#silver x shard

[matrix--lazy]

They like eachother very much

[no filters ↓]

[close-ups]

[robotskissingrobots]

FRESH CUT GRASS X FRIDA STATUS : CANON (I THINK?)

PROPAGANDA : N/A

SHARD X SILVER STATUS : FANON

PROPAGANDA : N/A

edit : I FUCKED UP ON THE CREDITS her user is polybiiuss . you should go follow her fr

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Idk what do you think about poly ships but could you give your thoughts on Silver x Shard x Larry?

I actually do love polyships! You wouldn't know this anon, but while I do have occasional monoships there is more than one fandom I'm a part of where I just have insanely big and complicated polyships😂

Anyhow, I actually kind of adore the thought of this ship? While out of all of the possible pairings here, Shardilver has always captivated me most, I loved their little trio and can't help but be sad that we won't see more of Joker, Jack, and Ace in action

As for canon stuff, I have to admit that I didn't really pay as much attention to Larry in my original read of the trio's first mission. This is largely because of how much of a sort of in your face rivalry Silver and Shard play with during the "follow Geoffrey" mission. I honestly have to give kudos to Larry for trying to focus on the mission while Shard and Silver take up time competing or arguing, especially since he's just kind of in the middle of it?

I feel like the trio really could have gone somewhere as a team and those couple issues of Sonic Universe (42 and 44) were just the beginning. Why? Well, they are a new team. These three are working together for the first time, learning about each other, and dealing with each other. I find it unfortunate that Shard and Silver's taking charge and Larry's trying not to rock the boat or making a wrong move leads to Larry being a bit out of the spotlight (after all, we only get to learn how Larry joined the secret freedom fighters because Silver asks about his "power"). This is all to say that...we could have seen them evolve and grow as a team and as characters a bit.

I think I'm going to go off for a second on some thoughts I have from them under the cut. In case you don't want to read all that though, the simple answer to anon's question is that I definitely can get behind Shard/Larry/Silver as a ship (though I am partial to Shard/Silver)

Okay, so I want to think about them as a team. All in all they're dysfunctional in that way where things just *barely* turn out. Shard and Silver are constantly competing/arguing, Larry really has no reason not to feel like a burden with his jinxes (especially with them coming into play in ways that present as obstacles when he tries to take charge of the situation), and all 3 of them are trying to prove themselves in some way while the mission goes...not as desired.

But in a way I feel like this trio pairing does or could have had a purpose. Silver has been trying to save his future by traveling to the past, but he's had a bad track record in prevention and actually pinpointing the issue that causes his bleak future (and his doubling down on his accusations to administer justice hasn't allowed him to make friends too well). Shard is the original Metal Sonic. He spent a lot of his existence following orders and obsessively messing with Sonic, uncaring of who he hurt or killed in the process. And although he eventually grew a soul and gave his life for Sonic and Tails, he can’t so easily leave his past behind. He can’t expect people to accept him or to forgive him. His attitude at this point is less about genuine maliciousness (as with his previous altercation with Sonic and Tails) or him actually hating Silver, but is more of a form of self protection. Larry has had a hard life. With his chronic unluckiness, he learned long ago that it was better if he stay away from others and just...try not to burden them, even if he can't help it. It gave him hope way back then, when Sonic helped him learn that he and his jinxes could have a use, and when he became part of the substitute legion of freedom fighters. However, it's clear from the story he tells Shard and Silver that he feels like he had a good thing going, only for his jinxes to ruin everything again. He just wants to be helpful, especially now that he's been given another chance to prove himself, but he's still afraid to be a burden.

All three of them have a past or track record that it's hard to move past, but they want to try. All three of them are looking to get something out of being a member of the secret freedom fighters (and though Silver is mostly doing so to get his information so he can find the traitor and go back to his own time, he, like the other two, is also being given another chance to do good via his membership of this freedom fighting group). For lack of a better term, this is a group of "failures" who are trying to do some good.

So I think if we could have seen more of them, we could have seen Silver and Shard come to care about Larry as a partner, appreciate him as one. Larry's background arc could have been about him starting to speak up and assert himself as a member of the group (instead of acting on his own to the group's detriment, sort of following along, or supplying commentary or advice occasionally). I think we could have seen Shard come to care about Silver and Larry (and their well-beings) beyond the mission at hand or his own goals. Just like Sonic often has to learn, we could have seen him grow more used to working in a team rather than trying to show off or prove superiority by handling most obstacles or decision making. I think this team could start as practice for him possibly trying to make up with others outside the secret freedom fighters in the future, and as a method of creating the "family" he wishes he had. I think we could have seen Silver becoming more closely involved with this time through them (further than he already is with his membership to the secret freedom fighters). His detachment to the people here and the lack of thought he's given beyond completing his goals and enacting justice are part of why he's so reckless, so coming to care closely about a couple of people who are hiding just like them and their well-being/home would do him some good. Like Shard, I think we could have seen him getting used to working better in a team rather than trying to handle things on his own.

They're all outsiders, so perhaps they could have created a kinship together so they don't feel so lonely? They're more similar than they believe, and I feel that they could have all grown together as people with their similar problems and situations

Okay okay, if you've read this far I feel perhaps I should give a slight change of topic. So, for fanon purposes, I bid you to imagine Silver and Larry napping, curling up in their sleep, and Shard...bidding himself to watch. He'll probably tease Silver about it later or make some statement about how not needing sleep makes him superior, but for now he just enjoys the moment of peacefulness. He enjoys watching the two at their most vulnerable, sweetly curled up around each other, sleeping like nothing in the world is wrong.

[astralfandoms]

So no one asked, but I drew a bunch of hedgehogs because @forestdragonart and I were brainstorming all the hedgehogs that appear in 9 Years, and now it's time to do some explainations

If you're not interested, don't click through.

But if you are, keep reading :>

So, with that over with...

*cracks knuckles*

Let's go!

First Row is Sonic, Werehog, Executable, Malachite, and Sonny. The reason why I'm listing all of them as a group is because they are a system, with Sonic being the host! Werehog showed up during the events of Unleashed (obviously), Executable had been around for awhile but was taken out of dormancy during the events of Forces, Malachite was formed during the events of Colors, and Sonny was formed during the events of Generations!

Now onto all of the sonic-adjacent characters (aka the other hedgehogs)!

Lord Xenophanes, also known as Lord X, is a demigod of eclipses, raised to divinity by Dark Gaia, and he is involved in my reshuffling/rewrite of Frontiers, alongside...

Fatal Error, also known just as Error or Malware, is a demigod of mistakes and programming, created completely by accident by a god OC named The Creator of Mechanics (who I need to draw a reference for). It vanished a few decades back, only to suddenly reappear alongside Lord X for unknown reasons.

Fleetway, sometimes just known as Lord of Shapes, is a god of the Body and Mind as well as Shapeshifters. He, similarly to Lord Xenophanes, Fatal Error, Curse, Mephiles, Zip, and Majin, chose a hedgehog-esque form due to the associations with Sonic, someone is seen as trustworthy and good. He, however, is morally dubious at best, and uses his forms to mess with mortals.

Uncle Chuck is essentially Sonic's father in everything but name, having raised Sonic by himself after his parents passed. You may notice that I still have versions of them listed don't worry I'll get to that. Just know that Clutch is surprisingly well connected, knowing a lot of different kinds of people from his young adult years.

Shadow needs no introduction, but I have lore about Black Arms that I might eventually talk about but also might not because explaining how I am not a fan of alien storylines is a whole ass can of worms that I don't feel like introducing. All you gotta know is that he is not an alien, but instead has like. Nightmare Creature blood in him.

Manic is a whole ass motherfucker in this AU. He's not related to Sonic or Sonia, but is instead a young adult who never was in a foster home for more than a year, if that. He currently works at the White Resort, specifically as Clutch's right hand man.

Curse is someone who prayed so hard to Lord X that he was blessed with immortality and now lives as his eternal attendant. However, he hasn't been seen in awhile, due to shenanigans that went down.

Mephiles is the god of warfare who has beef with Ignis (the revamped versions of Iblis) due to the structured manner of warfare clashing inherently with Ignis's domain of chaos. The fires (pun intended) were only flamed with the Duke of Soleanna's inference but were managed to be calmed by Solaris's interference in the form of Elise and Jet.

Zip is the demigod of insanity who is known for her manic mannerisms and chaotic following of Fleetway's orders. It normally stays out of the limelight and prefers just following Fleetway around like a lost puppy.

Shard, also known as Metal Sonic 2.0, is an extremely advanced Metal Sonic who advanced so far that he has far exceeded his original programming and has become his own being. Is a devout follower of Eggman, but there are seeds of doubt planted in his head due to his counterpart...

Quicksilver, also known as Metal Silver, is a scrapped Metal Silver who was left to rot on Scrapnik Isle after it wasn't a successful copy. He is a people pleaser and follows Mercury around, caring probably too much about he and everyone else views him.

Scourge, as I have previously talked a bit about, is one of three Avatars who ended up helping with the Forces situation, with all three of them being prototyped experiments of attempting to get the Phantom Ruby to fuse with him, with his side effect being the purple colored stripes on him.

Sonia, as mentioned in Manic's section, is not related to Sonic or Manic, and is instead from a very rich family where she's Daddy's little princess. But, instead of being very bratty, she's extremely air-headed and gullible, not understanding a lot of class-based things. Every winter, she goes to stay at her practical uncle, Clutch's, resort, but no one seems to bother her, despite some shady figures following her...

Hydraulic, also known as Metal Sonic 1.0, is a bit of an outdated model compared to Shard, but realized that Eggman Enterprises was just...not where it wanted to be, so it ended up turning itself in, before being broken out by a certain platypus in a thought out revenge plan.

Majin, also known as Time Eater, is god of...well, do I need to say? It is usually very calm, very level headed, very slow to anger...but even it has its limits. And one platypus with a god complex is really trying his patience.

Alina is...technically not the original Alina, but instead a robotic counterpart made as an attempt to try to "revive" her without actual necromancy. And who was the one who made her? She doesn't remember much, but she remembers it being a man with a kindly face wearing green overalls...

Mercury, also known as Metal Shadow, is a failed Metal Shadow who, like Quicksilver, was abandoned on Scrapnik for not being a successful clone of Shadow. It is very quiet and brooding, rarely talking unless its services are needed. He both is annoyed and finds a sense of comfort in Quicksilver.

Amy is an extremely cheerful and optimistic girl who has an awful case of faceblindness and is part of the reason that this whole chart was even made. She's very energetic and helpful, but to the point where she'll stretch herself thin in an attempt to make everyone happy, even at the expense of her own.

Silver is, to put it bluntly, an extremely sad and depressed young man who for the longest time was plagued with visions he didn't understand and that no one was willing to explain to him. Hailing from the Lunar Kingdom, he has a deep (unwilling) connection to Mephiles, and is seen as both his prophet and priest, even if he never wanted to be that in the first place.

And, finally, we have Jules who, similarly to Alina, is just an attempt to "revive" him by building a robotic counterpart. And, similarly, Jules doesn't remember much about who created him, only having vague memories of hushed words and the glint of blue glasses.

And that's all of them!!

Wow, that took...way too long to actually type out, but if you made it this far, please comment what you think! I love hearing other people's vibes and opinions for these characters :>

Now, if you excuse me, I need to get to tagging all these bitches.

[blitztheinkling]

He's such a good mom guy's.

Gave silver and shard a baba. A mink named blizzard, she's very spoiled.

[yakkyrwhackr]

i love sonic robots

[ichorai]

snow spider ; miguel o'hara.

pairing ; miguel o'hara x spider!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; you were the ice to his fire—and miguel was burning for you.

words ; 4.4k

themes ; fluff, slight angst

warnings / includes ; set before the events of atsv, descriptions of injury/violence, cursing, a bit suggestive, mentions/appearances of other spidey characters, ben being a dramatic idiot, peter & may being adorable, cameos of magneto and doc ock, miguel is down so bad, can you guys tell i'm also in an asoiaf phase ? (winter is coming !!)

a/n ; there will be a part two set during the events of atsv !!

main masterlist.

You were Miguel’s seventeenth recruit. The first of your name. The first that wasn’t a Peter Parker, or a Jessica Drew, or a Ben Reilly. 

When Miguel dropped into your universe, one rife with crime and tragedy, stricken by a never-ending winter, he fell into a large pile of snow. 

“Damn it,” he whispered through chattering teeth, brushing off the frigid frost clinging to his suit and glancing around the iced-over city. There were sparse few people littering the streets, hovering over trash-fires and clutching rumbling stomachs. This was certainly a stark contrast to Nueva York—the universe looked dead, almost. A ghost town, frozen over into nothing but a glacial artifact.

Before Miguel could start forward to look for the Spider of the universe, a sticky web shot out from seemingly nowhere, binding his hands together. Ah. It seemed that you’d found him before he could find you.

“You’re not from here. I can’t smell the winter on you,” a voice echoed, saturated with curiosity, edged with caution. A second later, you materialized in front of him, clad in a white suit, sharp silver lines running over your form. On your chest was a spider, a pale snowflake engraved into its abdomen. Miguel stared at you with wide eyes. “Who are you?”

A beat of silence. 

“Your universe is cold,” was all he could think of saying, still caught off-guard. 

You took a step back. “My universe…?”

After clearing his throat, he shook himself out of his reverie. “My name is Miguel O’Hara. I’m from a different universe. I’m here to recruit you into my team to help keep the multiverse from collapsing.”

You shifted, muscles still tense. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Lifting his wrists, Miguel twisted a hand and used his sharp claws to cut himself free of the sticky bonds. “Let me show you.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Miguel wasn’t supposed to like you this much. You were just meant to be another recruit for the Spider Society… maybe a close work companion, or a trusted friend at best. 

But as he watched you dart in and out of visibility, your suit only but flashes of white and silver, he couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was to work with you. How much he genuinely enjoyed working with you, spending time with you, listening to you laugh at his stiff quips. And he really thought he was being subtle about it, but Jessica had already picked up on Miguel’s keen interest in you, always teasing him about having a crush on another Spider.

It wasn’t a crush, though. No, Miguel just really liked your work ethic.

Right?

“Heads up!” you yelled, swinging forward and using the momentum to kick an incoming car barreling right in his direction. The metal doors caved in beneath the power of your strike, veering to the left just in time to miss him. 

The two of you were taking down another anomaly that’d cropped up, one of the several dozens in only the past week. This anomaly, however, wasn’t the regular neighborhood villain they’d usually get, but instead an omega-level mutant: Magneto. 

Shards of metal rained down around you, but you were quick to deflect by thwipping out large, sticky webs to catch them before they could impale you. 

“This guy manipulates metal, Miguel!” you yelled. “Cuffs won’t work on him!” 

Another large metal pole rocketed straight for you, but Miguel dove towards you, yanking you out of the way.

“Thanks!” you told him, a bit too wound up to notice his large hands tightly wound around your midriff. “Can you distract him for me?”

Nodding wordlessly, Miguel shot out several glowing, synthetic webs in quick succession to momentarily blind Magneto. You used his shoulder to launch yourself upward, turning invisible in mid-air. 

Before the man could realize what was happening, you yanked his protective helmet off, landing a calculated strike to the back of his head. Immediately, all the bits of metal floating in the air came plummeting to the ground, and Magneto went limp in your hold. You swung down to the ground, coming back into view. 

“You’re gonna have to alert one of the Spiders that we need a metal-free cage for him,” you told Miguel, a bit breathless. 

Okay, a lot breathless. There was a sharp sting on your side—a broken piece of metal must have grazed you during the fight.

Miguel wound an arm around you to help you walk, concern festering within his chest at the sight of crimson staining your once-pristine white suit, his other hand dragging an unconscious Magneto by the scruff of his collar. With a tap of the watch, a portal opened up, flashing a multitude of bright oranges and purples. 

Back in his universe, Miguel was quick to hand Magneto over to a few Peters, telling them to be careful not to get any metal near him. You pulled off your mask and squeezed Miguel’s bicep in gratitude when he shifted his hold on you, ensuring that you wouldn’t put any weight on your injured side. Even exhausted, you were beautiful. Miguel remembered the first time he saw you without your mask: the entirety of his linguistic vernacular went flying out the window and he was left embarrassingly spluttering out a long string of incoherent sentences. You were patient with him, beaming wide and nodding emphatically, even though none of what he said had made sense. 

Yeah, alright, fine. Miguel had a crush. It really wasn’t a big deal (it was a very big deal). He’d be damned if he’d ever admit it to Jessica, though—that woman would never let him live it down.

Several Spiders waved hello to the two of you as you hobbled by, and you could only give them a winded half-smile in return. Some of them asked if you were alright, noticing the blood on your suit, but you reassured their worries away, “I’m fine. Miguel’s got me.”

A rush of protectiveness fell over him, and he clutched onto you all the tighter, hurrying to make his way back to the base. There were a few Spiders hanging around the control panels, chattering amongst themselves, and Miguel gave them a quick scan to make sure things were going smoothly since his departure. Once everything seemed to be in order, he finally tugged you into a more secluded room, helping you sit on a table as he grabbed the first aid kit. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, ripping off his mask as well. His dark hair was disheveled, sharp brown eyes softening with guilt. “I got distracted during the fight.”

“Hey, it happens,” you replied warmly, fingers lifting to pat his cheek. The feeling of your cold skin pressed up against the blistering heat emanating from his cheeks made a shiver dance up his spine. “We’re alive, and we got the anomaly. Everything’s fine.” 

“But you’re hurt.”

“I’ll heal.”

With careful, fleeting touches, Miguel drew back the ripped fabric of your suit to inspect the gash in your side. He cleaned away as much blood as he could, murmuring gruff apologies every time you flinched. The guilt worsened when he began deftly stitching up your wound—it didn’t go past his notice when your face twisted with the pain, and you bit your lip in a fruitless attempt to keep the sharp agony at bay.

“You did good out there, Y/N,” he said, desperate to distract you. “What was it like being the Spider in your universe?”

You spared him a loose grin, appreciating his attempts to keep you entertained. 

“Tiring,” you admitted, fingers digging into his shoulders when he began another stitch. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve heard the same story a million times by now. I was a scientist, trying to find a way to reverse the never-ending winter. I was bitten by a radioactive winter-spider… the only kind of spider left after our world iced over. I, uhm… I lost my uncle. My mom, shortly after. She was captain of the police force.” 

There was a long pause. It was obvious that you weren’t too keen on divulging all the details just yet. Your eyes watered with the memory, a glimmering film of tears warbling over your lower lashes, and Miguel gently patted your knee in understanding, silently reassuring you that you didn’t have to tell him everything.

You drew in a deep breath. “I realized I had powers—I had all the abilities of a spider, and I could turn invisible, and withstand the cold much more than before. I was known as the Snow Spider. A lot of people died from the frost. I couldn’t save them. I tried to help as much as I could, but it was just never enough. And then… I met you.” A smile graced your expression, one that sparked life into Miguel’s heart. “I moved from just helping my city, to helping the entire multiverse.”

Before you knew it, Miguel was tying off the last stitch, biting the thread short with his sharp fangs once he was done. You murmured a sincere thanks, placing your palm flat against his chest, feeling the quick thrum of his heart slamming against his ribcage.

If you noticed how his pulse seemed to kick up a notch with your ministrations, you didn’t say anything. For that, Miguel was grateful.

“There you go. That’s a brief summary of my life story. It’s only fair if you tell me yours.”

The man met your gaze, irises dark and warring with conflict.

“What’s there to say? I got powers, just like you. I lost people, just like you. I built the Spider Society… and then I met you.” The last bit was said as he nudged you gently, and he offered you a tentative smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Hesitant, you lifted your hand, softly grazing your knuckles against his cheek. Icy was your touch, but it felt nice—almost addicting. He found himself leaning against your hand, shutting his eyes as he exhaled.

“You’re a mystery, Miguel,” you murmured, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his cheek as thanks for patching you up, before sliding off the table to stride away. Miguel watched you go with a lump in his throat. “Luckily for you, I like mysteries.”

“How long has that been a thing? I haven’t noticed because I’ve been too busy thinking about my… miserable past,” sighed Ben, coming to stand beside Jessica, the two of them watching Miguel follow after you like a lost puppy, face uncharacteristically mellowed with an undeniable lovesick expression. 

“It’s not a thing,” she replied with an amused scoff. “Not yet, at least.”

You halted what you were doing and turned around to grin at Miguel. “Look, I stitched my suit back together. It’s good as new!” 

His dark, molten eyes gleamed with affection. “It looks great.” He caught sight of your web-shooters, fixed against the base of your hand. “I still can’t believe you need those.”

“Well, I can’t believe you have spinnerets embedded into your skin. I can’t tell if I’m more grossed out or curious to know more,” you shot back, taking his hand to inspect his wrist with narrowed eyes. “What other kind of powers do you have?”

With a roguish grin, he bared his teeth, sharp fangs drawing out. 

“I can never get over those. They’re kinda intimidating, but in a cool way.” Before you could stop yourself, you tacked on, “And really fucking hot.”

Heat crawled up his neck. He stared blankly at you. “They’re poisonous.”

Still, you smiled at him, all sweet and flustered. “Hm. It’s a shame, really. I definitely would’ve asked you to bite me if not for the venom.” Neither of you were quite sure if you were joking or not.

Miguel was certain he was going to combust into flames. “I can still bite you without injecting the poison into your system. It’s a voluntary response.”

To his surprise, you burst into a fit of laughter. Gods, he was absolutely smitten with that sound. The way your nose wrinkled, the side of your eyes creased, the shaking of your shoulders as you chuckled… it was all too much for Miguel.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” you warned.

“Oh, I can do much more than just tempt,” said the man in front of you, making your laughter taper away into silence. 

