#i'm sorry that i wrote this

[bookwyrminspiration]

sometimes a theme recurs in your work without your permission. and sometimes it reaches a threshold where you're like. well now i think this is saying something about me against my will. don't know what though

[olailamajnoon]

Bruce enters the conference room on the Watchtower. He is wearing a baby carrier with a baby inside it.

There is a hoo-ha.

"Why is there a baby," whispers Flash to Superman.

Clark shrugs. "It's probably one of the Robins."

"What?" says Barry tightly. "No, none of them are that age!"

"Jesus Bar, it's like you've never heard of de-aging beams."

"I'm not feeling good about the fact that you're taking this so lightly." Barry scratches at his five o' clock shadow. "If it is a Robin, it's very weird. But it's more weird if it's not."

"Maybe it's a Batgirl," suggests Diana, leaning in. "Cass or...or Steph. The purple one."

"That fits the purple diaper," says Barry reflectively.

"Barry stop hyperfixating on this," Clark says. "Let it go."

The baby is crying a little, sucking on its thumb. Batman gives it a chew toy as he continues working, and then produces a bottle out from under his cape, and holding the baby's head at a careful angle, begins to feed it.

"Batman..." Flash says, miserably curious. "Why do you have a baby?" He points at it, as if to make clear what baby he is talking about.

Bruce looks up, his brow furrowed. "Newly orphaned. Mother threw her from the spire of a church tower in Scarecrow-fear-toxin-induced hallucinations. Then she threw herself. I could only save one."

Barry looks like the dictionary illustration for the word 'flabbergasted'.

"Oh," is all he says. "Oh. Okay."

"I've found her a good home. She'll leave in a few hours." Bruce looks down, and then mutters to himself, "I just wanted to hold her".

Superman pretends he doesn't have super-hearing.

[itsthatlake]

“Icarus.”

it's all about freedom really

Credit goes to An Sifakah for the poem. Enjoy!

Support me on Ko-fi maybe?

[shinynewmemories]

Listen to me Suzanne Collins did not have to give Katniss and Peeta a history before the games. She did NOT have to do that. She could have just had their story begin when Peeta's name was called. She could have had them be total strangers until the moment of the reaping.

Like: "And the boy tribute is... Peeta Mellark!" Katniss: Who's that? Or she could have made them vaguely familiar with each other! Peeta's name is called and Katniss just thinks, Oh, I know that name! He's in my class, actually. Poor boy... Anyway!

Either way, SC could have written the rest of the story exactly the same! I think many authors would have done that! Because if Peeta's purpose in the book was to be Gale's competition, to be one of the 3 corners of a love triangle, THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE WAY TO DO IT!! But that's NOT how she did it because that's NOT what Peeta is.

And what is he? To Katniss, Peeta's someone who saved her and her family and received nothing in return except a beating. Peeta's someone she has had her eye on but has never worked up the courage to talk to. Peeta's someone she associates with kindness and hope. And all this before the start of the events of the book! Just because WE, the READERS, met Gale before Peeta and immediately felt a connection with him does NOT mean that was Katniss's experience! And that's what SC is trying to tell us!

To dismiss Katniss and Peeta's past as unimportant or inconsequential compared to whatever Katniss and Gale have in the present is to fundamentally misunderstand Katniss as a character and, as a result, condemn oneself to never fully understand the choices she makes in the future.

Suzanne Collins wrote it that way on purpose because she had something to say. And no one will ever be able to convince me that something wasn't "It was always going to be Peeta".

[imaroyalmess]

An Apprentice’s (Unofficial) Guide to House Garments

based on @energ00n 's apprentice AU! (i'm obsessed with the concept of apprentices making up garment rules)

Wc: 2.1k

The datapad—an older model with discolored spots, showing where servos touched its framing—is the first thing Orion Pax’s optics land on as he walks into his new room. Orion snatches the datapad and tilts his helm as he reads the title over again. A peek at the contents shows that it begins with Hey newbie followed by three exclamation glyphs (an overabundance of any glyph, if you asked Orion).

Orion glances up and catches his own gaze in a mirror hanging in front of him. It’s strange, seeing two sheer fabric pieces delicately flowing over the hard metal of his arms—he’s hesitant to move his arm joints in fear of tearing it. That, as well as the jewelry occupying the space where his cog would be creates a vision that’ll take some getting used to.

He pries his optics away and down to the datapad again, dermas pinching as his processor whirrs. Prima explained to him how to care for his garment personally and what if, since the datapad looks old, the data was outdated? No, safer to follow Prima’s instructions and not confuse himself.

Orion places the datapad to the side and sets off to explore his new home.

~

Hello newbie!!!

Congratulations to you and your new position! There’s so much you need to know before you get started. If you wanna make friends, then you’ll wanna keep reading, little mech!

It’s most important that you know about your House garment. No, no, not how to wash oil stains out of it (though that’s good to know!), I’m talking about the meaning behind what you do with it.

Lucky for you, I’ve compiled a list for your easy reference! Learn them well, little mech!!

DO: Wear your House garment at all times! I’ve been told it’s respectful to the Primes. Also helpful so we can tell each other apart. Usually only an apprentice’s special somebot sees them without it! Even then, maybe not.

~

D-16 has always been a stickler for the rules. It’s structure—it’s security. He can’t afford to slip up and never lets that resolve waver. So how exactly did he let pretty blue optics lure him into a cargo hold that supposedly has a passage leading into the (highly forbidden) archives? D-16 isn’t sure.

“Orion Pax,” D-16 hisses, “you idiot, there’s no way—”

Orion hushes him with a digit to his dermas and a wink. D-16 lowers his voice. “Why did you drag me into this?”

Orion pries the cover away from the passage and lowers it to the ground, a soft clank echoing. “I need you to keep watch for me, ‘kay? It’s a tight squeeze for me so you definitely wouldn’t fit.”

D-16 frowns, a retort fully prepped in his processor, but then Orion unclips his garment and D-16’s vocalizer short circuits. For a horrifying and long nanoklik, only static emits from his voice box. “Wh–Pax, what are you doing?!”

“I told you.” Orion rolls his optics. “Barely enough room in there and I can’t risk ripping my clothes up. Prima would offline me.”

He slips the sheer fabric over his helm and presents it to D-16 with splayed servos. Primus, help him. It takes D-16 exactly 1.46 kliks to reboot and shake his helm vehemently. “No? I…you want me to—”

“It’s just my garment,” Orion states, playful but also firm in a way that says I don’t have time to argue. “I’m not asking you to do anything else. Keep it safe?”

Just my garment. If Orion’s antics don’t get him expelled, his cluelessness would. However, he’s correct about one thing, and it’s that their time is running out.

