#because that's what the chapter's theme is about

[rosemariiaa]

~Caffeinated Crush~

𐙚- pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚-synopsis: Paige works at a bookstore, and Azzi is the girl who comes in every day but never buys anything. When a spilled coffee incident occurs, she learns Azzi is sketching her in a nearby cafe.

𐙚- this is so cuteeeee, yes i am still currently working on chapter 3 of RMH so you’ll have that soon, but for now enjoy these cuties! happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚-themes: fluff, au

𐙚- taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @makethemhoesmad @sierrale8ne @ohbueckers @juspeaks @imaginespazzi @pbaz7 @bueckersbitch @xxloveralways14 @d3arapril @lupinqs @pazzilover101 @ashortyluvsports @absolutelydreadful

enjoy!!!

I should’ve never let Nika get in my head.

My thumbs hover over the screen of my phone as I scroll through yet another endless TikTok, airpods blasting maybe the best R&B playlist handpicked by the queen. Anyway, the store is empty—of course it is. It’s barely 10 a.m., and no one is running to a bookstore this early unless they’re sixty or a morning person.

Not me, though. I’m here because Nika decided to call me lazy last week and the whole team agreed. Said all my NIL deals made me too comfortable, like I didn’t just have the Big East Scholar of the Year award, not to be cocky or anything but doesn’t that mean i’m smartest to ever exist? Exactly. But no, she just still had to run her mouth, so now I’m working this dumb part-time job at “Bound and Brew,” where the only exciting thing is the smell of cinnamon wafting in from the café next door.

Speaking of which, I mentally add a bagel to my lunch break checklist. Asiago, toasted, extra cream cheese—don’t judge me.

I glance at the clock on my phone. Still early. My chin rests in my palm as I lean on the counter, half-heartedly refreshing the store’s Instagram page. No new likes. Big surprise. God, I have practice tomorrow, and for what?

My earbuds buzz with a notification, but before I can check, the door chimes.

My eyes flicker up, and there she is. The girl with the brown, coily hair.

She’s been coming here for weeks now. Never buys anything, just walks around, poking through shelves like she’s on some personal treasure hunt. I’m pretty sure she works at the café next door—I always see her there, either taking orders or perched by the window with a book in one hand and a green matcha latte in the other. Matcha. It’s alright, I guess, but I can’t help the silent judgment. gatorade > tea.

Her eyes meet mine as she steps inside, and I clear my throat, pulling out one earbud. “Hey, what can I do for you?”

She smiles softly, the kind of smile that’s more polite than warm. “You’re fine. I don’t need help yet.”

Her voice is quiet, soft enough that it almost doesn’t match the confidence in the way she carries herself. She’s bundled in a gray puffer coat, her pink sweatpants tucked into winter boots. The UConn shirt under her jacket catches my eye.

She goes to my school? Weird. I’ve never seen her on campus.

I nod, going back to my phone, but I can’t help the way my eyes track her as she moves through the store. Her hands graze the spines of books, pausing occasionally to pick one up, read the back, then put it back in place.

She doesn’t rush. There’s something careful about the way she lingers in each aisle.

I shouldn’t be looking (staring) at her like this.I really shouldn’t, but her hair is just…nice. Thick curls that spring with life, framing her face like something out of a painting. And her skin? Smooth, glowing, the warm tone almost golden under the soft overhead lights.

Wow. I’m really gay.

I snap my attention back to my phone, pretending to scroll. My heart’s doing that annoying thing where it skips.

When I glance up again, she’s at the door. Leaving already. She didn’t pick up a book or anything again.

The door chimes softly as it closes behind her, and I’m left staring at the empty space where she just stood.

She’s really, really pretty.

And just like that, I’m shaking my head, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Get it together, Paige.

This is supposed to be a job, not some secret queer daydream.

By the time my lunch break rolls around, I’m practically counting down the seconds.

The café next door is my safe haven. Warm, cozy, and always smelling like cinnamon and espresso. It’s everything the bookstore isn’t. I step inside, stomping the snow off my sneakers, and head straight for the counter.

There’s no line, which is a small miracle, but then I see her pretty face again.

Brown curls, her same shirt, pink sweats, and those same bright eyes. She’s standing behind the counter, tying an apron around her waist.

Oh.

I knew she worked here! Scholar of the year i told you.

“Hi,” she says when she spots me. Her voice is just as soft as before, but there’s something about the way she looks at me that makes my stomach flip.

“Hey,” I reply, trying to sound casual. “Can I get an asiago bagel, toasted? Extra cream cheese.”

She nods, her hands already moving to jot down the order. “Anything to drink?”

“Just a black coffee,” I say. “Simple.”

She glances up briefly, the corner of her lips quirking like she’s amused. “Simple’s good.”

Her gaze lingers a second too long, and I feel the faintest heat creeping up my neck. There’s something about the way she’s looking at me, like she’s trying to figure me out but doesn’t want me to notice. I definitely noticed.

I glance at her name tag, needing some kind of distraction. “Azzi,” I murmur under my breath. It suits her.

She catches me looking, her cheeks tinting the slightest pink as she fiddles with the pen in her hand. “It’ll be ready in a minute,” she says quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Thanks, Azzi.” Her name rolls off my tongue easier than I expect, and the way her eyes widen just a little makes it worth it.

Azzi ducks her head, pretending to check the order screen, but I can see the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. She’s shy, reserved even, but there’s something so genuine about the way she carries herself. It’s almost refreshing.

As I wait, I glance around the café, the hum of chatter and clinking mugs filling the space. A few students are hunched over laptops in the corner, and there’s an older couple sharing a slice of cake by the window. The atmosphere is cozy, intimate, like something out of a movie.

“Bagel and coffee,” Azzi calls softly, placing my order on the counter.

I step forward, and for a split second, our hands brush as I reach for the tray. Her fingers are warm, a stark contrast to the cold outside, and I swear I see her inhale sharply before quickly pulling away.

“Thanks,” I say again, trying to meet her eyes.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. She hesitates, like she wants to say something else, but instead, she bites her lip and busies herself wiping down the counter.

As I turn to leave, I catch her glancing at me again, her gaze lingering on my face before quickly darting away.

I smirk to myself, holding back a chuckle. So she does notice me.

Sliding into a seat by the window, I take a sip of my coffee, my eyes drifting back to Azzi. She’s leaning against the counter now, flipping through what looks like a notebook, nah definitely a sketchbook. Her curls bounce slightly as she moves, and there’s a faint smile on her lips, like she’s lost in her own little world.

For some reason, it’s hard to look away.

I finish my bagel way too fast, but instead of leaving, I sit there for a while, pretending to check emails on my phone while sneaking glances at her. She’s busy now, taking orders and chatting with customers, but every once in a while, her eyes flicker over to me.

It’s subtle—barely noticeable—but it’s enough to make my chest tighten.

When I finally get up to leave, I make a point to walk past the counter.

“See you around, Azzi,” I say, letting her name hang in the air.

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide with surprise. “Yeah, uh—see you,” she stammers, her cheeks flushing as she fumbles with a stack of napkins.

I chuckle to myself as I step back into the cold, the warmth of the café lingering in my mind.

This job might not be so bad after all.

—

The next morning, Paige finishes practice, her muscles aching but her mind buzzing with anticipation. She now knows Azzi works morning shifts, and though she tells herself she’s just stopping by for breakfast, there’s no denying the extra pep in her step as she drags Nika along with her to the café.

As they walk in, the comforting aroma of coffee and freshly baked goods fills the air. Paige’s eyes scan the room, immediately finding Azzi at the counter, focused on a stack of receipts. Her heart skips a beat.

Paige shrugs off her hoodie, tossing it onto the back of a chair at an empty table by the window. She and Nika sit down, glancing over the breakfast menu. Paige tries to act casual, but Nika, ever observant, leans in.

“Calm yourself down and find something to get.” Nika pipes up.

“Shut up,” Paige mutters, burying her face in the menu.

Just then, Azzi glances up and notices them. Her expression softens, and she waves, a shy smile spreading across her face.

Paige beams back, her cheeks tinged pink as she waves back.

“Hi,” Azzi greets, approaching their table. Her soft voice makes Paige’s heart flutter.

“Hey,” Paige responds, a little too quickly.

“What can I get you guys?” Azzi asks, pulling out her notepad.

“I’ll have eggs and a croissant,” Nika says, glancing between Paige and Azzi with a knowing smirk.

“I’ll take some pancakes,” Paige says, handing Azzi the menu.

Azzi jots down their orders and looks up. “What would you like to drink?”

“Orange juice,” Nika answers.

“And—” Paige starts, but before she can finish, she and Nika both say in unison, “Coffee, black.”

They burst into laughter, and Paige sneaks a glance at Azzi, whose dimples appear as she smiles.

“Got it,” Azzi says, gathering the menus and walking back toward the counter.

Paige’s eyes linger on her retreating figure, her gaze drifting downward until Nika snaps her fingers in front of her face.

“Yo twin, is that the girl you keep talking about in your sleep?”

Paige’s head snaps toward Nika, her eyes wide. “What? In my sleep?”

Nika leans back, smirking. “Yeah, I heard you last night saying her name over and over again. ‘Azzi, Azzi,’” she mimics, feigning a dreamy voice.

Paige’s face flushes. “Shhh! I don’t—whatever, I just say random stuff when I’m sleeping.”

“Sure, sure,” Nika says, winking. “But you keep staring at her. And she keeps looking over here.”

Paige shrugs, slipping into her usual cocky demeanor. “Well, I mean, it’s me. Can you blame her?”

Nika rolls her eyes. “Cocky ass.”

A few moments later, Azzi returns with their food. She sets Nika’s plate down first.

“Thank you,” Nika says with a grin.

As Azzi places Paige’s plate in front of her, she hands her the coffee. But before Paige can grab it, another worker bumps into Azzi from behind, sending the coffee spilling onto Paige’s shirt. Azzi stumbles forward, gasping as she falls right into Paige’s lap.

“Yo!” Paige snaps, turning to the worker. “Can’t you watch where you’re walking? You just made her fall.”

The worker mumbles an apology and scurries off as Azzi scrambles to her feet, her face burning red.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Azzi stammers, her voice shaking.

Paige brushes it off, trying to calm her down. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. But I do need a new shirt now.”

Azzi looks stricken. “I—I think I have an extra one in the back. Come with me to the bathroom?”

Paige stands, turning to Nika, who is smirking like the Cheshire Cat.

“Shut up,” Paige warns, flipping her off as she follows Azzi.

In the bathroom, Azzi motions for Paige to wait while she fetches a shirt. As soon as she leaves, Paige peels off her stained hoodie, leaving her in a sports bra and sweats. She grabs a paper towel, wets it at the sink, and wipes the remaining coffee off her stomach.

When Azzi returns, she pauses for a moment, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly hands Paige a black t-shirt.

“Sorry again,” Azzi murmurs.

Paige grins as she pulls the shirt over her head. “You’re good. Thank you.” She smooths the fabric and gives a playful twirl. “See? Good as new.”

Azzi giggles, her dimples deepening.

Paige’s expression softens. “You have a really pretty smile.”

Azzi ducks her head, her cheeks flushed. “Thank you,” she says softly. “We should probably head back before my boss notices.”

“Lead the way, Miss Azzi,” Paige says, motioning dramatically toward the door.

As Paige returns to the table, Nika raises an eyebrow. “Everything good?” she asks, smirking.

“Shut up,” Paige mutters, sitting down.

Once they finish eating, Nika and Paige pack up to leave. As they’re about to walk out, Paige glances around, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Azzi. When she doesn’t see her, she sighs and heads for the door.

Just as she steps outside, she feels a light touch on her back. Turning, she finds Azzi standing there, holding a folded piece of paper.

“Hey,” Azzi says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to say sorry again about your shirt.”

“I told you, it’s okay,” Paige says, smiling. “Things happen. And I love my new shirt.”

Azzi smiles nervously, then holds out the paper. “Okay, um, don’t think this is weird, but it kinda is? but it’s also- anyway I wanted to give you this.”

Paige takes the paper and unfolds it, her eyes widening at the detailed sketch of herself.

“Woah,” she breathes.

Azzi shifts on her feet. “It’s okay if you don’t like it. I just did it for fun.”

Paige fakes a pout. “And here I thought you did it because you liked me.”

Azzi blinks, her cheeks flaming. “Well… that too,” she admits quietly.

Paige grins, her confidence swelling. “This is so good I could literally kiss you right now.”

Azzi’s voice drops to a whisper. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Paige steps closer, her hand cupping Azzi’s cheek as she leans in. Their lips meet, soft and tentative at first, before deepening into a kiss that leaves them both breathless.

When they pull apart, snowflakes drift around them, settling in their hair. Paige grins. “So, if I asked you on a date right now, would you sketch me again?”

Azzi laughs, her dimples showing. “Maybe.”

“Pretty please?” Paige pleads, pouting dramatically.

Azzi rolls her eyes playfully. “Fine fine. Since you’re begging.”

Azzi glances over Paige’s shoulder, spotting Nika in the distance, pumping her fist in the air and yelling, “Go gays!”

“Isn’t that your friend?” Azzi asks, raising an eyebrow.

Paige groans, dragging a hand down her face. “I don’t know her.”

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆  Chapter 8, A moment of bliss

Masterlist Word count: 3.5 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Author's note: Hi everyone. Enjoy Sylus being a switch/bottom for this one. He won't be for every chapter, but he's desperate and you've been waiting for this sooooo... I do want to remind everyone that this is my first time writing a smutty story. I hope it makes sense. <3

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, mentions of domestic abuse, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Mature content under the cut.

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

'And then he slept over,' you tell Zayne over the phone and quickly add, 'we just cuddled. It was nice.' He doesn't need to say anything for you to know he disapproves. Just wait, he'll tell you that you shouldn't invite men you don't know over to your apartment. Especially not types like Sylus. 

'That's nice. He deserves something good in his life.' "What?!" 'Are you still there?' You probably stayed silent with your jaw on the floor a little too long. Maybe you shouldn't be too surprised. When you showed Zayne a picture of Sylus he looked physically pained, but not in a fearful way. It was empathetic. 

'Yes, yes, I'm still here, sorry. I expected you to lecture me on inviting strange men into my apartment,' you admit. 

'I would, but I know this man. I think he's a good one,' Zayne admits, 'I'm glad you ran into him. Seems the type for you.' Fair enough. Zayne has listened to you whine about men often enough to be glad you're finally actually like one. There's a knock at your door and a rush of nerves goes through your system. 

'Oh, that must be him,' you tell Zayne, 'I'll call you later, okay? We still need to set a date for our annual trip.' 

'Sure. I'll talk to you later.' His voice sounds amused, almost like he's smiling through the phone. You feel a little flustered. He probably picked up on your tone change when you heard the knocks on the door. 

'Bye.' You put your phone in your pocket and walk towards the door, stopping in front of the hallway mirror to check yourself one last time. Outfit, comfy but cute. Hair, eh, good enough. Makeup, minimal but nice. You pull the door open to reveal Sylus in a barely buttoned black blouse and slacks. Now you feel awfully underdressed in your jeans. Are you sure you agreed on dinner and a movie at his place? This looks like he's taking you to a 3-star dining and rented the whole cinema. 

But, you should have known he was going to be dressed like that. After all, it was the same outfit he wore in his newest video. The one he posted today, earlier than he usually does. In a way, you feel like he did it to tease you. Especially since it wasn't all that erotic. It was just him sitting back against the headboard of his bed with a book in his hand, reading the most utterly horny smutty chapter you've ever heard in your damn life. It nearly made you fall off your chair running to your room to masturbate, but you decided against it. The night's still young after all. 

The chapter stuck with you though. Because it wasn't all that horny because of the actual sex happening, but more because of the love between the characters. To be desired so carnally, to be loved so openly, is a fucking turn on. 

'You look beautiful,' he notes, taking all of your thoughts away with one look. The way his eyes rake over you, you feel like you're a marble statue in a museum. Loved, admired, valued, but most of all, beautiful. A blush spreads on your cheeks. 

'Thank you. You look nice too.' 

'Just nice?' 

'Stunning.' The nerves don't calm down and you're not sure why. You've already had him in your bed, you kissed him, cuddled him, let him... Why are you blushing at the thought of it now? Is it because this is a proper date? It's not even that serious. It's just dinner and a movie at his place. 

'Ready?' He offers you his arm. You nod and place your hand on his forearm. It's awfully proper, but it does feel very nice to be treated so respectfully. 

'I have to say, I was expecting a kiss,' you admit. He grins and leans down to press a soft kiss on your lips. Nothing special, just a gentle greeting from a lover. 

A lover? No, more than that. It feels like home. Like you've been kissing his lips for years, but the spark is still there. Like this is how it's meant to be. Like he is completely and utterly in love with you, and you feel the same. 

Shit, you're in love. 

Sylus leads you into his apartment. The one time you were in there, you didn't really take in his decor. It's very much him. The whole place is made up of black, white, some dark wood tones, yet it still feels warm. It might be because he has taken a page out of your book with all the candles he's lit around the apartment. The dining table is set beautifully. There's red wine on the table already, along with a beautiful bouquet of deep red roses that look almost velvety. There's some music playing that feels slightly suggestive but not enough to comment on. 

'Wow, you really went all you,' you note. You feel his arm slip from your grasp and around your waist to pull you closer against him. He looks down at you with the lightest flicker of a big smile. 

'For you, I'd rearrange the stars if you asked me to. Now go sit down. Food will be ready in a bit.' 

Sylus stands behind the stove while you take a seat at the table. Of course, you take the seat across from the kitchen so you can watch him work. The way he slightly is swaying and softly humming along with the music is truly a vision to behold. A domestic vision. A vision of a future you'd like to live. 

He looks over his shoulder, seeing you leaning on your palm, elbow on the table, staring at him. You feel your cheeks heat up again but no urge to look away. Instead, you smile at him and he smiles back. He picks up the pan and walks over to the table, setting it down in the middle between the two plates.  

