❞ [ 10. ] Bumping Into Strangers

kisses prompts to give the readers butterflies:

(feel free to use! yk what to do babies, tag me when u writee !! importantly the 2nd, 6th and 10th prompt >\\<)

hands around your waist as they pull you closer, goosebumps swarming every part of your body that they touch

kisses where they peck you a thousand times and you just sit there giggling with your face squished in their palms while they kiss

the kiss that breaks apart for a second, a smile stretching and they kiss you back again, fingers gently sliding down the side of your face to your neck

"i like the taste of your lips on mine"

kisses where they push you against the cold wall, their hands tracing your curves as they nibble on your lower lip, hands teasing every edge as you moan into the kiss

gently tugging at their collar, out of breath, they ask, "do you want me to stop?" you hurriedly say, "just the opposite, please"

kisses where they pin their hand on either side of your head, body pressing down on yours, places touching on where it shouldn't

neck grabbing during kisses >\\<

meeting each other after a long time and running into each other's arms, hugs tighter than ever as they place a kiss on your head, relieved that it finally feels like home

kisses that turns into love bites, and you slightly moan, "you like that, princess?"

intimate back hugs where they slowly trail kisses from your collarbone to your jaw, making you shiver, and they mumble, "god you smell fucking good."

for more:

'angsty romance prompts'

deeper sentence starters

“  where do you get your hope?  what keeps you going during all this?  ”

“  you know,  sometimes you don’t have to find the answers.  i think it can be enough to just admit you’re lost.  for now.  ”

“  sometimes,  i don’t feel like i’m real.  not unless i’m hurting in some way.  it’s not like i want to be in pain,  but i’m just so used to it.  i dunno what to do without it anymore.  ”

“  i just keep hoping that one day i’ll have something else motivating me— something more than stubbornness or spite. i wanna feel like i’m living.  ”

“  i learned the only thing i can believe in is me.  i have faith in myself.  that’s how i survived.  ”

“  i hope you know i’m proud of you.  i’ve seen how hard you’ve been fighting to get where you are.  you might feel stuck,  but you’re not.  you’ve come so far.  ”  

“   when i told you i loved you,  you know i meant that right?  i’m not talking just about all those warm feelings.  i’m talking about putting in the work.  i’m here to stay for the hard parts,  not just the pretty ones.  ”

“   you don’t have to find the perfect words,  just tell me what you’re feeling.  i’m here to listen.  ”  

“  you don’t have to carry it all.  humans aren’t made to be solitary creatures.  i want to help.  all you have to do is ask.  ”  

 “  i know i haven’t always been there in the past,  but i’m here now.  i’m trying.  please,  just let me in.  ”

“  i still care about you,  you know.  i could never stop caring about you.  but we were both drowning.  and one of us had to get out eventually.  ” 

“  i think you’re still my person.  and i’m hoping maybe one day,  i can be yours again too.  ”

“  i’ll still be here when you need me.  that will never change.  ”  

“  i love you.  but i can’t keep watching you destroy yourself.  i can’t sit here and watch that anymore.  it hurts too much.  ”  

“  i already forgave you.  so why can’t you forgive yourself?  ” 

“  it’s not about what you think you do or don’t deserve.  i get to choose who to love.  i’m an adult.  and i can make that decision.  so i’m here to stay.  i’m in this.  ”  

 “  if we’re going to do this again,  you have to promise it will be different.  you have to show me that you’re ready this time.  ” 

“   i don’t know how to make you believe that i can make us work again.  but i’m not going to give up.  i did that once and—  well,  i’m standing here again because it was the wrong choice.  give us another chance.  ” 

“  i’m lost without you.  and i’m not asking you to fix me or be something you’re not.  i’m just asking you to keep being the lighthouse you are just by being you.   and let me be guide myself by it.  ”  

 “   i’ve never been very good at letting go.  and now i feel like there’s too many burdens i’m holding on to and i don’t know how to get rid of them anymore.  ”  

“  why do you feel like you need to punish yourself so much?  ”

“  why do you keep saying that?  you’re not alone.  i’m standing right here.  ”

“  what are you so afraid of?  why won’t you let me in?  ”

lights, camera, action!

premise. in which you get yourself involved in a lot of unscripted drama. (genshin celebrity au.)

includes. xiao, childe, albedo, ayato, scaramouche, thoma & kazuha.

previous episode. watch here.

note. the long-awaited sequel nobody actually waited for lmao. please read part 1 if you still haven't! this entire fic would be incomprehensible otherwise :'D

四 ; ayato, the cannon fodder

although xiao is, with absolute certainty, regarded as your definite favorite celebrity in your heart, ayato comes a close second.

he's a modern day prince; if anyone were asked to say which male lead they liked best, you can guarantee their answer would be among one of his roles.

he played a lot of characters—a school heartthrob, a ceo, a bar owner, and even an actual prince for a snow white retelling. each one with stellar execution, as you'd expect from an actor of his caliber.

so it is to your absolute horror to find him casted in this production as a minor villain. the one that happens to (futilely) seduce the journalist to bed, no less!

is he asking to get his image destroyed?! which... actually does make sense. he's already been typecasted as the “prince” type of male lead, and you can guess how frustrating that can be. it must suck to play one persona over and over, mindlessly spouting recycled lines; not much room for creativity there.

but he's had different roles too, of course. one that stuck to your mind is another murder mystery, a film focusing on the death of a family head. the power struggle for the place of successor isn't a secret even to the public, and the prime suspects are primarily composed of the victim's relatives who stand to benefit from the family head's death.

ayato played the role of the first son, believed to be the one most likely to inherit the riches. which means the sooner the family head dies, he gets to have all the assets. he's suspicious due to his probable motive, but overly so that it's too obvious; ironically enough, this leads the audience to think he definitely couldn't be the killer.

except he is exactly that, but for a reason nobody would expect. rather than greed, the first son murdered his father for driving his biological mother to madness due to abuse and then sent her to a psychiatric ward, where she eventually died. he took in a second wife, a woman only after his money, who kept on pressuring her husband to make her daughter his successor.

contrary to popular belief, ayato's character didn't loathe his step-sister. in fact, he cared about her quite a bit, and his hate for his father grew whenever he scorned her for being “lacking” or “good for nothing.” his scummy personality led to his demise.

in the end, the step-mother was wrongly arrested, and the true murderer wasn't revealed until after the credits, where ayato was shown sitting at his father's desk and laughing to himself, followed by a scene detailing how the actual murder took place and how he tricked the investigators successfully.

the contrast between his acting as a shallow young master and a cunning mastermind had been praised by many. to tell the truth, you don't know how he was typecasted as a prince when he's clearly more suited for “villain” roles.

