#gets brushed away so nobody really notices that you are actually struggling to keep it all up

[gods-favorite-autistic]

Honestly as somebody who has friends who are going through so much more than me esp in their home lives I extremely get Fabian because it’s like yeah it isn’t perfect but it’s a million times better than what they have to deal with so like you just kinda have to be grateful for what you have and try not to complain yknow

[kii-nami]

NIGHTBRINGER'S EPITAPH | PHAINON & MYDEI

Mydei drops Phainon’s title shamelessly, as if he is not standing here in this empty alleyway with you, holding you in his embrace so delicately behind Phainon’s back. Have you two no guilt? Does your shame really run that shallow to betray the man who loves you so dearly with such graceful ease? With his brother in arms, no less. How little self-respect does the crown prince have, to chase after a taken woman?

cw: 10k words; ; fem!mc; mydei's spinoff is here, mc is involved with both of them at the same time but fujos dni; no actual cheating; part of a wider hsr au by me and my friend; written from a pov of my other oc from this fic; i am not a honkai lore scholar i'm simply freaky; if you have any questions feel free to ask

They meet you for the first time with the fog of the hot water settling heavily in their lungs.

Burdened by her unavoidable involvement with this world’s struggles, Stelle is a little tense beside Shuhua. Their close brush with death – curtsy of Aglaea’s fierce dedication to protecting the secrets of Amphoreus – left the group somewhat shaken. Everything has been overwhelming ever since the cart crash-landed; so much so that Alisa started doubting Stelle’s decision to stay, instead of returning back to the train.

Despite accepting and enjoying her life of Trailblaze, this time things felt somewhat different. There was too much at stake to simply vanish and end up dead now. And they just had to get stranded without any way to contact the Express and leave sick March behind to be looked after by that suspicious Memokeeper hitching a ride.

Maybe asking Sunday, who is yet to settle down properly without following her around everywhere, to stay back and keep an eye on the situation was a bad idea on Alisa’s part. Even Aventurine, unfortunately roped into their shenanigans by Shuhua yet again, is suffering the consequences of their decision to leave them behind to have a nice trip as a family.

And it’s not like Alisa hasn’t entertained the idea of trying to use the powers of Repudiation, but the possibilities of what-ifs were far too great for her to risk the lives of her friends. So none of this seems extremely enthralling now that Alisa has to constantly watch her companion’s backs, trying to make sure she doesn’t need to mend them together body part by body part.

At least now that Aglaea isn’t trying to actively kill them, the group can finally relax just a little. And now that they’re about to go on a quest to kill a Titan – a God? surely not an Aeon? – Shuhua decided that it’s the best time for them to be as greedy and lazy as possible and soak in the healing waters of Amphoreus.

Maybe this too, as per usual, is a bad decision.

From under the weight of warm waters everything is coated in haze. Despite the promise of these baths healing not only body and mind, but also soul, Alisa is yet to feel any different. Being immune to everything has its ups and downs and right now she got the short end of the stick, unlike the rest of her companions.

Shuhua, as restless and as dedicated to playing a martyr as she usually is, spots Phainon first. Her mood pers up instantly, wet tail swishing excitedly in the hot water of the public bathhouse, sprinkling the droplets all over her companions. Through half-lidded eyes Stelle groans slowly, almost spitting the bathhouse water that got into her mouth. Lethargically scooting away from Shuhua to not get assaulted by her enthusiasm any longer, Stelle continues her nap in relative peace.

Noticing how nobody seems to appreciate her elation, the foxian finally decides to calm down a little, pointing unceremoniously to the faraway corner of the bath, “Look. Over there.”

Dan Heng, bored and half-invested into Shuhua’s new scheme, follows her line of sight languidly, only to be met with a picture that is a bit too perplexing even to someone like him. “Is that Phainon?”

A rhetoric question it may be, but it surely wakes Stelle up from her warmth-infused drowsiness, “Where?” With one eye open, sleep still clouding her vision, she looks in the direction that holds Dan Heng’s attention, just to finally wake up when she does spot Okhema’s unwilling hero. “Oh… It’s not that I’m judging, but…”

“That’s a little shameless even by my standards.” Shuhua snickers, a little devious chuckle, before she sinks under the water to tug Alisa up to the surface.

Finally releasing the breath she was holding, Alisa wipes the water dripping from her lashes and focuses on whatever got Shuhua act all scandalized. And considering that the foxian had little to none of said shame in her body, it must be one hell of a scene. Involving Phainon of all people, no less.

Elbows resting on the edge of the bath, he’s leaning back against the tiled wall. It's almost odd to see him so exposed, or even visiting a public bathhouse of all places, especially when Aglaea offhandedly mentioned that the Chrysos Heirs had their own private one to use however they pleased. It must have been truly an exclusive place with no entrance for ordinary people for him to be here. And considering his obvious company, it wasn’t much of a wonder why he chose to come here instead.

You – whoever you are – slowly step out of the warm waters, wet hair sticking to your exposed back; white, lightweight fabric of your robe clinging to your body, clashing with golden and crimson ink all over your skin. You reach for a bowl of grapes on one of the tables with refreshments, returning back into the bath just as leisurely, and it is only when the waves pick up the length of your hair that Alisa realizes the extent of your undress. Nothing but a thin, flowy fabric of your robe hanging loosely off your shoulders, you press yourself close to Phainon’s side and he eagerly invites you into an embrace, tucking you tightly to his chest. You pluck a grape from the vine, passing one to Phainon, brushing the pink berry against his lips. He opens his mouth, all but literally eating out of the palm of your hand.

Picking one for yourself, you pop the grape into your mouth; only you don’t get to enjoy the taste of it, as Phainon leans close to you, lips pressed against yours in an unannounced kiss. It’s a long moment before you separate, wandering hands of the hero straying a bit too far along your waist for such a public setting, but when he does allow you to breathe again, you huff and scoot away, following with a playful roll of your eyes. As smug as always, Phainon grins triumphantly. The berry stolen from your mouth must have tasted a lot sweeter than the one you offered him.

Phainon says something, slow and well-enunciated, although all the words are lost between the hum of the waves and the chatter of other visitors. You reply, much less careful and much more hurried, yet it still brings a blinding smile to Phainon’s face as he laughs freely. And when he brazenly tugs you impossibly close, with you all but sitting on his lap, Phainon seems much more relaxed, almost free, as if completely unburdened by the expectations this world placed on him resting on his shoulders. It’s as if only the weight of your body against his that truly matters for him; the delicate softness of your touch as your fingers glide along his shoulders until you bring your lips together once more.

And maybe it is so. Alisa does not allow herself to ponder on it any longer, lest it brings unwanted tears to her eyes. Jealousy is a vice, and she might not be holy, but envying someone else’s love this pure will surely drag her to hell if her past doesn’t already guarantee her a spot there. Maybe a little risk is worth a chance of seeing him even for a second.

Dan Heng’s deadpan voice brings Alisa back to reality, far away from the dangerous thoughts she will inevitably regret, “You have zero shame, Shuhua.”

The foxian scoffs, tugging on the tip of her ear to shake the excess water soaked into the fur right on the vidyadhara’s face, “Clearly they have negative shame, Dan Heng.”

 “Should we go say hi?” As if just woken up – full of mischief and yearning to wreak havoc – Stelle darts up to her feet, raining bathwater all over with her chaotic movements, “I feel like we should.”

Alisa has half a mind to stop her. It's neither time nor place and the two of you are clearly busy. Tomorrow is an important and, quite frankly, terrifying day for everyone in the Holy City, Alisa can only begin to imagine how you must be feeling sending Phainon away to battle a literal god. Logically, it’s better to give you some privacy, but has Stelle – or anyone other than Sunday, for that matter – ever listened to what Alisa had to say? The answer is predictably obvious, and whatever protests she voices are all lost on Stelle as she readies herself to march into the mayhem of her own doing.

“I strongly advise against it.”

Only she doesn’t get the chance to, tripping over her own feet, grasping for anything to hold onto and dragging Alisa along with her under the warm waters of the bathhouse. Shuhua and Dan Heng are quick to pull the two of them up, but their movements are far too sluggish under the influence of Thanatos’ power, and it does little to stop Alisa from inhaling some of the water.

“Miss Castorice…” She coughs out a greeting, although it seems to just make the matters worse as the woman takes a guarded step back.  “It’s okay! We’re okay! You just startled us.”

“I apologize, Lady Alisa. It wasn’t my intention.” Despite her rather poor repertoire of emotions, guilt is prominent on Castorice’s otherwise impassive features. Hands locked tensely in front of her, the Chrysos Heir sends another apologetic glance Alisa’s way before focusing on Stelle, “But please do not disturb them. It’s rare to see them here like this. Lord Phainon rarely has the time these days and Lady [Name] almost never leaves the Temple…” Castorice catches herself, putting an abrupt stop to her rambling, although the way she’s carefully watching you and Phainon paints a completely different picture for her sudden decision to stop talking. “Such an awful fate they were given.”

About to press for some answers, Alisa tries to find the question she wants the answer to the most, but none seem not invasive enough. Still, she imagines any would be more tactful than anything brewing in Shuhua’s head and judging by the ever-growing smirk tugging on the corners of her lips, she has a lot of those prepared already. Yet just like Stelle not so long ago, Alisa is not successful in her endeavor.

“Castorice!” Phainon’s voice is as clear as she remembers hearing it for the first time. “Esteemed guests, too.” He waves in their direction, hurriedly crossing the little distance between the refreshments table and their bath. “What a coincidence. Is the water to your liking?”

Dan Heng dips his head in lackluster appreciation, “It’s great, thanks.”

Satisfied with the answer, Phainon doesn’t offer any more questions, although the mysterious something woven into his self-assured smile is a little unnerving this time around, “If you’re free this evening you should come to the Garden of Life. My light has a way with words, her songs will not disappoint you.”

Castorice nods, accepting the offer easily. Even if Alisa wasn’t as intrigued by your relationship, she would have agreed either way. If not for the music, then at least for the rare investment sparking in Castorice’s eyes at the mention of you two.

“We’ll be there, Lord Phainon.” Maybe not everyone, most likely just Alisa and Dan Heng, but she would definitely not miss a free opportunity to listen to a ballad or two.

 “Not you too…” A disappointed sigh following his words, Phainon frowns slightly; blue eyes darting between Alisa and Castorice, he shakes his head, “No matter. I’m gonna go back now, can’t leave my lady alone for too long or she gets stolen by wild cats.” The smug arrogance paints his grin once more; Castorice – so uncharacteristically for her – looks almost amused by the nonsensical joke Phainon made. “See you later!”

He leaves in a hurry, just as fast and suddenly as he approached them, returning to your side. You welcome him, offering to take the wine pitcher off his hand but Phainon just shakes his head in silent disapproval. Opting to pour the pale peachy wine himself, he settles in the water next to you and lifts the goblet just enough for you to drink from it. And when you do take a careful sip from the silver cup, Phainon is quick to steal the wine from your mouth. Although you never seem to truly mind his unabashed behavior in the slightest, indulging it way more than you ever should have.

Maybe Shuhua is right for once, there are people with less than no shame.

Finally turning away, Alisa can’t help but muse over such unrestrained displays of affection. “He loves her a lot.” It sounds almost bitter, but Alisa is glad nobody notices. To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Even with her escaping the grasp of Istanai, Alisa will never truly be free unless she returns back to his side. And she can’t right now.

“He does.” Castorice is as solemn as always when she agrees quietly, her next words distorted by the excited buzz of the bathhouse visitors, “I imagine when you have so little to remember of home, what you do have you cannot ever let go. Even in death.”

It’s silent after that. Only the distant hum of the chatter and Phainon’s laughter cutting through the wall of white noise once in a while. They watch Castorice carefully as her unreadable eyes, all but glued to the glow of the sun shining over your head, get mistier by the moment. Tense shoulders, she cannot seem to find peace amongst the foggy air of the bathhouse.

“Castorice?” Stelle calls her name tentatively, but Castorice, too deep in whatever thoughts torment her, doesn’t react. Shuhua nudges Alisa on the shoulder, a little spooked by the idea of a literal manifestation of death being so lost in her own thoughts, and having no choice on the matter, Alisa reaches carefully to tug on the skirts of Castorice’s dress.

The Chrysos Heir flinches ever so slightly, misty gaze clearing up as she looks at where Alisa is still holding onto the fabric of her dress. “Please don’t listen to the rumors. Lady [Name] is not a bad person.” Coming completely out of left field, Castorice’s warning confuses the group even more than her silence ever did. “And do come to the performance, you might gain a lot of insight on that which you never considered to ponder on.” She looks almost conflicted when she says this, as if fighting with reason itself to justify her decision. Although when Castorice does get it off her chest, she seems almost liberated from her self-imposed shackles. Then she blinks, hand pressed over her chest as if she just remembered something important, “I completely forgot… I came here to fetch you, Lady Alisa. Lady Aglaea is interested in striking a deal.”

Shuhua groans. Alisa gets out of the water without much thought. Control is order and you cannot control what you cannot see. Yet again, the daughter of Repudiation is the biggest enemy of order. Only Aglaea is nothing like Sunday. And it’s for the better that she isn’t.

“I guess it can’t be helped.”

Alisa killed an Aeon once, what a demigod compared to rejection personified?

If only things were that easy.

They meet you for the second time with the strumming of a harp and your soft voice barely audible in their ears.

You are dressed far more modestly than you were back at the bathhouse, which isn’t that hard to achieve all things considered. Much of your exposed skin is still painted with golden ink, intertwined with red lines where they form some kind of convoluted patterns all over your chest and back. Your fingers run over the strings with some sort of stiffness one would not expect from a professional musician, and despite the music being nothing short of heavenly, you seem far too detached from the tune you’re playing. Even your voice is far too muted for a crowd that gathered around, and although the people are eerily silent while listening to your romantic tale of a sun’s journey to greatness, nobody is asking you to sing louder.

It's strange. There’s something off about this evening that Alisa can’t place her finger on just yet. Castorice hesitantly learns to accept that the powers given to her hold no effect on the daughter of Repudiation, so she slowly takes some liberties in standing far closer to Alisa than any reason would allow. Alisa lets her, contemplating offering a friendly hand, but deciding against it at the end. She knows better than anyone how overwhelming change can be for a person.

Shuhua, despite her initial unwillingness to join the group for a night out opting to just wallow in misery as she always tends to do at any mild inconvenience, seems to enjoy herself right now. Stelle and Dan Heng stand a little to the side, the deadpan expression on his face gives away an idea or two about the topic of Stelle’s commentary.

Phainon is sitting on the grass close to where you are, unbothered and casual as he always seems to be. Aglaea and one of the fragments of Tribios – Tribbie – are conversing quietly in the far away corner of the Garden of Life, but the leader of Chrysos Heirs doesn’t look all that happy to be here. Even the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos is present, albeit it’s a little hard to read between the lines of his permanent scowl, even more so than through Aventurine’s carefully crafted, mildly amused poker-face.

It's not Mydei’s presence that rubs Alisa the wrong way, it’s the odd absent-eyed looks Aglaea keeps throwing the Nameless that bother her. Despite a quite innocent and harmless deal they struck today, Alisa can’t help but feel even more on edge around the woman. Aglaea admitted she can only see this world through the golden thread, so why does she keep eyeing them so intently? It’s none of Alisa’s business and yet… Survival of her family is her business, isn’t it?

People give you a round of applause and you lift yourself up from the grass, bowing shallowly. Phainon is quick to follow you, taking the harp off your hands and bringing your palm to his mouth in a fleeting kiss. Castorice shifts uncomfortably, closer to Alisa’s side. And Alisa truly doesn’t want to assume anything, but from the corner of her eye she watches Aglaea’s frown deepen.

The crowd disperses slowly. Shuhua attaches herself to Alisa’s arm with a tired groan and an annoyed twitch of her ears, nuzzling against the feathers of halovian wings. Stelle is still rambling about losing her login streak in Wandering Waves and missing some important character’s banner. Dan Heng is the only one to actually care about the performance and even if usually Alisa would be the first to jump into a discussion about arts, her mind is uncharacteristically elsewhere.

With a whine, Shuhua announces that she’s craving a late-night snack before the big day. Both Stelle and Dan Heng pretend they don’t hear anything, not that Alisa expected anything else from them. Not even fighting for custody rights, Alisa drags Shuhua into a different direction that will take them to the Marmoreal Market. Maybe some dromas steak will soothe her friend’s miserable longing.

Yet as per the rules of Trailblaze, its pathstriders can’t stop getting themselves in trouble. And even now Alisa is barely quick enough to tug Shuhua behind a row of shelves full of potted plants before they get spotted by the two shadowy figures standing under the torchlights of Amphoreus’ otherwise dim alleyways. The scene unfolding before them leaves quite an unpleasant aftertaste in Alisa’s mouth when she swallows thickly. And now the fur of Shuhua’s restless tail doesn’t feel all that pleasant against Alisa’s skin amidst the heavy, warm night air.

“Is that who I think it is?” the foxian mumbles, a little confused tilt of her head, ears pressed tightly against her head.

“Please be quiet.” Alisa is trying to save them from being inevitably discovered, although her efforts go unappreciated, as Shuhua huffs, scandalized and offended.

“Hey, don’t shush me!” Despite being nothing but a whisper, the sheer force with which Shuhua delivers her line is nothing short of a scream. “You start sleeping in the same bed that smug, undercooked chicken wing and now you’re turning evil.”

Turning blind eye on the usual, albeit even more colorful, insults thrown Sunday’s way, Alisa covers Shuhua’s mouth with the palm of her hand, “Shush.”

Shuhua’s exasperated hissing is muffled, but it’s not audible enough to reach outside the little corner they’re hiding at. It’s for the better that it is that way, as the shadows grow nearer, heavy footsteps fall to a standstill under the darkness of a little shop across from the shelves covering them and Alisa can only pray the plants are enough to mask the bright fur of Shuhua’s tail.

The skirts on the back of your dress drag along the dusty ground and you don’t rush to lift them, slowly albeit deliberately walking past Mydei who remains standing near the bakery’s window. The annoyed crease between his eyebrows deepens as he catches up to you, stopping you by your forearm, the gentle touch not matching his permanent scowl.

Your gaze is planted firmly on the ground, someplace where your shadows intertwine. Mydei steps closer to you, hands moving along your skin until he holds your face in his hands, lifting your head up. “Why won’t you look at me?” He speaks differently. Less brash. Way slower and just as well-enunciated as Phainon was addressing you not so long ago. “Don’t tell me you’re still upset.”

“Of course I am, Mydeimos.” You talk just as quietly as you sing, with a tiny rasp of hesitation to your tone. Yet right now it’s mixed with something so bitterly vulnerable, it’s almost easy to forget that you are a taken woman. And with how compromising your position is, it’s all but effortless to misinterpret the situation for what it isn’t.

“I am immortal.” Mydei states plainly and you scoff.

He’s still holding your face in his hands despite your arms hanging limply by your sides. It’s hard to see under the shadows of twilight, but even in such darkness the hurt pooling in your eyes is difficult to miss. “Immortality does not take away the pain of death.”

“I am used to it.” It’s unclear whether Mydei is trying to convince you or himself, but either way it doesn’t work.

The bracelets on your arm clink against each other when you finally lift your hand to press your palm firmly to Mydei’s chest. “I told you already, didn’t I?” Your voice trembles like the strings of the harp, as if you are on the verge of tears. And maybe it is so, “Your ache is my agony. Your suffering is my anguish. I must live this life knowing I cannot aid you in your endeavors. History does not–”

Thumb against your lips, dipping ever so slightly into your parted mouth, Mydei interrupts your fervent rambling, “I wowed to battle fate for you. This hasn’t changed.” You are a taken woman yet with the way the Mydei so effortlessly throws earnest promises of eternal devotion your way, it’s easy to forget it is not he who you are officially involved with. “But Deliverer is better suited for that Coreflame than I am.”

