morning, John,” you say, smiling softly.

He shifts, moves closer, eyes tender as they remain settled on you. “Good morning, love.”

[ladyofthenoodle]

It doesn't take long after repairing the miraculous to find out what happened to the butterfly.

Marinette doesn’t take the bracelet to Luka right away after she fixes it.

Maybe she should have—maybe Luka would have been a better candidate to tell Adrien. He’s good with words, after all, and at staying calm in the face of other's despair.

Marinette is neither of those things.

She's especially not those things with Adrien.

But she can't bear to tell Luka first—she hasn't even told Chat Noir yet.

At first, she'd planned to keep Gabriel's secret. He'd asked her to, his dying wish, and she'd still been haunted by the nightmare of Adrien sobbing over his father's ashes. She'd wanted to protect him.

But over time, she'd started to have doubts.

Gabriel hadn't been a good father.

She'd see the statue in the park and think, doesn't Adrien deserve to know the truth?

But then she'd see Adrien laughing in the sunshine, and think, doesn't he deserve to be happy?

So here she is, standing in his room, wielding the snake miraculous alongside her own.

His gaze rakes over her costume, taking it in, before landing on her wrist. She could pinpoint the exact moment of realization by the fear that flashes in his eyes.

"That's not for me, is it?" He doesn't ask this every time—only the times when she doesn't speak first.

"No," she reassures him, and winces at the way his shoulders relax, knowing that what she'd come for was far worse than asking him to wield the snake again.

"Then why…?"

"I have to tell you something," Cobrabug explains. "And I'm not sure how to do it right. So I thought I could… practice?"

Adrien looks thoughtful. "Is this the first time?"

She shakes her head. "The 27th."

His thoughtful expression grows pained. "27 times, while you're wielding two miraculous?"

She waves him off. "I'm sure I'll get it right soon."

He nods.

And—miraculously—she does get it right, this time. All the words come out in the right order and they all make sense and she doesn't start crying.

His face is pale with shock, and Cobrabug is waiting with baited breath for his response, her hand poised to reset the clock.

Adrien opens his mouth to say something, but only a choked, strangled sound comes out.

That's when she notices the butterfly.

Dark, and glowing, and heading straight for Adrien.

Her heart plummets into her stomach.

The missing miraculous.

He notices it a second after she does, eyes flicking back to her in terror.

She reaches for her yo-yo, intent on purifying the akuma, but Adrien is faster.

“Don’t tell me again,” he says, and turns the bracelet on her wrist.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Cobrabug stands in Adrien's room, wielding the snake miraculous alongside her own.

His gaze rakes over her costume, taking it in, before landing on her wrist. She could pinpoint the exact moment of realization by the fear that flashes in his eyes.

"That's not for me, is it?"

"No," she reassures him. "Sorry to bother you. Just checking in."

[avocado62524]

[chilfucked]

Changelings

Tall-man!Chilchuck Tims/Half Foot!Reader

Description:

After nearly getting yourself killed, you and Chilchuck end up arguing away from the others. When he feels like you're not listening, he decides to make you listen.

Word Count: 2,316

Read it here!

[brisquad-unit-4402]

Hello it’s me again! It’s been a while, I hope you’ve been doing okay. I recently have been reading through a lot of angst to comfort and I have an idea for a request!

May I request an Ike fic where reader is a liver in NIJISANJI and has a crush on Ike but knows they have no chance with him. Then one day reader accidentally spills their feelings to Ike and Ike comforts them after hearing about readers feelings?

I hope you’re not tired of me requesting Ike fics (ily him to much) and I hope you have a good day/night! <3

-🖋️

stars above your skin

oh 🖋 we're really in it now

how long have i had this request in my inbox? early march? and now exactly one day after blue light dropped, i give you a ~19.5k word ike fic. much love and effort has gone into this one, only seconded by the massive amounts of brainrot.

so yeah, i'm not tired of ike requests. i'm literally a quilldren that writes fanfic. this is the opposite of a problem

in fact this might be one of my favorite things i've written... the second half is such a good bedtime story for me...!

this is going to get NASTY to read on tumblr—as in my site is lagging so hard just typing these a/n notes. so i'm going to remind you all that not only is liking/reblogging recommended to keep track of this fic, but also that i have an ao3 account (same name as url but without dashsince it's much more accessible than tumblr for long fic. i recommend reading on tumblr if you can because of some formatting but to each their own!

here’s a funny story about this fic. i was working on it while a bunch of people sat behind me, you see, and one of my greatest irrational fears is that people sitting behind me will be able to see my laptop screen and laugh at what i’m writing…! and with these requests i usually title them the fandom name and my name, and a short phrase about the request, and this one was “workplace romance”, and i just got so afraid right then and there i changed it to the first thing i could think of, based off a clip i saw of pomu, selen, aia and doppio…!! and that’s why the wip doc is titled “nijisanji 4402 - pliskin”, and why i will always refer to this fic as "pliskin" much more than the actual title

by the way here’s a cover of iris that was pretty fitting for this fic. you’ll know when to play it. enjoy

tags: hurt/comfort, reader is a niji vtuber, gender neutral reader, off-collab, mutual pining, misunderstandings, fluff, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, cuddling, everyone in niji is your wingman, implied uki/ren if you squint but it’s mostly because uki will flirt with 80% of the men in this company

cameos: aia amare, alban knox, mika melatika, nina kosaka, ren zotto, uki violeta, vox akuma, fulgur ovid (mentioned)

⚠️ drinking/alcohol (unspecified if reader drinks alcohol)

⚠️ horror/gore mentions (non-detailed), out of context outlast spoilers i guess?

author's commentary here (spoilers) ↣

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There are dozens of these videos on YouTube, and never have you come across the same one twice. You would know. You have a bad habit of clicking on them. 

After all, they’re labeled with your name on them, and right next to it, Ike Eveland. You are smart enough to recognize it’s not worth your time and just another compilation of the same moments and fans trying to make a mountain out of a molehill, but your heart says otherwise. To be fair, the compilations were a much more recent development than the one you hid under lock and key. 

When you first joined Nijisanji, some of your senpais sent you messages full of greetings and offers to help you get on your feet as a streamer. Ike was one of those senpais, and whenever you popped into voice calls just to hang out, he was easy to talk to, like an old friend. Naturally, a fast friendship formed, and when you debuted, he was one of the first people you collabed with- and the one with the best reception. Your new fans (‘Bookworms,’ they called themselves, after your name Reader) loved how well your humor bounced off each other, and when weeks passed and you announced another collab on your schedule with Ike, your Bookworms rejoiced. 

Even when you weren’t working, you would still talk to him. He told you about his homeland in the past and his novels, both released and unpublished. He was a storyteller even when he was talking about something as minute as making a sandwich, and whenever you brought up your past and interests, he was an excellent listener. You had your differences, but he always knew what questions to ask so he could understand you better, and you loved the opportunity to ramble. 

It had been nearly three months since you debuted, and four if you count the day you were officially hired and began to build yourself as a streamer. Whenever you look at the endlessly long text history between you and Ike, you have to wonder: is it normal to feel so connected to someone you’ve only known for three-maybe-four months? 

You’re not an idiot. You aren’t about to say Ike is the most important thing in the world to you, but he gets pretty damn close. That terrifies you. You shouldn’t be so attached to someone you barely know. 

But then again, you trust Ike. He’s opened up to you about things he would never say to others, and he keeps your secrets buried in the grave. You’ve lost count of how much advice he’s given you, but you’ve never forgotten a single one, and whenever you feel lost about something you know you can count on him to help you out. 

You grimace, sip out of your drinking glass, and press ‘play’ on the next compilation. 

A cute intro plays with the clipper’s name. Above it are the words Pen and Paper, surrounded by puffy pink hearts. 

That was the duo name between you and Ike, but "ship name" was more accurate among fanwork.

You weren’t exactly unaware about it. Weeks ago, you were surfing Twitter and the site’s algorithm granted you your introduction into Pen and Paper. This was shortly after your first collab with Ike, and after you established your shipping rules with your audience (“I’m fine with anything, as long as the other liver is okay with it!”, you proclaimed, totally oblivious to how soon that would blow up in your face). The fanartist posted a messy black-and-white sketch, but you could make out the pattern of Ike’s scarf wrapped around you and him at the same time, forcing your bodies into close proximity with averted eyes and dusty blushes. 

You appreciated the fanartist’s passion and skill, but the thought of you and Ike as an item sunk in your chest like you swallowed a rock. You swiped past. You went back to your scrolling, found some good thumbnails, and retweeted some cute solo fanart, but before the week ended, you made a private account with a fake name and staked out the tags for Pen and Paper to follow that fanartist.

Damn fanartist. You tried to deny it, and told yourself that you followed their art because you liked the style. But their account was full of ship art, and when Twitter gave you similar users that all worked under the hashtag, you had to face facts. If you wanted to look at it optimistically, at least you figured it out early on before anything had the chance to sour while you were still blissfully ignorant of yourself; even then, that doesn’t make it any harder than it already is.

Besides all the texts, the meetings, the schedules and events, and then including the streams and collabs and the art and the fandom… 

“Why?” You ask out loud in the silence of your room. “Why did I have to fall for my coworker?”

And with audiences of over hundreds of people watching you fall for him, nonetheless!

It’s irritating. You have a job that keeps you motivated to work hard. It’s given you a dedicated fanbase, rare opportunities, and coworkers you all recognize as your friends. Really, finding someone to care for because of it should be a blessing, but it’s such a headache. What if your fanbases get jealous, or even worse, outright hate it? Would you be able to keep up a relationship when you and Ike are dedicated to your careers and streams? Why are you even thinking like this? You scold yourself. There’s no way this would ever work out. It’s all fantasy and smoke and mirrors, because fandoms love love. Shipping is never a reflection of the streamers, just the characters you play. You’re delusional if you think your stupid crush could actually go anywhere.

But fandoms love love. The only comfort you have is being able to pretend something could happen. The ship art is a lie, and so are the fanfics, and the clippers that tag their videos as Pen and Paper are just here for a possibility that never could happen.

The compilation is full of little hints and teases, and if you were being honest with yourself, most of it was more like two friends getting along than actual flirting. But you didn’t trust yourself to see your clumsiness for what it is when Ike’s little laughs are like music to your ears. 

Damage control, you tell yourself. It’s like studying how you play your favorite games. You can pinpoint where you stumble and leave yourself open for attack in Apex, Smash, even Crab Game, and then amend those mistakes the next time you pick up the game. Real life should be no different. Just stop acting so dorky all the time by finding moments of dork in your VODs and avoid them next time you talk to Ike.

This clip was from your second collab with Ike. Captions floated along the bottom of the screen. Ike's captions were in his signature blue.

IKE: You know, there’s a lot of content about us two as a duo.

READER: They call us Pen and Paper, right?

IKE: Yeah, my art tag is flooded with art of the both of us. 

READER: Oh my God, look at the chat. Mine’s full of people saying they love us together. 

IKE: Aww, thanks, Quilldren! I’m happy I can play with Reader too. 

READER: Thank you, Bookworms; thank you, Quilldren. Hey, there’s a lot more overlap than I expected.

IKE: They’re like Bookdren.

READER: Or Quillworms.

IKE: Quillworms, that sounds way better. They’re like our children.

READER: www

IKE: www

Never fucking mind about acting so dorky all the time. You kick yourself for bringing up Pen and Paper, and your giggly laugh. You hate it. A neon sign above your head that says “SIMP” would be less obvious than that stupid schoolkid laugh.

But Ike’s laughter is music, back in the moment and now as you revisit it, and his model’s eyes squint with a wide smile.

He really is an amazing man. If you didn’t know him as well as you do, you’d think he’s perfect. But you’ve seen him in moments of vulnerability, the parts of himself that never shows through on stream and even rarer among his friends. Through it all he manages to keep going, and you admire him so much for sticking to his guns even when he’s expressed all his doubts about himself. The fact that he trusts you enough to let his guard down only adds to how honored you are to know him, and at the same time, the fact that there’s so much trust between you two just makes you feel worse for having a crush on him. You hate keeping secrets like this when you let Ike read you like an open book for everything else, and even just wishing you were something more to him feels like a betrayal of all that trust. You wish you could just be satisfied to know him.

The compilation continues. The next clip is a totsu Fall Guys collab hosted by Fulgur Ovid that you and Ike joined in on. Fuuchan got eliminated early in the match, and spectated on you while the other livers ran around Roll On with players tugging them this way and that. 

You moved around the rotating levels at the perfect sweet spot between two rings, and balanced at the top of the roll as the slime level slowly rose.

A longer wall approached, so you shuffled from one level to another, but another player grabbed your bean avatar and dragged you along to the wall even as you yelled out in panic on Discord. You smashed your keys to struggle, but they had an advantage, and it was clear the wall would push you down to the slime for an impending elimination.

That is, until a familiar Miku bean grabbed the other side of your avatar, and pulled the other way towards the ring that would save your life. Resigned, your attacker backed off and barely dodged out of the way while Ike’s Miku bean brought you back to safety.

The other two livers in the game were too noisy to notice you. Fuuchan was commentating every move you made, and when Ike saved you, he said, “Ike coming in clutch, let’s fucking go.”

Your recorded self didn’t hear him at all, though. You swooned, “Ike, my hero!”

Meanwhile in the present, you wanted to puke. You meant for that to sound like an over-the-top joke, but you crush is getting so serious that it sounds less like a bit and more like how you gush about him in private. 

At least Fuuchan’s audio was louder than everyone else, since he was the host, and the other two livers were preoccupied with their own game to notice your lovey-dovey tone and how Ike laughed music at you. It was bad enough clippers transcribed your words in captions, but you weren’t sure how you would handle it if those three picked up on you and your dumb crush. The less that know about your workplace romance, the better.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“Reader,” Aia coos. Even with audio only, you could tell her eyes were sparkling. “You didn’t tell me you had a workplace romance!”

Well, so much for that plan. You froze over. “Who told you that?”

Mika answers way too quickly. “It’s Alban’s fault.”

“Fuck off, Mika, you brought it up first!”

“You said it though!”

Man, you were already starting to regret joining VC today. You finished your offline work a lot faster than expected, so when you realized that three of your close friends in the company were all online in VC together while Alban privately streamed a rhythm game, you figured you would join the call while you prepared dinner. 

But if that was your greeting, you needed to mentally prepare for the wild interrogation you were about to experience. At least Aia, despite her love for drama, knew how to navigate these sorts of things delicately. And you don’t mean to call Mika and Alban bad friends—they were the exact opposite, in fact—but they were much nosier than Aia ever came across.

“Okay, but Reader just asked who leaked it, and didn’t deny it,” Aia says. “So that means it must be true!”

Scratch that. Aia is the worst out of all of them.

“I hate you guys. No hello or anything, just gossip about my love life,” you lament.

She gasps, and if her eyes were sparkling before, then roses bloomed around her as she spoke. “It’s love?”

Mika shrieks like a banshee. “Oh hell no, you’re in love and you didn’t tell us?!”

“It’s not love. It’s nothing!”

“Nah-uh, Reader, no running away from it, we know,” Alban says. “Better to just get it all out in the open than pretend like nothing’s up.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to snoop.”

“I’m being serious. Keeping stuff bottled up deteriorates you, especially when love’s involved.” He missed a note. “Shit. And yeah, okay, I want some gossip, but I have a point and you know it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, I blew a full combo just to say that!”

“Can I add? In case you forgot, Reader, we’re all in the same company,” Mika says. “Sure, I might be in a different branch, but who knows? Maybe we can help.”

“And fuck you too.” You sigh in defeat. As vitriolic as your shared humor was, these three were still some of your best friends, and you know they don’t mean any harm. “Ugh, I hate this. This is confidential information. Like, CIA levels of confidential. If I tell you guys, you can’t tell a single soul about it. Understand?”

The three all chime in agreement. And unfortunately, you trust them. You take advantage of your coworkers swearing themselves to secrecy to hype yourself up and just rip off the band-aid. “It’s Ike.”

“We know.”

“What the hell do you mean, you know?!”

“It’s obvious,” Aia says. Your heart hammers in your chest. Then she sputters for a moment, like she realized she might’ve hit a soft spot. “Well, you have to focus on it to see it, but once you see it, it’s hard to ignore. You two go well together.”

Alban pitches in. “Agreed. I’m not even gonna be subtle about it, you and Ike have great chemistry. I’m happy for you two.”

“Okay, I guess.” Your eyes drift away from your prepared ingredients to the corner of your kitchen. “But I don’t know. Are you sure? Because I feel like I always act like an idiot whenever I’m around him. And I doubt he’d ever feel the same way.”

“Wait.” Aia pauses. “You’re… not dating?”

“No. Just a crush. Not love, not dating, nothing. And it’s never going to be anything more than that because it’s just a big stupid crush on my coworker, who doesn’t even live close enough to visit, and this is all a recipe for disaster.”

She doesn’t say anything about that. Actually, none of them do. Even Alban pressed pause on his game, and the Discord stream went motionless as your words sunk in. 

Mika is the one to break the silence. “You’re shitting me.”