...even so, his current role isn't anything like the previous one! a cannon fodder and a genius murderer are nowhere near alike! he's only there to make the protagonist jealous and his character is fated to die one week after the scene with the journalist!

you suppose your disbelief must've shown on your face when each actor's respective role was announced because he couldn't help but chuckle when he looked at you.

“...by any chance, did you audition for the murderer role? because- it's hard to believe that-” you struggle to piece together words, rambling while ayato is busy signing his autograph on your phone case. (as luck would have it, you don't have paper on you. you said he could sign the back of your shirt but he politely declined, insisting the shirt would get dirty like you aren't planning to get it framed on your bedroom wall and declare it your heirloom.)

you don't even feel shy talking to him from the sheer incredulity of the situation. ayato only laughs as he hands you your phone case. “i did. but it turned out getting a minor role is a good thing since i'm planning to be on vacation soon.”

“oh. that's understandable, then...” barely. you still have complaints about it. as an actor, you respect the director's decisions, but as a loyal fan, you oughta give him a talking to and demand to give your idol the role he deserves.

“do you dislike it?”

your brows knit together, eyes momentarily leaving your now prized phone case to glance at him. “dislike what?” dislike that you're treated like this? that you have to act as a brainless villain? that you don't get much screentime? then fuck yeah.

“dislike that you're going to do that scene with me.” almost bashful, he leans closer to whisper to your ear. “you know. the one in the hotel.”

all the blood in your body rushes to your cheeks. impishly, ayato's lips curl into a smile of mischievous nature, a far cry from the elegant simper he usually holds. “i... that isn't what i... no, i mean it's not that i don't like you as my partner, but- but-!”

sufficiently entertained by your fumbling, he stops being mean and lightly pats the top of your head. “let's both do our best. truthfully, i'm not the most adept with bedroom scenes, but if you need help, you can always rely on me.”

rely how exactly?!

...

“is it too tight?”

“um... a little.”

“okay. is this better?”

“yes. am i too stiff?”

“mhm, a bit. you don't have to be nervous. it's just me.”

ah yes. it's just THE kamisato ayato pinning you down your bed, breathing down your neck, moments away from stealing your lips. nothing to worry about, clearly.

he adjusts his grip on your wrists, loosening it to your liking. his character is meant to push you down forcibly, but of course he doesn't want to actually harm you during filming—to prepare before the shoot, practice is of utmost importance. you have to give the illusion of an aggressive assault when in reality he's handling you like a piece of glass.

but you're doing this right after a day's work, and you have to blame your stupid mouth for running off without command and casually asking him if he could visit your apartment to go over the scene. in late hours of the night. in what can be interpreted as a much more scandalous suggestion.

thankfully, you're not dealing with childe so you're spared from wiggling eyebrows or phrases with flirty implications.

but him being ayato doesn't make it any easier.

“don't you feel embarrassed making out on screen...?” you laugh awkwardly in an attempt to ignore the weird tension in the air, slightly overwhelmed by his intense gaze. “i know you've done this several times, but i imagine the awkwardness never wears off.”

“not quite,” he agrees. “but a job is a job... i say that, but i'd like to make it comfortable for you, if possible. how are you faring? do you need a break?” he sits up, allowing more distance in the space between you. you shake your head.

“i'm fine. just... nervous. it's my first time doing a bedroom scene...” you look off to the side, staring at the lights beyond your window. though you're in the comfort of your own room, having an unfamiliar man on your bed makes it all feel so strange.

...as you thought, it really was weird to invite a co-actor to your bed! eh? would booking a hotel be better? but isn't it overboard to go to a hotel for practice? inviting him to your apartment is equally as bad, though?!

“all the cameramen watching can be pressuring,” he adds in afterthought, releasing one of your wrists only to pin it with a single hand. you flinch a little when his fingers skim over your cheek, but you slowly relax into the heat. “it's best if you try to forget about them.”

“i'm afraid that's easier said than done,” you murmur, voice growing weaker as he leans down once more.

“really? i consider myself a decent kisser.” he grins, sly and confident. “i'm certain i can keep other things off your mind for a while.”

“wh- i'm not supposed to enjoy it, remember?!” you squawk indignantly with flushed cheeks. he relishes in your reaction, chuckling lowly.

“oh? my bad. you'll have to work hard acting like you don't like it, then.”

his lips hover above yours, breaths mingling with each other. the proximity catches you off guard but his hand is a steady weight holding you in place, urging you to look at him.

“don't think about anyone else. just focus on me.”

五 ; scaramouche, the best friend

“fantastic. i was also looking forward to a drama adaption but you've already ruined it for me.”

“that's not nice! you're supposed to congratulate me for passing the audition!”

“my courtesy towards you has already expired 5 years ago.”

“yes. you've made that very apparent.”

“have i also made my ire apparent? it's like the universe is telling me seeing you everyday isn't enough, i have to see you on television too. frankly, we see too much of each other.”

“you say that but you're the one coming over my apartment uninvited.”

“this is where i store my beer.”

scaramouche has a perfectly functional fridge so you know he's only doing that as an excuse. he's been this way for 8 years. (of course, he'd only been storing milk at your house when you were both still underage.)

(the milk didn't do any favors for his height, unfortunately.)

his words are as harsh as ever but believe it or not, he's your closest friend. not that he'd ever admit it, even at gunpoint. it's a feat you should add to your resume, honestly, because as far as you know, you're one of the few people he doesn't hate.

he tolerates you enough that he can practice your lines with you (with enough pressure), though he delivers his part of the script with such dispassion it makes it difficult for you to get into the mood. but in his own brand of patience, he lets you reiterate your lines an endless amount of times until you feel like you get it right.

he helps you with expressions too, albeit in a manner you find hard to appreciate.

“you look like you're constipated, not about to cry.”

“your jaw is hanging open. want to catch a fly with your tongue? act like you caught your husband cheating, not like you're about to eat half my burger when you said you'd only take a bite.”

(personal grudges were involved.)

he's not interested in the film industry at all, but he was the one who pushed you to pursue your dreams when everyone else was discouraging you from taking an unstable career. he's your pillar of support; even if he's glaring at you scathingly or giving cutting words matter-of-factly, he's all bark and no bite. the moment you shed tears, he's already pulling you to his chest, remaining silent as he rubs comforting circles on your back. he doesn't even complain when you bury your face to hide in his neck, soaking his shirt with tears.

underneath all that layers, he's pretty nice.

(admittedly, you have to dig real deep.)

when you're smiling and happy, however, he takes the chance to complain. sneering, he blurts, “what's up with you taking roles in romance dramas all the time? besides, you're way too old to be in high school.”