'Pasta alla Norma. Say when,' he says as he starts dishing out the food on your plate. You nod your head to him after a bit, having a very generous portion of pasta on your plate. He does the same for himself and grabs the wine to uncork it. All of it goes so smooth, so fluent, like every motion of his is perfected. 

And so is the food. It's not that special of a pasta dish but it's made so damn well. 'Is there anything you can't do,' you joke, 'I might just have to marry you right here and now.' His lips quirk into a smile. 

'Are you sure, sweetie? We barely know each other,' he teases back, 'what if I turn out to be a serial killer?' 

'Then I'd die a happy death.' Even though you are joking, somewhere in the back of your mind you know that it's true. You've never had a connection to anyone before like you have with him. It's new and exciting, but most of all it feels right. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

The dinner is mostly uneventful, except that Sylus got some sauce on his clothes. He claimed it was because he was admiring you, but you saw him struggle to get the bite on his fork properly. However, this one time you decided not to tease him because you do want to cuddle up to him during the movie. 

At least, that was the plan. Pure innocent cuddling.  

Seems Sylus has different plans. You're sitting leaned against him, knees pulled up onto his lap, his arm around you, but for about ten odd minutes now his free hand has been tracing figured on your thigh. Each passing moment he seems to get a little bit closer to your inner thigh. 

The teasing gets you hot and bothered, which only makes Sylus smirk. You don't have to look up at him to know. He moves his other hand from your shoulder to your waist, his thumb gently rubbing your skin so that your shirt starts riding up until you feel his touch on your skin. 

That's when he shoves his other hand between your thighs, so close to your core, pulling a gasp from your lips. As you smack your hand in front of your mouth and look up, you can already feel Sylus’ laugh rumbling through his chest. You won't stand for that shit. 

With one swift movement, you sit yourself on his lap. Hands gently draped over his shoulders; hips so close to his but not quite close enough. He hooks his hands under your thighs and pulls you right on top of his bulge. The friction makes you gasp, but you try to keep a straight face. 

'We're not watching the movie, are we,' he asks suggestively. You move your hands to the buttons of his shirt and start undoing them slowly, one by one. In response, his hands start roaming over your hips, your thighs, they grace your ass and lower back. You feel yourself start to grind against him ever so slightly. It's almost involuntarily and gets more intense when you see how much Sylus is blushing while trying to keep a straight face. 

'Don't know why you're asking me. You're the one who started it.' Your hands get to the bottom button that you can still see. Instead of undoing it, you splay your hands out over his stomach, exploring all the skin you've freed as you rake your nails over the lean muscles on his stomach. 

'Mmm, I know sweetie, but consent is sexy,' he groans, moving his head towards your shoulder, he presses a kiss under your ear, 'do I have your consent?' 

'You do,' you say breathlessly, moving your hands behind his neck, entangling your fingers in his hair as you grind on him a little harder. He gently bites the spot he just kissed as a reply and grips your hips roughly, guiding you over him while he bucks up at you. His breathing becomes labored as you two dry fuck like a bunch of horny teenagers. 

He moves his head to kiss your lips. It's all tongue and teeth, desperately chasing a high. Somewhere in your mind you had expected Sylus to be cool, calm, collected when it comes to sex, but seeing him this excited because of you gives you confidence the likes of which you have never experienced. 

Suddenly, he drops his head back to your shoulder and bites down as his movements become less rhythmic. He stops moving all together and looks up at you with big eyes, staring up at you like you're made of pure stardust. 

'Did you just-' 

'Yes.' 

'Because-' 

'Because an angel was riding me.' A grin spreads across your face. He came in his pants like a fucking teenager because of you. That's so fucking hot. If he starts praising you any more you might just become a nightmare to deal with. 

'Wanna do it again without clothes?' 

'More than you could ever imagine.' He grabs your ass and stands up with you in his arms. A yelp slips from your lips as you quickly grab his shoulders. There's that smirk again. Shit, this could be the switch Olympics at this point, that way that you keep flipping. 

Being in Sylus’ bedroom is slightly strange. You've seen it from all angels before, even though you've never been there before. He lays you down on his bed and you see yourself looking back on the ceiling. For a second, your mind is completely lost until you realize that there's mirrors on his ceiling. Strangely, that doesn't surprise you in the slightest. 

Then, you see Sylus taking off his shirt. You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch him as he undoes the button on his jeans. A devious idea pops into your head and you grab his hand to stop him.  

He watches you intensively as you switch places with him so he is seated at the edge of the bed. His eagerness to touch you has a hold on him but he's trying so hard to let you do whatever. You take his hands and guide them to the hem of your shirt. Then, you slide them up. He quickly catches on and helps you take your shirt off, revealing a beautiful black lace bra. 

'Shit,' he cusses under his breath, tossing your shirt somewhere in the corner. His hands move to your jeans and undo the button and zipper. One peek at your matching undies has him groaning. He helps you step out of your jeans and grabs your hips gently, pulling you towards him. You put your hands on either sides of his face. His eyes are on yours, but they keep flickering down to your lips while his thumbs gently rub your hips. 'All this for me?' 

'All for you.' Your voice comes out sultry, seductive. Nothing you've ever sounded like before. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you against him, and kisses you slowly. 

'You look beautiful,' he mumbles against your lips, drunk off your body and the lingering thought of being inside it. He finally peels himself off your body and switches sides with you again. 'Lay down. I'll be right back.' 

'Don't leave me,' you whine as you grab his hand. He stops for a second, physically restraining himself. 

'Condom,' he says and lets go of your hand, disappearing into the bathroom. You decide to sit on your knees in the middle of the bed, eagerly awaiting his return while you soak through your panties. It takes him less than a minute to come back, and when he does his jeans are already off. You eye his bulge with your mouth slightly agape. Sure, you had seen it before, but everything looks smaller on a phone screen. He catches the worry in your eyes as he puts one knee on the bed to be closer to you. 'We don't have to-' 

'Shut up,' you quip, 'I'll be fine. Just go slow.' There's that grin again. With one hand, he reaches behind you and unhooks your bra with ease, with the other he hands you the condom, then he guides you onto your back. You try to take off your bra as you lay, but he grabs your hand and guides it to his hair. For a second, you don't understand but then he dips his head down and starts kissing your chest, slowly making his way over your clothed nipple and kissing it, leaving a wet spot on the lace. With his other hand he pushes the straps off your shoulders.  

Within seconds you are reduces to a whimpering, moaning mess. Your legs spread to make room for him and he gratefully takes his place between them. Sylus finally grabs the bra and removes it, joining it with your shirt and pants on the floor. His hand returns to your breast quickly, his hand gently massaging it while his lips make their way down lower. 

Slowly but surely, he reaches your panties and places lingering kisses just above them. Your hips buck up towards him and you hear the rumble of his rich chuckle. 'Sweetie, you know what you do to me. I fear I might not survive if I spend all my time between your legs.' 

'And I fear I might not survive if you don't fuck me right now,' you groan, giving a firm thug on his hair. You hear him gasp and it goes straight to your pussy. You cuss under your breath as you look down at the smug smile he wears. His fingers hook under your panties and pull them off. They join your other clothing on the floor. 

'You're soaked,' he notes, satisfied. 

'And you're not inside me yet.' Another rumbling laugh as he reaches for his own boxers and pulls them off in a swift motion. Shit, he's big and... are those- 

'They'll feel good. Trust me,' he promises as he watches you look at the two piercings making up his frenum ladder. You reach out to touch it and he lets you. He shivers under your touch as you run your hand over the metal beats on the underside of his dick. 

'One of these days I'm going to make you fuck me raw,' you say, not really realizing what you're saying as you're completely enamored with his dick and piercings. 

'You can't say stuff like that. I'm trying to go slow,' he almost gasps for air with every word and snatches the condom from your hand to quickly roll it on. You watch him lean over you, one of his hands firmly planted next to your head, the other guiding his cock towards your entrance. 

'Fuck slow.' You wrap your legs around him, pulling him towards you. He slips inside easily but goddamn it's a fucking stretch to say the very least. All you can hear is a mixed chorus of groans and gasps. He doesn't move his hips as his eyes study your face, fearing the discomfort he sees might be too much for you. However, you could care less. You feel so incredibly full and ecstatic to be spending the night with him that you might just burst right now. You reach out for him, grabbing his shoulders to pull him down for a kiss. 

'Are you alright,' he asks, holding off the kiss until he has your ok, 'I'm all the way in.' 

'I'm fine. Just kiss me and please move. I need it so fucking bad,' you beg. He does as you say, crashing his lips on yours as he sets a painfully slow tempo to get you used to him. You feel like you're going to snap if he keeps this up. 'Please move faster.' Your words sound more like a moan. 

'Are you sure, sweetie? You seem to be enjoying it just fine.' He looks down at you with pure amusement. Seems he's in a mood. You quickly shove his arm and manage to turn him on his back, not that he puts up much of a fight. 

'I thought you wanted me on top,' you tease back, sheeting yourself on his dick in one motion before he can even respond. Sylus lets out a low groan, throwing his head back and clawing at your hips for something to hold on to. 'Are you going to be a good boy for me and let me ride you?' 

'What happens if I say no.' 

'You'll have to find out.' He nods in response and makes himself comfortable on the pillows. You take that as your go ahead and set an absolutely feral pace. He was right about those piercings. They feel amazing.  

The horniest gasp you've ever heard slips from Sylus’ lips as he turns bright red in the face. His hands move down to your thighs, nails digging into your skin. You'll certainly have bruises tomorrow. 

'Does that feel good,' you ask him as you lean down a little, planting your hands on his chest, nails raking over his pecs. 

'Yes,' he moans, looking absolutely beautifully drunk on you. You feel your high approaching, as does he from what you can tell. He's so close to unraveling and it's beautiful. You wish you could capture this moment, keep this feeling bottled up on your nightstand.  

His hands move back to your hips as he suddenly plants his heels against the mattress and starts trusting up into you, hitting new highs deep inside of you. Highs that no one has ever hit before. Highs that you want him to hit each and every day. He's addicting. Your whole body is tingling as you lean closer towards him, trying to keep up with his pace while you kiss him. He seems too focused to kiss you properly. It's a mess of spit, biting, teeth clanking, and it's so fucking hot. You lick down his neck as you feel your high approaching so fucking fast. 

And there it goes. You hear an animalistic groan next to you, feel it rumble through his chest as his motions become sloppier. Your body topples over the edge and in a moment of absolute bliss, to suppress the absolutely vile sounds you make, you bite down on his shoulder. Hard. Sylus moans at the pain, grabbing your ass to push your body down against him, holding you in place speared on his cock. 

Waves of pleasure shake through your body as Sylus presses sweet kisses on top of your head. His hips move ever so slightly, helping you ride it out. Your eyelids start feeling heavy, your body is aching, your pussy is clenching up. 

'Are you alright?' Sylus voice is different now. It sounds almost worried. You release his shoulder from your bite and prop yourself up on his chest. 

'Peachy,' you reply with a hazy smile, 'wanna take a nap and do it again in a few hours?' 

There goes that rumbling laugh of his again. His hands start rubbing your back as he leans up to peck your lips. It's such an innocent gesture if you don't think about the fact that his dick is still inside you, twitching with every single tiny movement you make. 'As much as I would like that. Let's give it a few more hours and do it again in the morning. Deal?' 

'Only if we take a shower together.' 

'I'll do you one better. I have a tub.' 

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[whateversawesome]

Spy x Family Ch. 110: Is Donovan Desmond a Mind Reader and Most Importantly, Is Twilight Doomed?

Nah.

Twilight isn't doomed, this isn't the end. Calm down, there's no need to panic about that.

Think about it for a second, if Donovan Desmond could read minds, the SSS would have arrested Twilight the minute he said bye to Desmond on that first meeting.

A few months ago, when we saw a young Donovan Desmond appear, I did a poll/analysis about whether or not he could read minds.

Even after the most recent chapter, my opinion is still the same: No, he can't.

Some people think that maybe he can get a glimpse into people's past. Although that would be a super awesome power (and it would be one hell of a plot), I don't think it's the case, because that wouldn't really tell him much and I don't think it would have affected him to the point of forcing him to distance himself from everyone.

I do have a theory about him. I've mentioned it before but here it is again:

I think he can tell when someone is lying.

Yup. That's it. A human lie detector. It made sense a few months ago, it makes even more sense now.

It fits his personality, his fixation with liars as a child, it also fits the theme of the whole story (everyone is a liar in sxf, everyone has something to hide) and most importantly, it fits his behavior.

We know that Donovan Desmond did not initiate war with Westalis. Chapman was Prime Minister when the war started and Desmond followed after him. There's a big chance war ended while Desmond was in power. If I'm not mistaken, the war has been over for about 10 years. I have the feeling that Desmond may have launched Project Apple as a means to protect peace.

And how would someone who is obsessed with lies do that? Of course, by wanting to know how others really think at all times.

My guess is that he volunteered himself to participate in the experiments, that would also explain the scars he has on each side of his head (which he didn't have as a child). It's unlikely he was a war veteran, because politicians and people in office never go into a battlefield, so he didn't get those scars in battle.

I think he really tried to obtain mindreading abilities and he failed, but not completely.

Imagine how it would be to have that awareness of people lying ALL THE TIME. How awful it must have been for him to get this power and realize than even his family, the people he felt closest to were lying to him. I think that's the reason why he isolated from everyone. It also fits what Melinda describe in the last chapter:

Let's look at that Desmond family dinner from that perspective. He cannot read minds but he can tell his wife is lying (because she's scared of him and doesn't want to be there!). It also makes sense that Demetrius keeps his mind blank because he suspects his father knows what he's thinking, so he's train himself to not think in front of others.

His behavior shows a person who has completely lost faith in humanity. He pushed everyone away because he didn't want any more lies, and to protect himself but, by doing this, he also ended up hurting his wife to such an extent that she doesn't recognize him anymore.

Since another theme of sxf is getting closer to and relying on people while forming bonds despite their masks and lies, I can totally see this could be Donovan's story, also parallel to Twilight's by the way: You can distance yourself from others to protect yourself but it'll be a lonely life.

Yes, Donovan is safe, guarded from everyone's lies, but he's also missing out on his family's love and also on the possibility of changing the world for the best.

Twilight is going in exactly the opposite direction of him. He's becoming alive, tearing those walls down, learning to rely on others, and loving his family.

Another Important Thing to Consider...

Everyone is so worried about Donovan Desmond possible mindreading powers that no one has mentioned one very important thing: Twilight's purpose for Operation Strix!

THIS is what WISE and Twilight really want to do: to find information that would allow them to remove people who seek war from power.

It's one hell of a strategy and a tough one for sure. And I agree; scandal, especially in such a conservative society like Ostania could do a lot of damage to politicians like Desmond, parties like the National Unity Party, and institutions like the SSS.

It wouldn't surprise me if at some point in the story it actually works. However, I don't think Westalis is as clean as we think. Food for thought.

[torturedtypewritersdept]

blue eyes + bruises - part five

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) the next chapter i spent literally so much time on and i can't wait to share it!!!!

—

Running. Rafe had always been inherently good at running. It was noticed for the first time in middle school by the track and field coach when he outran a bully. The talent was nurtured and he went on to be a track star in high school and college. It was a good skill for a surgeon to have in the midst of an emergency, the ability to run with dexterity and endurance and speed. At least that’s what Molly had convinced him of so she could ogle at his muscular thighs and chest at every track meet. God, did he miss her. The one thing he never thought he would have to run to is his girl, his wife, his molly, as she was wheeled into the emergency room. The words of the surgeon on her case played over and over in Rafe’s head – no matter where he was or what he was doing – the flashback of that night, of those words in that setting – about his wife – it was all too much, no matter how long she had been gone. 

“Rafe, I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.” 

Dr. Charles Richardson looked his colleague, his friend, in the eye with a somber gaze. It felt to Rafe like the look of someone after they had spent an entire afternoon reading Edgar Allen Poe. The look in Charles’ eye made him angry. It wasn’t because of the circumstances, it was because he knew what the look meant – it meant his wife was gone. It meant Charles was looking at him the way he looks at a patient’s family and Rafe, while he was her family, he knew the speech, he knew the words, he knew this world. He knew it was all bullshit.

“Don’t bullshit me, Charles. If my wife is dead, tell me she’s dead.”  

He growled. 

“I’m sorry, Rafe.” 

“You keep saying you’re sorry – say the fucking words. I need to hear you say the words. Not ‘I did everything I could’, not ‘I'm so sorry.’ You say the fucking words you coward.” 

“She’s gone, buddy. She’s gone.” 

—

Rafe was jolted out of his thoughts, out of the memory he had been encapsulated in for the last two years as you stirred awake. He sat there watching you, the steady rise and fall of your chest doing little to comfort him, though he knew it meant you were alive. His eyes moved from your sweet face to your leg that he had previously operated on, a black hinged brace lined it where it sat elevated against three pillows in an attempt to keep the swelling minimal. You looked so fragile, yet incredibly ethereal and soft and he couldn’t help but stare. It was impossible not to stare at something, someone that beautiful. To grow up that beautiful — he wondered what that was like as he sat there ogling at you. He pondered if he should let himself go there with you, if he could let himself feel the rush and the high of serotonin and dopamine that he clinically knew would be released if he was to allow himself to love again. Was he selfish for wanting to be happy? Was he chaos on two feet? Was he damnation on earth the way that he had convinced himself he was? What would become of you, if you were to love him? Would you wind up just like her? 

He forced his overactive brain to stop spinning once he noticed your eyes were open and he brushed his fingers against your forehead. 

“Hey, sweet girl. Welcome back.” 

He cooed, his fingers running up and down the bridge of your nose and across your eyebrows in the shape of a “T”. 

“Hi.” 

You croaked out, throat dry and begging for a source of water. Rafe obliged, rising to his feet as his brain recognized your desperation, hearing the desert within your windpipe and bringing the water up to your lips with a straw. 

“Suck slowly, okay?” 

He instructed, running his fingers through your hair slowly and you followed his directions. 

“How’s the pain?” 

