#bun-shard

[zeloinator]

__ The Doomed Protector__

[idalenn]

bunnies enjoy exploring tiny holes... right?

Faren belongs to @zoroarkthief.

[fourfoldfires]

i think about this he/him big titty sin eater a completely reasonable and normal amount

[best-kirby-character-tournament]

Round 3B Wave 2:

Team Rippled Mirrors (Dark Meta Knight [Kirby & the Amazing Mirror] and The Fairy Queen [Kirby 64: The Crystal Shards]) vs. Dyna Blade (Kirby Super Star/Super Star Ultra) and Tiff/Fumu and Tuff/Bun (Kirby: Right Back at Ya'!)

Themes/music/clips:

Team Rippled Mirrors: Dark Meta Knight and The Fairy Queen

Dyna Blade and Tiff/Fumu and Tuff/Bun

The winner will move on to the next round! If they tie, or one of them wins by 5% or less, they’ll both continue on as a team!

[this-side-of-paradisee]

so iv been working on something origin. this was originally a all Lego shows (plus other shows) but after much messing around... is become is own thing. but here is the mane cast and spam dump. more stuff to come~

[sesbianlexicon]

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND NOTHING HURTS (1)

Pairing: Sevika x Alternate Universe!Reader

Synopsis: After following a Piltover councillor, the leader of the Firelights, and a furry little man to Hextech's failsafe underground, Sevika finds herself suddenly transported into an alternate universe where Hextech… never existed. In this world, she does not have the burdens of Zaun on her shoulders. Instead, she has you. 

Contains: Mature language, mentions of death and violence, moments of intense anxiety and panic, kind of ANGST? Kind of? Honestly it gets kind of comedic at one point I swear (This chapter is more of a set-up for part 2)

Word Count: 6173

Note: As much as I love a good smut fic of Sevika, I require angst because her existence is so unfortunate and beautiful and UGH I just want my wife to be HAPPY. I had this in my drafts for like 2 months and I finally finished it. It's kind of all over the place but IDGAF I had a vision and RAN with it. Enjoy my first Sevika fic!

The world cracks, and Sevika cracks with it. 

She feels her mind splinter, scattering like shards of glass in every direction. It’s followed by an odd, ineffable sensation that mimics pain, one that exists out of time. It’s as if she’s just been hit, is being hit, and has been enduring the same relentless blow for years, all at the same time.

Sevika stifles a groan and presses a hand to her temple, trying to focus on her vision that is flooded with bright, blinding light. Her attempts to open her eyes only make it worse— shapes and colors in front of her seem to flare and split, as the pain sharpens at the back of her head. And then, the tension snaps. The world slams into focus with a flash. As if nothing ever happened. 

Sevika gasps. 

Her body weakly rocks back and forth as she struggles to steady her ragged, uneven breaths. Reality slowly returns to her perception. The sounds of glasses clinking and the hum of human conversation rushes back to her ears, and potent, malty smells fill her nose. 

She realizes she is sitting down, her legs pressed against the edge of a circular table. She doesn’t remember sitting down. Where the fuck is she?

Sevika’s eyes flicker around her surroundings, taking in the lively atmosphere. 

She’s at a bar. No, she is at the bar. She’s at The Last Drop.

Except it’s not The Last Drop, because there’s no way it is. The layout is similar, with the multiple round tables and the stools surrounding it, the familiar red wooden walls, and the underlying scent of alcohol in the air— but that’s where the resemblance ends. The rest is completely different. The bar is alive with warmth and health, filled with people laughing and talking and not shooting shimmer down their veins. Everyone looks… Cheerful. Friendly. Happy. 

Sevika’s eyes travel to the ceiling above, made of sleek glass panels, framed by twisting steel designs in ornate patterns. Sunlight pours through the transparent roof, providing a warm, brilliant light for the bar. The sky is bright. The air is crisp. The people are breathing.

This cannot be The Last Drop. 

Sevika sweeps the room again, confusion overwhelming her. She can’t seem to get her thoughts straight— she searches the bar, grasping for something familiar. She doesn’t understand who these people are— until she lands on a figure standing behind the bar counter, mixing drinks and chatting with a customer. She freezes.

Vander. 

The sight of him is enough to knock the air out of her lungs. It’s him, unmistakably– broad-shouldered and wrinkled, filled with the gentle authority she gave up on years ago. She feels her body pulse as she blinks rapidly, wishing for the vision to disappear. But he’s still there, with his greying hair tied in a man-bun, laughing earnestly as he hands out two fizzing blue drinks to the customer. 

The sight of Vander, standing there, alive and whole, sends Sevika into a spiral— she can’t fucking focus. She can’t breathe, can’t think. 

Her body sinks, and she slams her hands on the table in front of her to ground her, hard enough to rattle the surface. The impact shakes through her, her palms burning with the force of it. 

And she feels it. She feels it. Both sides. Sevika looks down at her body. It’s still her own, she’s certain, and yet— 

Her left arm. 

Flesh. Veins. Fingers. Bones and all. 

For a long moment she just stares at the shape of her limb, her mind coming to a blank. She slowly flexes her fingers experimentally, watching them open and close with shaky precision. She clenches them and feels the crease of her flesh, the pressure on her joints, and her nails digging into the soft curve of her hand. She unfolds it, sunlight reflecting on a gold band circling her ring finger. 

Her heart stutters. 

She turns her hand over, palm to sky, and with her right hand she traces the unbroken, flawless skin where there should have been cold metal. Something catches in her throat. 

“What the fuck,” she chokes. 

What kind of sick joke is this? 

Panicking, she pushes herself up from her seat, the stool scraping loudly against the floor. The sound starts to repeat in her head, ringing loudly as her head spins. She closes her eyes to stabilize herself. 

This is not happening. No, this is not happening. This is—

“Sevika?” 

She snaps towards the voice. 

And she sees you— you’re the customer from the counter, the one that was talking to the very well and alive Vander. 

She looks at you up and down. You’re wearing a fitted, v-necked green vest over a cream blouse. High-waisted trousers tucked into your laced boots, with a belt that has trinkets and whatnots tied to a small metal loop. Brass accents glint at your cuffs, shining along with the two drinks in your hand. Sevika’s eyes linger on the golden band that glints in your ring finger.   

You're younger than her— late-twenties at most, with a soft face and lively eyes that glow in the sunlight. You’re shorter, too, almost comically so compared to her towering frame. You don’t have a fighter’s build, nor the hard edge of someone who’s been through hell. Usually, someone like you would carry at least a small shiv for protection in a place like this, but you lack in defence, staring up at Sevika with such a pretty smile. 

Who are you?

“Are… you okay?” You ask, stepping closer. 

For a long moment, she doesn’t respond. Her jaw tightens as she fights the instinct to start throwing things. She just stares at you—confusion and disbelief battling for a position in her expression. There’s no way she knows you. There’s no way you know her. There’s no way someone who is as pleasing to the eyes as you would beam at her in such a darling way, talking to her as if you’re… concerned. 

Who the fuck are you? 

“I got us two of Vander’s specials,” You say, as if to remind Sevika of your obvious errand. You shake the glasses, making the ice in the colorful liquid clink with each other. “Honestly, he could charge double for these and I’d still call it a bargain.” 

Sevika’s chest beats faster and faster, her breath coming and going in short rapid fires as her gaze flickers from you to Vander, still standing behind the bar. Her head starts to ring again, the pain returning, like aftershocks rattling through her head. She staggers back, holding her head. 

“Sevika?” Your voice echoes into her ears. “You’re scaring me.” 

Sevika shuts her eyes tightly and lets out a shaky sigh. Confusion and aches etch in her mind as she stumbles through her memories. Why is she here? Shouldn’t she be… what was she doing before this? She was… she was following the Piltie motherfuckers and that Firelight, wasn’t she? She remembers getting to the underground base where she saw the Hexcore, and then, and then— 

The last thing Sevika expects is warmth. 

She feels your hand against her shoulder. The drinks have been abandoned on the table, your thumb rubbing the fabric of her leather jacket. There’s softness in your eyes, looking at her with an expression she hasn’t seen in a while. She pauses at the unfamiliarity of the light touch. It’s gentle, almost too gentle, as if it is meant for someone fragile. 

Sevika is the furthest thing from fragile. 

And yet, here you are. 

She jerks away from your touch, and you flinch back at her sudden reaction. Your brows furrow as you retract your hand, studying Sevika’s disoriented, almost horrified expression. You haven’t seen her like this— well, ever. 

Although she doesn’t miss the way her pain has stopped, she feels uncomfortable at your contact, which seems to be a complete shock to you. She watches hurt ripple across your face, your fingers gripping each other, as if to hold yourself back. 

“Sev…” You start, but you keep your hands to yourself. 

Sevika steps back, not enjoying the tenderness in your voice. It’s cautious and slow, as if she’s some delicate thing that might rupture at the wrong word. She’s unsure of what to do, what to say— she’s always so sure. 

Sevika is not someone to walk away from her problems. She’s never been one to shy away from a fight. So she surprises herself by walking away from you. She practically stumbles as her body moves instinctively, carrying her towards the door. She knows exactly where it is and it only confirms the distorted truth— this really is The Last Drop. 

She shoves the door open and steps outside. She hears your voice call out to her, but the heavy panel slams behind her, pushing her onto the street— only to see her world turned upside down. 

And the thing is, Sevika has pictured this before. She’s seen this image through her closed eyes, in dreams that replay over and over at night. The scenery of Zaun’s streets bustling with people and kids— kids running and jumping around. The neon-colored chaos and violence she’s grown accustomed to are nowhere to be found— and in its place are plants, lush and spreading, and fountains bubbling with clear, unsoiled water. The once cracked sidewalks, the filth-stained ground, are now scrubbed and tiled— with flowers that bloom in the corners of the buildings. 