“i still look fresh.” you batted your eyelashes at him, celebrating inwardly when he made a scandalized noise. “but i'm auditioning for a different role soon. if i get it, you'll see me as a murder victim instead of a high schooler.”

two weeks later, you get the e-mail confirming the love interest role. scaramouche goes so pale you consider taking him to the hospital.

“i know the journalist is your favorite character, but aren't you overreacting? do you hate me acting as them that much?”

he rolls his eyes so hard you almost think they're going to be permanently pointed heavenward. “are you stupid? that's not what i'm worried about. wouldn't you have to- you know- do that scene-”

“which one?”

“...the hotel scene...”

ah. well that certainly is a cause for concern. it's steamier than what you're used to; so far, you've only done light pecks or kisses that don't last too long. bedroom scenes are definitely foreign territory.

“i can only hope my partner is good-looking, then. i wouldn't mind it, if that's the case.” you laugh sheepishly, missing the way his eyes narrow in disapproval.

“...whatever. suit yourself.”

“don't tell me you still feel weird about kissing scenes?”

“i don't have issues with kissing scenes. i just don't want to see you sucking face on tv.”

“don't use that word! it's too vulgar!”

as part of work, it's inevitable you have to do a kissing scene here and there. scaramouche has never been fond of seeing them, turning away from the television or excusing himself to the bathroom whenever they come up. it's a reaction you can sympathize with; it is rather awkward to see your friend making out with someone on screen.

but he especially detests the old recording of your high school play.

long, long ago, you were part of the drama club. by association, scaramouche became a member as well—the pair of you were considered as a package deal. he was your practice partner so often that he got forced into joining.

he'd die before he ever tells anyone, but he had a knack for playing villains back then, specialized in wicked cackling and bone-chilling monologues reeking of depravity.

but in your final year, he got roped into playing the prince when the original actor sprained his ankle. incidentally, you happened to be playing the damsel in distress in your (pretty much unrecognizable) rendition of sleeping beauty.

“why is the prince shorter than-” before you could end your statement, he already slammed your face with the script.

the play was a hot mess. scaramouche couldn't play a decent prince for the life of him, so your club made the play a comedy and reworked the entire script to fit him better. the valiant and heroic character became satirical, forced into saving you not for love but to fulfill a prophecy that definitely wasn't in the original sleeping beauty.

the audience was taking the change well, intrigued by the bizarre twists and turns. the huffing-puffing prince was hilarious to watch, too.

it wasn't long before you laid in the casket, blinded by stage lights even with your eyes closed. the cardboard dragon had already been defeated, and the prince was fast approaching.

to your utter distaste, it was decided the prince would slap you awake. so you prepared for it when the last lines were being said, bracing for the stinging pain.

but then there was a rise in pitch, nearing to a yelp, then a loud thud, then the weight of two hands pressing on either side of your head, and-

your lips were touching something soft and warm.

the squeals and yells reverberated in the whole theater, the narrator stammering awkwardly and improvising ad libs last minute. your eyes snapped open and you'd gotten a front row seat to see scaramouche's blushing face, an explosion of pink dancing across his features.

after the play wrapped up and he peeled off the ridiculously frilly prince costume, he'd been set on destroying every record—alas, your friends weren't so keen on deleting such good footage. to this day, he still bristled at the thought of it; his and your first kiss showcased to hundreds of people.

it's harder to endure when he sees you kissing someone else, however. he never gets used to it, no matter how many times he tells himself to.

“oh, finally. it took so long for them to get together,” his co-worker groans as he watches the tv at the break room, airing the latest episode of the drama you star in. scaramouche glances at the screen, turning away when the camera flits to the boy with ashy brown hair. he's touching your face for the millionth time, bright teal eyes staring into yours so deeply scaramouche almost thinks he's actually besotted with you.

“you're not watching? i thought you liked this series?”

“i don't.”

for his own sake, he doesn't give the tv another glance, stepping out of the room.

this is fine. it's not the first time he's felt like this.

(it doesn't feel any less terrible.)

六 ; thoma, the former male lead

there are as many aspiring actors as there are stars in the sky; it's unfortunate only some of them shine brightly enough to be noticeable, and the rest twinkling weakly in miniscule dots.

for your case, and for your friend thoma's, you belong to the latter.

thoma is handsome, that much you can see with your own eyes, but a pretty face can be found anywhere in the industry—he lacks that special something that makes him stand out. that being said, you don't have it either, so you're on the same boat.

you're best pals, comrades in arms, partners in crime.

actual partners. once. for a romance drama.

(but not the main characters. just an obligatory side pairing, of course. you're the rebound for the second male lead.)

it was your first work, and you'd rather delete your existence than watch it again. hopefully, that also erases your dark history.

your... amateurish acting had been unsightly. the innocence you portrayed wasn't lovely, just a ghastly display of incoherent mumbling and lack of comedic timing. you wanted to tear apart each clip and toss it in some imaginary ditch where nobody can find it again.

thoma's performance wasn't as severe as yours. it wasn't half-bad, almost decent if not for the scant instances of awkwardness in scenes that required more emotional acting.

alas, the end product was just about what you expected; a series no one paid attention to. both a relief and a disappointment, because even if you hated it with every inch of your being, the effort you poured into practice and filming was real.

but after the drama ended, you kept in close contact with thoma, chugging down beer at dinners as you complained to each other about work. failed auditions, mistakes in filming, inability to get roles—you shared everything, and he did the same. each moment of embarrassment and each moment of breakthrough that called for a celebration, you told each other. through thick and thin, you had the other's back.

naturally, he was one of the first few people you called (second only to your manager) when you received the e-mail confirming your role as the love interest for arguably one of the most anticipated series to date.

he'd been overjoyed, above all, his elation overruling his surprise; it was a far cry from other violent reactions. (“are you sure it's not a prank?” scaramouche had said in disbelief.)