You studied him for a moment longer. Before you could say anything, both of your watches beeped simultaneously. With one more amused huff, you patted his shoulder, brushing past him and pulling your mask over your face. “Come on, mister. Anomalies to catch, universes to save… we can continue this conversation later.”

The months pass by in a blur. 

You were wrangling back another Doc Ock anomaly, having webbed up all his metal tentacles, easily tossing him into a temporary laser cage with a sweet smile. The villain was spitting obscenities, going on and on about the power of the sun in his grasp, how you’d ruined everything for him. 

“You’ll pay for this!” he yelled, slamming his fist against the glowing barrier. 

“Sorry, Doc,” you said with a mild grin. “I’ve met around a dozen of you, and so far, you were the most compliant. That makes you my favorite!”

You saluted him with a wink, before turning on your heel and striding away. It wasn’t long before Miguel found you, falling into step with your stride.

“Look at you, taking on anomalies all on your own,” he murmured lowly, nudging your side with his elbow. “Good job.”

With a scoff, you pulled off your mask, regarding him with an expectant gaze as you leaned forward, so close that your nose nearly brushed against his. He could feel the cold frost of your breath blow over the heated planes of his cheeks. “Well, then, Mr. O’Hara, wouldn’t I deserve a reward?”

The vampire-spider only flushed at your words, mouth falling open and shut as he struggled with a rebuttal. 

Your laugh, soft and tinkering, made his heart nearly seize within his chest. Still chuckling, you shoved away from him, saying that you had to get back to your universe to make sure everything was still in order there.

As you made your way out of the room, using your watch to portal through to your wintry hellscape, Jessica appeared out of nowhere beside him, one hand on her heavily pregnant belly, and the other cocked upon her hip. 

“God, you really can’t be more obvious, can you?” she asked.

Miguel spared her a glance, snapping out of his reverie and standing up straighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Everyone knows you’re in love with the Snow Spider. And don’t you deny it—I know a liar when I see one.” She watched Miguel frown, but didn’t bother protesting her claim. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Tell them, you big grump. Y/N deserves to know.”

Before he could reply, Jessica was already hastening away, yelling over her shoulder that she had to go to the bathroom because the damn baby was kicking against her bladder again.

Jealousy was not an emotion Miguel was well acquainted with. Ever since he witnessed an entire universe crumbling away in front of him, he was careful not to get too attached to anything. To anyone.

But he did. He grew attached to Jessica, who was his most trusted friend, always giving him the best advice and always available to lend him a helping hand. Though he’d never admit it, Miguel was also rather fond of Ben and his obnoxious penchant for his dramatic tragedies. And, most obvious of all, he was undoubtedly very close to his best soldier, Lego Peter.

Then there was you.

It infuriated him—the way you’d smile around him, give him the most fleeting of touches, always pleasantly cold, leaving prickly goosebumps in your wake. You would offer him an affectionate nudge and a myriad of teasing compliments that made his stomach want to fold in upon itself. But Miguel tried not to think too much of it: you were a generally kind person, with many of the Spiders in the society taking a certain liking to you. It didn’t go past his notice that you’d caught more than a few romantic eyes. Every time a Peter or a Ben would openly flirt with you, he could feel himself bristling, bile rising within his throat.

Again, Miguel wasn’t used to feeling jealous. He wanted to be the one cooking dinner for you, holding you in his arms, kissing you, touching you—

To his relief, you never paid them much mind, often politely declining with a poorly-forged excuse of having to return to your universe.

It was nearly a year since you’d first met Miguel when you were at Headquarters, holding a babbling Mayday as she crawled all over you. You laughed when she climbed up onto your shoulders, slipping down into your hands with a gleeful coo, blue eyes bright and wide. With gentle hands, you brushed her messy ginger hair away from her face. 

“She doesn’t look like you, huh?” you asked Peter B. Parker. “She must be a carbon copy of her momma.”

“A good thing,” admitted the man beside you, muffling a yawn as he dug the heels of his palms into his sleep-deprived eyes, adorned with dark bags. “Wouldn’t want her taking after her old man, now would I?”

“Why not?” you asked, amusedly watching when May shot out a web from her tiny shooters, swinging away to clumsily scale a nearby wall. “I think you’re very handsome. Trust me, the sleep-deprived look is very trendy right now. In my universe, at least. Nobody can really sleep well with the never-ending cold we got going there.”

Peter gave you a loose smile. “You know what, you’re right. Dad bods are making a comeback. By the way, did I tell you about my coin collection—”

Before Peter could finish what he was saying, your watch beeped noisily, and Ben’s slumped hologram appeared over your wrist. “Y/N, I’m glad you’re here,” he said. You had to hold your tongue not to retort that he was the one that’d called you. “I need you to come comfort me and hold onto my strong, muscular arms as I tell you about my gruesome past.” The pale image of Ben flickered as he flexed his biceps. 

You rolled your eyes to the side. Ben had become a close friend during your time with the Spider Society, nearly inseparable after you’d saved his life from an Electro anomaly once. That man was quite the emotional one, he was.

“I’ll be there, just give me a minute.” 

“Bring me one of those Spider-burgers, will you? Extra ketchup and no p—”

You tapped at your watch and his hologram disappeared before he could finish his request. With a mild wince, you glanced at Peter. “You wanna come with me and listen to Ben dramatically mope for an hour? I’ll treat you and May to Spider-burgers, because it looks like I’ll have to stop by there, anyway.”

“I would, I really would, but I gotta put May down for a nap,” he said with a sympathetic slant of his lips. As if on cue, the baby fell back into Peter’s arms, yawning widely. Bouncing her up and down, Peter absent-mindedly remarked, “Make sure Miguel doesn’t catch you being all sweet with Ben. That guy is crazy about you. Hah, he’d lose his marbles!” 

You blinked.

“What?”

Peter froze, realizing what he’d just said.

“What?” he parroted.

“No, uh, what did you say, about Miguel being…”

“Nothing! Huh? I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did. I heard you. Peter, what are you saying? Miguel is—?” 

Sheepish, Peter scratched the back of his head. “Oh, wow, would you look at the time!” Peter pulled down the sleeve of his pink bathrobe to mimic looking at the watch. He hastily stepped away. “I have to go. I didn’t say anything. Bye! I’d love a Spider-burger with you another time! Bye! See you later!”

You watched in bewilderment when the older man swung away with his baby in his hands, muttering out a long string of panicked curses under his breath.

Miguel was crazy about you?

After a few seconds of deliberating your next move, you shot out a web and swung away, heading to Miguel’s private office, where you knew he would be buried in figuring out a solution to the influx of new anomalies. Surely Ben would be alright with you showing up a bit late (he wouldn’t, but you had more pressing matters at hand).

“Hey, Miguel,” you greeted with a soft voice, slipping inside after knocking twice. “Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

The man offered you a warm grin. “Never a bad time with you. What’s going on?”

“Well, I just… I had a rather interesting talk with Peter B,” you started, striding across the office until you stood just in front of his desk, with Miguel on the other side.

He tilted his head. “Was it about that collection of coins he lost to an anomaly? He needs to get over that.”

“I—what? The poor guy lost his coin collection? He’d been working on that for years!” Shaking your head, you mindfully got back on track. “Well, no, that’s not what we talked about.”

Dark eyes narrowing, Miguel crossed his arms, deadpanning, “What did he tell you?”

There was a rather mischievous hue to your expression that Miguel misliked. Slow and deliberate, you stepped around the desk, fingers dragging along the smooth top. You stood so close to him that your chest was only a hair’s breadth from his—if he were to take too deep a breath, the two of you would be touching by now.

“Hm… Peter accidentally let slip that you have feelings for me. Is that true, Miguel?” The way his name rolled off your tongue nearly made him choke as his brain short-circuited. 

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, echoing the exact thing he had said to Jess a month ago. 

You studied him, gaze dragging from his stiff face, to his tense stature, and back up again. It may have been a trick of light, but Miguel could swear he saw your eyes linger on his lips. 

With a hum, you leaned even closer. He could hear your heart thrumming now, a steady, strong beat—which completely juxtaposed against his own rapid pulse, drumming loud within his ears. Up this close, he could smell your perfume, see the flecks of color within your pretty eyes, notice the way your lips quirked up with a sweet smile. Even whilst teasing him, you made sure that you weren’t overstepping any bounds, giving him ample time to step away if need be.

“Oh,” you said, feigning confusion. Your hand rested upon his clavicle, nails lightly dragging down his neck. A sharp thrill struck down Miguel’s spine at the sensation. You were barely touching him, for God’s sake! “So you wouldn’t mind if I… go ask Ben out for dinner?”

A beat of silence. Miguel’s brows knitted together.

The next words were susurrated as you dipped forward to nudge your nose along his neck, pressing a cold whisper of a kiss along the underside of his jaw. “Or if I… I don’t know… if I invite him to stay at my place for the night?” 

Of course, there was no real weight to your words. Ben was simply a good friend, but damn if you didn’t enjoy the way Miguel’s eyes twitched.

Finally snapping, a low growl rumbled within his chest, his hands shooting out to grab your waist. You were cold to the touch, the ice to his fire, as his fingers curled over your back, shoving you up against the wall behind his desk. As if on instinct, your hands came to clutch at his broad shoulders.

You smiled, wide and triumphant. You’d finally broke him. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he gruffed, staring deep into your eyes to make sure you were alright with this. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. From your gleeful expression, Miguel could see that you were just the opposite. 

“Oka—mmph!” 

His lips slanted over yours, warm and rough, yet cold and soft at the same time. It was a kiss of starkly juxtaposing contrasts, heavy with months and months of unspoken yearning. His large nose brushed against your cheek, angling his face to kiss you harder—deeper. 

When one of your hands slithered up the back of his neck to tug at the roots of his dark hair, he sighed against your mouth, breaking the kiss to lean his forehead over yours.

“He was right,” said Miguel.

“Who was?”

“Peter. I do have feelings for you.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, nudging your nose against his sharp cheekbone. “Really? I would’ve never guessed.” He surged forward to kiss you again, relishing in the way you just about melted into his touch. “If it wasn’t obvious already, I really like you, too.”

At your admission, Miguel beamed, loose and hesitant. “You still planning on asking Ben out to dinner and having him stay over at your place, then?”

You tapped a finger onto your chin, pretending to have a good, long think about it. “Give me a good reason to stay, and I won’t.” At Miguel’s slightly crestfallen expression, you patted his cheek, quick to say, “God, Miguel, I was just kidding. Ben and I are good friends. You and I, however… I wouldn’t exactly call you a friend—”

His lips met yours again, stealing the rest of your words from you. 

When you smiled into the kiss, he smiled back. It was a bit too early for love, sure, but Miguel already knew he was in too deep to back out.

He was falling in love with you. 

The thought terrified him to no end, but he merely kissed you harder, and clutched you all the closer to him.

[diejager]

Saccharine and Monstrosity pt.1

Pairing: Eldritch Horror!König x mermaid!reader

Cw: kidnapping, manipulation, DARK FIC, trap, luring, mention of breeding kink, protective König, mention of partial nudity, hunting, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 4K

I got inspired by @konigsblog ‘s post.

You enjoyed the sun as much as any other betta fish mermaid, laying on the warm rocks and bathing under the bright, yellow sun. You lived in a school of fish that moved near the shores of a tropical island a few generations before, building houses under the coral reef and rocks where newly placed branches would grow and work as a natural shield. The world you lived in - the part of the ocean you called your home - was bright and colourful, the shallow waters clear and gleaming under the warming sun.

You liked all things bright and colourful, either big or small, you decorated your part of the cave with things you found while swimming around your territory. Be it a golden coin shining on the ocean floor, or a shard of coloured glass, you picked it all up and stuck it around your room. Sometimes, you found pretty things near the limits of your home, and other times, you ventured closer to the edge of the darkness when something shiny caught your attention. 

Over the ridge of sand that drew the start of the darkness, that deep and menacing slope down to the deepest part of your ocean, where darker, meaner and cruel beings born of cruelty and madness lived. It was somewhere all mers were warned of, to stay far away from the darkness and never stray from the light that fed and protected you. You thrived in the light, your body absorbing the warmth from the sun that made your scales vibrant and feeding from the fauna and flora that lived beside you: seaweeds and small fishes. 

Your kind grew up with stories of horrifying monsters and cruel creatures that lived in that abyss, lingering near the shallow to catch a pretty, little mer for their hoard. Whatever became of the taken was still unknown, once a mer was taken by One, no one would hear from them from then on. Your parents had warned you about straying too close from the shallow, daring fate when you swam over the ridge to collect those pretty gems you fancied so much.

“Don’t worry,” you’d grin at her, fins flickering behind you. “I’m a fast swimmer, mom!”

You were a fast swimmer, slipping between rocks and corals, hands cradling your little shells while you fled from the dark, twisting over the ridge and vanishing between the corals. That’s what you did most days, picking up people’s trash to make it your treasure, fingers cleaning the sand off the holes and crevasses before sticking them to your walls. You also tinkered with metal creations you found, a silver fork or a rusted-looking instrument. 

Granted, you joined in hunts, catching sardines and herrings, claws digging into its scaled bodies and teeth ripping into its flesh, the only other taste being sea salt, or bathed under the sun, but you preferred scavenging for loot. Although mers hunted alone, most found it easier to do it in groups, swarming shoals of fish and catching in a group of a dozen at a time for your little colony. So when you were fed and rested, you were back out, treading the line between the shallow and the abyss.

You swam slowly, head turning left and right for anything that would catch your attention, for that small glint hidden under a thin veil of sand or a long metallic object sticking out from the ground. You already had a few things in your arms, a few shells, human objects thrown overboard or floated into the sea, and small treasures: white pearls. You picked things up from both sides, mind in a comfortable and pleasant space, prideful of your catch so far that you were oblivious of the eyes following your colourful body. 

His pale eyes wandered over your puffy cheeks and sweet lips, those squinted eyes in mirth as you searched for more. He went down the curve of your shoulders and the swell of your breasts, perky nipples covered by pretty shells, over your soft stomach and that bright, colourful tail of yours that first caught his attention. Every scale glistened under the sun, reflecting the light on the sand while you swam, your fins curving with the twist of your tail. 

You were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, an angel collecting treasure, just like he did. He saw the batch in your arms, clutched between your breasts when you dove to pick something up on his side. You were as adorable and innocent as you were pretty, your action oblivious of his predatory eyes, dipping into his territory without fear of retribution on his part. He liked that bold and daring attitude of yours, fitting for someone so courageously bright and flashing your bold colours to him. 

If he were to drop something closer to him, would you still swim towards it or ignore it for something closer to the ridge? If he hid until you were close enough, would he be able to wrap his limb around you? To feel your soft skin and coarse scales under his slimy arm. He was glad he decided to hunt today, searching for both prey - mer or fish, he isn’t picky about what he ate - and treasure. Hidden under a couple of tentacles, he dropped a golden coin a few feet away from him, his veil and the darkness helping him hide from your sight. 

His heart soared when he saw your eyes widen, a smile curling at the corners of your lips when you saw his little coin, diving towards him with enthusiasm. You were so close to him, hand stretching to grab the object with small, clawed fingers. When you held it in your hand, appraising it, he felt pride bubble in his chest, rising to his mind as he took this occasion to get his arm around you. You flinched when he wrapped the tip of his tentacle around your tail, squirming around in terror. In a panicked struggle to escape him, you dropped everything you’d collected and fled from him with a cry.

He watched you swim away from him through saddened eyes, hearing the thudding from the things you dropped, even the coin he gifted you. His eyes never left your fleeing body until you jumped over the edge, your tail the last thing he saw in that moment of self-deprivation and sadness. He hoped you’d come back, forgetting the fear of his sudden attention and daring fate once more.

He came the next day and the day after that, but you weren’t there, your precious smile and happy eyes were a memory in his mind, a fleeting moment in his gloomy world. He came back every day, hiding in the darkness, on the line between pitch darkness and light shading. He wished you were there every day, his eyes bleeding with optimism and hope for a single smidgen of bright colours. 

He hadn’t seen you in the following week. His shoulders slumped and caved into himself in sadness every time he came by, his blue eyes dulling bit by bit, that hopeful thinking drowning under realistic thinking and a pessimistic mind. Then he caught a glimpse of colour against the white sand. Before long, he saw arms filled with shiny items, trailing nearer to your side than his, but still chasing for treasures. 

If he wanted to approach you, to touch your soft-looking skin and run his arms over your scaled tail, he’d have to find a way to lure you in. He watched you the first few days, his tentacles curling on itself and burying himself in the sand, the hundreds of suckers searching for buried treasures to leave for you. When you turned your back to him, his unwinding arm left the things he found near the ridge for you to find and take. Little gifts for you, courting gifts he left and gifted you in an attempt to woo you. 

You were skittish and fleeing but took all his gifts with shaky smiles and grateful eyes, you knew he gave them to you. Of course, you did, you were his brave and smart little mermaid, approaching his offerings with apprehension - he felt hurt you feared and got nervous around him, but he understood you, his kind ate yours - and scanned the sand around you for any danger before crossing the line. He felt giddy when you added them to your stack, his mind-blowing with dreams and thoughts of you decorating your little cave with the things he gave you. On the ceiling, against the wall and on the ground or surfaces, you would use the things he gave you for your home. 

It sent him up the walls of his caves with joy and excitement, his limbs curling to rearrange his home to prepare for you, to accommodate your arrival to his big, lonely home.

It took a week or two - or so he thought, his perception of time was and had always been warped in some way - before you became comfortable enough to approach him, to let him curl his slimy tentacle around your tail and up your body. He could finally feel you and it made him ecstatic - he was over the moon every time he got to touch you. Little pokes, fleeting squeezes and feathery bites from his suckers on your flesh, all things he let himself taste before your coupling. A coupling between the prettiest and the cruellest beings in the ocean would unwind the seams that made your worlds, pulling the string that separated the beauty and the beast in this cursed universe.

Granted, you hesitated to cross into the pitch darkness of the abyss, dancing just a few inches from his abode with an armful of trinkets from König. Your slow and steady breath, words you blessed him with when you muttered to him, calling out to know if he was there and your grateful grin were a common, yet welcome sight in his daily swim. While a bit reluctant to join him on the other side, you eventually swam across, your eyes melting into the black before you. You were unseeing as much as you were blind, if not for the guiding palm of the Eldritch creature that you befriended and the shine of treasure you saw around him. 

You wished you could see anything but the gleam of treasure and the black mist of the abyss, your hand wandered over his, searching for his body, to feel the one who’s been gifting you treasures. Your fingers trailed upwards, feeling the tightness of his muscles, the curves and hardness of his arms were sinful. You truly wished you could see him at this moment, but you kept at your advance, clawed fingers moving slowly with unbridled curiosity. When you reached his broad shoulders and well-pronounced chest, it rumbled, a purr coming from König. Its deep sound shook you with need, your tail enthusiastically moving back and forth as you listened to him. 

“Are you happy, Schatz?”

His voice was even better than his soft purrs, in a way that made you want to melt into his arms and never bother moving if he kept talking to you, the sound of the creature that gave you gifts and affection. König’s spine-chilling voice seemed like a mix of many voices, both soft and raspy, and both deep and smooth, but it was something you enjoyed, that you found yourself liking a bit too much. 

“Yes,” you breathed, eyes travelling skyward, towards the source of his voice.

Your breath caught in your throat, choking a gasp at the prettiest blues you’d seen staring down at you. They were majestic, gem-like with a pretty sheen that made them glow like a beacon of light. You wondered why you’d never seen them, seeing how bright his eyes were. They lit up his face, or the veil he wore over his face, showing the pale streak of makeshift tears down the incision he made for his eyes. You shamelessly admired him, unbothered by the lost puppy-like stare you gave him in your glowing beauty. 

You’d crossed a threshold, where a creature of light never dared to cross, stepping into the arms of an Old One and embracing their madness. Although you were oblivious to his intentions, the loud proclamation of his courting rituals and attempts of crying out his love - the Old One’s rituals and cultures were much of a mystery to those who didn’t study them, much of a taboo for anyone outside of delusion and greed - he hadn’t refrained from his deliberate show that would be nearly shameful and embarrassing to others of his kind. 

Some wouldn’t bother with such frivolous acts: confessions from the deepest part of their dark soul, proclamation of love and undying adoration, or having to scavenge for gifts - offerings - to the subject of their attention. His kind took and took, reaching for that small glimmer of hope and beauty and corrupted it, bending it to their liking and building something from the ashes. It wouldn’t - would never - be the same as they were before, but that was how the Old Ones liked it: control, corruption, ruin, madness and power.

König wouldn’t do that, he wanted to cherish you, add to what you were and watch it bloom like those bioluminescent creatures in the abyss; even against his creator’s wishes. He’ll put you on the highest pedestal he has, eternally imprinting the image of you as his most precious treasure into his mind. You’ll be a thing of miracles, a thing of blessings, a thing of new beginnings. He wanted all and everything with you, but he’d have to take it slow, to coax you into this redundant pattern that ensured your trust and comfort and have you follow him of your own volition. 

He doesn’t mind waiting, he’s had hundreds of years of sitting and waiting, patience was a virtue he grew to learn, to hold in his giant palm and clutch like a gift from the ever-growing, chaotic universe. He can wait and plan, so he will, König will lay down his plan and wait until he can bring it to reality.

Wait he did, for you to grow comfortable enough to follow him deeper and let him pull you in from your side. It took you a month of back and forth, squirming around your infatuation with König and exchanging trinkets, words and fleeting kisses with him. He adored your little giggles when he traced your sides with a bolt tentacle, curling under your plush tits and the tip sliding under your strap. He loved the pretty shells you gave him, cleaned from sand and any barnacles, it showed him how much time you spent on it for him. His heart bloomed and swelled to impossible heights when you pecked his lips, giving him shy and gentle kisses that he grew addicted to. 