Sevika has lived her whole life for this world. 

She lingers by the door in a haze until a person comes up to ask her, politely, to step aside so others can enter the bar. She barely makes out what he says but moves anyway, slowly stepping forward into the sunlight. It stings against her smooth skin and she goes rigid. The warmth is foreign as she becomes aware of how she is breathing— in, out, in, out— without feeling like her lungs are being stuffed with fumes. 

She passes by dialogues of curiosity and affection— people chatting softly, people responding with laughter— followed by excited clicks of heels and footsteps on the pavement. It’s so lively yet so peaceful, that she can actually hear things through the air— birds chirping from the sky, winds rustling through the leaves, and faint, upbeat strumming of strings.

Sevika turns towards the song, finding the jolly voice somewhat familiar. She follows the sounds of the stringed instrument, finding her way to a small crowd. She peeks through the standing audience to see children seated around to listen to the rustic music, all their attention fixed on the performer. Standing in front of them, singing with unrestrained joy, is a furry little creature. 

And Sevika remembers. 

Without a second thought, she marches right up to him, ignoring the gasps and shouts of the audience. 

“You,” She barks, standing right in front of the startled Yordle. “Where am I?” 

The yellow creature stops playing with a startled jump and clutches his banjo. He lifts his fluffy head and looks up at the heckler in offended confusion. 

“You know what I’m talking about. You were there!” Sevika snatches the banjo from his hand. 

“Mercy me!” The furball shrieks, his green eyes darting between her and the instrument. “I haven’t an ounce of what you’re talking about, young lady!”

Sevika’s grip tightens. “With Hextech. The—” She falters. She doesn’t even know exactly what it was. “The underground. I was there.”

The Yordle’s face changes in an instant at the mention of Hextech. His well-groomed mustache twitches as his eyes widen in horror. A curious horror, though horror nonetheless. He shakes his head as if to make sense of her words. 

“Oh, dear,” He nervously mutters under his breath. “You mean to tell me that you have also crossed timelines?” 

Sevika blinks. “What?” 

The Yordle looks past Sevika, and she glances back with him, remembering that they still have an audience. Usually people scram at the smallest sight of violence— but the people and children have remained in their places, confusion etched on their faces. 

The furball clears his throat, his posture straightening before snatching the banjo back from Sevika with a swipe. “Well, folks, the show is over for today, but I will be back tomorrow with a better performance. Don’t worry!” 

His cheery demeanor seems to ease a couple members of the audience as they shuffle away, their chatter rising with some frowns towards Sevika. Once the last couple children wander off, the furry creature turns to Sevika, lowering his voice.

“You must follow me.” 

“I must say, your presence is rather unorthodox.”

Sevika scoffs, her boots echoing against the metal floor as she follows Heimerdinger through Jinx’s hideout. It’s odd to see the place so… clean. No more scattered blueprints or half-built bombs littering the ground. And the last time she saw it, there were glowing doodles everywhere thanks to Jinx’s newest recruit. 

Though it’s not completely organized— tools scattered across the table, books open and stacked in dangerous, tipping ways, and multiple candles left unattended, letting the wax drip on loose papers. Some things can’t be changed. 

Heimerdinger hops through the workshop towards a familiar figure hunched over a workbench, his concentration on carving something on a small stone-like item. His braided white hair is tied back into a ponytail, which sways as he leans closer to inspect his work. The scratch of the carving tool pauses when he hears Heimerdinger’s presence, turning towards him as he wipes the sweat off of his forehead.

“Professor, I—” The boy pauses, his eyes snapping to Sevika. His initial shock quickly morphs into anger, dropping his work on the table. “What is she doing here?” 

“Well, it turns out Miss Sevika here arrived with us at the Hextech’s failsafe underground.” 

Heimerdinger hops over to the blackboard, grabbing a piece of chalk and scrawling something on the surface. “The anomaly of Hextech has scattered us from our proverbial reality— and since you were in close proximity, you were caught in the ripple effect.”

Heimerdinger turns to see his pupil and Sevika glaring in silence. “...It seems the two of you are familiar with each other.” 

“Oh, we’ve met,” Ekko spits, getting up to stand his ground. “You followed us? Even after Silco’s death, you’re doing his dirty work.” 

“I followed you because if the Piltover council and the Firelights are mixed up in something, Zaun needs to know. You’re not the only one fighting for freedom.” 

“Freedom?” Ekko walks right up to Sevika, his gaze unwavering right in front of her face. “You think what Silco did was freedom? Peddling shimmer, rotting out the Undercity from the inside? Silco’s leadership was control, not liberation. And now that he’s gone, you’re walking around with your leash in your hand.”

“Watch your mouth, boy saviour.” Sevika’s hands clench by her sides. Ekko does not back down. Neither one of them has forgotten the lives they’ve taken from each other. 

Heimerdinger clears his throat. “This tension is… unexpected. But let’s focus on the matter at hand, shall we? I do not condone Miss Sevika’s covert actions, but the fact remains that she is here. She may yet provide insights or skills valuable to understanding the anomaly.”

“I doubt that,” Ekko sneers, heading back to his table. 

Sevika scans the workshop. Bits of inventions and gadgets fill up the space, and while she doesn’t completely understand all the scribbles and equations on the chalkboard, she understands their goal is to get back home. As her gaze drifts across the cluttered space, her eyes land on a shiny flat piece of metal left on the counter. 

She sees herself reflected on the surface and moves closer. Her face catches her off guard— it is undeniably her— although her hair is cut in a bob, shorter than she’s ever had it before. It frames her face which looks a bit younger than she is. Her body is less muscular than before, but it doesn’t seem like she completely skips working out either. Her clothes fit her in a comfortable way that’s far cleaner and more put together than she’s accustomed to. And her left arm. She can’t get used to that at all. 

She stares at the reflective surface, inhaling sharply, before moving on to a notebook spread open on the counter— sketches of the abnormal Hexcore cover the pages. Her mind flashes back to the memory of her mind exploding into bits and pieces. She swallows. 

“I’m afraid this is a timeline where Hextech was never invented.” Heimerdinger says, noticing Sevika’s darting eyes. “And without a creation so prodigious as the Hexgates… no anomaly.” 

“So you’re recreating it.” Sevika closes the notebook. “How long?” 

“A couple weeks, at least.” Ekko begrudgingly answers. 

“Weeks,” Sevika mutters under her breath. She does not have weeks to waste. She needs to go back— Zaun needs her. Jinx needs her. Isha needs her. What is happening to her original body if she is here? “What can I do to get this done faster?” 

“You?” Ekko scoffs. “Unless you know how to punch your way out of this universe, you can wait until we’re done with the machine.” 

There is an edge of sarcasm in his words, almost a playful jab, but Sevika can also sense the venom in his tone. He’s clearly dragged down by the weight of the situation, in contrast to the furball’s worry-free attitude. 

But he’s right— Sevika doesn’t know much about magic or technology. Most she can do is minor adjustments on her prosthetic arm. All the creating and inventing the machinery stuff, that’s… Jinx’s field. But there must be something she can do— she’s not the one to wait for problems to be solved. 

“You think I’m just going to stand here twiddling my thumbs?” Sevika crosses her arms. “I didn’t survive Zaun’s trenches by waiting for miracles.” 

“Well,” Ekko breathes, his expression unreadable. “This isn’t Zaun.” 

And fuck. Yeah. This isn’t Zaun. 

Sevika’s frustration presses heavy on her chest. The usual pulse of urgency thrumming her veins, one that is always telling her to get up, to fight, to survive— seems to fade for a moment, replaced by an unknown stillness. She can’t do anything here. She doesn’t have to. The mere thought of that drives her insane. 

Before she can respond, she hears the sound of the door, followed by hurried footsteps and sounds of metal items rattling. A short figure enters, holding two boxes that obscure their face. 

“Ekko, I found— woah.” She wobbles a bit as the boxes sways to the side, before she manages to drop the boxes on the floor with a thump. Her vibrant blue hair gives her away. 

Jinx. 

Sevika falters at the sight of her— healthier than Sevika remembers— her skin glowing, her cheeks plump, her frame no longer as scraggly as before. The annoyingly long braids are nowhere to be seen, replaced by rather cute space-buns with a streak of pink. There’s an innocence to her expression, the eagerness to prove herself completely gone. Instead she looks untethered—freed— from the usual chaos of her mind. 

She looks at Sevika with a tilt of her head. Sevika pictures a doe. Soft and curious.  

“Sevika?”

“Jinx.” 

The name doesn't even suit her anymore. Jinx looks confused, almost a bit hurt at the name and— oh. She smiles in gentle understanding. 

“Powder, actually.” She offers. “I guess you’re… different, too.” 

Sevika frowns. She turns to Ekko. “She knows?” 

“He wasn’t exactly being secretive about it,” Jinx— No, Powder— chuckles, pushing the boxes filled with metal trinkets and parts to a corner. “And I’m smart enough to figure it out. Plus, I just heard about you terrorizing our professor in front of The Last Drop. I knew something was wrong.” 

Sevila can’t even imagine a world where her fight with a Piltie by the bar could be considered ‘something wrong.’ And she is. In that world. 

“The news has spread already!” Heimerdinger nervously chortles. “I do hope you haven’t scared away my audience for tomorrow’s performance.” 

Sevika ignores him, her attention all on Powder. 

“So, you’re just helping him with all this?” She waves towards the machinery.

“Well, he’s not going to figure it out himself.” Powder grins at Ekko. He returns a small smile and a tender gaze— Sevika almost wants to laugh. The leader of the Firelights and the Jinx? Absurd. This whole situation is absurd. She needs to get back home. 

Ekko notices Sevika’s judgmental stare and his lips curl back to a frown.  