“you're finally going to be acknowledged!” gleefully, thoma chattered on, “that's the best news i've heard all year!”

and that was good. it was nice having his support. he'd been the one to give you a pep talk before you had to start rehearsals, soothing your fretful worries.

when you don't understand the essence of a particular scene, he's more than happy to help—“i'm just one call away!”

when you fumble your lines on camera, he laughs but not with mockery (a stark contrast to that little gremlin scaramouche)—“it's no big deal. you only have to do your best tomorrow.”

when you recount your experiences working with famous actors, he listens attentively—“you're starting to get along, huh?”

and then you would hesitate. it sounds like you're... bragging.

he says he's only one call away, but he's busy with his own work; still, he makes time for you. he listens whenever you complain, but he has bigger problems, ones that he doesn't say because he knows it'll dampen your mood. he has to hear about you acquainting with celebrities he can't even dream of meeting, like you're showing him the things he can't have.

you got lucky. what about him?

slowly, your face bleeds to commercials, advertisement banners, even huge outdoor LED displays on shopping malls featuring the drama cast—yet he remains as a blurry, nameless figure in the sea of aspiring actors.

he doesn't show it, doesn't even hint at it, but he must be... envious, right?

it's not hard to be. you've been in the industry for the same amount of time, began at the same starting line, yet only one of you found success, the other one left behind in the dust.

still. still. he never shows it. never stops being your biggest fan. never lets you think otherwise. he watches every episode, every interview. babbles how amazing your performance was in this scene. rambles how you did so well in this drama and he's so proud of you. smiles at how you have to wear a disguise now whenever you go out together so nobody can recognize you.

“it must be hard,” he comments as you hide in a secluded park, nearly getting found out by someone you noticed following you around. “you can't get around as freely anymore. are you okay? nobody follows you home or anything?”

always the worrier, you think. “of course not. my manager drives me around everywhere these days. you don't have to worry.”

thoma grins, plopping down at a bench. “that's a relief.”

for a moment, you just sit in silence, basking in the slight chilly air. the orange and pinks of sunset darken to streaks of blue, streetlights flickering to life.

“...did you know there are rumors of you dating xiao?”

you choke on air, coughing to your fist. “what?!” not that you feel flattered. not at all. (you've badgered xiao to come with you to the carnival last week, and then the waterpark a week before that with the rest of the cast, and- well. you suppose there's reason for people to speculate. you also wore matching animal headbands—how on earth you got xiao to do that, you're not sure either.)“why did that- how did it come to that?!”

“it's surprising for me, too,” thoma says. “if anything, i'd expect dating rumors with the actual male lead. or childe. he seems... particularly clingy.”

“albedo? there's no way he'd like someone like me.” you furrow your brows. if anything, it's only gotten awkward between the two of you ever since the confession scene. “ajax... well. i never know with him.” you honestly can't tell if he's flirting or not.

thoma laughs, eyes crinkling with mirth. “you look close with all of them. if i didn't know any better, i'd think you were acting a romance film outside of the project.”

you shudder. “if, and only if, i end up dating one of them, i'll attract all kinds of bad attention. it's not even good PR. i'd hate to think of all the fan girls who'll start cursing me, stealing their man and all that. hell, i'm not even dating anybody and i'm already being cursed.”

“i'll reply to every single mean comment and defend your honor.”

you snort. “do you even have the time for that?”

“...unfortunately, yes. i'm not receiving much work at the moment.”

oh.

fuck.

“i can... i can recommend you to the director. i heard he's starting a new project soon, so maybe-”

thoma frowns and you ground to a halt. “it's fine. i don't want you to do that for me.”

it sounds like you're pitying him. like you don't trust him to rise on his own.

but you want to help.

“is this why you look sad around me every so often?” he realizes, astonished.

“i... can't help but feel guilty,” you admit, unable to maintain eye contact. “every time i say a silly story about xiao, or ajax, or albedo, i feel like i'm showing off. every time i complain, you never try to compare, you only comfort me and never tell me about your problems. i want to do something for you, but i don't know what. i care about you, and i want you to do well because i know how talented you are. except everyone else doesn't, and i want them to see you.”

it's not fair. he's putting in the effort. the same as you are. but it's still not working out for him, and it's not fair.

“you... want to help me?”

you manage a weak nod. you hear an intake of breath, feel him shuffling closer. then he places his hand on top of your clenched fist.

“[name]. can you look at me?”

slowly, you raise your head. his green eyes are shining so brilliantly, bright emeralds gleaming in the moonlight.

yet they also seem... resigned.

“you're really nice, [name]. but you don't have to feel guilty. it's not your fault i'm still like this, and i'm already thankful you're worrying about me. i can't say that i was entirely... not jealous of what you have now, but that's just my problem. so you don't have to make that face, okay?”

he smiles, just like always. you open your mouth to respond, but then you feel that sensation again—that prickle at the back of your neck, the feeling that makes your hair stand on end.

“you're kind.” his hand cradles your cheek ever so softly, tenderly. your lashes tremble, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. “that's why... i hope you can forgive me.”

this position is familiar. you know this, because you've experienced this before.

long long ago, just when you started your career, you'd practiced this scene with him in the dressing room—hearts pounding, hands awkwardly finding their places;

your lips brushing together in a shy kiss.

now, his fingers are carding through your hair, the closest he's ever been to you in years. you flinch, gripping his shirt, uncomprehending, and-

you hear it.

the shutter of a camera.

七 ; kazuha, the murderer

the first time you heard a complete newbie would act the murderer role, you were in disbelief.

alright, you were an unremarkable actor before your current role, but at the very least, you had experience. not only is this person entirely new to the industry, having nothing to show for himself, he's an amateur. it sounds like a recipe for disaster.

it's even more baffling when you discover ayato, THE kamisato ayato, tried for the role and didn't get it. who the hell is this newbie? someone who got in through nepotism? preposterous! the murderer is an incredibly important character to the plot, the whole series would be ruined if he turned out to be awful!

and then you see who he actually is, and oh boy, he does not look like a murderer.

he's more like a harmless bunny. fluffy white hair, round red eyes, a polite disposition—did you arrive at the wrong set, kid? maybe you were aiming for the high school romance drama and came here by mistake?

the webtoon murderer was no pretty boy. just an average-looking dude working at a convenience store nobody suspected to be the killer because of his unassuming looks, and that was the point. yet this eye-catching hottie is the complete opposite.

but everyone else in the cast is hot as hell, so maybe the murderer needs to be hot too so he can blend in??? director, what exactly did you have in mind?

“[name]!” just as you were staring at him, he turns and notices your gaze, expression immediately brightening. like an innocent baby chick, he walks up to you. “good morning.”

it's another day of rehearsals for the upcoming episode. so far, you haven't gotten to see his true skills yet—the most he's done is act like an ordinary extra part of the background and out of the limelight. it's understandable, since his character doesn't appear much until halfway through the series.

“kazuha,” you acknowledge him, still a little unused to his... general stickiness. you don't know what he found so appealing about you but he's taken to sticking by your side most of the time. childe has teased you more than once that perhaps the little chick has a crush on you.