You were so sweet and so soft, your lips the taste of heaven for a creature of madness. Your hands were gentle like a cool balm over a burn, soothing his wild thoughts. Your little gifts for him - reciprocating his affection - were currently the most important things in his cave, a sign of your love and devotion. It made him wonder what would you let him do once you gave yourself to him. Would you succumb to the everlasting pleasures he could give you, or would you demand to help him take care of his own in a mutual haze? He couldn’t help himself, letting his chaotic mind conjure the most absurd and erotic dreams, his body vibrating with excitement; and now, at the peak of your trust in him, he watched his plan - a well-placed trap - come to fruition. 

“Come, Schatz,” he beckoned you forward, his burly arm stretching to coax you to follow him, holding out his open palm to you. “I have something I want to show you. Pretty things.”

Without a thought, to question his intentions or to ask why he couldn’t have bought them for you like he usually did, you took his hand and let his fingers curl over yours, intertwining your smaller digits to his as he pulled you to his chest. His embrace was as safe and pleasant as the last one - yesterday - and caused a flurry of emotions to erupt in your chest, he was warm in the cool darkness, loving in all the ways you could think. You could close your eyes and imagine a smile rippling across his face with joyfully squinted eyes peering down at you. 

Held against his chest, his other arm wrapped around your waist with a firm squeeze of his hand where your skin turned to scales. He whispered sweet promises, words of encouragement to see the way to his home and excited explanations of what awaited you. Pretty things, he said, you knew what he meant - at least you think you did - you shared much in common, and pretty things were something you both agreed on: shiny metals, interesting trinkets, shimmering shells or finely-minted coins. All things humans valued before throwing away; one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. 

How unfortunate that you couldn’t see in the dark, yet how fortunate you wouldn’t know the way back, it was something he relied on heavily to keep you, if you didn’t know how to navigate in this utter blindness, there were no risks of you trying to escape his caring hand. You were smart, you wouldn’t simply venture off without knowing where to go and how to see, especially with how vast his territory was and how dangerous it was. He shared his home with other simple-minded animals, sharks, fishes, eels and any other abyssal creature that lived and depended on the dark to live. 

Your innocent curiosity about the things he deemed pretty enough to hoard made his heartbeat, that addicting feeling he got from touching you, kissing you and speaking to you. Even if the deeper he went, the colder it became, you never once complained, your wide eyes and grinning face were the only thing you gave him. He was truly relieved to know that you were patient and understanding of his home, not one hiss or pout while you shook and clung to him, depending on him for warmth. He liked that, to see you rely on him so much. 

“We’re here, mein Liebling,” he hushed, cradling your face as he dove down, through the entrance of his cave. He shielded your fragile body with his many arms, protecting you from the rush of water current flowing against him. He chose this one to build his nest, using the strong current as a natural barrier against weaker creatures. 

When the waters calmed to a still, he loosened his hold on you, unravelling his arms to let you explore the many passages and alcoves in his home. To accommodate you, he strung up bioluminescent flora, using them as light to find your way around, with silken algae over a few rocks to mimic the beds mers slept in and a few other things that he thought you’d need: a mirror, a few floating plants to add to its mystical beauty and clusters of soft materials in nearly every room. 

He let you wander, your tail flapping back and forth to lead you down the long hall and explore the many rooms. He used a room to sleep, one as a pantry and storage, and another one to hold his hoard, but he had a lot of empty and unused space, more than enough for you and your children to thrive. He wanted to let you roam at your own pace, but he had something to show you, something he was proud of making. 

He pulled you from your little cloud of joy, wrapping an arm around you, his sticky suckers latching onto you as he coaxed you his way. Only then had you taken the time to admire König under blue light, cheeks warm with a burning flush and doe-like eyes staring at the naked expense of his hard abdomen, stomach sculpted to perfection that had Adonis shying away. His arms were big and round, muscles straining the scarred skin with delicious appeal. 

Downwards, following the sharp dip of his navel, were dozens of dark tentacles lined with round, pulsing suckers. Like an octopus, they were covered in a slimy sheen, every limb flexible and able to move independently. The lower ones were thick and soft, acting as a cover for whatever he hid beneath them, while some were thinner, whose source came from under his veil. Those, however, were a mix of normal and horrific tentacles, some had eyes replacing the usual suckers, tinted in the same colour as his irises, that glowing, pale blue. 

It made your body heat up, fingers tingling with nerves - or was it? When faced with something you found appealing, it’d be natural to feel flustered, no? König thought so, that’s how he spent the first days reacting to you, heating up to a bothersome flush to everything you did. He watched your awed stare, that daydreaming haze in your eyes when you looked him over, his whole body clear under the gentle light in his cave. 

“This way.”

Without making your gaze leave his figure, he drew you in, heading towards his biggest room where he caught and strung everything to fit his pleasure and mood. It was somewhere deeper into the system with walls strong and sturdy, and the round ceiling higher than the other rooms. On one side was a pile of golden objects of all shades, light yellow to a darkish gold, nearly bronze; on the other was a mix of pretty silver things and metallic black objects, rusted by age and the salty ocean; and on another, the smallest of them all, comprised of a few dozens of colourful shells and corals frozen in time that you’d given him. 

He saw your chest expand, your smile growing brighter and brighter at the pile of gifts you gave him, your bubbly laugh as you swam towards it, twirling around it proudly. You looked around the room, admiring his large collection and how it seemed to spill down every pile in an attempt to reach the other one, forming a protective ring around your presents, but always coming back to the bright pink, blue and yellow shells. You were happy and appreciative of the time he spent working and arranging his hoard. If he could, he’d preen and purr to you, to show just how much your proud smile meant to him, watching you appraise his work was satisfying. 

He already felt like things were falling into place perfectly, he could see the life he had envisioned with you coming to life, the little intricacies that popped into his mind seeming too appealing. His dreams were slowly becoming a reality, the things that he could only imagine were now tangible to his hands, and the future he salivated at was so, so close that he could sink his teeth into its flesh. 

He knew it. He knew it when he watched you swim to him with that big, adorable smile on your face, that it was in his hands. He could see it now, how his lonely cave would be filled with life and laughter, children with a mix of your beauty and his madness chasing one another between the many openings and your round, swollen stomach welcoming another of your children to the world. That was all he could think of while he cradled you in his arms, his tentacles latching to your tail and back. 

“You’re happy, ja?”

Next

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @candlewitch-cryptic @im-making-an-effort @0alk0msan 

[kaiser1ns]

#. SOUL EATER : RESONANCE

𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿/𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ıllı. takiishi chika, umemiya hajime, suo hayato, endo yamato, sakura haruka, kaji ren & itoshi sae, michael kaiser, nagi seishiro, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi

fluff. death weapon meister academy's best students and the resonance between you.

happy belated halloween! 500-600 words per scenario so hope you enjoy these treats from yours truly ♡

MEISTER!CHARACTER x WEAPON!READER

ITOSHI SAE

“Sae, please talk to me!” You tug at his blouse, practically pleading. “I’m sorry, okay? It just happened, and you know I’m still learning to control my powers—”

Sae’s gaze finally drops to you, cold and his face holds none of the understanding you’d hoped for. “You were being incredibly stupid,” he says bluntly. “Dr. Stein wanted us out immediately after you went out of control. When I wield you, I need to know you won’t act on your own.”

It’s not like you tried to go rogue. You’ve been with him through countless missions, pushing yourselves, and trusting each other even in the roughest of battles. But this? You bite back, your irritation rising. “It wasn’t my fault! And Dr. Stein helped, didn’t he? It’s not like I was going to die or anything!”

Your voice comes out sharper than intended, the words fueled by a frustration you can’t hold back. He knows you better than anyone and knows how hard it is to keep in sync, to keep this connection as flawless as he demands. Yet here he is, acting like one mistake makes you a liability.

“Y/N…” Sae’s tone turns low, a warning. “You were unconscious for two weeks. You don’t remember what happened. Do you want me to tell you?” His words hit you hard, hurting you more than any wound you have had so far.

He’s always held high standards for you that sometimes feel impossible. As his weapon, he expects you to be perfect—flawless, untouchable. You feel the weight of his pride as a meister, his expectations towering over you. And there’s a bitter ache that tightens in your chest as you wonder if he sees you as unworthy now as if you’re a weak link in his chain.

You exhale slowly, feeling the pressure of his stare, every unspoken word bearing down on you. “I know, I know! But it’s not fair to think I’d instantly be able to control all of that power the second it woke up in me! I’m trying, Sae.”

He sighs, and for a moment, the hard line of his mouth softens just a little. He reaches out and flicks your forehead lightly. “For someone who’s going to be with me for life, you’re rather annoying,” he says, his tone lighter. The tension eases, and every time he flick your head you know you have made up. He smiles a little and you can’t hold back as you grin.

“You’re the best,” you say softly, finally stepping forward and pulling him into a quick, impulsive hug. You press a light kiss to his cheek, the gesture small but he is used to your affection and he takes everything you have to offer. He rolls his eyes, but there’s a ghost of a smile in the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah. You should be the best, too.”

TAKIISHI CHIKA

The night sky is colored with stars, tiny silver shards that seem to tease you with promises of power and action—things your meister, Takiishi Chika, rarely lets you offer. You sit on the cold stone steps, arms draped across your knees, watching him fight without you, again. He’s a human inferno slicing through enemies like it’s nothing. For all his talent, he refuses to call on you, even when a single second of hesitation could mean his life. 

You sigh, looking back at the stars, counting them just as you count each missed opportunity he has to use you. If only Takiishi would stop being so... Takiishi. The battle finally ends with him victorious, but there’s no acknowledgment of your presence—no glance your way, no word of thanks for even being there. He simply turns and begins walking off, leaving you alone on the steps.

“Takiishi!” Typical. You groaned, launching to your feet and jogging to catch up with him. “You can’t just leave me like that! Hey, are you even liste—”

Finally stepping in front of him. He pauses, looking past you, expression cold and bored. “Move,” he says, his voice flat and utterly indifferent, flames still flickering across his body as if they, too, ignore you.

“I won’t move until you realize that this is teamwork,” you counter, setting your stance. “You can’t do everything alone.”

“I don’t care. You’re in my way. Move.”

The indifference is like a cut, sharper each time he says it. You clench your fists, feeling the familiar ache of unspent energy ripple through you. “Fine. If that’s what you want, then maybe I’ll ask Umemiya. He’ll be more than happy to partner with me.”

The second Umemiya’s name slips from your lips, Takiishi’s face barely shifts, but something flickers in his eyes, gone in a flash. You feel the weight of his stare, and it makes you feel powerful that you have your meister in such an unusual state. It’s almost enough to make you stay but you take a step back, ready to leave, but his hand reaches out, catching yours.

You turn, surprised to find a softness in his face, he looks… lost. Vulnerable. “What?” you ask, brow arching. He doesn’t answer, just tightens his grip slightly. He’s like a wolf trying to hide its wounds, but you’re not about to let him off that easily.

“Don’t go...” he finally mutters, eyes avoiding yours. For someone who doesn’t want to rely on you, he sure hates the thought of anyone else doing so.

“And you suddenly care when I mention switching partners?” you retort, your voice softer now, realizing just how much the idea unsettles him.

Before you can question him further, a monster lurches from the shadows behind you. Takiishi’s hand snaps to your shoulder, pulling you behind him protectively, his flames flaring up in a blaze that makes the night momentarily glow. His eyes meet yours, this time without words, but you know what he’s asking.

You sigh, offering him a small, resigned smile, and nod. Maybe he’s stubborn, cold, and reckless—but he’s your meister, and for better or worse, you’re his weapon. He needed you now. Transforming and letting your power flow into his hands, trusting him to wield you to your fullest.

You would always be the strongest weapon in his hands, because even if he’d never say it, you were his, and he was yours.

MICHAEL KAISER

His hand trails through your hair, fingers brushing against your scalp in slow, gentle strokes that lull you deeper into rest. The exhaustion of yesterday’s training took a lot of energy and it’s hard not to sink into the comfort of him beneath you. His chest rises and falls steadily under your cheek, matching the rhythm of your breaths. 

“You’re that tired?” His voice is soft, a whisper more to himself than to you, but you manage a faint mumble, not bothering to move. It earns a small chuckle from him, and he pulls you closer, his hand never stopping its movement through your hair. “Still, you did well today. Especially against Isagi. That was impressive,” he murmurs. There’s a hint of pride there because he is so proud of you. He never expected less from the best weapon and girl in the whole wide world.

“Mmm, otherwise you’d still be complaining about losing,” you mutter, words muffled against his skin. Your fingers trace lazy patterns across his tattooed shoulder, and you can feel him smile at that. The Academy, your training, the never-ending cycle of challenges and rivals—it’s not important now when the two of you relax in his room.

You barely notice as your breathing slows, and the last thing you feel is his hand brushing your hair from your face before sleep overtakes you completely.

But all too soon, the alarm rings, pulling you out of the warmth of his embrace. You groan, stretching as you peel yourself off his chest, and the soreness from yesterday’s battles immediately makes itself known. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you stumble to your feet as you walk over to where your uniform is laid out. You catch a glimpse of Kaiser stretching beside you, his hair tousled from sleep, his expression as groggy as yours. Yet somehow, he’s already flashing that smirk of his, the one he knows you can never fully ignore.

“You always look good when you’re about to kick ass,” he teases as you pull on your jacket, adjusting the fit around your shoulders. “Especially Isagi’s ass.” The playfulness in his eyes tells you he means it, though it’s more than just a compliment. It’s his pride, his own way of showing you how much he values you by his side. He can’t resist adding fuel to the fire, of course, but there’s this satisfaction of always being the winner, his appreciation for you and the way you fight.

“Shut up,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, but the smile slips onto your face before you can stop it. Kaiser grins, knowing he got through to you, knowing that he’s managed to start your day and remind you exactly why you’re here with him. As you finish dressing, he is in his uniform too, now wrapping his arm around your waist ready to go out and show you off, because as exhausting as it all is, being his partner—being the one he trusts, the one he praises and boost his ego—it’s something you wouldn’t trade for the world. 

UMEMIYA HAJIME

Everywhere you go, you hear whispers. First-years talking, pointing in your direction as if you’re something out of a storybook. "That's Y/N,” they’d say, praises dripping from their mouths, “Umemiya’s death scythe." There’s admiration there, and maybe even fear. After all, a weapon as powerful as you is rare, and with a laid-back meister like Umemiya, it seems like an odd pairing.

He’s known for his easygoing nature, approachable smile, and willingness to help anyone with anything… even if it’s absurd. To you, this sounds noble in theory. But in practice? It means moments like this one, where you’re looking down at your meister with your arms crossed, his hands clinging to your legs as he begs you to transform.

“Please, Y/N! I left my gardening tools in the shed back home, and we’re already here! Can’t you just… you know, turn into a scythe? Just for a few quick cuts!” You can only gaze down at him. A death scythe, being used to prune vegetables. The absurdity of it makes you grit your teeth. “Ume, I am not doing that! I’m a Death Scythe, not a hedge trimmer!” You try to shake him off, but he clings tighter, not one bit fazed by your irritation.

“Please, please, please!” he insists, hugging your legs harder. “I’ll cook for you, whatever you want! The most delicious meals, I promise!” He looks up at you, blue eyes pleading that would make a saint roll their eyes.

You narrow your eyes, pretending to consider. “Let’s see…” You tap a finger on your chin, drawing out the answer as long as possible just to make him sweat. “Eenie, meenie, miney… No!”

He sulks, face crumpling as he clutches at you dramatically. “Y/N! I thought you were my partner in crime! Partners always have each other’s backs, right?”

“Oh, don’t even try that on me,” you huff, crossing your arms tighter as you look away. “We are not partners in vegetable cutting.”

“Y/N!” he cries, the pouty lip and big eyes coming out, that was so immature for a strong leader and Meister, but that's just who he is.

“Umemiya Hajime,” you say, voice sharp and final, making him flinch. That full name is your last resort, and he knows it. “Go buy some vegetables from the market. I’m not wasting my energy on this.” Finally, with a sigh, he lets go and stands, running a hand sheepishly through his hair as he gives you a look of innocent exasperation.

“Fine, fine,” he mutters, deflated, but the spark never leaves him. “You win.” You’re about to turn away, feeling victorious, when he clears his throat, looking at you with a warning in his eye. “Just… to let you know, though, we’ve got to help an older couple with tree cutting tomorrow. They really need it.”

Your jaw drops and your eyes go wide. “What?”

He smiles, trying to look innocent. “Hey, they’re really nice! And they could use a little help from the strongest weapon-meister duo in the academy…”

You take a deep breath, feeling your energy drain just thinking about it. "You're unbelievable, Ume."

He raises both hands in surrender, laughing nervously as he grins, wide and bright, completely unaffected by the exasperation in your voice. It’s times like this when you wonder if you’re the meister and he’s the weapon. But one thing’s for sure: whether he’s charging into battle or begging for garden work, Umemiya Hajime is going to be the death of you. And if he pulls another stunt like this? He just might meet the wrong end of his own scythe.

NAGI SEISHIRO

“Sei, please!” you say, as you stand in front of the couch. “I’ll get you that new game if you accept this mission!”

Nagi Seishiro doesn’t even open his eyes. Instead, he gives a long, drawn-out sigh as he stretches his arms out behind his head, his tall frame too long to fit comfortably on the couch. His legs dangle over the edge, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Honestly, he seems to enjoy lounging around more than he enjoys actually doing his job as your meister.

It’s not that he can’t do the work. No, it’s the opposite. Nagi is ridiculously skilled—maybe even one of the best—but he’d much rather spend his time avoiding the responsibility altogether.

Missions? Too much hassle. Classes? Why bother. Training? He’s already good enough. Meanwhile, you’re trying your hardest to uphold your reputation, keep your grades up, and, most importantly, collect souls to be stronger. But none of that seems to matter to Nagi unless it somehow involves him not being bored during the mission or anything that has to do with moving.

He cracks one eye open, glancing at you with that familiar sleepy stare, “New game, hmm?” he mutters, finally giving you his attention.

You nod, your hands pressed together like you’re praying, “Yes! It's the new one from the series you like. With the best graphics and battles, you know the bes–”

“Hmm…” He rolls onto his side, considering if he should take up your offer. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Exactly,” you counter. “Just like this mission is going to be for us. But if we succeed, Lord Death said he’d give us a few days off, and… I’ll use that time to get you the game. You’ll have something new to play instead of replaying the same one a hundred times.”

The promise of the game seems more than appealing. He pauses, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he scratches his head. “But this mission’s rated hard, isn’t it? Ugh… fighting tough enemies is such a pain.”

“Yes, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. You’re a genius, remember?” you say with a smirk, hoping to stroke his ego just enough to sway him.

His options between taking the mission and going back to sleep. Finally, he sat up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. I’ll do it. But you better make sure you get me that game.”

You can’t believe that it took you all of your savings for a game, but you managed to pull him out of his comfort zone. As you gather your things and prepare for the mission, Nagi is already stretching out his arms, yawning. “Let’s make this quick, okay? I want to be back before I get too tired,” he says, already planning his next nap.

“Yeah, yeah, lazybones,” you mutter, walking out of your home, but even as you roll your eyes, you can’t help but smile. If tricking him with video games is what it takes to get your lazy meister in action, you’re more than willing to make that deal every time.

SUO HAYATO

“Come on, if you keep hiding things from me, I’ll keep seeking,” Suo’s calm, playful voice trails behind you as he walks with that unchanging smile, hands clasped leisurely behind his back. But you keep your gaze fixed forward, pretending you didn’t hear him, or at least, trying to. That relaxed, endlessly patient look of his was somehow just as frustrating as it was comforting, especially when you were feeling out of sorts. You know better that he is no stranger, he is your meister, and he knows when something is troubling you.

“I said I’m fine.” It comes out as a rude remark, and you immediately regret it. You stop, pressing your lips together in frustration, only to feel the softness in Suo’s eyes on you as he stops too. You turn, and though you try to fake your expression, the sadness in your gaze betrays you. He notices it all—of course, he does.

“Breathe in, then out,” he says softly, his hand settling on your shoulder. “I’m here for you.” His voice wraps around you like a safe embrace, and before you can stop yourself, the tears start falling. Your meister pulls you close without hesitation, his pristine white chang-shan serving as an unintended handkerchief.

You swallow, finding your voice as you mumble, “It’s just… Endo said I’m not worthy of being in Bofurin…” Your voice is muffled by his clothes, but he seems to catch every word. Each tear, each word, he hears and feels it. Your soul is connected to his so gets to experience your pain.

Suo’s hand moves gently over your back in soothing circles. “Ah, Endo,” he chuckles lightly, unfazed. “I should have guessed. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you, as usual. Remember how he did the same with Sakura?” He leans back slightly to meet your gaze, even if one eye is covered by an eyepatch. You blink, remembering that day. Sakura had been angry and lost after one of Endo’s comments about him. But he’d risen above it, and you had admired his strength then, just as Suo had assured him he was worthy. Now, it feels like he’s giving you the same gift of perspective.

“But what if… what if I’m not as good as him?” you ask, voice trembling. “What if he’s right?”

Suo’s expression softens, and his gentle smile stays. “If you weren’t capable, I wouldn’t have chosen you as my weapon,” he says simply, his words holding nothing but the truth. “Endo wants you to feel lesser because that’s his tactic, his way of keeping others from growing. But you don’t have to give him that power.”

You take a shaky breath, letting his words settle. The doubts lose some of their weight in the light of his quiet confidence in you.

“Besides,” he adds, his tone playful, “That guy lives to get under people’s skin. You don’t need to believe everything he says.” He winks, and you can’t help the small laugh that escapes. There he is again, always finding a way to make you smile.