He questioned with a softness that you were convinced was less about him being a good doctor and more about him just being who he was – just being a good person. 

“Like a five maybe. You’re still here?” 

You lied, not wanting to see the life leave his blue eyes when you told him otherwise. 

“That’s good. Yeah, I just wanted to sit with you for a while. Is that okay?” 

He smiled softly, questioning you.

“Of course it is. Can I go back to sleep? I mean, will you be here when I wake up if I do?” 

You questioned, a curiosity looming in your features, unsure why you would’ve stayed up if it meant more time with him.

“Absolutely, sweet girl. I’ll always be here.” 

He smiled, sitting next to you, rubbing soothing circles into the top of your head as you drifted off to sleep. You weren’t sure what it was, but you knew that he was telling the truth, that somehow he’d always be around.

—

You looked up at Rafe as he moved around you, fluffing the pillows behind your head, you sat at an incline in the bed again, trying desperately to reach the tv remote that sat on the table beside you. He had been talking – asking you questions about your day, as if you had done anything except lay here, again. But, all you could think about is the fact that your favorite movie was coming on tv in less than thirty minutes and it was a simple pleasure you were going to indulge yourself in. You shut your eyes tight, squeezing them against your eyelashes with the force of a thousand suns. Rafe must’ve noticed the pained expression on your face because before you could even ride out the wave of discomfort, he had the remote in his hands and he was kneeling in front of you, squatting on the balls of his feet.

“Hey, sweet girl, can you look at me?” 

He asked kindly and when the torment had subsided enough you blinked your eyes open, his piercing blue ones staring back into yours. 

“What is it, from 1-10? and don’t bullshit me this time.” 

His voice was soft but stern and you knew he meant business. 

“It’s a nine.” 

You said, grunting exasperatedly, frustrated and tired and sick – of – this. 

“Shit – sweetheart you can’t let it get that bad before you tell me and why are you putting yourself in more pain by reaching for this? You could’ve asked me, I’m right here.” 

He blurted out his questions in a brash way, waving the remote control in the air.

“My favorite movie is coming on, I just –, sorry, I’m just –” 

A whimper escaped your lips as you stuttered and Rafe moved toward you again, bringing your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your head up towards him as he took in the tears that lined your eyes. His heart broke at the sight. 

“Hey – I know, sweetheart. You don’t have to be sorry, I know you’re frustrated.” 

“How do you know how I feel?” 

You questioned him with a hint of attitude. In your mind, it didn’t matter how many people he had operated on with your same injuries, he hadn’t lived it and because of that fact, he didn’t understand. 

“Let me guess, you’re frustrated, annoyed, tired, sad and really wanting a shower?” 

He asked you with a light chuckle, smiling the Rafe Cameron smile as you looked up at him with bewildered eyes. 

“How could you possibly know any of that?” 

You questioned him, confused. Did he go through this, physically? Did this sweet, sweet man hurt the same way that you had?

“Because I’ve been where you are.” 

He stated very matter-of-factly and you were confused.

“You cracked your bones in a million places, too?” 

Had he been through this, too?

“No, but I’ve been in a situation that was eerily similar.” 

You were silent at his declaration, wondering what situation he was referring to. 

“I can’t do much for you about a shower, it’s only been three days since your surgery and with you in this much pain, I don’t want you up and moving. But I can have Jenni give you a sponge bath. Would you be up for that?” 

“Yes, please. That would – be amazing.” 

He nodded and gave you the Rafe Cameron smile again, leaning in and placing a kiss on your forehead. Jenni and another nurse stepped into the room with everything they needed, setting up a bucket of water, some hypoallergenic soap and a sponge on the rolling table that each hospital room came with. Once they had everything set up, Rafe stepped out, being the gentleman he was, he wanted you to have privacy and he definitely didn’t want the first time he saw you naked to be in a hospital bed. 

“He’s quite dreamy, isn’t he?” 

A nurse that stood beside Jenni spoke into the air and your breath faltered. Were you that obvious? If this blonde bimbo picked up it – he probably did too. How fucking embarassing. Rafe had left the room only moments ago with a promise to come check on you shortly, but you so desperately wished he would save you from this woman as she stood in front of you preparing to strip you bare and see the most intimate parts of you, though it felt like she already had. 

“He’s very nice to me.” 

You stated, nodding with a soft smile though your tone was a bit curt. Jenni’s pager went off, signaling another emergency in the hall. 

“Shit – I'll be right back.” 

She muttered, running out of the room in a hurried fashion. The other nurse, who’s name you couldn’t bring yourself to remember, looked at the door as Jenni exited through the threshold – you were sure your recollection, or lack thereof, had more to do with the meds and less to do with her and the shitty vibe she gave off. She worked diligently, pulling down the hospital gown, noting the stitches that lined your chest as she drug the sponge gently over your soft skin. 

“Don’t worry, he’ll get you better and forget you ever existed. He won’t give any of us nurses the time of day. Don’t get your hopes up. Besides – look at you.” 

She replied, rolling her eyes as the words left her mouth. ‘What a bitter bitch’, you thought. You bit your tongue for only a moment before deciding to fully send it – there was nothing she could do to you – you were already bedridden, recovering from surgery and would be for the next few months – there was nothing she could do to you. 

“You know, maybe Rafe hasn’t given you the time of day because your personality fucking sucks, just a thought.” 

You spoke nonchalantly and before she could respond, she laid down the sponge she was using to bathe you with on top of your chest, took off her gloves and dug her long, manicured finger into the incision site Rafe had just stitched up on your hip. Your yelp was so loud Rafe heard it from the hallway, where he stood at the nurse’s station, finishing off your surgical notes. Suddenly, the hammering in his chest overtook him and he rushed into your room to see if you were experiencing post-operative pain or if something else was wrong. What he never expected to see was a nurse, finger deep into a surgical incision and you – your sweet face with tears cascading down it as your eyes pleaded for him. 

“What the fuck are you doing to her?!” 

He growled, rushing to your side, pushing her to the side and grabbing gauze off the table next to your bed, immediately holding it to your hip to stop the bleeding. 

“I know, baby – I know it hurts. I’m sorry, I’m gonna fix it, okay?” 

He pulled the gauze away from your hip and Jenni rushed into the room, taking in the sight of your stitches that were fresh and clean and showing signs of healing only minutes ago and were now torn and bloody and frayed like the pages of an old book. 

“What the fuck happened, Rafe?” 

Jenni all but squealed, rummaging through drawers searching for more gauze and a suture kit. 

“F-f-fingers –” 

You choked out, crocodile tears rolling down your bright pink cheeks as your fists clenched the sheets beside you. 

“Sweet girl, we’re gonna fix it, okay?” 

“No, R-rafe!” 

“What do you mean, no, sweetheart? Talk to me.” 

“Can’t do it anymore, can’t keep getting fixed. I’m not a stuffed animal that you can just keep sewing back up until all the stuffing has fallen out.” 

He cooed, brushing the hair away from your forehead. 

“I know, baby – I know you’re tired. But, if we don’t fix it you’ll get an infection and you’ll get sick okay? We have to fix it, sweet girl.” 

You reluctantly nodded, letting him work, continuing to wail as each stitch was placed into your hip again, the skin irritated and sore and only adding to the discomfort that raked through your entire body. It was almost like Rafe knew when your breaths picked up and the weight of your new reality had fallen on your chest because he started asking questions – questions that you hadn’t answered – questions that no one had bothered to ask you in years. 

“So, what did you do before – I mean, I can only assume you don’t frequent hospitals very often? Unless you’re one of those crazy people. Are you one of those crazy people?” 

You threw your hand up to your mouth and let out a giggle. 

“You’re cute when you ramble, Rafe.” 

His lips turned up into a smirk. Your pain filled haze had you simply not caring about flirting with the man in front of you.

“Oh, so you think I’m cute?” 

He questioned, eyebrows furrowed, laughing as he checked the fluids that hung behind your bed. Your face was red, realizing what you had previously said to him once his words had reached your ears. You wished the bed you laid in would swallow you whole, scared to look this beautiful man in the eye and face rejection. There’s no way the feeling is reciprocated. 

“I mean, yeah. You’re an attractive guy, you’ve gotta know that.”

You stuttered out awkwardly and he simply giggled at the way you were shrinking into yourself, embarrassed at the compliment you had given him.

“Sweetheart, don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay, I’m flattered.” 

He smiled – the Rafe Cameron smile – rubbing circles into your hand as you took in the words that left his lips. 

He’s flattered. That’s what you say when you’re trying to let someone down easily. He doesn’t reciprocate and how could he? Just look at you. 

The assault on your heart at the mercy of your brain was interrupted quickly by Rafe’s voice again. 

“So, what did you do before? For work, I mean. You never answered my question.” 

“Okay, nosey. I’m – well – I was a high school English teacher.” 

You replied, with a sad smile. 

“What made you want to teach?” 

He asked, interested in everything that involved you.

“My younger sister, Ella has special needs and she wasn’t always treated fairly in the classroom; so I just wanted to make sure no child ever experienced that again.” 

“You know what that tells me?” 

He asked, a sly smile dancing across his face.

“What?” 

You wondered out loud.

“It tells me that you’re sweet and a good person and that you could’ve never deserved for this to happen.” 

“Thank you, Rafe –” 

He looked at you as tears fell down your face.

“Sweetheart, what can I do?” 

You didn’t answer him and your breaths only seem to quicken by the second and before Rafe could even think, he had kicked off his shoes and climbed in the bed with you, wrapping his arms around you tightly, one hand draping across your waist and one around the back of your head, pooling your hair in his hands. 

“Shh. It’s okay, baby. I’m so sorry.” 

He cooed. 

“I-I’m never gonna b-be the same am I? I-I’ll n-never b-be able to teach again.” 

You whimpered, crying into his chest. 

“Hey, sweet girl, don’t say that. I’m gonna do everything in my power to make sure you teach again, okay? I won’t let anyone take that away from you, ever.” 

His voice was soft and tender, afraid the wrong octave might rip you in half and you’d cease to exist right then and there. 

“Do you understand? I won’t let that happen.” 

This time he spoke with more force and you nodded your head reluctantly, unsure if you really believed him or not. 

“Tell me something to make me forget, Rafe – What made you want to become a doctor?” 

You questioned and he was uncomfortable, but the pleading look in your eyes made him answer anyway.

“It’s not a story full of glory, sweetheart. How about I tell you a better one, huh? How’s that sound?” 

He questioned, his hands working against your scalp like his life depended on it. 

“That sounds good.” 

You replied, somberly, wondering what kind of hurt this beautiful, sweet human being had experienced to make him so closed off about his own life. 

“Well – once upon a time, there was this doctor and he was a real asshole until this pretty girl walked into the hospital he worked at.” 

“What did she look like?” 

You questioned with curiosity-stricken features. He smiled at you, how he was the only one who got to see you like this. He couldn’t help but feel honored. 

“I think she looked a lot like you, sweetheart.” 

Your breath is caught in your throat at the fact that those words were coming from him. His hand motions continue against your scalp as you listen to his words, the euphoria that’s felt from the action is something you aren’t sure you’ve ever felt in your entire life. 

“I’m glad I found you, Rafe.” 

You mutter sleepily, listening to him continue the details of the stranger's beauty, who in his words, looked similar to you, before you promptly fell asleep.

“And I’m glad I found you, angel.” 

He whispers, continuing to rub soothing circles into your hair, letting you cuddle deeper into him and for the first time Rafe had felt warmth in someone that wasn’t Molly. He had felt warmth and goodness and it wasn’t from her and it simply scared him half to death. 

—

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[lilacxquartz]

BEYOND HELLFIRE

true form sukuna x f!reader

plot: back when you were still alive, sukuna had once surrendered a lifetime of peace for you. when he had you incarnated for his return, however, it all went wrong. —

themes: canon divergence, romance, angst, soft sukuna, sengoku period — cw: (upcoming) yandere, violence in next chapter, blood mentioned, potential manga spoilers

chapter 1 of 4 • next chapter > • masterlist • chapter directory • on ao3

Chapter 1. Kintsugi

A honeyed beam of light basked the long-spanning fields in a warm glow as the sun slowly set, gradually painting the skies into a darkening night. You stubbornly sat in front of your family home as the day grew to a close though, determined to see your responsibilities through.

At a glance, you supposed that the village in which you resided was just about peaceful enough, though, it was also unfortunate. Just like the many settlements that spanned the coast, it wasn’t without the swarming plagues that passed by, nor the earthquakes that shattered everything, crumbling what once was.

It was delicate—just like everything else.

Just like the all of those things you sought to fix.

Cracked pottery to be exact. The method was still new, especially around these parts, but you couldn’t keep your curious hands away—much to the annoyance of those asleep just inside. A couple of candles were lit to guide your way in addition to the moon that gradually climbed through the sky, lacing you with a cold, pale glow. Gold or silver mixed with lacquer, carefully painted in between the cracks of broken pottery—this was how you made your keep—something once broken, sold off to those higher born.

Just as you were finishing up, however, a deep voice interrupted your focus, causing you tut at the intrusion.

“Such a strange creature,” it pointed out, the low and masculine voice observed. You already knew who it was though, so you didn’t look up. Given the time of the day and the sudden appearance, it was likely the two-faced devil who had once spared you, here to bother you once more.

Ryomen Sukuna indeed stood around the corner of your home, lazily leaning his shoulder against the wall. He looked down at you with a faint curiosity, quietly watching you work on something he had long deemed pointless. This wasn’t the first interaction you had with him, though. After that night, the one in which he spared you, he started visiting you more often. Creeping along like a silent shadow—unassuming and in the background, but during more recent times, he had grown bolder—demanding his presence be acknowledged.

His reputation never once betrayed him, too, he was imposing, tall, bull-like, and terrifying, but you learned not to flinch because, for some reason, he wouldn’t even touch you.

“You said that the last time already,” you murmured with a steady tone, smoothing out the lacquer of the broken pot, letting it dry with your guided touch, “does what I do bother you that much?”

Sukuna scoffed, folding his arms as he regarded you with slight disdain, though, it wasn’t exactly hatred. No, he didn’t dislike you, that’s why he stuck around, clinging to your presence out of maybe… sheer curiosity. A strange creature that confused him greatly, making him feel things that he didn’t want to understand. “It’s just pointless, isn’t it?” he remarked as his eyes narrowed at the settling craft, “you’re saving something broken, only for it to shatter one day all the same.”

“Perhaps,” you acknowledged his sentiment, finally letting go of the pot, “but it’s sometimes interesting to see just where fixed things, that were once broken, will go, wouldn’t you say so?”

His composure momentarily stiffened, briefly reminded of how the two of you came to be. Sukuna wasn’t one for self-control, after all, a being driven by impulse and hedonistic will. One such village that you happened to be visiting on a supply run—got completely wiped out overnight with blood-soaked soil pooling on the streets. Not a single soul was spared, neither low born nor high born, except for you.

You remembered it so clearly; crossing the gaze of the man whose gaze was burning as deep a shade of crimson as the stained wooden paneling of the many massacred homes. You froze at the sight, meaning to turn away, but he caught up to you within a matter of a few, rumbling, quaking strides. From that moment on, he left you alive to spread the legend, though it was never a mercy to begin with.

(Perhaps a warning, then?)

(And yet, as the years passed you both by, the village you returned to remained standing and he had only settled nearby, never once painting your settlement the same bloodied shade.)

Sukuna thawed his guarded reflexive response into something smoother, almost betraying amusement in his expression. He then crouched right beside you so that he was nearly level with your eyes, taking a moment to lock into your stare. He schooled his features into something sharper, hiding the mockery that he disguised as care, hoping to tease you with his next parting words, “Perhaps, but the world isn’t so kind to the things that are destined to be weak. You shouldn’t prolong something that is doomed to be devoured.”

However, you took the statement seriously, throwing him off guard a little once more with a response that was undeniably… human.

“Even so, why not prolong a good thing?”