Mydei drops Phainon’s title shamelessly, as if he is not standing here in this empty alleyway with you, holding you in his embrace so delicately behind Phainon’s back. Have you two no guilt? Does your shame really run that shallow to betray the man who loves you so dearly with such graceful ease? With his brother in arms, no less. How little self-respect does the crown prince have, to chase after a taken woman?

“You cannot defy who you are.” You whisper dejectedly, not bothered by the mention of Phainon but the fact that Mydei refuses to change his mind. You give up then, tense posture going lax as you sigh heavily in defeat, “But who am I to deny your wishes?”

“My wishes?” Mydei questions, a victorious glint in his eyes. “I have a lot of those, you know.” He steps closer and you step back until you reach the wall, Mydei’s arm against the back of your head so you don’t accidentally hit yourself against the white bricks. “I am insatiable in my greed. Or so they say.”

He doesn’t wait for any response, just dips his head down and presses his lips against yours feverishly. You reciprocate, eager and yearning, all but melting against his body until there is no more empty space between you. But even then, he still draws you closer, free hands itching under the missing fabric on the front of your dress.

Taking your preoccupied state as an opportunity for escape, Alisa once again drags Shuhua into the darkness of the alleyway. There are no words exchanged until they are far out of your hearing range. Marmoreal Palace is relatively empty this time of day, and Alisa feels like she can finally breathe properly. So many things running through her mind, she has no idea where she should even begin. All that Alisa truly knows that it’s wrong. They shouldn’t have been there to see that. You shouldn’t have been doing any of that at all. And yet...

Shuhua, however, never holds back when she has to say something, “This wench!”

“Shuhua, please.” Trying to calm her friend down is futile, but Alisa is known to enjoy suffering to its fullest.

“I have to give it to her though.”  Shuhua huffs in irritation, dusting her tail off any cobwebs it gathered during her stay at the dusty corner of an alley. “How hard is it to swindle those two at the same time?”

Acutely aware that she’s doing nothing more than playing devil’s advocate, Alisa is desperately trying to rationalize the situation, “Maybe this all is a big misunderstanding…” She knows nobody is inherently good, but she's always trying to look only for the best in other people. And Alisa really doesn’t want to believe that either you or Mydei would betray Phainon in such a way. Logic, however, is much harder to argue with.

“Her tongue was in places mine can’t reach.” An irked scoff and a roll of her eyes, Shuhua crosses her arms over her chest. It’s hard to believe such a thing is possible but once again facts win over delusions. “We should tell him about it the first thing tomorrow.”

“Shuhua…” Not liking Alisa’s tone, the foxian throws her glare of disbelief prematurely, before any stupidity can even cross her mind. But as it usually happens, disapproval doesn’t stop Alisa from speaking and she truly has had enough of Shuhua’s bad decisions in the span of these couple of months to last her for another ten years. “I am not condoning her actions, but… I don’t think this is the right time to drop something like that on him. We truly don’t need any bad blood between those two, considering they are quite literally on a quest to kill a god.”

Shuhua blinks, canines biting harshly into her bottom lip. She’s clearly searching for something to counter Alisa’s argument with but can’t find anything of equal value to reason. Eventually giving up, Shuhua sighs dejectedly, “Yeah, okay. You’re right.” Then she grins, a little manic and sort of troubling curve of her lips, as she cackles sarcastically, “We just have to kill a god, how hard can it be…”

Not harder than it was to kill an Aeon. But it’s better for Shuhua to never remember what exactly transpired inside the Realm or Repudiation.

Alisa can only hope that after all is said and done, she doesn’t have to act out on her side of the deal with Aglaea.

They meet you for the third time amongst the sea of passersby, the shining gold of your jewelry flickering with your every movement.

They spot you at Marmoreal Market not long after they successfully take Nikador’s Coreflame to the Vortex of Genesis. They pass by Melpomene, and despite calling out to her, she rushes past them without even a greeting, an annoyed growl falling from her lips as she casts one last glare in the direction of Marmoreal Diner. Confused, Shuhua follows her line of sight, ears perking up and tail wagging when she finally spots you amongst the crowd.

Against both of their better judgments, neither Alisa nor Shuhua told Phainon about their unfortunate discovery after they returned to Okhema. And considering he is still locked inside Nikador’s trial, it is for the better that he is not aware of your infidelity. This, however, is a perfect chance to finally confront you, not only about your unfaithfulness but also about the rumors floating around the Holy City.

After that night in the alleyway, Alisa couldn’t help but put her meddling skills to good use and sharpened her ears as much as possible. Castorice’s cryptic warning aside, the rumors about your person are hard to ignore when one actually listens to what the public has to say. Turns out, people seem to have very mixed feelings towards you. Some deem you an important, vital figure to Okhema’s wellbeing in such trying times: a famous bard, an acclaimed hymnwriter, a renowned poetess, a revered High Priestess of the Temple of Silence. Others think of you as a rotten fruit, slowly corrupting the well-oiled dynamic not only between the Chrysos Heirs themselves but also between Aglaea and the Council of Elders.

And as it so happens, everyone is acutely aware of your not-so-secret affair with the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos. All except Phainon himself. Even stranger thing is that despite your unfaithfulness being a well-known fact, nobody is rushing to inform the hero of it. Whether he lives under a rock or his devotion to you is that unshakable is unclear but whatever the reason for it is, Alisa can’t begin to sympathize with either you or Mydei.

Neither can Aglaea, it seems.

Goldweaver’s threads wrap themselves around Shuhua’s arm, planting her firmly in place, “I strongly advise you to stay away from that woman, Shuhua.”

The foxian clenches her teeth, and Alisa decides to intervene before things escalate someplace none of them wants to, “Lady Aglaea, good morning.”

Heavy blink of her sightless eyes, Aglaea turns to face Alisa albeit she can never truly pinpoint her location, “Good morning, child.” Despite the friendly, polite tone, Aglaea’s detachment from humanity prevents her from truly igniting the warmth in her voice. Alisa can’t blame her for it, neither can she condemn the woman for trying to protect her home by any means possible. Although now Alisa has a faint suspicion that her odd behavior during your performance had nothing to do with the Astral Express but everything to do with you. “Please heed my advice and stay clear of her, there is nothing the Temple can offer you that I cannot.”

“Of course, Lady Aglaea.” Alisa nods, agreeing with the woman without even trying to argue her case. Sometimes to reject something you need to accept it first, and who would understand that better than a daughter of Repudiation? “Please take care.”

Aglaea bows her head in a shallow goodbye, disappearing into the busy crowd just like Melpomene did not so long ago. Shuhua, still trying to come to terms with the fact that there might be a target painted on her back once more, gives Alisa a suspicious side glance.

"She's still spying on us, isn’t she?” Shuhua asks carefully. She is yet to get used to this new dynamic of being the one following Alisa’s lead for once. But to live is to survive and adapting is an integral part of survival, and Shuhua really doesn't want to meet her end here because of some light snooping.

Alisa shrugs, mumbling a barely audible agreement. Just because Aglaea’s golden thread cannot see her, doesn’t mean her spies cannot hear her. Breaking their agreement with the leader of Chrysos Heirs will put her family in danger, but despite his smug, overconfident attitude, Phainon is a good man. Sunday might be right: her kindness is her weakness ready to be exploited; but he’s not here to stop her, so what else Alisa is supposed to do?

“Lady [Name]!” It has been a long time since she needed to scream to get someone’s attention.

The people give Alisa an odd look or two, some stop to search for the source of a disturbance. You, however, head straight ahead. Box with honey cakes securely pressed to your chest, you never turn their way even when Alisa calls out to you for the second time. Some passersby give them confused side-glances; one quick look over your shoulder at the commotion, you never notice the outlanders, swept by the busy crowd of the market. Walking past them casually, you leave with only the scent of sunlit oranges, ripe pomegranates, and warm cinnamon clinging to the heavy air long after the flowing tails of your skirts disappear from view.

And so, you escape. And so, Aglaea wins.

“Can’t believe she ignored us like that!” Shuhua hisses. Angry and disappointed, she curses under her breath, icy glare digging daggers into the dense crowd of the market.

Something isn’t right at all about this. The omnipresent gaze of Repudiation calls for rejection of all, and even on the endless path of Trailblaze Alisa does not stop defying authority. Mokosha, Penacony, Amphoreus. Her guilt, her love, her longing. Karina, Sunday, Aglaea. To live is to survive. Survival calls for all sorts of risks.

“Maybe she didn’t notice us…” Alisa cannot see the golden threads, they dissolve into dust all around her, but she can spot them weaving through the market, trailing the scent of sunkissed oranges and sugary pomegranate you left behind.

Shuhua cannot see what Alisa can, however. “Stop playing devil’s advocate, I locked eyes with that wench.” But Shuhua wasn’t brought up with the oath of rejection woven into her every breath, so it’s understandable that she does not condone this doubt festering inside Alisa’s heart.

“I think it’s better we just talk to Lord Phainon.” Alisa knows it’s the only right thing to do. The only way to force you to be honest with yourself. The only way to get to the bottom of this conspiracy. The only way to not let Aglaea win ever again.

“Yeah, yeah.” Shuhua grits her teeth, even more vexed than she was before coming here. “Now come on, I need breakfast, or someone dies.”

Alisa doesn’t doubt it. She just hopes it won’t be Shuhua herself.

The golden thread trembles, yet its presence remains.

They meet you for the fourth time illuminated by the sunlight and scorched by fire, as you melt the ice of the memories of the world long gone.

It’s dark inside the Temple of Silence. Nothing but long corridors, dimply lit by torches burning deep purple flames, and imagery of the night sky painted in crimson and gold all over the white walls. Phainon is leading the way with well-practiced movements, all while entertaining Stelle’s barrage of ridiculous questions and Dan Heng’s polite yet distant commentary on some of the more captivating things that the hero has to say.

Shuhua is restless, even more so than usual since they got stranded on Amphoreus. Alisa fears it might be Shuhua's breaking point, but she will cross that bridge when she gets there and for now, they have far more pressing matters to deal with. Confronting you in your own temple is not going to be easy, but with Stelle and Dan Heng now involved in this against their will, things took a turn for the worse.

Noticing just how big the distance between them and Phainon grew, Shuhua exasperatedly mumbles something under her breath and picks up her pace, dragging Alisa along by her elbow. Phainon, finally stopping near the intricately carved door at the end of the hallway, is still entertaining Stelle’s curiosity without complaints. Shuhua throws him an apprehensive side eye, irked glow of her eyes spelling nothing but trouble for everyone involved, but Phainon misinterprets it as something it is not.

“You seem nervous.” He’s wrong, everyone except him is acutely aware of it, yet nobody is racing to correct his assumption. “I assure you, there is no reason for you to feel anxious.”

“It’s just…” Shuhua begins, a strained smile on her face, “It’s a little dark here, that’s all.”

“Oh, sorry about that. Should have warned you.” Phainon rubs the back of his head, an apologetic smile tugging on the corners of his lips. “Well, don’t worry. It’s very bright inside.”

Three light knocks. The dark, purple flames flicker to the rhythm of the drumming of Phainon’s knuckles. The heavy door opens on its own, light drowning the dimply lit corridor. For a split second Alisa’s vision goes blurry, as if blinded by the brightness of the light. It takes a second for her eyes to adjust to the new environment, but when they do, she almost wishes she stayed blinded forever. She should have known better than to trust Shuhua’s mad ideas, they’re always more trouble than they’re worth.

Shuhua’ grins, “Oh, isn’t it just great.” Dan Heng is quick to silence her before she drops any more unnecessary comments, but he can’t stop a little gasp that escapes Stelle’s parted lips.

Alisa diverts her gaze from the scene of the crime, trying to focus on something else other than the impending fight between an immortal man turned unwilling demigod and a hero acting as the muse to of almost all of your ballads. Eyes wide and pupils blown, Shuhua bites her lip to stiffen any more sounds coming from her, although most of it just seems like the foxian woman is trying to suppress inevitable cackle which is bound to worsen the tension even more.

Mydei’s arm is wrapped loosely around your waist, just to give enough support so that you don’t accidentally topple over and drop the goblet full of pomegranate juice all over the sofa. Or all over him to be precise. On your knees between his parted legs, one gold painted arm pressed against his naked chest, you’re carefully pouring juice into his mouth. He doesn’t as much as blink when some escapes his lips, sliding along his skin and leaving the dark crimson trail until it gets lost in what little fabric is covering his chest. Mydei simply slides his gloved hand along the expanse of your bare back, moving your hair away from your neck and bringing your face closer to his.

Dropping the empty goblet in your hand, you let it hit the white marble of the room with the deafening noise that makes everyone in the room flinch. You don’t seem to mind the noise, just sink even closer to Mydei, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips and when you part at last, you glide your tongue along the crimson trail. Then you sink your teeth into the slope of his neck, an apologetic flick of your tongue over the rapidly vanishing indent of your teeth in his skin. Mydei leans his head against the arm of the sofa, half lidded eyes watching as you leave a trail of bites along his chest.

Phainon, for all his recklessness and flair, is awfully calm even when he positions himself in a way to cover most of your exposed body from their prying eyes. Posture lax, no tension in his shoulders, he doesn’t seem astonished or betrayed, or even simply angry. If anything, Phainon seems almost embarrassed to subject his guests to such an indecent display of affection between his – girlfriend? wife? Alisa isn’t even sure who you even are to him with the way the hero keeps addressing you – and his brother in arms. Knuckles rubbing against his forehead, Phainon clears his throat.

Mydei, unbothered by the presence of another man in your private chambers, doesn’t spare Phainon even a quick glance, “You’re late, Deliverer.”

Canines digging into her lips, Shuhua is barely holding herself together from cackling. Alisa has to admit, that all of this is sort of funny in some twisted way. But all of this snooping around just for them to end up here, intruding into whatever you three knowingly have going on. Oh, how embarrassing indeed.

Phainon, back still shielding most of the view on your nude body, tugs his coat off, “Please inform [Name] that I brought in our esteemed guests for an appointment.”

With a deep, annoyed sigh, Mydei finally looks over his shoulder, “Really now, hero? Couldn’t find any other time?” You lift your head, watching him with mild worry in your eyes as if you just now noticed the presence of someone else in the room. Three light taps on your shoulder, Mydei whispers something extremely slowly and you nod, sitting up straight, moving your hair to cover your chest. “Or person, for that matter?”

Phainon shrugs dismissively, as if trying to play his mistake off as something that is not his fault and then throws his coat towards Mydei, “They seemed really eager to meet our Lady of Eternal Fire.”

Mydei scoffs, catching the piece of clothing and dropping it over your shoulders the next very second, “Oh, I’m sure they were.”

You slip your arms into the sleeves of the coat and get up from the sofa, “Phainon.”

Despite the tender kiss you give him, you acknowledge the hero with some sort of detachment when you say this name of his. But it must be because you, as Castorice pointed cryptically all the way back at the bathhouse, are the only one who knows of Phainon as a son of Aedes Elysiae, and his true name is far dearer to you than the one he chose for himself.

Then you divert your attention to the members of Astral Express, a peculiar smile curving your lips, “Mysterious outlanders from beyond the stars. Welcome to the Temple of Silence.” You beacon them to follow you to the large marble table in the center of the room with a gentle wave your hand, the sleeve of Phainon’s coat flapping as you do so, “Please take a seat.”

They do as you say, albeit a little hesitantly, and settle into a long ottoman, just barely big enough to fit the four of them. Phainon joins you on your side of the table, immediately resting his head on your shoulder, and despite reluctantly leaving the comfort of the sofa, Mydei remains standing behind you with his arms crossed against his chest.

“What brings you here?” You ask, hand running through Phainon’s hair. “Against Aglaea’s… insistent suggestions to stay away from me, too.” There’s a little teasing to your hushed tone. You are far more playful than Alisa initially thought, way less intimidating too.

Despite Stelle expectantly watching Shuhua, nobody says anything. What is there even left to say now that Shuhua can’t hold your trysts against you for her own entertainment? And neither she nor Alisa herself were here with any hopes of actually getting in contact with the Express.

Dan Heng, however, tired of constant childish tantrums of his temperamental fox friend, takes one for the team, “We were looking for a way to contact our friends back home, and Phainon lead us here. He told us there’s a chance you can help us reach through the barrier to contact them.”

One moment. Then two. Three and then four. You say nothing, your puzzled gaze drifting from Dan Heng to Shuhua, to Stelle, to Alisa and then back to Dan Heng. You mutter something under your breath; quick, single word sentences, as if you are trying to decipher something but keep failing at doing so. Phainon lifts his head from your shoulder, once again oddly guilty shine in his blue eyes.

It’s tense, unnerving kind of confused silence that never seems to settle and only continues to grow. “Deliverer.” Mydei sighs, heavy and exhausted, “You didn’t tell them.”

The frustration in Mydei’s usually mildly agitated tone is almost palpable, and Phainon chuckles awkwardly, “I thought it was obvious.”  Then he quickly gets onto his feet to leave the table only to return a couple of seconds later with a heap of yellowish parchment, a bottle of ink and four quills. He sets everything on the marble surface carefully and you thank him, passing the paper to the group. “Apparently not. My apologies, I must have complicated things way more than I initially assumed.”

A simple complication doesn’t even begin to cover the level of mental gymnastics you three forced them into, but even Shuhua’s confused ear twitch is met with Mydei’s almost-warranted exasperation, “Don’t look so damn lost, outlanders. You’ve never met a deaf person before?”

Oh, complicated indeed. Alisa was right to doubt everything, but with the way Shuhua’s ears fall flat against her head she can guess the guilt of assuming things is catching up even to her.

“It’s quite alright.” You dismiss the sudden pitiful glances with a careless shake of your head, instead pointing to the parchment you offered to them. Phainon once again takes a seat next to you, although his posture is far less relaxed than it was before, observing carefully as Stelle twirls the quill in her hand. “Before we begin, you must give an offering to the Temple. Please describe a memory you cherish and feed it to the fire.”

Dan Heng gives you an apprehensive look, doubting your words despite doing exactly what you told him to. Stelle does the same, quickly scribbling something on the paper and dropping it into the purple flames flickering in a large ceremonial goblet installed into the indent in the middle of the table. It takes some time for Alisa to think of a memory she is willing to share with a stranger, and next to her Shuhua grins, folding her paper neatly in half and throwing it into the fire as soon as she can.

Mydei rolls his eyes at such behavior, finally giving up his watch to sit down next to you. He tugs the armored gloves off, placing them neatly near the ottoman and rests his hand on the marble, fingers barely grazing the edge of the ceremonial goblet. You give him a pointed look, the one of a concerned warning, but he dismisses you with a slight, teasing tug to the pointed tip of your elf-like ear poking through the dark strands if your hair. You are about to continue playing a losing game when Phainon once again drops his head on your shoulder, lifting your left hand up to press a tender kiss to your knuckles. Those two, despite all of their differences, know how to distract you when it works to their advantage and succeed in doing so with the ease of a well-oiled machine.

Giving up, you return your attention back to your guests with a fleeting, barely audible apology, then dip your free hand into the fire and pull out five cloudy crystals, dropping them into a silver bowl placed in front of you. Picking the magenta gemstone up, you bring the copper colored one along with it, clicking them against each other. Phainon laughs, the joke is lost on not only Alisa but also on the rest of the Astral Express, although even Mydei seems to get it.

“You two are very special. One is an empty slate, unable to be recorded.”  You begin suddenly, dark eyes drifting from Alisa to Stelle intently. “Another blessed by the gaze of your local gods. What a peculiar life you have, Stelle.”

Upon hearing her own name, despite never introducing herself, Stelle asks a couple of questions you are never meant to catch nor would ever want to answer. You just toss the stones back into the fire and pick a green one, discarding this gem almost instantly as well.