“Now,” he continues, holding your hand in his, “How about a tea date instead? It’s been way too long since we’ve had one, and I could use an excuse to relax with my favorite and only girl.”

MEISTER!READER x WEAPON!CHARACTER

BACHIRA MEGURU

As Bachira’s laughter echoed down the school halls, you couldn’t help but smile, clinging tighter to his shoulders as he dashed ahead, but with him everything is more fun when you don't do things normally.

“Bachira, slow down! We’re gonna fall!” you said, more like screamed in his ear, your words nearly drowned out by his wild laughter. And as much as you enjoyed it, sometimes he went a little too far.

“Not a chance!” he shot back, barely avoiding a janitor’s cart as he took a sharp turn. You tighten your grip, feeling the wind rush past as the hallway blurred by. Finally, with a screech of his sneakers, he stopped just outside Lord Death’s office, grinning back at you. “Arrived at the destination! Kisses can be used as payment.” He tapped his cheek with a smug look, and you rolled your eyes but leaned in, giving him a quick peck.

“Not the best drive,” you muttered as you slid off his back, “wouldn’t recommend…but will see if I would do it again.”

Opening the door, you straightened up, slipping into professional mode, though it was hard with him right behind you, still buzzing with energy. In front of you, Lord Death stood by his massive glass mirror, wearing his jagged, dark robes and that cartoony skull mask that had a way of being both silly and terrifying.

“Lord Death, we’re here,” you said, trying to balance respect and calm as you addressed him. "What did you call us for?”

“Ah, Y/N and Bachira! My favorites! Please, please make yourselves comfortable,” he replied, gesturing toward a table absolutely loaded with cakes and sweets. Without a second thought, Bachira made a beeline for the table, already stuffing his face with something chocolatey as you tried to listen to Lord Death’s orders.

“Now, now,” Lord Death continued, “I need the two of you to retrieve this missing item. It’s a secret mission, so remember: not a word to anyone. It’s for your safety.”

You nodded, glancing over at Bachira, who now had chocolate smeared all over his face, looking like a kid who’d just discovered sugar. “Fo yu feef fus fu fo fere fand—” [So you need us to go there and–] he tried to say, his mouth completely full. But he was cute and was excused by such informality and Lord Death enjoyed how the young weapon was so himself.

You shook your head, amused, and finished the sentence for him, “And get the job done as fast as possible.”

“Pricelessly, yes!” Lord Death clapped his hands together. “You two make an excellent team!”

You shot Bachira a look and handed him a napkin, wiping away the chocolate smears with a grin. “If we’re going on a secret mission, we might as well look good.”

Your partner just laughed, grabbing you and hauling you back onto his shoulders, bright yellow eyes sparkling with his never ending playfulness. “Hold on tight, Y/N! Next stop: victory!”

“Not again!” you yelled, clinging to him as he left Lord Death’s office at full speed, rounding the first corner so sharply you almost slipped. But you knew he’d never actually let you fall.

Lord Death watched you both go, shaking his head with a smile. “Ah, youngsters. Full of life.” He knew there was no better duo for the job.

ENDO YAMATO

It was supposed to be a simple mission: slip in, take out the Kishin, collect the soul, and get out. No complications, no distractions. But when Endo was involved, even the simplest things became… well, complicated.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Takiishi used me in that fight against the ninja guy?” he whispers, just a little too loud. You shoot him a glare as you crouch low, scanning for any signs of the Kishin lurking in the shadows. But Endo, oblivious to the situation’s demands, just keeps going. “Seriously, it was incredible! The way he wielded me—I'm telling you, it was like magic! I mean, you’re amazing, obviously, but this guy? The two of you together would be unstoppable.”

Your patience was wearing thin, and it was showing. You glanced over your shoulder, whispering in a low, scolding tone, “Endo, would you shut up for once? We’re supposed to be done with this by now.”

He just smirked, leaning against the cold stone wall as though this was a casual night out instead of a mission. “Aw, come on, doll. What’s the rush? We’ve got all night to take down one little Kishin." watching you with those eyes that showed nothing good, "Besides, don’t you think you need to loosen up a bit? You’re always trying to be ‘Miss Perfect.’ But you’re already the best, hands down.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. There’s no way you’re letting his endless banter derail the mission. You extend your hand. He takes it with a lazy smile, intertwining your fingers just a little too slowly. “Transform, now,” you whisper, trying to ignore the warmth of his hand in yours and the playfulness in his eye.

Just then, you hear footsteps, a shuffle in the darkness. Instinctively, your grip tightens, and Endo shifts, his form glimmering as he becomes a sleek, polished pistol in your hand. The perfect weapon for one clean shot.

“Right on target, or I’m putting you in detention,” you mutter, aiming carefully. A soft chuckle echoes from the weapon in your hand.

“Only if you’re the one giving it to me,” he teases, his voice vibrating through your body.

You don’t bother responding, steadying your aim. Pulling the trigger, the shot resonates in the silence as the Kishin collapses. A faint smoke drifts from the barrel as Endo shifts back, grinning as he strides over to collect the soul—a glistening blue orb hovering above the remains. He snatches it with satisfaction, letting it vanish into his mouth as this was his dinner, but he is always ready for dessert.

You’re already turning to leave when he catches up, nudging your shoulder. “So, now that we’re done here, think we can swing by the party? Takiishi will be there, and—”

His words trail off when he catches your unimpressed look. But as always, he doesn’t give up. Instead, he steps closer, tilting your chin up with his tattooed fingers. “Or maybe,” he murmurs, his voice low, “I could show you a little more of what I can do. Just the two of us.”

You smirk, catching his hand and intertwining your fingers as you start leading the way back to the academy. “You’d better make it worth my while, then.”

He chuckles, that lazy, cocky sound trailing after you. “Oh, you know I will, doll. Anything for you.”

ITOSHI RIN

You’d been searching for him all day, irritated, annoyed but not surprised. Why does he have to pick a fight with Isagi again? Poor guy probably didn’t even do anything this time, just breathing and existing. But Rin’s temper? It seems to have a strong trigger, and you are fully prepared to be the one to finally make it go off on him.

You scanned the room, spotting your friends who gave you sympathetic glances, some even knew what was coming. When you finally spot Rin sitting at his desk in class, like he doesn't care about anything in the world, he's just there.

Without a second thought, you shove the classroom door open, and it bangs against the wall with a force that pulls every head in your direction. Even Dr. Stein, who usually comments on such disturbances with some dry remark, raises his eyebrow at you, his mouth opening. But one sharp look from you shuts him up. He knows better.

“Itoshi Rin. Out, now.” Your voice is hard as steel, nothing like the sweet tone you save for casual days, when you’re both training, laughing, maybe even getting along for once. But today, this? This is all business, and everyone knows that if you’re mad enough to pull him out of class, he’s in trouble.

Rin just rolls his eyes and scoffs, pushing himself up from his chair and sauntering to the door. You let the door close behind you with a polite, “Excuse us, Doctor,” as you exit. Stein just sighs, casting a pitying look at Rin’s empty chair.

Behind you, someone whispered, “Think she’s gonna be the first meister in centuries to kill her weapon?”

Dr. Stein gave an unbothered shrug. “I’d like to see the body afterward, for... scientific purposes.”

Outside the classroom, you stop, crossing your arms and tapping your foot. Rin is slumping against the wall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he stares at you, his expression completely unbothered. He seems to be waiting for you to say something, but you wait for him, pressuring him to do something.

“What do you want?” he finally mutters, almost as if he’s bored.

“What I want,” you begin, warning him with that tone, “is for you to stop with this ‘I’m going to kill Isagi’ nonsense.” You can’t keep the anger out of your voice, but you do try to stay calm and controlled. He needs to understand that you are serious without having to scream it in his face. “Rin, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be the best. But you know as well as I do, we don’t need to crush everyone else to prove that. Not him, at least.”

He’s staring at you, but it’s clear he’s listening to you, but he doesn't hear. He finally scoffs, mumbling, turning his head in the opposite direction to avoid you. “As if.” What he hated the most was to be told what to do.

You take a step closer, pressing a finger to his chest. “Listen, I don’t have all day to deal with this. I don’t care if you have a grudge or if he has better luck sometimes. You’re my weapon. And that means you follow my orders.”

Rin’s eyes flash, and he grabs your wrist, his grip firm as he leans down just enough to be intimidating. “I do whatever I want.” You yank him closer by the shirt, unflinching. “And I can crush your soul if you ever cross that line with me again. So don’t forget, Rin—who’s the one with the control here?”

For once, his blunt expression falters. You’re not sure if he’s backing down…or if he’s just considering something else. Either way, he releases your wrist, mumbling under his breath, but for now, he’s been put in his place.

SAKURA HARUKA

"Can't you run faster?" As you leap from one rooftop to the next, Sakura's voice echoes in your head, scythe held tightly in your grip. To achieve his ultimate form as a Death Weapon Scythe, Sakura needed to consume the soul of a witch, and tonight, you had one within your sight. “Shut up! I'm trying my best here," you snap back, spinning the weapon instinctively to keep your balance. His groan vibrates through your hands as he starts to feel dizzy.

"Huh?! This is your best?" he taunts, irritated by your fighting, more like defending yourself. Your patience finally snaps, and you grind to a halt, releasing his weapon form as he transforms back to his human shape beside you. His expression is just as fiery as yours, brows knitted, eyes blazing. His sharper-than-normal teeth peek out in frustration.

"Sakura, stop! I’m fed up with your attitude," you say, barely keeping the anger out of your voice. He stares back at you, unyielding. "I'm your weapon for a reason, remember? Because you’re supposed to be one of the strongest Meisters out there. Don’t make me regret my choice of picking you."

The tension between you crackles, the adrenaline and frustration of the hunt mingling into something that even Lord Death won’t be able to stop, as he tried so many times to teach you to be one with your partner. But before you can respond, a voice interrupts from the shadows, lilting and playful, just what you need right now.

"My little pumpkins... I’m so sorry to interrupt," the witch croons, hovering just above you in the sky. Her glittering eyes shine in the moonlight, a smirk playing across her lips. "Are we going to do this tonight, or should I come back another day?"

The two of you whirl on her in perfect unison, “Shut up!” you shout, voices harmonizing as she pouts, clutching her hands to her chest in mock hurt. But you’re too caught up in the moment to notice the glint of magic in her fingers. Before you realize it, she’s already begun her spell. A sudden pulse of energy knocks Sakura against you, making you stumble on the edge of the rooftop.

You feel yourself losing your balance as the ground rushes up toward you, but Sakura’s arms find their way around you, his grip tight in fear of not letting you go. Instinctively, you clutch him back, bracing for a rough landing.

But instead of cold pavement, you crash into something soft and oddly bouncy, breaking your fall with an unexpected jolt. You open your eyes to find yourselves surrounded by squishy pumpkins conjured by the witch’s magic. You’re still tangled up with Sakura, his arms wrapped around you protectively, as he is more concerned now than angry. Your safety was his number one priority, even if you had arguments most of the time you had missions.

"Such cuties you two are!" the witch giggles, waving her fingers at you like she’s saying goodbye. “Well then, until next time!”

And with that, she vanishes, and your weapon mutters something under his breath, finally letting go of you as he stands up, brushing off imaginary dust with an embarrassed frown. You can’t help but smile at him, as he helps you stand up, handing his jacket to you as he walks forward, hands in his pockets as he sneezes and little air hearts appear around him.

"Soul resonance, huh?" you say knowing this won’t be the last time you’re stuck like this together.

ISAGI YOICHI

It was training time, the kind where you and your weapon partner go head-to-head against another meister and weapon pair. But this wasn’t just any opponent; this was Michael Kaiser, who had a habit of voicing his unwanted opinion about your partnership with Isagi. And, of course, Isagi chose him. His determination to take on Kaiser was fierce, and despite your reservations, you went along with it.

Running side by side, Isagi transformed into a set of shurikens, sharp and deadly, perfect for an offensive strike. You launched forward with a powerful kick, targeting Kaiser directly. He countered quickly, his weapon Ness—perfect, yet irritatingly well-matched partner—swinging to meet you.

"A strong meister like you using him? That’s so low of you, meine Prinzessin,” Kaiser taunted as he dodged your kicks, punches, and Isagi’s whirling shuriken form. His smirk was only growing wider as he grazed your defenses. Every time he opened his mouth, his mocking words were something you wish you could just cut with your weapon.

“Shut up, you stupid Emperor,” you spat, gripping Isagi as he shifted into his katana form, readying for another attempt to close in on Kaiser. You sliced left and right, and your movements were calculated, though the Emperor evaded most of your attacks. The best you managed was a slight tear on his shirt—a minor victory, though not satisfying enough.

“A girl like you, so strong, settling for a weapon like him?” His voice dripped with disgust as he angled Ness, testing your patience. “You deserve more than someone who thinks life’s a puzzle to solve. So much more. It’s honestly… cute, watching you struggle.”

It took everything not to let his words worm into your mind. You knew he was trying to rile you up until you’d snap and lose control. He wanted you to get reckless, to expose a weakness he could exploit. You clenched your fists, steadying yourself. You weren’t going to let him get the satisfaction.

“Isagi, I swear, I’m going to kill you for picking him instead of Barou,” you muttered through gritted teeth, tossing a glance at Isagi mid-battle. He chuckled nervously, though he knew just as well that this rivalry ran deep.

You darted forward, throwing Isagi in his shuriken form in a high arc behind Kaiser, who barely gave it a glance, his eyes pinned on you as you closed in. The fool thought you’d just thrown Isagi away.

“Oh, finally giving up and throwing out the trash?” Kaiser sneered, that self-satisfied smirk still painted across his face.

You mirrored his smirk, feeling the satisfaction bubble up as you locked eyes. “Quite the opposite. I’m taking it down.”

In a flash, Isagi shifted mid-air, transforming back into his human form just in time to land on Kaiser from behind, knocking him to the ground. Before Kaiser could react, you pressed a foot to his chest, holding him down firmly. Isagi stood beside you, eyes shining as he looked down at Kaiser with that victorious smirk.

“Who’s unworthy now, Emperor?” Isagi’s voice was laced with mockery, enjoying every second of the results. Kaiser, winded but not defeated, glared up at you. But even he couldn’t deny that for once, he’d been outmatched.

KAJI REN

You're patrolling the streets of Death City, trying to find the Kishin that has been disturbing the peace for a few days now. Beside you, Kaji Ren walks, hands in his hoodie pockets, a lollipop perched between his lips as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Headphones cradling his ears, pulsing with the beats of a very familiar song. Just as you’re about to comment on his distracted state, he freezes, eyes narrowing as he spots something moving in the shadows.

Without thinking twice, you reach out, snatching both his lollipop and his headphones when he barely has time to register the theft before you’ve popped the lollipop into your mouth, its sugary taste spreading across your tongue. Kaji’s eyes widen, and for a second he looks stunned, ready to make a witty remark but you’re already moving, sliding the headphones over your ears, the music from your shared playlist flooding your senses, pumping up your adrenaline.

“You—!” he starts, but he’s already transforming, his body twisting in a flash of light until the cold steel of his scythe form lands firmly in your grasp.

The music pulses through you and the beat matches your footsteps as you lunge toward the Kishin. With Kaji in your hand, you dance around the creature, slicing it as you move to the rhythm. You could feel his irritation vibrating through his blade form, and if he’d been human, you’d bet he’d be yelling, but his words are muffled by the blasting music in your ears.

“Y/N, watch ou—” You grin to yourself, knowing you don’t need the warning. You leap high, spinning mid-air, and bring Kaji down killing the Kishin with a powerful strike. It vanishes quickly, leaving only its blue soul glowing in the aftermath.

Landing gracefully, nodding your head to the rhythm as you pull off the headphones and let Kaji return to his human form. His mouth opens, clearly ready to throw an insult, but before he can get a single word out, you press the headphones back into his hands with a nonchalant smile.

“Yes, yes. Here you go. Return what I’ve taken,” you say, casually, popping the lollipop back into your mouth. “But I’m keeping this,” you add, twirling the sweet between your teeth. “It’s just too good to give up.”

“You won’t even he—” His protest dies as you press a finger to his lips, your teasing smile flashing as you look up at him, “Shhh, Ren. You’re so cute when you’re mad, you know that?” The faintest hint of a blush creeps into his cheeks, his brows knitting together, making him look even more annoyed. You always cut him off, you didn't listen to him and he was mad, but at the same time, he was too enraged to say anything. Turning away, looking forward to your next task—if only to tease him more.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

WBK. Weapon!Togame, Weapon!Hiragi, Meister!Nirei, Meister!Choji, Meister!Kiryu, Weapon!Suzuri

BLLK. Meister!Karasu, Meister!Barou, Weapon!Reo, Weapon!Otoya, Weapon!Shidou, Meister!Aiku

taglist :: @kiurona @nyxypoo @17020 @stunies @maruflix @ryescapades @yoru-exe @heartkaji @seneon @choccorin @littleplantfreak @meidiary

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[cherimoyatea]

The LaDs Men healing your inner child...

...they accidentally evoke your insecurities and comfort you.

❧ Part IV - Sylus - Tight Threads

Pairing: Sylus x You Synopsis: An ill-fitting dress triggers a panic attack during a date with Sylus. Word count: 963 Tags: sylus being a suggestive little tease, panic attack, body image issue, romance, fluff, comfort Side notes: Welcome to the last part of the mini-series! Fun fact: The plot (some parts at least) is based on true events, but unfortunately, there was no Sylus to comfort me back then 🫠 I refrained from going into details about MC's body type so that anyone can envision themselves in the role. A tight dress can be uncomfortable no matter the size and shape. However. Sylus loves you just the way you are! And with that, this series comes to an end. Thank you for reading 🩷 Part I - Xavier ❧ Part II - Rafayel ❧ Part III - Zayne

Ruby-red eyes gaze at you intently from across the round table as you nervously fidget with your dress. The restaurant he chose is even more lavish than you imagined and your nerves are on edge. In this dress that's way too tight and short, you feel as if you can't breathe, and you can't shake the impression that all the other guests are focused on your insecurities.

''Is everything okay, Kitten? You seem... tense.'' Sylus swirls his glass of red wine between his long fingers while you nervously shift in your chair. You blush as you suddenly feel his gaze on you and adjust your dress again. ''Sylus, I appreciate your invitation, but you didn't need to go this far.''

Maybe you should have mentioned that the custom-made dress didn't fit properly when he handed you the pink paper bag with it earlier. You remember standing in your bathroom, holding it up against your body and squeezing yourself into it while he waited in your living room—hoping he wouldn't hear you curse as you struggled to pull the zipper up at the back.

There was likely a mistake by the seamstress, but you still insisted on wearing it to honor his gift.

The silver-haired man takes a sip from his glass and leans back to make room for the waiter as he approaches your table with your orders. For him, it's just another evening in a high-end restaurant, but he has noticed that you're uncomfortable. ''If you'd prefer, we can move our date somewhere else. Would you like to leave?''

You shake your head as the waiter sets your plate down, unwilling to shift the date elsewhere. After all it's not his fault that the dress was poorly tailored, accentuating all the parts of you that you are self-conscious about. You grab your own glass nervously, hoping a sip of your drink will help calm your nerves. But instead, you both startle as you accidentally tip it over, sending it crashing to the floor.

"Oh dear, how clumsy." You hear whispers from a nearby table, accompanied by giggles, as the waiter gathers the shards from the floor. You can't help but feel sick as you cautiously look around, realizing everyone is staring at you.

Sylus's head immediately swivels toward the table of giggling women, and his serious glare silences them instantly. They sheepishly return their focus to their plates, poking at their food, and you could swear you saw a brief flash of red in his left eye.

But right now, you have other worries.

"Excuse me!" You quickly stand up from the table and hurry through the restaurant, heading to the restroom to escape. Your heart races as you crouch by the luxurious sinks, resting your head on your knees in an attempt to calm your quickening breath. A panic attack, of all times!

Just a few moments later, you hear the door to the restroom open, and someone approaches you slowly, crouching down beside you. Without looking up, you know immediately that Sylus has followed you. He lowers his head with a concerned expression and gently takes your hand. ''I'm here for you. What do you need?''

''T-The… the zipper…'' You stutter as you continue gasping for air, futilely reaching with your free hand for the zipper pull between your shoulder blades. Sylus follows your movement with his eyes and then yanks the zipper down your back in one swift motion. ''Calm, deep breaths, Sweetie. It'll get better soon.''

His rough, calm voice is soothing as he gently strokes your trembling back, careful not to overwhelm you with his presence. And finally, you feel the tension slowly lift from your body for the first time that evening as you take a deep breathe.

Sylus waits patiently beside you, continuing to stroke your back, and after a while, your breathing steadies. ''I'm so sorry… I've ruined the evening.'' You whisper weakly as he gently helps you stand up from the cold marble floor.

''Take off your dress, Kitten.''

Sylus doesn't answer immediately, giving you a moment to steady yourself before he moves closer with a charming grin.

Your eyes widen in surprise at his request, completely caught off guard by his sudden change in demeanor as you look at him in disbelief. ''W-What?!''

Your heels scrape against the marble floor as you step back, feeling the sink behind you. This time it wasn't a panic attack that caused your heart to race in your chest! ''Here!? Now?? Are you serious!?''

''Dead serious.'' The attractive giant replies as he almost towers over you. It's only when he grabs a familiar-looking pink paper bag from the floor that his words make sense. Until now, you had been so focused on managing your panic attack that you didn't notice him bringing it into the restroom. He takes out your favorite jeans and a sweater, and hands them to you with a smug grin. ''I took the liberty of borrowing a few things from your closet before we left. I hope you don't mind.''