“Just stay out of the way. We’re close to cracking this, and the last thing I need is you throwing off my balance.” 

Sevika’s mouth opens for a sharp retort— but Heimderdinger quickly interjects, sensing the imminent fight. 

"Perhaps, Miss Sevika, it would be wise to allow Ekko to continue his work without further interference. I know this isn’t ideal for you, but for now, patience may be the best course of action."

Her gut twists in frustration. Easy for the Piltover motherfucker who’s lived for hundreds of years to preach about patience. She isn’t built for waiting— waiting never got her anywhere. 

“I’m not going to sit around for a machine that might not work.” 

“It’ll work,” Ekko bites. “And I don’t need your help here.”

Sevika’s eyes flick between the three of them— Ekko, defiant, Heimderinger, a bit skittish, and Powder, sympathetic. Sevika has nothing else to say. She exhales, loosening her fists, letting the tension slip away. 

“You could go home to your wife,” Powder suggests, nodding towards the ring on Sevika’s left hand. 

The tension comes back. The word ‘wife’ should mean nothing to her, and yet, the moment it hits the air she pictures you and your stupid little face, wide eyes and slightly parted lips, staring at Sevika with darling concern. As if the words you’ve wanted to say had been stolen from your throat. 

It sickens her. 

She runs her thumb over the ring on her finger. Its warmth is indistinguishable from her own skin. She remembers the matching ring on you. 

“She is not my wife.” 

Powder shrugs. “She was really worried about you. Especially after she heard you attacked the professor.” 

“I barely touched him,” Sevika huffs. Heimderinger’s mustache twitches. 

“If you don’t act normal, she might figure out what’s going on.” Powder grabs a pen and scribbles something on a piece of paper. 

Normal is the last word to describe this situation. Normal is the last word to describe your relationship with her. How would she ever act normal here, with you? 

“Here.” Powder tosses the paper to Sevika. “That’s your address.” 

Sevika crumples it in her hand.

“I am not going to my house.” 

Sevika finds herself in front of her house. 

She stares at the crumpled piece of paper with her address on it, hesitating by the door. Because it’s not really her house— she almost feels like she’s intruding. But it’s late, and she’s tired, jaded— but she doesn’t want to be at the workshop anymore. And she can’t stand being in the middle of the sanitary, warm version of Zaun. Faces of people she’s buried, people she’s left behind walk around with a smile on their face. It’s nauseating. 

Sevika has nowhere else to go. 

And she would be lying if she said she didn’t want to see you again. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t know why. She crushes the piece of paper and jams it into her jacket pocket.

She twists the handle and steps into the house. The sense of wrongness only deepens at the sight of the interior. The floors gleam, the furniture is neatly arranged, and the air smells of— food. Good food. Nothing like the usual scent of dust, blood, and grease of her typical home– she barely calls it a home. More of a hideout. She moves deeper into the living room, trying to place the strange layout. 

She would have moved to this proper place if she had never left Vander, never lost her arm, and never worked under Silco. It’s a house she feels misplaced in. The kind of house someone who had their shit together would own— who cleaned, who cooked, who cared. The kind of life Sevika doesn’t know how to live.

And then she sees you. Laying on the couch in the living room, reading a book in your nightgown by the candlelight. Although she was expecting it, she is startled at the sight of you, so comfortable, so safe in the middle of the house. She catches herself staring.

You look up from your book. "...Hi." 

Sevika blinks. She doesn't reply. 

“I thought maybe you were spending the night somewhere else,” You mumble, setting your book down by the side table. You weren’t expecting her to be home today— you thought she wanted to be left alone after whatever she had gone through at Vander’s bar. You push yourself up from the couch. 

“Um,” Sevika tries as you walk closer to her. “You’re… here.” 

“I mean, I wasn’t going to wait for you in the bar the whole day.” You retort, your tone sharp at first but it soon morphs into regret. You’re confused about her behaviour, and you’re sort of pissed at her for leaving you like that, sure, but you shouldn’t snap at your wife. “Are you… feeling better?” 

“I’m fine.” She says a little too quickly.

You don't look convinced, standing right in front of her with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Vika, you don’t look fine.” 

Sevika stares back at you at the nickname, her stoic expression faltering. She feels nauseous again. She’s unsure how to exist with you in her space— always filled with so much concern, sympathy. It’s… uncomfortable. She feels like a cornered animal, a pathetic prey when she is with you. 

“I said I’m fine.” 

Her voice comes out in her usual harsh way. Your face twists. And for the first time in her life, she regrets it. 

Back in Zaun— the real Zaun— the line between fear and respect had blurred. Everyone feared her, therefore respected her. It was how everyone treated her, how they always acknowledged her presence yet at the same time tried to stay out of her way. The satisfaction of knowing she could control everything that happened in a room was what she was used to. 

Somehow, she doesn’t want that kind of control over you. She doesn’t want to make you cower or fear her. The thought that she might be doing exactly that— making you feel small, making you regret being near her— it’s as if her body rejects it. She doesn’t want you to look at her like that.

But just as soon as your face shows that flicker of distress, it suddenly shifts into a look of disbelief. 

“Are you on drugs?” 

Sevika stares blankly. You have the utmost sincerity in your eyes. 

“What?” 

“If you’re on some kind of street drug, you can tell me. I won’t be mad.”

Sevika holds back her amusement. As if anger, from someone as small and harmless as you, could scare her into hiding something as common as drugs. As if you could intimidate someone like her. She almost wants to laugh at the height difference between the two of you right now. 

“I mean, I heard about the ruckus with Professor Heimerdinger and—” You ramble, your mind trying to justify your wife’s behaviour. “It’s one thing to pick fights after being drunk, maybe, but without a single drop of alcohol? The professor has done so much for Zaun and you respect him a lot. It’s just so unlike you.” 

‘You don’t know me,’ Sevika thinks, but she bites back her tongue. 

“You’re so… so rigid, and every time I look at you, you look like you’re worried I might uncover some sort of secret.” Your eyes narrow as you grasp at clues to come up with a theory. “And you flinch every time I touch you!” 

“I’m not on drugs.” She wishes she were. “I’m just tired.” 

You frown. She’s been tired before, and she’s been stressed before. But she’s never been like this. Avoidant. Blurry. 

But it doesn’t seem like she wants to talk about it— or she’s willing to confess anything. Maybe she really is just tired. She certainly looks like a completely different person. She looks… sad. 

You just sigh. “Do you want me to be worried?”

That is the last thing I want. “No.” 

“Okay…” You cross your arms. “Are you hungry?” 

Starving. “No.”

The two of you lock eyes, before you step back with a reluctant nod. 

“...Okay. Go wash up.” 

Sevika buffers at your command, watching you retreat back to your couch. You pick up your book again, although your focus is elsewhere. She knows you’re holding back your questions— and it almost pisses her off. Why are you so careful, so considerate towards her? 

It’s not like she’s ever earned that kind of care. Not from anyone. And definitely not from you. 

The silence stretches between you, and all she can hear is you flapping the pages as you pretend to read. Sevika would prefer your anger— she could handle anger. She understands anger. 

But this patience makes her skin crawl. 

Sevika turns sharply and strides towards the hallway. 

Your eyes remain fixated on the words of the book, but your ears listen to your wife’s footsteps, which pauses a couple of times before finding the bedroom. There’s the creak of the closet doors, the rustling of clothes, before she finds her way to the bathroom. The hesitancy in her steps are enough to embolden your suspicions— and while you don’t want to push her, your curiosity and concern remains.

As soon as you hear the water running, you spring up, tossing the book on the couch, before making your way toward the bedroom. 

Snooping is wrong, you know that— but your worry overwhelms your morality. You see her jacket, carelessly draped over the edge of the table in the room. Sevika never leaves her jacket lying around— she knows you’ll make her hang it up anyways. 

Your fingers twitch at your sides. With a glance toward the hallway, you step closer to the table.

Her jacket is heavy in your hands, the worn leather supple and wrinkled. You unfold and dig into the pockets, finding a few coins, a lighter, and—

A piece of paper. 

You frown at its state, crumpled, as if someone had been squeezing on it continuously. You unfold it, smooth it out, until you can make out the writing scribbled across the surface.

It’s your home address. Confused, you turn the paper around, but there’s nothing else— just the address of the house you and Sevika have lived in for three years— why would she need this? 

You squint at the uneven handwriting— It’s Powder’s. You’d recognize it anywhere. The hurried strokes, the exaggerated loops— you’ve seen her writing many times during the Innovator’s Competition in an index card set beside her wild invention, describing it in great detail. 

Did Sevika meet up with Powder after the meltdown at Vander’s bar? But it must have been after all the fuss with Professor Heimerdinger, and someone told you that the two of them left together. So, Sevika and Professor Heimderdinger went to see Powder, who gave her the address to her own home?

You shove the paper back into her jacket, returning it to its original place on the table. You’re missing a huge part of this weird equation— and your confusion remains. Perhaps you’re even more confused than before. You take a deep breath before heading to bed, crawling on the soft mattress. You’ve had a long, off day. 

When the sound of water finally stops and Sevika steps out of the bathroom, you’re still in deep thought on the bed, fingers idly playing with the hem of your pajamas. She walks into the bedroom in a loose tank top and sweatpants, the fabric hanging comfortably from her form. 

She glances at you, her damp hair clinging to her face, before sitting down on the edge of the bed. You expect her to join you under the covers, to settle into the space you’ve shared countless nights before. But instead, she just stays there, her back to you, her shoulders taut. 

“...You okay?” 

She exhales sharply, almost like a scoff. “I just need a minute,” She mumbles. 

Sevika has been through girls before, at Babette’s— she’s no stranger to how a girl feels by her sides at night. But she’s never had someone so determined to comfort her like this. And knowing her relationship with you, knowing that she’s somehow married to someone like you— it’s different. It’s horrifying. 