D-16 half-snatches half-cradles the garment, careful not to let the ends touch the ground. With a deep intake D-16 says, “Go. Before they spot us.”

Orion grins, scrambling his way through the crawl space, leaving D-16 to listen for passing mechs. The fabric feels smooth between his digits.

~

DON’T: touch another apprentice’s attire, especially(!) without their permission. A passing touch may be an accident but deliberately grabbing is almost like a kiss!!! Don’t kiss or put your dermas on their clothing either. That has…intimate implications I won’t discuss here.

~

Orion loves watching Megatronus Prime spar with D-16. The size difference between the two could be laughable, if it weren’t for the ferocity that overtakes D-16’s faceplate and the corrections Megatronus throws out to him. Multiple times, Orion’s systems remind him to function as he watches—his friend is a vision under his Prime’s tutelage, all gritted denta, radiating optics, and arcing gauntlets.

Once satisfied, the looming Prime kneels before his apprentice and speaks lowly to him. Orion’s audials are unable to pick up what’s said but the open and hungry way D-16 receives his feedback sates him. Megatronus returns to his full height, nods to release D-16 from his training for the day and Orion perks up at the gesture.

“D!” Orion calls. His friend pads over to what’s becoming Orion’s usual spot, a barely-there smile on his dermas.

“You been waiting long?” D-16 asks, setting his practice spear against the wall.

Orion shakes his helm. A white lie—he’s been there longer than he should’ve but it’s not his fault that watching D-16 fight is so fascinating. “What were you learning today?”

D-16 dutifully launches into the intricacies of battle strategy and close-ranged combat. Orion props his helm up with his loose fist as he listens—mostly listens, at least. That task becomes difficult as the jargon grows thick and D-16’s broad servos capture Orion’s attention as they move in small motions.

An idea pops into his processor. “Why don’t you show me?”

A pause, then D-16 scoops up his practice spear, muttering, “It’ll look stupid without an opponent.”

Orion hops over the half-wall that’s been separating them and bounces over to stand in front of his friend. “I’m right here though.”

“No,” D-16 said immediately. “It’s not safe.”

“C’mon, D,” Orion teases. “I trust you.”

D-16 cycles his optics and Orion’s lopsided grin grows. “It’s not about that. You don’t know what you’re doing and even if it’s not real, I could hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Orion states, full of confidence.

“I could,” D-16 argues. “Then Prima would offline me for harming his one and only apprentice—”

Orion begins to circle D-16, close enough to reach but far enough that he could evade it. “I know what you’re doing, Pax. It’s not going to work.”

“Is it not?” Orion teases as he keeps in D-16’s blindspot, his friend calmly trying to catch sight of him again. He takes a chance while behind him, dashing out and giving the purple fabric of D-16’s House garment a good tug.

“Pax,” D-16 chastises. Yes, it’s a sparkling-like move, Orion knows and does not quite care. He does it again, giggles erupting from his vocalizer as D-16’s calmness dissipates.

Orion manages to tug at D-16’s garment twice more before D-16’s arm snaps out, captures the joint above Orion’s servos, and crowds him against the nearby wall. The yellow of D-16’s optics blaze. Orion notices how close they are, how his friend’s weight is the only thing that keeps him upright, and he grins.

D-16 growls, “Orion.” And honestly? Orion isn’t sure what’s going through his processor when his reaction to hearing D-16 say his name is to bite down on the gathered cloth by one of the gauntlets he’d been admiring earlier.

D-16 drops him. His aft hits the ground with a rough clank and Orion cries out, “hey!”

But D-16 isn’t listening. His optics are focused on the spot where Orion’s intake fluid darkened cloth’s already deep purple. D-16’s expression is horrified.

“Oh scrap, D.” Orion scrambles to his pedes. “It should go away, right? I’ve never—D! Where are you going? Wait!”

Before Orion can say another word, D-16 runs—no, sprints—out of the practice arena, leaving Orion there alone wondering what he’d done wrong.

~

DO: keep your garment clean! It’s polite and respectful, blah blah blah, you should know this. But! What you don’t know is that leaving a mark on another apprentice’s garment, accidental or not, is a serious offense! You tear it, that’s a show of disrespect to the apprentice and their House and you might have to fight them. On the other servo, if you, say, put a small decal on the cloth, you’re effectively marking that mech as your own. Same goes for intake fluid, though that just tells everyone that you and that bot are...together in a different sense. Catch my drift? 

~

“I’m sorry, D.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know but I made you upset, didn’t I?”

“...no. You didn’t.”

~

DON’T: wear another House’s garment!!! Unless you’re ready to be conjunxes. And I’m serious! It’s saying your devotion to that mech is equivalent to your devotion to your Prime. Ask yourself, little mech. Would you swear undying fealty to them? Would you choose that mech over your Prime? No? Then don’t do this.

(Okay, I might be a little overdramatic, but seriously, don’t.)

~

What fascinates Orion is how different the textiles feel from one another. He’s read about the arts and asked on multiple occasions to speak with the bot who made his House clothes because he must know more. Orion shifts the material of D-16’s garment between his digits, reveling in the weight and watching the fabric fold as he moves.

He drapes a length of it over his arm and turns to D-16, who’s dozing in and out of a light rest cycle. “Do you think purple would suit me?”

“Hm?”

Orion nudges his friend with the bend of his arm still wrapped in material. This time, D-16 rouses, even if only a little. “Your House garment, silly. How does it look?”

“Fine,” D-16 says.

“Just fine?” Orion complains. “You’re the meanest friend ever. You won’t even let me try?”

D-16 resettles his helm. “Not mean. ‘M honest.”

Orion shoves his shoulder plate, only serving to further tangle himself. “Your honesty is mean.”

“Would you prefer a more elaborate answer?”

“Not anymore,” Orion mutters. This time, he lets D-16 rest as he lays the garment over his lap and smoothes out the wrinkles he’s made. 

~

Congrats!!! Now you’re fully equipped to take on the social terrain in the House of Primes!!

In case you didn’t read all that, basically, keep to your own business and every other bot will keep to theirs. You’re lucky you have me to help you out with this because I didn't have anyone explain it to me and I broke about every rule before an apprentice told me. I was so embarrassed!!! No need to thank me though, little mech, whoever you may be. Just have fun! Be responsible! Follow these rules!!! I promise, you’ll have a better time if you do. Byeeee ;)

~

D-16 might cease to function—if he hasn’t already. On this particular solar cycle, Orion had dragged D-16 into another one of his schemes and deemed his quarters the meeting point. The door slid open, Orion welcomed him inside, and D-16’s optics landed on a datapad that made his spark drop.

That thing isn’t supposed to exist—not physically, anyway. How did it get here? How in Primus’ glory does Orion have it?!