“That’s the truth. Happy?”

“No, like, you’re shitting me, there’s no way.”

“Mikaaa.” Alban drags out her name as he scolds her. 

“Hey, I’m just saying, that’s crazy, especially since—“

“Don’t tell Reader that!”

“Tell me what?” 

“We thought you were already a thing. You know, dating, in a relationship, whatever,” Mika clarifies. It hits you like a punch to the gut. “Or at least that you had something going on, and kept it secret so it wouldn’t be awkward for everyone else to work with you two. Which, by the way, we’re all chill with, so if, hypothetically, you decided to hypothetically go for it, we would hypothetically cheer you on and set off hypothetical fireworks. I’d rent a food truck.”

Alban resumes his game. “Yeah, what she said. Go get that hypothetical novelist bussy.”

“Don’t hypothetically talk about my brother like that.”

“You’re sure this is okay?” You ask. “Mika, I know you and Ike are close. This isn’t going to make anything weird, is it?”

“You’re fine, Reader. If I had problems, I would’ve cornered you and threatened you over text ages ago when I figured it out.”

“That’s another thing. How did you guys know?”

Aia pipes up first. “I know I said it was obvious, but I think that’s just because we know each other since we’re good friends. You two just go together, you know? It’s hard to explain, but whenever Reader and Ike-senpai are in the same room you think, ‘those two would be cute,’ and then you realize they are cute, right there in the moment. And you talk a lot faster on stream whenever you’re both on the same page. Almost as fast as me.”

 “Plus, it’s really common to see both of you on VC at the same time, and you’re always happy whenever he shows up,” Mika affirms. “Alban says whenever one of you enters the call the other is soon to follow.” 

“It’s true. You talk fast whenever you talk to him on VC too, not just stream. And your laugh kind of changes?”

“Dammit, I knew my laugh was my tell. This sucks. This seriously sucks.”

“It might not be all that bad,” Mika says. “Who knows, maybe things might end up better than you expect. You should tell him.”

“No way,” you fire back. “There no way he’d actually reciprocate. And I know you guys are fine with me asking, but Ike himself is just going to reject me, and it’s going to be awkward, and literally everyone in the company who has ever talked to us will be able to tell something’s up.”

“They won’t be weird,” Aia insists. “We won’t, either, and Ike-senpai is a good guy. Even if it doesn’t work out, he wouldn’t leave you out to dry like that.”

“You don’t know. None of you have ever been in this situation.”

“That’s true, but there’s always a chance.”

“If you ask me, it sounds more like you’re afraid of what you think would happen instead of what rationally would,” Alban says. He’s still laser-focused on his game. “I dunno. If you’re really set on getting over it, then go ahead and ignore it, but that’s just going to eat at you for who knows how long before your crush starts to fade.”

“Well, I didn’t ask.”

“Fine. Forget I said anything.”

You regret the acidic tone in your voice the second you said it, but Alban was off in his own world of music. He’d tell you if he had a problem with how you spoke to him, but you still feel gross about your knee-jerk reaction. 

You’re just… defensive. Yep, that’s the word. Whenever you’re this interested in someone, you put your walls up and protect yourself from letting anyone worm through and hit a weak point. 

Aia hums like an analyst. “Just keep it in mind, Reader. Not everything is out to get you.”

You know your friends just wanted the best for you, but things just aren’t as simple as they’d like to imagine it. It’s none of their business, anyways. It was pure coincidence that they figured out your thoughts on Ike, and that means none of them have any real authority to advise you on your love life.

“I think we’re done talking about this,” you assert.

“Well, you heard ‘em. Pack it up, show’s over.” Mika changed the subject. “Hey, did you guys know if you try to break open a freshly boiled egg, it explodes?”

Alban slams his hands on his keyboard so loudly that you hear the switches over his noise suppression. The stream goes from a string of Awesome! notes to nothing but misses as he abandons the game. “YES. Yes, actually, I DO know.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“MEAT! WANTS MEAT! WANTS MEAT! MEAT!”

“AAAAAAAAHHHH!”

The stream is to the birds. Fuck that noise. Godspeed to the Bookworms, they’ll need it, but not nearly as much as you. 

When you were settling on a schedule, the last undecided spot for the week was Friday’s stream. That simply wouldn’t do. Friday nights kick off the weekend, and the break from school and work is prime time for a wide audience, so pretty much everyone in Nijisanji reserves their juiciest streams for the weekend. You’re no exception.

…Except for the fact that you didn’t have a clue about what to do for Friday’s stream. One Twitter poll and conveniently timed Steam sale later, you published your schedule with a game your fans voted on: Outlast.

You walked in knowing it would be a horror game, and you figured it would be fine. After all, you’ve played games from Chilla’s Art before, and a few quirky indie psychological releases here and there. You wouldn’t call yourself a stone-faced horror lover that can keep a straight face at anything, but aside from a few creepy moments in those game, you’ve kept your cool relatively well. 

Outlast threw all that out the window. You realized almost immediately that you had no idea how to handle the primal fear of the chase. 

Footsteps pound against a metal floor. You plead for help in the emptiness of your home as you smash the controls, as if that would make your character move the cabinet over the door any faster. Screams resonate in tune between you and the chained man in the room with you, and all the while, the howling of your pursuer grows louder and louder as he gets closer.

You finally uncover the door and dash through. Tremors run though all your thoughts while your heart beats overtime. 

You still haven’t gotten used to all the jumpscares, even though you’re at the edge of your seat and ready to start running yourself. A fork in the road approaches, and when you start off one direction, you’re greeted by a bloodied man in the distance. “AAAHH!”

Faster than light, you slam the key to the other hall and book it. You spot a new storage container to shove in front of the door just in time for text to appear on the screen: Look for pushable objects to block doors.

“No shit, why wouldn’t you tell me that before, oh my God, aaaaah!” The screams—from both the voice actors and your own cries—grate against your eardrums while chase music thunders in-between the gasps for air. 

As you grab the container and start to push, you mash the pause button. When the menu appears, you lean back in your chair and run your hands over your face. Your model pouts cutely while the real you whimpers. The mic barely picks it up.

You take a breath before groaning in fear and pain. “Guys. I don’t think I can do this…” Another groan as you trail off. “This game is so much. Give me a second.”

As you raise yourself back from your chair, it’s with a slump forward. Your chat is full of headpat emotes and hearts in your color, along with some quick words of courage. A few are recommending you take a break. “Thanks, Bookworms. I’m so afraid, but I’m committed and I don’t want to just leave it here.”

Your eyes flutter closed as you take a sip of water to clear your head. The cold drink startles you out of the dingy asylum atmosphere, but the screaming still lingers between your ears. “You know what? Who else is online right now? Maybe I need someone in VC to hold me to this.”

The emojis in chat slowly patter out as your viewers go back to text. Looks like most of your Bookworms like the idea of calling someone else while you stream the game. Some of their messages catch your eye. 

gatamiizuus: you can call ike :ReaderHeadpat: 

messXed-up!: ike!!

lunasmortas: what about ike?

A few more chats mention Ike, and while usually you’d be irritated they mentioned another liver out of the blue, your shoulders still relax at the sight of his name. “Wait, Ike? Is Ike here?”

You scroll back in the chat history, and search for any mod messages. Sure enough, barely a minute ago while you were still being chased:

Ike Eveland 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : GANBARE!

You cling onto that message like a lifeline. Ike is familiar. Ike is comforting. And most importantly, Ike would never call you a pussy.

Chat floods over with his name while you check the official Nijisanji Discord server. Almost everyone in Nijisanji sets their status to offline by default, and Ike is one of them, but you still scan through the member list anyways, praying a little green indicator will light up by his icon.

His status doesn’t change, but before you can even click on his profile, your Direct Messages tab gains a notification. He just messaged you.

Ike Eveland: Watching your stream right now

Ike Eveland: Are you okay?

You exhale. Ike is the most dependable guy you know, even when it’s pure coincidence he was watching your stream while you freaked out. 

With your heart still in your throat, you respond.

Me: uuuuuuugh i guess

Me: the game is really scary

Me: i don’t want to cancel the stream but i don’t think i can play it by myself 😭

Ike Eveland: 🫂    | 🫂 1 |

Ike Eveland: Would you feel better if I called you?

Me: i was just about to ask    | 👌 1 |

Me: you don’t have to if you don’t want to tho!! i don’t want to be a nuisance lol

Ike Eveland: Don’t worry I offered to!

Ike Eveland started a voice call.

“Ikeee!” The second the call starts, all your restraint goes forgotten. “Ike, I was so scared!”

You babble on about everything you’ve endured up to this point: the gore, the grime, and the patients in the asylum that hunt you like animals. 

 “I’m here, it’s alright now,” he assures you. “I’m here, okay? Take your time, you’re safe.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m relieved. But it was so scary.” You sink and bury yourself in the collar of your shirt. “You’ve streamed this before, and kept a cool head the entire time, right? How do you do it?”

“Well, it wasn’t my first time playing, for starters. Everyone gets freaked out at first. It’s a horror game, Reader, it’s okay to react to it. I remember the first time I played it, it scared me so bad I had to quit after half an hour.” He giggles a bit at himself. The sound is comforting. “That was a few years ago. I think I had nightmares about it, until I realized I needed to know the rest of the story. ”

Your voice is small. “That was really brave of you.”

“I avoided it for days. I doubt that’s brave.”

“It’s braver than calling someone just to get the guts to play the game.”

“Hey, don’t put my friend Reader down just to bring me up.” He keeps his tone light to let you know you’re allowed to smile. “Being able to face your fears is plenty on its own, and you shouldn’t be devaluing that. How long have you been at it?”

“A little over two hours?” You glance at the stream monitor, and ignore the chat as much as you can. You still register the hearts in your color and his signature blue. “I don’t know. I did a lot of pausing, too, so it’s probably less than that…”

“But you were still able to stream for that long. Remember, I could only play for thirty minutes during my first time! You’re stronger than you think you are.”

You avert your eyes from your stream setup. You feel painfully seen, but the chat is nothing to you. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Then I’ll be here to remind you. Is that okay?”

“I’d like that.” You return to the screen, and in the darkness of the blurred labyrinth, you see your reflection stare back. Your hair is disheveled from how you kept thrashing around in reaction to the game and your shoulders are high with tension, but only now did you realize how the corners of your lips rose after the call started. Ike really got to you. “Thank you, Ike, you’re so considerate. I appreciate you a lot. You’re a really good guy.”

He chuckles slowly, soft like a blanket. Your shoulders ease. Ike’s words are just as soft, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s nervous too. “Haha, um. Yeah. Thank you?” He doesn’t take compliments well, but they’re true, and you hope he knows it as well as you do. He clears his throat. “Ahem. Um, how are you feeling?”

“Not great, but better. I want to try again.”

“You’ve got this, Reader, you can do it.” Ike is still quiet, but enthusiastic. “You can do it!”

You go shaky. “Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay.”

But you still press Return To Game.

And when you scream barely five seconds later, Ike is still calm, and you hone in on his voice as you persevere.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Just as you go to bed, you realize that you basically just made a fool of yourself in front of your crush by getting scared at a game he’s already conquered. 

You slam a pillow over your face and groan.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Ike lands an all-out attack just in time to check the chat and the swarm of viewers that just joined. “Oh, Reader! Thank you for the raid, it’s good to see you! Welcome, everybody.”

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : take care of my bookworms for me? i’m getting milk

“Of course. They’re our Quillworms, after all.” You go fuzzy. He remembered the fan name! “Have a good break, Reader! Rest well.”

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : 👍

It was the end of the week, and the stream you just finished was the last on your schedule. You announced a few days ago that you would take a break for a little more than two weeks so you could catch up on offline work as well as rest, and the Bookworms sent you off with a lot of love. It’ll be hard for some of your diehard fans, but you’re sure they’ll manage. You have a feeling it’ll be easier than they expect. 

“Speaking of breaks, I haven’t finished my schedule yet. I think I’ll wait a day or two to post it.” The stream cracks in red and black as Ike’s party in Persona 5 Royal clobbers the enemy Shadows. Monsters bleed out behind the protagonist’s cocky smirk. “I’ll be offline for the next two days, so I’ll have some time to think about it.”

Ike mashes through the battle results, and sets back off into exploring the palace. His stream fades into background noise as you get back to the task at hand. 

You sent a few messages to some of your other coworkers regarding your break. Next was finishing some paperwork for management, and reaching out to others that needed access to the files. Sure, your time off was for offline work, but the work you had to get done would only take an afternoon at most. You wanted to meet even the far-off deadlines as soon as possible so you could be properly free for the rest of your vacation.

By the time you finished your paperwork, your coworkers were able to respond to you. A group chat full of other livers had a new response every minute about the next two weeks, and Aia sent you a QR code that would let you save some time and money on your flight. 

Ike ended yet another super-long P5R stream just a few minutes after you grabbed all your luggage, got to the airport, and made it to your terminal. You had some time to kill, but you were sick of the headphones over your ears.

Not to mention, you were waiting for the fans to catch up on the real reason why you were on break.

Curiously, you log into your private Twitter—you don’t plan to interact with anything but you’re always paranoid about your online presence—and start searching for the code words fans think Vtubers have no idea about. Symbols replace letters and names morph into sounds while emojis speak volumes.  

The Stargazers don’t mention it at all. That’s to be expected, after all. Their oshi goes on break often, so nothing seems too out of the ordinary. Besides, you wouldn’t put it past them to have even more intricate subtweets than what you’re looking for.

Only a few of Nina’s Honeybunnies put the pieces together at first, but then you check Quilldren subtweets. As it turns out, when Ike mentioned he’d be taking a few days off, a few of his fans noticed how Nina was going to be offline at the same time, and a smaller fraction of those compared how Mika had yet to release a schedule. 

Underneath your face mask, you smile. With the career being dependent on both anonymity and your voice, you wore a nondescript black mask through the entire airport in case someone recognized you, just as well as to hide the tiny giggle that always bubbles up whenever you watch your fans scramble around theorizing. They don’t have all the pieces, after all. None of the Aiadmirers nor the Renvaders even considered it.

They’ll figure it out in time nonetheless. Uki and Nina are close to landing, and Aia was the first to disembark her plane. The rest of your friends are set to arrive after you, and besides, Vox should be ending his last stream of the week right now. You’re sure the Kindred will start plotting in the next hour, provided their oshi didn’t give them too big of a hint about his plans for the next week as he’s known to do.

You board your plane and settle into your seat, ready to nap the flight away. You’ll need the rest, after all. It’s about time you join an off-collab.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Nina doesn’t even get the chance to look away from her phone before she gets a rush of replies on her first voice tweet.

She doesn’t bother to read them anyways. She’s too busy howling out the lyrics to “Wannabe.”

It’ll be hard to discern all the voices. Ike’s high range is always easy to pick out, but Vox blends in as a bass, and you can always hear Mika’s grin through her singing. Ren and Aia are the furthest from the phone, and as loud as they sing, they’re still drowned out along with you, Uki, and Nina herself.

Mika chooses the wrong time to look around the karaoke booth. While Aia sings passionately about what she wants (what she really, really wants), her body language crumples and rises like an electrocuted high school theater kid. The ghost has a hiccuping, sweeping laugh that overpowers half of the singers, and then Aia snorts at herself when Mika covers her mouth, which gets Vox to snort even louder, and before you know it, it’s just Uki and Nina doing their damndest not to break. Even then, Nina’s voice wavers along to the Spice Girls as she resists a laugh, and Uki’s eyes are squeezed shut smiling.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The bar stool slides out from the counter so quietly that you wonder if the Airbnb owner knew just how handy it would be for a house full of streamers on vacation. You lean forward while Mika tells a story about how she, Aia, Ren and you went out for a coffee run, and crossed paths with some teenagers with matching Iluna keychains on their backpacks. 

Speaking of Iluna, their represents sat together on the couch. Aia set her plate and fork on the coffee table, not a single pool of sauce left over from the pasta dinner Vox and Uki prepared together. Somehow Ren made enough room in his luggage to bring along a teal ukulele, and idly strums along. Uki sits between Ren and the armrest, swirling the last of his pasta between his fork.

Across from them, Vox and Nina took ownership of two plush chairs that could only fit one person each. Each chair was next to a corner table, and they stacked their plates on top of one another to make room for a jug of orange juice and two cocktail glasses. Ike took a bottle of rum and poured it into his soda, then slid it back to the corner table before pulling up the bar stool next to you. 

“It was like, one of them had a clear phone case and held it out to show the others a video,” Mika says. She perched on top of the counter itself, next to her travel microphone and the second-nastiest kitchen stream setup you’ve ever seen. She was no Scarle, but so many wires stretched across the island and along the way that it was just easier for her to climb onto the polished granite to keep an eye on the chat. “Smack-dab in the center was a PNG of Vox. And then a bunch of tinier Voxes around it. And here’s how you know it’s bad, you could see the color of the phone itself through the case because it’s clear, right? It was red. Red! That’s commitment!”

“I’m telling you, Mika, there’s no way they got a red phone just because of Vox,” Aia says. “That’s got to be a coincidence.”