Surprised by his thoughtful gesture, you take the clothes and press them against your chest. He must have overheard you earlier in your apartment and snuck into your bedroom to get the clothes and empty paper bag while you were busy getting ready. ''But... what about the dress? This casual outfit would be completely inappropriate for a venue as expensive as this.''

You shift your gaze down to the dress, now hanging loosely from your shoulders. The zipper torn at the back. But Sylus shakes his head as he gently lifts your chin with his fingers so his gleaming eyes meet yours again.

''I don't care about that damn dress, Sweetie. You're the only expensive thing in this inappropriate venue. Remember that.''

Thank you for reading!

Cheri 🍒

[ylangelegy]

haven't we met? ♾️ minghao x reader.

“wherever you are in the world, i swear i'll find you again.” # day one of (the)8 days of minghao.

☆ includes: mentions of death/calamities. soulmates, body swapping, time travel, delayed ripple effect, references to chinese mythology, light angst. this is inspired by & heavily references makoto shinkai's film kimi no nawa/your name, but it's not required to have seen the film to understand the plot. word count: 9,000+

It’s a Wednesday when Minghao wakes up in a room that isn’t his.

He doesn’t immediately register it. His senses come to him slowly; the sun is warm on his face, supposedly streaking through the windows. 

But then an alarm blares, and it’s an alarm that’s decisively not his. It’s loud and oppressive. The complete opposite of the gentle tinkling of bells that he sets for his mornings. Minghao peels his eyes open before blinking blearily up at a ceiling that’s in a shade of dark green. 

Odd. His ceiling is supposed to be beige. 

Minghao finally manages to sit up, to glance around. The room he’s in is not his. It’s much more disorganized and the furniture’s a bit more old-fashioned. He lets out a slight exhale. 

A dream, he thinks wearily. I’m dreaming. 

Minghao can’t help but think that it’s a particularly realistic dream as he unsteadily gets to feet. As he pulls aside the sheets that had covered him, he notices snatches of a body that isn’t his, either. Lithe legs, painted toenails. 

I’m dreaming I’m someone else, he thinks. It happened, didn’t it? One might sometimes dream from the perspective of a stranger, a friend. 

Minghao’s attention is drawn to a half-full water carafe on the bedside table. Without much thought, he reaches for it— before smashing it onto the floor. Free will, baby. 

Except—

He feels it. The wetness lapping up at his feet. The shards of broken glass flying in all directions. Something closes up in his throat. Did he usually feel things in his dreams? Had he eaten something weird, drank something the night before, to have him dreaming like this? 

The door to the room swings open. 

A silver-haired woman stands in front of him, now, her face pinched with worry. She says a name— a name that isn’t Minghao’s— and asks, panicked, “What happened?” 

Minghao doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. He just stares and stares as this wrinkled woman chides him in a motherly way until he realizes, ah. This must be his mother. Not his mother, but his dream self’s mother. 

He can work with that. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. His voice is different. Not his, not his. He tries again— softer, this time— like it might change things. Like he might be able to coax his old voice to break through whatever sleepy haze he’s in. “I’m sorry. I knocked it over by accident.” 

“You’re so clumsy,” his ‘mother’ chides, but she’s already getting to her knees to wipe at the puddle of water with her apron. That snaps Minghao into action; he stumbles across the room in search of a towel. 

What a crazy dream, he thinks as he delicately gathers up the shards, as he wipes up the spilled water. I’ve never had a dream like this. 

As his ‘mother’ heads back downstairs, Minghao figures he might as well play the part. 

He follows her down for breakfast. He’s struck by how visceral, how tactile everything feels. The creeks of the old staircase. The smell of seaweed egg drop soup. The crick in Minghao’s neck.

Am I going insane? Minghao briefly wonders as he settles into the dining table, where there’s already a spread of food waiting for him. He notes that it’s a rather small table, made for only two people. It’s a stark contrast to the long tables he usually shares with twelve other boys, to the family tables he reserves with his own family.

“Why are you being so quiet?” his ‘mother’ asks as she sits across from him. “We’ll just get you a new carafe, kiddo.”

Right. That’s definitely why he was being quiet. Minghao picks up the chopsticks in front of him and goes to try some of the braised potatoes. 

He can even taste it. This was probably the most detailed dream he’s ever had.

“Aren’t I always quiet, though?” Minghao manages to ask in the voice-that-is-not-his. It’s a higher pitched voice, one that has a distinct Seoul accent. 

His ‘mother’ lets out a snort of laughter. “Yah, in what universe are you quiet?” she says with a snicker, reaching over to flick Minghao’s forehead. 

He lets out a small sound of protest. 

“That’s more like it,” his ‘mother’ notes. “Now, eat up. You’ll be late for work.”    

Work. Something like unease begins to pool at the pit of his stomach at the thought of it. Not because he hates his job, no. Minghao loved being a dancer, an idol, an artist. But— he had a feeling that wasn’t the job he should be expecting this time around.

“I— I’m not really feeling well,” he mumbles, pushing around some seaweed at the bottom of his soup. When his ‘mother’ shoots him a scrutinizing glare, he forces out a cough to sell the act. “I’m not sure if I can go in today.” 

His ‘mother’ goes from looking skeptical to concerned. She sets her own utensils down. “Do you need me to take care of you? I can take off, too—” 

“It’s okay,” Minghao says hastily. “I think I just need to stay in bed.” 

The woman across from him doesn’t look convinced, and so he presses on, “How is work, anyway?” 

It’s a polite question, one meant to wheedle out more information. His ‘mother’ takes the bait, though, and goes on to rant about bad co-workers, about impatient patrons. She’s a grocery store bagger, Minghao gleams. And when she complains about other small things— the weather making it difficult to hang laundry, the lack of delivery shifts— Minghao realizes that his ‘mother’ has an array of other side hustles. 

He listens intently. He nods in all the right places. He thinks he’s doing the right thing, but his ‘mother’ falters mid-sentence to fix him a worried look. 

“You really are so quiet today,” she repeats, reaching over to put the back of her hand against Minghao’s forehead. He feels the touch, feels the warmth of concern wash over his skin, and it makes him shiver. “You really must not be feeling well, huh?” 

Minghao thinks he’s only about to feel so much worse.

He heads back to ‘his’ bedroom, and it’s only then that he catches a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror. It’s… the face of someone he’s never met before. 

Minghao once heard that the people you see in your dreams are never strangers. They’re all faces you’ve seen at least once or twice, and in Minghao’s line of work— well, he’s seen a lot of faces. He raises a hand to pinch at his cheek, to pat at his hair. 

It all feels so real. He doesn’t dwell on that. 

Instead, he starts to explore. Walking around the cramped bedroom feels both like a museum visit and an intrusion. There’s posters peeling off the wall, shelves groaning under the weight of books, clothes that look a little worse for wear. It’s honestly such a mess that Minghao ends up killing a couple of hours just cleaning.

He lets out a snort of laughter as he does. Even in his dreams, he’s picking up over someone. 

He doesn’t know how long he spends gathering hangers and sweeping the floor, but, at one point, the silence is broken by a high-pitched ringtone. He fumbles for the shabby cellphone on the bedside table. 

It had been password-protected, which is why he couldn’t open it. Now, though, there’s an option to answer the incoming call. 

BOSS MAN 👿, it says, and Minghao nearly cracks a smile. Yeah, he can relate to that, at least. 

When he answers the call, though, any and all humor dissipates at the yelling that assaults Minghao’s ear. “WHERE ARE YOU?” ‘Boss Man’ screams on the other end. “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO CALL YOU ALL DAY! YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE, PUNK—” 

Minghao definitely sees now why the devil emoji was warranted. He has the urge to cut into the other man’s tirade, partly because it’s a dream where there’ll surely be little to no consequences. Something holds him back, though, as he puts some distance between his ear and the phone. 

Once the other man pauses to breathe, Minghao manages to get a word in. “I… wasn’t feeling well,” he says lamely. “Could I maybe work from home or something?” 

“WORK FROM HOME? ARE YOU CRAZY?! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT—”

At that point, Minghao just hangs up. When ‘Boss Man’ tries to call again, Minghao turns off the cellphone’s ringer and goes back to cleaning. 

He cleans until there’s not a speck of dust in the bedroom. And when that’s done, he goes to work on the grout in the bathroom, the oil stains in the kitchen. He’s not really sure what he’s doing. Occasionally, he’ll stop in the middle of a chore, wondering if it’s finally time for him to be shaken out of this mundane, long-winded dream. 

Night falls. His ‘mother’ texts about taking on an extra shift. She says something about food in the refrigerator, but Minghao can’t be bothered; he’s so exhausted that he blacks out the moment his head hits his pillow.

He doesn’t even have the energy to contemplate the mechanics of falling asleep in what’s supposed to be a dream. 

On Thursday, Minghao wakes up back in his dorm. 

When he hears the familiar chime of his morning alarm, when he opens his eyes and sees beige, he feels a wave of relief. It really had all been a dream. A very realistic one, sure. But a dream all the same. He was awake now, and he was ready to go about his Wednesday schedule— 

Except, when he checks his phone, it says that it’s already Thursday. 

Minghao blinks. How long was he out? Surely one of the boys would’ve dragged him out of bed if he’d been out of commission for twenty-four hours. 

He unlocks his phone to a dozen unread messages. Eyebrows furrowed, he decides to first go with Seungcheol’s texts. 

🍒: myungho  🍒: are you feeling better?  🐸: Hyung, hi. I think I just overslept a bit but I’m feeling ok. 

Despite the early morning, the three dots indicating that Seungcheol is typing pop up. 

🍒: are you sure???  🍒: you had us worried 🐸: Did I really sleep that long?  🍒: i mean, i don’t know how long you slept 🍒: was that the problem? were you hysterical yesterday because of lack of sleep? ㅋㅋㅋ

Suddenly, Minghao’s room feels a lot colder than earlier. Hysterical. That was the word Seungcheol had used. And yesterday— Tuesday? Nothing out of the ordinary had happened to Minghao. It was all the usual; he had practiced, eaten dinner out with Soonyoung, then went home. 

The dream had been the only unusual thing about the day prior. Minghao is jolted when Seungcheol sends another slew of texts. 

🍒: seriously 🍒: i was worried i might have to bring you to the hospital or something 🍒: but you say you’re ok now? 

Minghao can’t help it anymore. He dials Seungcheol’s number and puts the phone to his ear, his heart pounding in his chest all the while. 

Seungcheol answers on the first ring. In lieu of a greeting, Minghao jumps straight into “Was I really— hysterical, yesterday?” 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When Seungcheol speaks, he still sounds a touch gruff, like he’s only half-awake. “I mean, kind of. What, are you worried about it? Do you need help apologizing to Mingyu?” 

Apologizing to Mingyu? “What— is Mingyu mad at me?” 

“Uh.” There’s some sounds of shuffling on the other end, as if Seungcheol is sitting up. It’s a pretty clear giveaway of his growing concern. “You might have to ask him that. But, Hao— you sure you’re better?”

Minghao swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know where to start without sounding insane.

“I think I’m still feeling a bit off,” Minghao says weakly. “Must be the flu or something.” 

“I can come over.” 

“No, no. I think I just need some rest.” 

Seungcheol lets out a contemplative hum. “Alright,” he says, though he doesn’t sound all too convinced. “I’ll keep the boys off your back for the day. Text me if you need anything, and maybe text Mingyu when you can.” 

“Text Mingyu,” Minghao repeats absentmindedly. “Yeah, got it.” 

The call ends without anything more. Minghao stays seated in his bed for a long moment, just staring at the call log. 

Seungcheol had called him hysterical. Mingyu was upset with him. 

Something was definitely not right. 

Minghao’s suspicion is only confirmed when he goes to check the texts he’d gotten from other members.

🐯: need to call u about choreo but preferably u dont yell at me this time 😒 let me know when’s a good time  🐱: Are u ok? Or did u actually ditch me for our dinner (bec if then, wtf)  🦖: i’ve been in the practice room for an hour now!!!!!! Where are you!!!

If Minghao wasn’t already sitting down, he might’ve collapsed. 

He yelled at Soonyoung. He ditched Jun and Chan. 

He had no memory of any of that. 

But he remembers the shattered carafe, the seaweed soup, the shrill shrieks of ‘Boss Man’ in his ear. 

For a moment, he’s convinced he’s just in another version of the same dream— except, this time, it looks a lot more like a nightmare. As Minghao finally musters up the energy to get to his feet, he notices something at the foot of his bed. 

He unfurls the folded piece of paper. The handwriting isn’t anything he’s seen before. His eyes inadvertently skip to the very bottom, and his heart nearly stops in his damn chest. Minghao drops the paper like it had physically burnt him. 

“What the fuck,” he mumbles to himself as he scrambles to his feet, as he puts distance between himself and the now-discarded paper. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.” 

At the very end of the handwritten letter had been a name. 

The name that had been uttered by his dreamself’s mother. The name that ‘Boss Man’ had shrieked. A name he hadn’t heard before yesterday, before his dream— 

Minghao is finding it increasingly hard to believe that it had been a dream in the first place. Hell, he doesn’t even know what ‘yesterday’ is anymore. 

He paces his room. He does breathing exercises. He brews half a pot of tea. 

None of it helps. Hours later— with all his texts still unanswered and his tea depleted— Minghao stumbles back to the letter. 

I don’t know who you are, it starts. But I can tell you who I am. 

I’m from Umyeon-deong in Seocho. I live with my mother; my father hasn’t been in the picture for a long time. I work as an editorial assistant for a local newspaper. (It’s not exactly what I want to be doing, although that’s a story for another day.) 

For a big part of today, I thought I was dreaming. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back in my bedroom, but the hours have ticked by and I’m still here. Your friends keep contacting you. It’s driving me insane. I accidentally yelled at two of them because they wouldn’t stop calling. The Mingyu one got really upset about it, I think. Sorry. 

I’m writing this because I don’t know what else to do. If this is nothing but a dream, then this shouldn’t matter. But in the 0.000000001% chance that something truly insane has happened to me and you? Well, at least now you know. 

I’m going to try and go to sleep now, although I must admit: You have some pretty nice stuff. I ate some of your tea and snacks (sorry, again). This is crazy. None of this makes sense. 

The letter unceremoniously ends there. Minghao’s eyes flick again to the signoff, to the name at the very bottom. 

Your name. 

His head is reeling. He feels like he’s going to be sick. 

This is no coincidence, no practical joke. It’s— as you’ve said— truly something insane happening. 

Minghao is struck with the realization that it just might happen again, and this time, he actually does get sick. He ends up hurling into a trash can. 

After brushing his teeth, chugging some water, and running through one too many of the chips in his pantry, Minghao gets back to the letter. 

It’s still there, in his hands. The stationary that was locked away in his drawer, bearing handwriting that is not his. 

None of the boys would pull off a prank as elaborate as this. Minghao is fairly certain he would’ve noticed if any of them snuck in, too. So, now, the only logical explanation was the one that was left. 

And Minghao really didn’t like that explanation. 

For what feels like forever, he contemplates what to do. He considers calling up Seungcheol again. He debates the merits of apologizing to Mingyu and Soonyoung; he decides against it when he realizes he wouldn’t even know what he’s apologizing for. He knows what to say to Jun and Chan at least, but that doesn’t make it any easier. How would Minghao even begin to justify himself? Hey, sorry for ditching you; I think I body swapped with a complete stranger. Let’s grab dinner tonight instead? 

There’s a headache blossoming behind Minghao’s eyes at the mere thought of putting the words out into existence. 

In the end, he does what he deems to be the easiest thing to do. He picks up a pen and writes on the other side of your letter. 

Hello, he begins. I’m The8 Myungho Minghao. 

I’m an idol who’s part of a group called SEVENTEEN. They’re the friends who keep contacting me. Mingyu is a fellow member and good friend of mine. I’ll talk to him. 

My family is in a different country. 

As Minghao goes on to write the next parts, he feels a bit foolish. He doesn’t really know what to say, though he feels like he should say something. You had given him something to work with, after all. Slivers of context. He should be able to do the same for you. 

I met your mother. She’s nice. 

I talked to your boss. He wasn’t happy. He yelled at you (me?), and I may or may not have put down the phone. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what your work was so I ended up not going at all. 

I hope you liked the tea. Feel free to have all the snacks you want. 

And you’re right. This is crazy. 

If I’m lucky, you’ll never need this letter. 

Minghao wakes up on Friday to the realization that he is decidedly unlucky.

The loud alarm is back, and the ceiling is dark green again, and Minghao once again leans over to throw up. Luckily, there’s a bedside garbage bin that comes to the rescue. 

There’s no sun this time. It’s fairly gloomy outside, the overcast skies peeking through the windows. 

Minghao immediately notices that there’s a folded piece of paper on the pillow next to him. He unfurls it so fast that he almost tears it in half. 

This is a precaution, you start. Maybe, come tomorrow, I can just chuck this out and chalk it all up to a one-off freak incident. 

The thought of this phenomenon not being a one-off nearly has bile rising up in Minghao’s throat all over again, but he forces himself to read the rest of your words. 

First off, I guess I should thank you. My room has never been this clean in my life! And you should have seen the look on my mother’s face when she saw that ‘I’ cleaned the entire apartment. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was possessed, for the lack of better term, by someone who is a much better person than me. 

That almost makes Minghao smile. Almost, because the next part sends a pang of guilt through him. 

Secondly, though, you almost cost me my job. I can’t believe you hung up on my boss, Donghyuk. I had to do some serious damage control. I managed to get today off, just in case. 

Minghao is struck by your foresight and, adversely, his absolute lack of it. The most he had to do was appease a sulky Mingyu and message back the rest of the boys. His brain races to figure out if he has any schedules for— Friday, was it? A practice, maybe. Or a recording. 

Either way, he’s screwed. You’re screwed. 

Minghao his face in one hand and quietly prays that you know how to dance. 

He skims over the rest of your letter. 

I don’t know why this is a thing. I don’t know if it is meant to be a thing. I’m going to try and look for some answers, whether or not I wake up as you/myself. 

Wish me luck. 

A small part of Minghao feels a tug at the thought of both of you ending your letters with the concept of luck. That feeling is quickly replaced by something akin to dread, because he’s fairly convinced that this is no longer a dream. 

Minghao has woken up in a body that isn’t his. Minghao has woken up in your body— the body of a person he’s sure he’s never met.

He has to live a day in your life with nothing to go by but the notes you’ve left and a handful of context clues. 

For a moment, Minghao contemplates just going back to sleep. Maybe if the both of you just slept right now, the switch would trigger. Maybe he could just spend the whole day in bed until you have to swap again.

The latter seems like the best idea until knuckles rap against the bedroom door. 

Your mother pops her head through the crack in the door. “I’m going to leave early today. The rain isn’t looking so good,” she says with a slight grimace. 

Minghao glances out the window. It’s all he can do, really, to keep himself from not going insane then and there. 

“Take care,” he says. 

He’s suddenly acutely aware of your voice— the cadence and timbre of it. He knows what you sound like, how you write, and he wonders how the two might combine. What might be the right thing to say in this situation. 

Because your mother has that look again, that openly dubious expression. 

“Are you alright?” she asks cautiously, not quite stepping into the bedroom just yet. 

A flash of panic rises up in Minghao. What would you say? What would you do? 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His tone’s just a little haughty now. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Minghao nearly winces, but he persists. “Go on, don’t get caught in the rain.” 

Your mother lets out a huff of a laugh, mumbling something like ‘ungrateful kid’ as she retreats. Despite that, it seems to work; she takes her leave without another protest. Minghao lets out a shaky breath.  

His— your stomach, really— lets out a low grumble. A part of him wonders if you’ve been just on edge as he’s been. Unable to eat properly, losing sleep over this whole thing. 

Regardless, the least he can do is take care of you. He pads over to the kitchen and rummages through the refrigerator for some leftovers. All the while, he’s thinking of what he has in his own kitchen. 

Will you be hungry? You did say you liked his snacks. Would that be enough? 

The questions rattling in his head turn into considerably more stressful ones. 

Is this going to happen forever? Will he have to spend the rest of his life swapping bodies with you on a day-to-day basis?

He thinks of the group, thinks of your mother. Thinks of his demanding job and your terrible boss. 

Minghao nearly panics again. He manages to keep it together enough to make a sandwich and sip some coffee. 

He tries to meditate, even, but it’s like your body knows that it’s not a practice that you frequent. Your hands twitch in the stillness; your heart only slams harder instead of calming. You need to catch a goddamn break, Minghao thinks as he grits his teeth and tries to relax. 

Something good comes out of his attempt, at least. It comes as an epiphany of some sorts— how he suddenly remembers a portion of your letter. 

I’m going to try and look for some answers, you had written. 

He might as well do the same. 

Once he’s changed into outerwear that’s slightly more acceptable for the rainy weather, he spends a good amount of time searching for your wallet. When he goes to check it, he inadvertently lets out a grumbled “damn.”

Your wallet has nothing but a couple of loose bills. 

Minghao can’t blame you, not really, but you’re certainly giving him very little to work with. A part of him even feels kind of bad for you. Not only did you have a demon for a boss; you were also severely underpaid. He makes a mental note to bring that up in his next letter to you. 

He can’t go far with the lack of funds, though that’s not the only thing hindering his quest for answers. It’s pouring outside, the rain coming in heavy droplets. 

Minghao braves it with a raincoat and an umbrella, hoping against hope to find something. Anything. 

As luck would have it, your neighborhood has a local library. 

When he steps in, the librarian doesn’t pay him much heed. Minghao is momentarily amused by the thought. Did you not come here often? 

It’s a quaint place with a scarce collection. A lot of the novels are on the older end— published nearly a decade ago— but they remain in pristine condition. Minghao skips over the best-sellers and the manga serieses, instead opting to sift through the psychology textbooks. 