He half scoffed and for a long, good while, he simply said nothing, just fixing you a heavy, intense stare. His eyes lingered over yours, boring into your very soul before standing up at last, before taking a deep breath and turning away, leaving you alone with the now empty black sky with the moon hidden behind the clouds, with the candlelight put out from the passing breeze.

~~~

Sukuna visited you sooner that time than the last, unable to leave you fully alone. There was a pull from him that led towards you, no matter how much he tried to distance himself, always finding himself within your company again. This quickly would become the norm; with him looming in the background, slowly easing into the cracks of your life, watching on from the shadows as you went about living, only at seldom times interacting with you, if at all.

At best, he was an afterthought, a fleeting face that watched you from the sidelines.

Sometimes though, he would ask you questions about things that he couldn’t understand. Such as when you ground up medicine in a mortar and pestle to aid your parents, who had both fallen sick, bedridden, and decaying within the confines of the family home.

“Do you ever grow tired of this?”

You glanced up, not stopping what you were doing as you sat cross-legged on the ground just outside, gradually grinding down ingredients to form a fine paste. You considered the question, not seeing it to be a problem to help those close to you; it was the right thing to do, after all. Still, you supposed that for someone like Sukuna, he simply couldn’t see it that way, so you were more honest than how you would have been with somebody ordinary. “Sometimes,” you admitted with a weak smile, “but that’s just living, isn’t it? The young take care of the old, and that’s just how the cycle goes.”

“The cycle…” he murmured, imagining you for a moment being frail and old, with someone taking care of you. For the sake of his own selfishness, he would never let that occur, never let anyone get close to you, let alone make you a mother. To him, the cycle was oppressive and as such, he didn’t reply, instead watching you work in silence while his eyes brewed with a look you couldn’t quite get a read on.

From that moment on, his presence became more familiar, consistent too, and slowly, you started to grow all the less annoyed at him so as long as he didn’t bother you. It was a peculiar arrangement, if you were being quite honest, and his fixation with being at your side was something you never understood. For someone who thrived on violence and chaos to be tethered at the hip to someone who craved the mundane was an odd match in your eyes—but it worked.

Slowly, he also began to (albeit begrudgingly) help you, too, though he would never admit it directly. It was subtle things, like clearing the fallen branches from the decay that winter brought off your land and making sure that any whispers of bandits afoot would remain as mere rumours, never once letting them reach you. Things like keeping your stocks well supplied, or throwing a blanket over you when you fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, slowly learning the ways of what it meant to care, to burden yourself in the name of closeness.

And as time went on, the seasons passed and Sukuna’s calmness caused the village to thrive, entering a golden era, so as long as you were around. Still as cruel as ever, though, arrogant too, but he reigned himself in for your sake.

Or so you thought.

One night in particular, just as you were finishing up preparing your stock for the long week up ahead, Sukuna brought up a point, not as a threat, but as a reminder.

“I could tear this whole world apart,” he murmured, watching you stack repaired broken bowls adorned with your craft, “so easily, too.”

“I’m aware,” you replied as you concealed the pottery with a tattered cloth, just in case the wind would blow it all away overnight.

“I could destroy you, too,” he added, his voice low.

You hummed as you pushed open the door to your now-empty home. “I know.”

Sukuna paused, for once choosing to break his unspoken promise to leave you untouched, extending his calloused fingers to prop just below your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. How delicate were your features when looking back into the eyes of a monster, who in this pale light, looked more human than he could have ever been.

He scoffed. “And yet you stay.”

“And yet I stay,” you acknowledged.

From that point on, the months that once passed you both turned into years that spanned into decades. Sukuna, personally, never once aged a wrinkle nor a fine line with his features still honed into a marble smooth finish—but you did. The years had aged your face, decorating you with the evidence that you experienced a life well lived, free from the chaos he threatened to cause despite seeing it firsthand. It was funny in a bittersweet way with how these things worked, but you never once questioned it too much, enjoying this quiet sort of intimacy. You worked on your craft for years, slowly growing older, weaker, and frailer.

The world continued all the same though, with the once rolling fields overshadowed by cyclic caramelising beams of honey that painted it golden, though blurred in your waning vision. By the time you reached eighty, your sight was almost completely gone and yet, you still worked, driven by memory, and your innate will to tinker until you simply couldn’t.

Sukuna in turn, never once grew bored of watching you work, always having something to say that contradicted who he truly was. A lifetime of peace was what he quietly promised you, something that otherwise made him internally recoil, and yet, here he was, having made such a decision that he intended to see through until the very end of you.

“I never thought I could live a life like this,” he admitted, watching your weary fingers work away.

You huffed at him, waving a hand in the wrong direction. Your hearing was going too. You had developed somewhat of an attitude through the years, after all, since he never once touched you—hurt you—leaving you to quietly exist within his company for as long as possible, all because he was once curious.

“You chose this though, didn’t you?” you rasped out.

He took a moment to process your breathless tone, knitting his brows at just how feeble you sounded. “Not exactly,” he replied quietly, “I chose you.”

You didn’t reply to him, gulping a deep breath down, choosing to focus on continuing to mend the plate instead. A part of you never fought against the attention he paid you way back then out of both self-preservation for yourself, but also to your village. Letting him linger by your side ensured its survival, so you grew used to him, finding that by the end of it all, you actually enjoyed your time.

Although, time was finite, and it was growing to a close. You could feel it. Your body, once full of vigour felt drained, and you were certain that with the exhaustion that beckoned you from your core would be the last time you lay down; it would be the last time you closed your eyes and then, you would simply fade away.

Such a prediction wasn’t incorrect either as you quickly slipped away, leaving Sukuna just standing there, stilling at the moment as soon as it all connected. He clenched his jaw as he processed the grief, tightly swallowing what it meant for something to truly be gone, his fingers twitching as the rush of decades of pent-up impulses came surging forward.

An era of peace dissolved from the moment you took your last breath, finalised with the skies bleeding crimson, with the streets filling with blood, just like the very first time you saw him.

The village that you once loved, wounded, left to bleed out, left as nothing more than a scar in his memory of what once was.

~~~

The decades slipped by like wistful dreams too, somehow so muddied yet distinctively vibrant, emphasised by the blood that he spilled again and again. Fields of green grew straw-yellow, later barren and dried up. The people saw devastating catastrophes too; one after another, victims to a man close to a god, set out to destroy a world that mocked him with fleeting mortality.

And when it was finally for his time to go—when he set up that deal with the body hopper—he arranged to seal the deal for you too, just to make things interesting again. Call it being selfish, he didn’t care. Hedonistic indeed. The order of things couldn’t have been the only right way in the world and no matter what, he would bring you back, if even just to say goodbye, having missed the chance before.

Kenjaku did warn him though, that with a soul long dead, your memories would likely be gone since a withering soul was a weakened soul. Sukuna persisted though, not caring about the cost he had to pay to see it through.

After all, he would make you his again, no matter what he had to do.

this is part 4 of lilac’s bite sized jjk yandere nightmares

[deusvervewrites]

I would say it is weird that people think Midoriya is childishly naive when his very first phrase of the story is "not all men are created equal", when the first chapter has Midoriya going about how he was deluding himself, when he talks again and again how lucky and blessed he is, but we have already concluded Horikoshi needs some sledgehammers.

But yeah, people seem to look down in a way at empathy, when having empathy despite everything Midoriya has gone through shows his strength. He could have easily just have given up, but that isn't who Midoriya is.

I've touched on it before, and others have gone into far more detail about it, both in other media and in general, but there's a deceptively cruel undercurrent throughout an alarmingly vast percentage of media. A single, insidious idea that has been reused and recycled and repeated.

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

Think about that for a moment. Really, think about it. Why does the villain have to die? Think about all the works out there about the cycle of revenge. Think about all the works out there about how you should be kind to one another. Hell, just pick a Disney film. No matter how Heroic the hero. No matter how central mercy is to the theme. And yet.

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

Sometimes they dress it up fancy. A Villain rejects the offered hand only to accidentally kill themselves, as in Tarzan or countless others. Or their own scheme ends up killing them without the Hero doing it. Sometimes it is the hero, by some accident.

And it makes sense, right? The villains do horrible, awful things, and many of them show no signs of remorse or even stopping. Taking them out is for the best, right?

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

Why.

How can they not choke on the hypocrisy. How can they stand there and tell us that love and compassion and understanding will lead Darth Vader from the Dark Side but the Emperor needs a one-way trip down the reactor chute?

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

It's much cleaner, as a narrative. When the noble hero slays the evil king, there's never any depiction of the inevitable succession crisis that would ensue. Imagine having to... reform? From the worst possible version of yourself, a character in blood stepped in so far that, should they wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er? Having to try and do better? Even if they could never atone? Even if it could never be made right? But yet. But yet. You still have to live and do better?

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

Why?

I know. Help us all do I know that there are people out there that will not change. Are staunchly against changing. Would die before they ever had a second thought about their actions. But. But. They are still, first and foremost, people.

And yet.

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

WHY?

This world has no end of fools who mistake weakness for strength and boast their foolishness from the rooftops. People who think that kindness is a weakness and compassion a curse.

I can't help but wonder what this world could be if we all held each other with a bit more empathy.

Since recorded history began, people have sold their hearts for power. This weakness should not be celebrated. Power means nothing.

Midoriya's empathy is his greatest strength. It's the thing that makes him a Hero.

And I'm glad that there's been a trend lately in Shonen Jump towards empathic protagonists. The Promised Neverland. Demon Slayer. Dr. Stone. My Hero Academia. All of these works can't help but wonder what this world could be.

How are we meant to make the world better if we can't imagine a better world? How are we meant to dedicate our lives, knowing that perhaps that kind world is far away from here, that we may have to miss it because it's far beyond our years, if we think it's impossible?

WHY DOES THE VILLAIN HAVE TO DIE?

WHY IS IT EASIER TO SEE THE ENEMY THAN A PERSON?

WHO ARE YOU LETTING CONVINCE YOU THAT DEATH CAN BE DESERVED?

People act this way about Midoriya because that's how we are trained to experience media. He is, by the nature of his kindness, a subversion of expectations. The idea of treating the enemy like a person, understanding why they act the way they do, why they want to hurt, that's... difficult. It can be hard to remember in the face of human cruelty and depravity. But you must. If you can't understand then you can't prevent it. Yes, there are people who must be stopped. Yes, characters in fiction reflect this fact.

Even so.

To say that the villain must die, that is a justification of violence that has been used by real humans to cause real harm.

But it doesn't have to be that way.

As I said above, media has shifted recently. It's small, and I doubt it will be mainstream anytime soon, but the shift is there. Not just in shonen, but other places as well.

"We have a saying, my people. Don’t kill if you can wound, don’t wound if you can subdue, don’t subdue if you can pacify, and don’t raise your hand at all until you’ve first extended it."

-Wonder Woman, Gail Simone

[hollyhomburg]

Prey Animals (7)

—  Pairing: Poly Ot7, hoseok x Ot6, Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader,

—  Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, enemies to friends to lovers, Healing & Themes of trauma,

—  Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

—  Words: 4.7k

—  Warnings: Past Emotional abuse, past psychological abuse, referenced mistreatment, referenced sexual manipulation, breakups, brief homelessness, Hoseok has PTSD, hurt/comfort

—  Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! — 

(Yoongi, 1 year and 3 months ago)

Yoongi brings Hoseok home one day. Like a little kid would bring home a stray puppy. Apparently, they work together somewhere.

Namjoon and Jin and the others have long stopped asking what Yoongi does for work, used to his cagey answers. But it’s normal as far as beta’s go. Each of them gives Yoongi his space because they understand that all beta’s need it. They’ve all had the same sentiments shoved on them.

Don’t crowd him. At least he comes home. If it was something we needed to know, he’d tell us. He’ll tell you if you really want to know Koo.

Seokjin’s not really surprised that Yoongi does something with music now, that’s always been his first love (before Seokjin of course) he’s always saying this and that, someone showed me this song during work, do you mind if I play it? It’s stuck in my head. And now because of Hoseok- they know why. 

It’s easy to see how a person could get stuck in your head, the same way a favorite song might. Especially when it comes to Hoseok.

It’s the first time they learn of Yoongi’s occupation in nearly a year. The pack tries not to be jealous that Hoseok knows more about what their beta does during the day than they do. That he gets to spend more time with him. Hours and hours the same way that Seokjin used too.

They work at the same record store that gives Yoongi the freedom to make calls in the back (as long as he pays the owner off. As if that’s difficult at all. The owner is just like all the others, and bows to kiss Yoongi’s feet.)

But Hoseok doesn’t know that. Hoseok is just…Yoongi’s friend. Not his best friend yet but by far the person Yoongi likes the best outside of the pack. The only person who knows him that isn’t pack or family.

Hoseok is perplexed that the others don’t even know where Yoongi works. That he’s never shared it with them and that they don't talk about it. But Hoseok has never been in a pack with a beta- so it’s understandable that he doesn’t know.

It's Taehyung that explains it to him weeks later. "It's not that we don't want to know it's just- hyung likes his privacy and you know- he's a beta."

Beta. It's almost a dirty word. Hoseok doesn't like the way that Taehyung says it. Not when Yoongi makes him feel so clean. Hoseok doesn't have the best first impression of Teahyung in general but if Hoseok was being honest, it's mostly because he's jealous. 

Jealousy is hard to admit. Even more when you’re at your lowest.

The day Hoseok meets the rest of the pack is a bad one. Arguably the second worst day of Hoseok's life (the worst day will come a lot later, about 900,000 words from now but you can be patient, can’t you?).

Hoseok doesn’t know what he would have done if Yoongi hadn’t seen him crying on a street corner outside of their workplace. The young alpha looked wrecked- smoking a cigarette with shaking hands and bloodshot eyes. Holding his shoulders oh so carefully. His heart between them aching with fresh wounds. The kind that takes a lifetime to heal.

Yoongi can never leave anyone to wallow- and he gets the story from Hoseok over a warm cup of hot cocoa in the shitty break room. Eyeing the old telephone and begging it not to ring. And the whole time Hoseok feels like he’s drinking down the beta across from him.

Yoongi smells like hot cocoa, warm and comforting. Comfort that he needs desperately right now.

Under Yoongi’s gaze, Hoseok certainly feels like he’s the one being devoured or judged. Like the weighing of the hearts- will Hoseok be able to weigh enough to be loved? Or will Yoongi find him unsatisfactory just like his last pack? Unable to give enough. Undeserving of any and all affection. 

It takes Hoseok a long time to come clean about it, to tell Yoongi what his last pack has done to him. It takes even longer for the beta to understand. Years and years of friendship and love.

But the short answer comes sooner. Yoongi asks him why Hoseok’s pack kicked him out later that night when he’s curling up in the pack’s apartment. Because Hoseok didn’t have another place to stay and Yoongi wasn’t the type of friend to let Hoseok sleep in his car when they’ve got a perfectly good couch. It feels a bit too much like how Seokjin came into his life. But Yoongi keeps his parallels to himself.

Yoongi asks why Hoseok’s pack dumped him out of the blue. Yoongi honestly hasn’t seen one red flag in Hoseok, and Yoongi would know because he’s naturally suspicious of people.  

Jung Hoseok has always seemed nice enough. They’ve worked together for a few months now. Their banter over records and cd's and old sound systems that honestly weren't worth much is as good as his banter with Jin. His opinions on 90's rap are a little pedestrian sure, but they've both bonded over their mutual love of music quite a bit over the last few months. Enough to be friends. 

"In another life, I think I could have been a producer."

"Really? You strike me more as a dancer." Yoongi had rewarded him with a shitty impression of the worm and in turn, Hoseok had rewarded Yoongi with a bright laugh that's almost better than 99% of the music he's ever listened to.

Almost- he still thinks Stick Season is a perfect album. 

Hoseok is basically homeless. Functionally homeless. He’d be sleeping in his car tonight if it wasn’t for Yoongi. He’s a deadbeat alpha without a pack to call his own. A lone wolf if ever there was one. This morning, just this morning he’d woken up to the apartment empty. Everything but the bed gone. The walls vacant of pictures and the hallways silent of laughter. The lease expired; the keys handed over. Alone and on his own and without a place to sleep tonight.

But thankfully, not for long. Yoongi had found him crying in the rain outside of the record store, dragged him inside, and that was that.

Yoongi’s pack has been so kind to him. Kinder than he deserves, offering a place to stay after a short phone call. Yoongi’s phone lighting up across that small table in the breakroom with approval and invitation’s that Hoseok is almost too insecure to accept. Almost.

But he does need a place to stay.

Standing in the doorway of the pack’s apartment. He shouts apologies and thank you’s to anyone who will listen while two of Yoongi’s packmates help carry in his boxes and the other three finish clearing a corner of their spare bedroom for him. (Hoseok does deserve it, it's just his stupid and shitty internal monologue that has him convinced otherwise.)

They set him up in his own space down the hall from the pack’s bedroom. Half a reading room with a cot and the other side occupied by an honestly massive pile of clothes. Hoseok doesn’t mind- it smells good in here. Like their fresh-smelling fabric softener but also a little bit like the inside of a sweet shop with how sugary everyone smells. 

Not like his scent, his old pack mates had always told him he smelled like sugar burning, caramel, Heavy on the burn. 

Hoseok has maybe three plastic bins full of clothes to his name that act as a side table to the single bed. Apparently one of Yoongi’s alphas (the one who smells like cinnamon and pepper) likes to stay up late and read in here instead of keeping his pack mates up with a reading light. Ownership of this space has easily been transferred to Hoseok. They’d made this small space for him. Although the books were taken out regardless of Hoseok's mutable protests not to make a fuss for him. He didn’t need much space.

Hoseok can’t remember the alpha's name or remember if he’d even heard it. They’d called him darling so much that it might just as well have been his name. Jealousy chafes and Hoseok's never been a good enough alpha to receive that kind of affection. He’s never earned that kind of pet name. 

It had been a bit of a slap in the face to see the two omegas treat that alpha with such a kind hand, ruffling his head and loosening his tie for him. Being tactile with him in a way that Hoseok had only ever dared to dream about. Now he and Yoongi sit on the edge of the small bed that smells like that alpha; an appropriate distance away on the too-fluffy blanket and Hoseok- Hoseok just feels so touch starved it hurts.

He won’t get casual affection like the other alpha did, least of all from Yoongi. He’s the beta- the desirable one. Maybe in the next life he can be reborn as a beta, so he’ll get that easy affection. It seems only right when he’d been denied it so much in this life. Hoseok has had the hope burned out of him; he doesn’t have much faith in this this- that things could change enough to accommodate what he wants.

Yoongi’s eyes are warm in the half-light, so warm even if the question is so cold.

"Why did they dump you anyway?" 

Hoseok’s hands play with the blanket, thick and fluffy. “I don’t think they ever really wanted me, just an alpha.”

“All omega’s?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi sighs.

It’s hard to admit when Hoseok had tried so futilely to earn their love for so many years. But he vomits out the words now, begging Yoongi to understand. “As long as one of them wasn’t in heat they basically just ignored me. They’d make me go on suppressants for my rut so that I didn’t have them, but they were making me sick. When I told them I wanted to go off of them and spend my rut with them- they cut me off- and said no one would want to deal with an alpha who has ruts as bad as mine. That I was asking for too much.” The tremble in Hoseok’s hands is a near thing, covered by Yoongi’s and a reassuring squeeze. “I just wish they’d done it directly instead of leaving a note.”

Yoongi looks nearly breathless. “They didn’t have the balls to tell you to your face?”

“No, and remember, all omega’s.”

Yoongi rolls his tongue against the inside of his teeth, it feels…special, and important. Having someone angry on his behalf. Hoseok hasn’t had anyone angry for him and not at him in a long long time.

“What a bunch of assholes.”

A day ago, Hoseok would have defended them, now, he’s just silent.

Internally, Yoongi snorts and thinks that no one's ruts can be worse than Jimin’s. He still has bruises from the last time- hickeys shaped like a literal heart on his happy trail hidden by his thick sweater. But he has more pressing issues right now as he watches the gentle tears drift down Hoseok’s cheeks. Hoseok’s hands tighten on the coverlet.

“Hyung, was I? Was I asking for too much?”