“D?” Orion cuts through his panic.

“Have you…” D-16 can barely force his vocaliser to say the words. “Have you read it?”

Orion raises an optical ridge. Confused but fond. “Read what?”

A digit points at the datapad, though D-16 didn’t consciously give the command for it to do so. “That.”

“Oh that?” Orion ambles over to the offending object. “It was here when I moved in. Weird right? Maybe Prima put it here in case I forgot what he told me?”

D-16’s joints creak with the effort it takes to stride over and pick up the datapad. “You don’t need it though, do you?”

Please say no, D-16’s processor screams.

Orion laughs, though his confusion melds into concern as well. “No, I guess not…did you need it? You can take it, if you do.”

And D-16 then and there wishes Orion Pax had chosen a better friend, one who he deserves. Except, D-16 is also selfish and cold in ways where Orion is warm—he doesn’t wish that, in actuality. (It feels kinder to say that he does. Orion deserves kind.)

“Thanks,” D-16 says for lack of any explanation that wouldn’t be a flat-out lie.

Then Orion smiles at him, as he always does, and pats him on the chest plate, right next to his empty cog slot, right on his garment. D-16 musters a quirk of his dermas and tucks the datapad away from Orion’s prying optics. It’s hard to feel guilty about it, when Orion seems so content and his servos make his garment so warm.

~~~

A/N: tysm for reading! i'm sorry if i got any details wrong, i read all the comics over again to make sure i got it all correct but just in case i missed something! please check out the main comic if you haven't already. the worldbuilding, writing, and art style are all stunning!

[allthehumanflaws]

Edwin- If Charles thinks he can just call me baby and get whatever he wants- Charles - baby... Edwin, out of breath - ......he's absolutely right

[lepitorus]

here's some diagrams of my springbonnie/springtrap design because people seem to like it a lot! : D

[pseudowho]

You both forget. Every time.

Everything within you clenches, shivering and coming down from your high, in time to hear Kento gasp behind you, drowning in euphoria.

Cursing under his breath, Kento's thrusts become slower and shallower; he barely pulls out, groaning as his cock jerks within you, filling you with sluggish, sticky stripes of his seed. He gasps, face contorted in bliss, his powerful body buckling under the force of his peak. You only wish you could see his face, eyes closing to imagine it instead.

You couldn't move if you wanted to; the primal breeding centre of his brain urges his fingers to grip your hips with stunning force, holding you back onto him. You're vulnerable, impaled as he fills you, balls clenched tight and pulsing.

You grin, face down and goofy with pleasure, that core part of you satisfied to feel him spill himself inside you. You can almost hear the sanctuary in your belly, calling him home, drinking him in.

Every time. Every time, you forget.

Your husband finally comes back, behind you, having been replaced by a beast for a moment. You call out to him, your voice sweet and dopey.

"Hi, Kento."

"...y-yeah...hi."

"Hi."

Kento chuckles, low and breathless, holding you back onto him as he threatens to slip out. He realises.

Every fucking time.

"Shit, have you-- have you got anything...anything to hand?"

"Err..."

You hear him huff behind you, turning into a laugh. A low rumbling reassurance.

"Alright...move with me."

You giggle, moving your arse with his hips to keep him plugged within you. Kento splays his hand over the bed, hunting, hunting--

"Every time," he grumbles, floundering as his softening cock begins to slip out of you, "every fucking time-- been years-- think we'd remember--"

"Clearly my pussy game is just too good--"

"You're fucking right, too good-- distractingly good pussy game-- a-ha!"

Kento's hand clasps his discarded shirt, and you squeak when he claps his hand between your legs. You're laughing as you crumple forwards, his cock slipping free and his shirt being squashed between your legs. A telltale trickle of cum soaks into the soft fabric, just in time.

Every time.

You feel a trail of lazy, open-mouthed kisses down your spine, your hips, your sacral curve, squealing and laughing as his teeth nip into your bottom. You wiggle, certain you're still alluring with his cum-stained shirt between your legs. You're right; you are. It earns you a gruff little slap to the arse and you laugh again.

"...hang on--" Kento groans, wobbling on cum-drunk legs, his cock still half-hard, as if he'll have any life left in him before he passes out, face down on your breasts. "Hang on...you deserve better...than a fucking shirt."

"Noooo!" You cry, grinning as you snuggle under the duvet, your eyes drooping. "I love ruining your shirts."

"That's because you're tacky. And classless."

You laugh again, knowing he's right. You're protesting without protest when Kento returns, smirking and battling your legs open to retrieve his shirt and replace it with a warm flannel.

He wouldn't have it any other way. Every fucking time.

[beeduoo]

i really like that one tiktok

[changbunnies]

Revelation (18+)

♡ Pairing: Vampire Priest!Jeongin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: very loosely inspired by midnight mass (tv), horror themes, vampire / human relationship, smut, possibly dead dove? read the warnings carefully and come to ur own conclusion on what you're willing to read before engaging pls :')

♡ Word Count: 4k

♡ Summary: The suspiciously young and extremely handsome priest of your small-town church has a very big secret– and it's not until he's sinking his fangs into your neck that you discover what exactly that secret is.

♡ General Warnings: usage of typical vampire abilities (increased senses, strength, etc), descriptions of blood, religious themes (specifically catholicism focused), references to religious guilt + shame, reader does not trust jeongin at all (for good reason lol), very blatant manipulation, cult vibes? jeongin basically has the whole town under his thumb so. do with that what you will lol

♡ Smut Warnings: dubcon, vampire venom that acts as an aphrodisiac, sexual acts inside a church (specifically in a confessional booth), some gendered language (dirty + good girl), dom/sub dynamics, dom!jeongin, biting + blood drinking, thigh riding, fingering (f rec), a lil bit of praise kink, corruption kink?

♡ Notes: this is possibly niche but well. the vampire priest concept lives rent free in my head thanks to midnight mass, and innie said he wanted to be a priest + he'd definitely be a sexy vampire so here we are lmao. and sorry i'm suddenly posting out of age order for my late kinktober fics but i ended up finishing this before the other members i still have left :')

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

There's something that isn't right about your local church's head priest. Firstly, his age doesn't make sense; who on God's green earth becomes a priest in their 20s?

At least, you assume that's around how old Father Yang, who notably prefers to be called Jeongin, is– you've never been told, and you've never asked, but he certainly doesn't look any older than that.

Secondly, why are his sermons always at night? In all the towns you've ever lived in, in all the churches you've ever frequented, this is the first time you've ever experienced your standard, weekly Sunday service routinely happening at 9 p.m.

And thirdly, why is it that everyone who meets with him for confession comes back looking delirious and.. euphoric, almost? You don't get it– sure, confessing your sins is freeing; asking for and receiving God's forgiveness is among the best feelings that can be experienced if you're a devout believer, but still.

Something about all of it just doesn't sit right with you– and to make matters worse, you seem to be the only person in town suspicious of him. You're new to town, have only been here a handful of months, so you get it– you're the outsider, you don't know him like they do, et cetera, et cetera.