He’s not surprised when he doesn’t find anything of use there, when he spends nearly four hours reading and reading to no avail. The lack of non-fiction about a body swapping phenomenon is to be expected. This wasn’t something that just happened, after all. 

And yet it’s happening to me, Minghao thinks with frustration as he grabs at his sixth book of the afternoon. The unexpected force knocks some of the surrounding books onto the floor. 

The librarian gives him a vicious side eye. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Minghao mumbles as he immediately gets to his knees. 

His hands close around one of the books he knocked over. It’s a heavy hardbound with a gorgeous deep red cover and metallic gold lettering. There’s a dragon featured on the front and the familiar iconography of it nearly bowls Minghao over. 

While still crouched down on the floor, Minghao flips through the pages. The images that go flashing by are not strangers to him, but there’s one in particular that he’s looking for. 

He finds it on the thirtieth page. Almost out of instinct, his fingers trace over the characters. 

月老. Yue Lao. 

Suddenly, Minghao is a child again, listening to his mother’s stories. He had been young and wide-eyed, sprawled on her lap as she talked soothingly about the god who presented himself as an old man under the moon.  

The god of marriage and love. He’s the reason why your bàba and I met, his mother would say amusedly. Yue Lao made it possible. 

How? His younger self had demanded. How did he make sure? 

His mother had laughed, then. Had stroked Minghao’s hair out of his face as she told him about the myth. The magical cord may stretch or tangle, but it will never break. 

And, oh, how Minghao had prayed back then. He prayed to Yue Lao the hardest— his eyes squeezed shut, his hands clasped to his chest. 

I hope I find love. 

It doesn’t matter when, or where, or how. 

Qǐng, Yue Lao. Please, please, please. 

“Are you going to check that out or what?” 

Minghao is dragged out of his memories at the sound of the librarian’s sharp tone. “I—” 

The words stick in his throat. Eventually, he manages a meek, “I’ll put it back.”

It’s still pouring as he leaves the library and makes the short walk back to your apartment. The rainwater pooling in the gutters has muck and grime sticking to the bottom of his— technically your— rain boots. Another thing to apologize for, Minghao thinks wryly. 

He seeks temporary shelter underneath the corner store near your apartment block. The vendor looks up expectantly. 

“The usual?” the woman croaks, and it takes a moment for Minghao to register that he’s being addressed.  

“Not today,” he responds with a tight smile. 

The vendor lets out a bark of laughter. “When have you ever said ‘no’ to me?” she says with a tut of disapproval. Before Minghao can protest, the stranger is already shuffling over to her cooking station. 

Minghao watches in silence when he realizes what’s being made. Some fruit is speared onto a bamboo skewer, then dipped into a simmering syrup. It emerges coated like a clear gemstone before it’s shoved into a bowl of ice. 

Tanghulu, Minghao thinks dazedly as he accepts the snack. “Thank you,” he says softly.

The vendor smiles. She’s already missing a couple of teeth. 

Minghao takes a tentative bite. Tanghulu was a familiar enough delicacy, but the fruit he'd been given— your ‘usual’— is something he hasn't seen in quite some time. 

The date-plum persimmon is soft and glutinous, wrapped in a thin layer of crisp sweetness. Minghao can't remember the last time he had black jujube this way. 

“You’re still the only one who likes that stuff.” There’s an edge of fondness to the vendor’s tone. A clear indicator that you have some sort of camaraderie with her, something that Minghao isn’t entirely privy to. “Do you know how hard it is to find stock of that darn fruit?” 

It seems like a rhetorical question, like something that you’d probably take in stride. But Minghao can’t bring himself to joke. His free hand is already fishing for your wallet, where he’s prepared to blow the last of your money on this dessert. 

The vendor shakes her head. “Not today,” she chirps, echoing Minghao’s words from earlier. Her gaze is fixed over his shoulder, where the downpour is relentless. 

Minghao is not quite sure what the norm is supposed to be. Do the two of you talk? Do you leave right after you’ve made your purchase? 

He doesn’t want to be rude, so he mumbles his gratitude and decides to stick around for a moment. The vendor thankfully chooses not to make conversation. 

Minghao spends a long time just standing there, making slow work of the sticky date-plum. He watches the rain that never lets up. He watches the lights of your apartment building flicker on as night falls. He watches, and he tries to commit it to memory as he finishes off his tanghulu. 

For what it’s worth, he’s glad to ‘share’ this with you— something sweet to get the both of you by. 

Come Saturday, Minghao wakes up with more questions than answers.

Your letter is within reach, resting atop his bedside table. He goes to read it despite the fact that he’s barely lucid. 

It’s shorter this time. If he strained, he could almost hear the words in your voice. A distant echo. 

I can’t believe you’re actually an idol. Have you met BIGBANG? 

That draws a surprised laugh out of him. It’s been years since he last heard of his industry seniors. The thought of you being a second gen fan is a little endearing to him. 

Anyway, I told everyone who contacted you that you were really sick. Like, throwing up levels of sick. ‘Coups-hyung’ said he would send a manager, but I assured him that you already had one on the way. You might want to corroborate that lie. 

I know I said I would look for answers, but I couldn’t really go far. I was scared of getting lost. And, man, your neighborhood is overwhelming. I’ve lived in Seoul my whole life and I don’t think I’ve ever been in this part of the city. 

I ended up spending most of my day just reading your books. Good taste. 

The compliment puts the smallest grin on his face.   

I promise to do better research when I’m back in my own body. ‘Till then. 

As curt as your letter is, it gives him an idea he probably wouldn’t have had otherwise. Better research. Back in his own body.

He fishes for your first letter, which he had kept tucked in his drawer. It’s still there, which means the past couple of days have not been a bout of psychosis. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or horrified. 

Minghao focuses instead on scanning your introduction, where you had mentioned your neighborhood. Umyeon-deong. 

While he’s in the back of the cab, Minghao texts back his members. He’s vague, still, but it’s not anything particularly new. Feeling a little better. Getting a check-up, just in case. Stop worrying. I’ll let you know how it goes. 

The heat is oppressive for July, almost beating down on Minghao’s back as he finally makes it to the district. It’s a full 180 from yesterday’s rain. He regrets the baseball cap and the hoodie, but both are necessary evils. 

He’s not entirely sure where to drop off, so he settles for one of the corners at the mouth of the neighborhood. Once he’s there, he just— begins to walk in a general direction.

Later, he realizes he probably could have pulled up Google Maps. He would have benefited from asking around, would have cut his time in half if he deigned to admit that he was lost. But, at the moment, he’s just taking it all in. 

The apartment complexes. The children’s park. The liquor store. 

Briefly, he wonders if he’ll run into you. Would you recognize him? 

Would he even want you to? 

Minghao is so busy mulling it over that he almost misses it. The streetside food stand advertising fresh tanghulu. It feels like yesterday— well, it was yesterday. His mouth is already watering at the thought of the candied date-plums as he wanders over to the stand. 

A rasping voice addresses him. He looks up from scanning the selection, realizing with a jolt that it’s the same vendor.

But it’s also— not. 

Something is off. 

Something he can’t quite place.

It almost steals the breath out of Minghao. He probably looks dumbstruck, looks stupid with his mouth hanging slightly agape, but the vendor asks again, “What do you want?”

Minghao forces an answer out of his chest. “Do you have— black jujube?”

A myriad of micro expressions flash across the seller’s face. It starts with recognition, but ends with something closer to tightness. She gives a labored grunt in response before going to make the snack. 

When she hands it over to Minghao, there’s a slight quiver in her fingers. She nearly drops it, even, but Minghao catches it just in time. 

“Sorry,” she grouses. “It’s an order that a regular of mine used to have.” 

There’s a low ringing in Minghao’s ears as he says “ah,” as he hands over his payment. The vendor busies herself with cleaning her workstation, and Minghao tries to enjoy the date-plums, but it’s not as good as he remembers it. 

Was it perhaps a difference in taste buds? 

No, he thinks. It’s the lump in his throat. It’s the seller’s words nagging at the back of his mind. 

An order that a regular of mine used to have. Used to. 

He saw her yesterday. You were supposed to have seen her yesterday. 

As he munches on the fruit, he asks almost too casually, “Is it your first time selling in this area?” 

The vendor shoots him a suspicious glare. Minghao knows he’s being a little odd with the line of his small talk so he fields his question, tries to make it come out more naturally. “I remember you used to have a spot somewhere else,” he offers. “In front of an apartment building.”

This time, it’s the seller’s turn to mumble “ah.” 

“That’s why you had that order,” she says with a humorless laugh. “You knew them, huh?” 

“Them?” 

The vendor says your name. The ringing in Minghao’s ear gets louder; his fingers, tightening around the skewer of his tanghulu. It’s the first time he’s hearing your name in his own body and it sends a shiver down his spine. 

The question is even harder to answer. Does he know you? Was he allowed to say that?—

No. No, wait. The vendor had said knew. 

The ringing reaches an almost feverish pitch. It’s a miracle that Minghao hears anything else, that he picks up the murmured words that the seller says next.  

“It’s a real shame,” she says with a voice so soft, so solemn, so small. “It’s been nine years, hasn’t it?” 

Nine years.

Nine years. 

Nine years. 

Since what? Since you? 

A lot of things haven’t made sense to Minghao in the past couple of days, but this— this is the one that baffles him the most. He saw you— he was you— yesterday. 

When Minghao finally finds his voice, it’s to ask for a favor. 

The vendor complies, albeit skeptically. She hangs a ‘be right back’ sign over her stall. It’s a short walk, not more than seven minutes. 

If Minghao’s ears had been ringing earlier, now, it’s just dead silence. A dreadful sort of quiet as he stares at the ruins of the apartment building he was staring at just the day before. 

The seller is watching his face carefully. “You didn’t know?” she prompts gently. 

Minghao realizes he has to come up with something. “We were friends. Me and—” He chokes around your name. When he finally says it out loud for the first time, he feels guilty. It feels so wrong to be saying it in this context. To have it be part of a lie. “But then—” 

He trails off. The vendor supplies, “You lost touch?” 

Sure. Minghao gives a jerky nod in response. That’s one way to put it. 

He’s not even looking for an explanation, but the seller gives him one. “The typhoon was so bad that it triggered landslides,” she says gruffly. She nods towards the direction of the mountain towering over the neighborhood. “I think the death toll was around eighteen people.” 

Minghao resists the urge to scream. If he were a lesser man, he might have fainted. Instead, he quietly says, “Nine years ago.” 

“Nine years ago,” the vendor confirms. She pauses before adding, her voice just a little sadder, “A tragedy.” 

“Tragedy,” Minghao repeats. That doesn’t even begin to cover it, he thinks. 

Neither of them say anything for a long time. He can feel the pity rolling off the seller in waves; still, he can’t bring himself to turn away. He stares, and he stares, and he stares at the rubble, at the derelict building. At the mere echo of what had been so loud and alive to him just yesterday.

After what feels like forever, he asks another question. “Is— is the library still around?” 

The vendor leads the way. At the door of the library, she attempts to give Minghao a reassuring smile. It’s all just gums, now. No teeth. There’s an endless refrain of nine years, nine years, nine years screeching through Minghao’s head as the seller bids him goodbye with “I’m sorry you lost your friend.” 

“I’m sorry, too,” he responds with a solemnity that doesn’t need to be feigned. 

The librarian isn’t the same one. 

This one has a calmer demeanor, a more restrained smile. Somehow, that only makes Minghao feel much worse. He knows what he’s looking for this time; he goes straight to the neighborhood records and scrolls all the way back to nine years ago. 2015. 

It’s a lot of information to digest all at once. There’s the newspaper clippings about the heavy rainfall. The flash floods, the landslides. Class action lawsuits. Landmine threats. Government incompetence. 

Minghao feels like he’s drowning in news, but it’s still not what he’s looking for. 

He finds it in a directory. There’s two people with the same last name and Minghao nearly loses it then and there, at the thought of your mother, too— 

He focuses on you for now. His quivering finger traces the cell that contains your name, your date of birth. 1997. The same year as him. A couple of months younger, though. 

Nine years ago, Minghao had been 18. Just about to debut. 

Nine years ago, you had been an editorial assistant. Not exactly what I want to be doing, you had written in your first letter to him. There was no way for you to know that you would never have the chance to be anything more.  

Minghao’s eyes fall on the date of death. 

Except— 

It’s not nine years ago yesterday, not nine years ago today. It’s tomorrow. 

In that very moment, he understands what he’s meant to do. 

When Minghao wakes up in your body on Sunday, he knows he has only one chance. 

He had read up all about it the ‘day’ prior but the details were vague. None of the news reports mentioned when exactly the landslide would happen. The most he gleamed was that it would be due to an unstable slope from the nearby Mount Umyeon. 

A wall of mud three storeys high hit the building, one article had said. It’s the only information that Minghao has to go by as he drags himself out of bed, ignoring the blare of your obnoxious alarm. 

He goes straight for your mother’s room. She’s already awake, standing by the window. 

Outside, the storm rages on. Your mother turns to face Minghao. “It’s not looking good out there,” she says disapprovingly. “The news said it’s the heaviest rainfall in nearly a century.” 

Back in his body, Minghao had contemplated how he would go about this. He thought he might try to coax your mother, might be logical and rational in urging her to evacuate. 

In that very moment, though, he instead finds himself blurting out, “We’re going to die.” 

A beat. Your mother looks unfazed. 

“You’re always so dramatic.” 

The panic simmers in the pit of Minghao’s stomach. “We’re going to die,” he repeats, his tone on the shriller end now. 

It wasn’t like him to give in to hysteria; he was you, though, and your mother seemed nonchalant enough about it. He’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. “It’s just a little bit of rain,” your mother says dismissively as she squeezes past Minghao and heads towards the kitchen. 

Minghao is on her heels, his hands wringing together. “We can’t stay here,” he pleads. “We have to leave.” 

Your mother shoots Minghao— you— an exasperated look. “Where are we going to go in this weather?” 

“No. No, no. We have to go somewhere safe.” 

“We’re safe here—” 

“We’re not—”

It’s almost like a crack of thunder, the way your mother says your name. The sound shuts Minghao up immediately. It’s a familiar warning, an intonation that all mothers seem to wield over their children.

“What’s going on with you, really?” your mother questions, her hands at her hips. She’s eyeing Minghao with mild annoyance but he sees it for what it is. Concern. “You’ve been so odd these past few days. Is there something you’re not telling me?” 

And how is Minghao supposed to answer that? 

I’m not actually your child. I’ve swapped bodies with a man who lives nine years in the future. Our survival hinges on whether or not you’ll hear me out. 

When Minghao stays silent for a little too long, your mother shakes her head. “Get it together,” she says sternly. 

Maybe it’s that. Maybe that’s what finally gets Minghao to say—

“Please.” 

Your mother pauses in the middle of rifling through the refrigerator. For a long, terrible moment, the only sound is the rain. 

Minghao’s hands are shaking at his side. “Please,” he repeats. He knows he sounds more like himself than you. He knows he’s being out of character, being obvious. 

But he needs your mother to understand. She’s looking at him now like he’s a stranger. 

Like you’re a stranger. And you are— at least in that moment. 

The words tumble out of Minghao before he can contain them. “I want to live.”

He doesn’t know where it’s all coming from, this rush of emotion. Your voice wavers; he pushes on. “I want to live,” he gasps out. “I want to move us to an apartment that’s not next to a damn mountain. I want to not work in this damn job. I want to live until I’m your age, until I’m even older than that, dammit—” 

Your mother crosses the room, the refrigerator long forgotten. When she raises a hand to Minghao’s face, he doesn’t even realize that some tears had escaped. 

These are all things he wants for you, he realizes.

He wants you to have a good job. He wants you and your mother to be out of harm’s way. He wants you to live a long, full life. 

“Please,” Minghao says a third time, his voice cracking around the word.

There’s a softness to your mother’s gaze; this time, her worry is undeniable. She holds Minghao’s face— no, he thinks. She’s holding your face. Her child’s face. Her child, who’s crying, who’s begging. 

That’s likely the reason why she acquiesces. “Alright,” she exhales, using her thumb to wipe away some of Minghao’s tears. “We’ll leave. We’ll go.”

That’s only half the battle, though. 

Minghao mutters something below his breath. Your mother raises her eyebrows in a silent question, and so he clears his throat before speaking louder. 

“We have to evacuate the entire building,” he mumbles. 

It takes time to convince your mother, which stresses Minghao out beyond belief. Time isn’t a luxury that he has. Not when he has no idea when the landslide will hit. Not when the rain is only worsening, making it less likely to persuade people to leave the comfort of their homes.

By some grace, he manages to get your mother on board. Sure, he had to spew odd specifics and statistics about the dangers of landslides, but it works. The two go door to door. 

They’re met with initial resistance. Minghao doesn’t care. 

He badgers the elderly. He negotiates with the children. He almost gets to his knees when a family with a baby refuses to budge. 

The entire apartment complex is bewildered. 

But when somebody is batting so hard for safety, when somebody is so desperate in what seems to be just a little more than paranoia— you listen. 

The landslide hits just as Minghao is helping the last resident out of the building. 

He’s never felt anything quite like it. He’s experienced earthquakes and their aftershocks. He’s been in stadiums that have shook with the sheer amount of people, the pulse of their music. 

This one starts with a rumble. Low and deep, like it’s coming from the very ground. He hears the trees crack, the boulders knock together. And then— 

Your mother is grabbing him by the arm. She’s screaming, screaming, screaming, the sound drowned out by the storm, by the shrieks of all the other evacuated residents, by the mud that suddenly crashes down on the complex in one fell swoop. It’s everything, everywhere, all at once. 

Minghao is soaked from head to toe. Some of the mud flies and sticks to his hair, his clothes. He can almost taste it, too. The earth. The rain. He feels the chill to his very bones.

Despite that, he laughs. Your mother is dragging him, you, away from the calamity, the tragedy, and all that Minghao can do is laugh. 

Because he made sure that no one was left in the building. 

Because he’s alive. 

You’re alive. 

Later, when everyone is gathered in an evacuation center— shivering underneath blankets, talking about how it was all such a close call— Minghao falls asleep at your mother’s side. He feels like a kid again, with his hair being stroked, with soft words being uttered to him. 

He drifts off and dreams. 

Minghao is sure that this is a dream because his surroundings take on the hazy quality of one. 

It’s just a little too bright to be real, the setting bathed in a light that feels almost like a bulb had exploded. Minghao has to put one hand over his eyes— 

It’s his hand, he realizes. He’s dreaming as himself.

His sight adjusts. He’s at a dining table. It’s a two-person dining table. Much smaller than he’s used to.

“It’s you.”

He drops his hand and braces it against the edge of the table, because your voice— he should be used to it, shouldn’t he? He had used it for a bit, formed words like sorry and thank you with a lilting tone. 

When he responds, his own words are imperceptibly soft. 

“It’s me,” he confirms. 

You’re seated across from him. He had caught glimpses of your features in reflections, in photographs, but it’s something entirely new. To be taking you in from an outsider’s perspective. He sees how you would control your body, how you were inclined to react. It makes him dizzy, just how much he had gotten wrong about your mannerisms. 

The first proper words you speak are, “You have some good friends, you know?” 

A corner of Minghao’s lip twitches upward. The thought of the boys constantly checking in on him seems about right. 

“And you have a good mother.” Minghao pauses. He did say he would mention the next part. “Terrible job, though. You should quit.” 

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Idol,” you shoot right back. 

He winces; you laugh. The sound has the edges of his vision growing fuzzy. A sepia of the past, the present, and whatever this moment is, all blurring into one. Minghao doesn’t want to wake up. 

“What happens now?” you ask, your own fingers tap, tap, tapping on the table between you two. 

“I’m not sure.” 

“Why—?” 

“— Did this happen in the first place?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ve wondered the same thing.” 

The edges are closing in a little more now. Minghao can feel it— the familiar warmth of his bed at home, the tug of his own time. He’s already asked so much from his mother’s old gods but he lets his eyes flutter close so he can make a final plea. 

Just one more minute. Give me one more minute, please. 

“I think…” he starts slowly. His voice already sounds so distant. “It’s my fault.” 

“Your fault.” Skepticism undercuts your tone, enough to prompt Minghao to open his eyes again. 

He looks down at his hands, the ones that had folded atop the table. “I prayed for you,” he admits quietly. “Every day, back when I was a kid.” 

Confusion drips from your every word. “For me specifically?” 

He laughs. “Okay, maybe not you specifically,” he amends. “But—” 

It’s getting unbearably bright now, so much that he can only really make out the silhouette of your form. He itches to reach, to touch, just to see if you’re real. He doesn’t want to push it, though. 

Minghao settles with holding up his hand. If you squinted, if you really, really tried, you might see it, too. 

The faint glimmer of a red cord— looped around his thumb, tied to your pinky. 

Every day, back when I was a kid. 

“I prayed for this,” he repeats.

And so, in some way, he supposes you’re right. 

He had prayed for you. 

The chime of bells. 

The beige ceiling. 

Minghao is fairly sure he had dreamt, but it’s the kind of dream you forget the moment you wake up.

He blinks once, then twice. Odd. It felt like a good dream, too. 

There’s a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoming in his chest, though it fades just as quickly as it blooms. 

Minghao never wakes up as you again. 

The universe takes, and takes, and takes. It takes away Minghao’s memory. He’s not entirely sure what happened to him those couple of days. Seungcheol says he went to the hospital. Mingyu laments that they fought. 

Minghao borrows one of Soonyoung’s favorite words. Funk. He had been in a funk, probably. An off couple of days.

He’s back to regular programming so seamlessly that the others are forced to believe him. 

Still—

Minghao goes about the next couple of weeks feeling like something is missing. 