Vox hums into his glass. “No, they absolutely did. You mean to tell me your fans don’t spoil you rotten and buy new phones just because they’re your color?”

“My color is white, Vox, like every phone ever is my color!”

“Still, I’ve never seen Aia go so quiet so fast.” Ren’s ukulele twangs as he grins. His fangs were just as prominent in real life. “It was awesome.”

“It was scary, but funny,” you say. “We saw the Vox case and the Iluna keychains, and all of us just went silent. And we all had masks, too, so it was like, one moment you could hear Ren’s fuckboy laugh, and the second we saw the case, we all put up our masks and went quieter than the grave.”

Ren palms the neck of the ukulele and mutes the chord in mock offense. “Hey! I’m not a fuckboy!”

“Didn’t say you were, but if you want to out yourself like that, be my guest. They’d chop off your horns and sell them like Kyo.”

“One of them had an Aster keychain.” Ren bitterly resumes playing. Uki sets his plate on the table and drapes himself over the alien’s shoulder as he opened up his phone to check the off-collab’s live tag. The stream was supposed to be a live Q&A, but was so easy to talk to everyone that the questions often turned into conversation before someone remembered the stream. “If Aia or I said anything, we’d be fucked.”

“Imagine how fucked we would’ve been if Vox woke up in time to go with us,” you say.

Ike snickers. “Is it bad that I would’ve paid money to see that?”

The two Luxiem members get into a playful argument over who would win in a fight: all the effort Nijisanji and its employees put into protecting their privacy, or one silly phone case. Ren’s riffing turns into a simple rendition of “Iris” and Nina hums along from across the living room. The ukulele is slow and unique enough to not be mistaken for the original, but you wonder if those two would be able to avoid copyright entirely.

Nonetheless, the vibe is comfortable. You’re miles away from home, but in a room with some of your closest friends in the world, it’s like you never left. Truthfully, it’s more like you’ve finally found your place. The music just feels right, like it was written for this moment, and Aia leans back into the couch while Nina sways in her seat to the jaunty little ukulele. Ren looks as cheery as his instrument sounds, especially with a peaceful Uki nuzzled up to him. 

While Ike and Vox go at it, Mika props her chin up with both hands and watches them like a reality TV show. There’s a glint in Vox’s eyes as Ike drums up a snide response, the only sane man to the demon’s goofiness. He brings his rum and coke to his lips like punctuation, a silent so, what? hidden in the boozy soda. 

Vox knows how to run his mouth, and he launches into one of his patented anecdotes. While all eyes are on the demon and the chat hones in on his voice, you focus on how Ike tilts his head up to drink. His neck stretches out from the collar of his black band tee, and with each sip, his Adam’s apple bobs. 

You’ve always thought he was good-looking on stream, but he’s gorgeous in person, all long lines and graceful features, and cameras can’t capture the tiny little freckles drizzled down the back of his neck. You didn’t even know he had freckles. It was only after you saw him for the first time that you noticed pale, reddish dots all over his nose and cheeks, fading out by his temples and the arch of his lips. Spending the day walking around in the sun from place to place revealed more whenever the wind flicked his jacket collar out right. They scatter at his nape, right below the blue tips of his hair, and meet one another further down his back, or so you’d presume. Without the jacket, you can catch marks spread out along his arms with distance between one another, and his shirt sleeve starts right where the freckles cluster together. You can only imagine how far down they go.

You avert your eyes. You can’t think about what’s under the shirt when you’re sitting right next to him, and certainly not while on stream, even if chat can’t see you check him out!

Unfortunately, the side opposite of Ike is the one with Ren and Uki. Those two are idyllic. Without a care in the world, it seems. You envy how easily Uki can act on what he wants, even if you know he doesn’t see Ren like how you see Ike. Ren doesn’t mind it at all, either. He literally lives by the rhythm of his own ukulele. 

Ike lowers his drink with his eyes closed, as if it would make the refreshing feeling last longer. His eyelashes are the same ashen color as his hair. Gold gleams between his ears and on the chain of his glasses.

Possessed by the music, and distracted by the rambling, you become one with the background and lean along Ike’s arm.

It’s an indulgent dip into the waters, but shallow compared to all you feel for him. Ever since you met Ike in person it’s been easier to control yourself around him, and if anything, you’re reminded that this is the man you’ve gotten the closest to in both career and friendship. The only barrier between your cheek and his body is his shirt sleeve, but your arm rests against his forearm, right where the freckles taper off. There’s no resistance at all as you make yourself comfortable in the crook of his arm. 

But you hold yourself back. Even though the off-collab made you feel gutsier than before, you think that you’d pass out if you tried anything else. Besides, you feel so at peace against his arm, but too afraid to look up and see his reaction. 

The blend of peace and fear churns in your heart as it dawns on you: you were wrong to call this a crush. It runs far deeper than you could’ve imagined.

Vox says something with finality. His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, but the words go unregistered. As he spoke, his eyes drifted around with his body language, but he snaps to look at Ike expectantly. You swear his smirk gets a little more mischievous as he does. 

The air stills, even though you know eyes aren’t on you, just the man you lean on. It stays frozen as Ike waits to respond. You still don’t have the heart to look up at him and break your selfish, unrequited fantasy.

You just want to stay here, unresisted.

Ike deadpans. “Anyways.”

Just like that, the moment is over, and Mika laughing at Vox striking out clears the air around you. But Vox’s eyes fall to you for just a split second as he moves in his seat. Frost settles down your back at the thought that he knows, but there’s a solid chance he hasn’t connected the dots. You pray he hasn’t.

Then you see Fox Mom herself right behind him, and she shoots you a shit-eating grin with a hand over her heart and a glass in the other. 

No doubt about it. You’re screwed. 

The frost turns to glaciers and burns into hot shame all at once. You love Nina, you really do, and you’d always consider her a good friend before coworker. However, she’s known for fishing around for any crumb of fanservice, and she gets straight to the point whenever she eggs it on, not to mention how she loves to tease her kids on just about anything. You are never going to hear the end of this if she can help it.

You really don’t know what you expected. It feels like everyone’s staring at you, even the chat. You can’t help but feel bitter. How come Uki can flirt with as many guys as he wants, you wonder, but I can’t even touch Ike without getting eyed up? 

You know the answer, but it doesn’t do anything to help the bitterness and the embarrassment, and how much you want to hide. On instinct, you take advantage of the warmth and nestle yourself deeper into Ike to hide your face, just in time as he curls his head above yours.

Nina makes a sound kind of like a fork stuck in the garbage disposal for the briefest of moments before smashing her lips together and bringing her glass to her mouth like a mute button. As if you didn’t feel seen enough. 

“Find any other questions, Uki-senpai?” Aia’s nose is buried in her phone, and God, you could kiss her for changing the subject. As much as she poked fun about you about Ike, she was still a total angel and a ride-or-die all at once. 

“Oh, I have questions,” Uki says. Luckily, he’s graceful enough to leave it at that. “Twitter wants to know first impressions for everyone that hasn’t off-collabed before.”

Ren speaks. “I think the only person I’ve done an off-collab with before is Nina, so is it cool if I go first?”

Aia gestures for him to go on. She’s still stuck on her phone as he continues.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, but you ignore it. Then again and again and again, and when you finally check it, you understand why. When Aia, Mika and Alban first heard you spill your feelings for Ike, they made a group chat dedicated to wingmanning—or at least, that’s what they pitched it as. They tease you more than anything else, and as irritating as it gets… you have to admit, it’s nice to confide in them, and nice to know they wouldn’t hold it against you.

Anyways, Alban’s going apeshit. 

Group Chat: 💙 PENANDPAPER REAL 2K4EVER �� (4 Members)

Aia Amare: image.png    | 📌 2 |

Alban Knox: AKDHSLSJDKSHSA

Alban Knox: AASDFSDF

Alban Knox: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Alban Knox: AAAAAAAAAA

Alban Knox: HAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAA AAAAAAA KYAAAAAAAA

Alban Knox: 💕💕💕💙💕💙💕💙💙💙💕💙💕💕💙

Alban Knox: 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

Alban Knox: HOW ARE YOU GUYSS NOT LOSING YUOR MINDSA BOUT THIS

Aia Amare: I AM

Me: omfg did you seriously get a picture of us 

Alban Knox: WHAT ARE YOU DOINGGGGGGG DONT CHDCK THIS GC    | 👆 1 |

Me: wtf did you expect you’re spamming 

Alban Knox: YOU AR ELITERALLY CUDDLNG GO FOCUS ON THAY JOT US

Me: we are not cuddling

Alban Knox: YOU ARE

Aia Amare: YOU ARE

Mika Melatika pinned a message.     | 🖕 1 |

Me: mika wth you too? 😭 

Mika Melatika: image.png

Me: did you srsly take a selfie with us in the background

Mika Melatika: YES this needs to be immortalized

Me: you people suck    | 🥰 3 |

Alban Knox: GET THAT NOVELIST BUSSY!!!!

Aia Amare: As if you aren’t about to save that picture yourself~

Alban Knox: NOVELUSSY!!!!!!!!!

Fuck, she got you there. You cast a pointed look at the angelic maiden herself, or at least as pointed as you can be with a man you’re scared to love wrapped around you. She looks as satisfied as a cat pushing a glass off a counter. 

You set your phone on ‘do not disturb’ and placed it behind you on the counter with a huff.

“Reader, honey, how about you?” Nina leans forward, half-lidded and as sultry as ever. She swirled her drink around in its glass. “It’s your first off-collab ever, right? I’d love to hear what you have to say.”

“Oh, well, um.” Your brain struggles to catch up. “First impressions, right…”

Aia slips you a thumbs up. You’re going to rip her a new one after this. Her, and Mika, and definitely Nina; this is the most subtle Nina’s ever been but you can tell she’s fishing for an answer here. You can take your friends figuring it out, embarrassing as it is, but you are not about to expose yourself to thousands of live viewers. 

“It’s kind of crazy actually meeting up with everyone,” you start. “I’ve known them for so long, but all online, and being able to match the voice to the face in real life, I don’t think I can actually describe it. It’s kind of surreal, but it feels so nice to just talk to them in person. Aia, Nina and Uki were the first people I met up with, and man, those three are a sight. I know everyone says it, but Uki is absolutely the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Nina and Aia are really pretty, too. Hey, Aiadmirers, did you know when your oshi laughs, she looks just as cute as she sounds?”

Aia yells. “Reader, shut up!”

“Then stop being so cute all the time, you dork!” 

“I’m not a dork! I’m cool!”

You resume, satisfied with your revenge. “Mika and Vox are both really chill. They’re kind of quiet, so if you’re just walking by, you’d think they’re two normal people just going about their days. But whenever we talk it’s always something insane. Vox sounds like a dignified gentleman and Mika is kind of like that cool girl that you want to be friends with, but if you actually pay attention, Mika’s showing Vox a picture of her insides during surgery while he’s reciting something about the Bite of ‘87. And Ren is probably one of the most straightforward people you’ll ever see. He’s so optimistic, and really expressive, too, even though most of the expressions are all different types of smiles.”

“What’s your impression of Ike?” Nina asks.

What does she expect you to say to that one, that screens can’t capture how the sun glitters through his glassy green eyes? Hearing him say your name in-person sends shockwaves through your body? How you want to kiss every little freckle he’s never mentioned before and keeps hidden under long sleeves, even though it’s the beautiful skin he lives in daily?

“Same old Ike. He’s exactly like how I expected,” you say. A total fib. 

She cocks her head. “Really? Even after all the time you’ve spent together?”

“I’m trying to hang out with everyone.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

Cornered. Nina takes a long, slow drink from her glass as you scramble for a quick answer that won’t immediately out you. “Whenever I talk to Ike, he’s really emotive. You can tell what he’s thinking before he says anything. He also has a good sense of style, so he’s fun to go shopping with, and honestly, fun to do anything with. He’s someone you can always have a good time with, and always makes you feel so comfortable around him. Ike’s magnetic.”

Mika muffles a coo behind you. You’re going to kill her if you survive this stream.

“That’s very sweet, Reader,” Nina replies. “Hear that, Ike?”

“Yes, I did.” He sounds strained.

“Got any feelings about it?”

“Yes? I mean—er, thanks?” You feel Ike’s head rustle. “I, umm. What am I supposed to say about that?”

“I don’t know. I just think that about you, that’s all…”

“Aww, cute. I love that you love each other,” Nina muses. 

Ike spits out, “It’s not like that!” Just as you admit, “Yeah, I guess so.”

You process his words too late, though, and even as you sputter the ukulele music cuts out just in time with Nina and Mika’s unfiltered fangirl squeals. Ren’s palms mute the chord as his eyes go wide. Aia is already on her phone with her jaw to the floor and Uki throws a look at Nina while he mouths, did that just happen? 

“I-I mean!” Your throat goes dry and Ike lurches away from you when Vox gleefully shakes Nina like a rag doll. “I—wh—Ike, I mean, of course I love you—“ Mika screams again— “As a friend!”

When you turn to face Ike, he’s curled up into a ball on the barstool with his shirt collar over his face. Even as you feel the blood rush to your face, you keep shouting. That’s all you have left. You’re live. “Like, we’re best friends on and off stream and I love you!”

He mutters something, but you can’t tell what. Only his neck and the tips of his ears poke out from his shirt. Were they always that red?

You repeat yourself. “I said, we’re best friends and I love you, so much!”

“And I said, I know, thank you, I love you too, Reader!” Ike jerks out to face you as he cries. He looks like a tomato. 

Then he buries his face into his hands and squeaks like how he always does when something’s too cute to handle, or he’s got too many emotions he needs to let out. “You can’t see me, I’m too embarrassed. I’m hiding forever and I’m never coming out.”

You hope the ground swallows you up and you never have to confront this moment again. 

Uki hisses under his breath and muffles Ren's ukulele. You don't know what he said, but you realize all too late that the alien prince himself was laying down the first few notes of “Fly Me To The Moon.”

While you slump and fold your arms over your face on the counter in pure embarrassment, Aia stands up and commandeers the mic. She slaps a hand over Mika’s mouth to muffle the scream. “Man, bummer that Ike-senpai is gone from us forever, but you know what else might be gone forever if you don’t get it now? The sponsor for this stream, our current limited-edition Nijisanji voice packs!”

And as much as you could kiss her yet again for changing the subject, you can’t get over how everything blew up in the last five minutes, and groan into your arms instead. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The stream passed, luckily, without a hitch after that. No one asked any questions, but it was pretty damn clear everyone in the room had an idea of what just happened, and the impending shitstorm. In fact, it was so clear that when you stalked off to your room to sulk, no one made a fuss, and when you realized ten minutes into your sulking session that you left your phone on the counter, you figured it wasn’t worth it to show your face again until after you finished your pity party. 

The entire time, you laid in your bed with a pillow over your face so you could pretend like you were being absorbed into the sweet embrace of death. Overdramatic, sure, but you figured you were justified. 

Without your phone, you had no way to check exactly how bad the fallout was on Twitter. The poor Pen and Paper tags were sure to be flooded with fans imagining a happy ending to that stint you’d never be able to experience yourself, like salt in the wound. Not to mention, it was a huge seven-person off-collab! It didn’t just end with the Pen and Paper fans. No, it would extend past the Bookworms and the Quilldren, and certainly to the rest of the fandoms with an oshi in this Airbnb. Maybe even the offshoot viewers who don’t regularly watch your content, but made an exception for the off-collab, or, you know, the ones who have no idea who you or Ike are but can’t get enough of the whole accidental-confession-live-on-stream thing. Forget Nina; the entire Vtuber community is never, ever, ever going to live this down. 

Ike sounded so distraught, too. You wanted to kick yourself for it. Not only did you make a fool of yourself, but he got caught in the crossfire just because you didn’t catch yourself slipping. Not like he’d reciprocate anyways. He’s always been bad at taking compliments, but you keep thinking about how embarrassed he was about you loving him. 

All your frustration and humiliation coursed through the darkness under your pillow, and you stew so bitterly that you don’t even dream when you fall asleep. 

You just wake up groggy and exhausted, but too restless to go back to sleep. You look out the window, and the stars have barely come out to play in the early night sky. 

As much as you’d hate to admit it, that impromptu nap made you tired of brooding. Besides, you can’t hide from your friends forever. Hopelessly in love or not, they’re still your friends, and even if you decided to stream during the trip, this off-collab was always about spending time with them instead of worrying over your online presence. 

It takes you half an hour to hype yourself up, but eventually, you open your door and step out into the hall. 

You can already hear voices further away in the Airbnb. You place one of them as Nina, and after her, a baritone that could only belong to Vox. 

“…Fuck Twitter, they’re going to forget about it in two weeks or less anyways.” You overhear as you walk down the hall of rooms and closer to the living room. You’ve heard Vox passionate before, but never this serious as well. “Besides, what exactly did they say?”

A mumble. You can’t place the words, but you bristle when you recognize the voice. That’s unmistakably Ike. 

“See? Again, I’m so sorry. I was out of line, and I forgot my place. I shouldn’t have interrogated them like that,” Nina says. “But you’re overthinking what they said.”

