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risuola · 12 hours

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ENTRY #8 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU

You said you love me, I heard it between the lines.

contents: arranged marriage!au, it gets a little steamy, reader discretion is advised — 2,5k words

a/n: longer part, little steam, some more confused fools in love, what else can we want ♡ i kinda enjoy writing the story a little more from satoru's pov, i hope you don't mind! also, the wedding picture that my friend draw for me is here for anyone interested!

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You love him.

Well, technically, you didn’t say you love him. You were tidying just next to him, wiping the dust off the shelves and he was on the couch, doing paperwork that might’ve been — and most likely were — partially responsible for his poor mood. He hated paperwork and ironically, Yaga loved giving him a fair share of it — it was fair, he knew that. His missions, his forms to fill but couldn’t Ijichi take care of it–

“We should retake that picture one day,” he heard you muse and he didn’t need to look up to know what picture you had in mind. You had, after all, just one picture together and it was taken forcefully as a proof of your marriage, right after the ceremony. He was in a suit, black and crisp, looking good as always with his glasses — that he didn’t bother taking off for the photo — resting on the bridge of his nose, low enough to show a little bit of his eyes and high enough to hide the lack of amusement he felt that day. You were in front of him, partially exposing your bare back to the camera and holding a bouquet of flowers that someone got you — not him, that’s for sure. As he thought of it, you were looking stunning. Breathtaking, to say the least, in the long white dress, not too plain but definitely not overly embellished. You didn’t need to be dressed in layers of princess-worthy fabrics to look like one. The picture though — it lacked emotion. You were there with him and he was there with you, but you weren’t together on it. You were just both in the frame.

“Why would we?” He asked dryly, growing more and more irritated by the bureaucracy at hand. He was stuck on one of the points, the one he disliked the most because it required him to elaborate on something that didn’t need to be elaborated on. Why would he describe the curses he saw, evaluate their strengths and consider their techniques, when he turned them to dust before they even realized he was there?

“It would be nice to have a wedding picture with some actual love in it, not just a dry, forced pose and stone faces,” you reasoned and your voice was light, it was innocent almost as if you were speaking of something so obviously natural. As if you were not considering exchanging the picture-proof of your arranged marriage into one of real marriage.

“We’re not married for love, do I need to remind you?” Satoru scoffed. He was annoyed. At you, because you were able to make his heart beat in ways he never knew are possible and at himself — for letting that happen. Or for saying what he just said because of course you knew the marriage wasn’t based on love and it didn’t change the fact you just allowed your mouth to slip away words that shouldn’t be slipped. He was annoyed because you shouldn’t feel that way, because he wasn’t ready to hear it, because he’s a coward.

But, instead of getting annoyed, he heard you chuckling. It was an odd point in your marriage. You were closer, the closest you’ve been until now, but the feelings that were undeniably blooming underneath the surface had to force their way through the layer of sarcasm he and you spread out thickly over the course of past weeks. You were still foreign to affection but curiously exploring the topic with each other and Satoru was suffering severe heart palpitations because of it. You seemed to enjoy it though — your smiles and very purposeful touches were enough of a proof of it.

Satoru sometimes wished he could fluster you just as you fluster him and he would give the world to see your face tinted with deep, red blush because of him. He will see you like this one day, but for now, you were still learning to express civil behaviors in the confines of your shared house. You called it a success that fights were much rarer now than at the beginning; perhaps you grew accustomed to the amount of snarkiness and irony or maybe it mellowed down. Maybe the fact that you were spending more and more time together, now working at school side by side, had something to do with the much warmer relation shyly building itself up between you, or maybe it’s because of the long, late night talks you share every night when he’s laying in bed with you.

“Oh, you really should shut up sometimes,” you said and he felt you approaching.

“I should, huh?” He rolled his eyes and smirked, eager to put down the papers and pay his attention to you. His eyes, that first landed on your legs, moved up following the shape of your body until he met your gaze. “And who are you to order me such things?”

“Your wife, Satoru, we’re married, as you probably noticed,” you snapped back, but something in the tone of your voice told him, you’re not as bothered as the bite of your words suggested.

“Married,” he said, humming. His smirk faltered just slightly and for a second, he was silenced by your presence. He couldn’t bring himself to fight against it. “And hating every second of it.” But he’d still reached forward to take your hand.

This time, it's you who rolled eyes but you allowed your fingers to intertwine with his. You sat down next to him, dropping your weight onto the soft, bouncy cushions and positioning yourself in a way to be able to face him. The top of your knee met the side of his thigh and Gojo put the pile of formalities to the side. “You are annoying, you know that, right?”

“I’ve been told,” Satoru said, his mouth twitching into a small smile. “Several times. By you, actually.” He chuckled and shifted a little on the couch. His free arm was rested along the backrest and he leaned his head back, giving you a sideways look. “But I know I am,” he teased with a smirk now fully bloomed on his features. “I’m glad you’re at least acknowledging it.”

“Kinda hard to miss when it’s written all over your face,” you teased him back and he laughed, running his thumb along the side of your hand. Then, he was rubbing small circles onto your skin, grazing over the delicate spots of your wrist.

“Oh? You’ve been paying more attention to me than I thought.”

“You really need to shut up,” you sighed, exhaling slowly in feigned annoyance, but you were clearly amused by his antics and he was growing amused too. Gojo was testing you, seeing how far you were willing to push him. He had every intention of testing your boundaries, pushing your buttons. He was curious, excited even, to see where it could go. You were incredible, Satoru thought, because weeks before he was sure he was going to break you, get you to back off, but you just kept coming at him. He wasn’t complaining.

“But I don’t want to,” he said, his tone teasing as he leaned towards you, bringing his face inches from yours. Your eyes met and the air got a little thicker, a little more warm. “What are you gonna do about it?” His voice was quiet, murmur-like, challenging. He didn’t let go of your wrist or stop the soft circles of his thumb.

“Easy,” you scoffed, but a smile tugged on the corners of your mouth when you leaned in as well. Your head tilted and then, your lips were just breath away from his own. “I’ll shut you myself,” you whispered, right against his face.

Satoru nearly lost it when he felt your breath on his lips. His heart seemed to skip a beat, this wasn’t how he thought this conversation would go, but he wasn’t exactly complaining. He wasn’t supposed to get jealous, to want you, to need you, but now that you were this close, there was no way he was going to let it end here.

He leaned a little closer as well, closing the distance just a bit more. He was practically asking for your lips to meet and the way your voice teased him when you whispered– oh, the man was getting weak. For the first time, he was speechless. His eyes drifted shut, the feel of your lips so close being enough to set him on fire. The silence hung in the air for only a moment before he pulled you to him, his mouth crashing into yours. He wanted to feel you against him as much as he could. One of his hands went to the back of your head and he began to pull you even tighter.

And you purred. Climbing on top of him, straddling his lap and the moment your legs gripped onto his, every thought was lost, every desire was awakened. One of his arms naturally shifted to pull you against his body and the other was in your hair, tangled within the strands. He felt the heat of you on his chest, he felt you on top of him and in his mind, there was no place he wanted you more. Satoru couldn't get enough of you, of being close.

His back was against the couch, he was kissing you roughly, almost desperately as if there was no air on the planet anymore and you were the only saving grace. He had waited so long to do this, wished for it. Every morning he spent looking at your calm, sleeping face he wondered what would you do if he made a move, if he kissed you softly, if he woke you up with his touch.

And now that it was happening.

He didn’t want to waste a single second. Your hands run over his shoulders and brushed through his hair, pulling and tugging them ever so slightly and he shivered from how close to the edge it brought him. Your touch was electric, sending tendrils of pleasure right through his system, filling his veins with something warm and unknown, making him lose himself into the feeling.

Your tongues met, exploring each other and he was focused on the taste of your lips, the sharpness of your teeth closing teasingly on his lower lip from time to time, the sound of your breathing and how soft and smooth your skin was against his own. Your nose was brushing against his every time you shifted your head and each movement made him want more. He felt like he could spend the rest of his life kissing you.

Satoru’s hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer and he leaned forward, pressing himself against you. He had a good bit more muscle than you and he wasn’t afraid to use it if it meant pulling you even closer, leaving no space between. Your body fit with his, the two of you like puzzle pieces fitting together in the perfect spot.

His hands were moving, following the shapes of you, learning them as his fingers were brushing your sides, his thumb sliding along your back. He gripped your waist a little harder and then, his mouth fell to your neck. You whimpered and a small groan escaped his lips as he kissed you there, his lips and tongue making their way to the soft, delicate skin behind your ear and you gasped on air when his teeth grazed the shell of your lobe.

Your fingers tightened on the muscles of his shoulders, searching for a way to ground yourself and you struggled to stay present, when he made it so easy to get lost.

A smile tugged on Gojo’s lips, he felt how hot your cheek was against the side of his head when he peppered tender kisses along the side of your neck. Then, he pulled away from you for a moment, breathing heavily. His eyes flickered over your face, taking in the sight of you before they dropped to your mouth once more. You were so pretty like this, panting and with your lips parted and swollen, red and glistening with saliva. You were so gorgeous with blush spilled over your complexion, with your half-lidded eyes and your arms around him.

His hands were still on your waist, and his lips found yours again — just as hungry and desperate as it was before.

“God,” he breathed, between one kiss and another. His voice was rough and gruff, carried by the heavy breaths and want. “I can’t believe I’m married to you,” he said, his tone full of awe. “Positive.”

He felt your lips curve upwards and your body squirm against him, and that was enough to make him almost lose control over himself. His hand moved from your waist to the hem of your shirt, moving it just enough to get access to the skin beneath it. He kept kissing you and his fingers were shifting from the hem back to your waist, then back again. You were so soft, and his entire body was filled with the urge to explore it. To taste it. To learn it.

He leaned back just slightly, breaking the kiss and you let out a soft sigh. Your cheek was now pressed against his shoulder, your face exposed. He rested his head against yours, his eyes fluttered shut and all he could hear was a mixture of breaths and his own heart.

“We should stop,” he whispered, sighing and you hummed, nuzzling your nose into his neck, kissing him there.

And like that, Satoru melted.

His body relaxed against yours once more. The breath he took was long and shaky, the sensation of your lips on his neck making his brain short circuit. Any thought he’d had of actually stopping threatened to fell to the wayside.

“We should really stop,” he repeated, louder this time, but he wasn’t making any attempts to move you off his lap. His hands gripped you a little more instead. “You’re gonna make me lose control.”

“Isn’t that a tempting thought,” you teased, the softest mischief lining your tone and you gave the side of his neck a little kitten-lick. Satoru groaned when your tongue touched his neck. His hold tightened on you, his fingers digging into your waist.

“Oh god, don’t do that,” he whispered, sounding desperate. His arm came up to brush your hair out of your face and he leaned his head to the side, giving you better access to his neck, despite all of his instincts telling him to not do that.

“Don’t do what?” Your voice rumbled against his flesh, the sensitive area leading from his ear to his shoulder vulnerable and exposed to your whims.

"That."

"That?"

Gojo jolted the moment your teeth sunk into his skin, just barely hard enough to leave a mark and it made him lose it. With a deep groan, his head shot upwards. The hand that had been running through your hair now gripped your hip, and in an instant, he had you flipped so you were flat on your back, him on top and the papers he’s got from Yaga long forgotten and spread all over the floor.

He’ll worry about them later.

Now: you.

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yandere-fetish · 2 days

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Yandere Chairman X Female Reader

Part One

warnings: cheating, mentions of death, family life

One day, you, a wealthy business woman, wake up with visions of the future.

Your husband left you for his childhood sweetheart, your son despises you for trying to split him and his lover up, your daughter was kidnapped and killed, and you were left to die, paralyzed, in some healthcare facility.

You're so scared that you decide to test your theory, just to feel better about your life.

You set traps for your husband.

You monitor your son's personal life.

You give your daughter bodyguards.

You continuously tell yourself that your dreams are just that; dreams. There's nothing to be afraid of, there's nothing to worry about because they're not true. You're not a fortune teller.

But it was all true.

Your husband was secretly meeting his childhood sweetheart while your son was deeply in love with the same woman from your nightmares. You were happy that your daughter hadn't been kidnapped, nor murdered. You were just in time.

And you were not going to make the same mistakes of the you in your dreams.

Of course, you want to give your twenty-three year old son a chance, but the moment you try to speak with him, he answers a call from his "friend" and refuses to acknowledge you. This happens several times until you've had enough of it. The two of you have a heated argument, to which he stomps away and your nineteen year old daughter is left with the task of calming you down.

Your heart hurts when you try to spend more time with your family, especially your husband, but he suddenly has a business trip coming up. He doesn't want to catch dinner because he's tired and is working early in the morning.

You can't help but think he's going to her.

But instead, you grow closer to your daughter, spending the entire week being pampered after feeling so down about the results of your life.