Somehow you seem to recognize that— and she feels your presence shift towards her from behind, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. She breathes as she feels your hand move to her shoulder, letting the warmth brush against her like you’re testing the air between you. 

Her body stiffens under your touch. You can feel the tension of her defined muscles beneath her skin, as if she’s bracing for something sharp, something brutal— but you keep your hand steady, fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns on her back. 

You worry she might pull away. But then, so quiet you almost miss it, she exhales. It’s small, broken in half, but it’s enough to soothe the suspense. You keep going, outlining the curve of her spine, watching her shiver— and the tightness of her body begins to fade in pieces, bit by bit. 

She leans back towards you and you draw closer, hand brushing her nape of her beck. You let the moment of stillness, of uncertainty pass, before she finally turns toward you. Soft. Fractured. Unfamiliar.

She stares at you, searching for something, unsteady, as if she’s not sure what she’ll find. It resembles the look from before, the one from the bar— but you don’t look away. You’re searching too. 

When your lips meet, it’s strange— she’s being so gentle. Modest with her ability to love you. Her touch is light, testing— and for a split second, it feels awkward. Almost as if it’s the first time. 

But then she moves her hand and brushes against your arm, fingertips barely grazing your skin, and you liquefy— it’s enough to deepen the kiss, slowly, naturally— as she pulls you closer, and the warmth between you grows. Her breaths are uneven, blending with yours as you feel her tongue slip in— and you’re gone. The world narrows until it’s just this moment, just the two of you. 

And somehow it’s not urgent nor overwhelming— it’s not the usual excitement she brings in her kisses. Instead, it’s like she’s carefully learning the parts of you, afraid to miss a single detail. Her hands slide up your sides, not rushing, not pushing— just anchoring herself to you, grounding both of you into a comfortable position on the mattress. 

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together. Her breaths are hot and close against your cheek, and you share the same air, your chest heaving up and down, shallow and quick. The silence lingers, but then you start to laugh and she smiles too. 

And everything falls back into place. 

She’s yours again. 

You’re a fast sleeper, gone just as soon as you hit your head on your pillow. But Sevika lays awake, listening to the unchanging sound of the clock echoing from the living room. 

Every time she closes her eyes, she feels it— a certain weight pressing against her chest, filled with thoughts she doesn’t want to entertain. She shifts slightly, careful not to disturb you, her gaze fixated on a certain grainy spot on the ceiling.

There’s an emptiness inside of her. She’s lived her whole life for Zaun. For years, she sacrificed everything for a better life. She always believed that the people deserved a better Zaun. That she deserved a better Zaun. And now that she has it—

She’s not sure she deserves it. 

She feels the soft, comfortable blanket around her and grips it tightly. 

This could have been her life. This is supposed to be her life. 

Sevika feels you shuffle beside her, still asleep, turning to sluggishly hug her large frame. She tenses at first, unable to move, but soon feels your chest against her left arm, pressing in and out on her muscles as she hears the mellow sounds of your breaths. You’re warm. You’re beautiful. She lets your touch engulf her, and closes her eyes. 

Sevika does not fall asleep. But as she lies there, with the warmth radiating from your body, she feels herself melting onto the bed, her body relaxing like it has never before. The weight in her chest lightens at the mere presence of you, and the gnawing emptiness inside feels… a little less hollow. 

And for once, nothing hurts.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hey ladies thank you for reading my unedited silly convoluted fic filled with my love towards Sevika. Get ready for part 2 which is angstier. Crying. Also I wrote most of this during final season and almost failed my final. But I will never fail the WLW nation. XOXO BIA <3

Likes, reblogs, and comments would be SO SO appreciated!!!

PART 2: YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND EVERYTHING HURTS (COMING SOON)

[voidsentprinces]

In defense of G'raha Tia. Imagine going into the World of Darkness having eaten probably a fine final meal. Meat, veggies, etc. Its nice. Its simple and it'll get you through the fight. Then you go to sleep in the tower for a long ass time. Only to be awoken by Cid's descendents and told the world has ended and chaos reigns in the wake of the Eighth Umbral Calamity. So there you are burdened with the end of the world and being sent back in time only to land on the First Shard. Then for the next hundred years, your diet is that of light blighted vegetables, filet of fish, and maybe a copious amount of cookies. You then fight along side your old friend to save the first. Turn your body into a deco art piece and then suddenly after a hundred years you're youthful again. And for the first time in a century you get to eat seasoned, properly raised, ground beef patty, on a supple bun, fresh vegetable and condiments of slight tanginess.

Would you too not eat the ever loving shit out of that burger!?

[sunandflame]

Shards of Glass, Chapter 9

Summary: Kyojuro Rengoku, History Teacher on the Kimetsu Academy, is constantly having strange dreams about a Slayer who looks exactly like him. He thinks nothing of it until he recognizes a very specific person from these dreams and feels a very unique connection to her.

Pairing: History Teacher Kyojuro x Teacher Fem!Reader

Trope: Reincarnation / Sequel to Flame and Water (can be stand-alone)

Word Count: 3851

Warning: smut

Pinterest Board of Shards of Glass

Crossposted on AO3

Masterlist of Shards of Glass

“Could you take in two strays who were caught up in the rain?”

He looked at her in shock and immediately stepped aside to let her in, which she did. She was the last person he would expect here, but he wasn't expecting anyone at this late hour. He closed the door behind them and studied her, noticing how wet she was from the rain. Her hair stuck to her face and she shivered noticeably. Something black jumped out of her arm and immediately explored the area until the cat ran along Kyojuro's legs and purred at him.

So that was the second stray she was talking about. Kyojuro smiles at the feline and kneels on his haunches to pet the cat who is immediately smitten by him. The moment he looks up at Y/N his face turns serious as he rises up to clasp her arms in both of his hands. It’s obvious that something happened but he does not dare to ask, not now when she was shaken.  “You are freezing.” He rubs her arms to create warm friction. “How about you first take a shower while I make you some hot chocolate to drink?” Y/N nods with teary eyes and he leads her into his little bathroom.

~ ~ ~

The warmth of the water jet was a blessing to her chilled skin. She had surveyed the bathroom and had noticed how sporadically everything was arranged, as if he had just moved in here. She noted the two bottles that were on the floor of the shower and smelled them before using them. Amber and pine trees. An interesting combination, but one she had already smelled on him. She remembered the first time when his scent hit her nose as she stood close to him while they talked. She had to resist the temptation to move closer to him and sniff his neck, knowing how odd that might have looked. The fact that she now had the chance to use his shampoos and smell like him made her blush. Especially when she slipped into his hoodie and sweatpants after showering. She couldn't help but bury her nose in the soft material and sniff the soothing smell of Kyojuro.

She couldn't help but think of how he had looked at her earlier. His eyes wide in surprise. His golden-red waves that were in a messy bun. His white shirt that was so tight around his muscular pectorals, showing off the definition she never noticed before and oh god… Those gray sweatpants that sat so dangerously low on his hips. She felt the heat go to her head again and was about to jump back to take a cold shower, but this wasn't her apartment. She was only a guest. Y/N took a deep breath and looked into the bathroom mirror for a brush and combed her wet hair with it.

Shimizu purred and constantly rubbed against his legs as he prepared the hot chocolate on the stove. As he stirred the dark liquid with the spoon, several thoughts ran through his mind. What happened to her? Why was she outside at this time? Threatening herself with sickness? Why was she crying? Was she hungry? His thoughts were interrupted as he saw a figure from the corner of his eyes.

“She seems to like you a lot.”

Kyojuro turned to her and saw her standing at the door frame. His clothes were definitely too big for her, her eyes still puffy from crying and yet she looked beautiful. To see her in his clothes like this stirred something deep inside him and he felt his cheeks growing warmer. “Yes, it seems like it. I like her too.” He looked down at the feline with a smile and reached down to scratch her under her chin. “Just make yourself comfortable on the couch. I will come in a minute and then we can talk. If you want.”

She nodded and seated herself on his couch. Kyojuro seated himself next to her and handed her the cup. “Here, this should warm you up.”

With a grateful nod she took the cup and sipped on the hot chocolate. He didn't know why, but he watched her closely as she closed her eyes in pleasure, running her tongue over her upper lip. “Delicious…” she sighed out and gave him a smile. “Thank you very much, I really needed that.”

“You are welcome. If you need anything else, let me know.” He smiled back at her.

“Thanks, but I think the hot chocolate should be enough for now.” She took another long sip and remained silent. Kyojuro didn't know what to say either. What was he supposed to say anyway? She was the one who came to him drenched from the rain with troubles weighing on her shoulders.

The silence became more oppressive until Shimizu jumped between the two of them and meowed very loudly. They both looked at her in surprise and then started to laugh. “I’m sorry Shimizu, I should have offered you something too.” He got up and the feline followed him immediately. He put a bowl with water and some cooked rice that he had from the day before and watched how she started to eat. As his gaze turned back to Y/N, he saw her staring at a picture that was on the drawer. He went there and gave her the frame. It was a picture of his family.

She picked it up reverently and looked at it closely. “Senjuro and you took after your father. It’s like he copy-pasted himself.”

Kyojuro’s smile turned nervous as he scratched the back of his neck. “Yes, the Rengoku genes are actually very strong. This hair color goes back to the Sengoku-era.”

“Really?” She looked at him in surprise and chuckled. “I need to confess something. The first time I saw your hair, I thought that you dyed the tips red, but then I met your little brother in one of my classes and realized that it must run in your family. I always wondered if it was your father or mother.” Her gaze went back to the picture and her smile softened. “Your mother is so beautiful.��� 

“Yes she is…” But his eyes were not on the picture, but on her. How she held it carefully in her hands, as if she knew how important it was to him. She put it carefully back and sat down on the couch, her smile dying out slowly. 