It annoys him to no end. It’s not any of his valuables, he’s sure. He double, triple checked everything. He turns his entire apartment upside down and puts it back together again. He goes for meals with all of his members, hoping to find the answers there. 

Nothing.

He falls into dreamless sleep every night, and wakes up every morning with that empty feeling in his chest.

It’s an unassuming Wednesday evening— one that he spends driving around with Vernon and Wonwoo— when it hits him. 

“Hey,” he says, throwing them a glance through the rearview mirror. “I could go for some dessert.”  

Vernon perks up at that. “Should we head to Myeongdeong?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Vernon throws out directions. Wonwoo queues the music. 

Minghao keeps his eyes on the road ahead.

The night market is an assault on the senses but it’s also a good cover for the three idols. They set out with their matching hoodies and half-face masks, in search of something to fulfill their cravings. 

Vernon goes to get some dragon’s beard candy. 

Wonwoo wanders off to purchase some hotteok. 

Minghao… He isn’t sure, really, which is a bit ironic. He had been the one to make the call, after all. He weaves through the crowds, his hands in his jacket pockets, as he scrutinizes the stalls. 

Kkwabaegi. Bungeoppang. Tanghulu. Dalgona. Bing—

He backs up a bit. 

“Hi,” he greets the seller. “This is a bit weird, but do you have black jujube?” 

The tanghulu vendor lets out a grunt of approval. “I think I’ve got one more stick,” she notes as he ducks to check her stock. 

What a weird craving, Minghao thinks to himself. But it’s the first thing that came to mind. 

A voice at his side addresses the seller by name.

“Got my date-plum persimmon, ajumma?” 

It’s not a voice that Minghao has heard before, and yet—

Frantically, he tries to sort through the hundreds of fansigns and fan meetings he’s had in the past decade. Could it be that? Could that be the reason why the lilt was so damn familiar? 

As he turns to look at the source, he knows in his heart of hearts that it’s not the case.

You’re already turning away, though, grumbling about the lack of the tanghulu that you want. Minghao hadn’t even heard the vendor respond.

There’s a ringing in his ears. 

“Excuse me,” he manages.

You falter in your steps. When you look up at him, he sees the same flash of confusion. One that’s borne out of recognition. 

The ringing has gotten louder. Despite that, he pushes out three words. 

He thinks he’s yelling them; in reality, they’re barely audible over the din of the night market. 

“Haven’t we met?” he breathes. 

For one dreadful, dragging moment, he’s convinced he’ll die if you say no, even though his mind is being terribly uncooperative. He can’t place when, or where, or how he met you. He can’t say if you’re familiar because he knows you or someone like you. 

All he knows is that he can’t, won’t let you walk away.

Your response makes everything in Minghao’s head go quiet. 

“I thought so, too,” you say, and something in his chest thrums. 

It feels a lot like an answered prayer. 

[matrix--lazy]

HELLO SHARDILVER NATION‼️🏳️‍🌈

[no filters ↓]

[naffeclipse]

Sea Tears

Reader x Selkie!Moon

Commission Info

Thank you to the darling @cipher-the-sidhe for commissioning me to write about Selkie!Moon! The setting and the scenario are absolutely delightful. It's a shame I haven't written a selkie until now but I'm so glad I finally did!

Content Warning for mild injury and blood.

———

You tread carefully through the salt-tinged darkness and listen. A low hum plays along the moonbeams brightening the Salish Sea coast in an ancient voice you cannot translate. The fish and the seals might understand it as it thrums like insects on the wind or the constant, murmuring dance of the waves. You wonder if it is simply the sea. Perhaps it is something hidden along the dark inky waters now softly lapping up in the high tide.

Bends and sharp juts of coves shelter the rocky beaches. Further inland, a dense forest of coniferous evergreens conceal the beautiful shore and thrive in high levels of salt spray. You descend to the water, minding every step knowing that a slick, ocean-stained rock could easily lead you into a stumble and your head could crack open like an egg on the wave-smooth stones. 

These beaches are not for sunbathing and sand castles. They are to stand and admire the great breath of the Salish Sea and the bumps of crags lining the dark teal ocean—if the mist and cold don’t form an avid deterrent.

You rub your arms over the sleeves of your jacket and breathe a crisp scent. Driftwood dots the edge of land and water, and heaps of bull kelp sway farther out in the sea, lurking like guardians just along the surface to whatever might wander from the depths. 

Tonight, the fog is wonderfully parted by the silver-fingered light of the full moon. You scan the crevices in between dark, angled but blunt rocks, seeking the smooth fragments of seashells. In your years, you have rarely discovered a whole heart cockle or horse clam shell. There are only remnants of what was whole. 

The sand is firm and brown. The water gushes between stones before receding gently back with a frothy lace edge, bubbling and tumbling over itself just to do it all over again. You spy a fragment of a castoff shell, bleached and pale. You bend carefully down to scoop up its shard like a piece missing from a puzzle you wish to finish.

You hold it between your fingers. A curve or perhaps half of a spiral of a shell, sculpted by the waves now, softened by the time of being broken. Still, it is beautiful.

Carefully, you straighten while you slip it into your pocket. A soft understanding fills you to the bottom of your rib cage. A kinship, perhaps. You cast your eyes around you for a moment, admiring the moonlight until it shines upon a texture that is not often found here. 

Fur. Silver and speckled in blue-gray, it sits, slumped and hunched between two rocks, lying lifeless.

A seal. The dawning comes upon you in a moment of the rushing tide, and then, your feet are moving towards it. Your heart twists while you watch it sharply. How it could be so still and thin? Is it injured? You don’t have your phone with you—you left it in the car parked beside the oceanside road. Who would you call? Wildlife service? Perhaps it’s already too late.

No. You pray it isn’t.

You weave between sand and stones. Where the unmoving figure lies is thick with rocks, with almost no beach to speak of other than what is buried beneath. Your sandals slip on the slick edges of the rugged terrain. Wobbling, you catch yourself before you sling your body along a craggy boulder. You pass over the harsh edges and corners of the rocky shore, almost within reach. The fur hasn’t moved an inch at your rash approach. Your throat bobs for a moment in the horror of coming upon a long rotted seal—then your sandal-clad foot slips. 

A whip of sea and wind, and you fall. You throw your elbow down to catch you and it scraps sharply down the side of rough rock. You gasp when you bounce and slide, splashing into a thin strip of the tide slipping between cracks and crevices, but hold your chin high, away from any fatal head injuries.

You inhale slowly, eyes wide in the relief that you are not currently dripping your brains out of your skull like spilled yoke. A thin, stinging pain erupts along your forearm. Prying yourself off of the ground, watching where you place your feet, you get back up. A glance at the fur confirms it is still there. Slowly, you twist your arm to examine a fine, ragged cut slicing towards your wrist. A mix of sand, salt water, and blood spread across your skin. 

You breathe as it flares with pain. You close your eyes and convince yourself that you’ll clean and bandage it once you get back to your car.

First, the seal.

You lower your arm. Blood drops into the water as you at last reach the two stones the fur is wedged between, and tentatively, you reach out with the vain hope it might be warm and move with life. Your fingers stroke over the beautifully silver shade of the coat, dappled with blue-gray markings and a few, lovely rings at the end. But strangely, it’s cool with mist and bunched like fabric. Your mind turns the conundrum over slowly as if examining a broken seashell before you tug on it, higher, higher, until you hold in your hand the thin skin of a seal.

A pelt.

There is no blood, sinew, or otherwise, much to your relief. It carries a smooth sleekness on its underside. The strangeness of it tugs at a part of your mind, a memory of folklore and tales spoken around a table late at night. The beautiful pelt fills your vision with its starry silver shade and the Pacific ocean-deep hue of its markings. Carefully, as if handling platinum and sapphires, you caress the fur with the back of your fingers. A drop of blood from your arm threatens to stain it and you quickly shift the hide to your clean arm. You can’t ruin this beautiful coat with your crimson.

You lift your head. You gaze out over the ocean, rippling with the incandescence of the moon upon its onyx surface. Your heart bobs within you. Your eyes seek, and your ears strain.

The hum of the ocean which has filled you since you first arrived in the darkness grows. It is no longer a muffled, soft sound carried from behind closed lips but a soft melody lifted upon a voice. It rises to the sky. Over the driftwood and waves, you turn to face it, clutching the seal skin to your chest.

A man sings.

A part of you, undeniable and filled with longing, strides towards it. Following the curve of the rocky beach, you watch your every step. A plea in your core echoes with the desire to find the one singing. The crystal vibrations of the siren call rings through your bones. 

A rocky cove crops up on the side of a bluff, cutting off the beach but resuming with a swell of the tide into its darkened alcove. Once you near the mouth, you stop to bask in the lovely timbre. 

Then, with your fingers tangled in the soft, sleek fur of the seal pelt, you stand upon a rock just out of reach of the oceanic tide and peer into the cove.

In the glow of the night, a man stands in the icy shallows. You can only gaze at his striking figure wrapped in moonbeams. He steps lightly, his movement rhythm. The water ripples softly underneath him. He waves his arms, his limbs flowing over his head and down, like a wind sweeping the rocks and ushering the mist higher onto land. He turns, and one leg sweeps over the inky surface before stepping back. 

His body is long-limbed and slender, blue-gray like the speckles on the fur you hold. Upon his face is a marking of a silver crescent. His rich copper eyes flash in the dimness and are half-lidded in his homage to the great sea. Your breath stalls in your throat caught upon his visage. His face is wide and flat. Draping behind his head is an appendage much like a seal tail, an even darker blue with spots of glimmering silver-like stars.

His voice carries a song you have no name for but that which you hold only the most reverence in its echo. Your lips part unwittingly in adoration. He sings to himself and dances to an audience of the black sky filled with the moon.

But you twitch a hand forward as if you might catch a note of his lullaby and cradle it close to your chest. The man’s head snaps towards you. You freeze.

In a second of time and starlight, he holds your gaze, and you slip into the coppery irises that fill his wide eyes. His attention slips to what you clutch. You glance down, admiring the fur anew before you find your voice, hollowed and soft.

“Is this yours?” you ask.

The man stares, motionless like the bluffs the waves beat against. A few heartbeats pass within you. The man gently dips his head. The tail on the back of his head sways slightly like a nightcap.

“It is,” he speaks. “Please return it to me. I cannot return to the sea and my brothers without my coat.”

His voice rasps through the salty air and brushes the shell of your ear as if he whispered it to you. 

The word emerges in your mind like the fall of dusk. Selkie. One who has shed his fur to take a faintly human form under the full moon. The tales you’ve caught murmurs of were always of women, beautiful and naked, who begged for their seal skin back but spent the rest of their days held captive by the man who kept it hidden, forced to become a bride and carry his children.

An ache takes over your heart at such a cruel fate.

You answer with a gentle, “Of course.”

You slowly step into the icy waters. A shiver rolls up your body and you catch your tongue between your teeth to keep from gasping out at the shock of the brine. The selkie watches you, his eyes unreadable, his hands poised with his fingers half furled—as if you intend to dangle his seal skin in front of him before yanking it out of reach.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe. You wade far less gracefully in the echoes of his dance and song to reach him under the cove’s mouth, “I didn’t intend to keep it. I only meant to return it to you.”

You find the truth along your tongue. Even if you didn’t catch a glimpse of his beautiful melody, you would have left the coat where it lay, too afraid of stranding a selkie without her or his skin.

He says nothing until you present it to him. Carefully, you hold it out to him and his long fingers grasp it. A soft breath leaves him. His shoulders lower while he turns his coat over and examines it, stroking the fine fur before leveling an unreadable gaze over you. You’re small before his tall figure. You feel clumsy and cumbersome in comparison to his lissom body. 

A true selkie, right before your eyes.

“So you did,” he at last murmurs as if he were dreaming. His copper eyes glide over you. His blue-gray body shimmers with a galaxy-like illumination. He carefully folds his coat over his arm before holding out his other hand and bidding you closer. “Come here. Sit with me.”

You stare at his offered palm. A few thoughts cross your mind of danger and temptation, a selkie ready to snatch away an unwary human, but would he have asked you so kindly? You slide your fingers into his grasp. He holds your hand before gently tugging you down until you cross your legs and sit in the icy cove water beside him.

“Is it true?” you ask, then flush slightly with the bluntness of your voice echoing in the alcove.

He tilts his head at you, the appendage at the back of his head slipping over your shoulder. His silence coaxes you softly into asking, “Do humans really steal the coats of selkies and force them into marriage?”

The selkie’s eyes lower, somber, before he dips his chin. “It is true. But not always.” His eyes find yours and hold them softly.

He has yet to release your hand, but slowly, he lifts your wrist and turns it slowly. You almost forget the sting until the sight of the bloody cut down your arm strikes you once more. Your lips twist at the sight, glancing at the selkie and fearing his judgment. How human you are, bleeding in his ocean.

“What did this?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes outlining the edges of your wound.

“A fall,” you say sheepishly, “I thought your coat was an injured seal.”

A laugh, rolling and deep, loosens from his lips. A not unwelcome shudder fills you in the sound. Mischievous and sincere, all at once.

“You must be more careful,” he says, his laughter dying as he leans closer.

You curl your fingers. Pressing back in the slightest as he hovers over your torn flesh, you hushly ask his name.

But he doesn’t answer. You watch in the quiet of the tide as the selkie blinks, and a tear falls onto your sliced forearm. A soft tingle spreads through your flesh. You glance down, and another tear falls, mingling with the sand and ocean salt, but the tingling becomes a gentle sensation knitting and stitching the skin together. In stunned silence, you observe seven tears in total bind your wound as if you never fell.

“This is my thanks for returning my coat.” The selkie releases your arm to gently wash it with a touch of brackish water. Blood and sand wash away, leaving your skin as it once was. He lifts his head and smiles. “I am Moon, and I must go.”

“Oh.” The sound is so small coming from you. “Moon…”

You echo your name. It feels so weak in comparison to his, but he takes it within his mouth and he sings it once. Your heart bobs within your chest as if floating upon a storm-tossed sea. 

“Goodbye,” he rasps. He holds your gaze, soft as seafoam, and tugs his coat over his body. He slips down into the water. A flick of velvet flippers emerges, and a large seal lifts his head above water. 

You gaze at the beautiful copper eyes of the seal. Whiskers twitch and a wet nose presses closer to you. Slowly, carefully, you stretch your fingers and stroke the soft fur of his head. Your palm runs down the slippery slope of his neck to his strong, blubbered back. The selkie holds beautifully still.

“Goodbye, Moon,” you whisper.

The selkie eyes upturn, somehow grinning in an animal form. In a sharp splash, he turns and dives into the water. The sleek dappled fur of his pelt mingles with the moonlight reflecting upon the black ocean before the waves reclaim one of its own. 

You stay in the cove for a time you cannot account for, watching the waters, wishing to catch the echo of his song just one last time.

Gradually, like the moon beginning to shift across the darkness, you get to your feet. Water splashes back into the cove. Your heart grows heavy and forlorn, and you rub your fingertips together as if still stroking his fur.

Perhaps you might return in search of broken seashells but find the selkie again.

[seeingivy]

dinner party

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friend's (older brother) fic

previous part linked here

an: what is going on in the house of commons (I do not know) MAJOR CRINGE ALERT but it's part of the lore idgaf this was a long time coming

--

it’s four thirty in the morning when sukuna decides to pry you from your computer. 

he’s almost positive that he’s going to get pushed back, cued on by the combination of your sleep deprivation and the concerning amount of energy drinks he knows you must have consumed within the hour. 

but the tangled mess of your hair and your deep, dark eye bags, have bothered him long enough – and if anything – he’s given you tons of grace for letting it go on for four days. 

sukuna gets working hard. he just can’t stand by working yourself to the bone. 

he finds you hunched over on the kitchen island, head down on the counter as you scribble away on your notebook – a sizable amount of ink smeared on your hands, a few empty wrappers of protein bars at your side, and your eyes barely open. 

sukuna leans forward, resting his forearms on the counter, before reaching forward to push your computer shut. the sound that follows jolts you out of your concentration, to find an…almost irritated sukuna sleepily rubbing his eyes. 

“hey. did i wake you up? i dropped the glass earlier by accident.” you mumble. 

“you broke a glass?” sukuna asks. 

“yeah. most of it is in the corner over there, i’ll swear i’ll clean it up as soon as i’m done.” 

sukuna opens his eyes fully this time, to find the stacked pile of glass sitting in the little corner, sparing you a glare before reaching for the little bin. the guilt flares up in you as you watch him drag his tired body over to the side, carefully shuffling all of the little shards away into the bag,

“sukuna. you don’t have to do that. i was going to clean it up.” 

“well, fuck off now. more time for you to sleep if i do it for you.” he mumbles. 

you’re positive he meant to make that more domineering then it ended up being. 

and it’s horrible. it’s been days since you’ve slept next to him, always climbing in as he’s climbing out to go to work – pressing a consolation kiss to his cheek before you pass out into the sheets. and now he’s up in the middle of the night, cleaning your mess just to ensure you a few more minutes of rest. 

“i’m almost done with my personal statement, i just want to make sure it’s done before i send it out to-” 

“your personal shit will still be there tomorrow.” 

you sigh. the pulsating in your head throbs quietly, eyelids heavy and aching from the light of the screen, tiredness sagging in your bones – dragging your limbs down as you lean on one of your arms. 

you still have three paragraphs left to write. your activities section could be better. you need to upload your transcripts and make sure that the letters were uploaded to the portal properly. and- 

“i’m almost done, really. i was just going to come to bed and-” 

“perfect! come now.” 

sukuna switches sides, walking up behind you and replacing his fingers with yours on your head. he can feel the pulsating under his fingertips, noting the way you lean your head against his chest and lean back the second he starts massaging into your skin. 

“you’re starting to fucking piss me off.” sukuna mutters. 

that’s what he says. it sounds more like you’re starting to concern me. 

“i’m coming, sukuna. just give me a few more minutes, okay?” 

sukuna pulls the stool at your side, before looping both of his hands around your thighs and pulling you up into his lap. his hands are steady – holding you firmly at your sides – as he looks up at you and you dig your hands into the hardness of his collarbone. 

you loop your fingers through the silver chain around sukuna’s neck, tugging on the little dog tag charm at the end to pull him closer to you. it’s a chaste kiss that you press to his lips and you you can feel him staring after – big, brown eyes peering into yours – as he kneads his hands into your skin.

you scoff. 

“are you poking my butt?” you ask. 

“maybe a little.” sukuna responds. 

“you’re such a dog.” 

“you cop a feel almost everyday. god forbid i touch my girlfriend’s butt.” 

sukuna reaches forward, tucking one of the loose strands behind your ear. 

“we used to be a real country, y’know? people used to touch butts all the time.” 

you smile and sukuna reaches up to run his fingers over your lips, the softness mirrored on his face too. and you know that a lecture is going to follow, so you bury your hands into his messy bedhead. 

“you have to fucking stop this shit.” sukuna states. 

you sigh. 

“i know. it’s just that once i start, i find it hard to stop. i just want to finish it all in one go.” 

“you want to clean up animal shit that badly?” 

you groan. 

“you’re so mean, sukuna. it’s not cleaning up animal shit…” 

“yeah, yeah…i’ve heard your whole healing and love for the earth and animals shit before, i know.” 

you dig your hands into his scalp. 

“i…i just want to make sure that i only have to apply to veterinary school once.” 

“you’re being stubborn. so what if you have to try again? it’s not a big deal.” sukuna states. 

“s’not about that. i just can’t afford to do it again, sukuna. it costs thousands of dollars and i’ve been saving up for so long. i’d hate to see the overtime i worked go to waste when i don’t even get in.” you murmur. 

sukuna doesn’t think it through when he says it. he’s almost certain that if he had thought through it properly though, it would have been the same conclusion. 

“i’ll pay for it.” sukuna states. 

it’s a horrible sensation – like pins and needles in your chest. 

you knew that sukuna was rich. that his family was rich. 

and that in earnest, sukuna probably would pay for it without even batting an eye. it wouldn’t even be the first time that you would have taken a handout from his family – for rent, car loans, when you applied to college. 

mrs. itadori was too generous. it seeped into sukuna too. 

but you refuse to take handouts from your boyfriend. not when the debt you have to pay them back is already so high. 

“are you crazy? you can’t just offer to pay for my vet school applications if i don’t get in anywhere this time around.”  

“you know i have a job right?” sukuna responds. 

“i know you have a job. but you can’t just offer it up like that! you’re acting like it’s just a five dollar iced coffee or something. it costs thousands of dollars, sukuna.” 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“it’s like an investment. you can pay me back.” sukuna states. 

the same line mrs. itadori uses. it never feels that way when they’re the one quietly shuffling you money in envelopes when you have eviction notices on your door that you never pay back. 

“you would never take my money.” you state. 

sukuna grins, before leaning forward to press a kiss to your collarbone. 

“you know me so well, princess.” 

you frown. 

“and you expect me to take yours.” you mumble. 

sukuna runs his hands through the front of your hair, before angling your down up so that you’re looking at him. 

“you know i only have a stable income because of my parents, right? that’s…i had a leg up, sweetheart. didn’t have to worry about working during school – hell, i went fucking abroad just because i could.” 

you glare at him. 

“that’s…that’s such a copout. i can’t just take a handout from you because things are harder for me. i know that you may have had some things considerably easier but that doesn’t mean i can just…start taking your money.” 

he glares back. 

“considerably easier is the understatement of the year. and i have every intent to let you pay me back when you’re a cushy doctor. you’re going to buy me a new motorcycle with that money.” 

sukuna watches the thought rattle around in your head. 