It isn't until a small dinner date with your daughter causes you to catch Yandere Chairman's eye.

Yandere Chairman had been dining with many of his peers when he happened to glance your way. Your radiant smile has him pause on his words while you gushed over the other woman you were sitting with.

Yandere Chairman assumes it's either your daughter or a sister since the two of you look so alike.

His demeanor completely changed after spotting the two of you enjoying each other's company. You both were such beautiful women that he couldn't take his eyes off of you two, especially you.

Yandere Chairman whispers to the waiter for the bill to your table and picks up the tab, his heart fluttering at the way you blush and thank the waiter. He finds your companion cute while searching for the mysterious and generous benefactor before giving up and calling it a night.

Yandere Chairman watches you leave with a look of longing in his eyes.

"Someone catch your eye?"

"Hm, *drinks his brandy*"

"The (H/C) women? ——, you should keep away. She's married."

*his eyes say elaborate*

"*laughs* That was Mrs. Kessler and her daughter, Cerise Kessler. They're the wife and daughter of Jonas Kessler, the one that runs the real estate designs.. ah, ah, Kessler Properties."

"The man who pitched the Ansel House?"

"Yes, that's him."

"What is someone like her doing with scum like him?"

"I think it was a business deal or something like that. Only one of the few families that still allows arranged marriage."

It was an especially lovely day when you had slapped the divorce papers on the table, as well as the photos taken of your soon-to-be ex-husband and his mistress getting frisky several different times. Your husband is appalled, but nonetheless denies divorce.

It isn't until you're able to cleanly give your husband what he wants (a certain property that ends up being infertile) before you're given your divorce.

Extremely happy after getting his signature and a divorce certificate after a quick and clean process with the lawyers, you’re off to have a few drinks, never looking back at the mistake you left behind.

What you didn’t see was the look of shock come across his face. Didn’t you say you were desperately in love with him at one time?

Before you knew it, you were celebrating your successful divorce alone at an elite sunroof bar.

It just so happens that Yandere Chairman had just finished a fruitful business deal with one of the top billionaires around for his own business. When he saw you sitting there at the bar all by yourself, he had to meet you. For some reason, he was drawn to you.

When Yandere Chairman takes a seat next to you and begins a conversation, he notices that instead of being sad or lonely like he originally thought you would be, you’re very bright with a smile on your lips and a gleam in your eyes. This only awakens a new want for you.

The both of you get to talking, even to the point of exchanging numbers. Yandere Chairman even goes out of his way to help you move out. He’s all ready heard about your divorce (first from his sources, then second from your mouth) so of course he’s going to help you move on! (Just wait until he gets you into his bed—)

Yandere Chairman goes to the extent of taking off his afternoon to help you decide what house would be perfect for you and your daughter, who he ends up confirming was the woman you were eating with that day.

Yandere Chairman even asks you to dinner to celebrate your achievements in such a short amount of time. He’s such a polite gentleman that he even allows you to invite your daughter.

The restaurant is as lavish as it can be when you meet him there. Your daughter is skeptical, knowing about the divorce and how her father treats her mother, she can’t help but want to be protective over you after another man has asked you out so soon. You’re her one and only mother, she couldn’t let you fend for yourself after willingly walking into a lion’s den.

When she meets Yandere Chairman, her mouth visibly drops. You have to pick it up for her as he helps the two of you settle in.

Yandere Chairman, on the other hand, can feel the intense stares coming from the table while conversing with you. It’s not until he opens the floor for her to begin her questions.

“Cerise, is there something on your mind?”

“Yes. *purses lips*”

“*smiles and takes a drink* Say it.”

“Why did you ask my mom out on a date when you knew she had just been divorced today?”

“Cerise! Don’t—“

“It’s okay, (Y/N). I can answer it. *turns to Cerise* I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“So does that mean you can just toss her to the side whenever you want?”

“*silverware clatters* Cerise! Are you serious?”

“Mom, I don’t trust him! No matter how handsome or famous he is, for all we know, he could be waiting to take advantage of you like dad! I don’t want you to hurt again…”

“*swallows at her words, then smiles* Thank you for looking out for me, and while it’s very comforting, shouldn’t I be the one worrying about you getting hurt? Look at all the young men there are that barely have any brains, and even less when a hussy wraps them around their finger! Just take a look at your brother.”

*laughs*

“So stop worry about me and make your own mistakes okay? I appreciate you and love you so much, okay?”

“Okay, mom.”

“This. This is why, Cerise.”

*both turn to Yandere Chairman*

“What do you mean?”

“I’m all my years, I’ve never had someone in my life that cares so much for others, and whether it ends in marriage or a friendship.. I’ll still be satisfied as long as (Y/N) stays in my life for now.”

*smiles*

“And occasionally you too, Cerise—“

“Hey!”

“—if you’d like.”

After that dinner with Yandere Chairman, you both learned a lot about him.

His parents had been in an arranged marriage, and while his father kept mistresses outside, his mother suffered. He wanted to help you as much as he could to not become like his mother.

On many occasions after that, Yandere Chairman would be seen with you, and occasionally with your daughter as well.

Whether it was dinners, business parties, family gatherings, or charity events, Yandere Chairman had one or both of you by his side.

It was a small little family with smiles all around.

Yandere Chairman even plans a birthday getaway for you with your daughter.

The next thing you know, you’re getting in a plane with your daughter to an exotic island paradise. At first, it’s just you and your daughter exploring the town and marketplace, buying a few things here and there (your daughter refuses for you to buy anything and buys everything for you).

When you arrive to dinner, there’s candle lights with rose petals leading you to the table overlooking a beautiful sunset and beach. You’re breath is taken away.

Yandere Chairman gifts you a beautiful diamond necklace you’ve never seen before. Before you can deny his gift, he kisses the back of your hand — taking your breath away for a second time that night.

“You look so beautiful with the sunset behind you. Happy birthday, (Y/N).”

“*blushes* Thank you, ——.”

Your life with Yandere Chairman has only gotten better and better. Your daughter and him have a good father-daughter relationship, going so far as to your daughter asking to call him her “better dad”, to which you were strongly against until she had a shirt, buttons, office supplies, and anything else made with the logo on it for Father’s Day.

From then on, any Instagram post your daughter made with him had him dubbed as her “better dad” to the world. She had all ready blocked her real father and brother. She didn’t need scum like them in her life if her mother didn’t either.

Yandere Chairman couldn’t be anymore satisfied even though his relationship with you hasn’t been officially established to the public.

Yandere Chairman speaks with his staff about allowing you and your daughter to visit at anytime, and even claims the two of you as family when needed to give a reason (not that he needs to, he just wants to brag about you two). They all ready knew you two were special, but now it must be serious!

“Give them full access. Don’t let anyone not know who these two are. *points at a picture of you and your daughter.”

“Yessir. Is there anything else?”

“Don’t allow these two in or business to be done with them, no matter the circumstances.”

*leaves a photo of your ex-husband and your son*

He wasn't about to allow your ex to come back into the picture and ruin all his plans. You're his, and so is Cerise. He has a right to protect the two of you now that you two will no longer be a secret anymore.

Part two?

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teabutmakeitazure · 3 days

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Dissimulation - Continued Again

>Yan! Mafia! Childe x Fem! Student! Reader (Modern au)

>Word Count: 9.2k

>a/n: word vomit. i love him sm and i love having him do mental gymnastics just to get the girl (to get laid) also I wrote this in numerous pieces and by the writing changes you can tell lol. copium during finals. can't believe it's almost been a whole year since this fic was first published. also, I've had the same injury described later on. it bled a lot i thought i was gonna die.

Warnings: firearms, hidden blood kink, licking (I will not elaborate) childe doesn't like pillows, read at your own discretion

Part 1 | Continuation | reason why Childe #1 husband

Childe is waiting in the car.

That’s the thought that keeps repeating in your head. Honestly, it’s your fault. You insisted he not come with you inside, even going as far as getting mad at him when he initially refused. It’s only fair that you suffer the consequences of your actions.

You can still feel the muzzle of the revolver despite the layer of cloth separating it from your spine. How do you know it’s a revolver? Well, the bastard spun it before pressing it to your lower back. You’ve played enough video games to know what that sound belongs to.

“Stop walking so slow. Move it.”

You internally scoff at his words. If you move any faster, it’ll just be more suspicious. Well, good for you. If it’s suspicious then there’s a higher chance someone might intervene.

“To the right, right there.”

You do as he says. It’s not very tempting to disobey when there’s a loaded gun on your back. The man leads you down a small alleyway away from the hustle of the outdoor market. It’s dark, and there’s a pipe leaking somewhere. This is when dread really settles in, but you put on a brave face despite your trembling lip.

You hear the man click his tongue before ordering you to stop walking. The muzzle is still pressed to your spine, and he pulls out his phone with his free hand to call someone. “I got the girl here, so now you do your part.” Someone speaks on the other side, angering him. “You’re being delusional! This is the perfect chance,” he whisper-yells. “I got the girl here, so if things go bad, I shoot. We’ll at least do some damage.”

Shoot…? What the fuck did you get yourself into?

“The next time you call me back, it better be because the bastard’s dead or he’s given up.” With that, he angrily hangs up and shoves the phone in his pocket. You’re left facing the dead end of the alleyway, your captor behind you with his back to the only exit and entrance. “So,” he starts, “where did you first meet him?”

You decide to test the waters. From what you gathered so far, you are valuable until the other guy fails in what he’s supposed to do (which you have no clue of). “Me?” You feign innocence. “Meet who?”

He presses the muzzle even harder into you, making you stumble a step forward. “Don’t play dumb with me. Even if I kill you right now, it won’t affect anything. So tell me, where did you first meet him?”

You gulp nervously, heart beating in your throat. “T-the convenience store. It was a random occurrence.”

“And you knew who he was?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Hah. Stupid girl. Do you not know you’re the one usually targeted when he makes enemies? That you’re the face that comes up when he pisses someone off?”

Gaze dropping to the ground, you can’t help but think of all the kind things he’s done for you so far as you answer. “I had no choice.”

He clicks his tongue. “What, so he forced you to be his girlfriend?”

“I’m not his girlfriend…”

“So you’re just a pretty lady he keeps around?” Amusement is evident in his tone. He’s messing with you before he kills you. “Considering how expensive it was to find out about you, you’re damn special. If there’s one thing I know about Tartaglia, it’s that he’s not the type to keep a girl around for nothing or just her body. And that’s precisely why you’re in this situation.”

If you’re going to die anyway, you might as well say it. Ah, sorry mama. Couldn’t help it. “You think I’m pretty?”

Surprisingly, he takes it well. “I won’t deny you have a pretty face. I can see why he’d go to lengths to keep you a secret, but nothing can be hidden forever. Don’t worry. I won’t hurt your face when I kill you.”

Great. Now there’s stinging behind your eyes. This really is it. Maybe you should’ve told your parents you love them last night. Shit, is this really the end? So much for wanting to buy a birthday present from the market. Now you won’t live to see your next birthday.

The man groans out of annoyance, hand diving into his pocket to fish out his phone. “How long is he going to take…” You can hear him aggressively tapping at the device, and you wait for him to start whisper-yelling on the phone again but all that comes is the muzzle being removed from your back as something loudly whizzes through the air, and he lets out a silent cry of pain.

Something behind you falls to the ground with a thud, and judging how his voice seems to come from elsewhere, he’s the one who fell. “No, don’t come closer. I’ll shoot! I swear I will!”

You stay still, unknowing of what’s going on. Panic overtakes your senses, and your hands start trembling as you start feeling sick. Your body is going into fight or flight, and you really want it to choose flight. As you bring your trembling hands up into your view, a familiar voice calls out from behind.

“[Name], darling. Stay as you are. Don’t turn around.”

You freeze at Childe's words, immediately pressing your palms to your ears to block out some sound only to end up making it slightly muffled. The man is spewing profanities at him, trying to get on his nerves. “You scared of your toy dying? Is that why you’re here? Or maybe you were scared we’d take your little toy away from you? Do all the things to her you do but worse?”

Footsteps lightly grow closer, likely stopping by the man writhing on the ground, clutching his leg. Something clatters to the side, presumably the revolver he may have been pointing at Childe. When Childe speaks, his voice is laced with venom. “The girl is mine.” The man grunts, and Childe continues. “You have no idea how badly you’ve set me off. You better start praying to whatever you believe in.”

You cringe when you hear Childe kick him, heart beating even faster than before. Nausea tugs at you, making your eyes lose focus as you resist the urge to throw up or fall to your knees. Hands are still pressed to your ears when a body comes to stand behind you, yet it’s when arms wrap around you that you horribly flinch and move to elbow whoever it is, hyperventilating as you struggle to be freed.

However, Childe’s voice whispers in your ear, instantly making you relax. “It’s me.”

You are way too panicked to say anything useful. “Yes. Alright. It’s you. Not anyone else. Okay. Okay.”