Her gaze became distant while she tightly grabbed her mug. Kyojuro was visibly concerned, still debating if he should ask her what happened. The silence did not make the situation better as the worst scenarios were going through his head until he decided to finally ask her. 

“Y/N… Why were you running so late outside in the rain? Did something happen…?” He didn’t dare to finish the sentence.

“Everything is fine…” She gave him a smile to reassure him, but this smile didn’t reach her eyes. 

He scrunched his forked eyebrows. “You are a bad liar.”

Now she couldn’t hold it back any longer and started to laugh. While she laughed, he was able to hear her pain and the tears that she was not able to shed anymore. “But probably still better than you.”

Now he couldn't help but smile at the inside joke that had developed between the two of them. “Y/N you know that you can talk to me, right? You are my friend and my confession didn’t change that fact..”

You are my friend.

I love you, Y/N.

Those words still lingered in her mind. "Kenji and I… We were fighting a lot the past week. The fights became bigger and bigger..." She finally spoke.

"He did not-" Kyojuro was assuming the worst.

"No, no," she immediately corrected him. "I... broke up with him..." She was still not looking at him. 

Kyojuro was surprised and he should be sad about hearing this. A break up, especially if someone had been together for such a long time, must be painful. He remembered how heartbroken he always was in his past break ups. A long silence occurred before Kyojuro decided to open his mouth. "I am sorry to hear that."

She put the mug on the table and leaned back to turn her head to him. "Are you really, Kyo?"

His eyes were now fixated on her plump lips that called his nickname so seductively. So inviting... imploring even. But he stopped himself before turning his golden red hues onto her eyes. "No, I am actually not." 

Was it her who came closer or was he moving towards her? He really shouldn’t do it. He really shouldn't take advantage of her in this situation. The air was filled with tension, the longing was in both of their eyes. 

“Kyo…” Her lips were whispering his name, waiting for him to finally make a move. Fuck it, he thought to himself and took her face in both of his hands and kissed her. Their lips clashed together and something inside them was like ‘finally’. As if his soul had been waiting for it over 100 years and was so desperate for her. The kiss turned hungrier and the sensation was so exhilarating that it strictly stirred his cock, which already started forming a tent in his gray sweatpants. 

It didn't make it any better when she grabbed his hair and desperately pulled him closer so that he fell on top of her. His hardened dick pressed against her. Only the thin layers of fabric separated them, but not preventing the delicious friction that made them both moan into the kiss. “Kyojuro…” Her voice is so whiny and desperate for him that it evoked something primal in him. 

Kyojuro felt as if a flame had ignited inside him, a flame that had been smoldering from the moment he first laid eyes on her. Now it was burning bright, consuming any lingering doubts and restraint he had left. He eagerly kissed her back, his tongue exploring her mouth while his hands gripped her waist tightly. His lips didn’t leave hers as his hands wandered down to her waist and hips. “Not here.” He was not sure if he said that more to himself than to her. It did not matter as he quickly stood up and grabbed her waist, to pick her up. Y/N immediately wrapped her legs tightly around him, kissing his lips, jaw, neck and everywhere else she was able to reach. That elicited a groan from him, making him dig his fingers into her thighs, where he was holding on desperately. It was hard to focus and if he didn’t have an ounce of self control he would have simply fucked her against the wall. However, this was their first time together so he opted to carry her into his bedroom.

Once in his room he draped her slowly onto his bed, his mouth wandering from her lips to her neck where he sucked and kissed the sensitive skin, eliciting all those sweet sighs and moans from her. He moved away from her, his body hovering over hers, to take a little to look at her. Again the sight of her in his clothes just made his heart clench in a way he never expected. His hands roamed over her body and pulled the hoodie over her head. He stared longingly at her bare breasts. Her nipples were already hard and eagerly pointing at him as they begged him to suck on them. He couldn’t take his eyes from her, before he snapped out of it as he realized that she was blushing under him. “Gods… You are so beautiful…” Murmuring words that were so familiar, creating a flashback in the back of his mind where he had said something like that before, but that didn't matter. What was important was that they were both here in the now.

There was something so intimate about being laid bare in front of him, seeing the desire and admiration in his eyes as his hands roamed over her body. Her blush deepened under his words, and she gently pulled his head down towards her chest. “Kyojuro… Please touch me…” She wanted his touch, nearly burned for the sensation his warmth gave her. He didn't need to be told twice and lowered his head down to take her nipple into his mouth, circling the hard peak with his hot tongue. The sudden shock of his touch sent waves of pleasure through her body and made her lower lip quiver. Her gasp only spurred him on further. His hand moved down to her waist, sliding under the fabric of her sweatpants to caress the sensitive skin there. He could feel how wet she was through the fabric, and the thought of it made him harder, if that was even possible.

He could feel the growing need to be inside her, to feel her from the inside, and the realization that they were on the same page seemed to fill his mind. He watched the response from her body and how she writhed under his touch. Those gasps and moans that he so craved; he wanted her to make more of those sounds. More, more, more… His hand on her waist began to slowly pull her sweatpants down, revealing more of her skin. His eyes roamed over her body, taking in every inch of her naked form. It was like being mesmerized by the most beautiful work of art in the world, and yet, it was the fact that this beauty was his to experience, to explore, that made it so much more intoxicating. 

He began to slowly undress himself as he watched her beneath him on his bed. His gaze was like a physical touch, as if he was already trailing his fingers over the skin he could see. He wanted to make her feel just as wanted and worshiped, as he continued to slowly strip, revealing his toned body. She couldn’t take his eyes off him. His hand moved down and gently caressed her inner thigh, the touch gentle yet possessive.

"Gods, you are so beautiful."

He could hear how she gasped as his mouth moved down her body, and the sound of her voice only made his body react more to her. He lifted his head a bit, looking at her flushed face, and watched her lips part as she took a deep breath while he spread her thighs apart. He could already see her glistening folds, so beautifully exposed to him. The sight sent a wave of desire through his body, and he had to take a moment to gather his own self-control as he leaned down closer, his breath ghosting across her sensitive skin.

“So beautiful," he echoed, his voice thick with need, "I want to taste you…"

Without giving her time to respond, he lowered his mouth to her core, his tongue swiping across her sensitive flesh in one slow, languid motion. The taste of her was so sweet, so intoxicating, that it took all his self-control not to just devour her right then and there.

As he continued to lavish attention on her, he felt her hands in his hair, gripping and tugging at the strands. The pain and pleasure of it only added to his own arousal, and he groaned against her skin.

"You taste so sweet…" he whispered, "I need more."

He continued to explore every inch of her, his lips and tongue relishing the sweetness and warmth of her body. As he listened to her moans increase in volume, he intensified his efforts, his tongue moving with more purpose and pressure, trying to draw out as many of those delicious sounds from her as possible. And with each lick and stroke of his tongue, he felt her legs shaking and trembling. He could tell how close she was to the edge, and he kept going, determined to bring her over that precipice. Her gasps and moans fuelled him as he worked his mouth between her thighs. He wanted to make her scream his name, to hear her come undone beneath his touch.

As her moans grew louder and more desperate, Kyojuro knew she was nearing her climax. He continued his assault, not letting up, determined to push her over the edge. He felt her thighs tremble and constrict around his head as she neared her release.

"Let go, my water lily" he murmured against her skin, not knowing where the pet name came, "Let me hear you come…"

And as if it was a command she cried out his name, pulling at his soft golden locks. “Kyojuro!” His heart nearly stopped as her voice, screaming his name, filled his ears. He could feel her body tense and shudder as she came, the sensation of her fingers in his hair sending a jolt of satisfaction straight to his core. He continued to gently lick and suck at her, drawing the orgasm out as long as possible until she finally collapsed back against the bed, completely spent.

He slowly pulled away, his lips and chin glistening with her juices. He stared down at her, admiring the sight before him, the view of her trembling body and flushed skin. The beautiful sight of her coming undone because of his efforts, all because of him. It filled him with a sense of pride… and an overwhelming need for more. "So exquisite…" he murmured, his eyes skimming every inch of her body. The sight of her, so undone by his touch, was enough to make him throb with desire.

He moved up her body, his lips moving along her stomach and over her chest until they found her mouth. He kissed her gently, letting her taste herself on his lips and tongue. His body was still throbbing with yearning, and he was fighting hard not to just push himself into her right then and there. But it was not him, but her who took the initiative. The feeling of her legs wrapping around him instantly spread an unsung fire through his body. He leaned down and his lips found the skin of her neck, kissing and sucking on the sensitive spot behind her ear. His hands roamed over her figure, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its track. He groaned into her skin as his hips involuntarily ground against hers.

"I… need you, now," he whispered huskily.

He could feel the slickness of her against his stomach, and it only increased his need to be inside her. He shifted slightly, his hands gripping her hips tightly, and lifted himself up to position himself between her thighs. His eyes locked with hers as he slowly pushed his cock into her, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he held himself back. The sensation of her tight, warm walls surrounding him was almost overwhelming. He buried his face in her neck groaning how perfect she felt. As he slowly started to move his hips, he felt as if he was losing his mind. The feeling of being inside her, having her completely at his mercy was almost too much to handle. He leaned down, his lips finding her neck as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin. He was lost in a hazy fog of ecstasy, the sound of her moans and gasps in his ear driving him to go deeper, faster.

His own control slowly slipped away as the pleasure consumed him. His hands roamed over her body, touching and exploring every inch to memorize the feel of her flesh underneath his fingers. He lifted her legs around his waist, getting a better angle and the new position drove him even deeper into her. And he continued to thrust into her, the pace and force increasing with each movement. He was completely lost in the moment, his mind completely overtaken by the pleasure of feeling her completely. His lips found her neck once more and he nipped and sucked at her pulse, leaving behind a trail of love bites in their wake.