Hoseok sees Yoongi’s jaw roll again, and the beta goes from smelling like chocolate to smelling like the ocean entirely, the sweetness dimming. Yoongi smells like the ocean at night when he's angry, salt and hidden brine. So at odds with his chocolate scent. So opposite. Beta's always smell a little despondent. Their happy and sad scents never match up. Hoseok’s almost sorry he asked.

“No Hobi. You weren’t asking for too much at all.”

Yoongi pulls Hoseok’s head to rest against his shoulder. Letting him stay there until Hoseok’s tears have dried and his sobs have become little hiccups.

That night Hoseok sees the two omegas kiss each of their pack mates on the forehead. They spend special time with the pack alpha. They linger in the hallway outside of the spare bedroom, door open because it’s not Hoseok’s door to close. Completely aware that he’s there, that he’s watching, and yet the pack alpha does nothing about it.

He- Namjoon- is a happy sandwich between the two omegas’, with a hand on either side of their waists. He smiles good-naturedly at Hobi from the doorway and tells him he can stay as long as he wants too.

Wants too, not needs. Namjoon is very careful with his words. Generous with them.

Hoseok doesn’t understand why they’re treating him so well. Namjoon’s alpha instincts must be screaming at him to not let a stranger get close to his omegas or his pups (he’s heard him, and his omega refer to the three youngest as such- it’s an affectionate title, similar to calling someone ‘baby’).

It would be natural for them to feel uncomfortable with a stranger in their den. But Hoseok never senses any distaste from Namjoon nor from the other two alphas- Taehyung (darling) and Jimin.

Hoseok hardly sleeps that night, tossing and turning, nose itching from all the new scents echoing from down the hall. He gives up sometime after 4 am, quieting the restlessness in his bones in the one way he knows how.

By being useful.

Namjoon usually wakes up first. He has to be at the hospital by 7 am for his shift and waking up early has always been difficult for the alpha. He almost walks into the wall, the thud resonating in their apartment. Blinking dimly when he looks at the spread stretched out before them on the dining room table tucked into the corner of the kitchen. Hoseok smiles and finishes wiping off the counters with a beaming smile.

He hopes it’s enough. 

“Good morning! I hope you don’t mind but I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you letting me sleep here- I’m not the best cook but breakfast is my-” Hoseok’s smile fades when he takes in Namjoon’s wide eyes. The alpha blinks away his sleepiness in the doorway. Before rubbing at his eyes like what he’s seeing can’t possibly be real. “Specialty…”

Hoseok is panicked, all but ringing his hands. “Of course you don’t like it- oh my god did I overstep? I’m sorry pack alpha I know this is your den I shouldn’t have been so-”

  Stupid . Hoseok had fucked up. Again. He’s barely been here for 18 hours. Must be some sort of record.

Before Namjoon can answer Seokjin stumbles out of the bedroom nearly hip-checking Namjoon. Not expecting the alpha to be just standing there dumbly. He’s pretty tall for an omega. Both of them a bit uncoordinated especially half asleep. Namjoon almost trips, Seokjin catches him. “Don’t bump into any more walls I’ve got you I’ll make coffee in a second just let me-” he blinks too, stopping. 

Hoseok has made Omurice and cinnamon toast with sugar. A plate of poached eggs and a bowl of cut bananas and strawberries. Creamy hollandaise sauce too. Pancake batter is in the works, the coffee pot already gurgling. Ready to be pipped out at request. And the dishes, the dishes are already done and on the drying rack. The table set for seven people.

Hoseok even had time to water Tae's plants. a plant collection that will nearly triple in size in the next few years because Namjoon won’t be able to resist giving them to Hobi. A gentle alpha. An alpha like him- that likes to see things grow. There will be bonsai trees and cyclamens and itty-bitty orchids from trader joes. Everything that grows will point to Hoseok. Like a sunflower tilting in the direction of the sun.

“I have a bit of a green thumb. I hope you don’t mind. I noticed your pithos was a bit dry.” Seokjin can’t help but look at Hoseok and think that taking care of things for someone is it’s own special type of flirting.

Dimly, Seokjin remembers last night, quiet questions over dinner, “do you like to cook Hoseok-shii?”

“Not really, I’m really good at making breakfast foods but everything else is sort of out of my depth omega-shii. If you want, I can do the dishes?”

“Please, call me Hyung, everyone else does, and the dishes can wait for the morning. You’ve had a tough day, you deserve some rest.”

The two of them blink and blink at Hoseok stunned that the alpha has made them a full breakfast. And did it so quietly. None of them are heavy sleepers (besides Yoongi and Jungkook) Namjoon doesn’t know how he didn’t hear anything. 

The alpha is quiet, stealthy almost. And Jin’s heart hurts when he thinks of why that might be. Even now, the alpha struggles to meet Jin’s eyes. He doesn’t have the same problem with meeting Namjoon’s.

Seokjin all but pushed the pack alpha in his direction.

A few minutes later Hoseok tries to hide his shy smile as Namjoon and Seokjin both let out simply pornographic moans at the taste of Hoseok’s food. Sitting on either side of him, Namjoon piles his plate high with food. “I'm only really good with breakfast food, I can’t make anything else.” But neither of them seems to hear him. Seokjin pouts down at Hoseok, a little bit of runny egg yellowing the corner of his mouth. Narrowing his eyes.

“Can we keep you?” 

Namjoon's words are muffled by the 6th pancake of the morning, hunched over his plate. "phfuck off he's phmine." 

Hoseok falls into their pack easily. It's not all romantic at first.

He walks with Tae home and helps Jimin with the laundry. He cooks breakfast and wears Seokjin’s apron and helps do the dishes. He likes being helpful. He goes on runs with Jungkook every morning to keep an eye on him- in case he has an episode while he’s running. He’s the only one who can really keep up with the youngest. He’s the one who has the idea of getting Jungkook a smartwatch to track his heart rate and therefore his seizures. All of them connect their phones to the app and check-in. Especially when they don’t want to bug Jungkook but still want to make sure their precious youngest omega is okay.

Even if Hoseok is wary of omegas in general given his history; he’d never let the younger suffer through it alone.

Yoongi’s only known Hoseok for a couple of months and still- He’s the jumpiest alpha that Yoongi’s ever met. He puts Jimin to shame (Jimin’s job keeps him so on edge, the tenseness that he only loosens when he comes home). Flinching especially around Seokjin and Jungkook. But every inch of him goes calm when Yoongi is in the room.

Yoongi had noticed the same thing in the record store.

The Flinching, the tentativeness, the fear that lurks underneath Hoseok’s skin. That only points to one thing. Hoseok checks his phone obsessively the first few weeks but then less as time goes on and Yoongi thinks good.

Good, they didn’t deserve you.

Hoseok never brings up any physical abuse that he might have suffered at the hands of his old packmates. Hoseok won't even say their names, still too trauma-ridden that all he can say is ‘this one’ or ‘that one’ or ‘the pack omega’ when Yoongi asks him about his old pack. Usually on their late-night drives when their hands tangle over the center console and Hoseok feels safe enough to talk about them. 

He'll feel safe enough to talk about them with the others too eventually, but it takes baby steps to incorporate him into the pack. He still can't even say their names and after the first few months as they fade from relevancy, Yoongi doesn’t ask.

All in all, that’s probably a good thing, Yoongi had half a mind to track them down and orchestrate some sort of accident for them otherwise. But if you could manage to hurt a person like Hoseok, as sunshiny and as genuinely good as he is, they must be twice the monsters that Yoongi is. It’s probably for the best that Hoseok never mentions them by name.

Names have weight.

At work, The record store owner’s beady eyes flicker from Yoongi to Hoseok. He notices when they start to come and go from the shop together. And he starts to sync their shifts. Anything to keep someone from the Min family happy. Maybe Yoongi would carry that good opinion back to his grandfather and lead to better business. Yoongi knows the owners motives and as much as he hates to admit it- It’s nice to lean into Hoseok on their walk to the subway, to sit close and share a pair of earbuds while they scroll through some YouTube videos.

He and Hoseok have a lot of the same interests. But as time goes on- Yoongi starts to get a little worried about Hoseok’s proximity to Yoongi’s job- the one he doesn’t talk about with anyone in his pack. Hoseok just assumes he does acquisitions and inventory for the store owner, which is why he’s constantly ducking into the backroom whenever the old phone rings.

It was the same way at the coffee shop, but Hoseok and Seokjin never knew to compare notes.

Sometimes the family needs more from him than a simple phone call, and Hoseok is too close to it now. It’s easy to lie even if Yoongi hates lying to his packmates. He tells Seokjin that he has to work and tells Hoseok that he doesn’t. And it’s easy to slip away. 

Usually, Yoongi finds himself at a hotel or to a different part of the city, far away from his packmates. Yoongi hates meeting in person but sometimes it can’t be avoided. Often times the rooms he enters are too fine and expensive for his tastes. Chandeliers dripping with diamonds and fine velvet interiors at odds with his ripped jeans and old band t-shirts that make him feel wholly out of place. 

Yoongi’s conducted these meetings in so many places, in the back of limousines, the back rooms of bars and clubs, a pool on top of the city's most expensive apartment complex, and even once an underground bunker. Anywhere and everywhere. It helps that most people are willing to travel for him- since Yoongi is firm on his decision to not leave his city.

The secretaries at this hotel eye his appearance like he’s nothing but street trash. Which, granted, he is. But he’s beta street trash and that makes all the difference.

“The reservation should be under Min.”

That gives them a start usually, a subtle widening of eyes, hands fumbling for the phone to call the hotel director.

“I take it they’re already expecting me?” 

On the days that Yoongi actually tends to his day job, he does a good job keeping an eye on the record store owner. If only because Hoseok has such a proximity to him. Yoongi’s noticed whenever the owner comes into work a lot more people frequent the store. And he’s seen him slip small bags of white powder into the sleeves of records before. But Yoongi knows how to keep quiet about that sort of thing. And Hoseok has so much on his plate that he never notices.

The rest of his pack doesn’t mind stepping around Hoseok when it’s clear he’s having a bad day. They come less frequently as time goes on and soon, he feels just as comfortable curling up with the omegas as he does with the alphas. But the adjustment is slow, he meets Jin’s eyes only sometimes. Sidesteps Jungkook’s teasing. Bows under the weight of Namjoon’s hand on his shoulder.

The adjustment is slow but noticeable. He play wrestles with Jimin, with Taehyung. Ducks his head under Jin’s fussing but doesn’t out right reject it. He takes the packed lunch and a sleepy scent mark without gnashing his teeth and growling. Far from it- he blushes.

But the first time they invite him into their nest Hoseok looks like they’ve just doused him with a bucket of icy water.

“I’ve never been in a nest before, at least not outside of a heat." Jungkook flinches, and Jin hisses. Hoseok pales before Jin’s had the chance to realize his mistake. But still, the border gets pushed back. And Hoseok waits. Taking one step closer than anther before he gently puts a knee on the border.

It hurts them that he sits in it- rim rod straight. Worried that he’s going to be booted out of it for messing up the edge or accidently spreading his scent in it. But Seokjin and Jungkook just surround him with their favorite nest-making items and sit chest-to-chest with him. Hoseok shivers with every easily given touch. Through his hair, over his shoulders, on his scent glands round and pudgy at his neck. Jungkook kisses into his mouth soft and sweet. 

“Love it when our nest smells like you Hoseokie.” 

It takes them a while- but eventually, he opens up to the others about his old pack. How poorly they treated him. He names specifics that have Jin hiding his mouth, that have Namjoon’s hands tightening on the back of the chairs. That make Jimin grit his teeth and growl. That have Tae folding his book and tossing it to the side in favor of pulling him in.

To them, he’d been an add-on- nothing special. The only alpha in a group of four female omegas.

Comparatively, their pack feels more balanced now with two alphas for each omega. When Jungkook and Seokjin’s heats eventually come he’s very happy to take the lowest spot in their hierarchy even though he’s the oldest alpha. He doesn’t know how to be a good alpha he says (though he’s never done anything wrong) Namjoon needs to show him.

But it’s just reassurance that Hoseok needs and that’s easily given. Hoseok is so honestly happy to please. 

He’s everything to them- the most special and desired person in their beds and in their lives. Jung Hoseok is the one to wake them up with coffee in the morning, and also the one who tries to say every night, “you don’t have to do this, really guys I’m good.” Even when they know having his back rubbed is his favorite way to fall asleep. They pet his hair until the touch-starved shivers subside into happy grumbles, the alpha version of an omega purr. They love how shivery and cutely hazy he gets when they shower him in affection.

Things are good, for a while- they're so so so good. Things get so good that Hoseok almost forgets.

Almost.

~-~

(Yoongi, 124 days before).

But someone always leaves, someone has to go first- it’s just the way things are.

They just never expected it to be Yoongi.

It happens when Yoongi least expects it, after a group date with the seven of them. It's probably the last truly warm day of the summer, warm enough that it has them all escaping on a Sunday to go to the ocean again- Hoseok's favorite place. The sand sticks to Yoongi's bare feet. His ankles are cold. Fall is just on the horizon. Not far now.

Yoongi's phone rings and he walks away from their big picnic blanket to take the call. Jimin’s laugh rings in his ears, almost drowning out the sound of the ocean and the person on the other side of the phone.

Hearing fluent unaccented Korean is so jarring through the speaker that Yoongi almost misses it. He's so used to Jimin's slight drawl, Seokjin's crisp syllables, the way that Taehyung sounds as he flips from English to Korean and back again words and grammar all tangled.

He'd forgotten what his family sounds like when they talk.

“Harabeoji is dead.”

Yoongi's blood goes cold, and his hands start to shake. They don’t say anything else before they hang up, but they don’t need to. The message is clear. Yoongi is well trained. Yoongi is a good pup, a good beta. He knows to come when called.

“What is it Yoongi? Is everything alright?” 

Yoongi schools his face into a neutral expression while his pulse roars in his ears as he turns around. “I’m perfectly fine Jinnie. Nothing is wrong.” He lies effortlessly. The words couldn’t be further from the truth. 

(Sometimes, people leave not because they want to- but because they have to).

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

- Honestly this is another chapter where the title??? Why am I even bothering with chapter titles??? I mean I love them but half of them are! Not right and I don’t know how to fix it (yet) I feel like this chapter being the bumblebee chapter is too on the nose. (edit, I did actually go back and change this just a few days later.)

- Reading this I’m reminded that everything is up to interpretation. And I think because we see this scene again a lot later in this story. this is what happened from Yoongi’s perspective and later- that’s from Hobi's pov you know?.Just trust me if you look at them next to each other it makes sense that this one you’re seeing right now is a biased view.

- Some of Hoseok’s chapter feels a little bit fanfictiony, but I don’t hate it, like I think that I’m trying to hit somewhere in the middle of a published book and a fanfic, it doesn’t need to be one or the other right now.

[munnmolads]

"Who are you?" - Rafayel's Nightly Stroll Theory/Headcanon

My thoughts about Rafayel's jabs about forgetting MC during Nightly stroll and theory on what might have happened before the game events. Spoilers for Nightly Stroll, Under Deepspace main story and Rafayel's story branch.

Recap from Nightly Stroll - Rafayel gets injured and gets into the hospital. He calls MC to visit him in the morning, and she arrives there late at night. Angry at her lateness, Rafayel pretends to forget MC.

Later in the story we learn that this is a jab at MC actually forgetting him. They met much earlier as kids and made a promise to meet again the spot next year.

Only later in the story branch MC gets to know about her forgetting Rafayel.

Something I want to point out with the branch relating to their meeting even if it's slightly off-topic, their meeting happened 14 years ago, so MC was around 7-8 years old, and Rafayel was 10. I believe MC is referring to the experiments that we can read more about "Sealed in Dust" World Underneath story, and her age during those experiments was specified in Under Deepspace Chapter 5-1. MC still doesn't know the full extent to her experiments and doesn't connect yet that those memory losses are related to them.

While Rafayel says that he didn't ACTUALLY wait for her, he still seemed to hope that they would meet again. As if this isn't heartbreaking enough, I have wondered one thing... How he knew MC truly forgot about him?

In main story chapter 2 when they meet "for the first time", he doesn't seem to be surprised about the fact that she doesn't recognize him. He seems like he already knows she has forgotten about him, and keeps up the facade of not knowing who she is. Only after chapter 7 he shows how bitter he is over it.

Then going back to him mentioning "settling a score with her"... While I feel that we might never know what that actually meant, I feel him "forgetting" MC back is one of his ways to get back at her, in a very specific way. In addition to Nightly Stroll, he very momentarily pretends to forget MC again because he's angry with her. If you don't log in for 30 days, you will get a new interaction with the guys in the cafe, he will say this:

(thanks to SORAII for uploading a video of it, I am way too obsessed with this game to do this)

While this moment is shorter than in Nightly Stroll, it has the similar theme: He asks who MC is, and mentions that she looks kind of familar. I don't know about in other languages, but in EN voiceover he also raises his pitch a teeny bit here, and in Nightly stroll it's obviously higher.

Here is where my theory/headcanon comes in; MC has said those words to him. They met again after MC forgot everything, and ironically, has forgotten about it. And he's mocking her for it.

I imagine Rafayel did approach her after finding her - being ecstatic that he finally found her, only to hear those words. It also makes sense considering how convoluded his methods of trying to involve himself into her life have been but still never approach her until the main story starts. Also, considering how bitter he is about it and how he sincerely wanted MC to use the bond to make him not to hold a grudge anymore.

And for her, she thought she just met some guy who mistook her for someone else.

[cybergoth1]

the evil eye | dick grayson x fem!yandere reader

synopsis: ❛❛detective (and vigilant by night) dick grayson turns to you as a last resort to solve a case involving a new serial killer terrorizing blüdhaven. after years paying for your crimes in the depths of arkham asylum, the last thing you expected was the police showing up at your door, desperate for your help. even more surprising is the overwhelming, unsettling and obsessive pull you start to feel toward him as you two work side by side❞.

warnings/tags: 18+, major dark themes, fem!reader, yandere tendencies, yandere!reader, reader's a ex criminal, ex serial killer, reader is the hannibal to dick's will graham. detective dick grayson is a warning. sexual content. mentions of killing, mentions of psychopathy and narcissism. mentions of time in arkham. gaslighting. reader literally killed people, be aware. inspired by hannibal and silence of the lambs. obsessive behavior. stalker!reader. batfamily hates you.