One of his hands moves to cover your eyes, and he instructs you to keep them closed as he leads you out. The other hand is on your shoulder, and when you are away from the alley, he uncovers your eyes. Childe leads you to the market, stopping when you both enter its busy environment. He pulls out his phone, presses it to his ear without even dialling or accepting any call and hastily spews out the location of where you were earlier, firmly telling whoever it is on the other side to ‘deal with it’.

Nausea still stirs inside you, making you sick. You can feel the ghost of the muzzle pressing against you, and although you weren’t so horrified by it when it was actually happening, you are now.

Once again, Childe’s attention is back on you. His eyes focus on you solely, forgetting the busy environment around him and forgetting the issue he was addressing on the phone. He looks… concerned. Like a mother hovering over her child, he grabs your face with both hands, turning it side to side and carefully eyeing your features. He then pulls you into a hug, but you are too busy hearing your heartbeat in your ears to reciprocate and simply hide your face in his jacket instead.

“I’m so relieved,” he whispers. “Did he say anything to you? Hurt you? Touch you?”

After a shaky inhale, you focus your gaze on a random light source, willing away the sickness in your stomach. “No. Just a gun to my back. That’s it.”

“I am so sorry.”

Unfortunately, the nausea does not relent. “It’s fine.”

He holds you tighter. “It’s not fine. You were in danger.”

Though his warmth is comforting, you cannot move to hold him back. You can taste bile in your mouth, and you start profusely swallowing, yet Childe continues voicing his regrets. “I should have come with you. I shouldn’t have listened to you-”

Your voice shakes when you interject, the fear of what else might go wrong in public. “Quiet, please. I’ll throw up.” Your request is met with him gently rubbing your back, ignoring any glances from onlookers. When he feels that you are somewhat calm, you are led back to the car, the air conditioning turned on and your seat reclined as you cover your eyes with your forearm.

You don’t know why you feel sick and you don’t know why you keep thinking of a bleeding wound, infected and deep enough to show muscle and sinew. Worst of all, you don’t know what you should do now. Should you just ask to go home? Should you go back in? Get what you came here for?

Maybe you’ll come back later, with Childe. There’s still some time in your friend’s birthday and you can get her something later or make something instead. Yeah. That sounds right.

“Feeling any better?”

Your companion’s question makes you grumble. There are so many things that go wrong these days. Your relationship with him seems to loom over you like a raincloud wherever you go. Always accompanying you like a blight on your existence. It also does not help that information about you had initially come to light because he bought the house you both currently live in a week before you made that deal with him.

You still remember that conversation in great detail. When you had finally got to the airport, what waited for you when you came back haunted you throughout the journey. This arrangement isn’t something you were looking forward to. Remaining a student on a tight budget who eats instant ramen half the time for dinner would have been more preferable.

“Is there any way I can help? Do you need anything?” Childe voices more questions, but this time you don’t feel annoyed at him. If anything, you should be thankful. Sure, that occurred because of him, but he did save you.

Hand reaching to set the seat upright, you mentally go over the words you want to say. Now facing him, Childe gives you a curious look before you speak, the edges of your lips already stuck together. “I’m sorry.” He looks taken aback, but you continue. “I’ll… I’ll listen to you next time. And thank you for saving me. I had already said my prayers and apologised to my parents in my head, so thank you for letting that go to waste. I would rather it not be useful.”

Childe blinks. With a chuckle, he smiles, giving you that typical lovestruck expression he has when you do something he finds endearing. “And I personally wouldn’t know how to break it to your parents. Not after your mom asked me to look out for you.” The reminder leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, yet Childe still has something to say. “Of course. You don’t ever need to thank me. As long as you’re mine, alive and healthy, I don’t need anything else.”

The confession makes your eyes widen, and when you open your mouth to question his words, he cuts you off. “Do you want to get what you came here for or do you want to go home?”

“Home,” you reply immediately.

He nods, a hand reaching over to grab your seat belt. The action makes your heart skip a beat - “out of surprise,” you tell yourself - yet Childe does not mind. He fastens his own seat belt after yours and promptly moves to reverse the car out of the parking lot.

It is halfway through the way that you voice your thoughts, and Childe seems to hesitate.

“We have snacks at home,” he says.

Him and his healthy habits be damned. “You mean fruits. I don’t want fruits.”

“They’re healthy. You need nourishment.”

“What am I? A plant?”

Childe holds in a laugh with an awkward cough, a smile still there. “No, but you are a very dear person. I’ll cut some apples into bunny shapes, and we can eat the oranges I got yesterday. I’ll peel them for you, like always.”

Unfortunately for him, you do not yield, even going as far as to use his name since it usually makes him more submissive. “Ajax, I almost died tonight. I would like to be able to binge eat a bag of chips as I ease my worries.”

He negotiates again, albeit weakly. “Darling, you have a habit of stress eating. I know you can’t help it, but I just want to make sure you’re at least eating things that are good for you.”

“A bag of chips just this once wouldn’t hurt.”

You can see the gears turning in his head, and with a sigh, he concedes. “Fine. But only because you want to and have been eating well without complaints these past few weeks.”

The words seem like a parent pointing out a child on their diet, gentle yet still delivering the message. Despite everything, you would never admit that ever since he started butting into what you eat, your skin doesn’t break out as much and you’re almost always hydrated. He doesn’t need to hear the positive effects his presence has on your life from your own mouth. And he sure as hell doesn’t need to know that his hydration checks throughout the day are the reason why you drink water.

Yesterday, Chil- Ajax asked you something you could not say no to.

You keep justifying your acceptance with it being a sort of payback for him saving your life the other day even though you know you’re scared of saying no to him. Or maybe you just wanted to repay his kindness. It’s not like you asked for his kindness, but he is giving it to you. Goodness, the way he looks at you sometimes when you talk is just… if you didn’t know any better, you’d describe it as creepy.

But it isn’t. It isn’t creepy because the amount of genuine love in his eyes is just ridiculous. How can someone look at a person with so much love knowing they don’t reciprocate to that intensity? How can they be okay with that? You know Ajax is absolutely, positively in love with you. There’s no doubt about it.

You know so much about his family, and he’s always finding an excuse to talk to you. He asks you to talk to him because he likes your voice, and he sometimes stays in the room while you talk to your parents because he wants to see you be carefree in conversation.

He always gets you what you want without you knowing. Heck, he even gave you a credit card linked to his account! You don’t use it, but he gave it to you.

Back to the topic. You’re going out for dinner with him tonight as a date. You both leave at 7: 15 pm on the dot, and it is currently 6. You are freaking out currently too because what did you willingly agree to?

You know that bastard has been locked away in his room for over an hour now. You know he was giddy ever since he got home way too early today because of your evening plans. He’s way too obvious. And desperate. He’s also getting desperate.

There haven't been any romantic advancements in your relationship. You’ve just fallen into a casual routine at this point, and you aren’t bothered when he is there on your bed at any time you turn to look at it, even if you left the door closed. He cooks for you most of the time, and sometimes you mend his clothes so that he doesn’t buy new ones while completely ignoring the magical appearance of a shit load of sewing materials after the first time you did it.

It’s all gotten normal at this point. Seeing his credit card in your wallet every single time you open it, having to look at his mask sitting on a side table in the living room, watching him remove the dual pistols strapped to his body when he gets home, and much more. It’s all normal now. You’re used to it.

Yet your nerves are about to burst because you’re going out for dinner with him in an hour.

Honestly, after the dinner where he licked blood off your finger, you haven’t gone out for food with him since. You mostly eat at home, but the most you guys have done is takeout.

Anyway, what do you do? You don’t want to try hard lest unforeseen and unwanted developments occur, yet you also don’t want to not try at all because it might sour his mood. The latter is unpreferable simply because you can’t bear to see him sad. Maybe you’ll put in a little effort. Not too much but a little.

Had Ajax not been in the mafia, you would have already accepted him. You know you’re delaying the inevitable, that he will get what he wants, but you still can’t help it. Your conscience weighs you down. His identity ties you close to hesitance and denial.

Nevertheless, here you are, a cream coloured maxi skirt flowing till your ankles and a dusty pink blouse with bishop sleeves. You can’t believe you actually wore this. Ajax was the one who gifted the blouse to you, saying something like the colour being nice and wanting to see you wear it.

Well. He’ll get his wish now.

After at least five consecutive minutes of staring into the mirror, you finally decide to put on some makeup. Nothing too much. A simple mascara, blush, and lipstick after whatever you ended up putting on your skin first.

Great! Now, shoes. Shoes…

You fish out a pair of nude sandals with a pointed tip and a one inch heel. Perfect. Seems like your mother giving you her old sandals came in handy. After checking if they fit, you take a look at the clock. There’s still twenty minutes till the clock strikes 7.

Twenty minutes of agony as nerves eat you from the inside.

Right at 7:02 pm, there’s a knock on your bedroom door. Shaking hands unlock the door, opening it to nervously meet eyes with your lovely housemate. He stands on the other side, hair parted in the middle as best it could be. One side is tucked behind his ear while the other hangs on his face, framing his jawline perfectly.

You take note of the black dress shirt and black pants. The sleeves are rolled up and his earring is still there. Also, why is his shirt so fitted? You know he’s ripped. He doesn’t have to rub it in.

“You wore the shirt,” he breathes out.

“It’s a blouse,” you correct.

“Beautiful.”

The way his eyes seem to look you over in awe makes your cheeks heat up. With an awkward clear of your throat, you snap his attention back to your face. “Didn’t you say you made a reservation?”

Ajax perks up at that. “Right! We should leave soon.”

You are then left to grab your bag and sandals while he goes to fish out his car keys and wallet. When you’re seated in the living room, trying to fasten the little buckle on the sandals, Ajax is wistfully staring at you from the kitchen, cheek resting in his palm.

“We would make a cute couple.” A sigh and he looks at your feet, silently wishing you’d ask for his help with it instead. “Do you… need help with that?”

To his not so very surprise, you brush him off. “I’m fine.”

“Huh.” He asks again. “Are you sure?”

“Yup.”

He still wishes you would ask for his help instead. Do you not realise that he would do anything you asked him to? He would willingly get on his knees for you, hands gingerly trailing up your legs before he decides to rest one on his shoulder, the other pulling him towards you as his hand travels upwards and-

“Ajax? It’s almost 7: 15.”

He snaps out of his thoughts instantly. You’re standing near the door now, head tilted in that cute way he adores as you curiously look at him. A hand quickly flicks the kitchen light off as he walks towards the door. This is going to be another test of his patience. He knows it. He just hopes you don’t blame him for anything he might end up doing tonight.

“I don’t get it.”

Childe looks at you curiously only to find you glaring at the open menu. “I don’t know what to get,” you say. “Can you order for me? Whatever you think is good here. You know the stuff I like and don’t like, so I trust you.”

The explicit trust makes him smile. As per your request, Childe orders for you, but it’s something different than his own so that you can try both things. If you like the food, he might even take you out more often. Eating out once in a while shouldn’t hurt. Not if he’s with you.

As he leans back in his seat, he finds you playing with the buttons on your sleeve. Childe hastily utilises the opportunity to scan the indoors, eyes quickly flitting over every single person present. None have noticed either of you, and none seem to be looking at you. Good.

A quiet ding sounds from your phone, the screen turning on for a few moments. You reach for it instantly, but Childe is quicker, his hand covering the device before you could grab it. You obviously look nervous because of the action, but he gives you a small smile.

“No phone while we’re out eating.” The expression on your face doesn’t change, so he adds in something else. “Please?”

You capitulate instantly, and he pulls the device closer to himself with a playful smile. He now has all your attention for this evening dinner. If Childe plays his cards right, he could monopolise this opportunity and possibly convince you more to actually go out with him. Or let him put a ring on your finger. Whichever you’d prefer.

But first…

“I wish we could’ve stayed home instead,” he sighs.

You raise a brow at his expression, simultaneously wondering why he’s looking at you so wistfully here of all places. “Why? Didn’t you want to go out for dinner? You were looking forward to this.”

“Yes but-” He bites his lip for a moment. He isn’t lying. He’s being completely honest, but it still feels a bit weird to be admitting it directly to you. “But… you look so pretty and I don’t like knowing that other people can see you when you look so beautiful.”

It’s the truth. He doesn’t like knowing that anyone and everyone here has access to your existence. That they can simply turn their head and look at you in that skirt. He doesn’t care if it’s till your ankles. You look absolutely enchanting. Childe hates it that anyone can see your collar bones and your curious expression and the way you’re tilting your head at him and the way you’ve started fidgeting with your sleeve already.

All these lovely things about you are supposed to be for him only.

But they aren’t.

And he hates that.

“Hey. Eyes up here.”

He didn’t realise he started staring at your collar bones. God, he hopes you don’t think he was staring at your chest.