“Rebirth? How interesting…” Looking at Dan Heng, you are searching for something Alisa isn’t sure you can find. But with how the Vidyadhara goes rigid upon hearing your words, something tells Alisa it is not only a single cherished memory of theirs you now have access to. “I am sure that whatever this jade abacus you are thinking about is, it will not help you to leave this world, Dan Heng.”

Smugness on Shuhua’s face deflates exponentially once you get to the pale peachy crystal, her scheme backfiring on her so unpredictably. “Oh, an odd choice for sure, and yet…” You quirk your brow, chuckling lightly under your breath and leaning forward to pass the stone directly into Shuhua’s hands. “Who would have thought that man had it in him to…”

Embarrassed, Shuhua hurriedly hides the peach-colored gem in the pocket of her shorts. You don’t say much more, just sit quietly with an oddly familiar glint in your half-lidded eyes, well-manicured nail in between your teeth. Phainon says something that is lost not only on you but also on the rest of the group. You swipe your tongue over your painted lips, crimson hue glistening even more under the glow of sunlight, and pick up the quill to write a couple of quick notes just to pass them to Phainon as soon as the last drop of ink hits the parchment.

Phainon skims over what you written, a choked cough contracting through his chest, and he crumbles the paper carelessly. “Shuhua’s chosen memory sparked sudden inspiration in me.” You explain then, a teasing lull to your voice, while your nimble fingers straighten the parchment Phainon so thoughtlessly ruined. “I am sure it will not disappoint you either, husband.”

“Aren’t you forgetting anyone?” Mydei asks, fingers that were toying with the edge of the ceremonial goblet now completely engulfed by the purple flames.

“This one sees the appeal of wild cats just like I do…” You say distantly, a subtle shift to the air around you as you tuck the note you wrote into the pocket of Phainon’s coat. “So I have something else for you in mind, Mydeimos.””

 Despite shedding light onto the meaning of Phainon’s bizarre joke and thoroughly embarrassing Shuhua even further with the knowledge of all her previous affairs, your provocative tone contradicts your appearance. Even while replying to Mydei as if you can hear him, you do not look a slightest bit happy or relieved to be able to perceive sound once again. Instead, you hastily free yourself from Phainon’s hold, swatting Mydei’s hand away from the fire and cradling it close to your chest.

Unlike you, the prince does not return from the flame unscathed, although the burnt skin mends itself almost instantly. You were right, immortality does not take away the pain of death, yet Mydei endures the turmoil with ease. True to his promise of battling fate for your love, he is willingly walking into the scorching fires just for a chance of you hearing his voice.

Love of such kind can bring all realms to ruin, yet it is the only kind that you can accept.

As if trying to brighten the mood, a little pink creature that has been following Stelle around ever since her conversation with Oronyx, finally shows itself. Curiously peeking out from behind Stelle’s shoulder, Mem says something that only she can decipher, and receiving a lackluster shrug from the Nameless it slowly floats up to you, fluffy tail swatting Phainon across the face. You watch it with an oddly nostalgic sense of longing littered all over your face like gold dust, strained fingers gripping Mydei’s hand harder. If you know something about Mem’s origin – which Alisa does not doubt even for a second – you keep it to yourself and let the pink fairy playfully bully Phainon some more, until it is completely satisfied and settles on top of his broad shoulders, tail wagging excitedly.

“Are all memokeepers so… eccentric?” Shuhua whispers right into Alisa’s ear and it startles her, dragging her away from her lingering thoughts. “What's up with that fifth memory bubble, anyway?”

Albeit a welcomed distraction, the idea of you being a pathstrider of Remembrance makes things even more convoluted than they initially were, although that power of yours is easily justified by that simple explanation. And considering how easily Fuli extended Their blessings to Stelle, it would be only natural that They gaze upon someone so closely intertwined with memories.

Soft smile of yearning all but completely gone, you look away, returning to the matter at hand. Last, bright pink crystal left lying in the silver bowl, you disregard its existence as if it's just a figment of your imagination. The subtle shift of the air does not seem so subtle anymore.

“Thank you for your kind offerings, Trailblazers.” You speak at last, although there is some sort of tragic finality to the way you deliver your line that tells Alisa you cannot fulfill their wishes. “I must disappoint you, however. What you desire of me is far too ambitious.” Alisa already expected as much, so it does little to disappoint her, but a discouraged sigh that Shuhua and Stelle share hurts her nonetheless. Yet your deeply apologetic expression seems extremely sincere, as you bow your head, “I am not a Chrysos Heir, neither am I gazed upon by an Aeon like the two of you. I am a mere preserver of truthful memories. A dedicated historian, if you will.”

Despite not truly acknowledging yourself as a pathstrider of Remembrance – knowing little of Aeons beyond the information you gathered from their memories – you almost openly recognize yourself as a memokeeper. Just as odd as Black Swan and Reca, albeit a little less suspicious in your intentions and far less invested into the overarching plot of this adventure.

Mydei seems to find some amusement in your claims, however, if a muffled snort coming from his person is anything to go by. He tugs on your ear again, the gold chain hooked to a tiny circular earring in your cartilage dangling as he does so. It's weaved with crimson and navy gems, uncannily reminiscent of Mydei’s own jewelry and the sentimental charm of it is oddly heartwarming.

A huff from you makes Phainon stiffen a laugh, yet another inside joke that goes right above the heads of the ignorant Nameless. He presses his lips against your knuckles once more, far more reserved in his affections than he was back at the bathhouse. Mem shuffles on the spot in his shoulder, tail wagging faster at the sudden disturbance as a bright pink paw hits Phainon square in the face. You giggle, murmuring a couple of teasing apologies in Mem’s stead, yet do not reprimand Stelle to keep her companion at bay. You simply watch Phainon, overflowing fondness in your eyes threatening to spill over.

When you do turn to look at Stelle, your gaze hardens exponentially, “Natural enemy of Goldweaver I might be, but I cannot restore memories like your little friend here does, nor can my power reach beyond these skies. I am truly sorry for wasting your precious time.”

Guilty as you seem to be for not being able to help them, there is something else to the way to shift in your seat. The hand with which you were holding onto Mydei so tightly just a moment ago drops on your lap. Phainon quits his pretend battle with Mem to give you a once over; nothing too out of the ordinary, yet it strikes a suspicion of doubt, nonetheless.

The last memory bubble remains untouched, but from the corner of your eye you keep a vigilant watch over the pink hazy crystal. A memokeeper always has their secrets and all their cards are always tucked close to their chests, under a hundred locks where the destructive forces of time cannot reach them. And right now, you too are hiding something in plain sight, masking your own troubles under the grievances of the Nameless travelers.

“Your time ran out, outlanders.” Mydei states suddenly, no room for discussion left in the way he gets up on his feet to stride towards the exist. “I’ll see you out.”

Stelle is about to say something when Alisa interrupts her, “At least we tried, right?”  It's a rhetorical question and she can only hope her friends get the hint and listen to what she has to say for once. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Lady [Name]. We will be off.”

They do. Confused and a tad bit worried, they follow Mydei to the door. You wave them goodbye, but don't get up to see them off. Neither does Phainon. Spirits low, Mem hops off his shoulder to float back to Stelle’s side.

Three knocks. The doors open on their own. One last glance at you that Alisa is quick enough to steal reminds her how easily her heart aches for others. To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Whatever you saw in that last memory was enough for you to keep your knowledge to yourself. And it is for the best that you can trust yourself to make such decisions. Alisa isn't sure she can say that about herself and not turn out to be a liar.

Mydei is far less of a competent guide than Phainon is. The journey is far too fast and now it's evident why this place is called the Temple of Silence. None of the questions they had were answered, none if them were even brought up in the first place. At least Shuhua can sleep soundly now with her conscience clear of any doubt that she's secondhand complacent in someone else’s infidelity. It doesn't seem like enough, however.

So even when Mydei comes to an abrupt stop near the gates of the Temple, Alisa has half a mind to ask at least something. She knows he won't indulge her curiosity, the prince is not Phainon and cares not about faux pleasantries of keeping up with appearances. But as it turns out, Mydei was itching to share a word or two with them already.

“Deliverer is too soft on you, so I’m going to say it myself.” It's one way to put it, but who are the humble Trailblazers to argue with a disgraced prince of a fallen nation. “This is the last time you come here for favors of such matter. That fool might deny it and say we and the Dressmaster reached a compromise, but he made his choice a long time ago. And my pact with Aglaea is fragile and I hold little to no attachment to either the Goldweaver or the Holy Maiden.” A slow yet steady pace at which a warning turns into a thinly veiled threat, “He’s delusional and living on borrowed time. I am immortal and I cannot forget. If you bring danger to her doorstep, I will pay you tenfold.”

Nobody responds. What is even there to say to such a declaration? Even more questions than before, Alisa can't help but wonder just how exactly Phainon and Mydei came to an agreement when it came to sharing your love and how you had it in your heart heart to tie both of them down to your soul so selfishly.

Not like Mydei would ever give her a clear explanation. No longer truly human, Mydei owes the Nameless even less than he did when he was just a Chrysos Heir. All have their own memories to preserve and it's none of their business, anyway.

“You keep bringing up Aglaea but what exactly did we do that's illegal?” Stelle is rarely as tactful as she should be, however. Maybe that's why she gets what she wants so easily. Audacity gets you places tact cannot. “Is your… arrangement not up to her moral standards? Or is it about the–”

Mydei chuckles bitterly, a sarcastic undertone coloring his humorless laughter and Stelle shuts her mouth quickly. “If there's someone who has those so-called arrangements you speak of, then it would be the Goldweaver. You should ask her about it if you are that invested into other people’s private lives.”  For the first time in a long time it feels like they finally crossed the line with the meddling in affairs that do not concern them. Mydei doesn't allow them to wallow in self pity, unceremoniously showing the group to the gates. “That being said, you’ve exhausted your question quota here. Leave.”

No goodbyes are exchanged but nobody expects the prince to send them off with a warm pat on the back. Shuhua, once again melancholic, dejectedly scratches on the shiny fabric of the pincushion strapped to one of the belts of her outfit. Mem is babbling away about something that leaves Stelle in less than elated mood. Dan Heng will surely scold them for snooping when they return to their room, but for now Alisa must embrace the shame.

“And learn to hide better next time, outlanders.”

To live is to suffer. To dream is to survive.

The tears you wept into the silver bowl cover the pink gemstone like ocean water drowns the corpses of the fallen. Even in death, you yearn to preserve a memory that remains nothing but a distant dream in the eyes of those who remember.

Maybe killing an Aeon is easier than salvaging broken pieces of rapidly melting ice.

Only one way to find out.

[klausysworld]

Hiii, love your work 🥰

I was wondering if you could write one where reader cuts himself and tries to hide it from Klaus, but after a bad night she does it again and the next day she puts on a sweatshirt to hide it, and while she's with Klaus he grabs that part of her arm and she shows pain, Klaus asks her what's wrong and she says that he grabbed her unexpectedly or grabbed her very hard but he's not convinced, the next day the same thing happens again and this time he comes back to ask what's wrong, but this time he insists that she tell him the truth, and she doesn't want to, so he lifts her sweatshirt and sees the cuts and then I leave it to your imagination.

it's okay if you don't feel comfortable writing this 💖

Trigger warning-Self Harm (please don’t read if you think it might upset you)

Don’t Suffer In Silence

Y/n had done well at keeping her marks hidden. Living in a house of Vampires and Hybrids didn’t make it easy which made her feel worse and more anxious but she still managed.

Dealing with the supernatural pressure and losing lives every other day was far too much on Y/n. She had struggled with self harm before the Mikaelsons anyway but with all the added drama she was spiralling fast.

Once again one of the vampires she had befriended became a casualty of everything going on between all the factions. Y/n had state back at the compound with Hope only to be told by a pissed off Marcel and then told to ‘get over it and stop being dramatic’.

Y/n still wasn’t used to the amount of death that surrounded her, not the way everyone else acted like it was normal.

Y/n had come to New Orleans when she received a call from her best friend Hayley. They had helped each other after Hayley got kicked out and Y/n had run away. Since then they both had each others back no matter what. Hayley had known that Y/n would hurt herself in the past but she had no idea that it was still something she went to as a source of relief. It had been years to Hayley’s knowledge so she wasn’t really paying any attention to the possibility.

But if Y/n was honest, she never really stopped in the first place. She never actually wanted to stop, she always had a little blade hidden somewhere ‘just in case’. She was always waiting for something awful to happen so she could feel like she had a valid reason to harm herself.

Y/n had thought things were taking a turn for the better when she and Klaus got closer. She still remembered the first time he kissed her, it was like a moment of peace for her heart and mind.

His touch was always so soft with her and she was grateful for that. They weren’t ‘together’ per say. They never actually confirmed their relationship, they just supported eachother when the other needed it. But Y/n didn’t think Klaus could help her with this. She assumed he would think it was pathetic or just give her that pitiful look.

Y/n always wore her long sleeved tops and if she didn’t then she’d have a jumper or jacket on, no matter what the weather. Of course all the vampires didn’t notice the heat much anyway so thankfully nobody questioned her choices. Everyone was to busy to anyway so even if they did notice, it wasn’t exactly a top priority.

Part of her was glad that she and Klaus weren’t in a confirmed relationship, it meant he didn’t get to see her scarred skin. It meant he never had the chance to touch her unless it was a brush of his hand or the occasional arm around her as a sign of protection. Every now and then he’d put his hand on hers when they sat beside eachother or something had happened that he caused and he would hold her hand gently as an apologetic gesture.

So she didn’t have much to worry about when it came to anyone finding out or caring much if they did.

It wasn’t like she didn’t get a lot of spare time. So she took advantage of her time alone, scavenged for her hidden blade and used it the only way she knew how.

Guilt flooded her after, but it was worth the few minutes of relief she felt before.

She locked herself in her room for the rest of the night, grateful that all the rooms had their own bathrooms.

She laid sprawled out in her bed in just a t-shirt, red wrists faced up as the cool air that flowed in from the window brushed over her skin. It was one of those rare times she fell asleep on her back and woke up in the same spot.

A harsh knocking at her door forced her eyes open and brain to kick start running.

“What?” She called out with a groan and Hayley’s voice rang straight back at her

“Can you stay here and look after Hope? I need to get to the bayou asap and everyone else is out at the moment.” She yelled back

“Yeah I’ll go to her room right away” she agreed while begrudgingly grabbing a cardigan.

Klaus and Elijah returned a few hours later to find Y/n facing the task of feeding a young Hope and having food flung across the floors.

Elijah let out a chuckle and went up to his reading room while Klaus approached the pair and helped settle his daughter.

Y/n assumed Klaus wouldn’t want her hovering over their heads and so went to go upstairs but his hand grabbed onto her wrist to stop her. She winced instantly and yanked her arm away from him making him frown

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he stood up from his seat and looked down at her forehead

“Nothing, you just grabbed me harder than I was ready for” she mumbled quietly before going to keep walking but he grabbed her wrist again just gentler. She bit down on her tongue and looked back at him. He looked at her for a moment before sitting down and tugging her with him

“Stay for a bit?” He started “Hopes games often require at least three people” he smiled and she mirrored his expression

“Yeah, of course” she agreed and lifted Hope onto her lap as Klaus’s arm slipped round her waist and his eyes dropped to the sleeve which threatened to show her skin but didn’t quite.

Klaus payed much closer attention to her actions and responses. She was quick to tug her sleeve down every few moments, even when they weren’t sliding up. When Hope would touch her arms or pull on her clothes then Y/n was looking more and more anxious and uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure what had happened, perhaps she had bruised herself and was embarrassed. Then he worried that one of the mikaelsons enemies had grabbed her too harshly and she hadn’t wanted to tell anyone. So he decided to let it go.

Until she continued to show signs of pain and discomfort for the several following days.

She was making pancakes for herself and Hope when he knocked her arm again, she inhaled deeply and he furrowed his brows as she moved her sleeve round a bit.

He watched as she put the first pancake on the plate and poured more of the batter onto the pan. He went to hold the base of her wrist to help her flip it better but she dropped the pan as soon as he got a grip she was pulling away and dropping the pan down with a loud clatter, he quickly turned the stove off to look at her

“Love, you need to tell me what’s going on” he murmured whilst trying to pull her hand toward him but she wouldn’t allow it

“Nothing, it’s fine” she muttered

“Well clearly something’s wrong” he mumbled, this time he pulled her arm with force making her stumble forward to him. Her eyes widened as he grabbed the end of her sleeve and went to tug it up

“Klaus stop it!” She yelled and smacked his hand with her spare one but he had already seen. His face fell slightly, confused flashing across him before his gaze softened and his eyes flicked to hers. She stared back at him horrified, her chest rose and fell rapidly and she hurriedly shoved past him.

“Y/n” he called softly as he followed her closely. She locked both her bedroom and bathroom door as she sat on the floor beside the bathtub. She breathed rapidly as she squeezed her hands together tightly and tried to think but before she had a chance to her door was swiftly broken in and Klaus was down on his knees before her. “Sweetheart” he murmured as he moved his arms under hers and lifted her as he stood once again.

She didn’t bother struggling as he brought her to his room and sat her down on his bed, his hands stroking the back of her hair. “I’m just going to get Elijah to look after Hope for a moment okay? I’ll be right back” he whispered with a kiss to her forehead

“Klaus it’s fine” she utter but he shook his head

“Just wait right here” he told her before speeding round the mansion.

She sighed heavily and ran her hands through her hair, once, twice, three times and then over and over until she was just pulling at it harshly.

Klaus quickly grabbed her hands hand rubbed the backs of them with his thumbs as he eased them away from her poor hair. Her face was bright red as she hiccuped on her cries in an attempt to silence them. He sat down on the bed and pulled her onto his lap

“It’s okay” he whispered softly “it’s okay” he repeated as he gently removed her jumper, leaving her in a t-shirt and showing him her arms. She couldn’t see his face when his eyes flicked to each and every line on her skin, some faded, some rather fresh and most in between. The pads of his fingers ever so lightly touched one or two of the raised lines, his lips pressed to the side of her head as she let out a sniff in response.

Y/n refused to look at him or herself, her face was turned to the side to stare at the art filled wall. She trailed her eyes over the different paintings while trying to ignore the feeling of his skin on hers. Her eyes shut when she felt something soft touch on of the cuts on her wrist, something warm and a tiny bit wet. The feeling came again and again, her eyes looked to find the source on the tingle against her flesh.

A tear fell down she face as she watched Klaus swap between her left and right forearms to kiss the newer marks on her skin.

He leaned back to look at her face once he was finished, seeing the shame and the guilt shine within her glossy eyes. His hand stroked the hair away from her face as his lips pressed to hers gently, he stroked the back of her neck and the top of her back as he kisses her softly. She pulled back as more tears dropped from her lashes but he wouldn’t let her turn away.

“Do you have any idea how much you mean to me sweetheart?” He whispered as he brushed his warm hands over her face. “You can always come to me my love” he murmured “don’t suffer in silence”

She sniffed as she leaned forward to press her forehead against his chest making him wrap his arms around her mid section and pepper kisses to the top of her head

“You’re going to sleep in my bed tonight okay?” He whispered

“It’s the morning” she mumbled back “you have to go settle a deal with the witches and-“

“Do you want me to stay? I can stay home today and be with you and Hope” he offered but she shook her head

“I don’t want you to worry and stay here just because I’ll do some stupid” she told him and his frown deeper and he hugged her tighter

“I can’t help but worry Y/n. Not that what’s happening is stupid but because you’re hurt. I never want anyone to hurt you, not even yourself and I will worry whether you like it or not but I’d rather be able to help you so that I don’t have to and so that you don’t feel you should turn to this” he explained gently

“I can’t help it” she whispered and he nodded

“You don’t want to stop” he uttered and she nodded subtly. He rest his chin on top her head as he thought for a moment, his hands gently rubbing her back.