— ❛❛THE EVIL EYE'S CONTENT:

PROLOGUE: but you belong to me.

CHAPTER 01: you set my soul alight.

CHAPTER 02: she ate my heart and then she eat my brain.

UNLIKE MOST OF your fellow prisoners, you’d never actually been involved in a mass breakout. You’d usually overhear their elaborate escape plans over the awful prison food, nodding with a bored expression. Then, you’d simply be escorted back to your cell, spending the rest of your free time before lights out reading a dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice. You vaguely remembered when Harley Quinn’s voice suddenly grew unbearably loud, and the tempers of the other prisoners began flaring far beyond their usual levels. The unbearable noise seemed to slither through your brain like a slippery snake, making you roll your eyes. You saw them as little monkeys — unpolished and uneducated — acting impulsively with the few brain cells they had left in their heads. Good thing they don’t like you either. Most of them just saw you as a snobby bitch, looking down on them as if you weren’t just another miserable soul trapped in the abuses and horrors of Arkham Asylum.

“Hey, is it true that you killed a guy just because he stepped on your foot on the subway?” you heard Harley’s annoying voice again, this time interrupting your beloved sunbath. You sighed loudly and made the foolish decision to glance at her curious figure.

"That's fucking stupid" you said, closing your eyes again to feel the sun on your cold skin.

"Yes! That's what I told Ivy," she said cheerfully, her high pitched voice growing louder as she come closer to your body. You felt a persistent, almost irrational urge to strike her "you never killed for shallow reasons!" this makes you open your eyes and examine her closely. How could she possibly understand your motivations? Sometimes it was hard for you to wrapped your head around it. Harley felt your questioning gaze and shrugged.

"Oh, come on, I'm a psychiatrist. I have a Phd, for godsake".

"Yeah, I know".

"You always choose victims who offend your morals and your personal sense of justice. We should totally be friends".

You sigh loudly again. You wouldn’t call them victims — but none of it mattered anymore. Harley keeps rambling about your personality traits and psychological evaluations, like a true psychiatrist would, while you let your mind wander, staring at the other prisoners. They all look as beaten down as you did. You could still feel your busted lips aching after a guard punched you in the face for not taking your meds — you run your tongue over the wound, savoring the metallic taste.

"Hey, Quinn?"

"Hm?"

“When we’re out of here, look me up. We could go out for a drink.”

Twelve years, eight months, and twenty days. That's the total time you spent locked up, basically rooting, in Arkham Asylum since your pre-trial detention, watching the sun rise through a small square window while trying not to kill your annoying cellmates by suffocating them with pillows and dirty sheets. The guards were well aware of your tendencies and unpredictable behavior, making sure to threaten you at every possible moment.

"I killed people for less, you know that, right?" that was always enough to earn you a new torture session at the hands of the guards, you usually just call them dogs, and sometimes even the nurses when they were having a bad day. But, in the end, you always considered yourself strong, capable, and with an impenetrable mind. And you were, in fact, all of that and more — so much more that you endured the horrors of that place for over a decade as if it were a walk in the park. A long, agonizing, shitty walk in the park. And now you’re walking as a free woman after twelve years, feeling the wind on your face while clenching the cheap cigarette between your teeth. Almost free, at least. You're serving the rest of your sentence in a parole due to your impressive good behaviour.

Under certain negotiation and strict conditions, you were released two weeks ago, seizing the opportunity to finally disappear into anonymity in another city — unfortunately still close to Arkham. You had to settle for Blüdhaven during the legal arrangement, since you couldn’t leave New Jersey during your parole and you’d rather eat your own feet than spending another day in Gotham. You got yourself a small apartment in a horrible neighborhood, cheap enough to cover the rent with your new part-time job as a cashier. No one there cared enough to check your criminal record or ask why you always had to be home early, or why you occasionally had to report to the police station just to confirm you hadn’t left the state. That's the life.

“To new beginnings,” you said quietly, raising your glass to the empty living room before immediately downing the whiskey. It taste like dog piss — better than anything you had in prision.

The first four months of your newfound freedom were tainted by the bitter taste of mediocrity and a gnawing sense of inferiority every time your eyes fell on the crumbling walls of your apartment or the stack of papers from your public defender, detailing the suffocating limitations of your parole. The justice system had reduced you to a chained dog —muzzled, restrained, and stripped of dignity.

But you were destined for greatness — you felt it every time you looked in the mirror, every time you saw your own perfection. You were intelligent, strategic, and able to perceive what others could not. Those fortunate enough to be part of your life should be grateful for your words, your brilliant ideas, and the sheer privilege of your presence.

Thanks to your sharp intellect and keen observation, it didn’t take long for you to identify the patterns in your part-time job. Your boss, the supermarket manager, was a disgusting man who took pleasure in belittling his employees, particularly the young women. He exploited his position to satisfy his vile desires, acting as a reprehensible predator. Throughout your shift, you spent much of your time thinking of ways to rid the world of his vile presence. You believed you would be doing everyone a favor, even if they couldn’t understand it — few had the courage or capacity to do what was necessary for the greater good. That's why you existed. You were the necessary evil.

But since you needed the money, you chose a more effective approach than simply eliminating him. You manipulated him, exploiting his own immorality to gain what you desired — more perks and less work. You allowed him to believe that one day, if he keeps helping you out, you would let him take you to a cheap motel, or his car, and fuck you like a brainless fleshlight, just the way he wanted.

You kept him on edge, making him believe he was in control while portraying yourself as a vulnerable girl who needed an older man to take care of her — both emotionally and physically. You told countless lies, fabricating an abusive ex and a negligent father, allowing him to revel in his foolish fantasy of being needed by you — while he was nothing but a fun game to play. Now that you had your boss on a leash, desperate for you, he stopped bothering the other girls, too busy looking at your ass and tits every time you passed in front of him. You made a point to wear tighter pants and unbutton a few extra buttons on your uniform.

That's the necessary evil you belived so much.

Unfortunately, your peace of mind was short-lived. Just as you were beginning to earn enough money to continue your life in a less humiliating way, a knock at your door ushered in a reality you would have preferred to avoid. You rose from the couch, the cigarette still lit and clamped between your lips.

“I didn’t order anything,” you said, looking at the five cops crowded at your door. Two of them weren’t in uniform, only the large, shiny badges identifying them as part of the Blüdhaven Police Department. The only woman in the group looked at you with a blank expression, calling you by your last name before taking a step closer.

"I'm detective Montoya, this is my partner detective Grayson" she said pointing to the tall figure on her left side. When you finally looked at her partner, you felt the cigarette between your lips become flat under your force as you clenched your teeth tighter, struggling to suppress a sicking smile. Those were the bluest eyes you had ever seen, watching you warily, his black hair falling gracefully over his forehead. He stood behind Montoya, carefully analyzing your posture and movements. Smart, but you were smarter.

Montoya mentioned something about the police and FBI wanting to talk to you. You were too consumed by the overwhelming, nauseating feeling rising within you as you stared at the stunning man in front of you — it’s happening again. You fought to suppress a wild smirk, your pupils dilating as shivers ran up your spine. He looked back at you with those beautiful eyes, like a piece of the sky or even the ocean.

You already knew what to do.

“I guess one talk won’t hurt,” you said, then opened the door for them.

get in the mood: I. monster, II. bad romance, III. judas, IV. toxic, V. supermassive black hole, VI. teeth, VII. criminal, VIII. radar, IX. gimme more.

author's note: well, reader is fucking insane, but she's slaying ok. please let me know if you want to join the taglist.

[panomiels-box]

【project eden's garden rambles ≫ spoilers! ⚠︎】

so eva's name (and her murdering in chapter 1) is without a doubt a reference to the biblical figure eve.

and damon, which has its own resonance with the name adam, also has symbolism connecting him to the latter: the apple that falls into his hand in the op (probably reaching here but his hair/ahoge also loosely resembles the shape of an apple, at least to me), the snake on his tie.....

but i wonder if damon's name (and character) could also be a reference to the greek mythological figure damon from the story "damon and pythias"

interestingly, this greek legend exemplifies the ideal bond of friendship with sacrifice as a central theme. to quickly summarise it;

pythias is sentenced to death by the tyrannical dionysius i of syracuse for allegedly plotting against him. before getting executed, pythias requested settling some of his affairs first, which dionysius only agreed to because damon, pythias's friend, offered himself as a hostage during his absence. it was decided that if pythias didn't return in time for his execution, damon would be killed in his stead. the story has a good end as pythias does indeed return in time, and pleased by their formidable friendship, dionysius forgave and freed the two men.

now, to come back to p:eg - what i find super interesting with this is that it could foreshadow a crucial aspect of damon's character development. as we know, damon is an arrogant and direct person, but he still has a very real softness deep down within him. in fact, it's clearly shown to us that there isn't a need to dig much for it to shine through. his bond with the other characters is still rather surface level and not on good terms, but at some point, i do see him making allies/friends.

so knowing that about damon thus far, i can also see him eventually sacrificing himself in one way or another (not necessarily by dying) for one (or multiple) of his friends, like the greek mythology damon did.

personally, i think the friend he'd do that for is kai, but i'm biased lol. pythias doesn't resemble any of the other characters' names after all, so that's just me theorising away. therefore kai it is! (also i can't forget about that detail in the op...it has to be some kind of foreshadowing) however, it doesn't mean that act of sacrifice will end as miraculously well as the mythological story. there's just no way it can unfortunately - this is a danganronpa fangame at the end of the day :,)

something else regarding the damon and pythias story i also want to talk about, is the closeness between diana's and dionysius's names. not the closest match, but still interesting to note i think. it's fairly certain that diana will play an important role in the future, one that could potentially be antagonistic too.

perhaps similarly to dionysius, diana will give damon an ultimatum of sorts in which she has the upper hand. it'll be the reason for damon choosing to sacrifice himself and, depending on how things go, diana will either spare or kill him (or someone close to him). i say kill, but it doesn't necessarily have to be to that extent - betrayal is the key theme here.

let's also not forget that diana is the name of the roman goddess of the hunt (and lots of other things like childbirth, crossroads, the night, the moon..) equivalent to the goddess artemis of greek mythology. considering diana's last name venicia is of italian origin further enhances that relation too. plus, hunting being the goddess' original main association could imply that diana will 'hunt' someone eventually.

or, it could refer to how she could just be used for someone else's 'hunt' (which eva did) since the goddess diana is often viewed as a lucky symbol for hunters.

and, just to throw it out there - with desmond being the ultimate marksman and all (not to mention he has arrows on his back just like diana/artemis is almost always depicted with) if he becomes a blackened, it's possible diana will also play a key role in that murder case, whether passively or actively. i can see some kind of alliance (good or bad) forming between those two at some point - but hey, what do i know!

all in all, there're definitely hints to links and parallels between biblical/mythological figures and some characters of the p:eg's cast. i'm probably very, very off, especially since it's highly likely the devs will strive away from taking too much direct inspiration from biblical/mythological/animal motif stuff otherwise things could get too predictable. still, i think it's okay to point these things out and just have fun discussing it!

[thewebcomicsreview]

I know I'm a broken record on this, but Clown Corps is so consistent at going the little extra mile. There are all these little interlocking stories in this chapter involving McBell and her mentor Morgan, and all of them involve a girl getting a sticky bun from a vending machine. It's a small thing, not super obvious when you're reading live and there's days between this page, but it invites you to compare how Morgan is treating Debbie with how McBell's been treating the police chief's daughter, Dot Dougherty. Note also how similar their hair styles are, and that both their names start with D. They're not just a series of unrelated stories, there's a theme happening here, to be analyzed. This chapter is about the power of authority.

The main tension of Clown Corps' plot is that the titular Clown Corps are a superheroic team of crime-fighting clowns that were initially formed to help children in traumatic situations and that's slowly being transformed into a realistic police department, with all the real-world problems that entails.

And these stories are kind of examining that tension. The Corps is...let's call it an idealized version of what police should be, whereas the actual police represent actual police. The actual police hurt people. They prevent McBell from getting her sticky bun because she's "damaging public property". They kill people, and act in the interests of the wealthy against the people. Dot's dad is the police chief, and he gives her shrimp to eat even though she's allergic, which is both a joke and a theme.

Part of McBell's rebellion in this chapter is her struggling with the tension of the clown corps being part clown and part corps. Mustard, for as much of a mentor as she's been, represents the corps. She's from wealth, and advances her own interests by pulling poor girls out of their sticky buns. Whereas a true clown would be someone who protects the poor and weak, with laughter instead of violence.

[arivsxq]

Meddle about chapter 3

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Theme: strangers to lovers, angsty shit

Warnings: smut, hookup, fwb, mdni, maybe slow updates

Word count: 4,6k+

Songs: Meddle about-Chase Atlantic

Heartbeat-Childish Gambino

A/N: Wrote a longer chapter this time as a little apology for the few people who waited so long. Sorry again but I try to upload more regularly this year:)

The next morning, I was running late. Again. I'd hit snooze one too many times, and now I was shoving books into my bag with a granola bar hanging from my mouth, cursing my existence. I barely had time to throw on a hoodie and sneakers before rushing out the door. It was the second day in a row where I looked like a homeless person. If my parents saw me like this they would definitely scream their guts out.

By the time I got to campus, I was already exhausted. The philosophy lecture hall was halfway across campus, and I knew if I stopped for coffee, I'd be even later. So, against my better judgment, I powered through, speed-walking like my life depended on it.

And that's when it happened.

One second, I was focused on not tripping over my own feet. The next, I slammed right into someone, sending both of us stumbling back.

"Oh, shit—"

I barely had time to process before strong hands gripped my arms, steadying me before I could fall flat on my ass.

And of course. Of course.

It was Jungkook.

Because why wouldn't it be?

He looked down at me, eyebrows raised in amusement. "You good?"

I blinked up at him, momentarily thrown off by how close we were. His hoodie was slightly oversized, sleeves covering part of his hands, and his dark hair was tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed. The morning light caught on the two piercings on the corner of his lips, and—

Nope. Absolutely not.

I stepped back quickly, clearing my throat. "Yeah. Fine. Totally great."

He gave me a look, like he didn't quite believe me, but he didn't push it. Instead, he smirked. "Running late?"

I huffed, adjusting my bag. "What gave it away?"

"The fact that you almost knocked me and yourself unconscious."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please. You barely moved."

"Strong reflexes." He grinned. "Perks of being me."

I hated that I almost laughed.

Instead, I shook my head, moving past him. "I gotta go."

"Wait."

I paused, reluctantly turning back. "What?"

Jungkook tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning my face like he was debating something. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable yesterday," he said finally.

I blinked, caught off guard. "What?" I said again.

"The coffee thing." He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I wasn't trying to push anything. Just... wanted to talk."

Guilt twisted in my stomach. I let out a slow breath, suddenly feeling very aware of how awkward I'd made everything.

"I know," I admitted. "I just had..." I hesitated. "two cups of coffee"

Jungkook studied me for a second before nodding. "Okay."

That was it. Just okay. No guilt-tripping, no passive-aggressive remarks. Just acceptance. It threw me off more than anything else. Before I could say something else—what, I didn't even know—Jungkook took a step back. "I'll see you in class," he said, and then he walked away, leaving me standing there like an idiot.

"wait-"

He turns around with a questioning look on his face.

"What about later? I-I mean... after the lectures. Only if you have time, we don't need to-"

"yeah, sure" he smiles and disappears after.

Did I just stutter???

***

By the time I slipped into my seat next to Carla, the professor had already started scribbling something on the board. I tried to act casual like I hadn't just made an absolute fool of myself five minutes ago, but Carla's sharp gaze immediately landed on me.

"You're late," she whispered, leaning in.

"Tell me something I don't know," I muttered, pulling out my iPad.

Carla ignored my bad mood, her eyes narrowing. "Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"

I hesitated for half a second too long, and that was all she needed.

"Oh my god," she gasped, her voice a little too loud. "Is this about Jungkook?"

My entire body stiffened. "No," I lied instantly.

Carla's smirk grew. "So if I turn around right now, he's not gonna be looking at you?"

I refused to take the bait. "I don't care what he's doing."

Carla, being the absolute menace she was, twisted in her seat anyway. I heard her inhale sharply. "Oh. My. God."

I sighed. "Carla—"

"He's staring at you."

I groaned, dropping my forehead onto the desk. "I hate you."

Carla giggled. "Oh, babe, you love me."

I peeked up at her, only to find her grinning like she'd just won the lottery. I knew that look. It meant trouble.

"What did you do?" I whispered harshly.

"Nothing," she said, way too innocently. "I just think it's interesting that you rejected coffee yesterday but suddenly have plans after class today."

I glared at her. "How do you even know that?"

Carla rolled her eyes. "Please. I saw your face when you walked in. You look like someone who just did something completely out of character."

She wasn't wrong.

"Annnnddd I overheard Jungkook telling Namjoon"

I sighed, resigning myself to the fact that Carla would never let this go. "Fine. I might have... invited him to hang out."

Carla's jaw dropped. "You invited him? As in, willingly?"

"Would you keep your voice down?" I hissed, glancing around.

Carla's expression turned gleeful. "This is huge."

"It's really not."

"It is." She paused, then gasped. "Oh my god, do you like him?"

I choked. "Absolutely not."

Carla narrowed her eyes. "Liar."

"I literally just met him."

Carla smirked. "And yet, here we are."

I wanted to argue, but the professor shot us a pointed look, forcing Carla to finally shut up. I exhaled in relief and focused on the lecture, but my brain refused to cooperate. I was too aware of the fact that Jungkook was sitting just a few rows away.

And worse? I could feel him looking at me.