Mine… his mind whispered fiercely, possessiveness creeping into him.

As he continued to dominate her with his body, he could feel her tremble and quiver under him. The sounds of her moans and gasps, the feeling of her body's response to his touch, it only fueled him to go harder, deeper. He could feel himself nearing his limit, the mounting pleasure becoming nearly unbearable. His breaths were labored as he tried to hold back his release, continuing to move his hips with each deep stroke. But the way she felt, her skin against his, the sound of her gasps and moans in his ear… it was too much.

"I'm… close…" he panted, his grip tightening on her hips as he tried to hold on just a little longer.

He could feel her body tightening around him, clenching and gripping him as if she was desperate to keep him inside. It was an incredibly delicious sensation that only added to his mounting pleasure. With each powerful thrust, the coiled heat within him grew stronger and more intense.

"I'm gonna…" he gasped, "Oh Gods… I'm gonna come…"

“M-Me too..!”, she cried between her moans as he felt her tight grip on him. Her voice sounded so desperate, needy and it was all it took for him to lose any remaining control he had.

He leaned down and his lips found hers, his tongue delving between hers, tasting her moan as he pushed himself deeper into her one final time. With a low, guttural groan he let go and succumbed to the pleasure, his body shuddering as he came hard, releasing himself inside her. He held himself there as the release hit him, his body shuddering and tensing as waves of ecstasy washed over. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breaths ragged and unsteady as he slowly came down from his high.

He collapsed on top of her, his body trembling with exhaustion and satisfaction. They lay there for a few moments, both of them trying to catch their breath and come back down to earth. He nuzzled his face into her neck, pressing soft kisses to her flesh as he tried to form words. But it was not possible. They simply stared at each other, her hand roaming over his face and pushing a blonde strand behind his ear. 

A profound, unspoken connection flowed between them. Their eyes locked in a gaze that spoke volumes more than words ever could. They marveled at the raw intimacy they had just shared, a sense of wonder filling the space between their breaths. Still panting from their lovemaking, their hearts seemed to beat in unison. Their shared silence was suddenly broken by soft laughter, a tender, joyous release that bubbled up from the depths of their souls. The giggles were not just amusement, but a shared acknowledgment of the beauty they had found in each other. 

A/N: Hello, my sweethearts! Who would have thought this story would ever get an update? (Not me!) I know it’s been a while, and I’m deeply sorry about that. Everyone who has been following me knows that I’ve been going through some real-life stuff, but things are getting better. I’ve been constantly thinking about this story and how much I love the plot I’ve built here, and I don’t want to disappoint anyone. But forcing myself was a big no-no, which is why it took so long. Again, I’m really sorry, and I hope I can make it up with this smutty smut. Since there’s no regular schedule for this story, please reply if you want to be tagged or not. Much love, your (Mommy) Sunny <3

Taglist: @flametrashira @mamayan @love-me-satoru @camilo-uwu @genshinsimpforlif @curlyblaze @oggy4god

[hawkeyetrained]

All Over Him

Dean Winchester x reader (established relationship)

Other Characters: Sam Winchester

Warnings: language (like 1 i think), mention of blood and cuts, stitches

Summary: The boys come back from a hunt injured. Dean gets a little jealous when Sam gets the attention first.

Word Count: 853

Sam, Dean, and I were working a small salt and burn case in a town about three hours from the bunker. “Something easy.” Dean had said when we packed up to go. I was in charge of research this time, needing more time off from hunting due to a messed-up shoulder I got on the last case. Long story short, the witch was stronger than we thought, and I was thrown through a wall, my shoulder taking the entire hit. Dean instantly benched me until I could work without wincing from pain, leading to my curled-up position on the motel bed with the TV on and some random movie playing, even though I was reading my own book, relaxing in my pajamas with one of Dean’s flannels wrapped around me and rolled up to my elbows.

So, when the front door slammed open and two mountains of men came barreling in, both bleeding but one far worse than the other, I was on my feet. “The hell happened?” I half yelled, shutting the door, and throwing my hair into a bun in order to help my boys.

“Damn ghost got the jump on Sam. Took a shard of glass to the shoulder, got hit a few times.” Dean dropped his baby brother onto his bed as I grabbed the first aid kit from my bag.

“Go take a shower so I can see your cuts, De.” I told him, already starting to work on helping Sam. I sat myself beside Sam, pulling his shirt down in order to see the cut on his shoulder from the glass. “Damn Sammy. You’re gonna need stitches.” I quickly grabbed the needle and thread before handing Sam the whisky bottle from the bedside table. “Gonna need it.” Sam took a large swig from the bottle then handed it back, allowing me to pour a little on the wound to clean it.

Sam hissed in pain and his fingers twisted into the back of Dean’s shirt I was wearing. I started the stitching and made sure to be as careful and gentle as possible, keeping the stitches straight and even like my mother had taught me years ago. Dean had come out of the bathroom around the time I had moved to cleaning the cuts on Sam’s face. The older Winchester got dressed in a pair of sleep pants and a simple grey shirt. He had a glare in his eyes that was directed to his little brother and that he didn’t have when they came in.

“Ok.” I finished cleaning the last cut and picked up my trash, being careful to keep all the little pieces of glass in the tissues. “You’re good to go. Be careful with those stitches so you don’t rip one.”

“Thanks.” Sam released his hold on my shirt before he stood and took off for the bathroom to shower. I tossed my trash away then moved over to the other bed with the oldest Winchester laying across from it, favoring one side of his body.

“Dean? Can I look you over?” I asked as I sat down with my supplies.

“Why? You and Sammy looked pretty comfy over there. Sure, you don’t wanna go check on him again?” Dean had a venomous tone to his voice.

“The hell his wrong with you?” I questioned, crossing my arms over my chest. “You never let me check you first. It’s always Sam so I’m used to going to him first. He had glass in his wounds.”

“You didn’t have to be so close to him.” My eyes widened at his words. He was jealous of his little brother. “He didn’t need to be holding you.”

I took this time to gently toss a leg over his hips and sit in his lap. “Dean, baby? Sammy is like the big brother I never had. He was hurting and needed something to ground him.” My hands slid up his chest as I spoke, drawing a sigh from his lips. “Can I check your wounds now?” Dean nodded ever so slightly.

I repeated the process with Dean, getting him to sit and take a drink of whiskey to mask some of the pain that will come from cleaning his wounds. He didn’t let me move more than a few inches in order to get supplies, keeping me in his lap as I cleaned his cuts along his face and then checked the ribs he had been holding. “So, what’s the diagnosis doc? Will I live?” Dean asked as I finally packed away my things.

A smile crossed my lips. “Eh, there’s a possibility, but that all depends.”

“On what?” Dean played along.

“On if you take me out to breakfast tomorrow morning, just you and me.” Dean pulled me down to lay with my head on his chest and his arms around my hips, the blanket resting just above our legs.

“Of course.” He placed a long kiss to my head as Sam re-entered and flicked the lights off for bed. “Love you.”

“Love you too, De.” I snuggled into his side further as sleep engulfed me.

@thetallassgirl @hallecarey1

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

For the Good of the Hive

This story is very long so I've put it under the cut!

Another day, another beating. Hero willed themselves to go outside and face the day. A day full of fighting criminals and getting ripped apart by the news for it. Only, when they got outside, there were no criminals in sight. It was as if one of the most crime-ridden cities in the world just decided to take a break for the day.

Hero stared in confusion. They were in the most dangerous parts of town. What was going on?

“Hello Hero!” someone waved cheerfully.

“Henchman!?” Hero asked in shock.

“It’s Jerry actually,” Henchman said, “lovely morning for a walk, don’t you think?”

“Uh… yeah,” Hero said, “yeah it is.”

“Well, I’m off to visit my grandma. Toodles!”

Henchmen, Jerry, went whistling down the road. They stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the little green figure to light up before crossing. They weren’t even jaywalking!?

“Hero! Finally, we caught you!”

Hero turned, so there was a criminal still about! Hero readied an ice shard but paused when a microphone was shoved in their face.

“The mayor is in talks to give you the keys to the city,” Reporter said, “how do you feel about that?”

“That’s really- wait what?”

“Mayor is also gifting you a generous donation through the brand-new Hero fund,” Reporter said cheerfully.

“That- wow- uh- are you sure?”

Reporter laughed heartily.

“Oh of course, your reward from this city is long overdue.”

Hero blinked. There was something off about Reporter. Then it hit them, their eyes were tinted a honey-gold. In fact, so was their camera man.

“Did you… did you get new contacts?” Hero asked.

Reporter just laughed again, that same, cheery laugh that seemed way too animated to be genuine.

“That’s our Hero for you folks,” Reporter smiled, “we’ll be back at seven!”

Reporter and the cameraman left just as soon as they had shown up. Hero blinked in confusion. What the heck was going on?

…

“Hello Hero!”

“Hello, Hero!”

“Good to see you, Hero!”

Hero waved awkwardly at the pedestrians that they passed. All of them had honey-gold eyes. That’s it. They were getting to the bottom of this. They went inside a nearby ice cream shop and approached the cashier.

“Hero! Hello! What can I do for you?”

“Hi,” Hero said, “um, listen, did you feel… different waking up this morning?”

“I don’t know what you mean Hero,” the cashier said, “but since you’re here, can I interest you in today’s special flavor? It’s mint chocolate chip!”

My favorite, Hero thought.

“Are you sure? Nothing weird?”

The cashier handed Hero a cone with three scoops of ice cream.

“Nope,” they said with a cheerful smile.

Hero went to get the small bit of cash in their suit pocket.