Another mumble. By now, you’re in the kitchen. You lift your phone from where you left it, and hold your fingers over the half of the screen where your notifications appear as you check the time. It’s barely 11 PM. 

The kitchen and living room are connected, with plenty of seating space all around. That was why Mika’s travel laptop was still on the counter and plugged into the wall from the stream earlier, but on the other side of the wall from the kitchen, you noticed an open window and silhouettes from it. Four people sat on the shallow roof overlooking the uneven ground plenty of feet under the building. A pair of fox ears twitch at the night wind as they watched the stars grow brighter in the sky. 

You look through the fridge. You’re peckish, but if you were to be honest with yourself, you’re trying to stay quiet for a reason. 

There’s a huff. “Oh my god, dude. Just tell Reader already.”

You stand up a little straighter. Mika was with them? Were they talking about you?

“There’s nothing to be said, Mika!” Ike huffs back. “I’m screwed anyways. Just drop it, okay? I don’t need this getting in the way of what was supposed to be just a normal trip.”

“You can’t keep running away forever. Just act like an adult and tell them. It’s going to be fine, I swear.”

“And how exactly do you know that?”

“Well…” Mika trails off. “I can’t say. I just know, okay?”

“Uh-huh. And I know I’m screwed.” The wind rustles outside. You stay motionless. “Just two weeks. Can I please just have two weeks where I don’t have to worry about this until the trip is over.”

It’s a question, but he says it with such exasperation that no one can consider any other answers. 

“Fine.” Nina relinquishes. “Have it your way. I’m just worried for you two.”

“It’s going to work out, Ike. But I’m tired.” Vox stifles a yawn. “Tomorrow is going to be better. Let it go for the night and come back to it once you’re in better shape, and just remember. It’s going to work out.”

“Thanks, Vox.”

“Now get in here.”

You hear shuffling fabric before the two men start yelling. Vox cackles while Ike cries through gritted teeth. “Dang it, Vox, I’m going to shove you off this roof!”

“Get ruffled, idiot! That’s your fault for trusting me!”

“I just wanted a hug!”

You snicker under your breath. Vox loves to ruffle Ike’s hair despite the latter’s protests, though he tends to accept it instead of shove him off like anyone else that would dare. Besides, as dreary as Ike sounded during that conversation, he nearly sounded like his old self as Vox and the others laughed.

“I think I’ll go too. Mommy needs her beauty sleep.”

“Mm, I’m still pretty awake. Wanna keep looking at the sky with me, Ike?”

“Sure. Here, Nina, let me move out of the way…”

Shuffling turns to footsteps, and brings you back to reality. You busy yourself looking through the paltry groceries.

The sound of footsteps gets louder and louder, until they become a hollow click on the hardwood floor. Nina crawls through the window, but stops in her tracks with a startled noise.

You turn around and nod as casually as possible. “Oh, hey, Nina.”

Vox is also halfway through the window, and his eyes go comically wide as he forgets how to move. “Oh. Hey. Reader. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah! Um!” Nina coughs long enough to make you uncomfortable. “What are you doing here?”

“Took a nap. Got hungry.” It’s not a lie. You grope around in the fridge and breathe a sigh of relief when you see a stick of string cheese in your hands. “You guys just hanging out?”

Nina nods. “Yeah, we were on the roof. It’s getting late, though. You should get some rest for tomorrow—“

Vox elbows her. “But not after looking at the sky for a little bit. It’s beautiful. Very clear. Romantic, even. The architects did a wonderful job placing this house right at the perfect angle to watch the stars rise. Did I mention it was romantic?”

You act natural and take a big bite out of the string cheese. “Once or twice. Is it the seniors’ bedtime?”

“You got me,” Vox says. 

“I love going to sleep early and giving my kids private time before bed to reflect and hold deep conversations with one another about their feelings,” Nina says. “And also nighttime face masks.”

“Woo, skincare, what she said.” 

“Hey, by the way, Reader, honey, did you hear anything we talked about?”

“No,” you lie.

“Cool,” Vox says. You eat the rest of the string cheese in one bite. “Good for you. And goodnight, Reader.” He dusts himself off before casting his golden gaze down at you. “Be nice, will you?”

Shivers go down your back. You have a feeling he’s referring to something unspoken. “I will.”

“That’s my sweet thing,” he purrs. “Anyways, I’m going the fuck to beddy bye. Honk shoo, Reader, don’t stay up too late.”

Vox struts off with dark hair flowing behind him and the scent of his aftershave in the air. He leaves you to stand awkwardly next to Nina. 

Suddenly, she takes you by your shoulders and forces you in front of her. You blurt out an unflattering startled noise before she gets right up in your face and stares dead into your eyes.  

“Please be good,” she says darkly. Was that a threat? “Please be so, so good to my baby.”

“I will,” you say, more out of fear than anything else.

She blinks once, then she’s back to the doting mother you know and love. She squeezes your shoulders. “Thank you, honey! Sweet dreams!”

And just like the Voice Demon before her, Nina bounds off to her room. 

Huh. That was weird. Nonetheless, you’re alone in the living room, and you can see the outline of Ike and Mika sitting on the roof in silence. 

You lightly knock on the side of the window. They both perk up at the sound. “Cool if I join you?”

Mika responds quickly. “Sure! Watch your step, Reader. The roof isn’t that steep but it would be awkward if you ate shit.”

“Agreed.” You step onto the tiling, and shift your body to match the angle. You feel like a newborn deer learning to walk. Luckily, Nina and Vox leaving meant that there was more than enough space for you right next to the window. 

Ike sits between you and Mika. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah…” 

‘Pretty’ is putting it mildly. The stars are so clear tonight, and scatter across the sky like sequins. The Airbnb was located further away from the heart of the city, so the darkness only amplified how bright the stars shone against the stark night. A breeze drags through the air and fallen leaves rustle between the grass. 

“This is so nice.” Comfort settles into you like the breeze in your hair. “I love it.”

Ike sighs. “Right? It’s so peaceful.”

“And there’s so many more stars out here than there are in the city.”

“It makes you want to just zone out and cool down.”

“Yeah, totally.” Mika coughs. “Huh! Cool! Well, I’m tired now. Just keep staying out here and enjoy the sky, I’m going to bed. Enjoy yourselves.”

Mika inelegantly shuffles around your bodies and slips back inside before either of you can properly tell her goodnight. 

Ike cocks his head as he watches her stumble through the window. “She just said she would stay out…”

“Hm?”

“Ah, nothing. Just thinking to myself.”

With the extra space, Ike leans back and lays along the roof. The stars cast a dreamy glow over his soft smile as he continues. “It really is something that just makes you want to have a deep conversation, or just think, you know?”

You hum in agreement. You get what he means, but there’s only one topic you can imagine having a deep conversation about right now, and it’s the very one you brooded over earlier that day. 

But Ike is Ike. He’s rational and calm and kind, and laughs at your stupid jokes, and texts you first before any of your other mutual friends. The night turns the tips of his hair bluer than usual, and the stars remind you of the freckles hidden along his creamy skin. His glasses reflect the galaxy above.

Even though today’s stream was embarrassing, you know Ike trusts you enough to tell you if you’ve ever crossed a boundary. After all, it’s commonplace to discuss limits on and off stream as soon as possible, and your friendship was so strong that you’ve both opened up to one another. He’d let you know if the whole cuddling thing was too much. Besides, he didn’t resist. He even rested his head on yours. That has to account for something, right?

You snap out of your thoughts when you feel a gentle tug on the sleeve of your hoodie. It’s Ike. He asks, “Lay down with me?”

A wave of fondness washes over you like the tide. He’s cute when he’s earnest like this. You get as comfortable as you can on the tiling, and when you still, you hear something shift before your hand grows warm. Ike scooted closer to you, and placed his pinky finger over yours. 

This is bliss. A beautiful sight with a beautiful boy next to you. Your best friend. 

“I do love you,” you say. 

It just feels right to say. 

Ike is silent. He doesn’t make a single sound as you stare up at the stars and the blackened sky. The breeze rocks a tree, and as the leaves part, you see the moon for the first time: one thin, waning crescent that blends into the darkness. 

Ike’s head is turned away from you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking at all. 

“…I don’t know what you mean,” he admits. “You do? As a friend?”

“We’ve always been friends.”

“Just that?”

“I don’t know what you’re asking me, Ike.”

“N-never mind. I’m sorry, am I making it weird?”

“No, you could never make it weird.” The colors of the view gloss together. You feel like a balloon slowly deflating. “Feels like that’s all I’m doing lately, though.”

Neither of you say anything. 

This was a bad idea. 

You swear the rustling leaves mock you. 

“Wait.” Ike practically snatches your hand up. “Wait, Reader, are you saying you like me?”

“Yeah. I’m saying that I love you.”

Ike stares at you, and if you had to choose just one word to describe his expression, it’s stricken. His mouth is slightly parted, and his shocked eyes drive holes through your skin, leaving you exposed. The brief stutter that escapes him sounds like it was dredged out from frozen, murky waters. “I—”

He drops your hand and turns away. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, barely audible. “This is… this is a lot.”

“I’m sorry too, this was a stupid idea. What was I thinking?” You get on your feet, but the slope makes what could’ve been a fluid motion into a stumbling, slow rise, as if your legs weren’t jelly enough already. You inch to the window mortified. “I think I should go. Sorry to bother you.”

You don’t dare to glance at him before you step back inside, not even when he calls your name halfway through the window.

Once you’re back in the living room, you cover your face, then drag your hands through your hair. You can’t even begin to describe how exhausted you feel. This is heartbreak, isn’t it?

You blink furiously, and the outline of a figure by the fridge comes into view. 

“Reader?” Mika asks. She has a stick of string cheese in her hand, but walks to you. “Reader, what happened—”

You take her empty hand and pace to your room. You open the door. “Are you okay?”

The second it shuts, your breath hitches. Mika doesn’t hesitate to take you in her arms. She holds you as the first tear falls, and you begin to cry.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You wake up the next day sprawled in your bed, even though the blankets are tucked comfortably around you. On the floor is a pillow and another pile of blankets, and when you recognize the dark hair tied into a loose ponytail, the memories of last night come rushing back.

What an awful night. Awful decisions all day, really, and all of them ones you made. You really don’t know what you were thinking. You groan at the memory.

“Reader?” Mika perks up. Her phone is in her hands, but she sits up level to your face on the floor. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

Another groan.

“Yeah, I figured,” she says. “Nina, Vox and Ike went out to do their own thing, and I think Ren and Uki are cafe-hopping. It’s just you, me and Aia in the house right now.”

You rub the sleepy out of your eyes. “That’s cool, I guess.” You cast a downward glance to Mika’s makeshift bed on the floor. “Sorry for being a nuisance.”

“You’re not a nuisance, Reader, don’t say that.” She nudges you. “We’re friends. It’s what friends do. Speaking of, do you want Aia to come by? And Alban’s online, so I can call him, too. If you want.”

“It’d be nice…”

Less than ten minutes pass before Aia shows up at your door with breakfast sandwiches and orange juice. All three of you sit on the blanketed floor while Mika voice calls Alban on her phone. A pot of coffee brews over speakerphone as you recount last night. 

“...And to make things worse, we just streamed yesterday,” you explain. “God, I should check Twitter. There’s got to be a million people with eyes on our ship tag, and ugh, I hate thinking about how many weirdos are going to push a ship that can’t work out IRL.”

“I can check it for you,” Aia offers. You hand her your phone. “You remember your Twitter password?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Sorry in advance.” She deletes the app off your home screen.

You begin to protest, but she turns off the phone and sets it aside, out of your reach. “You’re off the clock, Reader! Work troubles can wait until you’re back online, and that includes doomscrolling. You can redownload it when you’re in a better headspace.”

“I really hate admitting you’re right.”

“Shit, Reader,” Alban finally says. “He seriously dropped the ball. I’m sorry.”

“I know. I really thought he would get it, but it took him so long to piece it together, like he never thought about us like that before. I should’ve known it was just me. I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, you’re hurt,” Mika says. “It’s understandable, but that still doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“Is it wrong that I feel like I deserve it? I mean, I knew day one that this wouldn’t work out. We work together online, and we have fans that ship us with each other and the rest of this company, for fuck’s sake. Getting heartbroken was inevitable and I still went for it. Either I’m a glutton for pain or I’m just plain clueless.”

Alban’s voice is distant from the phone as he messes with his coffee maker. You can’t properly hear him under his breath and over the pot, but if you could, you could’ve heard him mumble, Trust me, you’re not the only clueless one here.

But he returns back at the phone, and you’re totally oblivious. “You can’t choose who you fall for,” he says. “It was really that bad?”

“It took him like a minute to realize I was confessing. And then when he realized it, he apologized to me.”

Aia straightens. “Did he say no?”

“Not really, but why would he apologize if he reciprocated?”

Aia exchanges a look with Mika. Alban grumbles. “No fucking way.”

“Tell me exactly how he reacted,” Aia instructs. She plowed through her sandwich during the conversation, but she left the remaining half on her plate forgotten as she laced her fingers together and leaned forward like a calculated boss. 

“It was like he couldn’t comprehend what I was saying at first. He asked if I meant it as friends, until he asked me if I liked him. And when I told him I loved him in response, he was so shocked that he let go of my hand, so I left.”

“No fucking way,” Alban repeats, and groans as he drawls out his words. You can practically hear him drag his hands over his face. “No fucking way. Ikeeeee. He seriously dropped the ball.”

“I know. I can’t believe it.”

Aia takes both of your hands in her own. “Reader, I’m not even saying this to hurt you, but this is the clumsiest confession I’ve ever heard of.”

You squint. “Right, that makes me feel so much better.”

“I’m really not! You know what this sounds like? Miscommunication,” she declares. “You didn’t get a solid yes or no. So now it’s going to be awkward between you two until you get an actual answer to the confession, or at least some kind of resolution. You wanna know what I think? It sounds like he didn’t even believe what he was hearing before you left. Which, by the way, is a common response to not just confessions but other major news, so chances are you didn’t blow up your friendship as hard as you thought.”

“She has a point,” Alban says. “I believe you, Reader, but Ike isn’t the type of person to just crush other people’s feelings like that. You just woke up, right?”

“I haven’t even left my room yet. Mika says everyone else is out of the house. He’s with Vox and Nina, I think.”

“So then he hasn’t had a chance to talk to you since the confession,” he continues. “And those three are really close. I’m willing to bet they’re helping him manage it, ‘cause it sounds like he’s going through it just as confused as you are.”

You stare at the floor. Hope feels foreign, yet you can’t help but wonder. You struggle to remember the exact way Ike reacted last night, but you really can’t tell what facts were clouded over by the rejection. A rejection that possibly didn’t even happen, mind you. The confusion and regret blurs over everything like water on wet ink.

“You really think so?” You quietly ask.

Aia nods, and Alban agrees over the phone.

Mika pipes up, a glass of juice in her hands. “Here’s my take. We can theorize as much as we want, but none of us really know what Ike’s thinking about, least of all you. Especially since you didn’t actually resolve anything, and that tension is going to eat at you until you get an answer or it actually damages your friendship. You ask me, the next best thing you can do is bring it up.”

She takes a sip of her juice and leaves you to absorb her advice. 

You mull it over along with the memory of last night. “He called my name as I left.”

Alban chokes on his coffee. “He called your name?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t respond.”

“Oh my God. READER!” He shouts so loud that Mika turns the volume down. “I’m going to lose it. I’m actually freaking it right now. Reader!”

“What?”

“Fuck what Mika said earlier, you are stupid!”

“Hey!”

“I’m saying this in the nicest way possible, you are so stupid. He was trying to talk to you!”

Your face goes through a handful of emotions as you sputter. “Are you serious, Alban?”

“Yes! Mika, Aia, back me up.”

Aia crinkles her nose. “I did just say it sounded like a total miscommunication.”

Meanwhile, Mika twirls a lock of red-and-black hair between her finger, distracting herself. She hesitates, trying to figure out exactly how she wants to say her piece, before she simply shakes her head and stills. “Just talk to him.”

“Which is easier said than done.” Your shoulders roll back as you stare up at the ceiling, your hands supporting you as you lean. Even with your friends’ encouragement, the memory of how hard you blew it last night still haunts you. It’s even worse than starting at ground zero; you’ve already tasted failure once, and you’re hesitant to embarrass yourself again. 

That stricken look Ike gave you flashes across your sight every time you blink. What was he thinking when he stared at you like that? You can’t tell if the disgust is true or if your anxieties are getting the best of you.

The best solution to anxieties, however, is looking at the facts—or at least, what isn’t tainted by your bias. Your friends mentioned there was nothing wrong with a workplace romance, and as much as the stream made you want to cringe, no one seemed put off by it. Alban and Aia are set on getting you and Ike to talk, and so is Mika. In fact, Mika spoke with Ike as well as Vox and Nina last night before you entered, and even if you had no idea what those four were talking about, you still picked up your name and that apparently Ike had something to tell you.