But how can not a single other person in town be bothered by how strange it all is? There has to be an explanation– you don't know what it is, and you don't know why you're the only one who seems to care, but there must be a reason.

It's Sunday again, and you spend the entire sermon watching Jeongin like a hawk, trying to catch any sign as to what it is about him that has all these people so enraptured. And while it's not necessarily wrong for him to be, another thing that strikes you is that he's easily the most casually dressed yet stylish priest you've ever met.

He wears the standard clergy vest and rabat, as he should, but over it is a leather jacket, and he wears denim blue jeans instead of dress pants. His shoes are sleek and polished, he has pretty, ornate rings decorating his fingers, has expertly styled slicked hair and silver earrings dangling from his pierced ears.

Again, it's not necessarily wrong, but it's definitely something you wouldn't think a priest's Sunday best would entail. And maybe that's only because the priests in your life have only ever been old, and didn't put much thought into style, but maybe that's what people like about him?

Maybe it makes him seem more down to earth and approachable; maybe it's easier to confess your sins when, outstanding devotion to God aside, he seems like as ordinary a person as any other. Of course, that's logically always the case, but some priests have an intimidating "holier-than-thou" attitude about them, and it certainly helps Jeongin's case that he seemingly makes an effort to not give off that vibe.

And admittedly, he's charming– there's something so uniquely handsome about the way he smiles while preaching God's word, how his eyes twinkle while he recites a scripture and relates it back to a point he made several minutes prior; you can't deny that it's enthralling.

But when he looks over the attendees lined in the pews, it always feels like he's looking straight through you, seeing to the depths of your soul and laying it bare. It gives you chills, honestly; makes you feel exposed in a way that's indescribable; like with a glance alone, he knows all your secrets, your every sin, down to their most minute details.

It's near midnight when his sermon ends; you stay seated in the backmost pew to the left, brows furrowed as everyone shakes his hand or hugs him, thanking him for another "terrific service." It's so bizarre– and it's not until the last of the congregation exits the small, wooden church that you begin to rise from your seat.

Though you're sure the church carries electricity and that the lights can be flicked on, the priest never does so– he always uses candles, casting a warm yellow glow on the dingy, white wood of the walls. It casts more shadows, gives the place an almost unsettling air– and when he turns to you, just as he's closing the Bible in his hand and setting it down, it sends a shiver through you.

"You're still here," Jeongin smiles at you from where he stands before the altar, centralized at the head of the church. It's a kind enough one, but you don't trust it; you can't shake the feeling that something lies beneath it– something abberant and dark that you can't place, but are certain is there.

"Do you wish to confess?" he asks, motions to the confessional booth with his hand as he tilts his head. "No," you answer, perhaps too quickly– and his smile grows ever so slightly, as if he's amused. At least, that's how you perceive his expression; and it makes you narrow your eyes at him, the distrust that radiates off you certainly palpable.

Your opinion of him is no secret, really; and he can tell you're scrutinizing him, trying to catch him in whatever act you think he's playing– it won't work, but it does humor him that you're trying. He doesn't know what sort of wild conclusions you've come to about him, but if you see anything, it'll be because he himself wanted you to see it– until then, you won't learn a single thing about who he truly is.

"Is there a reason you're still here then?" Jeongin questions next, and you swallow, hesitant to answer. Admittedly, you only stuck around in case someone did decide to go confess to him– you intended to eavesdrop, to try to listen in and find out what's really going on behind closed curtains.

It would've been massively immoral, but you would've confessed and asked for forgiveness later– privately, that is. You have no intention of seeking the Father's help in such matters, given how little trust you have towards him.

But still, despite the fact that you were willing to sneak around and listen to private conversations, you aren't entirely willing to lie in the house of God– so after some internal grappling with yourself on what you should and shouldn't do in this position, on what is right and wrong, you end up admitting the truth.

"I don't trust you," you tell Jeongin plainly, and you can swear you see him trying to suppress a smirk.

"I'm aware," he says, so matter of fact that it almost sends you reeling. And it's not that you were so disillusioned into thinking you weren't being obvious; you know very well that you weren't being the most covert in your suspicion of him– it's how unbothered and amused by it he seems to be that really gets you.

Shouldn't he be offended? Question your reasoning? Try immediately to dispel your doubts and clear up any misconceptions you may have? Instead, he seems more than ready to just accept it for what it is– even seems entertained by it.

"Does it not bother you that I don't trust you?" you ask, and he almost laughs as he shakes his head. "No. There's no reason for it to," he answers simply; and before you can ask why, or what he means, he's already answering– you suspect he could already tell you were going to press him on the matter.

"God teaches us to love one another. So even if you do not love me, or trust me, I love you, just as God instructs me to," Jeongin smiles as he speaks, and again, your brows furrow. It's a perfect answer, really– but it feels.. inorganic, almost rehearsed.

And the glimmer in his eye throws you off; it doesn't feel like the pure, honest delight you'd see on a priest putting God's word into practice. It feels mischievous, deceitful– like he doesn't believe an ounce of what he's saying, but he wants you to believe that he does.

"I know what you're thinking," he says, and you swallow, stiffening where you stand as he continues, "And if you really want to know what goes on during confession, want to see for yourself what it is I do to help the people who look to me, I can show you."

If you're being entirely honest, the offer is tempting; and strangely, it also makes you feel.. bad, almost– makes you second guess yourself. Because if he's freely offering like this, surely it can't be whatever you've been making it out to be in your head.

There's no way he'd out himself, and whatever it is he does, just to gain the trust of one person out of hundreds who doesn't believe his pure intentions. And maybe the other townsfolk really do trust him for good reason; maybe you've just been examining the situation and looking at Jeongin and the church in the wrong light.

Maybe you've been blowing everything out of proportion with obscene assumptions, and maybe he really is just a good priest. Maybe he makes you feel so seen, heard, and whole, that all your worldly problems melt away, feel trivial and light in comparison to God's plan for you.

Because after all, you are the outlier here. You're the only one in the whole town that doesn't trust him; and surely that means you're the one in the wrong. Jeongin does things differently than you're used to, but that doesn't mean he's inherently bad. And maybe you should confess– ask God to forgive you for not being receptive to the word of one of His servants.