“Now that you’re looking into my eyes,” you groan, “I want you to calm down.” Almost instinctively, Childe crosses his arms out of displeasure, but you are quick to cool him down. “No one is looking at me. Nothing even happened and you’re acting all jealous. Calm down.”

“I’m not acting.”

“Then stop overreacting.”

“I am definitely not overreacting.”

You give him a look, the one you usually give him when you know he is keeping something from you, but you would rather not put the effort into digging it out of him. “Right.”

Childe is quick to defend, to put out the bait in hopes you’ll take it. “Sweetheart, you’re beautiful. Of course I’m going to be pressed if other people look at you and think the same.”

You sigh. “We’re only out for dinner.”

“Yes, but I just… I don’t know.” He traces the handle of the cutlery on the table, all the while ignoring how you’re still fidgeting with your sleeves. He’s making you nervous. He shouldn’t be making you nervous.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to burden you with my feelings.” Though you look like you want to say something, Childe beats you to it. “I love you, and I hope you know that I mean that word when I say it. I’m not afraid of saying the bigger word. I never will be.”

Both your hands have disappeared under the table. From the looks of it, you’re clenching them. How nervous are you? But wait. If he helps, if he shows you he can take care of you, then you might just…

Childe gently calls out your name, and you look at him with wide, innocent eyes. Poor thing. He asks you to show him your hands, and you comply. What you do not see coming is him gently grabbing the two before bringing them to cup his face. Childe especially presses the cold fingertips to his warm cheeks, effectively warming them up.

He’s thankful for reserving this relatively small table tucked away in a corner. No one can see your widened eyes and the look of adorable surprise on your face. No one.

Upon receiving no explicit refusal from your end, Childe grows bolder. The palms cupping his cheeks are each delivered a gentle kiss, and when there is no rejection, he moves lower, lips trailing to your wrists. This is when he feels the tug, the panic in the withdrawal. Your left wrist is in his mercy, soft lips tenderly pressed against your pulse, yet you tug your arm in retreat like a wounded animal.

Though it pains him, Childe lets go but only after making eye contact with you for a moment.

The face you give him is akin to one of a mixture of surprise and betrayal, and it dawns on him. This is the first time he’s touched you like this. Childe thinks he may have mixed his fantasies with reality because he did not ask for your permission for doing so. Now that he thinks about it, for a moment, he returns to the dreams and thoughts where he touches you as he pleases, and where you ask him to touch you. Where you climb onto his lap at random times of day and tell him how you are only his. How you want nothing to do with the rest of the world because he is your everything.

The only thing he wants is for those fantasies to become reality. Is that too much to ask for? Is it too selfish for him to ask that of someone so beautiful, so… heavenly?

Despite the shock on your face, you do not verbally express your thoughts. The silence is deafening. Your hands are clutched to your chest, and as the noise of the background fades into nothing but a quiet and continuous rumble, Childe’s thoughts start wandering. The first thing he wonders about is where he has to keep his eyes from straying. Your hands and your chest.

He can’t stop feeling the softness of your skin under his calloused palms. How your pulse felt under his lips. How it might taste if it bled. How warm the red might be. How red it might be.

Childe feels dirty for those thoughts, but he doesn’t care. He would gladly embrace such farcicalities if it meant you being the centre of his attention, your entire being on his mind more than his own existence. Then again, you are his life, no? Then why should he stop himself from thinking about you? Is it not wrong for a believer to not think about their worshipped deity? Likewise, it is wrong of him to forcibly shut your existence out of his wandering and lost thoughts.

Besides, the thought of you is where all his unruly and chaotic thoughts come together and finally make sense. So why should he not look at you like you were made from a piece of his ribs, fragile and the closest to his heart than anything can ever be?

“Ajax,” the name tumbles out of your mouth, and Childe feels like he can hear again. “Please stop staring like that. It’s getting creepy.”

An apology is quickly on his tongue, but you are quick to cut his words off before they can be uttered. “You’re acting a little weird.” He notices the worry on your face and the hands under the table. Childe thinks he doesn’t deserve you, but he’s selfish. Horridly so. “Are you feeling okay? We could go home right after eating if you’re not feeling too good, Ajax.”

You’re soothing him. Like how an owner soothes an unruly pet, you’re soothing him. How indulgent of you. Well, as long as you are thinking of him, he doesn’t mind playing like he’s putting the muzzle back on. You were never the one holding the leash anyway.

“I’m fine,” he replies. “Sorry. I just lost myself for a minute there. Were you saying something earlier?”

“Ah. No. Just… I was just asking if you were okay. I wasn’t saying anything earlier. Before that, I mean.”

Though tension has risen and it clearly shows in how your shoulders have stiffened, Childe cannot bring himself to mind. As long as your eyes are on him and him only, and as long as your voice graces his ears with his name, he won’t mind the discomfort in your countenance. It’s only a matter of time before you completely set aside denial.

It was halfway through dinner that you confessed telling your parents you’ll be home late tonight. This gave birth to an opportunity, and being the man that he is, Childe grabbed onto it like a desperate man. Questions were hushed and trust was exploited as Childe did what he could, what he wanted to do for so long.

The evening sea breeze never felt so good as it does now.

He stands with his arms resting on the railing, yet it feels different this time. It feels less lonely, more fulfilling, even if you both are in a secluded corner of the pier.

The lights from the opposite end of land reflects onto the water, and the smell of salt is in the air. Wind directly hits his face, hair flying back with it, but he’ll deal with the aftermath of it later. Right now, he’s waiting for you to be done with setting your hair so that he can talk to you.

You take a few more minutes to ensure hair doesn’t blow into your mouth or his face before joining his side, albeit at a distance large enough to fit another person which he promptly shamelessly closes. Yet when he turns to look at you, he is met with a raised brow.

“What?”

You’re quick to voice your observation, Childe’s eyes briefly focusing on the half-faded lipstick as he gives you his full attention. “Your hairline is a little uneven.” The sentence makes him chuckle, but you have more to add. “I didn’t think it’d be like that. It’s cute.”

“You’ve seen my forehead plenty of times.”

“I haven’t.”

He tilts his head. “Whenever I get out of the shower, my hair is slicked back. You’ve seen me get out of the shower.”

“Well,” you scrunch up your nose, “you’re shirtless and with only a towel. Why would I look at you then?”

“...” So all the times Childe has purposely walked by you in the living room or dropped off fruit when you’re studying while being fresh out of the shower was in vain. Why is he even surprised? Of course you wouldn’t look. It was daft of him to even consider that you would look. You avoid him like the plague whenever he tries to make a move. That does beg a question. Why have you been surprisingly cooperative tonight?

Are you planning something?

It can’t be. He keeps an eye on you. You go nowhere except class, occasional outings with friends, and shopping. Childe knows where you are at all times and with who and for what, with being the one taking you there. He even had you join that group project meeting online instead of in-person because it was in the evening and your group mates were all guys.

Considering those factors, there is no way you are planning something. He’s made sure of it. Besides, you are perfectly aware that you cannot try anything. Not only do you live with him, but he’s in the mafia. Were you to be missing or run away, you’d be back home before midnight.

There has to be another reason. Maybe you’ve grown more comfortable with him. Yes. That’s it. Perhaps it’s the delusion accompanying the compunction of all that he has done to you, but he believes you’re slowly laying down your defences. All that’s done is to wait till the wall is broken down too.

“Ajax,” you call, lips parting hypnotizingly, lipstick making them stick to the corners, “you’re staring again.” A pause, then you point something out. “You’ve been staring a lot tonight.”

He smiles, face resting on top of his arms crossed over the railing. “I can’t help it. You’re just so pretty.” You make a weird noise at that, but he chuckles. “I’m honoured to be breathing the same air as you. To be so close to you and see you with my own two eyes. I could never have said I’ve seen the world’s beauty before I saw you sitting behind that cash register in the store.”

You seem clearly taken aback at the sudden words. To be honest, Childe is too. He didn’t expect to say all that together. Still, if it conveys even a fraction of the intensity of his emotions, he’d say more.

A strand of hair falls into his eye when the wind calms, and he tries to blink it away. It’s disturbing his view of you. The way you’re looking at him as you think over your words feeds his proprietorial nature, for your words are all his to hear and your being all his to keep. Childe would keep you even if it means he has to hide you from the rest of the world lest you slip from his grasp.

Yet you are so good to him that he always melts at your unexpected surrenders. The time when you sewed up his shirt when he got a long, narrow cut at his side. The time when you made dinner and left some for him before going to bed when he texted you he’ll be home very late. The time you willingly came to him with your worries and let him console you.

And the way you remove the strand of hair that’s in his eye and allow him to look at you without obstructions.

If he could, he’d merge your beings into one so that no one else could ever have you, and you’d be his forever. He isn’t willing to break you to have you, but he is willing to hurt you just a little bit.

But before all that, he needs to figure out a way to make you all his. If it means putting a ring on your finger or faking your death or hiding you away from the world, he doesn’t care. You have to be all his.

From your body to your soul to your thoughts to your feelings to your touch to your very being. All. His.

“Ajax, you’re staring again.”

He stands up straight at that, one hand still grabbing the railing as he takes a step closer to you. This time, he does not smile. “Why don’t you love me?”

You question his sudden change in demeanour, but he presses further. “Why don’t you love me? What’s wrong? Tell me. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix us. Tell me how I can make you love me.”

Childe moves closer, and you instinctively move back, making him frown, but he soon cages you between the railing and his body. There’s not much space between you both, and you’re certain he would be able to hear your heart beat wildly if he moved just a tad bit closer. Nevermind the fact that your skirt is blowing with the wind and his legs are obstructing its path.

“I’m doing everything I know. Just tell me. All I want is your heart. All I want is you.”

You are quick to defend. “I already live with you. What more is there?”

“You,” he replies, breathless. “You don’t love me. You only live with me.”

“Because agreeing to that is why you let me go back home for the summer,” you remind him. “Well, I suppose either way I would have been here. If I said no, you would’ve taken me there earlier.”

“Do you feel trapped?”

“What do you think?”

Childe chuckles at that. Though he is culpable for this predicament, he also holds the power to change it to his favour. “Tell me then,” he whispers, wind once more blowing in his hair, “what do you want?”

Unfortunately for him, you play his game on equal footing. “Would you grant it?”

“No.” The look in your eyes is something smug, but he humours you anyway. “I can’t guarantee I won’t, but I guess it depends on what you ask me.”

A scoff accompanies your words now, the nervousness apparent in the way you grip the railing behind you for dear life. “You’ve told me numerous times you’d give me anything I want. Why are you so hesitant now?”

“Because I know what you are about to ask, and I’m afraid I can’t give you that.”

“And what am I about to ask?”

“To be able to leave me for good,” he spits out.

You simply shake your head. “No. Not at this moment at least.” Confusion laces his features, but you press your body impossibly closer to the railing. “I wanted to ask for some space. It’s… it’s uncomfortable like this. Please take a step back.”

Childe obliges instantly. Blue eyes watch your once white knuckles have colour return to them, and suddenly he feels a little childish for cornering you like that. A quiet sigh from your end steals his attention, yet he remains standing where he is, another demand on the tip of his tongue.

“Move in with me,” he says. “Move into my room. It’s been too long in the guest room already. You don’t need to stay there anymore.”

Frankly, you’re surprised. You thought he forgot about that by now considering that he never brought it up again.

“You’ve seen it. My room is bigger. I got this place because the master bedroom was big and it’ll easily fit both our things. You can make the guest room your study room if you want, but just move in already.”

He gives you that look again, the demanding one that makes you painfully aware of how dull and lifeless his eyes are. Although you have grown used to it and it doesn’t bother you as much, it still reminds you that if he wished, he could have done worse things to you. But he hasn’t. He waits and waits and waits till he’s about to bubble over. Till his feelings threaten to boil and spill out of the pot and even then he somehow calms it down enough to be coherent. Al because he promised to think about you before his own selfish feelings.

“We can start tomorrow,” Childe suggests, “or even tonight, there’s still time. You’ve been living with me for long enough. It’s time you actually moved in.”

Even while you are quiet, Childe has a million thoughts running through his head. Bed, lonely, empty, cold sheets, cold pillows, empty dressing table, empty nightstand. He recalls the room you’ve turned into your personal haven, the cluttered dressing table, the nightstand with a ton of wires, the eraser dust that’s almost always on the ground near your table, and the warm feeling that envelopes him whenever he enters this little haven of yours.

He needs to have you more or else he doesn’t know what he’d do. And he doesn’t want to know what he’d do to you.

“I hear you,” you speak up, successfully interjecting his thoughts, “but we’re not in a relationship. We can’t just start doing married couple things.” You make a face, scrunching up your nose like you always do. “Living in different rooms is appropriate because we’re still-”

“Marry me then.”

You shut your mouth immediately.