“Ah ah, that’s on the house!” the cashier said, “have a good day, Hero! Thanks for the visit!”

…

Hero went straight to the belly of the beast.

“Commissioner!” Hero shouted, “got a question for you! You in here?”

The head of police came up to Hero, smiling broadly.

“What can I do for you, Hero?”

“Look, we both know how you feel about me, and I’m surprised you haven’t arrested me, but-”

“Arrest you?” Commissioner laughed, “oh that’s a good one, Hero.”

“…Yeah,” Hero said, “…do you know of anything strange happening last night or this morning?”

“Other than my favorite donuts being free today? Can’t say I do.”

“No major crimes? Nothing?”

“Nope. And it’s all thanks to you,” Commissioner said, beaming.

…

Hero sighed, leaving the police precinct. There was only one place left that could possibly provide an explanation…

…

“Supervillain!” Hero shouted, “get your butt in here!”

Supervillain came around the corner.

“Ah, Hero, my dear little crime-fighter, how are you today?”

“Everyone is being nice to me!” Hero huffed.

Supervillain chuckled.

“That doesn’t sound like a problem,” Supervillain said, sitting down in a plush armchair, “why come to me about it?”

Supervillain gestured to the armchair opposite them. Hero hesitantly sat down. A servant came by and offered them a cup of tea and a honey bun. Hero took it and started nibbling on the honey bun.

“Something is fishy,” Hero said, “no one is ever nice to me!”

“Well, they should be, considering all you do for them.”

Hero blinked, watching the servant hand Supervillain their own cup of tea and honey bun. They seemed so cheerful for no reason, and their eyes were honey-gold. They looked at Supervillain’s, which were noticeably blue-green.

“You did this,” Hero realized.

“Oh my little honey bee,” Supervillain chuckled, “it took you so long to find the queen, didn’t it?”

Supervillain took another sip of their tea, then stood. They crossed the room to the enormous penthouse window and gazed down at the city below.

“You have gone unappreciated for so long, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Now you finally have a colony that loves you.”

Supervillain turned to Hero.

“And a queen that’s ready to promote you,” they said.

Hero suddenly felt all the alarm bells going off in their head. They immediately stood, ice at the ready.

“You mind controlled an entire city to pretend to be nice to me!?” Hero shouted, “you do see how messed up that is, right!?”

“Oh, Hero, don’t get so upset,” Supervillain said, “they aren’t pretending. They love you! I’m just helping them show it.”

“I’m going to stop you, you know that right!?” Hero said, “I can’t let you get away with this!”

Supervillain sighed.

“I had hoped you’d accept the change gladly, but then, free will is so fickle…”

Supervillain nodded to the space behind Hero. Hero whipped around and saw two henchmen coming up right behind them. They gripped them on either side and held them fast. Supervillain came up to Hero.

“Now now, this won’t hurt,” Supervillain said, “I just need to add you to the hive.”

Supervillain snapped their fingers, and their true power emerged, swirling around Hero. Their blue eyes swirled, turning a bright honey-gold.

…

“Hello Hero!”

“Hello Jerry!” Hero waved eagerly, their arm linked with Supervillain’s.

The city was abuzz with preparations for Hero to receive the key to the city. Everyone was as busy as a bee. And Supervillain was the busiest of them all, making sure their city stayed happy and sweet as honey.

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@mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

@electrons2006

[zeloinator]

So I made a shard of my Azem~ I haven't named her but shes a tank <3

[cal-flakes]

╰┈➤ “accidents happen angel”

warnings: light swearing, just fluff.

summary: rafe comes home to a tearful y/n and stained rug. (this was an anonymous request, but i accidentally deleted it instead of answering it.)

her feet jumped around the room as she twirled in another bout of pent up energy. the playlist she’d put on echoed through the house as she sang along breathlessly.

she’d had quite a boring day, rafe was out doing business with barry, so she used the time alone to clean his house. having gutted every single room, putting things in new places, moving furniture, she finally decided to take a breather. which in her eyes, was dancing around the living room until she was completely out of breath.

smooth operator blared through the expensive sound system as she gesticulated furiously, mindlessly acting out a music video as she whirled around the coffee table.

just as the chorus was coming up, she let out a yelp as she knocked into the coffee table, knocking her coffee off in turn. “shit! shit!” she froze in place for a split second, unsure of what to do before running the the kitchen.

grabbing armfuls of cleaning products, she rushed back through to the living room. sucking in a harsh breath, her and the now coffee stained, white rug had a minor face off, the costly material taunting her.

she fell into a cross legged position beside the stain, half-arsedly reading the instructions on the backs of the various bottles now scattered around her.

she began scrubbing furiously, attempting to lift the stain before it dried, but she only seemed to be making it worse.

some time had passed before her arms began to quiver, worn out from the frantic cleaning.

she didn’t know what to do, her heart pounded in her chest as she repeatedly checked the time on her phone, nearing the time rafe usually came home.

tears brimmed along her waterline as a suffocating panic washed over her. it felt as though the room was closing in on her, and the music still blaring didn’t help at all.

her fingers brushed against the once-soft fur rug, grabbing at it in an attempt to ground herself.

her chest only tightened further when she heard the front door open and close, his footsteps getting dauntingly closer.

she could hardly see through the hot tears as they cascaded down her flushed cheeks. she must’ve looked a mess, curled up on the floor against the couch, her hands covered in cleaning products.

his footsteps came to a halt in the doorway, his eyes widening at the sight. “y/n?”

her heavy breaths and sniffles gave her away immediately. rounding the couch, he looked between her and the stain, furrowing his brows in confusion. “y/n, what happened?” he asked, concern laced in his voice.

struggling to string a sentence together, incoherent babbles fell from her lips as she looked up at him, the skin around her eyes red raw from rubbing.

he placed a gentle hand on her cheek, cupping it as he knelt beside her, not caring for the brown liquid seeping through the leg of his suit pants. “angel, i can’t help if i don’t know what’s wrong..” he muttered, guiding her to look at him.

unsuccessful in his attempt to calm the sobbing girl, her blubbering only continued, her hair now falling from the bun she’d carefully crafted earlier. “i-i..”

“shh, baby. deep breaths m’kay? can you do that for me?” he cooed. she nodded slightly, mimicking the deep breaths he also began to take.

after a couple minutes, she reached a hand up to wipe her nose as she avoided his gaze. “i..i spi-stained the rug..i kno-knocked my coffee..” she sighed, her thoughts still slightly jumbled.

“i can see that angel. are you hurt? where’s the glass?” he questioned, his attention now drawn to the rug, scanning it for loose shards. “i had to put it in the trash, it-it smashed..”

“that’s okay princess, as long as you’re okay..” he mumbled, pulling her head into his chest. twisting her face, she met his eyes. “b-but the rug..i ruined it..” she whimpered, tears threatening to spill once again. “i don’t care about the rug baby, i didn’t like it anyways”

“pinky promise?” she whispered, tilting her head at him. chuckling to himself, he withdrew his hand from her cheek, reaching his little finger out to interlock it with her. “i pinky promise angel, we can go into town to buy a new one tomorrow, m’kay?”

shaking her head in agreement, she leaned into his touch, inhaling his scent, allowing it to invade her senses. “come on, why don’t we have a shower?” he suggested, pulling her to her feet.

“are you saying i smell?” she frowned, crossing her arms over her chest.

“like bleach” he joked, poking fun at her misuse of the surface cleaner.

[iwaasfairy]

ETCHED IN RED | RUBY Part 2

tw. noncon, unreliable narrator, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, yandere wordcount. 1k

read part 1 here or see the valentine's masterlist

kozume kenma x reader

You’ve started counting the spots on the walls in the dark. You’re no longer all that sure if the spots are actually there, but because you don’t have the chance to walk up and check— this is the next best thing. Your eyes have gotten used to the dim light of the semi-basement, and the dry air, and the lack of heat. It would have made you cry a few days, or weeks ago. Maybe- it’s been a month. Might be two. When you got so ill even Kenma couldn’t hide his concern, you stopped counting. And that only started feeling like a critical mistake when you had no choice but to admit.

You have no fucking clue how long it’s been.

Your ears perk up when they make something out over the static. Maybe not exactly a familiar voice, but a voice, ever so faintly sounds from the ceiling above you. Where you know Kenma does his work. Where you know he misses you from up there. You only saw it once before you were led down here, the big room with bright, open windows, much unlike how you know Kenma to be now. He’s guarded and protective and keeps his feelings close. You can’t imagine Kenma to long for freedom like you do…

But still, you want to believe it.

Instead he’s here with you, cherishing you, staying with you. Feeding and caring for you when he has the time. You shouldn’t think back to those windows, with the easy latch and flowy curtains. That’s what tempted you to fight and escape a few times, even when you only ended up worse. You weren’t chained to the wall until you ran. Weren’t tied up until you tried to slice his face open with the shard of the mirror you kicked, and now you don’t even really remember what you look like.

Kenma does, and he seems to like what he sees. When he’s rubbing his thumb along your brows and down the bridge of your nose - it matters a little less that you don’t know. When he helps you untangle your hair, or lets you into the bath. You weren’t even stripped of your clothes until you tried to strangle yourself with your shirt after struggling to adapt for weeks. Oh, it must’ve been at least two months then.

The sound of Kenma talking is so muffled that it’s hard to imagine he’s talking to anyone in the room. Maybe a phone call? After a while, you start getting restless. Start rocking the bed until it bangs against the wall twice and the door to the stairs trembles. Then you try to turn onto your side to get a little comfortable, arms still tied to the bed. Still numb.