Jeongin smiles when you concede and start to slowly step your way to the confessional. You pull back the curtain, step inside and prepare to sit in the small, wooden booth seat, but you quickly realize he's followed you inside. You gasp as you turn around, back pressing against the intricately carved hardwood window of the booth as he closes you in.

"Sh-Shouldn't you be on the other side?" you ask, much too meek for your liking. It's a cramped fit given that the booth is only meant to fit a single person on either side at a time; it makes you unconsciously hold your breath as you're effectively caged inside the booth with him– nowhere to go, and nothing you can do but stare at him, bewildered.

"No," he answers as quick and simple as before, his smile once again growing ever so slightly. And maybe you could push him, try to dart past him if you manage to successfully make him topple back, but you feel frozen– because even in the dark, barely lit confessional you're in, you're certain that you see his dull canines become long, pearly white fangs.

"Don't worry, it will only hurt for a second," he assures you as he brings his hands to your arms, gripping them just below your shoulder as he leans towards you. You shudder, his breath fanning your ear as he inches towards your neck, "but after that– it's bliss."

You feel the sharp points of his teeth poke at your skin, and it makes you gasp as your head tilts to the side, making room for him to sink his fangs into your flesh. Instinctively, your hands search for something to grab; you end up reaching for his shoulders, twisting your hands in his leather jacket to ground yourself as his sharp teeth pierce into your neck.

Your legs wobble, and he forces one of his own between your thighs, uses it to keep you upright as he drinks from you. And there is pain, but it really is only for a second, just like he said it’d be– within seconds it melts away, and oh, you instantly understand.

It’s much, much more than bliss– it’s ecstasy, it’s rhapsody, it’s the greatest pleasure you’ve ever felt. Spreading from your neck to every last nerve ending in your body, every atom of your body becomes alight with euphoria as his bite sends tingles throughout you, raising goosebumps along your skin.

You cry out, an embarrassingly loud sound that you barely recognize as your own voice as one of your hands finds its way to his head. Your fingers thread into his hair, hold him to your neck as if you don't want him to ever separate from you– and to be fair, maybe you don't.

It feels so good, so exhilarating, intoxicating, that you almost don't want the sensation to ever end. Jeongin meanwhile lets out delighted hums, eventually slowly retracting his fangs to latch his lips around the sensitive, bruising skin, his tongue lapping away at the blood that pours from the two little marks left behind.

The beating of your heart quickens, breaths quickly growing labored as the inexplicable want continues to seep into your veins. Your thighs tremble as tension builds deep in your gut, and they try to press together to seek relief, but Jeongin's leg stays firmly nestled between yours, preventing it.

And were you not so utterly blissed out, maybe the incessant, desperate throbbing of your pussy would make you feel ashamed– but all you can think about is the deep seated desire overtaking every receptor, every tiny cell, every molecule within you, as if the very chemistry that makes up your being has been altered for Jeongin alone.

Unable to resist, you rut against his thigh, entirely shameless and feverish– because it's all you have access to, all you can do to relieve the growing ache between your legs. It’s sinful, your growing lust is– and the last place you should ever be doing this is inside of a church; but you’re too far gone to care, too gripped by the need for stimulation.

Jeongin lets go of your arms, reaches between your bodies to hike up your church gown, giving you easier access to his lean, muscular thigh. He’s gracious, tugs your soaked panties to the side so your clit can catch on the denim of his jeans– and the delicious friction makes you moan for him, loud and sweet. 

He pulls away from your neck to watch your desperate humping, eyes gleaming with mischievous satisfaction as he watches you pleasure yourself on his thigh. His eyes are perfectly adapted to seeing in the low light, and so he can easily see every little detail of you– from the mess your pussy leaves behind on his jeans, to the sweat beginning to drip down your temple, to the trembling of your bottom lip before you tuck it between your teeth. 

And when he smiles at you now, it’s like the fox that got the rabbit; even in the extremely dim candle light you can see the way your blood coats his lips, messily dripping from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. His dark eyes are gleaming– because he has you ensnared, and you both know there’s no going back. 

You untangle your fingers from his hair, and you watch as he reaches for your falling hand, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to his mouth. He holds your gaze as he kisses over the pulsing vein, and it makes your breath hitch, the blood on his mouth smearing over the surface of your skin, staining it crimson. 

“Should I bite you here too?” he asks, placing another kiss over your vein before he shoots you a grin full of fang, “you’re so delicious– I want to taste you even more.” You gasp and squirm as Jeongin presses the tips of his bared fangs against your skin– not quite biting just yet, but it’s enough to spread another wave of tingles over your body. 

“Yes, bite me, please!” you cry, voice almost frantic in its urgency– and you can see the corners of Jeongin’s lips twisting into a devious smile before he’s obliging, burying his fangs deep into your wrist within an instant. You wince, your fingers clenching as he squeezes your wrist in his hand, keeping it tightly pressed to his mouth. 

And just as before, within seconds the sharp sting dulls and ebbs into incomparable pleasure, goosebumps spreading over every inch of your heated skin. Faintly, you can see your blood dribble past his lips, slowly flowing down the length of your forearm before it drips to the floor of the booth. 

You can just barely see his tongue licking over his bite, doing his best to collect all the blood that spills from you, and it's mesmerizing– especially when he brings his fingers to your arm to swipe up what his tongue misses. Your stomach flutters as you watch him separate from your wrist and bring his bloodied fingers to his mouth; they're so long, so pretty and enticing– you want them.

Jeongin can see it in your eyes– how brazenly you stare at his fingers, how your eyes follow every move he makes with them. You're still panting, sweating, chest heaving from the exertion, but the rutting of your hips has faltered; and he grins as he gazes at you. You're once again left with the feeling that he sees through you– that all it takes is a glance for him to know everything you're thinking.

"You want them? Want me to stuff your cunt full with my fingers? Make you cum all over them?" he asks, entirely rhetorical; he already knows the answer. And he likes the way you writhe over the question, how you gasp over the sinful words he so freely spills in such a sacred place, your ears positively burning.

Even if your face didn't obviously show your desires, you don't think you'd be able to deny them; you've never wanted anything as badly as you want this, want him. It should make your gut twist with shame, because deep down you know this is wrong, know that you shouldn't want him to touch you as badly as you do– but the craving for Jeongin to bring you pleasure is almost primal, so deep and innate that your rational mind can't even hope to fight against it.

Slowly, almost playfully, he trails his fingertips over your thigh, and the anticipation is enough to make you unconsciously hold your breath. "You're so fucking messy," Jeongin says as he brushes his fingers over your soaking, sensitive clit, "so wet– you're a dirty girl, huh?"