***

After class, I practically sprinted out of the lecture hall before Carla could interrogate me further. I had a break before my next class, and Jungkook was nowhere in sight. Maybe he'd forgotten about my invitation. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe—

"Hey."

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Spinning around, I found Jungkook standing there, looking amused.

"Jesus," I muttered, clutching my chest. "You need to stop sneaking up on me."

He raised an eyebrow. "I literally just walked up."

I huffed. "Whatever."

Jungkook chuckled, then nodded toward the campus café. "Still down?"

I hesitated. "For what?"

His lips twitched. "To hang out? You did invite me, remember?"

I internally cringed. "Right. Yeah. Sure."

Jungkook gave me an amused glance but didn't push it. We made our way to the café in comfortable silence, and I tried not to overthink the fact that I was willingly spending time with him.

Inside, we grabbed drinks, him, an iced Americano; me, a caramel latte, and found a spot near the window. I wrapped my hands around my cup, suddenly unsure what to say.

Jungkook beat me to it. "So, what's your deal?"

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He smirked. "You seem... hard to read."

I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "You act like you don't care, but I don't think that's true."

I stared at him. "That's a bold assumption."

Jungkook sipped his coffee, unfazed. "Am I wrong?"

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. Annoyingly, he wasn't. I did care. I just hated admitting it.

Instead, I deflected. "And what about you? What's your deal?"

Jungkook tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

I gestured vaguely. "You just randomly show up at my friends' dinner, stare at me in class, and now you're analyzing my personality like it's a project."

He smirked. "So you did notice me staring."

I groaned "I walked into that one."

Jungkook laughed, a soft, genuine sound that caught me off guard. When I looked up, he was watching me, his expression more serious than before.

"For real, though," he said, voice quieter. "I think you're interesting."

I swallowed. "You don't even know me."

"Not yet," he said simply.

I didn't have a response to that.

Jungkook didn't press me for one. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee like he had all the time in the world. I stared out the window, watching students hurry past, my thoughts a tangled mess.

"I think we would make great friends" he interrupts the silence.

I blinked at him, unsure if I had misheard. "Friends?"

Jungkook nodded, completely unfazed. "Yeah. You know, the normal kind. People who hang out, talk, maybe send each other stupid memes at 2 AM. Friends."

I squinted at him. "Do you usually pursue friendships with people who actively avoid you?"

He chuckled. "You haven't exactly been avoiding me."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he had a point. I could have ignored him and shut down every attempt he made to talk to me, but instead, here I was, sitting across from him, sharing coffee.

I sighed, stirring my drink absentmindedly. "You're persistent, I'll give you that."

"I prefer determined," he said, smirking.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Fine. Friends."

Jungkook raised his cup like he was toasting. "Friends."

We fell into an easy conversation after that. Turns out, he was surprisingly easy to talk to. He told me about his photography projects, his love for late-night drives, and his weirdly specific obsession with collecting vintage film cameras. In return, I told him about my art major, my stress over exams, and my terrible habit of procrastinating until the last possible second.

"So basically," Jungkook said, resting his chin on his palm, "we're both disasters in different ways."

I snorted. "Yeah, pretty much."

The time passed quicker than I expected. Before I knew it, my break was almost over, and I had to get to my next class. I glanced at the time and groaned. "I gotta go."

Jungkook stretched, standing up. "I'll walk with you."

I hesitated for a second but didn't protest. We stepped out of the café, the campus buzzing with students rushing to their next classes. The air was crisp, the sun casting long shadows across the pavement.

As we walked, Jungkook glanced at me. "So, do I get a contact name in your phone now? Or am I still 'Unknown Number'?"

I huffed a laugh, pulling out my phone. "Fine. But if you send me dumb memes at 2 AM, I'm blocking you."

Jungkook grinned, typing his number into my phone. "Noted."

I saved his contact, glancing at him. "Happy now?"

He grinned wider. "Very."

As we reached the building where my class was, I turned to him. "Guess I'll see you later."

"Yeah," he said, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. "Later."

I walked into the lecture hall, feeling oddly lighter than I had in days. Maybe having Jungkook around wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.

***

Who would've thought that four months later, Jungkook would be one of my closest friends? But here we were, sitting in his living room. My legs were stretched out over his, tangled in the most casual way, like we'd been doing this forever. His feet rested on the other end of the L-shaped couch, his laptop perched on his thighs as he absentmindedly scrolled through something.

The room was dimly lit, the only real light coming from the TV, playing some random movie neither of us were paying attention to. A forgotten bag of chips sat between us, and my half-empty iced coffee was precariously balanced on the armrest.

Jungkook suddenly let out a dramatic sigh, closing his laptop with a soft thud. "I'm so over this assignment."

Not even looking up from my phone I respond "You say that about every assignment."

"Because they all suck," he shot back, tossing his laptop onto the floor beside him. "Seriously, who thought writing an essay about 'the emotional depth of visual storytelling' was a good idea?"

"Uh, your professor?"

He gave me a flat look. "I refuse to acknowledge that man's existence."

I laughed, nudging his leg with my foot. "You just need a break. Wanna order food?"

Jungkook perked up instantly. "Now you're speaking my language."

"Pizza?"

"Obviously."

I reached for my phone to make a call but then I see a message from my father.

Father:"Were invited to dinner by the Kim's."

I roll my eyes. My thoughts get interrupted by Jungkook's voice calling me.

"What's with the eye-role?" he tries to tease.

"Just my father. We're invited for dinner by the Kim's" if my annoyed face doesn't tell what I think about the plans my voice definitely does.

"Which Kim's exactly?" Jungkook hesitates.

"Your smart ass friend Namjoon?"

"Oh these Kim's"

Jungkook smirked, leaning back into the couch. "So, what's the problem? Namjoon's cool."

I groaned, throwing my phone onto the coffee table. "Yeah, but his parents are the problem. And also mine but that's not the point. They're like... I don't know, fancy? Pretentious? The kind of people who judge you based on how well you hold a wine glass."

Jungkook chuckled. "So like your family"

"True but shut up"

He shrugged. "I mean, I could come as your emotional support."

I snorted. "Oh, sure. I'd love to see my father's face when I show up with you. That'd go over well."

"Hey, I can be classy." He sat up straighter, clearing his throat before saying in an exaggerated deep voice, "Good evening, Mr. Kim. A pleasure to see you again. The duck confit is simply exquisite."

I burst out laughing. "Oh my God, stop."

Jungkook grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "I'd fit right in."

"Yeah, until you start talking about video games or making fun of Namjoon's philosophy books."

"Fine, fine. But really, is it that bad?"

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "It's just... my dad has this weird thing about the Kim's. Mr. Kim and dad have a long history of business dealings and stuff. Like, they're this perfect family in his eyes, and I always feel like I have to act a certain way around them. You know, be 'proper' and 'respectable' or whatever. It's exhausting."

Jungkook nodded, his playful expression softening a little. "I get that. But hey, if it makes you feel any better, Namjoon's probably suffering through it too."

"He is" I sighed. "I know him since I was 6. This guy doesn't have a great poker face"

"You got this," Jungkook said, bumping his knee against mine. "And if it gets unbearable, just imagine them all in clown wigs. Helps me get through awkward situations."

"That explains a lot"

"Hey"

The rest of the evening passed in comfortable laziness. We ordered pizza, half-watched a movie, and talked about everything and nothing until it was late and I had to drag myself off the couch.

***

The moment I stepped into my walk-in closet at my parent's house, I knew I couldn't just throw on any outfit. My parents took these dinners seriously, and showing up in anything less than polished perfection was practically a crime in their eyes. So, instead of my usual laid-back style, I went for a sleek black dress, nothing too extravagant, but just enough to say, yes, I belong in this ridiculous world of power plays and social niceties. A pair of delicate diamond earrings and designer heels completed the look.

By the time I made it downstairs, my mother gave me an approving glance, my father barely looked up from his watch, and we were ushered into the car.

When we arrived at the Kim estate, a sprawling mansion that made even our home seem modest, I sighed inwardly. The moment we stepped through the grand entrance, Namjoon and his parents greeted us with the usual warmth laced with underlying expectations. My mother was already deep in conversation with Mrs. Kim about some charity gala, while my father and Mr. Kim exchanged firm handshakes and business talk.

And then, just as I was about to zone out, my phone buzzed in my clutch.

Jungkook: "How's the royal banquet?"

I bit back a smile and texted back.

Me: "Currently contemplating my existence between a five-course meal and a conversation about hedge funds."

Jungkook: "Sounds thrilling. You need a rescue?"

Me: "Always"

Jungkook: "I'll send a helicopter"

I rolled my eyes but felt strangely lighter. If nothing else, at least I had Jungkook's sarcasm to get me through the night. The dining room was an opulent display of wealth, all crystal chandeliers, gold-trimmed dinnerware, and a floral centerpiece so large it practically needed its own zip code. I took my designated seat between my mother and Namjoon, the latter offering a polite smile as I settled in. Across from me, his younger sister, Jihye, was already scrolling through her phone beneath the table, clearly just as thrilled to be here as I was.

"So," Mr. Kim started, his deep voice carrying over the soft clinking of silverware, "I hear the expansion in Singapore is progressing well."

My father nodded, always the composed businessman. "Yes, though we had to make some last-minute adjustments to accommodate new regulations. Nothing we can't handle."

I tuned out almost instantly. Business talk at these dinners was as predictable as the perfectly plated gourmet meals in front of us. The first course, a delicate amuse-bouche that looked more like art than food, was placed before me, and I forced myself to take a bite, despite my complete lack of appetite.

I stole a glance at Namjoon, who seemed equally unenthusiastic. Despite his reputation for being a genius, he was, at the core, still just a guy who had been shoved into this world whether he liked it or not.

"How's university treating you?" he asked, voice low enough that it didn't interrupt the ongoing corporate negotiations happening to our left.

"Oh, you know," I sighed, "thriving under capitalism, questioning my existence, the usual."

Namjoon chuckled. "Sounds about right. Jungkook keeping you entertained?"

I nearly choked on my water. I cleared my throat, trying to play it cool. "Why would you assume that?"

Namjoon arched a knowing brow. "Because he's Jungkook. And you're... you."

I narrowed my eyes. "Care to elaborate?"

Before he could, Mrs. Kim turned her attention toward me, her carefully poised smile in place. "Darling, your mother was telling me about your latest art project. How wonderful that you still find time for such creative pursuits."

My lips twitched. "Yes, still clinging to the last remnants of my soul."

My mother shot me a warning look, but Mrs. Kim merely laughed, as if I had said something utterly charming rather than laced with sarcasm.

"Well, creativity is important," she said smoothly, sipping her wine. "Though, of course, I'm sure you're also considering more... practical applications for the future."

There it was. The inevitable nudge toward "real-world" aspirations, the ones that involved boardrooms, mergers, and an existence carefully molded into the expectations of high society.

I didn't get the chance to respond before my phone buzzed in my lap again.

"Uh yeah but I actually want to presume art"

My mother lets out a fake laugh and says "Young people and their imagination. Of course, she has other plans for the future. After all, she is the heir of a million dollar company"

Bitch.

She shoots me one last look before I look at my phone.

Jungkook: "Tell me you've at least been served something edible."

Me: "If by edible, you mean a piece of asparagus decorated like a museum exhibit, then yes."

Jungkook: "Tragic. Need me to smuggle in a burger?"

Me: "Tempting. You'd get past security?"

Jungkook: "For you? I'd find a way."

A warmth spread through my chest, but before I could type a response, my mother's voice cut through my thoughts. "Darling, put your phone away. It's rude during dinner."

I bit back a sigh, slipping my phone back into my clutch and returning to my untouched plate. Across from me, Jihye smirked knowingly, clearly having caught on.

The second course arrived,some kind of seafood dish with a name too long to remember, and the conversation steered toward future prospects. Mr. Kim, ever the strategist, turned to Namjoon with a measured look.

"Have you given more thought to your role in the company after graduation?"

Namjoon's smile was tight. "Of course. Still weighing my options."

"Options?" Mr. Kim repeated, clearly unimpressed. "Your path has always been clear."

I didn't miss the way Namjoon's grip tightened around his fork. I felt a sudden, sharp pang of sympathy. The weight of expectation in a family like this wasn't just heavy, it was suffocating.

"I think Namjoon should have the space to explore his interests," I interjected, drawing attention back to me. "After all, wouldn't you rather have a CEO who actually enjoys his work?"

There was a beat of silence before Mrs. Kim gave a tight-lipped smile. "Of course, dear. But responsibility is a privilege, not a choice."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "Right. How could I forget?"

"Y/N!" My father warns me but I could care less.

As the courses continued, so did the thinly veiled expectations, the strategic questions, the careful way my mother kept nudging me to say the right things, to act the part.

By the time dessert arrived, I was more than ready to escape.

Another buzz.

Jungkook: "Still alive?"

Me: "Barely. Might fake an emergency. Thoughts?"

Jungkook: "Dramatic fainting. Classic. I'll give you a 9/10 if you commit to it."

I stifled a laugh, but Namjoon caught it, shaking his head in amusement. "Tell Jungkook he's a bad influence."

"Oh, he already knows."

As coffee was served, my mother turned to me with a pointed look. "We'll be attending the charity gala next weekend. You'll be expected to join...and your manners too."

I sighed internally but nodded. "Of course. Wouldn't miss it."

She smiled, satisfied, and returned to her conversation.

Jungkook: "What are your plans for next weekend?"

Me: "Apparently, I'm being paraded at a gala."

Jungkook: "Sounds fancy."

Me: "Sounds exhausting."

Jungkook: "I could always crash it."

I hesitated for a split second.

Me: "You wouldn't."

Jungkook: "Oh, baby. Don't challenge me."

I stared at the message, something dangerously close to excitement bubbling under my ribs.

Jungkook at a high-society gala? Now that would be a sight to see. As the evening dragged on, my patience wore thin. Just as I thought I might actually lose my mind listening to another story about market trends, Mr. Kim turned to me.

"Have you given any thought to internships? I know your father has some excellent connections. It would be a wonderful opportunity."

I hesitated. "I have some ideas, but nothing concrete yet."

My father, who had been mostly silent on my personal matters, decided now was the time to weigh in. "She needs to start focusing on more stable prospects. The art thing is fine as a hobby, but—"

There it was. The inevitable dismissal of my interests, as if they were just a passing phase. I clenched my jaw, forcing a polite nod instead of the biting retort I wanted to unleash.

Before I could say anything, Namjoon smoothly interjected, "Actually, Jungkook was telling me about an artist he's been following lately. Some really impressive work."

I shot him a look of gratitude. Namjoon, ever the diplomat, had just steered the conversation away from my impending existential crisis.

Mr. Kim hummed in approval. "Ah, Jungkook. Always an interesting one."

My mother's lips pursed ever so slightly. She wasn't the biggest fan of Jungkook, something about him being too carefree, too unpredictable. The irony, considering how much they admired Namjoon, who happened to be one of Jungkook's closest friends.

As the night wore on, I found myself feeling less suffocated, despite the setting. Maybe it was Namjoon's subtle interventions, or maybe it was knowing that, on the other side of my phone screen, Jungkook was keeping me grounded in my own way.

By the time we finally left the Kim estate, I let out a breath of relief. The car ride home was silent, my parents satisfied with another successful evening of networking but also angry at my behavior.

As soon as I was back in my room, I collapsed onto my bed and checked my phone again.

Jungkook: "You made it out?"

Me: "Against all odds."

Jungkook: "Proud of you. Wanna celebrate your survival with a coffe at my place"

I hesitated for a moment, then smiled.

Me: "Fine. But only if you make breakfast too"

Jungkook: "Why? We can buy something on the campus"

Me:"okay see you in class"

Jungkook:"Ugh fine, I'll make breakfast. Anything for the Chanel princess"

I set my phone down, feeling a little lighter. Maybe these dinners would never be easy, but at least I had people who made them bearable.

***

The next morning, I woke up to the soft ping of my phone, signaling a message from Jungkook.

Jungkook: "I'm up. Suffering. Hope you're happy."

I grinned, stretching lazily before replying.

Me: "Very. Now get to work, chef."

Jungkook: "Bossy. I like it."

Shaking my head, I rolled out of bed and grabbed a change of clothes before heading to his apartment. I had barely knocked when the door swung open, revealing Jungkook in an oversized hoodie, his hair still messily tousled from sleep.

"Morning, Chanel Princess," he greeted, stepping aside to let me in.

"Morning, Michelin-star chef," I smirked, peering over his shoulder. "Where's my gourmet breakfast?"

Jungkook scoffed, leading me into the kitchen where a pan of slightly burnt pancakes sat on the stove. "Listen, I never promised quality."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're lucky I'm too hungry to care."

As I grabbed a plate, he leaned against the counter, watching me with an easy smile. "So, how bad was the aftermath?"

I sighed, stabbing at my pancake. "Silent treatment from my parents. My mother is convinced I'll grow out of my 'art phase' and my dad thinks I need a reality check."

Jungkook frowned. "And by reality check, they mean...?"

"Corporate servitude." I rolled my eyes. "Yay, nepotism."

He snorted. "Yeah, you don't really scream 'corporate drone' to me."

I pointed my fork at him. "Exactly! But try telling them that."

There was a beat of silence before Jungkook said, "You know, you don't actually have to do what they want."

I looked up, meeting his gaze. It was such a simple statement, yet it held so much weight.

"Yeah, well, try convincing them of that."

Jungkook shook his head. "No, I mean it. You're the one who has to live with your choices. Not them."

I swallowed, unsure how to respond. Because as much as I wanted to believe that, the pressure was real. The expectations, the responsibilities, the constant reminder that I had a role to play in this carefully curated world my parents had built.

Jungkook must've sensed my hesitation because he reached across the counter, lightly tapping my wrist. "Hey. You have options. You just have to be brave enough to take them."

I stared at him, something warm blooming in my chest. He always made things sound so simple, so possible.

Before I could overthink it, I sighed dramatically. "It's not that easy."