“I’ve tried to” she sniffed “but I just can’t”

“It’s okay” he told her. “We’ll find a way okay? For now, whenever you want or need to hurt yourself, you call me okay? I’ll find a way to help you no matter where I am, what I’m doing.” He promised and her brows pulled together

“Why would you do that?” She asked weakly and he smiled slightly, not that she could see his face.

“Because I love you and I care too much to let you live in pain” he told her softly. “One day, I’ll kiss every inch of you whether it’s scarred or not” he whispered and took a deep breath as she held onto him a little tighter.

She stayed quiet, in his arms, not sure of what to tell him. But he didn’t need to hear her say anything, he just wanted her to know he was there.

Eventually they went back downstairs, she put her jumper back on so the other didn’t see but Klaus kept her by it on him at all times, made sure she ate and then they went back up to his room so she could lay down with him spooning her to keep her warm and safe.

Y/n wasn’t sure what would happen tomorrow or the days after that but she hoped Klaus would keep to his word and be there if she should need him.

(One could hope for a reaction like this😐🫤)

[eliciria]

Ahmmm..

Headcanons for Leona Kingscholar while being friends with benefits with Reader/yuu

Angst and fluff??

a/n : thanks so much for requesting! My first post that actually shows my writing! wow! Sorry if it's a bit more angsty than fluff, i naturally go there hehe. Hope you enjoy!

whisper to the trees... (ask box) : open

check my about me/request rules here

wc : 0.8k words

cws : suggestive but still fluff, miscommunication phase for like 2 seconds, swearing, kind of ooc leona, potentially happy ending? gn reader

song playing : this is how it feels by laufey ft. d4vd

Leona Kingscholar with a friends to benefit! Relationship

I'll be so real right now, he actually wouldn't do any type of PDA with you. Even if you lean to more of the affectionate and almost lover-type phase of your 'friendship', he won't even attempt to try and hold your hand out in the open.

That doesn't mean he doesn't want to, though.

It's just that his pride kind of gets in the way when he attempts to brush his fingers against yours a little longer.

Pride is also probably the main reason why both of you remain friends. You think he wants to remain friends, while he struggles to pour his true emotions to you.

It leads into a cycle of ghosting then love bombing. The lack of responsibility within the interactions of both of you, before finally missing you becomes toxic.

He misses your supposed first dates, before apologizing later in the night. After reconciling, you'd attempt to meet up with him again past your `nightly activities` , but he misses it again. The cycle repeats.

Frankly, you were a bit sick of it. But you gave him one last chance to talk it out with you after class. To figure it out together.

So when he notices you right after he flirts with a random student(for them to carry one of the group projects, that is). He can't help but regret to have confessed earlier.

You walk hastily, trying to avoid the awkward situation you just witnessed. You finally got your answer, but you wished it wasn't in this way.

You pretended that you weren't in denial, and your actions showed the opposite. You really were. Tears were fighting to come out, and your lips trembled in both sadness and anger.

You only snapped out of it when Leona grabbed your hand a bit too tightly, breaking you out of your train of thought.

"Are you seriously walking away?" He asked you. How funny. You scoff.

"After witnessing that? Any person would."

"You don't understand." Really? Is this how he is going to act? You roll your eyes, tears sliding.

"Just what do I not understand? That you pulled that shit on me? Just how long do you think I can handle this bullshit?" Your voice attempts to remain stable, but the broken sobs break your attempt to look like you didn't care. You were just friends, yes. But the nights where he had "loved" you felt too much now.

" Yuu--"

"What, huh? I'm tired, so tired of you treating me like a whore. Like someone with no dignity. You treat me like a friend, and I'm happy you do. But when we try to step forward, you act like I'm just a fucking bed warmer! Just what do you want from me Leona?! I can't keep up with this. I love you, but I'm tired. Please, just stop-"

You get interrupted with your face being buried in his chest. He was embracing you, with a bit too much gentleness. He was stroking your hair, muttering a "shhh...". You hit his chest again and again, your broken sobs muffled. It would happen all over again. You'd fall again, and he'd do nothing but let you.

He watched as you screamed at him. It was understandable, he had refused to show any sign that he had truly loved you. But when he picked up the noise of students' footsteps, he can't help but want this to be cut short.

Nobody can hear your cries, unless it was him.

He immediately embraced you, both in comfort, and to blur your cries.

As you hit him as he hugs you, he gripped you a bit tighter. The punches were weak, and he was too focused on stopping you from crying.

Students passed by the both of you, glaring at the scene. A couple hugging in a hallway? Out of all the places?

But they rushed on as they noticed his death stare. The second they had tried to look at your face, he was tempted to pounce at them right then or there. He fought the urge to actually commit the act; he simply moved himself so all they would see was his back, and not you.

After a few more minutes of silence, he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry. I really am. I do love you. I really fucking do. The only person I want to see is you. The only person I want to be with is you. I just...don't know how to tell you that. I acted incredibly douchey, so i apologize. For everything. For all the dates I missed. For the missed opportunities to say I love you. For not being able to give you what you deserve. I'll change. Fuck, I'll do anything. I need you, so please. Don't leave."

You remain still, before letting out a jagged breath. You held onto the side of his jacket, and he rests his hand on your neck, the other on your waist. You look at him.

"I won't."

a/n : the cycle continues! if you liked this, please like or repost it! again, my asks are open, and thanks for reading!

[aballadforbarbatos]

fanfic

fairly long i guess. i’m going through a bit of a mephisto brainrot right now tbh; took a long break from obey me and came back to see 1500 AP. immediately spent all that to get a mephisto icon when the card was at level 10

was it worth it? hmm.

you have no goddamn idea what prompted you to do this

YES you applied human logic and it turned out to be right but maybe you should just stop doing that. stop thinking

mephistopheles had been a bit too mean for your liking. that’s what kicked this whole thing off to start with

maybe he didn’t mean it. maybe he did. anyway it ruined your whole day

satan had noticed your mood change and suggested something nice, which was:

“why not read something nice and fluffy?”

and then the idea had stuck itself in your head and just not let go

you do a quick search on doogle, and to your delight, the demons have not let you down!

searching up “mephistopheles x reader” returned thousands of results, and while you knew there’d be a lot of ooc writing, the idea of mephisto being not mean to you was enough to make you excited :D

you want to open up a fic right there and then, but something makes you stop. the brothers would get awfully suspicious if they saw you all blushy and giggly and pink…

you leave it for lights out where you can get all blushy and giggly and pink in secret.

you see mepisto the next day and excitedly wave hello at him. he looks at you strangely. good enough!

and then it kind of becomes an addiction. you can’t read anything else and your textbooks are a struggle when you’re thinking about all the fake mephisto romances you could be reading instead

satan asks you to review a book he found and you have to turn him down saying that you’re reading a book that’s vaguely related to horses but he wouldn’t like it because the narrator sounds like lucifer

you’re lying of course, but he doesn’t know that

and then one day, when the fanfics aren’t hitting the spot, a new idea comes to you. what if you wrote your OWN mephisto x reader fic?!

you totally brush over the fact that you actually know mephisto irl and sometimes even have conversations with him. if you just stick to the ooc template that everyone else uses it’s like a totally different person

so you jump on the devildom version of ao3 and start posting. you do this for many, many months and nobody in your circle finds out, but BOY does that fic get popular

you end up skipping a chapter because of an event and then promise to release it on wednesday, but then wednesday rolls around and you still haven’t done it AND THERE’S A STUDENT COUNCIL MEETING

the clock is ticking away and you have stuff to do, like it’s also your turn to cook dinner and you’re failing your classes, so you kind of have to go home like right now? you stick your hand up

“what’s up, MC?”

“can i go home? i really have to write this chapter.”

everyone perks up except for lucifer who’s ready to tell you off for not messing around. too bad he’s drowned out by literally everyone else

“wow! you’re writing a story?! what is it about?!”

no wonder you chose “nothinky” as your username for this fic cause you don’t think about the answer and how these demons that are crushing on you fairly obviously will react

“oh yeah it’s about me dating mephistopheles”

silence.

lucifer looks like he’s bitten into a lemon, which is kind of funny but you’ve just thought of a great line to put in your fic so you scribble that down instead

“mephistopheles. like the mephistopheles WE know or,”

“i didn’t know mephistopheles was a common name in the devildom. yeah it’s the mephisto we know?? oh, but i did write him based on the template that others used, so it’s really just a totally different person”

“wdym others.”

“well i did devour like hundreds of mephisto romance stories before this you know…”

“MC what the fuck.”

you keep going because basically you don’t know when to stop and if you keep going they might let you out earlier

“yeah i’m coming up to the part where he proposes but i was gonna ask one of you guys about that since i don’t know if it’s different down here. AND i need someone to read the story with me because even though he was supposed to be based on this template i feel like it’s a lot closer to the actual mephisto, and that would be a problem because i’m really starting to fall for this mephistopheles-not-mephistopheles”

that’s not a joke. sometimes you think about how crazy it is that you got here. as you’re explaining things about the story you don’t notice that everyone’s eyes have shifted from you to above you.

“i can teach you about how nobles propose, MC.”

you freeze up and feel your face burst into flames. you can’t even turn around and say “great!”

but if you had turned around, just by coincidence, just a few moments earlier, you would’ve seen him there, slack-jawed and eyes wide. a sight completely unbefitting of a noble.

how nice that you’ve made the first move for him.

and you said that you needed someone to read your story, didn’t you? perhaps he can show you how much better the real thing is.

[misty-caligula]

It’s official, I’m calling mistynat endgame.

And not just because I’m REALLY into it.

(But I am)

It’s entirely based on this:

Nat sees Misty at the cafeteria

She’s stunned, startled obviously, but also like... I think her mindset is like, why is SHE here, again, after I kicked her out AGAIN??

Nat’s been going through a lot of processing of herself as feeling unlovable, undeserving of love, with Lisa telling her that it doesn’t really work like that. And here’s Misty showing up, once again, when Nat needs her. The expected expression is frustration or outright hostility, but instead we get just... shock.

Then she sits with Misty, and she’s a bit guarded, with one of her little smirks and she asks why she’s here. But Misty answers with genuine concern, and Nat just can’t keep her armor up, and instead of the expected glare we get this:

Real vulnerability. Nat’s softened noticeably since last episode, she’s really starting to grow more self aware and it’s showing through. For all of Lott’s flaws, for all the difficulties that Lott’s weird cult has and causes, Lisa’s been able to get through to her and Nat’s always been someone who struggles to turn away from the truth when it’s staring in her face - hence why she’s needed external assistance from substances and sex.

Misty doesn’t really Get what’s changed, and doesn’t seem to Get that Nat’s having a rough time, and it sparks her to raise her shield just a little bit. She asks about Walter in kind of a snide sort of way, but then when Misty responds, she tries to brush it off as no big deal, but Misty’s a TERRIBLE liar and Nat sees right through her and at the pain clearly sitting underneath. And then we get this beautiful moment:

“We’re all like this, aren’t we?”

The moment really goes over Misty’s head because of course it does, but here, right here, is genuine 100% empathy. And the thing is that NOBODY shows Misty actual empathy. Sympathy, sure. Pity, absolutely. Anger, disgust, frustration, confusion, etc etc. But ... empathy? Actual honest-to-god “I see you, I understand you, I feel what you’re feeling” empathy??

This is a first. And it’s from Nat. And it’s on her own terms, for ONCE Misty isn’t manipulating her, or asking for it, or anything. She doesn’t even realise she gets it. But here’s that connection that she so DESPERATELY needs, for free, from the one person she most wants it.

I think it’s going to take a long time, I think there’s going to be a lot of roadblocks and potholes. I think that in the short term if there’s a confrontation between team lottie and team nottie, Nat’ll be on Lott’s side because of Lisa. But in the long term, I think this is a sign that Nat really CAN see Misty as a whole functional human being, not just an object of chaos, and that one day ... one day... if we’re very lucky and very patient canon mistynat may well be our reality. That’s my prediction anyway.

[rubykgrant]

OK, one more addition, this time with some nicer thoughts (because all joking aside, I DO care about being nice)-

This is such a sad thing for all the people who enjoyed things created by RT, and the people who worked there. It really IS. This is something that has been around for more than 2 decades, a lot has happened, a lot of people shared what happened through all those years. I've seen people talk about how they grew up watching stuff RT made, and I've seen some of the people who work there talk about how they grew up being part of it. That's a big deal. If anything ever means something to you, even for a short amount of time, it is still important. If something was meaningful for an extended period of your life, that is pretty incredible.

People found friendships through being fans, they found creativity through inspiration, and they shared all that with each other. The people at RT who wrote, animated, voice-acted, composed music, and so much more- all wanted to share their creativity. The people who played games shared their effort, frustration in the failures, joy in the victories. It wasn't a waste of time working on all of that. It wasn't a waste of time enjoying all of that. It wasn't a waste of time being invested in all of the stories, and it wasn't a waste of time to make stories of your own. If nobody ever played around with ideas and shared them, the world would be a lot emptier. None of it is pointless, because it is all part of life. A lot of different people collectively shared 20+ years of their lives with others, for better and for worse, and the people who enjoyed it shared moments of their lives with each other.

It isn't fair that so many things that get built-up, struggle to succeed and continue to exist, just get thrown away. It isn't fair that some people out there decided that nothing needs to "last" anymore, studios get bought up, employees get fired, projects get shut down, media and content gets erased. It isn't fair that creative ideas get treated like dirt. It isn't fair that people who have dreams, ideas, and the motivation to work on them, get treated like trash. Stories should at least get the chance to be told, and people should be able to continue working on what they actually WANT to make.

I'm not one to ignore or brush-off any of the problems that happened there (which was the point of ALL THAT above), but I also am aware that, as others have pointed out, many of the people who had been hurt in some way while working at RT had been hurtful on occasion. That's what happens, people can be selfish, mean, rude, and hurtful. It gets worse if you never learn to see how much you hurt others, or keep feeling hurt yourself. It is very hard to live with yourself after something terrible happens, and it isn't easy to realize you've been acting terrible, but you still deserve to keep LIVING. You deserve to move on, enjoy your life, find a sense of safety and be comfortable. You deserve to be better, for yourself and the people in your life, not caring is easy, but CARING is hard, and it is worth it. I said that previously, but I'll keep saying it again- caring is worth it.

I mentioned I wasn't really aware of RT for the most part over the years; I saw RVB as a teenager, up to season 5, and then that was pretty much it for more than a decade. I was vaguely aware of RWBY, and saw a little of Gen:Lock, but didn't exactly connect it to what I already knew... then in 2021, I randomly remembered Red VS Blue was a thing, and decided to re-watch it, finally seeing all the episodes from seasons 1-5 in order. Sure, some of the jokes didn't age well, but for the most part it was good for a chuckle, and I genuinely enjoyed watching it! Then I noticed... there was a season 6, and a season 7, 8, 9... it went all the way to 18! So I kept watching, and I'm not going to lie; it was delightful, enthralling, and so wonderfully weird. Not only was it enjoyable just on my own, when I started interacting with people who shared fan art and writing, I suddenly found myself meeting so many people who were so nice! They were also smart and insightful, I loved hearing all their thoughts and feelings for this series and these characters. I learned things on a deeper level that I never would have been exposed to had I not re-watched the silly Halo Video Game Show Full of Swear Words. It is a rare thing to find a series in which you literally love ALL the characters, and while I may have some favorites, I really do enjoy each of them. I'm also not always much of a "shippy" person, but I think anybody who knows me is aware that two idiots in love took over my brain. I even started telling my coworkers about this series, people who ranged from teenagers to being in their 40s-50s, and y'know what? I'd come into work, and they would ask- "So, what did your funny red and blue internet guys do last night?", and so I'd tell them about another episode. All these thoughts were filling up my head, and I finally had to pour it all out into fan art and writing before I drowned. I made so MUCH, it surprised even me! I still want to make more, and see more from all my friends~

I so very much wish things could have been better at RT for all involved, and I wish it could have actually continued on, genuinely improved, and gotten better. So many people did so much, for a long time. So many people have loved sharing it all. The people there who cared about what they did and cared about each other- that is important. The people who cared about the things that made them happy- that is important. The people who struggled and were hurt- it is VERY important that they feel better, and are able to keep caring themselves.

so. Rooster teeth is gone now. Thoughts?

That's both kind of a shock, but also unfortunately not surprising. I haven't really been "in the loop" regarding Rooster Teeth as a whole thing like other people online (I literally never knew anything they did outside of RVB 10+ years ago, except for hearing people vaguely talk about RWBY and Gen:Lock, and even then, I only really saw RVB to begin with because a friend had borrowed the DVDs from their older bro, who had borrowed them from a friend of his). I only randomly remembered RVB was a thing a couple years ago, and then it took over my brain. THEN, one of the more recent incidents of how RT mistreats employees was brought up, and while a lot of people were (sadly) used to hearing about that, I was not aware of previous situations, and it honestly made me very upset. I wrote a whole thing about that, which nobody "important" really saw, because I'm not important myself, but this new situation makes me feel more of the same...

It is awful that so many problems went on for so long, a LOT of people got hurt through working there over the years. They all deserved to be treated better. Being in a bad situation like that can mess up your whole life. That kind of thing also hurts how people work, and surprise-surprise, that hurts WHERE they work. You can't mistreat employees over and over, then turn around and give the fans the equivalent of a slap in the face when it comes to letting them actually enjoy the content, and expect everything to just work out OK. I am genuinely sad that yet another thing is getting shut down; it happens so often, with different studios/creative teams, and it would be nice to actually see a group recognize what their problems have been, make an actual effort to IMPROVE, and continue to exist. I hope all the creative people involved who have been working hard don't just get thrown on the wayside, but it is so difficult to find any stability in the entire entertainment business world right now. There were a LOT of problems at RT regarding how employees were treated, and that includes so MANY people, but there is also a vast amount of problems at just about every creative workplace (and this has been going on for more than a decade). Almost nothing survives, except a handful of companies who basically just "eat" up smaller ones, and have the money to fail or lose money over and over again, and not worry. Who cares if they shut down 10 other studios and end 50 projects that were almost finished? They still have their money. It is also just honestly WEIRD how many different companies keep making the same mistakes with how they offer content to the fans (limiting availability, not even letting people buy the stuff they want to buy, etc. RT has gotten a lot of hate for recent stuff with their online videos, but availability is a whole problem with all kinds of media; Disney won't let you watch it's own movies, Nintendo won't let you play it's own games; it's STUPID), and then being surprised it isn't working. Stop shooting yourselves in the foot. Stop doubling-down on the same nonsense. It isn't WORKING.

Again, it would have been nice to see a negative situation actually be IMPROVED. Maybe that is naively hopeful of me, but I'm also not exactly surprised. I'm just sorry so many people worked on so many different projects, with all their passion, talent, and effort, got mistreated, and it is now all being thrown away. It is just plain sad that so much can go wrong for entirely too many years, and then it just ends without anything being fixed. "Well it sucked, but now it's dead"- it didn't HAVE to suck, and it didn't HAVE to die. I wish it had been better from the beginning, and I wish that things could have gone better throughout. I hope all the creative people are able to keep living their lives and find themselves in workplaces where they can be safe (for their own emotional/mental health, and in terms of making enough money to actually live).

[a-supernatural-writer]

Hiii this is my first time requesting anything so sorry if I’m really annoying, but could you do a poly lost boys helping the reader (preferably female but gn is fine too) with an anxiety attack? I had a really bad one earlier and just want some comfort from my favorite boys.

But if not then i understand! Don’t feel pressured to do this ❤️

Hun, you are not annoying at all! And request anytime, and I don’t feel any pressure at all to do this, so you are more than okay. I actually have severe anxiety to the point where I lose clumps of hair and my entire body starts turning red and itches. So, I completely get it dealing with anxiety attacks. They’re no fun, so I am completely happy doing this. I hope this gives you comfort and I hope you are doing better. A lot of what I mention in this is just from my experience and I know everyone has different forms of anxiety and different ways of coping with it, so I will do my best writing this. Much love! 