“do you want to eat lunch together? i know a good fried chicken place.” so it's cannibalism now?

you agree to go anyway because fried chicken sounds great. plus, as much as you came to find that even celebrities are just regular people and you managed to befriend a lot of them, there's a sense of comfort in kazuha—he's the one you felt least intimidated by.

even if you text xiao for hours now, or come over to childe's house frequently, or go on food trips with albedo, or go clothes shopping with ayato and his sister, they're still people you can't get close to without boundaries. there's still a sense of distance separating you, one that you can't cross, but can happily do so with kazuha.

being with kazuha is just comfortable. there's never a need for formalities, and rather than co-workers, you feel closer to being friends.

sometimes, you feel as if you're babysitting though. he just... screams youth. holds the freshness of an amateur, clutching to naive hopes and wishes in the path of stardom. it's endearing to see, and it's like seeing a younger version of yourself.

it's a shame you've buried those naive wishes long ago, but you hope kazuha's career goes well for him. this drama will undoubtedly be a big boost for his popularity, but will also backlash on him if he performs horribly.

“this is my treat.” kazuha pushes the plate of chicken fingers to your side of the table, eyes shaped in smiling crescents.

you shake your head but take one nonetheless. “what kind of senior would i be to make you pay? order all you want, it's on me.”

kazuha doesn't pout but comes close to it, sulking as he bites on a piece of korean bburinkle chicken. “i can't tell if you're doing this on purpose.”

“doing what?”

“letting me off easy.”

...? this kid says some pretty strange things sometimes.

“i'll order some drinks. what do you want?” he offers, standing up.

“iced tea is fine.”

“got it.”

as he moves, his wallet drops on the floor. you're about to tell him so but you think better of it, already considering the possibility of kazuha sneakily paying for your meal on the counter and ordering drinks as an excuse.

you sigh, bending down to pick it up from the ground, but the wallet faces up, revealing the contents.

the first thing you see is your face.

you nearly jolt and hit your head on the table in shock, but you manage to suppress your surprise in a garbled mess of choking. this photo is... from that modeling gig you did a year ago. but why is it in kazuha's wallet-?!

you quickly put it back on the table, just in time for kazuha to arrive. he raises an eyebrow at your flustered expression but doesn't mention anything.

he makes a face seeing the wallet he forgot on the table. you were right after all.

later, as you return to set and practice ends after a few more hours, you recount the order of events to xiao, who could not be anymore uninterested at your entire spiel. perhaps childe would've made a more engaging conversation partner, but you'd rather not deal with his teasing right now.

“-and my face was right there! as his wallet photo! what the hell does that mean?!” years ago, you never could've guessed you'd ever be able to rant to xiao's face like this. yet here you are, unashamed in front of your idol.

“isn't it obvious?” xiao isn't even pretending like he's giving you his full attention anymore, hands preoccupied with the game console in his hands. “he likes you.”

“???”

xiao sighs, dead fish eyes looking straight at your clueless expression. “don't you have a photo of me in your wallet? that's the same thing.”

“that is certainly not the same thing! you're- xiao, and i'm just me. you're popular.”

xiao almost rolls his eyes. you're way too humble for someone who gets recognized by people on the street daily. “congrats, then. you met one of your rare fans.”

that was an unbelievable thought, before. you? having a fan? whenever you searched up your name, you couldn't find anyone talking about you. your character is different; you're looking for people who's interested in you as a person, not just your role.

now, though. you've accumulated enough fame for a fan club. several maybe, even.

... but even then. that modeling gig hadn't been successful. only someone who knew about it a year ago would know about it now, since it faded from the internet pretty fast.

as far as you know, you didn't have fans a year ago.

xiao makes a realization. “...isn't this the fourth time he invited you to lunch this week?”

“yeah?”

“.....isn't he just hitting on you then?”

now that's just not in the realm of possibility. xiao is so funny.

“he literally baked you cookies the other day.”

“friends give each other cookies, xiao. i can even make some for you if you want.”

“they were heart-shaped, [name].”

(you end up making him cookies to prove a point.)

days pass by, xiao giving you increasingly odd looks, and kazuha finally proves his worth in filming.

his performance rivals that of albedo's—the soft edges of his eyes sharpening into something menacing, gaze cold and apathetic, his lips downturned to an unfamiliar sneer. you're watching the birth of a star, and it's only a matter of time before his talent will be acknowledged.

he's different from ayato as a villain. ayato is cunning, the perfect example of a mastermind. malicious and dripping with spite. but kazuha looks innocent, a cute little bun you'd never guess can make those kind of facial expressions—twisted, vicious, malevolent.

it's part of the act, but you flinch when his character turns violent; kicking down doors, smashing glass windows with a bat. holding the extras acting as murder victims by grabbing them by the hair, throwing down cops like they weighed nothing.

and then right after that scene concludes with the director's “cut!”, with (fake) blood still splattered on his face, kazuha runs up to you grinning innocently, fishing for compliments. “did i do good?”

nevertheless, you give him headpats. “you're terrifying.”

he flushes, not too pleased giving that impression to you. the next day, he acts all sweet to you again, giving you a batch of cream puffs this time. xiao snorts somewhere in the background.

eventually, your manager notices the snacks you receive regularly. “oh, it's from that kid?”

“kazuha? mhm.” you nibble happily on the pastries.

your manager chuckles. “never thought i'd see him again here.”

“...what do you mean?” blinking owlishly, you pause from chowing down. “you know him?”

“he used to work at the bakery you went to often before, didn't he? the kid you kept telling to watch your first drama. you forced him to watch the episodes on your phone during his break.”

...............FUCK.

you do remember doing something that stupid. during the filming of your first drama, you frequently stopped by at a nearby bakery to buy snacks, and you remember there was a cute kid working there. you often pinched his cheeks and cajoled him into watching the series.

but when filming ended, you couldn't go to the bakery anymore. the filming location was far from your house, and the bakery was simply out of the way.

did that kid... kazuha... support you all this time? from that early on?

you curse your manager for telling you this right before filming. your mind is a mess, having trouble connecting that cute, precious child (why are you always calling him a kid, he's barely 2 years younger than you) to the smooth and flirty man today.

it's an important scene today too! the confrontation between the detective, his partner, and the murderer. it needs your complete concentration, and you just don't have it right now. you've never seen the director lose his temper, but you can probably manage to do it today.

albedo is performing well in front of the cameras as always, so much like a protagonist that you feel like you're watching from a television screen already. but you have a job to do too, so you do your best in the spotlight, pretending to be unaffected.

kazuha looks even scarier up close, so unhinged and unreadable. you know what his next move will be, written on the script, but that doesn't make you any less uneasy.