“Your problem is our relationship right?” Childe takes a step closer, eyes focused on yours. “Then marry me. Problem solved.”

“Wait. Ajax, that’s too fast. Calm down.”

“That’s not ‘too fast’. We’ve been living together for almost a year now. We’ve known each other for over a whole year. This isn’t fast.”

Regardless, you try to de-escalate it. De-escalate his rashness. “Okay. I understand. But we’re too young and my parents wouldn’t allow something like this so suddenly-”

“Leave them to me. I’ll handle getting their approval. They seem to like me anyway. That’s all you’re worried about right? And we’re not young. We’re adults.”

The apprehension grows. You do not know how this idea popped into his head, but you blame yourself for mentioning ‘married couple’ earlier. Why is he so obsessed? Is having you in his home constantly under his vision not sufficient?

“So what’s your answer? Or do you want to wait while I get a ring and you speak to your parents?”

The anxiety starts eating you from the inside. You know you can’t escape him. You’re too deep into his clutches to even consider escape, but you still hold onto feeble hope that you can delay the inevitable just a little longer. “Fine. You’re ready and okay for such a thing, but I’m not ready for such a big step.”

Contrary to your expectations, Childe’s mood further sours. “That’s what you always say.” As soon as the words are uttered, Childe remembers thinking to himself how he hoped you won’t blame him for anything he might end up doing tonight. Well. If it allows him to have you, he’d do anything. “The only difference would be that we’d be closer. Nothing else.”

“We’re close enough,” you meekly comment.

“So you don’t want to marry me?”

“No, it’s not that I don’t, but…”

“But?”

You think over the time you’ve lived under his roof. He has been controlling, sure, but he has been more accommodating and understanding. If you were to bet your life on one thing, it would be that Ajax would always unequivocally love and care for you. Besides, this is inevitable. The moment he locked eyes with you at your job, it had been decided that this would happen. That you would be his.

Delaying and denying all this simply makes you miserable. Who are you to deny such affection? Such love that suffocates you, surrounds you constantly with eyes in the shadows watching your every breath. Who are you to deny a man who has countless times told and showed you that he’d drop to his knees for you on a moment’s notice?

He may control your life and future, but you control him as well. Or you do to an extent at least. What his words cannot express, his hands and eyes do, and those things are precisely what have kept you going on the hope that the inevitable is not as horrifying as you delude yourself into thinking of it.

Ajax loves you, and you’d be damned if you refuse his love. Not only is there no way out, but you think you do not want out anymore. You’re too deep in his web.

Besides, you know that if you were to refuse him, he’d try again and again before eventually forcing it upon you. It’s better to accept. You can’t delay the inevitable.

Warm hands cup your face, thumbs rubbing the corners of your eyes. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, and you blink away tears you did not know you were shedding.

Minutes pass on the secluded corner of the pier, and when he is satisfied with how much you have calmed down, he lets you go. Hands hang by his sides as he waits for an answer, but you don’t keep him waiting. With a gentle pat to his cheek, you give him your answer.

“I’ll start moving my things in the morning.”

His celebratory smile only grows when you continue speaking.

“And… I’ll start talking to my parents. I’ll let you know the updates.”

You were in the middle of organising your things when the realisation dawned on you. You’re moving into his room. All of your things will go there. All of your things. Does this mean you both are officially in a relationship? That means he’s going to wake up next to you, go to sleep next to you, and you’re going to share a wardrobe with him. Even a bathroom.

This might just make his possessive nature worse. But it’s alright. You can talk sense into him. He usually does listen to you.

Nevertheless, you can’t help but wonder… Why are you accepting of this? Somehow the idea of being so close doesn’t bother you as much as you think it should. Do you really like him that way? Are you in denial?

Ajax’s voice calls out to you, asking if you need any help. You’re currently in the middle of going through your clothes, and you would rather he not bear witness to seeing your undergarments and clothes thrown haphazardly across the bed. Thus, you tell him no and continue organising, putting home clothes separate and classifying the rest accordingly.

When those are done, you let the piles be on the bed and move to your dressing table. Expired and empty containers are chucked into the bin, and you grab the rest and move outside, passing by a curious Ajax in the living room and making yourself home in his room. The bottles are carefully placed amongst his things, and soon the dressing table looks cluttered.

Well, to be used is to be messy. It’s okay.

You return to the piles of clothes and transport each pile one by one onto his bed. When all have been gathered, you place them in the space he’s apparently kept empty for you ever since he moved here in an orderly fashion, making sure all your undergarments are in the locked drawer instead of the regular one. There are no fingers or accusations pointed, but there is also no complete trust in this matter.

Ajax trails behind you this time, curiously watching you take your toiletries and place them in his bathroom. He eyes the addition of a new shampoo and conditioner and other bottles he doesn’t care to classify but is happy to simply see them there. You make the journey back to your ex-room and gather all your chargers and wires only to find yourself untangling them first.

“Do you need help?”

You’re quick to refuse, but he still stands there watching. Gathering them all in your hands, Ajax is tempted to offer his help again but closes his mouth when he remembers you telling him to “not butt in” while you move your things. So, he watches you and trails behind you. He follows you around and watches you as you bump into the sofa’s edge when he calls your name and stumble forward only to lose your footing and fall straight onto the floor.

It did not help that your arm had slid against the edge of the centre table and you horribly skinned the back of your arm.

Ajax stands there, horrified for a moment, before he ignores the cluttered mess of chargers and wires and crouches down beside you, immediately checking your injuries and helping you sit up. But it does not help him when he sees blood slowly starting to ooze from the mess of broken skin and you wince when he gently grabs your hand to look at the wound.

Regardless, he cups your face with the other hand while simultaneously looking you over for other injuries. When you assure him and his repeated questions that it’s just your arm, he relaxes a bit. However, he cannot help it. There’s more blood now, not a lot but enough to completely cover the broken skin, and if he leaves it be, it might start trickling down your arm before the wounds close.

So, Ajax does what his mind wants him to do. He kisses the skin near the wound at first, completely ignoring your questioning look, and slowly moves towards the injury. Soft lips glide over the skin, inching closer towards the desired target. Then, when he can feel your gentle tugs to be let free, he tightens his grip and licks.

Ajax licks some of the blood, the texture of broken skin welcomed by his tongue. You sit there horrified and extremely confused while he licks it again before freezing and letting go.

Awkward eye contact ensues, and your face clearly shows how utterly puzzled and alarmed you are. Nevermind the fact that those were wet licks and your arm has his saliva on it and the broken skin he lapped up is on his tongue which he is sneakily trying to swallow.

Minutes pass, and you finally gather the composure to speak. “Ajax. What the fuck?”

He is quick to be defensive, knowing full well you’ve been so good to him these days and he can’t afford to scare you off. “I just… I let my intrusive thoughts win. Sorry.”

Your terror only grows. “I don’t even want to know what your intrusive thoughts are anymore. Well. At least your licking distracted me from the pain. It doesn’t hurt anymore with your spit on it. Gross. Wash your mouth after this.”

Somehow, a smile stretches on his face. “Wash my mouth? After getting to have a piece of you? Sweetheart, a little bit of you is in me. Why would I ever not want that?” You open your mouth to interject but are cut off. “If I could, I’d make us become one. That way, I don’t have to worry about you thinking of anything else except me.”

You’re quite… speechless. Did he really just indirectly admit he wants to eat you? What the hell??

“Speaking of which,” Ajax whispers, “forgive me but another intrusive thought won.” With that, he moves closer. Close enough in your face to have your noses brushing. To his surprise, you do not create distance, allowing him to fan his breath over your lips as he slowly turns his head.

The only thing stopping his lips from kissing yours directly is his hand on your lips.

When he pulls away, Ajax’s blue eyes meet your widened ones, your face flushed and clearly flustered. Unfortunately for you, a grin is on his face. “I’ll kiss you for real when you say yes to the ring. Then, I'll make your body mine too.”

With that, he gets up and grabs the first aid box while you sit with his spit drying on your arm. You are sometimes genuinely terrified of him. This is one of those times.

“Don’t lick me ever again.”

Ajax frowns at that. “If you forbid me, then how am I supposed to go dow-”

“Stop! That’s enough!” You successfully shut him up, and he continues disinfecting your injury in silence. “Do not spew such mindless words ever again.”

Unfortunately, he catches onto your words, smiling mischievously. “I’ll do it if you do one thing.” When asked for his conditions, Ajax shamelessly gives his request. “Tell me you’re mine. That I’m the person you want.”

When you show hesitation, he is quick to remind you that you’ve agreed to completely move in with him and agreed to sleeping with him. Thus, you acquiesce.

“I’m… Ugh, I can’t believe I’m saying this.” He chuckles, but you continue humouring him. “I’m yours, Ajax.”

He pushes further. “And?”

Your cheeks heat up, and you meekly let out the second part. “And… you’re the person I want.”

As soon as the desired words leave your mouth, Ajax is soothed. Soon, he’s disinfected the mess of broken skin and tied a bandage around your arm for the time being so that you don’t accidentally hurt yourself again. When asked about his payment, you simply pat his cheek like you do, but decide to scratch the skin behind his ear before travelling upwards into his hair.

With a last pat to his head, you leave him a blushing mess with messy hair as you return to the wires scattered on the ground, picking them up before continuing what you were doing. It doesn’t serve him right that you casually rendered him paralysed and just got up and left. But then again, that is the least you should do against him after what he has done to you.

Flustering someone does not compare to putting them in a fancy cage. Well, Ajax’s deceit makes it hurt more. If you knew the full extent of his desires, you would never let him breathe the same air as you. But you do not. And that is precisely why he plans to slowly let them surface, to allow you time to accept him. He just hopes he doesn’t grow impatient with how good you’ve been.

(Bonus scene)

“What do you mean you want a pillow wall between us?”

You don’t mind Ajax’s childish whines, instead busying yourself with moisturising your face. But when he moves to remove a pillow, you are quick to turn and give him a glare. “I agreed to sleeping next to you and moving into your room. The least you can do is give me time to settle in and let me have a damn pillow wall.”

Ajax slowly puts the pillow back down quietly, and you turn around to close the moisturiser bottle. Though you catch a glimpse of him glaring daggers into the pillow wall, you continue cleaning the clutter of your things on the dressing table.

You’ll take it away in a few days. Let him suffer for a few nights.

#childe x reader #yandere childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #yandere tartaglia x reader #yandere childe #yandere tartaglia #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader

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shotmrmiller · 1 day

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I wanna elaborate more on Simon leaving reader and Price swooping in, but reader’s perspective.

Simon was never the easiest to be around, everyone knew that. But you know what? You worked your ass off to be the ideal partner for him. It may have been easy and quiet for Simon at home, but you? You were putting in the WORK. Making sure the TV is always on low so he doesn’t get startled, blackout curtains on all the windows for the days where he can’t sleep and takes the chance to nap everywhere. Sending him to work with lunches and snacks so you know he’s eaten and taken care of. It was so much work, but you were happy to do it because you love him.

Then Simon threw it all away for a fleeting moment.

Loving Price is different because you are the one being taken care of now. He comes home with your favorite drinks and a little gift from Target. Massages are a nightly occurrence, he’s taking your car to get its oil changed, and hanging up any shelves or photos in your shared living space without complainant. He’ll go and get your hair oil from the beauty store, just send him a picture of what the bottle looks like.

You are completely taken care of.

me whenever i spot simon in the same target john drove me to because the kids need more clothes.

dude walking on eggshells around simon because he's easily startled but he felt the same around you. didn't wanna scare you off with his baggage, his demons, the nightly terrors.

it'd been taxing on both your parts and maybe that was part of the problem. he didn't need to do all of that with bff because they've been there through hell and high water.

(but as a friend. he hasn't a clue love is a whole different game.)

anyway team john. team jacob.

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moonstrider9904 · 2 days

Text

It's taken me a while to process the fact that Crosshair lost his hand, and I've seen many different takes on the subject. All takes and sentiments are valid and I understand they all come from somewhere, and I'm grateful to have seen such a diversity of opinions before forming my own. Cards on the table, I disagree with the sentiment that Crosshair losing his hand was a bad writing choice on the basis of it meaning that he's now healed.

Let me elaborate (and I will elaborate a lot on this):

I feel like the relation between the hand coming off and the tremor/PTSD stopping is more a symbolic connection that the fandom perceived rather than something explicitly established by canon. It was never said after Crosshair lost his hand "he is now healed because of this." If anything, the way Crosshair was written through season 3 shows us he is putting in effort to healing way before losing his hand. Meditating, slowly opening up, moving past the horrors of Tantiss, etc. These are all things Crosshair does throughout the season that help him move forward. When the subject of Tantiss is brought up again, the tremor returns, and this is a very normal response.