Pieces start to fall into place when you consider the three around you, staging an intervention over a late breakfast. Aia always gets you in situations where you can be close to Ike and bails you out when it gets awkward, and as much as he won’t get off your back about it, Alban gave you great advice between all his teasing. Mika was nosy at first when she learned about your feelings, but now that you think about it, she’s been incredibly tactful ever since the off-collab began. 

You can’t help but snicker as you connect the dots. “Is this the first time you guys actually started wingmanning for me?”

Aia purses her lips. “Hey, not the first. Remember when we made that group chat? We’ve always been your wingmen.”

“I know. But you guys are seriously helping,” you say. “Thanks. Though I do wonder, Mika…”

She perks up as you say her name. “Be real with me. Do you know more than you’re letting on?”

She flinches. Alban’s fingers snap over the phone. “Busted.”

Mika holds her hands up like a criminal caught in the act, but there’s a loose, sly smile hanging on her face. “I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

“What do you mean, it’s not your place to say?”

“I’m sorry, Reader, but I made a promise not to spill, and I’ve been doing way too much behind the scenes to break the promise like that. Just do me a favor and talk to the guy, will you? That’s the best I can tell you.” Mika rests her head in a hand, and the smirk looks even more knowing. “And if you can’t figure it out after that, then you’re definitely stupid.”

You bluster. “I’m not stupid!” 

“Still remains to be seen.” Aia gently flicks your forehead. “But you do look a lot better. How are you feeling now?”

Aside from the fading pain on your forehead? You’re surprised at how much lighter you feel now that you unloaded all your worries with your friends. The rejection still stings, and you’re not exactly confident, but, well, you’re smiling. The clean, tangy taste of orange juice lingers between your tongue. Aia and Mika sitting on the pile of blankets reminds you that regardless of your love life, they’d stay by your side until the bitter end, and Alban’s voice keeps you connected with your friends no matter where in the world you are.

You snatch Aia’s half-eaten sandwich off her plate and sink your teeth into the bread. She cries out in protest. “Hey!”

“Better now.” You set the sandwich back where you found it. Even though your future with Ike looks cloudy, the smile doesn’t leave. “Don’t flick me.”

“Speaking of.” Mika picks up the phone and scrolls through her messages. “Nina just texted that she, Vox and Ike will come back in an hour or less. Reader, are you up for this?”

“What do you mean, ‘up for this?’”

“Just seeing Ike again. It was a weird night,” she says. “I stand by what I said, but if it’s going to be too much too soon, then Aia and I can cover for you until you feel better.”

“I don’t know.” That’s what gets your expression to sink from light to thoughtful. “I think I want to take your advice. I just don’t know if I’m ready to talk it out yet.”

“Still wanna hang out with us or take a moment to yourself?”

“I think I’d just go back to moping if I was alone,” you joke.

“Cool. Let me go grab some nail polish Nina gave me yesterday.” Mika rises and strides to the door. “You have a steadier hand than me. And Nina said the color suits me more than her.”

Aia’s face lights up. She happily cries ”Girls’ night!” even though it’s barely noon and Alban is decidedly not a girl, but then he croons something in a valley girl accent so strong you can’t even tell what he’s saying. Scratch that; he’s a girl by association.

When he drawls out one long “Yaaaaaas, bestie!” you can’t help but laugh. Your love life is in shambles, but at least your friendships are solid as hell. You’d give the world for these three.

Mika returns a moment later, travel-sized nail supplies in her arms and a totally unrelated topic on the mind. The sharp scent of the lacquer startles you out of your thoughts as you uncap the bottle and Mika splays her hands out, and Alban and Aia air their opinions on something entertainingly dumb. 

Nina was right: this color is stunning on Mika. You paint Aia’s nails too, and halfway through her second hand, you hear the front door open, the end of an intelligible conversation, and telltale footsteps, each diverting across the house. The girls’ eyes flicker to you. You know they’re trying to read your expression, but you concentrate on how the brushstrokes pool together into one smooth coat. Your thoughts are a storm and you can’t even pick out the emotion commanding it. 

So you keep joking along instead and focus on the nail polish, refusing to give the storm an opportunity to strike. Alban quips off of you, and the moment passes as Mika and Aia return to the conversation. 

That is, until half an hour later when you hear a knock on the door. Mika cocks her head, a silent question, and when you nod she stands. Her nails dried when you finished Aia’s, and dot the doorknob as she cracks it open. A tiny margin of light from the hallway shines into your room, and you realize she positioned herself square in front of the threshold, shielding you from the person on the other side. 

She talks evenly. “Hey, welcome back.”

“Thanks. Is Reader here?”

Your mind thunders as you register the voice. You can only see the leg of his jeans behind Mika, but you recognize Ike’s voice on the other side. 

Aia shuffles by as a second shield. “Need them for something?”

“Kind of,” Ike says. “Do you mind if I talk to them?”

“I don’t know, what’s it about—“

“Aia, you can lay off him.” You call from your corner of the room. “You too, Mika.”

“Whatever you say. Just let me just grab my stuff…”

Mika grabs the nail supplies and deafens on Discord, but doesn’t even think to pick up the blankets along the ground. Instead, she glides to you and whispers under her breath. “We’re rooting for you. Send us a text if you need anything, okay?”

You nod. Aia slips past the threshold, but not without shooting you a thumbs up and mouthing ‘good luck.’ Not even a second later, your phone buzzes, and you catch Alban’s contact sending you an encouraging message in all-caps. 

“See you later!” Aia chirps. “Play nice, you two.”

The scent of the lacquer follows them as they leave, and the sound of their footsteps fade in time. 

Still in the doorway, Ike raises a hand to fidget with the chain along his glasses. “Do you mind if I…?”

“Oh! Come in. Sit anywhere, I don’t mind.”

You stay planted on the floor like how you were with your friends, and Ike sits next to you. You face the wall in front while he gets comfortable.

No words are exchanged as Ike maneuvers around the blankets, and eventually settles down with his back on the floor and head resting on a pillow, staring up at the ceiling. The light is off, but the blinds filter in thin beams of sunlight that cross over the room and the edge of his collar like a grid. 

“Lay with me?” He asks. Then it strikes you like ringing metal; you sit next to each other in the same positions as that night on the roof. 

Suddenly Ike raises his hands like static. “Not that you have to! I just figured it would be good to get comfortable and all, you know?” Ike hastily explains, then clears his throat. “I wanted to talk. About last night, I mean.”

Your chest flutters at the mention of it, but you remember all your friends’ encouragement. Here he is, the novelist of your (heartbroken) dreams, already bringing up the topic you dread to mention. You need to take this chance to face it head-on, now or never. 

You glide down like the ceiling is full of stars. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

“A lot, honestly. I don’t know how to go about it, but first of all, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You cross your arms. “You said that enough last night.”

“Not like that! I mean I’m sorry I acted the way I did. I think I made every wrong choice once you said that you… that.” He shovels a hand through his hair. “I’m making it weird again. I should apologize for that, too, it’s just kind of embarrassing saying out loud that you, um, you loved me. Not that you should be embarrassed. I mean, I get it if you are, but that took a lot of guts. You should be proud of that. I admire you for that.”

“Slow down. What are you even saying?”

“What I wish I said last night. More than anything else, I’m sorry I got caught off-guard. I must’ve been so standoffish, because my idiot brain just didn’t believe what I was hearing until it was too late and the damage was already done.” Hair the color of ash and ocean falls over his face. “Honestly, I can’t believe it now.”

“I get it. Bad idea from me. Can we move on from that yet?”

“I don’t think it was a bad idea at all. I just had no idea that you liked me.”

“Give me some time and I’ll get over it, eventually. I’m not going to let it get in the way of working with you, if that’s what you’re trying to get at.”

“No, that’s not it either! I—“

Ike’s eyes squeeze shut. His voice is so quiet, you can’t discern what he’s saying. “…Actually, I’m…”

“Repeat that?”

“I’m happy. Really happy,” Ike says. His pitch rises like a balloon floating up into space, struggling to stay composed. “I’m not good at saying it, but I meant it when I said… when I said it during the stream.”

You wave a hand in the air. “It was weird timing, and I know you mean it like a friend,” you reply. “I didn’t mean to pressure you into saying it, and just being friends is fine. Even though I’m a loser that messed up just about everything.”

The hand catches in midair. Doll-like fingers weave through your grasp, and turn your touch warm as Ike turns to look at you. “Not with me. Don’t say that about yourself, okay?” 

You stare at how easily he held your hand, and how his fingers cradle your heart between the palms. The corners of Ike’s eyes are narrowed, two beads of peridot stone that can see through every little line of text between your pages, but there’s gentleness under his glasses. Something uncertain and fluffy. Softened like a lamb even though he leaves you defenseless. 

You don’t know what to say. Ike is beautiful and kind and handsome and thoughtful when he’s earnest like this. He’s got you stupid in the head and wrapped around his pinky finger, and doesn’t have a single clue.

Peridot sparkles. “You’re so much more than that. You don’t mess things up, Reader. I’m in love with you.”

Your mouth goes dry and your tongue is still tied. Forget speechlessness; the man took your own damn thoughts away. Your hand remains frozen in air with Ike’s. If it weren’t for the light drag of one of his fingernails along your skin, then you would have figured he took your senses as well.

But the drag ends, and the fingers unlace themselves, and chilled air fills in the gaps Ike once held close. The tips of his fingers rest at the curve of your palm for just one second more before they drift away.

The glint in his eyes dulls. His hand falls to his chest, over his heart, just as slow as he parted. The uncertainty took over, and now it’s like staring at a cloud that doesn’t know if it should rain. Ike’s gaze lowers to his heart. There’s a stretch of silence and motionlessness as he stares at where your touch once was, and you’re paralyzed where you lay.

Ike's hand curls in on itself, too loose to make a fist, and his lashes sink over his eyes. His mouth is set into a flat line, but the cheeks are dusted in pinks and reds and peppered freckles in-between, demure and shy all the while.

He turns his face away soon after that. Another break of silence, and he shuffles again, with your vision on his back as if it were a hiding place.

It startles you out of your stupor. The gridded sunlight lets you analyze what you missed. After months of thinking your feelings would never be reciprocated, Ike thought of you just the same. He’s always been in your corner, and you would go to the ends of the earth for him, and everything is in its perfect position. But his back is still turned, and the memory of last night—your confession, and his inaction—it rushes to your head.

So you reach out instead.

Maybe it’s a little selfish. You’re tired of bumbling around and concealing your true feelings, and now that everything's out in the open, you aren’t about to let go without resolution.

But Ike is your best friend, and the man you fell in love with. There was no way you’d ever let go in the first place.

You wrap your arms around his back and hug Ike.

“I think I get why you were so taken aback last night,” you whisper. Even though you’re alone with Ike, you still say it like a secret. “I can barely believe it myself.”

Your warmth is inviting, and every second that passes is another defense downed. Your head perches right above his neck and along his shoulder. It’s not your first hug with Ike at all, but there’s only been so many since you first met him in person that it still feels special, and with your bodies flush to the floor, it’s intimate. His eyes are averted and one cheek lays down on the blankets, but the tips of his ears glow scarlet under his jewelry. 

“I’m glad you were patient with me. I really didn’t think I had a chance with you. You know, the long distance and the company, and you know, the standard pining fare. I’m really lucky.” A smile slips through your words. “I’ll stay with you, okay? So take all the time you need.”

Ike chuckles. Even his laughter is blushy-bashful. “I’m just so happy you feel the same, too. I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

His body curls as he lays, and your legs brush along his as you cuddle. Holding him makes it feel like he was made to fit in your arms. You sigh. “I love when you can’t contain it. It’s so cute.” 

Ike squeaks at that, and unwittingly proves your point. “It feels so good to say that out loud. I mean, you’re okay with it, right?” A nod. “And you’re okay with… I don’t know. Are we still friends?”

“Of course we are, no matter what. You said you loved me first, so let me say this one?” 

You have a feeling you know what’s coming next. You hug him even tighter.

“Reader, let’s go out. I don’t want this feeling to end,” he confesses, and your world turns into rose and blush. “Can we?”

Though you expected it, he still takes your breath away—until he taps you on the hand. “Come on, say something before my heart explodes!”

“Mine already did! I can’t even think straight, and—I’d love that. I really want this.”

Another squeal breaks out as Ike buries his head into a blanket, and your heart soars as he melts. He resembles a swaddled-up kitten, and the rays of sunlight line his silhouette. The fluffy blanket reminds you of an angel’s downy wings along his kitten features. You can’t even see his face between the blanket and his hair, but his squeal continues, muted through the blanket as he swoons. 

Somehow that only makes you feel even more flustered. “No, don’t hide! I want to see you!”

Maybe it would’ve been better for your heart if he stayed put, because when Ike rises—with disheveled hair and glitter in his eyes the color of seaglass, and jewelry that frames his red face, and that galaxy of freckles you hold so dear and shine like stars between his blush—you feel your heart stop. Again.

“When did you start having this effect on me?” You ask, mesmerized, and before you know it you thumb over one of his rosy cheeks. “Your freckles are so beautiful.”

He sheepishly grins. “They don’t really show up online. They’re pale.”

“Never noticed them until I met you in person. I love them. I love you.”

The grin gets a little wider. One of his fingers grazes along the corner of your ear. Has his hand always been along your jawline?

Ike’s eyes are shining under the grid of sunlight. The lashes flit just a bit lower from your gaze. “Reader, can we…?”

You close your eyes.

And when Ike’s lips graze your own, you smile on instinct before you remember to kiss back. 

Ike brings you near, searching for the taste of you as he continues. His touch lodges past your jawline and into your hair, and when one of the fingers grazes along your ear you’re reminded just how much you love Ike. All the yearning you hid for so long bleeds through as you sink down to his level with his head in your hand, gentle yet impassioned.

Then your face bumps against Ike’s glasses. The kiss breaks as you back away.

There’s a brief pause in the aftermath. Ike wordlessly adjusts his glasses, now knocked off-center. Despite finally getting on the same page on your relationship with Ike, you’re still as clumsy about your feelings as ever.

But the corners of your lips curve up as he inspects the lens you squished, then a barely-stifled giggle, and next thing you know, Ike’s laughing along with you, still underneath your body and with one hand in your hair while the other holds his glasses in place. He sounds as charming as he looks, and the fact that he joined you even when you chuckled out of the blue means that his mind is just as charming as well.

Not that it was breaking news. You know your best friend well, and now that you don’t need to deny your feelings any longer, you know you’ve got good taste if Ike’s under you with crinkled eyes and hearty laughter.

When you speak next, the giggles patter out between your words but the quiet delight hangs in your teeth. “Can we try that again?”

Then his lips are on yours again, and the laughter twists between the second kiss, and the third, and the fourth, all the way until you collapse on the blankets with arms around each other, staring up at the stars on the bland popcorn ceiling as adoration fills the space between you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

bonus.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Starting soon…

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The chat flickers alive as a four-pointed flower, a diamond, and a thorned heart give way to the stream and the novelist behind the stinger. 

Kaidororero: welcome back ike!

Min (Ikey’s Book): 💙 IKEY IS BACK 💙

A normal broom: HI IKE

lunasmortas: 💙💙💙

viperip: ike! :_heart: :_heart: :_heart:

Sun shines through a clear day in Ike’s room onscreen, but in reality, blackout curtains block out the day outside. A sweet smile graces both Ike’s face and his model as the Quilldren welcome him home. 

He greets them, and cracks open a can of soda as he quickly scans through the chat. Obviously, the off-collab is on everyone’s minds. 

juuuuuuuuuus: did you have fun?

Kaidororero: offcollab POOOG

lunasmortas: SO CUTE :_heart: :heart:

Johnclone: Hope you had a good time!

zZirasthingZz: PEN AND PAPER REAL

Hm. A mod will eventually bonk that message. But then again, it’s inevitable that the ship would come up in chat. 

Ike takes it in stride and ignores it like any other shipper, but his heart still skips a beat. Nonetheless, he doesn’t call any attention to it. “How about that off-collab, right? I met up with my friends! Where do I even begin?”

Ike recounts his trip from the beginning, and the Quilldren react to his stories with interest. He was one of the last to arrive, so Nina, Uki and Reader picked him up from the airport, and met up with Aia, Ren, and Mika at the Airbnb. Vox was the only one to arrive after him, hot off the heels of a flight delay, but the demon was a welcome party all his own despite his exhaustion. 

“We went to karaoke once Vox got situated,” Ike explains. “Nina put that song in first so we could all let loose, and so she would have a fun voice tweet for everyone. Might as well confirm everyone that showed up, right?

“But after that, we didn’t want to stress ourselves out to perform for voice tweets instead of just having fun, so that was the only song we recorded. I wish you could’ve heard Uki and Vox’s duet, though. And while we were singing, turns out Ren packed a ukulele with him! Sometimes he would learn how to play along by ear, like a jam session. Mika knows how to play ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’ too, so everyone joined in singing that while she played it. It was so much fun.”

Johnclone: Everyone sounded great!

sunblast99: uki’s voice >>>>>> everything else 💜💙

haabinae: :_tskr:

Festersk: WHAT I REALLY REALLY WANT 🗣🗣

A normal broom: what did you sing?