“you're bold,” kazuha drawls, playing with the knife in his hand, “coming to see me by yourselves.”

you can hear what he's saying, but it feels like your head is full of cotton. why are you so distracted? “so it really is you,” you speak, praising yourself for acting normally.

the other two exchange lines, and you thank the heavens you're mostly silent for the time being. for the meantime, you have a few moments to collect yourself; there's a chase right after this, and you'd rather not do something stupid like trip over yourself in the middle of something so serious.

...

sometimes, you're gifted with foresight.

but! to be fair! you did not trip over yourself! the staff forgot to fix the cables in one part of the set, and you tripped over those. so no. not entirely your fault.

albedo is too far away—he's on the side trying to unlock the doors with his brain powers somehow, and you're the bait distracting the murderer before he does so.

ordinarily, you would not trip over the cables. you have able eyes, and you could easily step over them. but you're at the stairs.

...you're at the flight of stairs. and you're about to fall over. FUCK. WHY DID THE DIRECTOR WANT A CHASE SCENE IN THE STAIRS.

you brace for the impact, hands outstretched, but then in a complete break of character, kazuha reaches for you.

you're leaning too far to the edge now. there's no way to pull you back to even ground. kazuha grits his teeth, pulling you to his chest, and in an immense show of strength, twists around so he'd be beneath you.

you descend in a disgraceful tangle of limbs. you're enveloped in a warm embrace, cheek resting on a firm chest. a chin is tucked into the crook of your neck, heavy breaths tickling the skin of your shoulder.

you jolt back to action when you realize what just happened. “your head-!” you scramble to touch his head, feeling for any bumps or even worse, blood. kazuha hisses, so you soften the touch, tracing over this body to check for other injuries. he became a literal mattress. “what about your back? did you get sprained anywhere?”

“i'm fine,” kazuha wheezes under your caressing.

“you don't sound fine! who are you trying to fool? you didn't have to do that!” you grab his cheeks. they're as soft as ever, just as pinch-able as you remember.

“i'm not hurt. it's because you're... on top of me...” bashfully, he looks away. you blink, glancing down at your position. you're straddling his hips, at a proximity entirely inappropriate.

...his hands are still on your waist.

this kazuha is too different from two minutes ago! wasn't he just chasing you down the corridor in murderous intent?! now he's blushing underneath you, like a pure maiden you defiled!

what's with this soft, sugary atmosphere?! last time you remembered, this was a murder mystery drama!

(when the drama ends, you're casted for a romance college series with kazuha as the male lead. figures.)

“CHOISKZ” is a romance otome mobile game produced by 00hj and JYPE* coming to iOS and Android soon! *This graphic has no real connection or affiliation to/with JYP Entertainment, this was created solely for fun. [insp.]

please do not re-upload without my permission or delete my caption. click the images for better quality.

Stan skz, stan chaos

!!nagi swears that kissing you before practice or a match gives him good luck!!<3<33

✩ ˛˚ . NAGI SEISHIRO ; — it seems the teams way to get nagi motivated has its drawbacks.

warnings: sfw! no warnings just nagi being the sweetest :3 note: hi nonnie!!! i decided to just write this lil thing cause i thought it was super cute so i hope u like it sob!!!

for the most part, it was beneficial when the team decided to start inviting you to their morning practice — as a means to motivate nagi, noticing that the usual sleepy, slacker of a striker seemed to have a little more motivation whenever he’d look over and see you in the stands.

but now.. actually getting him to come onto the pitch to play was a whole other problem entirely.

“hey, nagi! get on the field, jeez.. we’re still a goal behind, ultra genius.” you hear reo call from behind you, huffing when your boyfriend infront of you doesnt even seem to give him a second thought as he waves him off from over his shoulder. you think it’s amusing though, the pleading look his bestfriend gives you like he’s begging you to help him out.

nagi on the other hand, is currently leaning over the barrier at the stands — shooting you a starry-eyed look from under his messy bangs. his gloved hands fidget with the hem of your t-shirt and you feel them twitch tighter around the fabric every few moments, like an adorable little attempt to pull you closer as he sends you a pout.

“this is a pain, ‘ts in the way.” your boyfriend breathes as his longer limbs shift and fidget over the metal fence against him he’s referring to — surprisingly enough managing to support his weight as he leans against it, probably finding standing too bothersome given how long they’ve been practicing already.

but you give nagi an inch as you take a step closer, just enough to let his hands graze along your hips as he lets his head lean forward and rest on your chest. “you’re needed on the field, sei.” you try to reason as you push his snowy bangs away from his gaze, letting you take in the pretty, drowsy expression on his face when he blinks slowly up at you.

“eh, don’t wanna. wanna stay here.” another slow drawl and his fingers are squeezing at your skin, feeling him nuzzle deeper into your chest as he leans even further into you — making the barrier squeak slightly under his weight. you’re not sure it’s quite built to balance lazy 190cm strikers.

“but i wanna see you score more goals. we can get lemon tea before we go home.” it’s tempting, especially when you say it in that pretty little voice you know he loves. so you feel nagi’s head twist against you before he’s sending you a cute little look, cheek smooshed against you as he huffs.

“i’m sleepy though, i wanna have a bath and play video games with you instead. ‘ts no fair.”

“i’ll give you a kiss for every goal you score.” it’s quick, your reply — it doesn’t give him a moment to consider it because you know it’s a bargain he can’t pass up. only a few simple things could get nagi seishiro motivated and your kisses were right up there next to video games and well— that’s it.

“wan’ them now. need ‘em for a power up.” it’s hard to say no to him when he’s giving you that look, it’s sleepy and doe-eyed and there’s a soft glow that swims in the deep colour of his eyes that makes you smile before you’re scratching your hand through his hair. it makes your boyfriend shudder and he pulls you closer before you’re reminded of the time limit when reo sends you a wave followed by a grumpier sort of look.

“three goals for three kisses.” your words are rushed but they make nagi stand to full height just as quickly despite the way his arms remain around you — head leaning into the press of your palm when it cups his cheek.

“yay.” it’s soft, spoken under his breath when you push his hair from his features to peck him once on the lips, followed by another before he’s meeting you quickly for the last — urging it to be a little deeper than the other two as he pulls you into him. you hear him hum and you decide to give him a little extra motivation when you swipe your tongue between his lips, hearing a sweet whimper sound from him before he’s parting them for more — but just as quickly as it deepens, you pull away to grin.

“hey, why’d you pull away. wasn’t done yet.” nagi’s words are whinier now but there’s a soft flush on the tips of his ears and you think it’s cute just how easy it was to get him drowsy on kisses.