But if I'm honest, I doubt how much PTSD and the concept of healing is truly understood by those so openly criticizing this writing choice, because that would also mean understanding that healing is not linear and it does not come magically through one sole act, deed, or loss. If the aforementioned was understood, so many people wouldn't have an issue with this connection in the first place because, symbolic as it may be, it is not fact. It is a symbol. What we did see was healing being depicted throughout the season: you work through your issues and you do better but then you can be back at square one the next day. Even if you're doing well for a period of time, the source of your PTSD can return, and your physical symptoms along with it, and of course this is normal and valid and it is wonderful to me that this was put on screen with Crosshair.

If it had been explicitly established on screen that Crosshair was magically healed because his hand's no longer there, I would have some other things to say about the matter, but again, it was not. This is something that fandom is coming up with and people are now deciding they have an issue with, because canon did not turn out to accommodate their theories and beliefs. And, even if it had been established that Crosshair fully healed from his past demons because he lost the hand that had the tremor, that wouldn't erase all the healing he had beforehand. I think it's invalidating - to the writers, to anyone with PTSD who relates to Crosshair, and to the character's phenomenal character arc - to assume that Crosshair's hand loss is the most significant part of his healing when he did so much work on himself before it.

And I would also argue that the loss of a limb is a traumatic event in itself, and I question how exactly it would be possible for one trauma piled on top of past traumatic events is supposed to heal someone.

I hate the fact that Crosshair lost his hand as something that happened to him, I hate it because it's Crosshair. Because I saw him getting hurt on screen, more than he already was. Because his whole body was trembling when it happened. Because I witnessed a man I've loved since day one, who's so kind and caring and has grown so much have to go through something so terrible. Because he had to endure pain and suffering yet again. Because I love him. Because my heart breaks for him.

As a writing choice, however, it was shocking, but it led up to a key moment between Crosshair and Hunter, and by extension, the climax of the finale. Yes, it would be significant for Crosshair's hand to have stopped shaking for him to take the clean shot, I wouldn't have objections if that had happened in canon either. But I think the power of Crosshair landing that final shot wasn't in the hand tremor. It was in losing his shooting hand, after a lifetime of equating his own worth to being a sniper, then hearing his brother Hunter, who he went through so much trouble and resentment and forgiveness with, encouraging him. Hunter really said "you can do it" and that was when Crosshair stopped thinking of himself as a sniper, and more as a brother. And he helped saved his sister. And with that, he saved all his other brothers on Tantiss. As a writing choice, Crosshair losing his hand is something that I accept and acknowledge as canon and I have processed the initial shock to the point where now I can talk about it more, and analyzing the scenes further makes it not just sensate writing, but poetic.

Back to the subject of the PTSD, Crosshair was able to rise above losing his hand in the moment on the bridge to team up with Hunter and save Omega, and that is admirable. And even if he was peaceful in the finale, one thing we can say for sure because it actually works that way in reality is that Crosshair will have to do a lot of healing and a lot of coping post losing his hand. I arrive at that conclusion quicker than I would conclude that "he's fine now" because the latter is not humanly possible. Even when people are capable of summoning the strength in the moment, there is a lot of healing and coping needed afterwards.

Being strong in the moment and mustering a smile when things turn out alright does not invalidate the struggle and effort put into getting better both before or after that moment of strength. Crosshair was so brave on Tantiss, but he's not fully healed upon returning to Pabu because no, PTSD is not stored in the hand, and I sincerely don't think that was the writers' intention on what to convey. If anything happens afterwards that we don't see on screen, I would anticipate it's the continuation of his healing process, which is not linear or constant.

And before anyone gets angry and wants to come at me with a pitchfork, let's remember Tech's wise words: Understanding you does not mean that I agree with you. While I see and understand the reasons why many people perceived this writing choice as a lazy one, I only wish to shine light on reasons that to me make this choice make sense. I've suffered PTSD from more than one traumatic event in my life, and for a total of twelve years (and counting) I have put in the work. I have had my share of non-linear healing. I have seen first hand and know this process all too well and it is yet another reason why I think Crosshair's character arc was masterfully done.

Lastly, I want to make one final call to be respectful towards the writers of The Bad Batch for how they chose to write their story. Here on tumblr, many fanfiction writers would be appalled if a reader came up to us spewing the things they hated about our story and how we should change it. I would be appalled too. That is not a cool thing to do to a writer. So let us treat other writers with the respect we want for ourselves.

May the Force be with you all ❤️ Now that the finale's done, us writers have the whole world of TBB to explore, adapt, and make into our own, and all of it will be valid and beautiful. Just be sure to always embrace others for their differences, for that makes you whole.

#the bad batch #tbb finale #tbb season 3 #tbb analysis #tbb crosshair analysis #tbb crosshair #tbb spoilers

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tathrin · 3 days

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The next story I am Definitely Not Writing: a fic where Legolas and Gimli make it all the way to the Undying Lands before they realize that in addition to loving each other more than anything else in all of Arda, they are also in love with one another (this is less a realization on their part and more an assumption that just about everyone else in Aman makes on sight, and eventually they hear about it and go oh...dang...maybe...? and Legolas's mom facepalms forever) and hey what if they got married, then...?

Only the thing is, while an elvish marriage is very simple and requires literally nothing but the folks involved deciding to do it (and no, Thranduil is not allowed to demand that Gimli fetch some priceless jewel from the Fëanorian section of Tirion in order to prove himself worthy of Legolas's hand, although he tried very very hard to convince everyone that it was a great idea) a dwarven marriage is an elaborate ceremony, requiring the participation of both a dwarven officiant and several members of one's kin to perform the various elements of the ceremony.

...all of which are in short supply in this land of elves and valar.

Except. well. there aren't any other dwarves in Aman...but what there is, is the guy who made the dwarves. And he is VERY fond of Gimli. So when he learns that Gimli is kind of moping about the fact that he can't marry Legolas in dwarven-fashion, Aulë ENTHUSIASTICALLY volunteers to be the officiant and to set everything up and arrange just the BEST DWARVEN WEDDING EVER...

Because, you know. he's never actually been to one?

Gimli is stricken with horrified shock to realize just how much his own Maker has missed out on interactions with his beloved dwarves over the years, and immediately agrees to this plan (even though he knows it won't be a real dwarven wedding without his family there; but he'll swim back to Middle-earth before he says one word about that anywhere that Mahal can hear! he is going to do everything in his power to make this the best wedding ever for the sake of his Maker, dammit!).

So he gets to work crafting all the necessary accoutrements (with enthusiastic help from Celebrimbor and all his other elf-smith friends that Gimli has acquired since coming to these shores which is, let's be honest, quite a few) and carefully teaching Legolas all the necessary Khuzdul phrases and ceremonial steps that they can do to mimic as much of a proper wedding as they can without anyone else to help...

And when the big day comes, Aulë is vibrating so hard he's on the verge of setting off seventeen different earthquakes across the island, and not even Yavanna can get him to relax. Gimli and Legolas arrive to the appointed place, and find that they aren't alone: Aulë has invited Celebrimbor, too, seeing as he's the only elf in Aman who has actually participated in a dwarven wedding before with makes him the local expert as well as the closest thing to "kin" that Gimli is going to find on these shores...except.

Well, Mandos might be in charge of elvish souls, but dwarves? They belong to their Maker. And if Mahal decides he wants to...well, who is going to stop him from waking some of them up early, before the breaking of the world? Especially if he doesn't ask permission first. So when Gimli and Legolas hesitantly walk into this foreboding stone chamber, eerily close to the Halls of Mandos, wondering wtf is going on and have they offended the valar somehow and are they in trouble and if so how bad is it...?

Well, turns out Gimli will have kin at his wedding after all.

Mahal can't bring any of them back to life, not without the intervention and permission of Eru and probably Mandos too; but as long as they're in his halls, he can wake anybody he wants. So soon there is a great crowd of bewildered but enthusiastic dwarves gathered around Gimli, as he tries to explain what the heck is going on to a whole passel of relatives and friends, some of whom died even before the Lonely Mountain was reclaimed and don't even know how the Battle of Five Armies ended, let alone the whole thing with the Ring and the Fellowship...

And Legolas and Celebrimbor are standing near the entrance watching fondly, Legolas weeping around a great big smile and Celebrimbor torn between joy for Gimli and his own ever-bitter sorrows and then...

"Khelebrrimbor?" calls a deep dwarven voice, in a thick Khuzdul accent, and Celebrimbor stiffens like he's just been shot.

Suddenly there's a ruckus as a very burly dwarf is shouldering through the crowd, and Celebrimbor stumbles forward and throws himself at Narvi with a wail, and it's at least ten minutes before anyone can get a coherent word out of either of them (although it takes considerably less time to catch the gist of Narvi's lecture about how dare you and lucky he's already dead, or I'd have a gift for him he wouldn't forget in a hurry and what were you thinking???).

Legolas gives Aulë a very pointed raise of his eyebrows, and Aulë shrugs around an unabashed grin. "Who in all the ages of the world is more of an expert on marriages between elves and dwarves than the two of them? I am a craftsman, Greenleaf; of course I would want to make use of their skills and experience in this endeavor. Nothing more to it than that."

Legolas hums noncommittally, but his eyes are dancing.

Mahal ignores him and steps forward to start the wedding. It takes even him three tries before he can shout loud enough to be heard over the tumult and get everyone's attention, but eventually he gets them all to quiet down enough for the ceremony to begin. Not everyone in attendance is entirely thrilled by the prospect of Gimli marrying an elf (that elf) but no one is so cross that they walk back into their dreams of stone to avoid it, which Gimli chalks up as a victory.

(Legolas's terrible Khuzdul pronunciation doesn't help, but the very enthusiastic way he praises Gimli when the ceremony reaches that point makes up for a lot. By the time he finally runs out of words, a few of the more recalcitrant attendees have changed their tune about him. The fact that he's so good at weaving the required braids doesn't hurt, either.)

There aren't nearly enough refreshments for a crowd that size afterwards, of course, since Gimli and Legolas weren't expecting anyone but themselves and Aulë to be there; but that doesn't much matter, because 90% of those in attendance don't have the sort of corporealness that would allow them to eat the dwarven delicacies that Gimli spent all morning fussing over anyway. (That doesn't stop some of his more elderly relatives from scolding him for not following their recipes better.) They're solid enough that you can hug them or kiss them, in the case of a certain former smithlord of Eregion or get half-knocked off your feet by their congratulatory backslaps, but they aren't alive. They're still the dreaming dead...it's just that for the moment, they're dreaming in a bit more wakefulness than usual.

In the end it's not what one would call an orthodox dwarven wedding, no; but it's a lot closer than Gimli thought he would get, and since he's hardly an orthodox dwarf, the small tweaks and oddities of their strange situation don't bother him in the slightest.

As for Aulë, he's never been happier.

And if it takes a long, long time for Celebrimbor to finally leave (and if he tries to devise a way to prop the door open on his way out)...well, Aulë is enjoying himself far too much to do anything but pretend not to notice. Even when Námo clears his throat at him very pointedly.

Twice.

And then again. And again.

"Aulë...!"

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marieisnothere12 · 2 days

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hsr 2.2 opinions

The plot was great execution was mid.

Sorry this is pretty long 😭😭

Spoilers 👇

Sunday’s three acts were hella tedious. This gives me Kazuha domain in the golden apple arcepellago ptsd.

Sparkle is just unused its such a shame bc I absolutely love the Masked fools :(

After they “solve” the crisis, it’s too long I honestly lost all the hype bc I thought it ended. It was just waaaaay too long.

Firefly’s 3 deaths?? Hello? I wanted to see that not Sunday’s 3 acts.

They never explain why the Order is bad and the Harmony is good. I didn’t understand until the last part where it was like “oh they’re trying to mind control people.” like you’re telling me this NOW??

oh so much dialogue pls no more exposition

Im sorry but I don’t find Robin to be as likable as hoyo presents her as. She’s a sweet angel but they shove it in your throats so much it feels fake. She just got the short end of the stick when it comes to writing :( i would have loved her ngl I wished she got the same level of writing as her brother :((

Too many twists like it’s exhausting atp. Gallagher being evil would’ve been interesting ngl. Like what of Sunday and Gallagher and Sparkle teamed up???? Idk just a thought. Also “dormancy” is disappointing. IM SORRY I LIKE EVIL GALLAGHER

Maybe unpopular opinion but too much Acheron. I feel like Firefly should’ve had a bigger focus like we forget abt her in the later half.

And the domain things. God they are so unnecessarily long. The one with with the Trailblazer and Firefly was just so so tedious.

Oh so so so much unnecessary dialogue guys please shut up

The Trailblazer taking the Harmony’s side feels forced like bro why??? Theres sm exposition and no explanation. They just go “Bc freedom!!” And…??? What else??? Robin just went “This is wrong” and we hopped on board. Now Robin is justifiable bc she did her research, being her idealist self, and shes a side character so I’m okay with her not having the full spotlight.