Ike leans back in his chair. He blows a lock of hair out of his sight as he tries to think. “I remember Vox sang something by George Strait, so then we all egged him on to sing ‘Country Roads.’ He only did it once I promised to queue up ‘Toxicity’ by System of a Down afterwards.”

lunasmortas: OMG 💙💙💙

gatamiizuus: ayo?

Y A M: YESSSSSSS :_tskr: :_tskr:

haabinae: I LOVE SOAD :_fanboy:

Thornmy: SO COOL 💙

“Thank you.” He says it out of obligation. If he thinks too hard about the compliments, he’ll get embarrassed. “What else was there? I think there was some Motionless in White, and Spiritbox. Oh, and My First Story. Can’t forget My First Story.”

K. K. Soda: ooooo

Alban Knox 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : what about mcr

asper ch.: METAL SCREAM?

deeboorgur: HI ALBAN

Y A M: MCR YEAAAAA  :_glowstick_1: :_glowstick_2:

“I’m getting there, Alban!” 

Ike takes a sip while the Quilldren greet Alban. He’s not too surprised Alban seems to know more than the other viewers. He’s close with almost everyone that went on the trip, and was super active on Discord during the off-collab. The novelist lowers his soda as the chat floods in orange hearts. He wonders how Alban learned so much as an observer. He should ask. 

But that’s a question for after stream. Ike continues. “Thank Nina for that. She queued up ‘I’m Not Okay’ by My Chemical Romance, and then shoved two mics in my hands and Reader’s.”

And the chat explodes. 

Kaidororero: OMGGGGGG 💙💕

Y A M: PEN AND PAPER SO CUTE :_tskr:

zZirasthingZz: PEN AND PAPER DUET

asper ch.: AYOOOO MCR

gatamiizuus: I LOVE READER

ystariya: PEN AND PAPER MY BELOVED

“It’s a really fun song! It’s almost all clean vocals, but there’s this scream in the middle. Up until then, we sang together, but then I screamed, and Reader picked up the slack and sang the parts of the verse I couldn’t. They’re amazing.”

gatamiizuus: READER SIMPS COME GET Y’ALL’S JUICE

Thornmy: THAT SOUNDS SO GOOD

lunasmortas: 💙💕💙💕

ystariya: READER KARAOKE STREAM WHEN

Kaidororero: AWWWWWWW

The model on the screen doesn’t have the same glint in Ike’s eye when he talks about you. That first day of the trip was all about getting comfortable after long travel hours, and the stories went on as the days went by. Sightseeing with Aia and shopping with Uki by day, and spending the night shooting the shit with Ren until it turns into the littlest hours of the morning.

“Vox wanted to try a bunch of different restaurants with me, but you know me, ya boi is not good with most foods. So Nina usually came along in case I couldn’t finish something. She and Vox would share my leftovers.”

Something fond crosses over Ike’s face. His eyes cloud over in fog descending over a clear-sky day. “We would always talk over food about anything. I appreciate it a lot. They really get me.” The fog stills. “And over breakfast one morning, they gave me some excellent advice over something I’ve been meaning to do.”

ver*batim: ❤️💙❤️

K. K. Soda: MILORDDDDD

nroneo: :_heart:

A normal broom: upcoming project? 👀 

Johnclone: I love Nina Kosaka!

“Not a project, no. It was something I was really worried about, even when I was supposed to be taking a break with my friends,” he says. “But those two seriously helped me clear my head about it. Mika, too. Vox and Nina had a lot of nuanced advice, but Mika told it to me straight, and helped handle what I couldn’t. I’m really thankful to have them.”

His set jaw loosens. “Maybe I’ll talk about it one day.”

The model cocks to the side. Motion blurs the foggy sobriety away. With a lightness to his voice and a knowing gaze, Ike looks straight into the camera and smiles, sentimentality forgotten. The air clears. “But for now, it’s a secret~!

“Ah, now where was I? Spending time with my friends, right? Reader and I hung out often. Sometimes with others, but it ended up being the two of us more than not.”

Birds chirp outside Ike’s window in time with the hum of his PC. The backlit keyboard in front of the monitors glows the same color as the computer, a healthy blue light that tints the tips of his fingers. He usually sets it to a rainbow spectrum in his own time, but static blue is reserved for going live. It gets him in the right mindset for streaming, and makes his little apartment feel fantastical like the noble background that accompanies his model, even if it only reaches his fingertips. 

He’s sure the Ike on the screen has fingertips tinged with blue just like him, an extension of the man outside the screen but without the grittier details. Smooth, pristine hands under gloves where his are callused from guitar playing. Nothing under the model’s eyes but lashes and a line of red that brings out the pink in his eyes, very much unlike the heavy bags and sunken face from an awful delay on his flight back home. No freckles, either, but even cameras rarely pick them up on video call. Nina cooed over them the first time they met, as motherly as ever, but behind closed doors Reader was utterly fascinated with them. They mentioned something about watching blush travel around his face with the smattering of freckles in-between once or twice… maybe more? Doesn’t matter when he’s never heard that before and it repeats in his head when he catches himself daydreaming. It’s one of the best things he’s ever heard.

Vtuber Model Ike’s face doesn’t heat up like how Real Ike’s certainly is now. He clears his throat. “The weather was really nice during the entire trip, so we would always get into good conversations while walking back to where we were staying. And sometimes we didn’t want to end the conversation, so we’d just keep walking past our Airbnb until our feet hurt or it got dark, whichever came first. 

“Oh, here’s something funny. Uki really loves cafes, right? Usually he woke up early with Ren to go check out some cafes in the morning, way before the rest of us would even think of waking up. By the time everyone else woke up, they already finished their breakfast, and Uki would tell Reader about the ones to visit or skip. Whenever Uki recommended one, Reader always wanted to go themselves, so I went along to keep them company.” 

Even as his skin returns to its original shade, the sweetness sticks to his throat like the soda he’s barely touched at all. He’s wistful. He didn’t expect to miss Reader this much; after all, his relationship with them has bloomed so much ever since you first started working together, but two weeks together (including mutual close friends) changes things. It’s only been two days since he returned home, but he feels out of rhythm with them. 

He’s gotten too accustomed to them. Over the last few months, he thought he did a good job putting aside his feelings for Reader, even when Nina would tease him after every Pen and Paper collab and Vox and Mika would be right behind her, hyping him up to make a move. The fear of rejection was what motivated him to keep his close friendship with Reader without ever confessing to them.

“Reader…”

The world around him is nothing. Paused to buffer as he thinks. He can’t remember the last time he felt so happy. Just being in the same room as them makes him feel stupid, and surely he’s been acting like it. Everything he says sounds clumsy when he’s with them. After all, on that day when he owned up to the feelings he repressed for so long that he couldn’t properly react to Reader’s confession, he couldn’t say much more than how happy he was. Words fail to describe what Reader means to him, yet he’s a novelist, for crying out loud! How ironic!

“...Reader is so patient with me,” Ike says. “And they’re so considerate and dedicated. I wish I told them that earlier. It’s hard to say things out loud like this, but you only meet people like Reader once in a lifetime if you’re lucky, and even then, there’s no one quite like Reader.”

ystariya: i love reader

Kaidororero: pen and paper awwww

Y A M: PEN AND PAPER

acklmystafoot: ike is so sweet!!!

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : 💙

“Aaah!”

Ike recoils like his keyboard is flaming lava. The model on the screen leans back and freezes in place while he nearly throws himself out of his chair. “R-Reader! What are you doing here?!”

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : FKJLJJSLKFJDKS LMAOOOOOOOO

Johnclone: Hello Reader!

Y A M: OMG

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : just wanted to say hi

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : hi!

Festersk: LMAO

Ike sputters out nothing but empty air and nervous laughter. “Haha. Um. Hi! Welcome!”

Stupid! He wants to kick himself. He’s made improvement on verbalizing affection, and he’s comfortable with Reader, especially now that there aren’t any secrets left, but he’s still so unfamiliar with affection being returned that his heart is still doing kickflips in his chest. 

haabinae: :_blush: :_blush: :_blush:

juuuuuuuuuus: most normal pen and paper moment

Thornmy: AWWW

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : check discord

A normal broom: Oh?

“Ah, okay! Give me a second.” Ike keeps his Discord on mute, and usually disables desktop notifications when he’s live, so he’s not surprised to open the window to unread messages and some non-urgent pings. Sure enough, Reader sent him something.

Reader: because you were talking about cafes

Reader: image.png (3)    | 💙 1 |

Me: Oh I recognize these from our first date!

It’s been over a week now, but just saying he went on a date with Reader has him squeezing his legs together so his feet wouldn’t start kicking in the air. 

Reader: ahh you remembered! 

Me: I should’ve figured you took more pictures than the ones you showed me

Reader: dw i have more i wanted to show you

Reader: image.png (8)    | 💙 1 |

Me: Seriously how are you so good at photography I don’t get it-

Me: You’re really pretty in this one!

Me: UGHHHH WHY DO I LOOK SO WEIRD    | ❌ 1 | 💕 1 |

Me: I DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE YOU TAKE THIS ONE

Reader: WTH YOU’RE NOT WEIRD

Reader: YOU’RE LITERALLY SO HANDSOME WHY DO YOU  T H I N K  I TOOK THAT PIC

Well, great, now he’s actually kicking in his seat. Ike is inclined to disagree, but when Reader says it, it’s a super-effective attack on his poor little novelist heart. 

Me: Akaslwdnja

Me: Thank you 😭

Reader: anyways i gotta go i stream in 20 min and i’ve barely eaten my food

Me: Go eat! Do you have enough water?

Reader: just refilled my bottle

Me: Good then don’t let me keep you! Have a good stream!

And before he can overthink it, in the moment—

Me: I love you!

His sights are set on his second monitor.

Reader is typing…

Reader doesn’t have to respond. Sometimes just saying it is enough. 

Reader: fdsjdfkl.

Ike’s been trying to relearn that lesson ever since he realized everything he repressed was reciprocated.

Reader: i love you too, ike

Words heard across the world, one of the people he holds most dear.

His heart beats loud in his ears, but he can feel it slow, somehow. Reader is exhilarating, but there’s security in them, too. The nerves kick in until he remembers they’re just as exposed as the other, and the vulnerability generate a sense of comfort. Reader makes him feel understood like no one else in the world does, and he trusts them more than anything.

He does. He does, he does, he does, even if he only has the strength to say it one at a time. Ike is in love.

Reader: i’ll let you know when i’m done streaming, we can watch a movie together after

Me: It’s a date!    | 💕 1 |

It takes him a moment to tear his gaze away from your messages. 

His streaming monitor reflects his movements. The chat moves along. Blue light spreads through his fingertips, just like how he imagines Vtuber Model Ike’s hands resting on his own keyboard, an extension of the man outside the screen, proof of the fantastical.

“They sent me something.” Ike’s laughter is gentle. “I really do love them.”

The chat zooms past, as expected. Surely that would get clipped alongside the off-collab Q&A, but he can’t seem to care. He doubts the fandom would really understand how deep the connection goes, and if they do? Some things are just meant to be private.

Besides, on the day Ike and Reader get comfortable enough in their relationship to go public, he knows the Quilldren have his back, just like Reader and their Bookworms. 

“Reader, if you’re still there, we need to meet up again,” Ike says. “I don’t know when, but one day.”

A flurry of messages, but only one truly matters.

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : i wouldn’t miss it for the world

The model onscreen grins. It pales in comparison to Ike himself.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊commentary ↣

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[skywriter97]

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic

A ShadowxAurora One Shot

Shadow never meant to keep it. With the limited space in his apartment, a piano wasn't exactly practical. But he'd seen it sitting on the street while on a run, a pathetic little spinet that apparently wasn't worth the effort for repair according to the owner, so it sat in wait for the dump truck.

Omega thought he was nuts when Shadow had used Chaos Control to transport the piano into the apartment, and perhaps he was. The instrument had definitely seen better days, and it would take more than a simple tune up to get it in pristine condition again.

That didn't stop Shadow from shoving the spinet against the wall between his mattress and the front door and then going out to purchase the necessary items for piano repairs.

The spinet became Shadow's passion project over the next several weeks. Any spare moment between his mercenary work with Omega and dates with Aurora, Shadow could be found with the spinet piano, painstakingly doting over the instrument to set it to rights again.

"You never told me you can fix instruments." Aurora had noted once, sitting on the little bench with her legs swinging while half of Shadow's body was inside the back of the spinet.

"Never came up." Shadow had grunted.

"Where'd you learn?" She'd pressed.

Shadow had shrugged. "I did a lot of things while off world, Light. Sometimes I was asked to fix things, and music is universal." Aurora had accepted that answer, and Shadow minutely relaxed.

No way he was EVER going to tell her that some aristocrat across the galaxy had taken fancy to him and tried to get his attention by breaking her piano, just so he'd come and fix it. It was the fastest he'd ever fled a planet. Omega still hadn't let him live it down.

The plan for the spinet once he'd finished repairs was simple enough: take it to the resale shop and get a decent sum of cash for it. He'd contacted the shop, gotten a good offer, and was set to deliver and receive his rings, but when he arrived and saw the buyer...a mother and son duo, the latter whom was whining about how much he HATED piano lessons and was currently and carelessly swinging a baseball bat around in his fit....Shadow took his piano and left.

No way was Shadow going to let all his hard work repairing his baby go to waste on some ungrateful brat that lacked basic appreciation. So, the little spinet piano became a permanent fixture in his apartment.

Shadow had never considered himself a musician of any sort. He was a warrior, a mercenary, the Ultimate Lifeform, a guardian. Music...required a certain softness that Shadow, with all his broken pieces and jagged edges, simply did not possess. But, somehow, that didn't matter. Sitting at his little spinet, gingerly filling his apartment with the soft tones of the classics centered him with a kind of peace he rarely ever achieved...with one exception. When he played, Shadow could pretend that was all there was. Just him and his spinet, creating something beautiful together. It was almost magical, if he believed in such a thing.

Shadow huffed a quiet chuckle, gently resting his hand atop the keys but not pressing down, his thoughts drifting towards the other almost-magical thing in his life. Honestly, if it magic was a thing, Shadow could believe it, because of her. The way she pranced through life, with such light and arms wide open, eager and excited for whatever came her way...could anything else but magical describe his precious Light?

Almost without his command, his fingers gently drifted across the spinet's keys, a delicate melody that swirled and danced through the air. Shadow sighed.

"Though I tried before to tell her

Of the feelings I have for her

In my heart.

Every time that I come near her

I just lose my nerve as I've done

From the start."

How many times has Shadow looked into those emerald eyes, seen that smile, and choked? It was three simple words, why was it so difficult? He's made peace with the past, hasn't he?

"Every little thing she does is magic

Everything she does just turns me on.

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on."

A sniffle behind him had Shadow whirling around, Chaos Spear halfway formed in his hand and a snarl on his muzzle, when those same piercing emerald eyes damp with tears stopped him dead. Shadow gulped, his ears flattening against his head. Damn. How long had she- Shadow made get up, averting his eyes as embarrassment colored his cheeks rosy red.

And then she's right there, pushing him back down on the bench with pleas of "Please don't stop, don't mind me-," and she's still looking at him with those eyes, pleading and wet, her body pressed tight against his side, lips protruding in the most pitiful pout...

Chaos, he was screwed, wasn't he?

Shadow sighed and tapped her nose with his finger. "You will say nothing to anyone about this." He commanded, and tried to ignore how distracting that beaming smile was in order to return to the piano. He gulped, frozen with his fingers in position. He knew his voice was not what anyone would call gifted, hers was so much better, and he chanced a glance down to his shoulder where she'd laid her head. She smiled at him again, eager and encouraging, and Shadow gulped and resumed playing.

"Do I have to tell the story

Of a thousand rainy days

SInce we first met?

It's a big enough umbrella

But it's always me

That ends up getting wet.

Every little thing she does is magic

Everything she does just turns me on.

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on."

Shadow rested his cheek against the top of her head, mindful of the short grouping of quills that acted as bangs, closing his eyes momentarily and just breathing.

"I resolve to call her up

A thousand times a day

And ask her if she'll marry me

In some old fashioned way.

But my silent fears have gripped me

Long before I reach the phone.

Long before my tongue has tripped me

Must I always be alone?"

Her arms squeezed him gently, reassuringly, around his middle, and he pressed a kiss to her head in response, smiling at the growing damp spot on his shoulder.

"Every little thing she does is magic,

Everything she does just turns me on.

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on,"

Shadow dropped one hand from the piano and cupped Aurora's cheek, tilting her chin up to look into her eyes, shining with light and joy, and he knew his words wouldn't fail him this time. He smiled at her and leaned his forehead on hers.

"Every little thing you do is magic

Everything you do just turns me on.

Even though my life before was tragic

Know that my love for you goes on."

Shadow ended the song with a soft kiss to her lips, sealing his declaration of devotion with all the love and passion and dedication he had in his heart in the best way he knew how. Words always failed him, but somehow, in this moment, it didn't matter. Aurora wept through his kiss, and he smiled as they parted, a quirk of his mouth so gentle and loving that only she would ever get to see it.