“it was just for good luck. three goals, sei. then you’ll get more!” you let your fingers scratch through his messy hair again as he groans, followed by a quick thumbs up to reo from over his shoulder before you’re pushing him lightly. he sways before he turns and you laugh at the next pout he sends you as his arms fall to sway by his side — his eyes still on you even as he makes his way back towards the team, although there’s something darker in his gaze now.

“eh, i guess. but it’s so bothersome, three goals is too easy.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

Writing about a child rapist did not make Vladimir Nabokov a child rapist.

Writing about an authoritarian theocracy did not make Margaret Atwood an authoritarian theocrat.

Writing about adultery did not make Leo Tolstoy an adulterer.

Writing about a ghost did not make Toni Morrison a ghost.

Writing about a murderer did not make Fyodor Dostoevsky a murderer.

Writing about a teenage addict did not make Isabel Allende a teenage addict.

Writing about dragons and ice zombies did not make George R.R. Martin either of those things.

Writing about rich heiresses, socially awkward bachelors, and cougar widows did not make Jane Austen any of those things.

Writing about people who can control earthquakes did not make N.K. Jemisin able to control earthquakes.

Writing about your favorite characters and/or ships in situations that you choose does not make you a bad person.

It’s a shame that in this day and age these things need to be said.

“i wanna hold your hand” - excuses for your characters to hold hands

prompt list by @novelbear

"your hands are cold...let me warm them up for you."

taking advantage of the fact that they're walking through a crowded place and holding their hand so that they "don't get lost"

maybe they get slightly jealous while out, so they grab onto their partner's hand to establish their relationship

"something's on your finger. give me your hand, let me see.."

mentioning that they want to compare hand sizes

pinky promising over everything so that it's easier to naturally intertwine their fingers with the others'

"okay, but if i'm right then you have to hold my hand!" "that's not much of a punishment but alright babes, whatever you say."

"can you hold this for me?" "there's nothing in your hand." "exactly."

going in as if they're just innocently fiddling with the other's fingers, then trapping them about thirty seconds later

making the effort to find where their partner is and dragging them by the hand rather than just calling them over to where they wanted them in the first place.

"you need me to hold your hand so you can read the instructions?" "it helps me concentrate!"

grabbing onto the other's hand out of nervousness

slowly intertwining fingers while the other is driving

"they always hold hands and rub it in everyone's faces, i want us to look cute too!"

going on a rant about how much they love to hold hands, hoping that the other would take the hint and offer

"can you hold my hand?" "of course, my love."

Lost

“…Whumpee,” said Teammate, voice barely climbing above a whisper. “Look. Look up. Look at me. Please look at me.”

“I don’t think he can hear you, Teammate,” said Medic. “He’s been like this since we got here…”

“Please, Whumpee,” said Teammate, ignoring Medic and collapsing onto their knees in the dusty cell in front of Whumpee’s thin, curled form as they searched Whumpee’s face for signs of recognition “Look me in the eye. Please.”

Ever so carefully, Teammate reached out and pulled Whumpee’s chin a little higher, but the rest of Whumpee remained motionless, his half-lidded eyes unblinking and unfocused.

“It’s me. It’s Teammate. Can you hear me? We’ll get you out of here soon, but Whumpee, can you blink, or twitch your fingers, or give me any kind of sign?”

The lack of any response to any of the questions from Whumpee burned like a dark, hot flame in Teammate’s gut. 

“Whumpee, please…”

Medic laid a careful hand on Teammate’s shoulder. “We lost him such a long time ago, Teammate. Look at what was done to him. Think how long he’s been here. It’s more likely than not that he’s never coming back–”

A single finger curled around Teammate’s wrist, making the chains around Whumpee’s wrists jangle, and Medic broke off sharply. 

Teammate didn’t bother to look up.

Tired eyes were searching their face.

“Whumpee,” Teammate whispered, not blinking, hardly breathing. “Whumpee.”

“…Teammate,” Whumpee rasped back. 

his last unfulfilled wish.

— featuring. sunday x gn!reader

synopsis: before departure, sunday needed to bid you his farewell and make his silent amends, rather than leaving his emotions unsolved.

contains: 1k7 word vomit, 2.7 quest spoilers, angst (& fluff <<< clickbait), childhood bestfriend implication, messy emotions, minor character studies (if u squint), meeting you after he met robin first.

forenotes: sunday is such an overthinker and lana del rey coded to me. however i’m not content with how i write the siblings here so i’m sorry if it doesn’t sit right with you crowbie 😭😭

header img by 隐世樱yyy on weibo. kindest regards to my two pookies @akutasoda and @vxnuslogy for brainrotting with me and proof-reading this piece for me, i love yall so much!

🎼  — ( ding ding!! a message for crowbie @asundries / @rainswept the receiver! )

merry christmas my dear director crow :stares_at_you: are you surprised that i am your secret santa ? (somebody is definitely not ready for sunday angst as a christmas gift ngl.) BRO IT'S YOU HAHAH.

jokes aside for now... iko wants to say that she is very blessed to have such a wonderful friend like you to be around, she hopes your relationship will continue to thrive and maintain as you both step into 2025 ahead! with every kindest words and this piece dedicated to you, she is once again wishing you a merry christmas and a happy new year! xoxo.

“dear mr. sunday, you have now finally witnessed the sun, your wish has been fulfilled.”

in the seemingly deafening silence of the radiant orange-hued sky, sunday stood still.

“however, before you depart,” that indistinct voice was a light and gentle echo but felt dripped with sarcasm in his ears—he believed it was his heart that spoke. the wistful glint in his eyes betrayed the repetitive chant of his rational determination, sabotaging and leaving him slightly wavered about his predetermined decision.

“are you completely certain you would leave penacony behind without regrets?”

was a prime fugitive like him allowed the privilege of deciding such a personal matter? ironically, he wouldn’t want his answer to that question to be anything else.

“…no, i do not.”

not when he never got the chance to justify himself to you before the day he abruptly vanished. vividly, it haunted him—your sad smile haunted him, indicating that he once again had disappointed somebody, and it shocked him at how he never planned that ‘somebody’ to be you. (he never planned to disappointed anyone, really.) it was almost laughable at one’s stupidity, the one who refused to recognise that your reaction he observed this time was never akin to the momentary awkwardness in your voice caused by his usual polite and harmless nonchalance to your little silent declarations out of affection. he heard your love, yet he had never responded.

contrary to the cold and refreshing thin air it seemed, the tip of his tongue felt bitter. sunday knew it all too well. it was the guilt of turning you down and neglecting you for more significant matters that he grew tired of experiencing once more; typically, all of his doubts could only be dissipated as soon as the bright smile he adored written on your face not long later, you seemed to be unfazed quick enough—a truly admirable yet disheartening scene he witnessed; carefree and understanding, that was what you were. 