Why did Elio send Firefly/SAM to Penacony anyways?

Jade just went “oh Aventurine lets cook some shit up in thr next update” and left

again, pls elaborate on why the Order is bad I got one example

Also I feel like Aventurine was like a footnote im def biased towards my baby boy but :(

Im sorry the main cast is just unlikeable imo they don’t justify their actions and just ride on the ideal of freedom and nothing else. They use the same argument of “bc people deserve to live and choose” and its tiring hearing them say that 10 times they just lacked depth.

Also shaoqi who writes for hi3 wrote this and hi3 is very visual novel esque and it works in hi3 bc its very story driven but it just doesn’t in hsr.

Now the good things

I love the consistent characterization. Sunday acted just as I predicted during the quest so yay

I really like Sunday as a character. ALSO WHY DID HE FALL AT THE END I GOT SCARA PTSD

I like how even though Gallagher is on our side he’s pretty morally gray (he’s a history fictionalogists i hate those shits if you can’t tell I would follow the erudition so they piss me off sm)

We stan boothill live laugh love space cowboys

The idea of the story is amazing though like in general

In conclusion, I think they tried to do everything and forgot about domains being the bane of players’ existence and making stuff make sense. The execution just leaves me feeling overwhelmed and unsatisfied at the same time. Ngl I think 2.1 just built up way too much hype.

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weatherfey · 8 hours

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I think a lot about the way Dorian used to see Cyrus as the perfect older brother, the perfect prince; the way Dorian felt free to go and find himself because Cyrus was capable and dependable and ready to be a leader. That isn’t the Cyrus we see! But I think it’s a lot more interesting, for both Cyrus and Dorian, to take that seriously. They’re princes, and we don’t know what that means because we haven’t seen their home, but socially a court is an elaborately constructed farce. And of course it can be easier to be competent in any familiar environment, but I also think it’s easier to know how you fit within a court environment specifically because there is an overwhelming number of factors to define yourself against and they all have expectations of you, and if they aren’t suffocating you like some kind of spider’s web then it might be perfect, like being a star in a constellation, or just the right puzzle piece. I think it’s reasonable to think that Cyrus was something like who Dorian thought he was, at home; except that Cyrus, like Dorian, wanted to choose the things he’s defining himself against. And I think it’s meaningful that he got swindled in the immediate aftermath of discarding that constellation of puzzle pieces. He was a fool (beloved), but it happened in the first blush of freedom, when he was just starting to figure out who he was or wanted to be without all that defined expectation, which is also - not coincidentally - the state Dorian was in when the spider queen sunk her fingers into his heart and twisted his alignment. The ‘hello world! uh oh’ of it all is something they had in common.

(Something they both had in common with Opal, too.)

I do think it’s interesting to look at Dorian’s sense of responsibility in light of this. I almost think Orym was a kind of north star for Dorian through parts of EXU prime, and I ship them, but it really felt like one of the things that made him able to reject the spider queen is that Orym needed him to. I think he wanted to be someone Orym could rely on, but I think Orym’s regard mattered to him because they genuinely had that protective urge in common - the pathway the spider queen used to skitter in was Dorian’s desire to protect his friends. And that drive to protect added a lot of poignancy to the in-universe reason that Dorian couldn’t return to bell’s hells after Cyrus’s debts were repaid, not just because Cyrus was still getting his legs under him but also because Opal needed help. That’s responsibility, again - he’s finishing what they started. Duty, obligation, but this time he’s chosen who and what he’s beholden to. Like maybe he’s chosen a new version of a puzzle piece that he might have thought he was throwing out entirely when he chose freedom and walked away from home.

I loved that Fearne’s vision also haunted Dorian; he misses her, and it also feels like a solid way to illustrate the spider queen’s effect on Dorian, that the danger of his own corruption has rarely been something he had the luxury to think about. His friends have always needed him. I don’t know if he had time to process his aborted fall during his time in Zephrah, or if there’s still something underneath, but I think it’s telling that this fear doesn’t look like Opal, the one literally bleeding ichor from her forehead; it predates that, it started before Opal was the one to worry about.

And I think he knows he didn’t fail them - Cyrus, Opal, Fy’ra - accidental thunder damage notwithstanding - but, with the way he felt through that suggestion spell and its aftermath, I don’t really know what to make of his abandoning Dariax. It’s a little hard to look at that and not see a drive to isolate. Determined to leave him with a good memory, but most of all, to leave. He started that one-shot interlude having just admitted to himself that he was longing to be Somewhere Else, but I almost wonder if he still would have gone back to bell’s hells if Orym hadn’t asked.

(God, the suggestion spell. The way they processed it was hurtful to me personally. Dariax immediately shifting from ‘won’t leave Opal!’ to ‘let’s go! Opal has a plan’ kind of broke my heart, and I actually think that the spell could have worked on Dorian by just making what was really happening feel reasonable - the last shred of your friend is trying to save you, and you can’t save her from anything except becoming your murderer, so you should do that. But the spell can’t make sense out of abandoning Cyrus’s body, so Dorian just goes numb with grief and rage. Mass suggestion is 24 hours. That is 24 hours of numbness, and rage, and walking, and walking, and walking, and every once in awhile Dariax’s voice, friendly and steady and sure, ‘Opal has a plan.’ And at the end of it the ability to feel returns, but he’s so tired, and he hurts, and everything hurts too much to think about, and poor Dariax probably stops in his tracks, just ‘Dorian? What was Opal’s plan?’)

And he really was so angry. It’s interesting to wonder if that’s still under the surface. He immediately turned to levity - for their sake, and his own - but that moment where the group tells him who killed Will and Derrig, and Robbie instantly wrote down Otohan’s name, didn’t just read like a player taking notes, to me, it read like Dorian putting a name in a ledger. I think it’s easy to let that go because he learns that she’s dead in the very next moment, but I think Dorian felt a weird kind of relief for that half-second, because so much of his anger at what happened to Cyrus and Opal was from being forced to acknowledge that there wasn’t anyone easy to blame, except perhaps a god; and blaming a god is like blaming the universe. What a relief, however short lived, to be faced with a problem you can solve.

#critical role #exandria unlimited #dorian storm #crown keepers #here’s me with my king lear court fool feels #the way nothing that depends on structure works anymore once you break out of it #unless and until you make your own #and my continuing fascination with dorian’s self-conscious but achingly sincere attempt at self invention #performance as a kind of honesty #i do wonder what this could mean for dorian when all this is over #i hope he only goes home if it’s something he wants #i want him to have what he wants #(orym)

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supercalifragipopculturevomit · 2 days

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Audio ON 🔊 Funny bit from Fran Healy's conversation with Daniel Brühl for the 2021 Edinburgh International Film Festival. This is Daniel elaborating on what it was like seeing himself on the big screen for the first time.

I love this interview. He's totally engaged and relaxed because he's mostly just shooting the shit with a friend. The convo is mostly centered around cinema and their relationship with it but through it, you get a glimpse of Daniel's life as a dad, as a celeb, and as a teenager. Even talks about his first date at one point. My favorite part though was when they discussed something I've always wondered about: being in (what turns out to be) an awful movie and having to promote it.

Here are excerpts from Daniel's candid answer: "That is the worst part. If you have to sell it. You have this rotten carpet. You have to sell this shit, it's terrible. It's soul-destroying. It's part of the game. You have to be professional. But God, I have sat in hotel rooms afterwards with maybe a good single malt whiskey and thinking, like, what the hell happened to this film? Why did I accept to do it in the first place? And then looking back, I still know in each case why." "...it's just part of the game. It's also the fascination because it's unpredictable. You never know if it's gonna work out or not, even if you have a good script, even if you have a talented filmmaker, so much can happen on the way. But God, yes, there are stinkers in my life." He never mentions the titles of course, but I bet The Face of an Angel was at the top of his mind 😅

#daniel brühl #interview #fran healy #edinburgh international film festival #EIFF #2021 #video #i love his sense of humor

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biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer · 3 days

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Hiii since you done Hyugo relationship hcs could you please do Crowe? Tysm! <3

Ethereality (Crowe x MC/Reader - Relationship HCs)

For @Anonymous ! Hope you enjoy! :D - Signed by biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer

A/N: Ask box is still open, but answering them will be put on hold, as I am going to start writing my personal stories and ideas for this game; (yes I will do all your requests don't worry, it just may no longer be a daily occurrence). :]

Trigger Warnings: Has blatant mentions of sexual activity/NSFW content.

Ethereality: the quality of being very light and delicate, especially in a way that does not seem to come from the real, physical world.

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

SFW

Crowe will revere you.

Princess treatment? Doesn’t cut it. He’s going to treat you like a queen, like an empress, like a deity.

I’m pretty sure he’s got plenty of money under his name, so he can afford to essentially pamper you whenever, however and wherever you want.

Loves getting his hair braided by you, if you wanna style it? Go ahead! He doesn’t care, (as long as it looks sophisticated enough).

Owns the comfiest clothes ever, will be turned on happily flushed if you wear them (especially his overcoats and sweaters holy shit).

It makes him feel at ease when you wear his things. As if a part of him is always with you.

King of compliments! This man will sing your praises like it's the last time he'll ever see you, always makes sure you know he loves you. Could be via words, affection or pinning you agai-

Is the type to escort you places, doesn't matter where, he wants to be there with you, talking to you, seeing your beautiful face as it gets framed by the background noise of the world.

Holds your hand in public. He doesn't care, he wants it to be clear as day that you're his and he's yours.

Will watch movies and shows with you on his lap, which usually ends up in the both of you tangled on your couch sound asleep.

Loves reading to you, and he's got such a soothing voice for it oml

If you're not tired when he starts, you'll be barely keeping your eyelids open after about 30 minutes.

Cuddles you in bed, loves curling his body around yours. #bigspoon

Your first kiss is when he takes you out for a stargazing date, under the blankets of the dark night sky.

You still can't forget how sweet his lips tasted. How his hand cupped the back of your head.

It was ethereal. Magical.

And there'd be hell to pay if he didn't feel the same.

This guy is entirely devoted to you.

And actively shows it.

Will hug you out of nowhere. If you're feeling sad some day, will just gently cradle you and stroke your hair softly, peppering small kisses across your gorgeous face.

He loves your smile. It's all he ever wants you to be, happy.

He'll do anything to see his angel happy.

Also will make you your favourite food if you're upset, or satiate your cravings when you need it.

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NSFW

He's a gentle dom

I don't think I need to elaborate

Will maintain eye contact during sex, he wants to look at your pretty, flushed face; doesn't matter if you're above or beneath him.

Praises you. Everything about you.

Will quietly moan into your collarbone, maybe even sink his teeth in (only if you assure him it's okay)

Will be okay with slight hair pulling (him with his hair down >>>>)

He's gonna pepper your face with kisses btw

Maybe even a few hickeys

Will be a massive giver.

His hands are also everywhere btw

And they're quite big (like his co-) In short, Crowe Ichabod is a 11182989100101010101/10 man and s/o; yet he still cannot believe how he was able to catch such an ethereal, angelic being like yourself. <33

#tkatb #reminder that geo is superior #the kid at the back #tkatb vn #crowe ichabod #jericho crowe ichabod #tkatb x reader #i'm genuinely surprised he isn't more popular

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hyuuukais · 8 hours

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⋆.˚𖦹°‧✮‧°𖦹˚.⋆ ERROR 404

pairing ~ yang jeongin x fem reader

synopsis ~ y/n starts getting messages from an unknown number after buying a used phone for cheap. as she finds out more about the boy she's talking to, it turns out there's much more to this than a wrong number --- he died, and she's talking to his spirit, yet he has no idea what happened to him. will y/n have what it takes to solve the mystery of his death? or will the boy's spirit remained trapped in his phone?

warnings ~ gen, blood, pregnancy/giving birth (not in detail), minor character death (does it count if it's a memory? lol)

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CH 6 - RELIVING THE PAST (3.1k + 2 screenshots)

You once again find yourself flipping the sign on the flower shop door to 'closed' as you wait for Minho. This time, you're waiting in the back room; you may as well get some work done to pass the time. Another order came in last night, right before close. Changbin almost refused it, but the way the person spoke convinced him somehow, he didn't elaborate much. It was a beautiful arrangement of deep, richly coloured black dahlias with monkshood for a purple accent, all neatly tied with a purple ribbon. Although you loved the end product, you couldn't help the sinister feeling creeping up your spine

There's a chill in the air, but when you turn away from your workstation, there's nothing. Of course there isn't, you're closed. What were you expecting, another ghost? Jeongin, maybe? A part of you was hoping to see Jeongin, no sign of him since the last texts, but you know he's spent a lot of energy seeing you so often. You stay turned around on your stool, leaning against your workstation as you close your eyes and exhale loudly. It's silent, save for a faint dripping from a leak somewhere in the greenhouse connected to the workroom.