You want to whine, want to shake your head and vehemently deny that you're dirty, attest to being a good, honest, and God fearing– but you're so overcome with your desire for him to touch you, that you don't. Instead you agree, concede that you are dirty, and messy, and that you want him more explicitly than you feel your own words could ever attest.

How easily you agree to being dirty seems to please him– and with a light chuckle, he slips his hand further down while carefully removing his leg from between your thighs. You wobble a bit when the support of his leg is gone, but he's quick to wrap an arm around you to hold you, effortlessly keeping you upright with the strength innate to who, or rather what, he is.

The cool, silver band that he wears on his pinky makes you jolt when it touches your feverishly hot thigh, and he chuckles again as he spreads your folds with his fingers. You're dripping for him, so slick with arousal that it hardly takes any effort at all for Jeongin's fingers to become coated with your juices.

You rock your hips against his hand, wordlessly begging him to give you what it is you crave most. "Oh look at you, so impatient, so desperate," he laughs as he presses the pads of his fingers to your hole, delighting in the way you look at him with glassy eyes and pinched brows.

It's obscene how badly you want him; you've never felt this needy, never been rendered so desperate for stimulation– and you're in a confessional of all places. This is the very last place on earth you should feel this way, or be doing something like this, and yet the shame you should feel is far from your mind– because all you can think about is your need for his beautiful fingers to fill you up and dull the throbbing ache between your legs.

Jeongin coos when you start to beg for his fingers, a rambling string of "please," and "want it, want you," and "need it so bad." You can tell how much satisfaction it gives him, and if your mind weren't so hazy from desire you'd certainly feel embarrassment build and twist from deep in your gut– but any such feelings are silenced by your body's need for his touch, by your craving for the sensations that only he can grant you.

It takes your breath away when he easily sinks two fingers inside you, thrusting them in and out slowly until he curls and bends them to find the spot that makes you see stars. "That's it, there you go," he grins when he finds it. He watches your eyes roll back, your hands clutching at his jacket as he continues to press the tips of his fingers into your most sensitive spot.

He returns to your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin and nipping it with sharp teeth before he kisses and licks over the bruises he leaves behind. He applies pressure to your swollen clit with his thumb while relentlessly targeting your spot, an easy task for him thanks to the length of his fingers, and his hold on you tightens when the shaking in your legs grows more intense.

You're so, so close, and Jeongin can tell too– not just from how your pussy pulses and squeezes around his fingers, but because he can hear the loud, erratic thumping of your heart, as well as the rush of blood pulsing in your veins. "C'mon, let go– cum, you can do it, cum for me," he urges, speaking softly against the shell of your ear while swirling his thumb over your clit.

"There you go, good girl, just like that," he praises as you string out a loud succession of whimpers, your thighs closing tight around his hand as your high finally takes you. Your world feels like it’s spinning, your heartbeat ringing in your ears as you ride out your high, your release gushing messily around his fingers.

His hand stays in place until your thighs untense, and he’s careful as he slips his fingers out of you, though you can’t help but shiver and whine from the sensitivity regardless. You're unsteady on your feet following your orgasm, but Jeongin makes sure you don't fall over; he keeps his grip on your firm, carefully helps you turn away from where you were pressed against the carved window to sit in the booth's only seat.

He wipes the sweat from your forehead after you sit, leans down to fix and smooth over the skirt of your church gown as you try your best to collect your breath and calm your racing heart. He's reverted back to his kindly priest persona it seems– you can tell by the warm smile he offers when you look at him, his sharp fangs fully retracted.

Still, bits of your blood remain smeared over his lips– clear evidence that he isn't the saintly man he portrays himself to be. You watch breathlessly as Jeongin licks the last of it from his lips before he pulls back the curtain of the confessional booth.

He offers you his hand after it seems like you've recovered enough to stand again; your own hand trembles as you accept it, and with his assistance, you rise carefully from your seat.

You're a bit dizzy when you stand, equal parts consequence of blood loss and the euphoria still lingering and tingling in your veins, but you're otherwise steady; and he smiles as he squeezes your hand in his, the other coming to rest on the small of your back as you take your first step out of the booth.

"Come back to confession again sometime," Jeongin says with his characteristically deceitful, charming smile, knowing full well that you will. Humans always find the sensation of his venom irresistible, always become addicted to it once they've felt it– and you'll be no different. "I'll be waiting for you."

[skipblebee]

It's another sunny day at Cang Qiong mountain sect. Shang Qinghua has just delivered a bunch of writing materials to Qing Jing as requested by Peak Lord Shen. On his way back one of the disciples stops him and he recognises her to be Ning Yingying, one of the peak lord's favoured disciples. "Shishu," she smiles at him "Shizun is playing songs for us on his guqin! Would you like to stay and listen?"

Shang Qinghua weighs his options and figures he might as well rest his legs, he's got a lot to do once he's back at An Ding Peak and hey!! He might as well get a treat for his delivery!! It was literally a last minute thing that wasn't even FILED for properly but whatever, he thinks, it's not everyday someone would get an invitation to listen to Shen Qingqiu playing his guqin! And from one of his favourite disciples? Oh he's in luck, this is like getting front row tickets to your favourite band!!

So Shang Qinghua makes his way towards a garden close to the disciples' music room, where a bunch of eager students listen to their shizun's wonderful playing. He really is as talented as they say,, nimble fingers gently plucking at each string. You can feel the love and emotion he has for each song pour into how he plays it.

Shang Qinghua leans against a tree as Ning Yingying makes her way to sit next to Luo Binghe, right in front of the crowd, and he can't help but smile at the sight of them. Shen Qingqiu plays a melody that the other peak lord had heard once or twice. Some song about falling in love in spring.

His head sways to the relaxing tune, and he closes his eyes. The cool breeze causes the tree branches to sway, the sound only adding to the charm of the evening.

The song eventually reaches a crescendo. Shang Qinghua, Peak Lord of An Ding, for a moment forgets about his harsh sect sibling and internally praises his skills! For someone as mean and snarky as him, he can play as gentle as the spring breeze itself!

It is when the crescendo of the song is reached that Shang Qinghua's life changes forever. It was just a small detail, and none of the students noticed of course, because none of them were from the 21st century.

But just as the song reached an emotional height, there it was, absolutely unmistakable, a riff he would recognise anywhere, even if years into his new life.

The unmistakable riff of Buddy Holly by Weezer.

His eyes fly open and he nearly stumbles off the tree he was leaning against and onto the ground below.

WEEZER???? Buddy HOLLY???? He was almost certain he made it up, his mind was certainly playing tricks on him!! An auditory hallucinations of sorts maybe!