Until you hear the familiar sound of soft feet walking down, and the key clicks against the metal of the lock. Kenma thought you important enough to hang up. You can’t help but feel warm at that thought, but you try not to focus on that. You shouldn’t be jealous when he’s trying his best. That’s what he says, and when you don’t hear anyone’s voice except for his for long enough, your internal monologue starts to sound like him too. “You’re being noisy again…” he sighs as he opens the door, hair pulled back from his face into a messy bun. “What’s wrong?”

Your entire body seems to perk up at the sound. He drags himself closer, and sits down on the edge of the bed just out of reach. A slight breeze goes along your bare thighs and bare tits and makes you shiver, and Kenma’s long fingers reach out to brush circles at your ankle. “What? You just lonely?”

“M-missed you,” your voice rasps, painful and tight. “Just wanna see you.” You sound like you haven’t had a drink all day, and after racking your mind, that’s probably true. It aches to swallow; almost as much as the dryness in the air. Instead of shying away from his touch, you lean into it as much as possible, and let him run his fingers up your shin to your thigh.

An almost imperceptible smile comes onto his lips, before he scoots closer and makes you bounce with the movement, starting to grin. “You’re much more lovey dovey nowadays.” His cat-like eyes focus on your face then, as he seems to gather what you’re thinking just from the furrow in your brow. “It’s not a bad thing… I think it’s cute. I didn’t like it when I had to constantly chase you around or fight you.”

His long fingers cup your cheek with a binding intensity, as he just seems to indulge in the sight of you. Splayed, submissive beneath him. You know him well enough now to say it’s how he likes you best. You like it too when you don’t have to fight. “‘M cold,” you sigh then, watching as Kenma’s eyes start glittering with a special kind of joy. One reserved for only you. You used to find it frightening, when you first got here.

“You’re always cold, huh?” The hand slides down your neck, brushing along your collarbones to make you shiver. “Want me to warm you up?” Without hesitating, he slips his hands under your dull, crinkled shirt and traces it up your ribs to your tits. The touch is enough to have you tremble into his hands, enjoying the interaction maybe too much. You’re mewling like it’s your job, and his name is the only thing on your lips. It took a while to feel okay about letting him slip his hands down to pull off the boxers, his— your panties got taken the first day you got here.

Kenma had been overeager, curious - he’d scared you. Now you just get scared when you wake up and Kenma isn’t in the house. Your body curls into the searching touches of his skillful fingers when they brush over the beginning wetness of your lips, and push a knuckle to grind against your clit. “When I first found you, I didn’t know you’d be so difficult, y’know,” he sighs into your mouth before kissing you, “you’re lucky you’re so cute. Make me wanna put up with you.” His fingers turn to rub you open, and your legs spread for him too eager.

“Kenma, pl-please, more.”

Whining. Pleading. You’ve become something you no longer recognize— Kenma takes the loneliness away for a few hours. He chuckles as you clamp your legs around his hand like you’re scared he’ll pull away, and your chest desperately moves up and down. “Hmh,” he smiles, “does that feel good? What a pretty, little pet, whining for me to fill her up.”

It makes the slight grin on his pretty mouth grow, until he is brushing your cheek with a distant look. His tongue brushes past his lips to taste you on him, before dipping closer to you and grinding his hand deeper into your clenching pussy. “What do you think about a trip to Brazil?”

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2024. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[best-kirby-character-tournament]

Round 1A Wave 2:

Team Friendly Faces (Tiff and Tuff/Fumu and Bun [Kirby: Right Back at Ya'!] and The Animal Friends [Kirby's Dream Land 2/3]) vs Adeleine and Ribbon (Kirby 64: The Crystal Shards)

Clip/music:

Team Friendly Faces: Tiff/Fumu and Tuff/Bun, The Animal Friends

Adeleine and Ribbon

The winner will move on to the next round! If they tie, or one of them wins by 5% or less, they’ll both continue on as a team!

[comfybutter]

The manor was unusually quiet upon her return. And not for a lack of proximity, the manor was nothing more than a large house, really, and sound traveled. No, it was quiet for a lack of movement. Until something crunched under her boot. A piece of porcelain by the broom closet.

Entering the kitchen, the woman found her answer. She closed the open cabinet and pushed the maid's step stool aside for a better view of the mess.

Splayed across the floor was the body of her maid, it's synthetic hair unfurled from its bun, still attached to shards of sun-bleached porcelain scattered across the floor. Only half of its cold disposition remained, locked in an uncaring half scowl. Cracks ran down its neck and hid under the cheap cotton-polyester dress it wore. In one hand it still clung to a broom, and a dust pan in the other. Inside the dust pan sat a neat pile of porcelain detritus.

The woman sighed. She had a spare in the garage.

[anachronismstellar]

Another day another scene from >Airplane vs The System< fic.

Should I post this on Ao3? Maybe, but that sounds like a Commitment(tm), and I'm pretending this is not a full fic lol so I'm posting here like is just a silly thing

There is a reference to another fun robot from a very good game released in 2007, if you get it I'll love you forever ❤️ fjsjskdjsk

Also, if you squint you can catch my fav mxtx baby showing up as a guest :D

TW: The System being a bully and uh torture? Nothing like canon tho

Hope you like it~!

----

Mobei-Jun became aware of himself slowly, like the first snow of the season. He wasn't able to feel his body, but his mind was there, commanding his fingers to bend, his head to turn left and right. Not that he had much to see, encased on an infinite white that made his eyes water.

Another thing that took too long to remember was how he ended up in such a situation. It was like trying to catch a slippery fish, the memory swimming away from him in the middle of a river of pain.

The only thing that kept him grounded was the memory of warm brown eyes and ink stained fingers. Shang Qinghua's face was a constant flash on Mobei-Jun's mind, but something kept making him flinch, there was something wrong with their last encounter, something that he couldn't-

“Oh, you're awake. Welcome Character_s201,” the Thing that looked like Shang Qinghua appeared in front of him, wearing something that seemed to be An Ding Peak robes, but didn't layer properly, as if the fabric kept melting against itself when the Thing moved.

Not that It moved much, it was like watching the shadow version of Qinghua, the Thing so still It looked like a doll. Mobei-Jun had faced many monsters throughout his life, none that actually chilled him to the bones such as the creature in front of him.

“There's no need to be scared, I won't hurt you,” It said as if It wasn't keeping Mobei-Jun bound to the wall, holding him so tight he could barely breathe. “You are here to complete a set of experiments to gather data. After the experiment, food will be provided, and you will be released.”

He said nothing back, focusing on keeping his eyes wide open. Could it be a shapeshifter? It would make sense, although no shapeshifter he had met behaved like that, they usually did their best to imitate their original forms to not attract suspicion. And a shapeshifter capable of knocking him out would be able to copy Qinghua's eyes.

A beat of silence passed between them, neither of them blinking. Then, as if It was seeing something to the side, it nodded, waving Its hand before changing forms right in front of Mobei-Jun.

Again, Mobei was an experienced demon. He had seen shit, as Qinghua would say, before even becoming Junshang's right hand. And after getting his title of Junshang's right hand, his encounter with weird creatures increased by leaps and bounds. He had seen shape-shifting done by different creatures and by magic, but nothing that could compare to what the Thing did.

It was like watching Junshang create a portal with Xin Mo, but instead of a tear in space and reality, it exploded in tiny multi-colored shards of glass, regrouping itself in a glimpse, the outfit now a neutral green and gray with accents of gold. Its face kept Qinghua's rounded shape, but the hair was mostly down, a small bun on top of Its head being held by a golden crown. The only thing it had kept the same were the eyes, still poison green that made Mobei's skin tingle as if a thousand fire ants were crawling over his body.

“Apologies for creating discomfort. Is this avatar more comfortable for interacting, Character_s201?”

Again Mobei kept his mouth shut. Whatever that thing was, it didn't want Mobei's comfort. He didn't believe in Its honeyed words either, what experiments? Was It going to torture him? What did It actually want?

“Character_s201 experience cannot be improved without proper feedback. Should I undo the avatar change?”

It was like he was listening to the words but couldn't grasp the meaning behind them. The most terrifying part was that the Thing sounded like Qinghua and Consort Shen when they thought no one could hear them. Was that the connection? Was this thing after Consort Shen? Or-

“Wh-” He tried to ask, the metallic taste on his mouth making him cough. The Thing approached, offering a ceramic cup with what seemed to be water, but Mobei wasn't stupid. He turned his face sideways, the movement bringing a searing pain to his neck, nausea and dizziness forcing him to close his eyes.

“There's no need for Character_s201 discomfort. Character_s201 health is important to not skew data results.” It insisted, grabbing Mobei-Jun's face, pressing the cup against his lips until he drank the liquid. He felt feverish, doing his best to spit on the Thing's face, but It did something to his tongue, as if it could control Mobei's body. He swallowed, the water healing his scratchy throat, but at what cost? It could have given him poison, or a truth serum, or-

“Water is important for Character_s201 maintenance. Now, Character_s201 experience cannot be improved without proper feedback. Should I undo the avatar change?”

Mobei-Jun felt himself sag, his wrists and legs burning as they held his weight. He was falling right into Its trap, spending his energy faster, becoming weaker.

“What's… An avatar?” He asked instead of physically fighting, but keeping his glare on the Thing. Which was good, because as soon as he asked, the Thing blinked, possibly for the first time since they had started talking, as if It had been caught by surprise by Mobei-Jun's question.

“An avatar is a graphical representation of a user, the user's character, or persona.” It explained after Its eyes flashed, blinking a couple of more times. “It's what Character_s201 would call my appearance.”

“It's fine,” Mobei-Jun grunted, agreeing with whatever nonsense the Thing was asking. Better a stranger than Qinghua's face, for sure.

“Understood. Avatar preferences updated. Now, shall we proceed?”

For the second time, the Thing pressed Its thumb against Mobei-Jun's demon mark, making the world around him plumb into darkness.

----

OK off I go to sleep now lol byeeeeee