Standing, you decide to take a walk through the greenhouse; it's been a while since you took some time to just be with the plants and relax, letting your fingers graze petals and leaves of all shapes, colours, and sizes. You stop at the end, noticing one bunch wilting right under the leak, and you look up. Changbin put an order in to get it fixed, but it's clear you'll need a temporary solution before it kills your iris plant. Although it should be just water leaking, so you're unsure why it's having this effect...

"Y/n? Are you still back here?" You can hear Changbin bounding down the stairs, calling your name. "Where'd you go...?"

"In the greenhouse!" You shout, giving one last look to the flowers before heading back inside. "I'm here."

"Minho is here, I told him to wait in the front," Changbin announces, shifting uncomfortably. You can tell he's unsure of Minho's presence, having not spoken to him in so long.

"I'll go bring him back here," You say, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Feel free to escape upstairs."

He scoffs at your light teasing, a small smile on his face. "I'll wait at the front desk in case you need me to toss him or something."

You laugh a bit at that, the image of Changbin picking up Minho and throwing him out of the store. The two of you enter the storefront, Changbin moving to sit behind the counter, and you moving to greet Minho. He catches your eye before you get too close, and you offer a smile; he nods in return and waits for you to lead him away. When you re-enter the backroom, you sit on your stool and lean against the wooden workstation, letting him choose a seat.

The workplace isn't huge, with your desk on one side and Changbins on the other, a small, rectangular wooden table in between to place finished works on. There's a bit of an overhang to the table on one end that flips up, a spare stool underneath that Minho slides out and sits on, mimicking your posture against the table behind him. You watch him move his head to look at the painted table, teal and chipping to match the rest of the room, the black tiled floor tying it together. His fingers brush over a raw spot, and you wonder if he has anything to do with the chunk of wood missing from that part of the table, knowing it's been there longer than you've worked here.

"So, this favour," Minho doesn't look away from the table as he speaks. "What is it?"

"I need you to look into someone," You clear your throat. "Find someone, really. My brother."

"You have a brother?" Now, his head shoots up toward you, and so do his eyebrows.

"Apparently," You shrug, barely holding his intense stare. "Maybe you could look into birth records or something."

"Maybe," Minho agrees, hand curling away from the piece of wood.

After an uncomfortably long period of staring at each other, you speak again. "So, what is it you need me to do?"

"Ah," Minho readjusts on the stool, crossing his arms against his chest and briefly looking away. "That, right. Can you use your abilities on command?"

"Not really-"

"Can you try?" He cuts you off, and you sense a hint of desperation in his voice.

"Is this about your partner?" You ask, squinting at him. When he doesn't reply immediately, you have your answer. "You want me to find him, don't you?"

"Not exactly. I wanted to bring you back to where he and I were undercover and find the people who took him." You give him a look to ask, why me?, and he sighs. "Everyone left, but three men stayed behind to finish me off when I came looking for Jisu- Detective Han, but clearly their plan fell through because I'm still here. If we go back, maybe you can see them and we can force them to tell me where they took him."

You blink at him. "Do you forget that I'm not a detective of like, any kind? Interrogation skills are not something I possess, and besides, why would they tell you literally anything if they're already dead? What are the consequences for them?"

All the questions you pose register behind Minho's eyes, you can see the gears turning as he tries and fails to come up with an answer, leaning further back on the chipped table. He looks down, smirking and shaking his head, and you want to take him by the shoulders and shake the rest of him. After more silence, he looks back up at you.

"You're right, they won't want to tell me," He says, standing from his stool and walking toward you. Minho places a hand on either side of you, resting on your workstation. "Which is why you have to bring your friend, Jeongin."

"What's he going to do?" You ask, trying not to get intimidated by the closeness of his face to yours, or the way his eyes bore into you.

"I'm sure he can think of something," Minho only backs away slightly, hands still caging you in. "Now, will you do it? This, in exchange for the birth records?"

You grit your teeth. As much as you want Minho to just help you, no strings attached, you know it's not fair, especially with something so big. With him no longer being with any kind of department, you're sure him getting caught snooping through those records would have him in serious trouble, trouble you got him into that wouldn't have happened if he never agreed to help you in the first place. This is the least you can do for him.

"Fine," You agree, voice low.

"Thank you," Minho exhales, finally stepping away from you, his hands finding his pockets again. "And I have a suggestion for your part, but I don't know how much good it will do if you can't summon your ability yourself."

"What is it?"

"Changbin told me you've been going to places to visit Jeongin's memories and essentially reliving them, why don't you try that for your mother?"

"Okay, hold on. You and Changbin have been talking again?" He shrugs, clearly not thinking anything of it, but you can't believe Changbin didn't tell you. "Whatever. What do you mean by trying it with my mom? Like, going back to the graveyard? Because I'm pretty sure there's a super angry spirit that lowkey controls the place, and I'm not trying to get all of my energy sucked up."

"No, but going somewhere she might have memories of you and your brother," He says, blinking at you.

"She died during childbirth, she has no memories of us." But then you clue in, eyes widening. "She died during childbirth... the hospital, maybe, where we were born! Oh my god, you're a genius!"

You want to jump up and squeeze Minho in a hug, but that's both unlike you and you think he'd threaten you if you tried to. Instead, you rub your hands on your thighs and take a deep breath, standing up to retrieve your bag which is hanging by the greenhouse door. Putting it over your shoulder, you turn and see not only Minho now standing, but Changbin in the doorway. Changbin is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a worried expression on his face.

"You're not going alone," At the sound of his voice, Minho turns around, but Changbin keeps his eyes on you.

"Jeongin will be there too, Bin," You try to reassure him, but you know what he's going to say next.

"I'm coming with you, no arguments," Changbin props himself up straight, hands on his hips. "You told me before the hospital is shut down, so it's gonna be hard to get in there and I'm not letting you do that alone after all the close calls you've had! Besides, you need someone cute to distract any security."

Laughing at his last comment, you move past him and head to the front door. Night is setting in when you walk out, a cold breeze sending a chill through your body as you unlock your car. Changbin locks up after Minho comes out and you watch him head to his own vehicle, Changbin watching as he comes down the steps and puts a hand on the passenger's side door. As Minho drives off, you look at Changbin, unable to read the mixed look on his face, but not wanting to press about it either.

By the time you reach the hospital, it's completely dark out, the moon high in the sky and obscured by clouds. There doesn't seem to be any security, surprisingly, but there is a big metal fence surrounding the perimeter. The once busy area is a ghost town, but you hope not literally, all the buildings closed down and boarded up with washed out signs offering a lease. Approaching the main gate, you see the bolt has already been cut, the chain very loosely put back in place, probably by some teenagers who wanted to explore.

An eerie feeling washes over you when you cross the threshold onto the property, immediately sensing the tragedies that had to have occurred here for it to be shut down only a few years after opening. This whole area was assumed to be cursed, making you even more nervous as you walked up the steps and gently opened the creaky door, Changbin right behind you as you go inside. There's been no sign of Jeongin all day; you hope he's okay. You're immediately greeted by a nurse, her pale complexion telling.

"Hi there, are you here to visit someone?" She asks from behind the desk, ghostly fingers running over the keyboard to a dead computer. "I'll check you in in just a moment, okay? Sit tight, you can sit on one of those chairs."

She waves to an area behind you, but there are no chairs, only empty space. When you look back to her, she's focused on the device in front of her and you can see the dark circles under her eyes and the way she moves her neck uncomfortably, wondering how she died. Perhaps her unfinished business is her job, all of the patients left untreated once the hospital closed. You also wonder why she's working the front desk when she's not a receptionist, but maybe things don't have to make sense in the afterlife.

After a few minutes have passed, she stands and exhales, plastering a tired smile on her face as she nods you over. Telling her your mother's name, she begins to lead you down several corridors until you reach the maternity ward, which is almost completely silent compared to the groans and moans you heard behind closed doors on the way over. Whether that's more unsettling or comforting, you can't decide.

"Here she is!" The nurse opens the door, and you look around the empty room. As soon as you turn back around, she's shutting the door quickly with that same tired smile on her face. You panic, rushing up to the door and trying to open it, but it won't budge.

"Let me," Changbin moves you aside gently, sensing your rising nerves when the door won't open, but it doesn't move for him either.

A noise from behind you startles you, turning quickly to see a woman in bed, a man holding her hand from the side and using a towel to wipe the sweat from her forehead. You immediately recognize your mother, and although you don't know him, you recognize your father as well. This is the first time you've seen his face, but the feeling of familiarity is overwhelming.

He's whispering encouraging thoughts into her ears and she shouts once the doctor at the end of the bed tells her to push, the sound of crying filling the room. Your mother has tears of her own starting to stream down her face, urging your father to take the baby from the nurse once she's done with him, a large smile on his face. Suddenly, the expression on your mother turns from elation to pain, and you can tell something is wrong when the nurse delivering the second baby calls for backup. As she's working, your mother's head lolls to the side, and a loud monotone beep sounds.

Now, there are doctors and nurses rushing around the room trying to save the baby and the mother, and you can't seem to tear your eyes away from the scene. There's a mass amount of blood pooling at her legs, no baby to be seen. Your eyes flicker back up when you hear the monotone beep turn back to normal, your own tears welling as you watch your mother open her eyes, but only for a moment until they're screwed up in pain again. The doctor is urging for a c-section, but she's already pushing before the decision is final, the other baby coming out in no time. She's breathing too heavily, shaking and sweating, and the baby doesn't cry this time. You watch her whisper something in her husband's ear, watch as he holds onto her sobbing when the line goes flat again, watch as he's pushed to the side to let the doctors work, and watch as the doctors slowly stop, announcing the time of death right as the baby cries.

Your father backs away when the nurse approaches with the second baby, telling him it's a girl, and he can barely even look her in the eye. He's holding the baby in his arms tightly, the one you assume is your brother, and shakes his head before his expression turns angry.

"She's cursed," He says, loudly enough to make you flinch. "I don't want her. Take her away!"

His voice raises with each word, and you shrink into yourself. Once the nurse backs away, you can see your father look down at the baby in his arms fondly, but there's still a hint of disdain lingering in his features as he cradles and soothes the baby's cries. As the nurse takes the other baby out, you watch her leave, and when you turn back around, the scene has changed back to what you walked into, nothing.

There are arms around you in an instant as you crumble to the ground, knees giving out under you and a loud sob heaving from your chest. You can't stop crying, hands out in front of you holding onto the floor and the only thing keeping you from curling into yourself is the hold Changbin has on you. It's like you can't breathe all of a sudden, the sobs rattling your body, drowning from your own tears. Eventually, you find Changbin has moved your back against him, rocking you back and forth until your eyes have run dry, but the soft hand that wipes the remaining tears away isn't his.

"Y/n," Jeongin says gently, taking your face in his hands. "Shhh, you're okay."

With the comfort of Jeongin and Changbin, you can feel your energy returning to you slowly. The memory still lingers in your mind as you hand Changbin your keys and let him drive you home, offering to stay the night. You stay silent, shaking your head and heading inside, catching Jeongin in reflections as you walk through the dark house. There's not enough strength in your legs to carry you to your room, opting to flop onto your couch instead. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you don't answer, closing your eyes and letting sleep take you.

Minho sits across from you at your dining table, leaning forward slightly. He's damp from the rain outside, his coat hanging on a hook by your door. Rain hits your window aggressively, wind howling and whistling. You're staring at him with wide eyes, trying to process his words.

"It's Hyunjin. Your brother is Hyunjin."

Jeongin is pacing behind you, the chair next to you skewed from when he stood up. It doesn't make sense to you at first, but then you start to really think about it. Your adoptive family lived in the same area, but you never crossed paths, and being kept in all-girls schools until you moved across the city now making sense. And your mother being buried there too, somewhere close to the both of you. Thinking of your father's rejection still stings, but you remember the look on his face as he cradled Hyunjin in his arms, the hidden contempt well masked. You don't want to think about the childhood he had.

"You're sure?" You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

"Positive," Minho keeps his voice low.

You remember the dream you had, back in a house you didn't recognize; the ruined family photos, the candlelit pathway, all leading to him. Hyunjin. And you realize something, something you should have thought of when you found out you even had a brother.

"He has the same ability, I think," You say, locking eyes with Minho, and you can hear Jeongin stop moving. You explain the dream quickly. "I think he's trying to figure out what happened to Jeongin too."

notes ~ chapter !!!!!! woo !!!!!!!!! i am actually so excited to write the next one though, there's one scene i literally cannot wait to share aaaaa!!!!!

taglist ~ @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @bloomingstay @sona1800

@dollschan @defnotfertilizedtoesw @thisisnotjacinta @kayleigh-28 @kayleefriedchicken

@lailac13 @linocvp1d @ilov3jeong1n @mooseung @kkamismom12

reply or send an ask to be added (18+)^^^ green means i can't tag you