Word Count: 1,507

Warnings: talk of anxiety attacks, mentions of weed

The Lost Boys x FemReader with Anxiety Attacks

Anxiety attacks were no fun. No fun at all. They were terrifying to say the least. Whether you had just a small one or a big one that made you hyperventilate and struggle to breathe. 

You were usually good about coping with your anxiety, especially around your boys. They were overprotective and you knew that if anything happened to you, they’d be all over you, worried about you. And you didn’t want your poor boys worrying about you. 

Though, one day, they witnessed you having a bad anxiety attack. Like a really bad one and it wasn’t pretty.

Something set of alarm bells in your brain as you and the boys were just hanging out on the Boardwalk. It was the middle of summer so that meant tourists packed the place. Usually you were okay with medium sized crowds, they still made you freak out a little, but it was magegable, but tonight, it was huge. People were brushing up against people, the heat was unbearable, at its record high, and the noise was too loud. All of your senses were being overloaded and you hated it. 

It’s when you started shaking that David noticed you were slowly panicking. Your eyes were wide, hands shaking, and you started to breathe rapidly. He quickly notified the other boys, all of them sudden;y very concerned with their questions of “Are you okay?” totally went unanswered. 

They quickly got you to a secluded spot on the boardwalk just as you started to struggle to breath. They could hear your heart slamming in your chest, going at a pace that terrified them. 

Dwayne took the lead and directed you to lean your back against the wall and crouch a little, putting your head between your legs and instructing you to follow his breathing movements, slow and steady.

Paul didn’t really know what to do; he was freaking out more than anything on the inside, but did the only thing he thought could help and rub your back in circles. His babe was hurting, and he didn’t really grasp what was happening at that moment, but he was trying his best. 

Marko was sort of on the same level as Paul but keeping it together better. He was holding one of your free hands and he was shocked at how strong you were squeezing. It was almost on par with his own strength. He looked at you with soft eyes, he knew what you were going through but he felt bad that he didn’t know how to fully help you. 

David, just like Dwayne, had a general idea what to do about anxiety attacks. Though they’ve never fully witnessed one or dealt with one before, they were certainly doing their best. David spoke softly to you, telling you to breathe and reassuring you that it was just the five of you and nobody else. 

Your rapid breathing subsided, but it didn’t stop tears from falling as your entire body just wanted to give out. You were thankful that Dwayne immediately took you in his arms, holding you tightly to him andletting you hug the shit out of him as you cried your eyes out. That was when they took you away from the Boardwalk and back home, in the safety of your soft bed. 

After calming down with your boy's words of comfort and cuddles, you felt better about explaining what happened. Once you told them that you have really bad anxiety and that you sometimes have anxiety attacks, they took the time to really listen about what triggered your anxiety and what you usually did to cope with it. But now with your boys knowing, they now have their own ways of easing your anxieties. 

Your anxieties were a range of things. Sometimes you had really bad social anxiety and large crowds terrified you to no end, or even attending social events. Even some forms of public transportation triggered you. You never stepped foot in a taxi in your life, having a person that you didn’t know drive you around was scary and made you think about the worst possibilities. Hell, even nothing sets you off. Your heart and mind would just start freaking out for no reason whatsoever and you would start shaking. 

Cuddle piles helped you alot, just having your boys all on your at once and whispering comforting words to you as they wiped away your tears helped immensely. When all of them worked together, they did their best to distract you and make you focus on something that made you happy. A favorite movie, book, music, anything. 

Paul was definitely more observant than you thought. If the two of you were just hanging out in your room and you felt an anxiety attack coming along, Paul would be able to tell the signs. He made it a thing to pretty much engulf you in his arms, hell, his whole body. He pretty much became your own vampire weighted blanket. It made you feel safe having his body weight on you as he gave you soft kisses on your cheeks. 

Another way he would help is weed. (Honestly weed helps me sleep and greatly helps my anxiety. This isn’t for everyone, but it helps me. And if you’re going to do it, do it safely and from a reliable source). It relaxes your brain and makes everything feel fuzzy, not in the sense of seeing, but everything kind of just mellows out and you feel like you don’t have to worry as much. Plus, it helps you get some great fucking sleep. Paul finds it adorable after you smoked with him, having you curled up in his arms and smiling to yourself in your sleep. He feels like he’s helping his girl. 

It kind of goes without saying, but all of the boys have a certain way of holding you, Paul being a weighted blanket, but Marko likes to hold you from behind and have you sitting in between his legs as his arms are wrapped around you. Or having you sleep with your head on his stomach as he plays with your hair. He very much has gotten into the habit of giving you little scalp massages when you start getting anxiety in your sleep. It helps tremendously. 

Marko is very much into distracting yourself. Gets a bunch of art supplies and sets up an art date. Art is anything you want it to be, you can do anything you want, so have fun with it and let go of things you were worried about. It’s honestly so sweet and it usually ends up with the both of you having a paint fight. It helps you let go of everything for a little bit, forgetting about responsibilities and just having fun. 

Dwayne is deficiently more on the research side of it, the reason why he knew what to do when you were having your bad anxiety attack. Very much about having quiet time with you or even just listening to some mellow music. Like for you to feel at ease and just relaxed. He’s read about some side effects of anxiety and it makes him worried. There’s a lot of fear that runs through your brain when your anxiety kicks in and he does his best to make you feel safe. 

He is probably the only one that helps you reason through your anxiety and helps you figure out what caused it, not that the others don’t, they’re just not as good as Dwayne. He speaks to you gently as the two of you lay together, chest to chest so he can feel your heartbeat and walks it through with you one step at a time, letting you take pauses if you get too emotional.

David likes to lay you across his lap, your head in the crook of his neck and his arms wrapped around your waist. It honestly makes you feel special when he holds you like that and he knows it. He lets you talk about how you're feeling and what’s going on in your life. He rarely makes a comment, maybe a small one here and there, but he mostly lets you talk, letting you unload what’s upsetting you.

David definitely takes you to the beach to sit near the waves, letting the sound of the water crashing on shore lull you into a state of relaxation. Or even taking you to a quiet hillside with fields of flowers and just enjoy the sounds of crickets singing into the night. Very much takes you anywhere that is a comfort place for you or any place that just makes you happy. He’ll even get you little gifts that he’ll know you’ll like and that will make you smile. 

Overall, the boys help your anxiety in any way they possibly can and they will always be there for you when you have an anxiety attack. They, themselves,soon become a method of coping and they are more than welcome to do anything for you.

[seijorhi]

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too. 

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it. 

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo. 

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away. 

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy. 

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences. 

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife. 

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would. 

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.” 

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you. 

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication. 

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign. 

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you. 

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in. 

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is. 

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever. 

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe. 

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you. 

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin. 

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place. 

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her. 

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign. 

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator. 

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening. 

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold. 

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law. 

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally. 

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide. 

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite. 

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit. 

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites. 

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with. 

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you. 

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same. 

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him. 

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick. 

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is. 

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind. 

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you. 

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second. 

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind. 

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him. 

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland. 

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance. 

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

[genderkoolaid]

Are we sharing examples or transandrophobia? I want to share especially as an autistic trans man and how that intersect. Tw for like mentions of r@pe but no detail. These specific incidents actually run through my mind almost constantly. I came out for the FIRST time when I was 16: -people refused to use the name I had chosen despite me pointing out that's stupid because out cis male friend had changed his name just because he didn't like it and all I was doing was dropping one letter

-my best friend told me that if I slept with a girl who thought I was a "real" man and after she found out I was trans I would have been a rapist for consensually going down on a girl who "thought I was a real man"

-I had a random girl in my class "ask if my ex bf knew I really had a dick" when I said I was trans

-my parents said "no matter what, you'll always be our little girl"

So, I went back into the closet for the most part. I went by She/They and was always like "im not a girl" but people pretty much brushed me off and I didn't pursue transition bc I was afraid of how people would treat me. I came out AGAIN at 21, this time really putting my foot down that I AM MALE.

-My aunt started to refer to my info dumping as "mansplaining" so I stopped sharing my interests with her

-People began to actively misgender me, whereas before some people would at least try to use they as well as she, I only get called she now and never they

-I started to get harassed in public for holding my partner's hand even tho we're both trans

-People really go out of their way to gender me now. "When I was a girl" nobody ever ma'amed me. NEVER, ever.

-People like to assume I'm mentally ill for being trans or that someone must have pushed me to be trans. Their pea brains implode when I say actually I really struggled to come out in the face of everyone telling me not to and I'm trans because I realized I'd die from trying to harm myself if I didn't accept who I already am

-I got sent a lot of death threats and rape threats. A lot. Mostly online, of course, but it really took me aback the negative reaction I had from the WLW spaces I was in when I said I was leaving because, well, I'm not a woman. Crypto terfs, man.

-My uncle said to me, and I quote "Keep this trans shit away from your grandmother, she has enough to deal with" I asked him what he expected me to do when I grew facial hair and muscles and lost my tits. He didn't answer, he probably didn't care.

-My aunt, who claimed to be the most accepting, still misgenders me and acts personally offended when I tell her she's not progressive for doing the bare minimum to show me respect, and not even consistently.

-My aunt ALSO told me I was the reason SHE wasnt getting HRT for her early menopause because "T is gonna make you angry and I don't want to be around that" (T made me calmer and less likely to EXPRESS my anger, actually. I have to find different ways to let it out now bc I kinda just CANT feel angry or sad the same way anymore)

-None of my family has called me to ask me how I'm doing since i came out. They all kinda avoid talking to me, but won't say it, I've noticed though.

-My partner's mom told me she wanted me to go to therapy. I said I'd go for my PTSD as it was causing problems between her and I, she said "No, I want you to go for 'this'" Meaning, she wanted me to go to therapy for being trans. My partner got upset at this and said that absolutely would not be happening because being trans isnt a mental illness

-cis people look at me in TERROR when they misgender me, like they're waiting for me to freak out at them or physically assault them. It actually really hurts my feelings tbh, out of everything those moments sting the most. People I don't even know very well assuming the worst of me for being trans.

Idk just the pure hatred people have towards transmascs and then for people withing our own communities to act like these things don't happen on the daily and don't drive us to have among the highest suicide rates out of any other demographic... It hurts. It really hurts, I want to cry over it and then still this little voice in my head, the voice THEY put there, says to me "Boys don't cry. if you show the slightest sign that these things hurt you, they won't take you seriously"

Thank you for sharing your experiences.

[obxsummer]

By Your Side // John B Routledge

john b routledge x reader

warnings: physical violence, angst

part of #obx2celebration

masterlist

ask me anything

a/n: y'all please keep in mind this is fictional. i know the process of what happens in here would never happen in real life but that's the fun of it all :)

summary below the cut to avoid spoilers

--

summary: seeing your boyfriend in prison was never easy, but seeing him in the medical wing leads to a heart to heart in each other's arms.

The weight in your chest was getting heavier and heavier with each breath you took. It felt like you would never catch a break, never be able to breathe fully ever again. Ever since you and John B returned to the Outer Banks, it felt like it was one thing after another that just caused more and more trouble for the two of you. Nothing was worse than the look on his face when the cops finally cornered you and your friends. You had gripped John B’s hand as long as possible before he was torn from your grasp.

The whole day seemed like a blur then, but the soreness in your throat was still there from where you screamed at Shoupe and Deputy Thomas for how they handled John B. It was unforgivable, burned in your mind on repeat as you watched the scene over and over again with your heart cracking a little more each time. Regardless of the fact that your boyfriend was being arrested and charged for something he had nothing to do with, you couldn’t get over the fact that he was being shoved around and literally beaten by the people who were supposed to protect and help you. Needless to say, anytime you saw Shoupe or Deputy Thomas, your glare was enough to make them wish they hadn’t stepped foot in your path.

You were a mess without John B. Normally, the two of you were attached at the hip, but being without him was never this hard. The lingering thought in the back of your head kept reminding you that he wasn’t safe, he wasn’t home. Every minute he spent in prison was a minute you didn’t sleep because you were so worried.

Kie had done her best to try to console you. JJ had spewed crazy plans that only made you more upset because you knew none of them would work and John B wasn’t getting out unless you exposed Ward. Pope was silent, lurking in the shadows at the loss of his best friend. He clung to Kie in hopes that they would all figure something out soon enough.

The Chateau was nowhere near as comforting, even with all of your friends scattered across the house at every second of the day. You had visited John B each chance you had just to reassure yourself that he wasn’t gone completely. You would do anything to be in his arms, to hold him and just tell him everything would be okay.

Walking through the doors of the county jail, you moved without words to set all of your stuff on the counter that you couldn’t bring through. The lady behind the desk, Beth, was the only saving grace you had found in the chaos of this mess. She was the only one to treat you respectfully when it came to anything revolving John B. Although she never outwardly stated it, she believed your story, and that meant more to you than she would ever know.

“Hi, Y/N,” She greeted with a small smile. You returned the gesture and accepted the visitor lanyard she stretched out to you. Walking through the metal detector, you followed her back through the hallways. You had slowly gotten used to the cursing and yelling that followed your arrival. Beth was the Director of Visitor Safety throughout the building and in the short time you had known her, she had pulled many strings in regards to you and John B. Within the first two days, she had realized how uncomfortable it was for the two of you to sit and stare at each other with everyone listening. (And yes, she meant everyone because nobody could be in the presence of a “cop killer” and not be amazed).

Beth led you into her office with a smile and shut the door behind her as she left to grab John B. You were more than grateful for her help with everything. Had Beth not been there the day you walked in with tears streaming down your face from the anxiety and terrifying aura of the whole idea, you didn’t know what you would’ve done.

Glancing at the clock, you noticed more time had gone by than usual, and the sound of yelling that emerged had your heart sinking. You stood up, fingers twisting into the torn bandana fabric around your neck out of habit as you stared at the door in worry.

Beth appeared in the window a second later before opening the barrier and looking at you. “Come with me, hurry.” You followed her without another word, keeping close so you wouldn’t lose her. When she diverged off the normal path, you knew something was really wrong. She led you down a separate hallway, scanning her badge when necessary until big letters above the door told you this was the medical bay.

When you made it past the door frame, your eyes instantly landed on the bright orange jumpsuit that your boyfriend was clad in before noticing the expression of terror on his face as he sat on the bed. “John B!”

Wide brown eyes met your gaze in a split second before John B was shoving the nurse’s hands away to catch you the moment you collided with him. You could hear Shoupe, who had been standing nearby, let out what sounded like a sigh of relief before he mumbled something about filing a report and left the room.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” You asked John B once you leaned back, hands still grabbing his uniform as if he would disappear through your fingers.

“This is my daughter, Macy,” Beth introduced the nurse standing close by as she avoided your question. “We’re gonna hang over here for a second. If you guys need anything, let us know.”

The two of you gave Beth an appreciative nod as she stepped aside with her daughter. Turning back to your boyfriend, you caught the bruises covering his neck in the light. “JB…” Tears burned your eyes as your fingers glazed over the marks which made him wince. “What the fuck?”

Your boyfriend pulled you back into his chest, fingers running through your hair as he took a deep breath. Nothing was more calming to him than having you in his arms. Being able to actually hold you, feel your skin on his, was healing to him. “Doesn’t matter,” He mumbled against your hair as he recognized the comforting smell of your shampoo. “So glad you’re here.”

The small sob that escaped your throat didn’t surprise him much. John B wasn’t oblivious to what was going on to you without him around. It broke his heart that he couldn’t be there to talk you through it all. Most of the times you came to visit, you were constantly holding him in some way just to feel his skin on yours.

“What if something worse happens?” You choked out through shaking breaths. “John B, you’re not safe here. This isn’t fair. I’m not losing you in a prison of all places!”

“It’s gonna be fine,” He hummed as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m gonna be fine, babe. We’re gonna figure it out.”

“I’m ripping Shoupe a new one,” You grumbled as you reluctantly let go of him to look at the bruises lining his skin. You let out a teary sigh before your boyfriend brushed the salty drops from your face. “I’m getting you out of here. I’m going home and I’m literally… I don’t know, I’ll find something, somehow. I’m not standing here and letting this happen.”

John B couldn’t keep the smile from forming on his face as he kissed you softly. “I don’t want you doing anything besides taking care of yourself, okay? Please. For me.”

You huffed but nodded regardless. “Whatever, JB.”

“I’m serious!” He argued as he placed his hands on your cheeks to get your attention. “Please. There’s no point in tearing yourself apart without me.”

“Fine, then tell me what happened.”

John B rolled his eyes and sat on the edge of the bed before grabbing your hips and situating you to stand between his legs. His fingers squeezed your sides before he spoke up, “I think your dad has someone on the inside, here, and he’s trying to get rid of me and make it look like an accident.”

You blinked for a moment as you processed before you nodded slightly in agreement. “I wouldn’t put it past him.” You struggled with the idea that this was all your father’s fault and the guilt in your chest was getting worse each second. “I’m sorry, JB.”

“It’s not your fault,” He comforted as he squeezed your hips again in reassurance. “Come on, babe. You know that. I would never blame you for any of this. We just gotta get some evidence to end it, okay?”

“Y/N.” Beth’s voice interrupted your thoughts as you looked up at her. “I’m sorry, honey. We gotta go.”

You nodded slowly, hands intertwining with John B’s as you pressed one last kiss to his forehead. “Promise me you’ll be careful?”

Your boyfriend smiled slightly. “You know careful’s not in my vocabulary.”

Flicking his cheek gently, you smiled as you stepped out of his grasp to follow Beth back out while Macy attended to your boyfriend. Your thoughts were running, but one thing you knew for certain. You would get John B out of prison if it was the last thing you did.

--

masterlist

[cynettic]

Hey so I just read the Laser Tag AU and maaaan, now I really want to play Splatoon smh aksksjjdjs

Anywayyy my point is: may I request more hcs but with the other boyos (Childe, Albedo, Bennett, Razor, Chongyun, Xingqiu and maybe Aether if you do him too xD)

Laser Tag ( genshin x reader )

Summary - Genshin characters playing laser tag with you their s/o.

Pairings - Reader x Childe/Bennett/Razor/Chongyun/Albedo/Scaramouche

Warnings - Mention of guns and shooting.

A/N - Added in Scaramouche- But I couldn’t think of anything for Xingqiu. I can surprisingly see the majority of the Genshin boys being good at wielding guns, even though they’d probably suck lol

Laser Tag

Childe

Childe is a beast.

Whether it’s in the terrain of his battlefield, or the streets of Liyue playing laser tag, Childe plays to win. He’s always been the competitive type, enjoying the thrill of battle, or in this case, laser tag.

He loves the game.

And of course, you just have to end up on the opposite team as him.

This game is the perfect setup for an enemies to lovers kind of vibe btw. With him shooting at your comrades and eliminating them from left to right, and you doing the same for his team. Very few people stand against him in this game, and his accuracy and sense of battle.

The two of you will spend the entirety of the game playing cat and mouse. Childe chasing after you while you simply escape his sights every time, taking down his teammates while you’re at it.

Childe isn’t as interested in winning, and once you prove to be worthy of a decent laser tag battle, he tries his best to force you to confront him.

Of course you on the other hand take his reckless behaviour to your advantage to turn the game in your favour and strike down his team. You know it’ll piss him off later when you win.

However, it Childe does manage to catch you…

The two of you will fight, that much is obvious. Dodging and attacking him, he will get very into it. Maybe a little too much, but you don’t give in, not until the very end.

Not until he’s on top of you, the two of you toppled over a bunch of hay that cushions your fall when he crashes into you. Not until he’s holding the plastic revolver against your temple, staring straight into your eyes with his signature smirk.

He might sneak a little kiss in there just to throw you off.

But in the end he will make sure he wins, or rather, he eliminates you. He doesn’t care if he doesn’t win the entirety of the game, taking you down was satisfactory enough, and he feels well accomplished and content after.