(sunday never admitted it but your radiant smile was the cause of the thumping heart in his chest, one that made his collected facade falter ever so slightly when looked at, and one suddenly brewing his stomach with guilt each time it didn’t match with your soulless gaze.)

sceptical, cunning man in the way he was, sunday was unsure if that was the very last time he ever saw you like that again after he had failed you so many times before…

you would come back, yes. that was what you’d always done, wasn’t it?

that was what you had always done.

not this time, though… you left him awaiting.

and when he was standing next to you in his cowardice disguise in the light but freezing-cold evening, admiring the way you blew out on your fingers gracefully, hot breaths turning into smoke, that breathtaking smile still, lips plumped red like roses in the white snow, the world stilled for a moment. (he wished it would last forever.) you looked happy and bright, he couldn’t search anywhere in your eyes for the adoration you once harboured, the one that used to be easily spotted every time your eyes met.

maybe you just didn’t know that the one you were conversing with wasn’t a mere dreamweaver.

maybe you still had feelings for him… maybe, it simply wasn't appropriate to discuss such private matters with a passerby, a fact he completely agrees.

but were you, though? after all this time? sunday felt his chest heavy. you were there, like a star within reach, but far enough to only be observed in the radiant sky. then suddenly and a little too late, it came to his perception that his heart had long been beating for you. and at the biggest loss of it all was he only realised, you and robin, were everything he had left. 

was he too late to make amends?

you were beautiful, he’d take that. not to mention the way your hand loosely clung onto the smooth material of your slightly worn-out scarf. a maroon colour that utterly complimented your skin tone, he recognised that scarf.

“you have an exquisite scarf… it suits you.” 

the dreamweaver couldn’t help the words that slipped “her” lips, “she” mentally cursed “herself” for saying such an odd thing, but your light laugh after the bewildered look you gave dissipated every quickened pulse of “hers”, completely drew all of “her” attention to your graceful demeanour, rather than what you were saying by the moment.

“xipe up above… please, hear my plea”

“it was a gift from an old friend, whom i really cherished.” the glowy tint of your lips arched into a thin smile, and, dear aeons… there it was, that same endearing look with so much stars swimming in your eyes. the look of love.

(two winters ago, your endearing shy look, heated cheeks as you reached out for the delicately box in his hands—a simple present for you for the first holiday ever spent together as adults, your fingers brushing against the comforting material as you opened it, eyes glimmered with joy. of course he remembered. that expression of yours imprinted in his mind, confused but amused at how his little gift has an effect on you, you were an adorable thing if he must admit.)

“forgive my desperation to sin just this one last time.”

“he went away for some reasons, i believed it was the same reason why my adoration was left unrequited,” you looked up at the sky, nostalgic. “it’s a little embarrassing to admit, don’t you think?”

at your simple and hearty laugh, sunday could only manage a silent shaky breath.

“please, xipe.”

“i do miss him, dearly,” you let out a light chuckle, nuzzling your face against the fuzzy fabric with the corner of your eyes crinkled. “do you think that i would be able to see him again?”

— “please for once, allow me to be deserving of them, to make amends for everything i’ve damaged”

with certainty, in his heart, that ‘everything’ was you. never one-sided, never unrequited.

sunday thought about you, ignoring the blooming feeling of overwhelmed emotions, his steps were restrained from approaching closer. but then your final question had the words die on his tongue, lingering like an illness that couldn’t be cure.

would your paths converge underneath the sun?

reality is different. having come this far, the boat that used to guide sunday here was burnt down, and there was no way of turning back.

“i miss you, too, dearly.” he wanted to say. 

“i like you” or “the feeling is mutual” even, and how he wanted to tug the strands of your hair behind your ears like he always did back then the moment he saw them fell out of place. but sunday was still a coward. he wondered if you hated him, that you couldn’t bear witness the person you love disappeared then reappear and just begging for forgiveness, it kicked at his dignity and insecurities. perhaps… this barrier between you both was comfortable alright.

“i think he misses you, too.” words emboldened by the sudden courage but soon deflated when “she” meet your observant gaze. yeah… how could a nobody be so sure about that?

“…my apologies, please forgive such an bold assumption.” “she” cleared “her” throat.

“it’s okay, i’m glad that you get comfortable when talking to me.” and sunday realised that he had lost count of how many times he was mesmerized by the melody of your laugh, your soft hum.

the small talk could last for an eternity, that was the greediest wish sunday allowed himself to yearn for. (he thanked xipe for that.)

“mr. sunday, are you ready to board the express?” and he peeked over his shoulder. welt yang, his companion by pure serendipity, stopping on his steps and looked at him with anticipation.

by now, the sun has dipped deeper and almost disappeared in the horizon, purple-blue hued vast sky sprinkling with faint streaks of stars, city lights awaken, leaving the man with the small void in his chest, half-filled. heart spoke otherwise but mind obliged to the better, but wasn’t “better” always hurt most? it was all over, it’s time to go.

you studied the way robin was blowing out smoke, panting softly as she ran over to you not long after the fellow dreamweaver left. the expression on her face was what you couldn’t decipher, a frown was written, her smile was filled with sorrows, and it made you fumbled.

“it seems like you have met her, too.” she sighed with a smile, adjusting her scarf, which was also a gift from her dearest brother. 

the dreamweaver did say an odd thing earlier before “she” departed, though. “she” claimed to only knew a thing or two about beliefs, but then you sensed the dejection in “her” tone before “she” clasped “her” hand together and seeming to close “her” eyes and wish despite the machinery face.

a mutter of sincerest apologies and best wishes for the person “she” wished to make amends to, followed by shaky chants of whispered please’s that sure was heart-warming. then “she” looked at you, “her” wistful and delighted expression was seen through somehow, how confusing, yet so beautiful and sympathetic. 

and when “she” changed her gaze elsewhere, speaking out her final words before silence settled in between the two of you again.

“they mesmerised me, i should’ve recognised that sooner” and you think that was heartening. that it was good for her.

“i’m glad” said robin.

“you’re… glad?” you blinked, didn’t hold a grasp on why she seemed happy about it.

the singer only chuckled brightly, she nodded.

“what a pity that the story of yours was incomplete…” she trailed off.

“…[name], your name has been prayed.” you didn’t miss the way her eyes softened, a glowing hint of wetness then she looked away. “for now, we must wait for THEM to cast an eye upon his unfulfilled wish.”

when sunday was down on his knees, you were how he prayed.

(lol u thought.)

© 2024 https-sourlimes. all rights reserved.