Aurora pounced on him a single moment later, using her own gift of speed to press kiss after kiss on his lips, face, head, everywhere she could reach, glowing so brightly and joyfully exclaiming "I love you"s between kisses. Shadow briefly wondered how she wasn't suffocating before dismissing the thought and basking in their shared love, trading her kisses and words with ones of his own. It didn't matter anyway.

Every little thing she did was magic, after all.

[starly-amazing]

"I want to love you the way you need to be loved"

Summary:

Post-canon: Siffrin and Isabeau are finally alone together after the time loops ended. They start to cuddle, and kiss, and explore each other, but when things get more heated, Siffrin must face the fact that their intimacy needs are much different than Isabeau's.

archiveofourown org/works/58958008

Get ready ISAT fans for the first of my 50,000 ISAT fic ideas that are plaguing my mind.

----------------------------------------------

"Hey, Sif, you awake?"

Siffrin feels something gently nudge his shoulder. He grunts and pries his eye open to see a blurred Isabeau standing over him.

"Oh, sorry." He backs away. "Didn't realize you were that tired, I'll let you rest."

"No, it's okay Isa." Siffrin sits up in his bed in the clock tower and quickly wipes the sleep from his eye. Out of habit he wipes at the scarred mess that was once his other eye, too. The sensation makes him wince. "What's up?" he yawns.

"You sure? I can wait, it's fine."

"Tell meeee," Siffrin pouts.

"Sorry." He grabs his shoulder and briefly looks away. "It’s just that the others left for a while and I wanted to—to spend some time with you. Like, just the two of us.” His cheeks darken. “B-but if you want to keep sleeping that’s okay too I know you’ve been through a lot and you probably need to sleep for a year to catch up from—”

“Isa.”

Isabeau jumps. “Y-yeah?”

He smiles. “I’d love that.”

"Really?" He stands up taller. "Yippee!"

Cute.

"But really, if you're too tired we can wait. I don't want to p—"

Siffrin throws his pillow directly into Isabeau's face. He stumbles back with a loud oof.

"Hey!"

"We are hanging out now," they command. "What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, uh. I’m not sure," Isabeau snorts. "The others just left so I didn’t have much time to think about it.”

“Hmm...” Siffrin pinches their lip and wracks their brain.

“It was kinda weird though,” Isabeau continues as he stares out the window. “Odile left a sock on the door handle. I don’t really know what that means, maybe it’s a Ka Bue thing?” He scratches at his stubble. “But! She said they won’t come back until we take it off. So we can do whatever; play some games, talk about something, c-c-cud—I mean you don’t have to talk about anything too heavy if you don’t want to. I know it’s all still pretty raw for you so we can just talk about the stars or wood crafting or something."

Cud...dle?

"Cuddling sounds nice," Siffrin says, softer than a whisper.

"Huh?" Isabeau leans closer.

“I think,” he speaks up just a bit. “I’d like a...a hug.”

Isabeau beams and nods. “Yeah. Yeah! I can do that!”

Siffrin shifts closer to the wall to give Isabeau space to get in.

He climbs in and comes to rest close to Siffrin. Not touching, but closer than he’s ever been while sleeping beside him.

Siffrin feels their heart pounding against their ribs. His cheeks grow warm.

Isabeau doesn’t move.

He just stares and worries his lip with his teeth.

“Isa?”

“Ah—sorry, just a bit overwhelmed about sharing a bed with you.”

Siffrin tilts their head. “We’ve shared beds loads of times.”

“Y-yeah I know, but it feels different now, since, y’know—I confessed my feelings and we’re not going to sleep for the night or anything.”

Siffrin couldn’t hold back a breathy chuckle. He throws the blanket over Isabeau and brushes against his arm as they pull back. Isabeau shudders.

Siffrin pokes him in the ribs.

“H-hey!” he squeaks. “I’m sensitive there!”

“Hurry up and hug me,” Siffrin whines.

“Okay okay fine. If you insiiiiiist.”

They stick their tongues out at each other.

Isabeau reaches out.

He lightly touches Siffrin’s shoulder, then cups his face.

Siffrin shifts forward and allows themself to be wrapped up in Isabeau’s embrace. He pulls them close. They can barely move but manage to wrap their arms around him and squeeze even tighter.

“Wow, Sif, you sure have an iron grip.”

“That’s a bit…ironic since you’re the one with the muscles.”

"Ha! That's a good one."

"Really? I'd say it's pretty...metal-ocre."

"Metal-ocre!? Your puns steel my breath away."

"They do? Well..." Siffrin scrunches their face. "Something something copper I'm all out now."

"Really?" Isabeau tilts his head, then scrunches his face in the same way Siffrin did. "Yeah I've got nothing too."

They both break out into a bout of childish chuckling.

Siffrin sighs and rests his head on Isabeau’s chest.

It feels nice.

Warm.

Safe.

Like home.

Home.

Siffrin realizes now that they’re embracing he can finally try something he’s been wondering about for many many loops.

He shifts himself around and clambers on top of Isabeau.

“Whoawawawawao—” He sputters. “Sif!?”

Siffrin hums and lays down. “You make a nice bed.” He closes his eye. Isabeau's heart is thundering in his chest.

“Haahhsldfla;kdfa;skasf;ffff!!!” Isabeau makes a noise Siffrin didn’t know one was capable of.

Slowly.

He realizes…

The kind of power he wields.

A mischievous smirk grows on his face and he sits up over him. Isabeau’s cheeks grow darker than Siffrin has ever seen. He straddles his hips and pins his arms to the bed.

“Sif?” His voice cracks. He’s wearing a lopsided smile on his face.

“Yes, Mr. Amazing-Wonderful-Funny-Buff Isabeau?”

Isabeau’s mouth falls open and he lets out another inhuman squeal. His brow begins to glisten with sweat.

“Are you okay?”

Isabeau coughs and nods. “Yep! More than okay! I haven’t been this okay in...I don’t know!”

Siffrin leans back and tilts his head. His smile wavers. “That wasn’t sarcasm, was it?”

“No!” Isabeau jolts up. “No! Nonono I truly mean it I’m just...wow this is really happening I don’t know if my heart can take it we’re moving so fast and wow—I mean I’m one hundred percent on board with this!”

Siffrin sticks out his tongue and leans closer.

He looks at the faint glimmer of balm on Isabeau’s lips. He wonders what it tastes like. Is it flavored? Or plain—just for keeping his lips from chapping? For looks? For making Siffrin’s mind race with useless questions?

He leans forward just a bit more.

He looks into Isabeau’s eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” He learned his lesson before. He knows what the answer will be, but he can’t fully push the memory to the wayside.

Isabeau nods furiously. Siffrin almost worries he’s going to hurt himself.

He waits a moment for the fighter to calm himself and leans in.

Their lips almost touch; he can feel Isabeau’s heat radiating out. But he pauses.

Isabeau hums and lifts his arm—still being gripped tightly by Siffrin’s sweaty hands—and slides his fingers into their tangled—and also sweaty—hair.

He pulls them closer. Their noses bump and his lips find their resting place on Isabeau’s.

Siffrin lets out a soft squeak. He pulls back for a moment.

Isabeau looks at him, smiling awkwardly. His gaze is so soft, so welcoming.

Siffrin leans down into another kiss.

He’s not quite sure what to do next. They try to think of what the characters did in the plays they watched. He thinks about Mirabelle’s romance novels.

He sits back up.

“Sif?”

“I don’t know what to do now.”

Isabeau snorts and grins.

“Well we can uh…” His smile fades a bit as a look of mild panic crosses his face. “Uhh…I don’t know either. I didn’t think we’d get this far.”

Siffrin snorts too. He coughs out a chuckle, and then another. Soon, he’s doubled over laughing with Isabeau joining in shortly after. They press their forehead to his chest and let their tears soak into his soft shirt.

They sigh. "Ohhh stars."

"Ohhh stars," Isabeau repeats. He rubs his hand down Siffrin's back.

Siffrin sits up and wipes their face. “You really haven’t done this before?”

“Not really,” Isabeau coughs and looks at the wall with his lip between his teeth, “the furthest I’ve gotten before were always quick hello and goodbye kisses.”

Siffrin chuckles. “Further than I’ve ever gotten.”

“Well,” Isabeau pulls Siffrin close to his face. “Let’s change that.”

“But how though?” He purses his lips.

Isabeau snorts. “O-oh, right. Uhh...” He looks around the room, lost in thought. “Well some people use...tongues.”

“Tongues?”

“Yeah, like, sticking their tongues in each other’s mouths.”

Siffrin grimaces. “That sounds disgusting.”

“Does it? Y-yeah it does. Doesn’t it? It’s nasty, let's not do that.” He tugs at the end of the blanket bunched up under him.

“Well, do you remember what your parents did?”

“What?!”

“You know, like whenever they kissed, what did they do?”

“My parents are the last people I’d like to think about right now Sif!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He was not kidding.

Isabeau rubs his legs together and makes a few soft groaning sounds. The bed creaks under their combined weight.

“Egh, enough thinking let’s just kiss each other all over and see what feels good.” He let out a sharp breath as if he had been struggling to get those words out.

"Sounds like a plan," Siffrin smirks.

They stare at each other.

Siffrin swallows the knot in their throat.

Isabeau tentatively places his hand on Siffrin's cheek.

A switch goes off in their mind and before they know it they're on top of Isabeau, kissing everything they can reach. Isabeau flails for a moment before grabbing him behind the neck and back and pinning them against him. He falls back in bed and they both sprawl out as they ravenously go at each other's faces.

Isabeau’s grip on Siffrin’s neck holds him against his lips and they can barely come up for air. He’s not about to complain though. They shift themself a bit under His strong grip, just enough to lift themself up and wedge their leg between his thighs. That elicits a loud grunt from their partner and he freezes for a moment. Encouraged, they press forward a bit and tease another strangled squeal from him.

Cuuute.

Siffrin tries to push themself up but Isabeau tightens his grip and keeps him pinned. They almost want to complain, but the iron grip he has on their lower back causes it to pop audibly and release some hidden tension.

Isabeau gasps. "You okay?" He leans back to look but Siffrin pulls forward and nips at the corner of his jaw.

"Stars, yeah, I needed that." Siffrin works their arms up his neck and through his hair. They tug at it; each yank pulls a muffled moan from his throat. Siffrin sits up a bit to catch their breath and dives back in.

They wrap his hair in their fingers and hold him against the bed. He plants a kiss on the side of his lips and then another, and another—each a little further down his jaw. Isabeau tries to reciprocate but Siffrin holds him in place with a palm on his chest. They don’t use much force, just enough to keep him still so they can go about their business uninterrupted. Though, they know even if they used all their strength there was no way they could keep the fighter down even for a second.

Oh, wait.

They can now.

If there was one good thing about the loops, it's that now Siffrin has the power to protect all their friends from harm.

...And finally win an arm wrestling match against Isabeau.

...or at least Bonnie.

Siffrin pushes the urge to call for a rematch and continues his journey towards Isabeau’s ear. Their lips come to a stop right at the edge.

They take his chin between two fingers and turn his head to the side.

He's shaking. trembling.

Siffrin kisses his ear and takes the edge gently in their mouth.

Isabeau squeals breathlessly as his grip tightens around Siffrin like a massive ravenous snake.

They bite down just a little bit and very lightly scrape their teeth against his skin.

Isabeau makes another inhuman squeal.

Siffrin's lips curl up in a catlike smirk.

"Isaaaa," they mewl right into his ear.

"MmmMmmhHhmmM?"

Siffrin thinks about all the sounds and expressions he can pry out of him. All with a few words and touches.

It will be so easy.

"I'm glad you're 'ear with me now."

Isabeau groans and curls in on himself, nearly throwing Siffrin off the bed. If he wasn’t already clinging to him he would have ended up on the floor.

Cute. Cute. Cuuute.

“Siffriiiiinnnnnnnn.”

Very cute.

“Yes, Mr. Amazing-Wonderful-Funny-Buff Isabeau?”

Isabeau squeals and covers his face. “Noooo! You can’t do that twice in one day! My poor old heart!”

“If you’re old, then what does that make me?” Siffrin fakes offense. “What does that make Odile!?”

"Ancient and decrepit."

"Wow."

"What are you going to do about it? Are you going to punish me?" He looks at Siffrin coyly with a trembling lip.

Siffrin tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. "Huh? Do you want me to spank you or something?"

Isabeau's eyes go wide. "...Maybe."

"What."

"What. Never mind, let's just keep making out."

Siffrin blinks a few times and they resume sloppily kissing and nibbling at each other's faces. It's a hit and miss on what works. Siffrin bites down too hard on Isabeau's ear; Isabeau moves too fast and collides with Siffrin's nose. They don't give up though, and eventually they start to find things that work more often than not.

Isabeau grows a bit bolder; bit by bit moving his hands lower and lower on Siffrin's body. They sigh as his fingers dig into another spot on his back that's been bothering him for a while. Isabeau works on that spot for a while and Siffrin, in turn, starts working on his shoulders.

Isabeau's hands may be large but they're so delicate with Siffrin. They almost want to curl up and fall asleep right on top of him and let him work out every little kink in their muscles.

Not yet though. They have so much to learn. So much to explore.

They blink away the exhaustion and dig their fingers in a tight spot at the base of his head. Isabeau lets out a soft sigh, almost a moan. The sound rouses Siffrin and they keep trying to pull more noises like that from him.

Isabeau slides one hand up Siffrin's body and back into his hair. He tugs and they let out a high whine then slap a hand over their mouth. Isabeau looks at them with a shocked, crooked smile. He laughs.

"We really need—" Isabeau pauses to inhale sharply as Siffrin takes his earring in their teeth. "—to fix your hair up—" Siffrin tugs at it a little, "—when we're done."

Siffrin mumbles an agreement. Isabeau tugs at his hair again and they lose their grip on his earring.

He props them up and pulls Siffrin's head back, exposing his neck.

Isabeau presses a kiss under their jaw.

Siffrin grunts and grabs Isabeau's shoulders for stability.

"You like that?" he breathes.

"Mhm." Siffrin tries to nod but is held fast. His eyes roll back in his head as Isabeau takes the reins.

"Aah." They squeeze tighter as Isabeau begins to kiss and suck at their neck. The hand not tangled in their hair starts to travel around; it slides over his chest and down his stomach. He presses his fingers into a fold in their shirt and begins to tug it upward.

The sudden cool air makes them shudder.

They feel the tips of Isabeau's fingers brush against an old scar.

His hands are impossibly warm.

They’re even warmer against his bare skin.

He didn't realize he could get more relaxed.

But then…

Isabeau starts to slide his hands down.

Down to the hem of Siffrin’s pants.

Wait.

Isabeau pulls back to look at them. He tilts his head in a questioning manner. Siffrin puts on a smile for him. He nods with half-lidded eyes.

He makes himself relax again.

Isa’s not like you.

Isabeau makes an adorably excited noise that eases Siffrin’s nerves a bit. But then he slides his hand along their thigh and around their ass.

He’s going to want more.

Isabeau’s ministrations get closer and closer to the space between their legs. He’s being slow, cautious, gentle.

But still...

Are you going to give it to him?

“Hey, Sif? You okay?” Isabeau's voice jerks them out of their thoughts.

No.

“Yeah.”

Isabeau studies their features for a moment. He looks thoroughly unconvinced.

“Am I moving too fast? I’m sorry I was just so excited to finally be with you like this I just kinda got ahead of myself hahahahhh…”

“It’s fine,” Siffrin smiles.

Just tell him.

“Are you sure? Really, I’m okay with slowing down or waiting.”

Don’t string him along.

“Really, I’m fine with whatever you want to do.”

But he’s been waiting so long to do this, it’s the least you can do for him.

“Promise?”

Just let him do this. You’ll get used to it.

“I…”

Do it. Just do it. You'll blinding get used to it. Don't disappoint him. He wants this, you want this. You WANT this.

“Sif?”

They clutch their chest.

“No!” they finally gasp. “I can’t promise because I don’t want this! I never wanted this!”

Isabeau bolts upright. “Wh-what?" He pulls his hands back from them. "Sif what do you mean?” His voice cracks.

Siffrin hisses under his breath. “I mean I do want this! I want you! I want to be with you and hold you and kiss you and love and touch you but not—" They cross their legs and shift away. "I don't want—” They bite down on their lip hard enough to break skin. Tears begin to stream down their face. "It’s too much."

“You mean like...” His voice quiets. "Not actual s-sex?"

Siffrin nods. They clench their jaw and take a shuddering breath. "But it's not you. I promise it's not you. I just—thinking about it always makes me feel gross." They grip their shoulders and shudder. "And anxious and...eugh."

“Wait,” Isabeau says. He narrows his eyes and loses himself in thought for a brief moment. "You mean like how Mirabelle is?”

Siffrin nods, and repeatedly wipes the tears away. "Sort of, yeah."

Isabeau closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh and a winded chuckle.

He breathes in.

And out.

“Oh, thank the Change God.” He covers his eyes with the back of his forearm.

Siffrin looks up. Isabeau peers over and jolts back a bit.