Would definitely rub it in your face.

If you brush it off as something you didn’t really try in, be prepared to be pinned against the wall and kissed until you admit that you were in fact, doing your best. And yes, he won fair and square.

Bennett

Omg this precious boy-

Bennett will try his hardest, stick by your side and shoot at any approaching target. Considering that the two of you are on the same team, he will promise to protect you.

With one problem.

No matter how well he aims, whether it is going to hit his target or not, the lazer disagrees. Rather, his terrible luck absolutely ruins it and somehow his lazer point ends up somewhere completely else.

“It changed its direction completely!”

Well… you never know, maybe it’s the gun that sends the lazers ray so far off, but considering it’s Bennett, you know it’s no coincidence.

So you end up protecting him.

Dragging him from place to place and shooting down your opponents, the two of you spend your time tripping over random large ass rocks ( with only Bennett’s terrible luck to blame ) and attacking opponents.

You make sure that Bennett is not shot, no matter what. And you give everyone else a terrible glare that basically screams that if they shoot him, they’ll face your wrath.

Nobody shoots Bennett.

By the end of the game, he’ll be grinning ear to ear. And even if he didn’t manage to eliminate anyone, he’ll boast about how his amazing dodging skills pulled him through the game. You’ll agree, lacing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him to the good Hunter to get a good meal.

Just to buy one though, the poor boy can’t cook for his life.

Razor

“Razor… very confused.”

The wolf boy has difficulty with the rules of the game, but the concept of pointing the gun at an opponent and shooting them with a lazer isn’t too hard to grasp.

You find out very quickly that Razor is actually pretty good with aim.

His hands don’t shake for one, and he is so adept to his surroundings that people struggle finding the source of their depleting health. Despite being overall confused at how to play, Razor easily becomes one of the main players taking opponents down.

As someone on his team, he makes sure to keep you by his side the entire time. He understands the elimination part, and he doesn’t want his lupical to get taken out, even if it’s a game.

He can be oddly affectionate at certain times, pushing your face against his chest as he takes out the remaining players in the field you both are in. He will carry you, and take no hesitation when pulling you out of the way, even if it’s a little too rough.

When the game ends, it might take a while to explain to the poor boy that your team won. And that it was a good thing.

Razor will begin to smile when he notices how content you are with it.

Chongyun

This man has the audacity to wield a gun while licking his ‘popsicle.’

Like goddamnit Chongyun, being good at shooting is already a flex, you don’t have to nibble at your popsicle while you’re at it.

You can’t really blame him though, it’s hot outside, and with the sun beaming down on the poor boy's head you know he can’t stand it. Especially with all the adrenaline and yells from opposing teams.

As someone on the same team as him, you take on the job of Chongyun’s personal popsicle restocker, and shooting anyone down once he gets tired. As good as the boy is at shooting, he sucks at keeping himself unknown to the other players.

So you take on the job to make sure they don’t shoot him down.

The two of you are a good team, and if it gets too hot, Chongyun might even let you have one of his popsicles. Of course you don’t have his talent of being able to shoot while having a popsicle in your mouth-

Your team will end up losing though, and even though Chongyun isn’t bothered, he will be slightly worried if you care. The two of you were obviously trying your best, and as long as you both had fun that’s all that matters to him.

But if it really bothers you that much…

He knows you feel comforted by physical contact, so he’ll hold your hand and offer a comforting smile. Tell you that you played well, and that he had fun.

That cheers you up right away.

Kiss him on the cheek please, even though he will flinch at the contact, his cheeks are flushed red and he won’t admit it. But he likes it.

Albedo

Why is it so easy to picture Albedo as a hot sexy stoic mafioso wielding a gun?

Anyways, Albedo is terribly good at wielding a gun. So good at that he only holds the plastic revolver with one hand, never missing a shot as he walks down the streets of Monstadt.

He knows the area well, so good luck trying to sneak up on him. The way his eyes so carelessly sweep the buildings, it hardly looks like he’s trying. Eliminating players with his lasers as he mindlessly strides past the fountain.

Of course, you’re against him.

Albedo isn’t really motivated to play, he’d rather be in his lab experimenting or recording down his discoveries. But he was dragged into this mess, he might as well play his part and support his team.

Albedo won’t hesitate to shoot at you and take you down.

As much as you may be important to you, he plays this game fair and square. He will take you down, or rather, he will try, because you get creative :)

He knows Monstadt well, but he can’t possibly keep his eye on all angles around him. So you’ll aim for his blind spots, throw yourself at him and tackle him to the ground. Simply eliminating him isnt satisfying enough, you need more.

So you turn this into a little game to fluster him.

Tackle him and pin him down, watch him scramble for the gun and then give him a peck on the lips. Watch as his grip loosens, and one of his hands instinctively come to nestle against your hair to pull you closer, and then you pull away.

Watching his idle confusement turn into a light blush on his cheeks is just too good, and how he grows even redder when you start laughing is even better.

Of course his team wins, not that he cares.

The minute the game ends he’s back in his office, conducting experiments. You can go interrupt him though, sneak into his office and press a kiss against his neck. He doesn’t often react or do much to it, but after your linger kiss at the game, he will pull you close and sit you on his lap. Have a proper make out session after you left him hanging with that peck earlier ;)

Scaramouche

This little man is ‘terrifying’.

It’s scary enough that whether you’re against him or on the same team as him, you keep your distance.

“Are you avoiding me Y/n?”

You play on the same team, and even if he’s your boyfriend, you know better than to stay too close when it comes to battle. He shows his cruelty, and you really weren’t looking forward to be put in the middle of that.

‘Unfortunately you didn’t have a choice-‘

Scaramouche will literally drag you, a hand looped around your waist to tug you to his side and take you along with him as he takes down opponents after opponents. He doesn’t ask for your praise, but you still give him it knowing he appreciates it. Mentally.

When he’s tired or bored, he will lean his head on your shoulder, wait there for a bit before jumping back up and shooting a random straggler on the sides. Heavens knows how the boy knows he was there, it’s like he has some sixth sense.

We don’t even want to get into his accuracy and precision, Scaramouche is born a mafioso.

At the end when your team wins, no surprise, give him a hug. Tell him he did well and even if he tries to push away, hold him tight. Even though he could easily pull your arms away if he wanted to, he’ll just pretend to give a little struggle and then give in to your warmth.

[gravesightings]

May I request the slasher’s reaction to their s/o getting a bad haircut! (btw hope your day/night is going well).

of course! and things have been going well, thank you. 💖

slashers reactions to: their s/o getting a bad haircut

Asa Emory / The Collector

depending on whether or not you actually consulted him beforehand, this could go two ways.

if you didn't, he'd be upset. who gave you permission to have your hair cut? why didn't you ask him first? does he need to remind you of your place again?

Asa might leave you be for a couple of days depending on how drastic the change is. if it can be remedied easily, he'll have you beg for forgiveness but if not - don't be offended when he starts bringing you wigs. actually, he won't care either way. this is your fault.

if it's something you two have talked over then he's a lot more sympathetic about it. especially if you feel insecure over it. it's not so bad actually. if you're lucky you might catch him fiddling with your hair while you sleep.

overall he's indifferent to it. it's just hair? it's not the end of the world. just be thankful that he has no interest in experimenting with hair implants.

Billy Lenz

it might seem like he wouldn't notice but he's actually quite perceptive to these kinds of things. Billy is absolutely the type to notice any sort of physical change no matter how subtle it is.

unsurprisingly, this is because he spends almost all of his time watching you. of course he's bound to notice!

he'll definitely point it out but he'd either be neutral or mildly upset about it. if he dislikes it, you would know immediately because he would pull your hair and demand answers.

if it's not that big of a difference and he's craving a bit of your company Billy would want to brush your hair for you! isn't he sweet? unless of course it gets tangled, then you might actually end up looking worse. (unless you teach him how to do it properly.)

if he's feeling more gracious than usual he might even offer to remedy it! whether or not you decide to indulge him is entirely up to you. there's a slim chance he would actually be good at it but denying him isn't recommended either..

Bo Sinclair

there's no sugar-coating it. Bo will laugh at you. he might even point it out to his brothers if you look especially funny.

did you go to a blind hairdresser? head got stuck in a lawnmower? got attacked by a bunch of bloodthirsty birds? you're never going to hear the end of it. he's never going to let this go even after your hair grows out.

would constantly tease you about it but it's mostly out of love. he might even come up with cute nicknames for you depending on how badly you messed up your haircut.

if someone else tries to make fun of you though that's an entirely different story. only he can call you ugly duckling! if someone else does it then he's ready to crack someone's skull open.

denies he was doing anything to defend you. Bo would just claim that they were being too loud for his liking. it had nothing to do with you. nope. not at all. "it's 'cause your hair's so damn ugly that they died on the spot."

Brahms Heelshire

what have you done?! this is MUTINY! he's been BETRAYED! dramatically reaches out to feel your hair with his trembling fingers.

this is all so wrong... so very wrong. at first he would only be able to stare at you in utter disbelief. as if you've spat at his face and insulted his entire bloodline.

Brahms takes it as a personal attack against him. sure, he can be a handful at times but he'd never thought you'd be this cruel! it might take some thorough explaining that no, actually you hadn't intended to end up like this.

regardless he would be very upset. he's rather fond of your hair and if it was longer before and much shorter now, he might not be able to recover from it until it grows back. Brahms is a bit shallow, you see.

when your hair does eventually grow out expect him to treat you like a ticking time bomb. he can't possibly trust you with keeping it pristine now! it's decided. Brahms would just have to cut your hair for you. unlike Billy though, he has slightly more experience since he cuts his own hair so you might not have to worry too much.

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba absolutely adores you either way! literally nothing can convince him otherwise. he might even get upset if you tell him it's ugly. no no no, you can't possibly be ugly! you're his s/o! you look wonderful no matter what!

as for the rest of the family... the twins love it too! they might even call you a trendsetter. they might come off as patronizing if you haven't been around that long to know them but they're actually genuinely into it. it's fun and quirky and nobody else has it! what do you mean you look bad?

Drayton is a lot less enthusiastic about it. he'll throw in an insult here and there but nothing too harsh unless it's getting in the way of your chores. if it bothers you so much he might actually shave all of your hair off. (don't worry! Bubba will protect you!)

if you're adamant about remedying your look then Bubba would offer to help. unfortunately he has little to no experience with cutting hair. he was the one offering his help but.. are you sure you want him to do this? he's more worried about accidentally snipping your ear off than he is ruining your look.

Bubba wouldn't really understand if you happen to be worked up about it. he truly, wholeheartedly thinks that you look gorgeous no matter what you do with your appearance. it's still you under there after all!

Jason Voorhees

he'd be surprised at first but will try to play it cool if you become self-conscious. points at something just above your head. he wasn't staring at your hair, he was looking at...uh. that bird up that tree! it flew away when you looked... too bad..

like Bubba, Jason loves you no matter how you look. big boy does not care at all. things will stay pretty much the same. he’s not the type to make a big deal about it just because you look a little different.

he would make sure to shower you with compliments if he catches you fussing over your appearance though. bring in the gifts! he picked up this cool hat for you, do you want it? how about these hair clips? he wants to help as much as he can.

Jason would not want to fix it for you but it’s not like he can deny you when you’re asking for his help. what if he messes it up? what if you get mad at him? what if he accidentally hurts you? it’s too risky. he doesn’t even know how to! hopefully his many concerns would be enough to convince you to just let it be.

if not, well.. his hands would be trembling the entire time. this poor man would be scared to death to snip even a single strand of your hair. why would you put him through this? not only would it take him hours before doing anything noticeable, he would be in a constant state of dread the entire time.

Jesse Cromeans / Chromeskull

WHEEZE. babe, what happened? who did you offend? he’s very desperately trying not to laugh at you but he’s failing. what a gentleman. Jesse would inspect the damage - totally not struggling to hide his laughter - before claiming that he hadn’t noticed anything until you pointed it out.

he’ll tease you about it, asking if you’ve been out making enemies behind his back. he won’t be as much of an asshole as Bo per se but he’s not about to pass up the opportunity to get a reaction from you.

Jesse is more of a romantic about it, holding you close and placing a palm on your chest. what matters to him is this, he signs. ...your tits. oh and your heart too, but that’s just a bonus. he’s kidding! stop hitting him! (claims to have planned this just to make you smile all along. sneaky bastard.)

if it’s something that bothers you, he’ll have a hairdresser come over for a home service. why are you surprised? were you expecting him to bring you to the salon? the barbers? why would he do something like that? he’s offended!

now you’ve done it - you’ve bruised his ego. the man’s just showing off at this point. within the short period of time the hairdresser took to fix your little problem, Jesse somehow managed to get more people involved. they’re wheeling all sorts of expensive-looking equipment in. one claims they’re a nail technician and the other a masseuse. oh you had plans today? too bad, you're getting pampered and that’s final.

Michael Myers

if it’s really bad then he might let out a small chuckle but that’s pretty much it. the most he’ll do is run his fingers through your hair. Michael doesn’t really care all that much for appearance either.

but he’s not as eager to console you like the rest of the slashers are. if it’s a bad haircut then it’s bad - he’s not the type to beat around the bush. “do you think I look stupid?” he’ll nod. if you react negatively to that he’ll just shrug. you asked! what do you want him to do, lie?

Michael would help you out if you asked but it’s ill-advised. he’s decent with a pair of scissors but he’s going to keep cutting shorter and shorter until you either stop him or you run out of hair. (there’s no guarantee he’ll stop even if you asked nicely.) clearly this is your fault. why would you trust him with a pair of scissors?

this should be obvious but do not let him anywhere near your hair with anything sharp. he might take matters in his own hands if he sees how fixated you are with your haircut. if it’s that bad, he’ll snip away while you sleep. Michael would be careful not to wake you.

overall you’re almost guaranteed to have an awful time if Michael decides he wants to do something about it. he’s not going to make fun of you but you’re going to wish he did instead of butchering your precious mane.

Thomas Hewitt

oh, honey... what happened? he’ll set you on his lap to give you a good look-over. Tommy is not all too concerned about how you look but how you feel about it so he’ll help in any way he can. if you’re upset about it he’ll press a quick kiss on the crown of your head to reassure you.

nothing a little trim can’t fix! as good as he is with his hands, he has almost no experience with hair so he would have to ask Luda Mae for help. he’ll be there too don’t you worry your pretty little head!

Luda Mae would coo at you affectionately, earning a disapproving “tsk, tsk.“ at the poor soul who had done this to you. they would be the talk of the town. if you somehow did this to yourself, then she’ll scold you out of love. why didn’t you ask her instead? after the whole ordeal is sorted out though she’ll beam with pride when you comment on how good it turned out.

Hoyt is most likely going to chide on how badly you messed it up if you were the one responsible but if it was someone else, you best believe he’d be out of the door in search for the s.o.b. what kind of hairdresser would do such a half-assed job?

if you’re not quite close to the family yet, Tommy would do it but he’s unfortunately not as good as Luda Mae. he won’t be as bad as Michael though so you can still save whatever dignity you have left.

Vincent Sinclair

unsurprisingly, he’s the mature one out of the bunch and like Tommy, he’s more concerned about how you feel instead of how you look. he would immediately try to fix it - you won’t even have to ask. Vincent won’t even give you time to actually feel bad about it, that’s how much he cares about you.

he usually doesn’t alter his victims’ appearances so he doesn’t have much experience but he’s not about to tell you that! his caring side would definitely override his lack of confidence. congrats! Vincent does a pretty good job. he would even give you a trim if you asked.

if you somehow ran into his brothers first then there’s no escaping it. Bo’s going to laugh at you. Lester wouldn’t really insult you but he’ll poke fun at you, saying that it would be much easier to find you now, much to Bo’s amusement. luckily for you, they’d made enough ruckus to draw out Vincent.

Vincent wouldn’t necessarily defend you from his brothers, just silently tug you somewhere else - prompting Bo to call him out for being a killjoy. unfortunately since he’s used to his brothers picking at him he’ll expect you to do the same. afterwards he won’t take long to fix your haircut.

this isn’t going to stop Bo from calling you names though. Lester wouldn’t do it but he’s not exactly opposed to what he assumes is just friendly banter. they’re unlikely to cross the line since they know how much you mean to Vincent so unless you’re especially sensitive, then it’s nothing too serious.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

calculated, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Some people would call you far too serious. Some would call you stuck-up. And some would call you a bitch. But to freshman Jeon Jungkook, you’re the head Calculus I TA noona  – and he’s determined to fuck you.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; intense smut (fem reader, semi-public sex, pussy spanking, fingering, m-receiving oral, doggy, dirty talk); non-idol!AU - university!AU; dom!Jungkook x sub!noona!reader, ft instigator Jimin lol

--

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

-

"I think Jungkook likes you."

The lead of your mechanical pencil snapped suddenly. Stupid soft graphite. You glared at it, annoyed, and brushed the broken piece away to complete the equation. 

"Who?"

"I think he's taking the afternoon class."

You double-checked the last question and handed him his homework back. "Jimin, you used the wrong equation, here and here."

Park Jimin frowned, face falling when he saw all your corrections. Being one of your parents' friends' kids, your parents and his parents naturally asked you to help him out when he entered the same university as you. You pretty much figured the likelihood of Jimin speaking to you was zero, since he was a dance major and you were a graphics design major. You shrugged and agreed.

Except you forgot you were also the head Calculus I TA and Calculus I was a required course for all students. And, turns out, Jimin wasn't that great at math. That's why you were sitting on cushions at your coffee table in your apartment with Park Jimin, watching a music program as you checked his homework.

"Oh."

Jimin began to look over your arrows and circles. You never actually gave him the answer. He usually ended up forgetting a step in the middle and thus fucked the answer. Usually he caught on easily once you pointed it out. 

You stared at the television screen, listening to the latest hit. Not bad. Catchy. 

"I think I should tell you because he's kind of reckless," Jimin was saying.

You placed a hand under your head and took a sip of your tea, distracted by the cute MC with the blue hair. He had a cute smile. It reminded you of a bunny.

"Who?"

"Jeon Jungkook," Jimin snapped impatiently.

You raised an eyebrow and faced Jimin. "Oi. I'm correcting your homework here. I could just correct it tomorrow and hand it back to you with red marks instead," you threatened.

He pouted at you, his full lower lip sticking out. "Sorry, noona."

You sighed. "Don't call me that. Makes me feel ancient." You turned your body so you faced him as he scowled at his homework. "Okay, okay, I'm listening now. What did you want to say?"

Jimin put his pencil down immediately and began to chat like an excited gossiping auntie. Round brown eyes getting rounder, glad for a break from his math homework. You didn't want to get him started, but he was going to nag you incessantly until you let him talk.

"I think he sits in the back?" Jimin pondered. "Dark longish hair, wears a lot of black. Looks scary when he's thinking because his eyes go really wide and he furrows his brows."

You twisted your mouth to the side and thought. You only attended the class when they had quizzes or exams because during lectures the professor didn't need your help. Mostly you remembered people by their personal scores or their handwriting, because you graded everything as the head TA. Looking at people's faces wasn't really necessary, unless you were looking for cheating. 

"Can't recall. I remember his handwriting though. Not bad," you said, shrugging. "I think he's pretty highly ranked at the moment."

"I think he likes you."

You scoffed. "How did you come to that consensus?"

Jimin tapped his temple sagely. "Intuition."

"If only you used that intuition on Calculus."

He frowned at you, pouting again. You let out a puff of air, conceding.

"What do you want me to do about it?"

Jimin scratched the back of his head. "Well, er... I'm just warning you."

"... Is he a serial killer or something?"

"No, no, no!" Jimin waved his hands on the air hurriedly. "He's really nice. But he can be kind of, uh... forward."

"How old is he?" you asked, glancing at the television for a moment as you took another long sip of your tea.

"Two years younger than me."

You choked. 