He looked up at the other peak lord's face, as tranquil as a gentle stream itself! He had blended it into the song so well that it almost sounded like it was a part of the original!!

"P-Pardon me!" He whispers to no one in particular "I should be getting back to my peak now! It's getting pretty late! Thanking the esteemed peak lord for helping me listen to his lovely playing! If he even is a peak lord,,,"

"Shizun!" He hears the disciples pour out their praise once he's done with the song "Shizun's embellishments to the song made it even better than it usually sounds!" The echoes of flattery follow his ears until he's finally out of sight.

He scurries out of there, no one really noticing his absence, and damn near trips and rolls down the entire length of the mountain with all the adrenaline coursing through him. 'Oh my gosh another transmigrator??' his inner monolgue screams 'are we sure I didn't make that up??? System oh my lord ARE YOU THERE??? SYSTEM ??? AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO TELL ME IF THERE'S ANOTHER TRANSMIGRATOR HERE?? I THOUGHT I HAD AUTHOR'S PRIVILEGE????? Oh my, maybe that's why people say he's been acting different lately,,, I really have to see for myself sometime. I haven't really interacted with him since the qi deviation..."

Needless to say, the other disciples at Qing Jing weren't phased by the An Ding peak lord mumbling to himself as he scurried down the path, it was a usual occurence anyway. Shang Qinghua on the other hand had a lot to think of once he returned to his peak,,,, this would certainly be,, very interesting,,,,

[keferon]

Dear Keferon. I am writing to you today to thank you for a special reason. Not long ago I met a girl, and imagine, I found out that she likes your work as much as I do. From that moment on we started communicating, your au made us discuss for hours, and so we became closer. And today, our relationship started, and I believe that the main impetus for this was you. We thank you so much for all the creativity and effort you put into it. We wish you all the best🌹

OH MYGod this isn't the kind of asks I usually get hahjfkrdj Thank you thank you I'm happy for you:3

[solarmorrigan]

The Phantom Menace (no, not that one)

For the @steddie-spooktober day 28 prompt: Mask Rated: T | Words: 1118 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, modern AU, Eddie Munson is a menace, Eddie Munson is whipped, Steve Harrington is a tease, for the good of everyone present at the Halloween party Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Eddie is a menace.

And a goddamn pain in the ass.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t love him – Eddie is very lucky that Steve does love him, in fact, because Steve would otherwise have lost his patience about half an hour into this shit and ditched him to find his own ride home from the Halloween party.

And Steve had even liked Eddie’s choice of costume at first. He’ll admit that he hadn’t been super into Phantom of the Opera when they’d watched it—a little too theatrical to really be up Steve’s alley—but he’d definitely seen the appeal in Eddie’s Phantom costume.

The waistcoat he’d thrifted had been a hell of a find; it fits him almost perfectly. He’d sewn a cloak that he’d had entirely too much fun twirling around in when he’d finished it. The white half mask had given him an alluring air of mystery, and with his hair tied back? The whole thing had added up to a very attractive picture.

Until the night of the party, when Eddie had decided to be, as previously mentioned, a fucking menace.

He’s been fucking with people all night; nothing mean or destructive (Steve supposes they should all count themselves lucky that Eddie isn’t playing with fire), but irritating as shit. He’s jumping out from around corners and scaring people, he’s stealing things off the snack table and leaving them in weird places, he keeps changing the music from generic Halloween shit to opera (no one is sure how he’s doing this, since access to the Bluetooth speaker is being carefully guarded), he laughs maniacally every time someone expresses annoyance with his tricks, and he’s refusing to stop unless he’s paid 20,000 francs.

Robin offered him a dollar to stop tugging the back of her shirt and running away any time she turns her back to him; he’d argued that the offer was far too low, but had graciously accepted after she’d threatened to smother him with his own cloak.

The most annoying part, however, is that he absolutely refuses to answer to his name. Any time someone snaps out some variation of “Eddie, cut it the fuck out,” he dramatically asks “Eddie? Who is this Eddie? I am The Phantom!” before turning away, flourishing his cloak like Batman as he goes.

“You’re his boyfriend,” Robin insists, leaning up against the counter beside Steve; he’s been hiding in the kitchen for the last half hour, hoping no one will remember that he and Eddie had shown up together, “can’t you make him stop?”

“You think I have literally any control over him?” Steve asks. “He’s like a tornado; you just have to wait him out and hope insurance covers whatever damage he causes.”

Robin snorts. “Okay, but can’t you use, like, your wiles?”

Steve stares at her. “My what?”

“Your wiles. You know, be sexy at him, or whatever.” Robin wiggles her fingers vaguely in Steve’s direction. “That man is weak for you. I’m willing to bet he’ll do anything you ask if you flash your cleavage at him.”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest, hiding the way the shirt of his Indiana Jones costume is halfway unbuttoned, gaping open to reveal a decent (or maybe slightly indecent) amount of skin. “I do not have cleavage.”

“Whatever.” Robin rolls her eyes, then perks up at the sound of Eddie’s crazed chuckling coming close to the kitchen doorway. “Oh! Here he comes! Do it!”

“I’m not going to–”

“Do it,” Robin hisses, tugging on Steve’s arm until he comes away from the counter and giving him a shove in the direction of the doorway just as Eddie comes sweeping through.

Robin skirts around him, pointing two fingers at her eyes and then jabbing a single finger at Eddie, the universal sign for I’m watching you, as she goes by, and Eddie holds his hands up in surrender. She takes a moment to send one more look over her shoulder at Steve before she leaves, and, well – Steve guesses he might as well try it, before someone actually decides to murder Eddie.

“Hey, Phantom,” Steve says, approaching the kitchen island.

Eddie, halfway through ladling punch into a plastic cup, looks up at Steve and grins. “Hello, there.” His voice is deeper than usual, a dramatic affectation for his costume, and any other time, Steve would appreciate the sexy rasp; unfortunately, it’s currently attached to Eddie in full pest mode.

“So,” Steve drawls, leaning his forearms on the island, making sure to angle himself so his shirt falls open just a little bit farther, “I’ve been meaning to ask: I don’t suppose you’ve seen my boyfriend, Eddie, around, have you?”

It takes Eddie a moment to answer, his eyes glued to the span of skin and chest hair Steve’s putting on display. “Eddie?” he finally asks, gaze snapping back up to Steve’s face. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you mean.”

Steve hums, a little, disappointed noise. “That’s too bad,” he says, giving Eddie a bit of a pout. “See, I thought his costume was pretty hot tonight, and I thought maybe we could… y’know, slip away from everyone else, so I could show him just how much I liked it.”

Eddie swallows. “You don’t say,” he says, voice gone a little faint.

“Mm.” Steve sighs. “But since I can’t find him, and you haven’t seen him, I guess I just won’t–”

“Actually,” Eddie cuts in, almost frantically, “now that you mention it, I think I might have seen him.”