“Oh—er—I was worried you were...well not...lying but like," he chews on his lip, "I dunno—or that maybe I did something wrong in one of your loops or now maybe it was me just moving too fast when you’re still so—" he grinds his teeth. "or maybe something else happened...to make you...”

A disgusting pathetic mess?

Siffrin shakes their head and wipes their face again. “No, nothing happened.” He pauses and squeezes his eye shut. A sharp pain shoots through the scar over their missing eye. They ignore it. “At least, not that I remember…”

Isabeau reaches out to him but stops a few inches from him. After a moment of hesitation, Siffrin takes his hand in both of theirs. He squeezes it gently but makes no other move.

"Do you want to talk about it?" His voice is gentle, without judgment or expectation, but Siffrin feels obligated nonetheless.

He squeezes Isabeau's hand. Isa puts his free hand on top of theirs.

Siffrin takes a breath. “I think it’s always been like this." He exhales slowly and takes another breath. "I love you, Isa. I love your touch and how gentle you just were and how you held me and kissed me but when I think about actual...sex...with anyone...I just—” They shudder again.

“Oh, Sif.” Isabeau tenderly cups their cheek and wipes the tears from their eye. Siffrin tries to hide their face away  but Isabeau holds him just tight enough to make him pause. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything that makes you feel like that. Okay?”

Siffrin nods and sniffs. “Okay.” He squeezes his eye shut and shakes his head. “I mean—No, no! You want this! You’ve been wanting this! After all I’ve done to you I should at least try this and get used to it!”

“Not if it’s causing you this much pain!”

Siffrin flinched and turned away, breaking Isabeau's grip.

“Sif, I’m sorry,” Isabeau gasps. He places his palm back on Siffrin's hands. “I just don’t want you to punish yourself like this over the way you feel. Over anything."

Siffrin digs their heels into the mattress. "Not punishment. I just need to get used to it."

"Forcing yourself to do this is only going to hurt you." He squeezes Siffrin's hands.

Siffrin shrinks in on themself.

"It's not good for either of us, Sif."

They bite their lip. They can't bring themself to speak—to argue.

"I'm sorry." They hang their head low and rest their forehead against Isabeau's shoulder.

“It kind of hurts, Sif—that you think I’d be so desperate for sex I would put my wants over your needs like this.” Isabeau looks at Siffrin with a tired frown. "And you're willing to use me to hurt yourself, too."

Stupid. Stupid. Now you’ve upset him, you blinding idiot.

"I'm sorry," they murmur.

A feeling of disgust claws at their chest and they pull back again. They grab at their hair and dig their nails into their scalp.

"I'm sorry!"

They pull at their hair and begin to tear a fistful out.

Tears threaten to fall again. He closes his eye and tries to hold them back.

Isabeau reaches out and gently pulls Siffrin’s hands away from their head.

“Sif, no. I didn't mean to snap at you,” Isabeau sighs. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't about me; I know you're struggling." He untangles their fingers. His hands are still so warm. So gentle. “I’m not mad. I just want you to have more faith in me.”

“Sorry,” they mumble. Is that really all they can say anymore?

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” He squeezes their hands. "You know I care about you so so much and I want you to be happy."

Siffrin doesn't reply. He can't.

"It's trueee. And I'll say it as much as I need to. "I care about you Siffrin. I love you. I want you to be happy."

Siffrin presses his forehead against Isabeau's hands. "I want you to be happy, too." Their voice is weak but Isabeau hears it all the same. "I love you and care about you, too."

Isabeau cracks a smile. “Can I hug you?”

Siffrin wipes their eye and nods. Isabeau untangles his hands from Siffrin's and wraps his arms around them.

Warm.

Isabeau runs his fingers through their messy hair.

It’s nice.

Siffrin grimaces as more tears well up in his eye.

Safe.

His chest is heavy, his throat is tight.

They press their face to Isabeau’s chest and break down.

Isabeau holds him close as he cries. He rubs small circles on their back and speaks softly to him. They're wailing too loud to hear what he’s saying but it's comforting all the same.

“Ugh, ugh, ugh!” They yell. His voice is muffled by Isabeau’s shirt. “I keep ruining everything! I said I’d be more honest with you, with all of you and I’m already failing that!”

Isabeau presses his lips to the top of their head. “But you’re trying. That’s what’s important.” He pauses as Siffrin lets out a small whine. “There’s no way any of us would expect you to be perfect at it right off the bat.”

Siffrin whines again.

“It’s true, though.” Isabeau kisses Siffrin’s forehead lightly. "And I promise I'll stay by your side even when you mess up. Because you're more than your mistakes." He presses his face in the crook of Siffrin's neck. "You're so much more," he whispers.

Siffrin is quiet for a long time. Isabeau doesn't push him for a response; he simply keeps stroking their hair.

“I guess...you’re right.”

Isabeau shakes his head. “You know I’m right.”

Siffrin groans then snorts out a single, weak chuckle.

“I want you to say it, Sif. ‘You’re right about that Mr. Amazing-Wonderful-Funny-Buff Isabeau.’”

Siffrin sniffs and lets out another, tired chuckle. “I thought you said you can’t handle that name more than once a day?” He pouts in an exaggerated manner.

“Well I’m prepared now, so hit me!”

“Hit you? Okay.” Siffrin makes a fist and punches forward. He taps it to Isabeau’s chest. "Pow!"

Isabeau grips the impact point and collapses on the bed.

“My ribs!” he coughs. “You broke every rib in my body, Sif!” He goes limp and lets his tongue fall out.

“Eww, you’re going to get the pillow all nasty!” Siffrin grabs Isabeau's cheeks and turns his head up toward them.

"Siiiiffffrinn..." He wheezes. His hand weakly grasps at Siffrin's shirt and pulls them closer. "Say iiittt. My final request to youuuu."

Siffrin rolls their eye. "Shh, don't speak, my love. I—" Their eye widens. Their face grows unbearably hot.

"I want youuu to say that aaagaiiin tooooo," Isabeau cries with his fake wheeze. "Please, Sif before it's too laaaate."

Siffrin covers his face and lets out a long whine. "You're right about that Mr Amazing-Wonderful-Funny-Buff Isabeau. My love. The light of my life. Mi amor in shining armor. The wonderful man who may—possibly perhaps maybe one day be my h-h-husband."

Isabeau freezes. He stares at Siffrin, slack jawed. "I think my heart just stopped." He cycles through many expressions as his whole face is taken over by a blush. Siffrin can almost feel the heat radiating off it. They swallow a giggle and put on a face of pure despair.

"Noooooooooooo!" Siffrin cradles Isabeau in their arms and pulls him closer. "I was too late!" They take his hand and press it to their forehead. He swoons and curses the heavens.

Isabeau cracks one eye open and snorts, then is quickly taken over by a bout of laughter. Siffrin joins in, and soon the two of them are cackling like schoolchildren. His sides begin to ache but they can't stop.

They don't want to stop.

Finally Isabeau lets out a sigh, a cough, and a few more weak chuckles. They lie back on the bed with Siffrin sprawled on top of him and catch their breaths.

He pats Siffrin on the back. “You’re feeling better right?”

Siffrin nods and smiles while wiping his face. His eyes still feel puffy and his nose itches but at least he stopped crying. He doesn't want to let the high of their little bout of nonsense wear off.

“You’re not just switching to joker mode to distract me?”

They shake their head, still smiling. “Hey, that was a genuine side-splitting laugh.” He pokes his ribs and winces with a small oof.

"Good," he hums. "I'm glad. But, Sif?" He looks directly into their eye. "I'm gonna be serious for a second."

"Hmm?" Siffrin can already feel their heart rate increase but Isabeau quells his fears with a soft touch and reassuring smile.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. Not now. Not ever.”

Siffrin looks away. "Okay." He pulls at a loose thread in the blanket. "I want to make you happy though."

“You do make me happy! I've been happy all this time knowing you and we've barely even touched before. It's not gonna change now."

Siffrin blushes. Barely was an understatement.

Isabeau kisses Siffrin right below his eye patch. "Look, we can work together to find out what you’re okay with, yeah? It doesn’t have to be today, or tomorrow, or next week. I want to know how to love you the way you need to be loved.”

Siffrin blinks away tears, but one escapes and falls onto Isabeau's shirt. He cups Siffrin's cheek and wipes the trail away.

"What about you though?" Siffrin leans into his touch.

Isabeau cups their other cheek and squeezes. “Hey, I have my nice hands I lovingly Crafted myself. I’ve survived this long without, you know, putting my dick—which I also lovingly crafted myself, by the way—in someone else, or, you know, the other way around. Y’kno?”

“I’kno,” Siffrin smirks. His chest feels a bit lighter.

Isabeau covers his face with his hands. “Aagh, you know what I mean. I mean—” He lets out a groan that slowly turns into a laugh. Siffrin can’t help but join in again.

Siffrin lies back down on Isabeau and wraps their small arms around him. Isabeau throws the blanket over them and pulls them close.

They just lie like that for a while.

Just...

Together.

Comfortably.

With no expectations.

With a soft touch and gentle words here and there.

“Don’t let go.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Isabeau takes Siffrin's hands and squeezes them gently and rhythmically.

“Or I might not be able to handle it.”

“I might have to break that promise.”

“Nooooo.”

[theonewhocanneverthinkofaname]

Me seeing the umbrella academy fans unanimously hating the last season of the show: oh god this is just like voltron, the cycle is repeating

[zadien]

Always - A Chenford 6x10 Spec Fic

The whole operation had gone to shit. 


From the shoot-out in the laundromat, to Tim’s desperate leap onto the fleeing vehicle, everything had gone to hell.

Using the last of his ammunition to blow out the rear window of the speeding truck had been a tactical decision that he was paying for as he found himself yanked into the truck, all but upside down, into the passenger seat. 

At least he’d managed to wrestle the man’s firearm from him, but now Tim found himself alone in the cab with an unknown suspect and no backup.

Managing to wriggle into a somewhat defensible position, he reached for his taser, weighing up the cost of tasing the guy versus how fast he could get control of the truck before it rammed into a civilian.

Sensing his intent, the driver yanked hard on the wheel, sending Tim careening backwards into the door, head slamming against the glass hard enough to see stars. He grunted and blinked against the pain that ricocheted through his skull. 

The pointed blade of a scalpel arced towards him and he jerked back, breath clogging in his lungs. 

Read the rest on AO3

[wearingaberetinparis]

Just for your information: I am determined to post the final three remaining chapters of Love Is A Lie as soon as AO3 is up and running again...

[khruschevshoe]

Izzy Hands

What if when he sees me, I like him and he knows it?

What if he opens up a door and I can't close it?

What happens then?

If when he holds me my heart is set in motion

I'm not prepared for that

I'm scared of breaking open

But still I can't help from hoping

To find someone to talk to, who likes the way I am

Someone who when he sees me wants to again

-Sara Bareilles, When He Sees Me

Though being drawn and watched is incredibly erotic, there is something almost more terrifying sitting in this room, this sense that Izzy is one step away from giving away something he doesn't know how to take back. Though he wants it more than anything, he cannot figure out how to welcome it in. There is a bubble in Izzy’s chest that is bound to pop at any moment, spilling all of these impossible emotions within him.

Pete seems just as attracted to the idea as Izzy is. "Oh, screw this," Pete says, drops his knife, leans in, and kisses Izzy.

"Just don't mess up my sightlines, babe," Lucius reminds, and Pete nods.

The first kiss is sensual but sweet, hungry but not demanding. Izzy is more than willing to lean up into it, into Pete's hand cupping his cheek. There's tongue involved, yes, but it's still nothing deeper than they've done before.

It's the second kiss, though, that pierces the bubble. Pete leans down, mouthing at Izzy's neck, and the tension breaks. Something shatters inside of him.

“Don’t worry, babe,” Pete says, sweet as can be, scary as Blackbeard, “We’ll keep our hands above the waist.”

But Izzy is shirtless, and Pete is kissing his neck, and Lucius is sketching him, and this is not a situation that feels safe, not anymore.

-aletterinthenameofsanity, swear this time around I'm gonna stay (love me if you choose to)

And here we have everyone's favorite: Izzy Hands. God, what is there to say about him that others haven't? Izzy in this series gets the arc he deserves regarding his recovery from trauma and abuse, gets to have a rather complex but fulfilling journey regarding intimacy (both emotional and physical), and gets to find himself not only as a First Mate to someone who values him (go Captain Oluwande!), but as person who is loved not just by his two boyfriends but by his crew and family. Also religious metaphors. God, Izzy's relationship with faith, sacrifice, and offering in his relationships with others is possibly the most compelling thing in this series and that is SAYING SOMETHING.

@polikate @possumsmushroom @angxlwiings @bricksbloggyplace

[catherine-sketches]

You know what? I don’t hate what they did with Lucerys and Aemond story line. In fact I think I even like it. Here are the 3 reasons why:

1) Fire and Blood is written like a history book. A collection of different accounts, some from people who were there, some who were not there, some of them heavily exaggerated, ALL OF THEM BIASED.

So us, the audience, know what happened because we are in the air with the two of them. The people on the ground? They just saw Vhagar nerf that little dragon out of the sky with murderous intent. So to any onlookers yeah Aemond just murdered his nephew in cold blood.

(And let’s be honest with ourselves, do we really think Aemond is going to be spreading around how guilty he is about Lucerys? He may tell his mom it was an accident, but I think that’s it. He is keeping all his emotions right here, and one day he will die. Outside of his mom and probably Haelena, everyone will call him a murderer and a kinslayer and he is going to let them. Not one word to disprove or in defense of his actions.)

2) Aemond’s regret.

This is a guys that is an amazing fighter, skilled and deadly…. He also never killed a person, especially someone he grew up with. People can talk big game about killing someone you have beef with, especially if that person is a relative, but one thing is words the other is the actual deed. He may know what death is, but it’s another can of worms being a accessary to murder.

This reminds me of Sansa’s reactions to death. When it was a death in a tourney she barely reacted. It was a tourney, that death was brushed off and they moved on. It was a spectacle, like a death in a movie scene for us. But when it was her father’s death it suddenly became all too real.

That was his nephew. He grew up with him. And eye for a life is not a worthy trade. The scales are off.

3) A Dragon is not a slave.

Have you ever road a horse? Did you know that, if the horse notices that you don’t know what you doing they will just ignore your commands? The horse I was trying to ride would not obey me for it’s life because he knew I had no power over him. I had no experience and was anxious and had barely got on the saddle because I could not grip it right and had noodles for arms at the time.

Dragons are intelligent (the intelligence of a five year old if I remember the lore correctly). A person can bond with them, train them, ride them… but if you believe they have fully control over them you never raised a pet in your life. They WILL do shit against your will, especially the smart ones.

This is something we see in the books; Daenerys has a hard time controlling her dragons, the only one she can ride is Drogon (and she has to use a whip),

in Fire and Blood (possible spoilers for future seasons) Joffrey tries to ride Syrax to save his dragon. But Syrax is not his dragon, it’s his mom’s. So, as you can imagine, it went to shit pretty fast.

I once had a dog (RIP Leo, we miss you) and he was a delightful pitbull. He would answer to my commands, he would help me with hide and seek (he would stand in front of his house as I hide inside it) he was friendly and lovable… and the “Leo don’t jump on people as a way to say Hi” command was ignored Every. Single. Time.

Kira, Leo’s mom, hated everyone that was not my Grandma, her owner, and didn’t answer to anyone except my Grandma and tried her dammest to bite our asses off. Hell even Grandma didn’t come of without some bit marks through the years.

Now I have cats and we all know that trying to command cats is a exercise in futility.

So now imagine dragons, giant dogs with fire breath and wings. Each one of them with their own personalities, each one more deadly than the other.

Arrax, a young dragon, in a panic, tried to attack Vhagar.

Vhagar, an older, battle hardened dragon, retaliated.

The scales, as a said before, are off.

It’s like watching a baby kitten try to attack a old tigger and the tigger retaliating by biting.

Because of sheer size, the tiger bites the kitty’s head off.

This show is a tragedy. And the bread and butter of any tragedy are the “If onlys”

And now, as the Dance unravels around him, Aemond will have to live with his.

“If only I hadn’t gone after him…”

[ryssabrin]

something i've noticed about a lot of criticisms i see about jjk is that they're from the perspective of wanting to read it as a character-driven story when it just. isn't? and never really has been. gege akutami has always been more focused on the story's themes and uses the characters and their motivations and arcs to serve that. even yuji as the protagonist is pretty passive and simply reacts to the events that happen around him.

i personally don't mind this as i like the themes and gege's writing style and how he uses the language of a battle shounen manga to convey those themes. but i think so much media analysis these days (and not just shippers on tumblr, reddit powerscaler dudebros do this too) is so laser focused on their fave being powerful, successful and happy that a story that doesn't treat its characters as actors in their own narrative will just constantly disappoint them.

could the story be improved by slowing down and giving time to flesh out the characters and relationships? sure! so many of the tragic deaths would hit so much harder if we got to know the characters more. (tsumiki you were done so dirty!) but it wouldn't change the fact that gege clearly wants to focus more on the themes. it would just be longer and probably sadder lol.