Jungkook grinned. "Oh come on. If your parents disown you, you can sleep on my couch"

I scoffed. "I think I've suffered enough for your amusement."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Nah, you keep things interesting."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't fight the smile tugging at my lips. For now, the weight of last night felt a little lighter, and the future was a little less suffocating. At least I had people like Jungkook in my corner.

[unintentionaloracle]

Cause For Concern [Fic]

(The Bloodline Doesn't Know Part 3 of 4)

I know we just ate this Raw, but I got a new chapter in this (unintended) saga to drop! And it's gonna be a painful one, so buckle up! (With a little surprise I won't spoil in the tags 🤭)

Summary: Sami has to come clean to Kevin. He knows this. However, turmoil in The Bloodline could make it harder...and worse...

Sami woke up gently, firmly held by Kevin's strong arms. Kevin's foot gently caressed his. He felt Kevin nuzzle into his neck. At first, Sami settled in, content and happy to be cuddled by the man he loved. “Mmm. G’morning, sexy...” He said, softly, caressing his forearm.

“Morning, sexy...” He responded.

The warmth couldn't last, however. He remembered what he had to do, and it hit like water to fire. “Hey, Kev? Remember what I told you last night?”

“Mmm...that you had something important to talk about?” Kevin asked.

“Yeah,” Sami said, shifting around. “I have to tell you this because I love you. Before this continues.” He said, placing his hand on Kevin's heart gently.

“Oh my God...are you pregnant?” Kevin asked.

Sami couldn't tell if it was joking or not, with his tone and him being Kevin. “No? I can't?” He huffed. “Kevin, I'm being serious.”

Kevin shook his head. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

Sami took a deep breath. “Kevin, I've been–”

Sami's phone rang. It was Jimmy's theme song. He groaned as he reached for it. Now is not the time, Jimmy!

Kevin gently tried to stop him from picking up the phone. “Ignore him. Just tell me what you gotta say, Sami,” he said, looking at him so softly it broke Sami's heart.

“I can't. He'll just keep calling and I'll never get a word in...” Sami said with a groan. He took a deep breath, put on his happy face, and picked up. “What's up, my dawg? Why are you calling so early?” He asked in what could only be described as his “customer service voice”.

“Uce, you gotta get down to the arena. Heyman says Roman's calling an emergency family meeting. Something about betrayal.”

Sami could feel the color drain from his face. “Right away?”

“Right away.”

Sami sighed, “Okay.” He hung up and started getting dressed (making sure he grabbed one of his Bloodline shirts) before turning his attention to Kevin. “I'm sorry, there's something I gotta do first. It's Roman. Sounds like he'll kill me if I'm not there.”

Or if I am there...

Kevin got dressed, too, then grabbed his keys. “I'll drive you. Hell, I'll wait in the parking lot for you, too. As backup if it goes bad.”

“Kevin, that's sweet, but...”

Kevin gently shushed Sami before caressing his face. “Whatever this is, it's got you terrified. You've been there for me these past few weeks, Sami. Let me be there for you this time, my guardian angel,” he said before giving him a kiss on the forehead.

The words “guardian angel” felt like barbed wire. There was no dissuading him. And it sounded like he'd have to diffuse Roman before he could talk to Kevin. “Okay, you nostalgic sap,” he teased.

Kevin chuckled and kissed his cheek repeatedly. Playfully. Sami couldn't help but laugh. “Stop!” He playfully protested. “I really have to go!”

“Okay, then let's go.”

---

Sami was the second to arrive at the arena lobby, after Jimmy. Roman was apparently running fashionably late to his own emergency meeting. “Any idea what it's about?”

“Probably me,” Jey sighed as he arrived at the scene. His hair was still messy, at first glance from waking up. But judging by the very visible lipstick stains on his face and neck, he didn't get much sleep at all.

Sami grinned. “You and Rhea!?”

Jey started to swagger over to Jimmy and Sami, a goofy grin on his face. “Yeah! Ya boy went to Rhea’s hotel room after you left. To talk to her face-to-face,”

“Yeet!” Sami said, almost on compulsion.

“We got our mack on,”

“Yeet!”

“She told me what'd been eating her,”

“Yeet!”

“I told her she’s got me: heart, body, and soul...”

“YEET!” Sami said alongside Jimmy, who was also getting swept up in it, now.

“We made it official!”

“YEET!”

“And–”

“And now you're going to destroy the family, again. Because of her. For shame.” Heyman interrupted, looking like a stern parent. “And after everything Roman has done for you.”

“...Yeet?” Jimmy said awkwardly.

Sami looked over at Jey, who'd seemed to somewhat shut down. “Jey...”

“I just...”

Roman burst on the scene, grabbing Jey by the collar. “You're just gonna quit The Bloodline!? Over the phone!?”

“Uce!” Sami and Jimmy said in unison.

Oh, come on, Jey! Sami thought. He hadn't expected Jey to beat him to the punch, let alone do it so stupidly.

“I mean, I wasn't sure if I'd get a hold of you face to face, Roman...” Jey said. “And I need to! I love her.”

“You love her enough to betray your family?”

“I’m not betraying the family! And it's not just that! I just...I got things I wanna do on my own, uce! I wanna beat Gunther! Become a big dog in my own right! We helped you get the ula fala back and take down Solo. You're the One True Tribal Chief and nobody can take it away from you. Now it's time we get to do our own thing!” Jey turned to Jimmy. “You had big plans, too. Right, Big Jim?”

Jimmy shifted uncomfortably. “I mean...I am the only one of us who hasn't held his own solo belt...”

Roman let go of Jey. “And you can't accomplish that with all of us, together? Helping you out?”

“‘Together’!?” Sami interjected. “‘Helping us out?’ You're hardly around! And you've never helped us with anything! Where were you when Solo sabotaged Jey's title match? When Drew was harassing all of us? When Jimmy lost MONTHS of his career to Solo? We’ve all helped you more times than I can count, but I can barely count when you've done the same!”

Sami covered his mouth. His pulse rushed and pounded in his ear. So much for de-escalation.

Roman looked at him. “Really? I think letting you anywhere near this family was more than helpful to you, Sami.” He said, venomously. Roman had never looked more like The Tribal Chief he once was–he probably always had been–until now.

Disappointment distilled in Sami's heart.

“Yeah. And I'm grateful. And you're all family to me and nothing can change that. But...I think it's time I move on, too. I have things I need to accomplish...”

“Like screwing that asshole Kevin any time you please?” Roman bit back. “Because you've been doing that plenty, already.”

Jimmy's eyebrows raised. “Sami, you've been seeing–!?”

“Yes!” Sami, Jey, Roman, and Heyman answered in unison.

“...And I'm the only one who didn't know!?”

“Sorry, it was supposed to be a secret, and you, well...” Sami started.

“Oh, yeah. No no, I get it.” Jimmy said, backing off.

“And not just screwing Kevin Owens,” Heyman announced. “Sami has been using us! He's passing along intimate, dangerous information about us that that feral animal he calls a boyfriend can use against the family in exchange for getting some–!”

“I never passed on “dangerous” information! We never had any because Roman isn't around! And anything I did tell him was just to pacify him! I did it for the family AND for the man I love!” Sami shouted.

“...So you admit you lied to me...” Roman said, coldly.

“...Yes. For the greater good.”

“For the greater good? Or to save your own ass?” Roman countered, slowly getting in Sami's space. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jimmy and Jey brace themselves to intervene.

Sami stood his ground, his blood turned to liquid steel. “Maybe. But I'd also hoped maybe you'd actually changed when you went away. Learned to appreciate us. Became the man I used to think you were, deep down, two years ago. What anyone else said be damned. Or at least that you were on your way to that, and maybe I could help that man become all he could be. We’ve sacrificed everything for you, Roman...”

Images flashed in Sami's mind: holding his own title again and celebrating with Jey. Seth excitedly telling him, his good friend, what he did that weekend the minute he saw him backstage on Raw. Hugging Kevin after they'd wrestled a PLE, excitedly or consolingly. Kissing him in front of everyone. Waking up the next morning to that sleepy, loving gaze only he got to see...

“...the least you could do is let us get that back.”

Roman glared at him, only briefly glancing away at The Usos. For a moment, Sami swore he saw something else in his face. Hurt. Before Sami could cave, Roman closed his eyes and growled.

“I don't wanna be near any of you right now.”

With that, the OTC began to storm off.

Heyman looked at the three of them. “I hope you're all happy,” he said, about to follow Roman.

“That means you, too, Wiseman.” Roman said, then went out the door.

Heyman looked like Roman had just shot him in cold blood. He wandered off somewhere in the arena, dazed.

Jimmy huffed. “I barely did anything! Why's he mad at me, too!?”

Jey crouched down (practically collapsing), hands clasped together as if in prayer, forehead against his thumbs. Sami went over to him. “Jey, we did the right thing...”

“I know, it's just...this doesn't feel good, uce...” Jey said.

“Jey?”

The boys turned their heads to Rhea, who had just entered the lobby. She went to his side, kneeling down. “Are you okay? I saw Roman storm off...” She got a steely look in her eyes. “Did he do this?” Rhea asked, her voice holding an unspoken promise: she would make Roman regret it if he did.

“It's fine, baby. It's done. I quit The Bloodline. Sami, too,” Jey said.

Rhea’s expression softened. She looked up at Sami for confirmation. He nodded. She nodded back and hugged Jey. “Hey, it's gonna be okay. You aren't gonna be alone again. You've got me, Sami, Damian, Jimmy...” She said, looking up at his brother.

Jimmy nodded back at her.

“C’mon, let's go get some fresh air, okay?” Rhea suggested.

Jey nodded. Rhea helped him upright. Tears were in his eyes. She didn't say a word to the others as she helped him outside, just offering a wave. The boys waved back.

Jimmy looked at Sami. He shifted awkwardly, his eyes desperately darting anywhere else. “I...I should check on the Wiseman, uce...”

Sami nodded. “Yeah. Good luck, man. I gotta...I need to check on Kevin...”

Jimmy sighed. “Yeah, you do that. We'll talk later.”

“Of course,” Sami said. He sighed, as well. “Of course...”

---

Sami made his way back to the car and Kevin. At first, Kevin smiled, but that quickly fell when he saw the harrowed look on his lover's face. “What happened?”

“I think I just left The Bloodline. Or broke it up forever. I don't know, yet.”

Kevin gripped the steering wheel. “Need me to kick his ass?”

“No, I just...” Sami’s eyes started to burn. “I just need to talk to you. Now.”

---

Sami explained everything to Kevin, the whole truth. He kept trying to give Kevin a chance to respond, but he said nothing. His face never changed. A tear fell down Sami's cheek.

“And I swear, I didn't mean to let this go as far as it did. All I wanted was to make sure you wouldn't be alone and–”

“Get the hell out of my car.” Kevin said, face still unchanging.

Sami felt hollowed out. “...Kev–”

“I said get out!” Kevin barked, his eyes becoming rimmed with red.

“I didn't want to hurt you...” Sami’s voice cracked.

“Yeah, well, you did. Now get out.”

Sami couldn't move. Tears streamed down his face.

“Fine. Screw it. I'll leave my rental car!” Kevin said, storming out of the car, keys in hand.

“Where are you going?” Sami asked, crawling to the driver's side.

“A walk! Do whatever you want. You could beg and plead for Roman to take you back! I don't care anymore!” Kevin declared. Then his voice wavered. “Just...please don't be here when I get back...” Kevin stormed off, shaking as he reached around in his pockets.

Sami didn't chase after him. He knew to give Kevin his space. His tears evolved into full-fledged sobs. Sami tried to wipe his eyes with the hem of his shirt, only to be greeted with “The OG Bloodline” print. Tearing the shirt from his body, he tossed it out the window and let out an anguished wail.

For the first time in weeks, he had nothing. Absolutely nothing.

---

Almost across town, Roman braced himself outside a hotel door. It wasn't often that he was in the same town, but the stars aligned that both their shows would be here this week.

Getting the hotel and room number was easy. If he could afford a motorcade, he could afford to get some shady info under the table. It was actually talking to him that was the hard part. After all this time, could he?

No, he needed to. He needed him. His kingdom was crumbling right before his eyes, and he needed someone to talk to. Or at least make him forget it was happening for a while. He knocked on the door.

It opened.

“Look, I know it's been forever and you probably hate seeing me, but...” Roman started to feel himself crumble. “I have nothing. And I...” Roman fell to his knees. “I needed to see you. Please...”

He heard a familiar chuckle. “Hello to you, too. Never thought I'd see the so-called Tribal Chief begging to me, again...”

Roman looked up, flipping the veil of his hair out of his eyes. He was greeted by a beautiful sight he hadn't seen in years.

Mox, the man he'd once known (he'd once loved) as Dean, leaned against the doorframe, hypnotically swirling a toothpick around in his mouth. “Yeah, come in, I guess...”

[demilypyro]

I mean again he literally doesn't do that. He suggests having sex in chapter 2 because he thinks having sex with her might make him die, but note that he never actually forces himself on her, despite how he damn well could, seeing as he's way stronger than her and he's alone with her a bunch of times.

But all that aside, if depiction isn't glorification then you also have to recognize that what a flawed character does at the very start of their character arc doesn't indicate the writer is cool with that behaviour, even if they are the main protagonist. Note that this is the same character in the very next chapter, after Fuuko tries to offer herself to him.

Also, the ongoing changes in how Andy regards Fuuko are INTRINSICALLY relevant to the themes of the story. He starts out seeing her as a tool he can use to die, and slowly grows to like and then love her. That's what the story is ABOUT.

In fact, I'd argue that the presence of the attempted rape scene in the first arc of Dandadan is *worse* because the aliens "don't matter" as you put it. It doesn't particularly add anything, since those aliens are handily defeated and the story never seriously engages with the fact the scene happened. That makes it feel like something the author just threw in, which makes it *more* distasteful to me.

People were telling me Undead Unluck and Dandadan were similar in that their first episodes are gross. But while the first episode of Dandadan has an attempted rape of a minor, the worst thing that happens in Undead Unluck is that an adult woman has her boob touched by an adult man. And he's not even interested in her in that way at that point. I don't think those things are comparable at all.

[artisanscribbles]

Some Oathbound Thoughts

There's a larger post regarding the Order that's still percolating in my head but while I was drafting that post, something occurred to me:

We have very little in text proof that the Shadowborn are as big as a problem as the Order makes them out to be- But do you know where they seem to gather and most attacks happen: The 4 Legendborn Chapters.

This made me start made me start to think about what we know about magic in universe, and also what we know about the Shadowborn.

The Order makes the Shadowborn out to be this huge problem, but Valechez, Patricia and every Rootcrafter we meet treat them as a problem and certainly something to be cautious about, but a known factor.

And none of the Rootcrafters spend their lives at battle-ready mode waiting for the next attack. It's just the Order that does that. But everyone else acts like the Order is the much bigger problem and danger of the two.

But Scions and Squires have been being called ever since the Order's inception to handle all these demon attacks? And we see there is truth to this: The Shadowborn are Undeniably Attacking the Legendborn.

Which begs the question: Why the Order and not the other magic users?

And then it hit me.

The Order of the Roundtable has been around for at minimum, per William, at least 60 Generations. Like with Vera, the spell is somehow bound to the bloodlines. But Vera's bargain is tied to The Shadow King - He cast the Mark and as far we can tell he's been maintaining the Magic required for it to Work. With me so far?

So this begs with question: With Merlin (as far as the text informs us) 100% Dead

WHAT'S POWERING THE SPELL OF ETERNITY?

IT CAN'T BE ARTHUR. EVEN IF MERLIN ANCHORED THE SPELL TO HIM ORIGINALLY LIKE THE CHARM BRACELET (AND WE DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW THIS BTW, EVERYONE IN THE ORDER THINKS ITS THE CASE AND EVERYTHING THE ORDER THINKS IS IMMEDIATELY SUS) CANONICALLY ARTHUR PENDRAGON DOESN'T HAVE ACCESS TO THE MAGIC TO KEEP IT GOING BECAUSE HE CANNOT WORK AETHER (proven by that scene in BloodMarked)

Arthur Pendragon can use the abilities gifted to him by Excalibur and Merlin's original spell, but he can't power it himself. But SOMETHING must be- because as per Sel, aetheric workings can only last so long as the caster can maintain them and live, as as per Valchez and Patricia, all that Power has to be coming from SOMEWHERE EX.1 Bree's whole existence.

Which brings me back to the Shadowborn and the Shadow King's whole deal:

I think Merlin's spell wasn't supposed to last past the OG Table's death. Not originally anyway. Arthur and the Knights were supposed to win decisively and then the portals would be closed forever. And Bree's Bloodwalks seem to support this.

But then, The Table Captures the Shadow King's Crown, and we now Know that is an extremely Powerful Object- but we don't know what happened to it.

Just before Bloodmark's final kicks off, we get the last Arthuriana themed lore drop of the novel- And that is that the last place we saw the Crown was in the OG Table's possession- but not broken and destroyed. IN fact the text seems to support they couldn't destroy it- SO WHERE IS IT? NO ONE IN ORDER HAS EVER HINTED AT SOMETHING LIKE THIS EXISTING- IT'S VALCHEZ THAT FIRST TELLS US ABOUT THE SHADOW COURT TO BEGIN WITH.

And then we remember Morgaine Had A Plan to use the Crown somehow. Now, of course, we don't get to hear exactly what that was because Bree had some shit to work out, but I think its important that we know about that it because it provides a reason for the concentrated Shadowborn attacks on the Legendborn and also a reason for the King to still be kicking around. The Shadowborn harry the Order so hard because the original War never stopped, it just changed.

The King seems to a bit like Sauron - separated from his Crown, he's a shadow of himself (excuse my bad pun), still powerful, but limited in scope. There's no reason for a long game otherwise. But if he were trying to get his Crown back? Because the Order STILL HAD IT?

Well, that would re-contextualize a few things, wouldn't it?

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Head in my hands wondering if I'll have to cut the entire Chume Labs section out because it's more suited to being a different chapter, but also knowing the next chapter can't have it either so I might have to cut it from this fic entirely aaaAAAAAAAAAA