A slow smirk draws across Steve’s face. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods quickly. “Let me just– I’ll go see if I can find him for you.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Steve says sweetly, leaning a little further onto the island (he does not, whatever Robin says, have cleavage, but if the move pushes his pecs up just a bit more, well – that’s just a bonus).

Eddie turns away, entirely forgetting to flourish his cloak, and ducks out through the kitchen doorway.

He reappears moments later, his white half-mask in hand, one side of his face still a little red and sweaty from where it’s been resting all night.

“Steve!” he exclaims, arms thrown wide. “I haven’t seen you all night! But, uh, someone told me that you’ve been looking for me.”

Steve rolls his eyes, coming around from behind the island; committed to the bit to the bitter end, that’s Eddie.

Somehow, Steve wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Someone was right,” Steve says, hooking a finger beneath Eddie’s bowtie and tugging him closer, leaning in to meet his lips in a deep kiss.

The Phantom doesn’t make an appearance for the rest of the night.

[vsimp]

"glimpse of us"

pairing: zhongli x reader

genre: angst, no comfort

w/c: 850

summary: "glimpse of us" by joji, but you are not her

You have been through everything with him. Through the archon war, through the cataclysm, through the ongoing erosion, and through the “death” of Morax. You wanted to think that you were the closest person to him. You knew all of his likes and dislikes. You knew what all of his hobbies were. You knew how much he cared about his people, the people of Liyue. You understood him more than anyone.

“My dearest and oldest friend…” Zhongli’s deep voice rumbled through the plains of Liyue, like a gentle breeze that could soothe even the most unfortunate of souls. “My y/n… You have truly proved yourself to be my most loyal companion. I was once an archon, and now I am merely a man, yet you love me anyways, and it has taken me this long to realize that. Will you accompany this old soul for the rest of his modest life?”

When he had proposed to you, you felt like the happiest person in the world. The man who you had been in love with over the last thousands of years had finally realized your feelings, and you were ecstatic. But despite his whispers of love to you, despite all of the passionate feelings that he vocalized, there was always a lingering thought in the back of your mind. 

Indeed, you knew everything about Morax. Even his heartaches and troubles. Even his old love who he lost many, many millennials ago.

The death of Guizhong broke your heart as well. She was loved by many, that included the Geo Archon himself. You didn’t think your unrequited love would ever be returned, and yet, you still somehow felt guilty now that you’ve taken the place of your old friend, the one who used to stand by his side.

He had never once looked at you the way that he looked at her. He had never once smiled at you the way he did her. And even at night when he dreams, he dreams of her.

But you smiled on, hoping and wishing that Zhongli would be happy by your side. Minutes passed like hours, as you kissed his lips, and hours passed like seconds as you laughed by his side. But you knew that you were just her replacement. You knew that whenever he looked into your eyes, he was not looking at you, but instead at a glimpse of her. 

“I love you, Guizhong,” Zhongli had let out one day. Whatever you had in your hand had fallen to the ground at the time, leaving a loud thud amidst the silence. “No… No, I meant y/n. I love you, y/n.” Zhongli was flustered, which was unlike him, and also quick to correct his mistake, but it was too late. You had already found out about his true feelings.

He chased you outside as you ran straight into the rain, calling your name and asking you calmly to come back inside. You didn’t know how to feel. You didn’t know how to react. You just knew that you could no longer face him. The thunder roared loud in the sky as your heart ached.

Your fears were confirmed that night. You had never seen Zhongli look so desperate and scared before. It was like he knew what his true feelings were, but he just didn’t want to lose you. The damage, however, had already been done.

He held you in his arms tightly, catching you before you got too far, your back against his chest. 

“Y/n,” he pleaded, “please… come back inside. It’s raining and you’ll get sick.”

“It’s been thousands of years, Morax.” Zhongli’s grip tightened as he heard your firm voice, as if he was afraid he’d lose you like how he had lost everybody else in his life. “I’ve always been yours… but when will you ever be mine?”

“I apologize. I truly am sorry. It was a slip of the tongue.” But he couldn’t deny the truth. You had hoped he would say that you were the only one in his heart right now. That you are the only one he thought about. He remained uncharacteristically silent but still clinging onto you.

It was time you put yourself first for once. Everything you had done had been for him, the man you love. But his silence spoke louder than his actions in this case, and it cracked open your heart even further. 

“I think… we need a break. I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause before Zhongli let you go.

“Very well,” he said hesitantly and cautiously. “I cannot force you to stay. But remember this, I truly love you. And when you would like to speak again, I will be here waiting for you.”

“Unfortunately, I’m tired of doing the chasing,” you said simply. 

“The chasing…? Oh, my dear…” You couldn’t look at his expression, but you could tell he finally understood your feelings. Still, he hesitated to say what he truly wanted to say, a long pause between his words. “It appears I cannot convince you to stay…”

“Yes. Goodbye.”

Zhongli watched as you walked away. The light of his life had faded, and now, he truly was all alone.

[thatoneangryduck1]

Argo II debating on weather or not to save Nico:

Hazel: "That is my brother. We are saving him."

Leo: "I get Hazel really, but tbh he's kinda weird and creepy so OMG HAZEL PUT DOWN THE CHAIR-"

[ataraxiaspainting]

Solace in You.

Yan Nobunaga x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, some infantilization, implications of past non-con, and major spoilers for the Yorknew Arc (Uvogin).

Word Count: 300.

*~*~*~*

Something is off about Nobunaga – more so than usual.

The phone he gave you used to be used strictly to call him with, but after a few weeks of asking him for more entertainment he downloaded a few games on it for you to play while he is gone for another heist. You’re unsure how it can have service and wi-fi and yet still have most of its functions nowhere to be found. Typing any number aside from Nobunaga’s on the dial keys will be met with silence. Co-op games are nowhere to be found in the app store. The app where you can search things up on the internet still works, but almost all results end up being age-restricted in some way.

“How was your day?” Nobunaga’s voice hardly comes out of the speakers – you can hear his breathing you think, or it belonged to some poor soul who just happened to cross him at a bad time. For once he doesn’t call you a nickname; another observation pointing to the fact something is wrong. You want him to suffer for what he has done to you, yes, but you also don’t want to be the sole thing or person he’ll use to let out some steam. 

It’s happened before and you still get nightmares about his hands grabbing you and-

“[First]?” Nobunaga calls out, interrupting your thoughts.

“It was fine.” You reply, your words essentially a broken record with how many times your captor has asked that very same question multiple times a day.

“That’s great,” A sigh, perhaps one of relief. “I’m glad.”

“Nobu?” You don’t call him anything aside from Nobunaga unless forced to, but you say the moniker because your gut tells you to. It’s for the best – it could help you not become a stress ball when he comes back from Yorknew. “Are… you okay?”

Only silence. You’re unsure if you’d want it to remain this way.