"What?" you squeaked between coughs. Jimin hurried over and patted your back as you struggled, becoming pink in the face. "The fuck? Tell him to find someone his own age."

"I did!" Jimin whined. "But he's stubborn."

You rolled your eyes. "You're warning me that I have to break a poor freshman's heart?"

"Kind of."

You rubbed your throat. "Hmph. Darn whippersnappers these days."

Jimin smacked your arm, laughing. "I thought you weren't ancient?"

"I am now knowing some kid is fantasizing about their fucking Calculus TA."

You had said your comment sarcastically. You fully expected Jimin to make some joke, but he froze up a little. You looked over to him. He looked somewhat guilty, like a lost puppy who got caught stealing food. You sighed and patted his back.

"Don't worry, I won't chew your friend's heart out. Finish your homework, so I don't drop you off too late. You have practice in the morning, yeah?"

"Y-yeah, thanks."

-

Forward, huh?

An understatement. 

You were sitting in one of the math department offices, laptop open, your drawing tablet in your lap, thinking. The conversation with Jimin happened about two days ago. In that time, you hadn't attended either morning or afternoon class yet, since it was only lectures. Not that it mattered, because lecture halls were massive. If this Jungkook kid sat in the back, then you probably wouldn't be able to see him anyway. At the moment, however, you were preoccupied with your assignment, to design a logo. Logo designing was difficult, especially since a school assignment didn't exactly have a real client attached to it to ask questions. 

Technically these were Calculus I office hours, but who attended office hours? Nobody.

Who attended any type of calculus office hours?

Yeah, exactly. 

You spent the time doing homework with the door open. You were the only TA that actually showed up for the office hours. Every other TA said it was a waste of time. It was. You still came through; in the off chance some poor kid decided her grade mattered. You felt bad since the actual professor wasn't very patient when people needed extra help. Also, technically you were the head TA, so you did have a bit more responsibility than the others.

Your black boots were perched on the desk as you sat back in your office chair, sketching a few ideas. If a member of the math department saw you, you would probably get in trouble. Thankfully, the math department was usually deserted. Math wasn't exactly the most social subject. 

You took a sip of your tea from your thermos, tapping your tablet pen on your black jean-covered thigh. 

"You look even better close-up, noona."

A clear, silvery, male voice cut through the silence. The voice came from the doorframe right in front of the desk. You frowned, slowly lifting your head from your tablet. How had you not heard him? Were you really that focused on your assignment?

Chucky black sneakers. Black cargo pants, slim fit. Distressed black sweater, hands casually in his pockets. Broad shoulders. Lightly tanned skin. Sharp jawline. A tiny mole under a mischievous smile. Your eyes narrowed as you made eye contact with those sparkling dark brown orbs. Long hair slicked back, with only a few wispy strands on his forehead. 

"Calculus I question?" was your response. 

His smile quirked a little higher. The young man didn't have a backpack with him. Didn't even have a piece of paper stuck under his arm. Wasn't even trying to pretend that he needed help.

"I have questions."

He didn't elaborate. You lowered your legs, placing your tablet on your laptop. 

"This is Calculus I office hours. For calculus questions only."

His eyes flickered to your laptop and tablet. Back to you. 

"Is this what the TAs should be doing during office hours?"

Suddenly, you could feel your pulse in your ears. Point taken.

"What do you want?"

He slid into the chair across from the desk, hands still in his pockets. Watching you carefully, still smiling thoughtfully. It should have been unnerving, but there was no malice in that smile. Maybe you were imagining it though, so you kept your guard up. 

"I'm Jeon Jungkook."

Yeah, I guessed, you thought wryly. "And my name is on the syllabus. What do you want?"

He tilted his head at you, studying your face. 

"How do you know Jimin-ssi?"

Isn't Jimin older than you, punk? "Our parents are friends."

He nodded slowly. He looked around the windowless office, at the three papers tacked to the wall – outdated notices – to the still open door, to the desk with your laptop, tablet, and backpack. Then to you, sitting back in the black office chair, eyebrow raised, hands half-in the sleeves of your gray flannel, cropped black sweater underneath. 

"I think you're beautiful, noona."

Your brain winced at the compliment and your hormones looked up from the abyss. Your brain scolded them to go back to their hidey-hole. You clicked your tongue. 

"I'm too old for you."

There was an ever-so-slight tick of his head. His eyes shifted downward and then flicked back up to you, almost shyly, if it wasn't for the small smirk dancing on his lips. 

"We both know such a mindset is outdated."

You felt your breath catch in your throat. The fuck? Your hormones peeked out again. Your brain was too distracted with trying to find a comeback to tell them to fuck off. You figured you better cut this off right now before it went too far. 

"This whole conversation is inappropriate," you said evenly, standing up from the chair and rolling it back. You walked around the desk and stood in front of it, balancing your ass against it. You crossed your arms over your breasts. "You should leave."

He slowly, slowly gazed up at you. Why did he look so satisfied? Your heart did a little three beat skip. Stop it. Keep it together. Jungkook got to his feet, hands still in his pockets. Then he pulled them out and pushed his sleeves up.

Oh?

Tattoos ran up his right arm, the beginnings of a sleeve. Ink black against light tan, flexed muscle. He was not a skinny pretty boy. You were so busy staring at his arms that you barely registered him placing them casually on either side of you, face right next to yours. Now you were staring down at his broad chest, at his black distressed sweater.

"Excuse me?" you snapped testily, lifting your head to look into his smug eyes. 

"I won't touch you," Jungkook murmured quietly. "Unless you ask me to."

This punk ass bitch.

You narrowed your eyes. "What makes you think I would?"

That small teasing smile came back. 

"Well, for one, you haven't actually told me you have absolutely no interest yet."

Your hormones prodded you excitedly. Your brain told them to shut up. Your eyes moved to the open door behind his head, looking into the empty hall, trying to keep a balanced, even tone. It came out a little sharper than you intended.

"Door's wide open."

"Embarrassed to be seen with me?" Jungkook purred, breath on your cheek. 

You tried not to react even though your hormones were fucking losing it. "What about you?" you shot back sharply. 

You heard Jungkook chuckle. "Fuck no I'm not." Your heart jerked heading the crude word come out so daintily and casually from his lips. "I want to be seen with you. All the time. In every position." 

You finally tore your eyes from the open door to give him the side-eye. "Real big words there."

Jungkook smirked. "I'm giving you a chance to tell me no. It's taking everything in me not to bend you over this desk right now and fuck your brains out."

You sucked in a breath. Accidentally. Not on purpose. There's absolutely no way Jungkook would have noticed unless he was literally right next to you. Which he was. Shit. He leaned in closer, still not actually touching you. 

"You like that idea?" he breathed, the lust evident in his voice, not even trying to hide it. 

"I am not some easy bitch at the club, Jungkook. This is the fucking math department," you scolded, eye-level to the base of his neck, wanting very badly to make out with it.

Now it was his turn to inhale sharply. He pulled his head back, and now you were face-to-face with those dark, dark eyes, falling, falling, your body screaming at you to do more. And still you didn’t, torn between reason and instinct.

"I'm so pissed," he growled, breath against your lips. "That the first time I hear you say my name, I wasn't watching your pretty lips form it."

Those few strands brushed against his exposed forehead, framing his furrowed brow and those intense dark brown eyes, making you breathless, telling you that you should, even though the last shreds of reason were telling you, do not, do not, do not give in to Jeon Jungkook. 

"It's the middle of the damn day," you murmured.

"And you make me horny every second of every day," he groaned, so close now that his nose almost touched yours. "With your stem stare, your assertive stride, your well-spoken words, and your beautiful body that demands to be kissed, loved, fucked." He panted, shoulders shaking. "God, I want you under me so bad. You have no idea, noona."

Resolve? Hello, where are you?

You raised an eyebrow. "You think you're enough for me?"

His dark eyes gleamed. 

"I know I am."

Your eyes flickered to the open door, the vacant hall, feeling Jungkook's body heat hovering so close, so close to you, and then you shifted your eyes back to him. Your brain was screaming at you and your hormones bonked your brain silent. The words at the tip of your tongue came tumbling out, nothing to hold them back anymore. 

"Let's see."

And then you kissed him.

Jungkook’s reaction was immediate, his large hands leaving the desk, grabbing your waist, ramming his crotch into you. You gasped against his soft lips and he slid his tongue inside, playing with yours, moaning, kissing you hungrily. His fingers pressed into you through your clothes, strong, tight, unforgiving. Your eyes flew open, surprised at his eagerness. He retreated his tongue and nipped at your lower lip, sucking on it lightly. You shivered, feeling him lift you onto the desk, pushing your legs open with his hips, grinding against you. He kissed down your chin, lifting your head impatiently, moaning against your skin. Every gentle kiss a jolt to your system, contrasting with his rough hands kneading your waist, pulling you close against his firm body, the fucking desk cutting into your thighs, eyelids fluttering.

There was movement at the door.

You froze.

Jungkook’s lips latched onto your neck, sucking sharply. You choked back a wanton moan, seeing a familiar face. A familiar, plump smile with cute, lovely eyes. He waved a small hand at you and reached for the doorknob, locking it from the inside before winking at you and closing the door silently.

Park fucking Jimin.

That bas–

Your thought was sharply cut off by Jungkook nipping at your throat, hissing as he rolled his hips into your thigh, a distinct bulge pressing into you. He yanked down the front of your sweater, sucking on the space right between your collarbones. You whimpered and shuddered, wrapping a leg around his waist and hooking him towards you, hands finally leaving your chest and grabbing his, fingers getting caught in the holes of his sweater.

“Fuck,” he growled. “I’m so fucking hard already because you’re so fucking hot.”

You caught yourself against the desk, elbow slamming onto the wood. You winced. “I haven’t done shit,” you said, surprised to feel your lips slightly swollen.

Jungkook grinned. “You don’t have to. Just you below me is enough.”

You glared at him and he bent over the desk, grabbing the back of your head, pushing your face to his, kissing you again, stealing your breath. It was the perfect mix of force and desperation, leaving you yielding, back arching as he sucked on your tongue, bobbing his head up and down slightly to pull on it. You tried not to make noise – everything was already too noisy anyway – only crying out softly when he let you go. Now you were on your elbows with Jungkook towering over you, licking his lips, the spare strands now stuck to his exposed forehead. His eyes roamed over your body before landing back on your face. You gave him your best questioning look.

He chuckled darkly. “I want to rip all your clothes off, but something tells me you will be upset with me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Because this is still the middle of the math department, let me remind you, Jungkook.” You huffed. “I don’t live here. Don’t get crazy.”

He grinned, leaning forward. “Say my name again, noona. God, let me watch your delicious lips speak my fucking name.”

You raised your eyebrows. Then you felt his hands on your jeans, undoing the button, making you jump. The zipper going down, down. He yanked at the seam, digging it into your already wet pussy, shoving your panties into your slit.

“A-ah, Jungkook…”

Oh fuck. That sounded kind of pathetic.

He bit his lower lip, and yanked again.

“J-Jungkook, ah…” Your eyelids fluttered, trying to keep your strict demeanor.

“Fuck,” he hissed, firmly gripping the waistband of your jeans and pulling them down your ass, half-dragging your panties down. “You like that, noona? Do you want me to be rough with you?”

You prayed to the higher power that he would just take the damn hint and not make you say it. But Jungkook was dragging your panties back up, the thin black fabric being sucked into your folds and ass as he pulled them far too high. You gasped, trying not to look down, trying not to look at his face. But he grabbed your chin, dragging you back to him, making you open your glazed eyes, making you see his excited expression.

“Look at me, noona.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Jungkook held the front of your panties and pulled, hard. You had to choke back a moan, the fabric nearly ripping, rubbing harshly against your clit. You felt the squelch of you getting wetter, hearing it clearly as he yanked at it, stimulating your clit.

“Tell me you don’t like it, noona,” Jungkook whispered hotly, letting go of your chin. “Tell me and I’ll stop.”

You spread your legs involuntarily, trying very hard not to make a fucking sound, but it was already obvious by your fists clenched against the desk, your widespread legs, and your pussy lips practically sucking your panties in, so much so that they nearly disappeared into you.

Jungkook snuck a glance down, gasping softly at your glistening pussy being tortured by your panties. He dropped to his knees and you had only one second to be confused before Jungkook’s tongue licked up your slit. You had to slap a hand over your mouth to avoid crying out, leaving your sounds limited to muffled whimpers as he lapped at your juices, groaning into you. Your entire lower body vibrated as he teased your covered clit, smushing the fabric into your deeper, rougher. Your hips strained, trying to hump his face but only digging your panties into you harder.

You removed your hand from your face, biting on your tongue to regain some semblance of thought so you fucking talk.

“T-take it off…” you gasped. You looked down, seeing his mischievous eyes above your quivering mound, licking his lips slowly, pink tongue tracing the contours of his mouth.

Jungkook raised his hand.

Smack!

This time you had to actually shove to knuckles into your mouth and mute your squeal as pain radiated through you, your pussy stinging. He slapped you again, right on your clit, hard, making your throw your head back and nearly hit the desk, hips raising to meet him. Oh, God. He pressed his finger against your aching clit, rubbing hard, standing up to bend over you, an impossibly strong presence as he pleasured you.

“Say it, noona,” he breathed. “Tell me you like getting your pussy spanked.”

He was rubbing your clit so hard that you felt your hips raise into it, eyes rolling back into your head.

“Say it or I’ll stop,” he warned menacingly, voice so low it ripped through you.

You tore your knuckles out of your mouth. “Don’t stop, please, fuck, Jungkook, I love it when you spank my clit, fuck, please, fuck.” The words came jumbling out in a rushed, half-panicked whisper, cut off by your sharp gasp as your orgasm clawed into you. You felt Jungkook slap his free hand over your mouth, shutting off your wail as your throbbed into his hand, turning into helpless whines as he spanked your clit hard and fast, accentuating your high with waves of sudden, aching pain. You pushed his hand away, pressing your head against the desk, gasping.

“Harder, please, Jungkook, harder.”

He was staring at your fucked-out face, massaging your throbbing pussy with his palm, coating his fingers with your cum. Your voice a thin moan, hips rutting into him.

“Believe me, I want to,” he snarled. “I want to so fucking bad, noona, but we’re already loud enough and you’re making a fucking mess.”

He pulled your panties down, nearly useless at this point and roughly shoved two fingers into you. You gasped, tongue lolling out and he took the chance to put two fingers of his free hand into your mouth, rubbing your wet tongue. You could feel every joint, the calluses of his fingertips as he thrust them into you, slopping, wet sounds accompanying his movements.

“Fuck, look at you, noona, sucking in my fingers, letting me fuck your mouth,” Jungkook murmured, centimeters away from your face. “I haven’t even fucked you with my cock yet and you’re already taking me so well.”

If you could think, you probably would have a snappy response, but Jungkook was stuffing his fingers into your mouth and scissoring the others inside your pussy, driving you insane. You made eye contact with Jungkook, him and his blown-out pupils, his lips trembling as he rammed his fingers into your holes faster, harder, sliding you up the wooden desk. Something inside you snapped and you squeezed your eyes shut, your body shaking as you came again, trying to yell, but unable to because Jungkook shoved his fingers into your throat, making you almost choke if it wasn’t for your own expertise. An embarrassing amount of liquid poured down his hand and wrist, dripping down your thighs. You clamped your legs shut, burying his hand, hips jerking as the aftershocks rippled through you.

You heard Jungkook swallow loudly, jaw tight. He slowly pulled his fingers out of both holes, strings of bodily fluid following him as he did so. Your shaking knees were barely holding your lower body up, jeans constricting your calves and your upper body way too fucking hot.

You laid back on the wood, trying to catch your breath. Was it a fucking cliché? Probably. You felt Jungkook lift himself off the desk and you closed your eyes, chest heaving. Of course. He was just going to leave you like this, tearing your secret out of you and then leaving to boast about how he turned the head Calculus I TA into a helpless, submissive puddle of goo without even actually fucking you. Why did you even bother–

You suddenly felt the desk creak and snapped your eyes open to Jungkook climbing onto it, straddling your chest, unzipping his pants right in front of your face. His slicked hair was becoming unfurled now, more and more dark strands falling down around his ears. His brow furrowed, eyes so wide and focused you weren’t even sure he was actually looking at you.

“Uh–”

He reached in his black boxer briefs impatiently and pulled out his thick, leaking cock. Your eyes widened and his found yours, glittering with arousal. A smear of pre-cum grazed your cheek as he adjusted his position to push the red, bulbous tip against your lips.

“I want to fuck you, noona, but you have to clean me up,” Jungkook breathed, gently asking you but also trying to greedily push his dick into your mouth.

You could say something, but somehow you concluded you were going to be muffled anyway, so you opened your mouth, tongue snaking out and licking the head. Flat, wide, and all over, coating your tongue with his pre-cum, moaning at his taste. Jungkook sunk his teeth into his lower lip, hissing softly as he spread his legs even more, lowering himself slowly into your mouth. You licked around his cock before closing your lips and sucking, growing wet as he thrust his hips into your mouth, slow and steady, eyes closed. You reached up to hold onto his thighs, whimpering as you felt his muscular quads through his pants. He opened his eyes and looked down at you, sliding his cock in a little deeper, hitting the back of your throat.

“Fuck, noona, so fucking sexy, taking my cock like that,” he groaned, reaching down and pushing your hair out of your eyes. His dark hair hung down, framing his face in shadow, making your pussy throb at the image. “Makes me want to fill all your holes up, makes me want to coat you with my cum and see you covered in it, messy and dirty with me.”

You couldn’t say anything so you just whined, nails digging into his covered thighs.

“You want that?” His voice dropped several octaves again. Your skin prickled hotly with every word. “You want me to jack off all over you and leave you a mess covered with my cum?”

You squeezed your thighs together, desperate for friction, now moving your head to suck harder, rubbing the tip fiercely against the back of your throat.

“F-fuck,” he gritted out. He tapped your hand hurriedly, eyelids fluttering. “S-stop, stop.” You whimpered, sadly looking up at him. He chuckled, rubbing your knuckles soothingly.

Look here you little shit, you can’t say all that dirty stuff and not expect me to be horny, your eyes were telling him.

“I know, I know,” he purred. “But I want to fuck your pussy and office hours are almost over…”

You glowered at him, but reluctantly unhinged your jaw, opening your lips. He slid out, gasping, hitting you in the chin and getting the front of your sweater wet.

“You’re a jerk,” you muttered as he climbed off you.

Jungkook chuckled. “Sorry, noona.”

You shook your hair and reached into your backpack, pulling out a condom, only to turn around and see Jungkook pulling one out of his back pocket.

“Oh.” You blinked at him. “You’re prepared.”

Jungkook wiggled his eyebrows. “I knew what I was coming for.”

A muscle in your brow twitched as he tucked his tongue in his cheek, grinning widely at you as he ripped it open and slid it on slowly, rolling it down his thick cock. His voice changed, dipping raspy and low.

“Turn around.”

Part of you wanted to fight, but then you spied the time. You rolled onto your stomach, sighing exaggeratedly as your legs tangled a bit in your jeans. You felt Jungkook’s presence behind you as he bent over your back, hand sliding over your lips and covering your mouth.

“Sigh all you want, noona,” he growled, chuckling as you shivered. “Just don’t scream when I’m fucking you.”

Your eyes widened as you felt the head press against your puffy pussy lips, pushing in forcefully, expanding your tight little hole as his cock entered you, his moan against your ear, your name dripping with lust. Both of you still mostly clothed, but his cock sliding deep, deep inside you, his teeth on your earlobe. Your walls throbbed around him, squeezing him. He gasped, jutting his hips experimentally into you. A stifled moan sneaked past his fingers, your tongue licking them lightly.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Nice and tight for me, bent over this desk.” He nipped at your ear, whispering softly as he began to fuck you. “What if someone hears you, whimpering for my cock, begging to be fucked?”

Your hands clenched into fists, eyes fluttering shut, feeling him pound you into the wood, deep and slow and far too perfect.

“Noona, what if someone sees you?” His voice like smoke, invading all your thoughts, threatening your dreams, cursing you with the feeling of his lips on your ear and his hips pounding your ass. “Proper, harsh, strict noona turning into a slut for this cock, bent over this desk and humping my hips so you can get this dick deeper inside you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut and wiggled your ass against his cock. He thrust his hips harder into you, jerking you forcefully upwards, your thighs smacking against the desk. Light flickered in front of your closed eyelids and you opened them, seeing your phone screen glaring at you. A message from Jimin. Finish already! You struggled to say his name and Jungkook lifted his hand for a moment to hear your shaking breath.

“Jungkook,” you panted. “Time.”

He covered your mouth again. “You’re right,” he grunted, rolling his hips into you, biting back his moans as you clenched around him. The wet, slapping sounds became louder as he changed his angle, fucking you roughly into the table. It pushed your hips up and you clung onto the edge of the desk, moaning around his hand, tongue pressed flat against his palm as he fucked you with reckless abandon, beating a damn indent of the edge of the desk into your thighs. The dull ache was going to lead to a bruise, but you didn’t care, pushing your hips back to meet him. A choked wail vibrated in your throat as you came again, whole body lurching as he sunk his teeth into your clothed shoulder, groaning as he came inside you, cock twitching and throbbing against your walls. You felt the condom expand, matched with Jungkook’s hiss as he pumped into you. You pulsed your pussy around him and he detached his mouth, whispering your name against your ear.

“You’re dirty, noona,” he rasped, the words so breathless they made you shiver. “I love it.”

You shakily reached up and peeled his hand from your mouth, gasping as he straightened to hold the condom and pull out of you. Fuck. Oh fuck. You scrambled for your phone, seeing Jimin’s text.

You better rush outta there, noona.

You heard the wet, peeling sound of Jungkook pulling the used condom off gingerly. You turned around, hissing at Jungkook before he threw it in the trash.

“Are you crazy?” you muttered, snatching it from him. “Someone will see.”

Jungkook blinked at you. “What else do I do with it?”

You glared at him and tied it up, grabbing some tissues and wrapping it inside. Then you shoved it in your backpack, along with your laptop, your tablet, the spare condom, and reaching over the desk to unplug your laptop’s AC adaptor so you could shove that in your bag too.

“Fuck, your ass is so sexy,” Jungkook marveled behind you.

“Jungkook, we have to get the fuck out of here, so pack your damn dick,” you ordered, yanking your jeans up. Squelch. You sucked in your lower lip in at the cold, uncomfortable sensation of your soaked panties. You zipped your bag and checked around the desk to make sure you took everything. You grabbed your phone and shoved it in your back pocket, turning around to see Jungkook rezipping his pants. Thank God. You might have been tempted if he hadn’t listened to you. Then you remembered the two bits of condom wrapping on the floor and picked those up too, shoving them in your other pocket.

Jungkook smirked at you. “So thorough, noona.”

You scowled at him. Maybe he hadn’t been in this situation before, but you sure as hell have.

“Stay here for twenty seconds and then leave.”

Jungkook pouted at you. You felt your heart skip a beat.

“But I don’t even have your number.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ask Jimin. You two are in cahoots anyway.” You popped your head out, looking around. No one. You popped your head back in. “Also, you owe me new panties the next time I see your smug little face, you punk,” you added, tone irate.

He smirked at you; his long dark hair wispy around his playful eyes.

You gave him one last look before you tore your eyes away, rushing through every back stairway to get the hell out of there before someone could realize you just fucked a freshman during office hours, your slopping, torn-up panties reminding you with every step that you really needed Jeon Jungkook to fuck you again.

-

part ii

--

masterpost

[down-in-devildom]

Idk if you’d be interested in running with this concept, but I’ve always kind of liked the idea of Lesser Demons (or at least other demons) trying to get to the brothers through MC. How would the brothers (whichever you wanted to do ig) react to seeing that MC is being used? Originally I thought it would be extra angsty if the MC had a crush on the other demon, but you can take the idea wherever you want to if you’re interested!

First off, I am very sorry for taking so long with this prompt. My brain went on vacation and it was hard to get in contact with it. These turned out super long because I wouldn't shut up so I'm splitting these 3 and 3. Next part can be found here: Part 2 Anyways, thank you for your patience and enjoy!

MC being Used by Lesser Demons (Lucifer, Mammon, and Satan)

CW: Violence, Torture, Manipulation, Murder...general demonic behavior

Lucifer

Lucifer was used to demons wanting something from him. He was one of the most powerful demons in the Devildom and he did not make mistakes in his opinion. With power and prestige going hand to hand in the social hierarchy, it was in almost everybody’s best interest to try to get in a higher demon’s favor

To say Lucifer was hard to get close to was a severe understatement. He had built so many walls around himself after the fall and only Lord Diavolo was brazen enough to crash through them, until MC came along, that is. They were just so foolheartedly friendly and open to anybody that approached them. They demanded his attention, rather he wanted to grant it or not.  

It was hard not to notice the Lesser Demons that swarmed the MC like flies all of a sudden when he started to walk MC down the hallways at RAD from time to time. The other demons looked absolutely pathetic with how much they scrambled trying to impress the MC and do little favors for them. They would collect notes for them or conveniently find the pen MC had lost in their shared Spellcasting Class. It was all harmless to him at first until Lucifer started to notice one Lesser Demon in particular kept popping up almost like clock-work.

Lucifer brushed it off as a fragile budding friendship until MC started to look at the other demon with bright smiles and their eyes would shift to the demon in fleeting glances. No reason to get bent up by MC having a crush but the Lesser Demon appeared to have started to notice and was getting a bit too cocksure about their advantage. They would soon be found hanging around MC more than Mammon.

Usually MC would wait outside the student council office for him to get out when his workload wasn’t too hectic but soon it became both MC and the Lesser Demon. After a few times of Lucifer’s alone time with the human being interrupted by the other demon trying to lay on some thinly veiled praises to his hard work, Lucifer was getting irritated. The Lesser Demon would walk between Lucifer and MC and would sometimes not even give MC enough space in the hallways to walk side by side with them, leaving them to lag behind. MC would always hang on the Lesser Demon’s every word and wild gestures but not once did the demon look in their direction or give them time to speak.

One day, when Lucifer walked out of the student council room, it was only the Lesser Demon waiting for him. He asked where MC was and the other demon had the gall to say that the MC suddenly had an errand to run and could not make it. The Lesser Demon then started to commend Lucifer on putting up with such a weak human and how much self-control he had not to just consume them with how blindly trusting they were. Rather or not MC genuinely had errands to run that day or they were sent away to get something this demon wanted in an attempt to get Lucifer alone, the Avatar of Pride was not going to let this opportunity pass to get rid of some of the more annoying pest that have clung to him recently.

“You are correct. It is quite hard to hold back. You may understand more than anybody how irritating it is when you are being bombarded by demons that do not know their place trying to take advantage of Lord Diavolo’s exchange student. Or rather, I’m I speaking more from a personal experience?”

Lucifer takes a sickly amount of pleasure from watching the color drain from the Lesser Demon’s face as they try to stammer out excuses about having to find the MC to help them with their errands. The Lesser Demon does not get very far at all before being strangled by Lucifer in his full demon form and teleported to the dungeons where their screams echoed off the walls but nobody outside could hear.

The next day, Lucifer informed the MC about their little demon friend having to go to the countryside to take care of some family business and had to drop out of RAD. Rather or not MC knows enough about the Lesser Demon to know that would be a lie, Lucifer did not care. MC can heal from a little broken heart but the Lesser Demon will have a hard time healing from being torn limb from limb. It is so much easier to concentrate with one less fly buzzing around and it would seem like the other Lesser Demons picked up on the warning without him having to hang the corpse up from the rafters.

Mammon

Mammon was used to people and demons alike wanting things from him. He was The Great Mammon and despite his attitude, he was really strong. There is a reason why so many witches want to do things for him or let him “borrow” something from them. They want to be repaid tenfold but too bad because Mammon owes nobody nothing!

Now, one thing that Mammon will have to begrudgingly admit is that he likes hanging out with MC almost as much as he likes getting expensive items and Grimm. So it comes to no surprise when a Lesser Demon first tried to spend time with the MC when they were already going to spend the whole day with him, although he didn’t tell them that, he was throwing a mini tantrum. The dumb demon had approached you both while at the cafeteria and asked to sit with you all. MC was way too nice sometimes and readily agreed and so now Mammon had to share.

Mammon’s tune quickly changed when the Lesser Demon nonchalantly gave both him and the MC some gold earrings that they claimed they bought on accident and couldn’t return. Ah, well, who was Mammon but a generous demon for taking these off their hands. And the gifts didn’t stop. Each day, Mammon was slowly losing his precious alone time with the MC but he was gaining so many luxury gifts and trinkets that he didn’t notice anything amiss right away.

The Lesser Demon was always around whenever Mammon and the MC were together and they all started to get closer. Soon enough, when MC and Mammon were hanging out in his room one day after pretending to study and just laughing at videos on DevilTube, MC said they may actually like the Lesser Demon. Like, like like the demon?!

The two actually agreed to hang out that coming weekend and MC was super excited. This was the first demon outside of the student council that they have really interacted with and they were a bit nervous to see how things panned out. MC asked Mammon to kindly not try to tag along so that maybe they can move the relationship forward into something a little more than just friends.

Mammon was trying to act like he didn’t really care that the MC had a date but then he started to fidget around and couldn’t focus on the funny videos. Why would they decide spending time with the Lesser Demon was better than spending time with him? Sure, they gave some really awesome stuff away but he is pretty sure he can get more Grimm in a night at the casino than the Lesser Demon could earn in a year!....Maybe it wasn’t about the money though.

The day of the date, Mammon followed MC, ya know, to make sure that they were safe. Mammon peaked at the Lesser Demon and MC from his spot in the bushes at the public park and watched. MC walked up to the waiting demon and looked to be pretty excited judging from the large smile on their face. The Lesser Demon doesn’t really acknowledge them at first and keeps looking around searching for something. When the MC appear to speak again, the Lesser Demon’s face seems to contort out of its friendly façade and into one of irritation before they push a wrapped gift into the MC’s chest rather hard and walk away.

Mammon was rightly mad about the Lesser Demon just leaving the MC and decides to swoop in and save the day. He casually walks by the meeting place and “happens” to run into the MC. MC appears like they aren’t that surprised to see him but hands him the wrapped gift that Lesser Demon gave them with slightly watery eyes and says it was actually a gift for him. Mammon is too mad and busy sorting out his feelings about the MC possibly being ditched in hopes that he would show up, that he had to quickly remove himself with the excuse that he was going to run to catch up with the Lesser Demon and thank them for the present.

Mammon was unnaturally quick with how fast he ran after the other demon. He was sure the MC was out of sight before grabbing the demon and forcefully shoving the small, palm sized wrapped box into the Lesser Demon’s mouth, as far down the throat as he could get it while the other demon struggled against the assault and for air. When Mammon was satisfied about not even being able to see the present from the entrance of the demon’s mouth and the throat was expanded unnaturally, he rushed back to the MC’s side and offered to get them some ice cream, his treat...this time. If the MC wonders why the Lesser Demon suddenly stopped showing up at school, Mammon just said their luck ran out at the casino or something and they were too embarrassed to come back to RAD.

Satan

Satan is not very approachable to the average demon. He was polite, smart, snarky, and an unabashed animal lover, but not approachable. Maybe it had to do with him being the Avatar of Wrath or it can be because he would sometimes treat the demons around him more like lab rats than individuals. He was a gentleman though and it was fairly easy to build up some sort of rapport with him if a demon had a great thirst for knowledge and knew how to stay out of the way when his patience thinned. 

MC was one of those rare instances where he did not seem to expect for them to understand the finer workings of a particular particle spell to get his respect and it would seem other demons have taken notice. Satan enjoyed the quiet moments where he and the MC would spend hours reading their respective books in the royal library or when they would visit one of the local cat cafes and have laps full of lazy little kittens. The tranquility did not last forever it would seem because a few demons suddenly appear to think that they have what it takes to approach him.

Things were innocent enough. MC had texted Stan ahead of time that some Lesser Demon in their Potions class was really struggling and had begged to study with them to ace the next exam. It would come to no surprise that MC’s grades improved thanks to Satan’s meticulous note taking so the MC thought that he could help the Lesser Demon as well. Plus, the MC seemed a bit desperate to make some friends outside of the circle they found themselves forced into. Satan begrudgingly agreed. It was only an hour or two and he can still get some time in with MC away from his brothers afterwards.

The. Demon. Will. Not. Leave. Satan is practically grinding his teeth with how close the Lesser Demon decided to sit to him at the study table, spouting nonsense about having poor vision. Demons don’t even need eye corrective measures! MC bought the flimsy excuse though and was trying their best to quiz the Lesser Demon on material they went over in class. The other demon was doing suspiciously well answering the questions for a demon worried about their grades. When it was the MC’s turn to answer the questions on the cue cards, the Lesser Demon was being unnecessarily harsh. They wouldn’t give the MC enough time to reply before blurting out the answer or would snidely elaborate on certain topics well past the scope of the exam needed when the MC was able to speak in time.

Satan was trying to not cause a scene in the library but he could feel his resolve cracking. What made matters worse were the little glances the Lesser Demon would give him out of the corners of their eyes whenever they found themselves able to spew out more information about subjects. The more the Lesser Demon talked, the more MC seemed to shrink in on themselves and the Lesser Demon appeared to be getting some sort of pleasure out of it. Could this dimwit of a demon not feel the temperature of the room start to plummet?

Satan had to excuse himself from the library to catch his breath and walked down the halls for a bit to calm his nerves. He was on high alert so he wasn’t all that surprised when he heard footsteps try to quickly catch up with him before someone gently grabbed his elbow. He didn’t lash out because he recognized the sound of the MC approaching well before they caught up to him. He turned around to face them just to see the MC looking off to the side looking a bit embarrassed. They quietly explain that they were trying to impress the Lesser Demon with their knowledge of Potions but it did not appear to be going all that well.

Satan gave off a bit of an irritated snort but it wasn’t directed at the MC. Of course he could tell that the MC was trying to show off but the Lesser Demon seemed set on trying to make an idiot out of them. MC is way too kind and trusting to know when some demon was blatantly being malicious and trying to use them to make themselves look good. So Satan decided against fighting his sin and was going to release some steam. He told the MC he was going to get their stuff from the library really quick and they can head to the cat café to help unwind after a productive study session. “Wait just a moment, please, MC”.

When Satan stormed back into the library, his demon form was on full display. Not that it would serve as much of a warning to the Lesser Demon when Satan immediately captures them and uses his claws to gouge their eyes. While the other demon was wailing and crying about their eyes, he got fed up and threw them out one of the giant stained glass windows. The other demon should’ve known better than to cause such a ruckus in the library. When Satan met the MC in the hallway with both their stuff and without the Lesser Demon, he said that the other demon decided to drop out of RAD suddenly because they could not keep up with the studies. Suspicious? Yes. Does he care? Not particularly...

-----

Did I need to describe the violence? No. But these guys are demons so I feel like making them not so friendly sometimes. Please keep an eye out for part 2-Leo

Part 2 found here

[silenceofthecookies]

Henleu! I have one more idea UwU (for this round that is) maybe bleach: headcanons for Kensei, Hisagi and Renji reacting to an s/o who insists on some cute rituals: always saying I love you before they leave, always giving a forehead kith before sleeping, no matter how angry or tired they are. Always greeting them when they come home (which is funny when they're pissed). gender can be neutral, just loads of fluff! Again, feel free to play with it! Many smoochhhh (on forehead as well UwU)

Henlo my dear ❤ Sorry this took a while, enjoy the fluff! Many forehead smoochessss! UwU 

Kensei

Kensei has a rather short fuse, certainly when it comes to things he perceives as immature. Now these rituals aren’t at all immature, though with his serious personality, Kensei will easily perceive these as such, certainly early on in the relationship, when he isn't used to you yet.

Saying ‘I love you’ before leaving is one he can appreciate. As a Shinigami, Kensei puts his life on the line every day, so saying those words before leaving is definitely not a bad thing. Hearing it just brings a smile to his face, and he's not embarrassed when he returns those words.

Forehead smooches are fine too, though he prefers a regular kiss. Don’t start on the ‘it’s a seed for a good dream’ though. He doesn’t believe in that. It’s definitely something that will make him even angrier if he is already angry.

Greeting him when he comes home is something he enjoys though. Seeing your face whenever he comes back home makes him feel a little better, no matter how bad his day has been, or how angry he is.

As time passes, Kensei will get more and more used to your little rituals, to the point where they don’t bother him anymore at all, and where he’ll definitely notice if one of them is missing from his day.

Eventually he'll come to genuinely like them, however he does prefer to keep them to the privacy of your home. Kensei is not the kind of person to put his love life on display or to show it off, certainly not when he's supposed to be working.

Also he just doesn't want to be teased by his fellow shinigami. Certainly not Shinji, Hiyori and Lisa. It's not like he wants to keep your relationship a secret, he just doesn’t want them to find out about your rituals.

Hisagi

Hisagi pretends to be a big shot a lot of the time. Sometimes, he even really thinks he is. But in reality, he's a big softie with his own set of insecurities.

Your rituals actually really flatter him. They make him feel loved and appreciated, but at the same time they fluster him a little because he's not used to such displays of affection. And it's very obvious he gets flustered, because Hisagi blushes very easily and very brightly. He hates that he does and he will deny it when you point it out, even when it's clear as day.

He will always reciprocate your rituals. Saying ‘I love you’ was a little bit of a struggle early in the relationship, but he gets better at it over time. Eventually he says it as easy as you, every morning before either of you leave the house.

Hisagi will actually wait in the hallway when he comes home, pretending to take a long time to take off his shoes. He loves that you come to greet him when he comes home. A small kiss, a hug, and he’s ready to step into the house.

Forehead kisses took him the longest to get used to. It’s never a kind of kiss he associated with a romantic relationship, so it confused him a little at first. He never stopped you from doing it though, it’s not like it made him uncomfortable. Eventually he’ll start giving you a kiss on your forehead in return, and the smile on your face is enough for him to keep doing it.

He gets really embarrassed if other shinigami find out about these rituals, but he won’t stop you from doing it. Though he’s worried about the opinion of his peers, Hisagi is not ashamed of his relationship with you. He just tries to keep a cool expression and hopes nobody will tease him about it.

Renji

Renji is actually way more affectionate than he lets people believe. He’s a tough guy and his manners are only there when they really have to be, but when it’s just the two of you, away from prying eyes, all of that toughness leaves his demeanour and he is completely focussed on you, and on keeping you close.

Renji probably picks up on your rituals the fastest of these three. Some displays might startle him a little at first because he didn’t see them coming, but he absolutely loves them.

Saying I love you? No problem. He wants to say it and he wants to hear you say it. It’s nice and comforting to hear. He’ll say it before leaving, before going to bed, whenever you do something for him,… any opportunity he gets.

Hugs? Anytime. He enjoys wrapping his arms around you, squeezing you tight for just a few seconds before relaxing his grasp around you and just holding you gently. If he could, he would keep one arm around you at all times.

Kisses, forehead, cheek or mouth, are the one thing that still manage to fluster him a little. There’s just something special about a kiss, something romantic. He’ll always either return the kiss of give you a hug, just to make sure you never feel like it’s one-sided.

Renji’s not too worried about people teasing him about you or your rituals. He’ll just brush it off, which makes the teasing stop really fast. He’s proud to call you his, and he’ll gladly bring you along to different places, including places where his friends and fellow shinigami are. Sometimes when he gets caught up in the idiocy of the people around him he’ll go along with their antics though, and then he’ll yell at them to stop teasing him about you, because ‘he’d never be ashamed to call you his’.