“we’re in it for the long haul. not a big deal if i have to help you pay for vet school applications, which i won’t have to because you’ll get in, but what’s mine is yours. s’gonna be our future student loan.” he murmurs. 

there’s the ghost of a smile on your face. sukuna’s fingers continue to meld softly into the hardness of your hip bones, the sensation so soothing it almost makes you keel your head back. 

and you’re sure that’s part of it – the soft touch, the overexertion, the crippling fear that you’re about to graduate and not even sure what you’ll be doing next year, that you could fail and have to rely on him – that makes you start bursting into tears and stand up to wrap your arms around him.  

you delude yourself for a second into thinking that’s how it could be. that maybe for once you wouldn’t have to worry about this type of thing, because he would be there to help you. that he would let you pay him back, that it would be your money. 

“i can’t take your money, sukuna.” you whisper. 

sukuna smiles. 

“you would do it for me.” 

“i wouldn’t be able to do it for you. i-i would want to but…” 

sukuna frowns. 

“you know money doesn’t mean shit to me right?” 

you sigh. 

“but it does to me. we already owe you so much and…and this can’t be another thing on the list of stuff i have to pay back.” you state. 

sukuna hooks his hands under your knees, before tilting you over his back and marching his way back to the room. there’s angry grumbling under his breath, that’s fully intelligible to you and makes your breath hitch. 

“why are we having this stupid fucking conversation at four in the morning? i’m not about to get into the whole logistics of marriage and shared bank accounts when you can’t even stop giggling after i touch your thighs sometimes. just chill the fuck out.” 

you feel bad. but you can’t help but laugh at how stupid he sounds as he flops you flat onto the sheets – that he haphazardly mentioned marrying you – as he rummages through the closet for your pajamas. you can tell that he’s tabled it for now and you’re more than grateful as your eyelids start to heavy with sleep. 

“arms up.” 

you oblige as he reaches for your shirt – and lightly push him as he tangles it over your head for far too long – before pulling it straight off. there’s a wide smile on his face and you reach for his wrist to stop him. 

“what’s wrong?” 

not the time. 

“nothing! i just….nothing, sorry.” 

you take the shirt from his hands before slipping it over your head and switching into the shorts. sukuna’s always quick with things like this – closing his eyes and turning around – always waiting until you were done. 

besides your momentary lapse in awkwardness when you were able to take the bath with him, you hadn’t pushed anything farther. but it was pooling in the pit of your stomach – that want to be closer to him, moving in tandem with him for something…more intimate. 

you’d talk to him about it on the weekend. 

--

“are you…sitting at the kids table?” 

you look up to find a blonde girl standing against the back end of the wall, nursing a little glass of wine in her hands. you shoot the group of kids an apologetic smile before you push off the floor, rubbing the red spots in your knee from the carpet, before giving a polite smile. 

“ah. i kind of lost my boyfriend…and i can’t find my friends. they were also playing the entire game wrong and it was hurting my soul a little bit.” 

the girl laughs, pushing her hair behind her shoulder before extending her hand out to you. 

“valid. i’d do the same thing. i’m kisa.” she states. 

you swear you know her from somewhere. though the likelihood of that is probably ninety percent – there wasn’t anyone in this town who didn’t know each other. 

“i’m y/n.” 

“wait. y/n? are you sammy’s sister?”  

point proven. 

“that’s right. yeah, she’s here somewhere. our mom was invited, she’s really good friends with mrs. itadori.” you. 

she hums in response, as you watch people shuffle in and out of the room. there’s a highly doctored smell of perfume in the room – billowing black dresses and shiny pearls – as all of you mom’s friends amble around the foyer taking their pictures. 

mrs. itadori spent a decent amount of her time planning extravagant dinner parties. and once in a while, you had to drag yourself all the way out here to show your face with yuuji. it was hardly pleasant. 

yuuji’s dad would always make a shitty comment, sammy’s ass kissing would be at its peak, and the two of you would be left to fend for the wolves. 

sukuna, naturally, knew this. so he decided to attend to. 

you just didn’t realize he’d be so popular. neither did yuuji and it makes your skin itch that you don’t know where he is right now. or that you can’t resolve the tension that he must be feeling – especially when it’s about sukuna. 

“why are you here?” 

she grins. 

“i have this really hot ex-boyfriend. i was figuring he might be here tonight since he’s back in town.” 

“do tell.” 

“oh, he’s gorgeous. like, i don’t want to objectify men, but i literally do. he’s like attractive in a ‘i want to pour battery acid into my eyes every time he looks at me’ kind of way.” 

you laugh.

“the best kind of attractive.” you affirm. 

“you get me, bitch! it’s like…i don’t mean to be so crude…and i’ve already had three glasses of wine so i’m going to blame it on that…but i need to get dicked down. fuck, i’d even suck his dick if he let me. and i hate sucking dick!” 

you snort. 

weirdly enough, this is one of your favorite things about parties like these. or going to the bar. talking to random girls in the bathroom – finding out that it’s their bachelorette party or whatever boy problems they’re having. there’s a soft solace in other people like this – that talk so openly with strangers, with a quiet trust that you can’t really seem to place. 

“weird question. why do you hate it?” you ask. 

“not weird at all, honey. it’s just not very fun to do. but sometimes it is, when you can tell the person really likes it. like my ex-boyfriend, i’d suck his dick all the time just because i wanted to, just because i liked to make him feel good. and he really loved it. and some people are fucking into it, i don’t know, they love to suck dick and do that type of thing. s’all about your interests.” 

you nod, mulling over her answer in your head. 

“do you like sucking dick?....that sounds more crude when i say it but also i’ve been talking about it for the past twenty seconds so.” she asks. 

“no! no, it’s not rude. and i asked. um, i haven’t done it before. i mean, i have or…or at least tried to but i don’t count that for…other reasons and stuff. but no, i haven’t.” 

“do you want to? you’re pretty, you said you have a boyfriend right?” 

you smile. 

“yeah. yeah, i just…get nervous about that type of thing. we haven’t done anything yet but i feel like we might soon.” 

she narrows her eyes. 

“he doesn’t pressure you, right?” 

along with the quiet trust, there’s always a well of concern. 

“no! no, the opposite really.” 

“good shit. well, don’t think about it so hard. it’ll come to you naturally. plus, when you like someone a lot, that type of stuff kind of comes with it. like my ex-boyfriend? total fucking sweetie pie. he could be standing in front of me and i’d dick him down right now if he asked. just for old times sake.”��

you laugh. 

“i really hope you find him. and get dicked down for your own sake.”  

“he was just so fucking hot! i’ve never had a guy make me feel like that. it’s like…i couldn’t have really reached my prime at my highschool prom with a guy two years younger than me…that’s embarrassing.” 

you pale. and right at that moment, sukuna walks up to you, eyes wide as he glares at you. 

“what the fuck are you doing?” 

“sukuna.”

you pause, the awkwardness of his name falling out of your mouths at the same time confirming your suspicions. 

just your luck, her aforementioned, beautiful ex-boyfriend, is sukuna. 

“sukuna! i didn’t realize you were back.” 

you can feel your chest simmering. because now she’s batting her eyelashes and twirling her hair in response to him. sukuna doesn’t even spare her a second glance and instead uses it to shoot bullets at you with his eyes. 

“what are you doing?” 

“i didn’t know! how was i supposed to know?” you whisper.

“we all went to the same school, y/n.” 

“i don’t memorize what all your ex-girlfriends look like sukuna. i have a very small thread of self-confidence and i’m hell bent on keeping it for the time being.” you respond. 

sukuna doesn’t find your joke funny. 

“do you guys know each other or something?” kisa asks. 

“kisa. this is my girlfriend, y/n. she was best friends with yuuji, remember?” sukuna states. 

she pauses for a second, before jolting up. 

“ah. the little one who used to take the cheerleading pictures, right? frizzy hair, big glasses?” she asks. 

you pinch your lips into a straight line. 

“that would be me!” you state. 

“shut the fuck up.” sukuna responds, before yanking you by the elbow into the kitchen at the side. 

you spare her a last glance over your shoulder – confusion spreading over her face – followed by the seclusion to the quiet of the kitchen. 

sukuna leans back against the fridge, running his hands through his hair, giving tight-lipped polite smiles through the people passing through the rooms. 

“what did you talk about?” 

you dig your fingers into your palm. sukuna picks up on it. 

“nothing. just pleasantries and stuff. it wasn’t a big deal!” 

“tell me. i can tell whatever it was is making you feel like shit.” 

you take a deep breath. 

“i don’t feel like shit, i just-” 

“are you guys fighting about something?” 

your eyes widen as you turn to yuuji, leaning against the frame of the door with his arms crossed on his chest. you muster a peachy smile, shaking your head as you walk up to his side and loop your arm through his. 

“of course not. we never fight!” you state. 

yuuji raises his eyebrow. 

“you never fight? ever?” 

“no! no, of course we fight. all the time actually.” you state. 

you look over at sukuna, who starts gesturing to you with his hands – with an irritated look on his face. 

what the hell are you talking about? 

you gesture back, shrugging as yuuji shuffles the two of you over to the drinks, filling up the glasses. 

“well, that doesn’t sound very healthy.” 

you take a deep breath in. 

“we don’t fight an abnormal amount. we’re like normal couples. we fight and then make up. there’s nothing weird about us actually, we’re perfect! It’s-it’s like conflict resolution and-” 

yuuji laughs, before leaning closer to you and wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

“who are you trying to convince? me or yourself? you’re rambling so much.” 

you groan, burying your palms into your eye sockets – you’re already messing this up. royally. yuuji gives you a warm smile, one that you can see from the little gaps in between your fingers, as you cross your arms and lean against the counter. yuuji gives sukuna a small nod, as sukuna takes the spot at your side, and links his arm around your shoulder. 

it feels wrong to be so openly affectionate like that. for him to pull you closer to him when yuuji’s standing right there. 

you lift your shoulders slightly until he drops his hand and you shoot him a grateful smile. 

“so really. what happened?” 

“nothing. i was talking to kisa and didn’t realize it was kisa.” 

yuuji leans his head back. 

“which one is she again? the neighbor?” 

you can feel a wave of discomfort, of an unnecessary defense bubbling up in your chest. he wasn’t actually talking to the neighbor – she just wanted advice on whether or not she should break up with her boyfriend. 

and sukuna told her not to. 

“no. she’s the girl sukuna went to prom with.” you state, brushing down the pleats of your skirt. 

“ahh, that’s right. his first girlfriend.” 

yuuji circles the last sip of his drink in his cup before downing it and turning to both of you at his side. 

“so what the hell is he so pissed about? you can’t talk to people now?” 

“he wasn’t mad. we were just talking, yuuji.” 

“you looked pretty mad. and you were whispering in hushed tones.” yuuji states. 

sukuna clears his throat and you can tell that he’s simmering with irritation from the way his fists are clenched and curled at his side. the animosity in his eyes does little to help too. 

“i just wanted to know what they talked about and clear up anything that she might have said that might not be true. i don’t want her to get the wrong idea.” sukuna states. 

yuuji rolls his eyes. 

“she’s a grown woman. i think she can tell right from wrong by herself. and i’m positive that if she did say anything, it’s not anything that wouldn’t be true.” 

you shove yuuji in the side. 

“what’s your problem? you’re being so mean.” 

“i’m not being mean! it’s just a fact. you…you know how he can be. do you really think he just changed like that?” 

maybe it’s a mix of things. 

that sukuna’s ex-girlfriend just spent five minutes telling you about how much he apparently loves to get his dick sucked and you have yet to muster up the courage to do it. or that your hair’s been getting consecutively oily as the night goes on and sticking to your forehead or that yuuji tends to throw some hurdle into your relationship every chance he seems to get. 

or that you can’t pay for vet school so it’s time to cut back on iced coffee since you’re going to be taking a loan or that your mom’s walking around in fake pearls and someone most definitely will make a comment about it that’ll have her leaving the party crying. 

or that you can never seem to win. or do anything right. 

“you’re such an asshole sometimes. why do you always have to talk about him like that? do you think i’m so pathetic that he’s going to leave me for some girl he literally talked to six years ago? do you think i’m so pathetic that i’d date someone like that?” you mutter, before brushing past his shoulder and leaving the room. 

sukuna can feel that irritation festering up in him and makes his best efforts to swallow it down as he turns to yuuji. sukuna debates his options – following you or beating it out of yuuji. 

the second one seems more productive for the time being. 

he turns and can immediately clock that yuuji feels bad – his face drooping like it would whenever sukuna would beat him in a video game or leave their board game early to hang out with his friends. 

“what the hell is your problem?” sukuna asks. 

the drooping is replaced with anger, an irritability as yuuji scoffs before turning around. 

“what’s yours?” yuuji mutters. 

sukuna reaches for his collar, shaking him from filling up his glass again, before yuuji meets his eyes again. 

“no, seriously. what the fuck is your problem? why can’t you just be happy for her? we were getting along just fine before this until you decided to be a little bitch about it.” sukuna asks. 

yuuji rolls his eyes. he pulls back, tussling out of his grasp before leaning against the closed door of the fridge. 

“i didn’t have a problem with you. but you’re doing the same shit as before – being careless. and you’re doing it with my best friend.” 

sukuna wants to punch him in the face. 

“are you ever going to be satisfied with what you have? you just had to have her too? she was my friend first.” yuuji states.

sukuna doesn't know why it flares up in him - that possessiveness. you don't belong to him but you certainly don't belong to yuuji either. he doesn't get to stake a claim on you just because he knew you first.

“you sound like a pathetic child. you know you don’t own her, right? you can’t fathom that she could have someone else be special to her that isn’t you? that you can’t be a spoiled little kid and have to learn how to share?” 

sukuna’s hit a nerve, though he’s not entirely sure why. but now yuuji’s crying, shoving him hard into the counter, before his pounding footsteps reside as he runs up the stairs.

there’s an immediate guilt, coupled with a resounding headache. 

--

when sukuna makes it back to the apartment – after having dozed off for a decent amount of the train ride home – he’s thrown off when you push him against the wall the second you make it back into the house. and dig your hands under his shirt, dangerously lower than you ever have before. 

“jesus. what’s wrong with-” 

he can barely finish because you’re cutting him off by kissing him – almost aggressively – and latching your arms around his neck and jumping up onto his thighs. he’s quick to catch you, your legs locked around his waist as you pant into his mouth, kissing every spare patch of skin you can find. 

“what are you-” 

he can’t even get a sentence out. 

“doing, pretty girl?” 

it’s almost like you don’t hear him or something. there’s something insatiable burning in your eyes, nearly twitching with a fervor with something that he’s never really seen before. 

correction. something that he’s never seen in your eyes before. he’s seen it before – hundreds of times. in the shitty bathroom in the bar, from the girl he met on the dating app, and even kisa back in the day. but not with you.

he almost hates it.

sukuna pushes you back, resting your legs against the weight of the kitchen counter before letting go and trying to pull away. 

but it’s almost like you’re trying to entice him. grabbing him by his necklace and pulling him back into you, letting one hand roaming through his hair and the other underneath his shirt. 

there’s an insatiable fire pooling in his stomach. but it’s the wrong timing. and it’s almost too…tantalizing, too tempting that it felt wrong. 

this was not how he was going to do this with you – at least not the first time. 

he was no stranger to it – the intense, all consuming feeling that came with this. a part of him even wanted it. but he wanted the other side first, that aspect of it more. 

the part that he never had. the romance, the yearning, and the godawful ache. 

the love making. 

he had every intent to worship you the second he got, to drag it out for as long as he could. like he was a man starved, like he’d never get a chance to do it again. 

and there was no way he was going to bring that out, or be able to even do that, on the heels of his argument with yuuji, after whatever it was that kisa must have said that had you so worked up. 

sukuna doesn’t know what else to do. so he brings his hand up and takes a fist full of your hair – and uses it to yank you off of him. you’re panting hard, eyes nearly glazed over as you look at him and reach down this time. 

reaching for the buckle of his pants. sukuna reaches for your wrists and squeezes hard. 

“what are you doing?” he whispers. 

you pant, before shaking your head. 

“you know…” you respond, gesturing with your hands. 

“i don’t know. what are you doing?” he deadpans. 

you glare at him. 

“you know…we’ve been dating for some time now. and we love each other…it…it’s only right to do this type of thing. don’t you want to?” 

it’s that same meek look – that squirrely, almost timid way of talking. when he heard that godawful comparison for the first time, that filled him with an unappeasble rage. 

lipstick on a pig. 

it aggravates him to his core because he hasn’t heard it in months. that awkward, shy voice. he had gotten used to the real one – filled with a comfortable confidence. that cracked jokes and poked fun at him all the time. 

the part of you that saw him like a real person. 

“sure i do, princess. you know you drive me crazy, right?” 

you give him a grin, before reaching back for the buckle of his belt. and for a second time, he’s quick to pull on your wrists again, before leaning his forehead against yours, his breath tickling the tip of your nose. 

“no, seriously. what are you doing?” 

you bite into the hardness of your cheek, pinching your eyes shut. 

it’s not awkward. just say it. 

“i’m trying to…suck your dick.” 

sukuna takes a deep breath, using his pointer finger to angle your face back up by your chin, brown eyes overwhelmingly warm and soft as he looks at you. and it aggravates you. you know what he’s going to say. 

“you…you can’t stop me, you know? i’m ready to do this. i’ve..i’ve been thinking about it for a while.” 

sukuna raises his eyebrows, almost like he’s disbelieving of what you’re saying, before he talks. 

“okay, angel. can you just kiss me first?” 

you feel your cheeks burn. 

“what?” 

“i’m okay with it if you want to. i just want you to kiss me first.” 

you laugh, before cupping the side of his face and rubbing over the soft indent of his dimple. 

“are you being serious? you’re not like…copping me out right?” 

sukuna glares at you. 

“i just fucking asked you to kiss me. you just pounced on me like a fucking lion out of nowhere.” 

you bring your hands to his cheeks and can’t help but smile into his face. 

“why are you…so cute? you just want me to kiss you?” 

sukuna wrinkles his nose in disgust, before reaching forward to pinch the sensitive skin on your arm. 

“you fucking ruined it. now you’re never sucking my dick.” 

you snort. 

“well…technically i did kiss you. just really aggressively.” you mumble. 

sukuna’s laugh is soft, almost quiet as he leans forward to press a kiss to your hair. 

“kiss me properly. i’m not going anywhere. i…i want to savor it.” 

you swallow hard, as he takes over the open space in between your legs, and leans forward. his hair is tickling your forehead, your breaths slow as you cycle in tandem, and you loop your arms around his torso. 

there’s a small amount of desperation in the way that sukuna kisses you, a burning that ignites over your skin and makes your stomach drop to your core. but it’s almost like he’s slowing you down, curbing that feeling in your chest – by ubbing circles into your back, a contentment in his demeanor – that you’re cued into by the way he’s smiling into the kiss. 

that’s when you realize. 

“you’re not going to let me do it, are you?” you murmur, whispering against his lips. 

“perceptive.” sukuna mumbles back, before pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. 

you groan, which has the smallest of laughs bubbling out of him. it’s free of any teasing – that you’re positive of as he lifts your hands to his lips and presses a kiss on each of your knuckles. 

“i like the rings. wonder what your hands would look like around my…” 

“well, now you’re just being fucking annoying.” 

“i’m joking.” 

you sigh, leaning your cheek against his shoulder, as you blink hard. 

“why not?” 

as quickly as that quiet, squirrely voice came back, it’s almost like he decimated it in his hands with a few seconds. if this were months prior, it would have taken him weeks to convince you that he still liked you. 

you had stopped viewing his actions as swift rejections, as slights against you, and started taking them for what they were. 

sukuna was going to kill yuuji for trying to shit on your relationship later. you were meant to be together, that much was obvious. 

“yuuji and i kind of…fought. i want to be in the right mood when we do this.” 

you lean forward, cupping his cheeks in your hands. 

“you know, he’s starting to really make me mad. he should just leave us alone if it pisses him off that much and-” 

“i said more than he did. it’s my fault. i’ll apologize tomorrow.” 

you shake your head. and there’s an awkward silence, before sukuna asks. 

“so what did she say? i know that didn’t come out of nowhere, even if you were thinking about it before.” 

you groan, digging your face into his neck. 

it’s almost embarrassing now. 

“she was there to see you. wanted to get dicked down by you. and mentioned that apparently you really like having your dick sucked? i don’t know…i just…had a long week. vet school and my mom and yuuji and…and you. figured i’d at least relieve some tension and give you what you wanted. like two birds in one stone type of thing.” 

“please don’t refer to sex as a stone.” sukuna deadpans.

you laugh and it makes sukuna smile. 

“the only thing i want is you.” 

you sigh.

“ugh! i’m…i’m so annoyed because i actually know that. if you were going to get up and leave you would have done it by now because it’s been months but i just…felt so stupid or like undercooked or something because we haven’t done it yet that i just-” 

“do you feel like you have something to prove?” 

you bite your lip. 

“i guess. it’s about you but…but it’s about other stuff too. i want to be strong enough to do it. i don’t want to let bad experiences hold me back when you’re obviously a good guy and obviously good in bed but-” 

sukuna smirks. 

“obviously?” 

“you’re so annoying.” 

sukuna wraps his hands around your cheeks, before pulling you up to look at him. and practices the way he’s worded this in his head a hundred times, hoping that it comes out right. 

“angel?” 

“yeah?” 

“about what you said. about other stuff.” 

it’s almost like you’re a kicked dog, trying to retreat after he mentioned it. 

“i don’t want to push you into telling me. and you don’t have to. i can…i can piece some of it together. but i just need to know what not to do. i’ll never forgive myself if i ever hurt you, especially if it’s something regarding this.” 

he leans his forehead against yours, his voice so quiet that it makes your chest ache, with overwhelming, sincere love of his consideration for you. 

“i’m sorry it happened to you. you don’t even have to tell me. write me a list or send me an email. i just need to know what’s off limits, anything that could possibly…remind you of anything that happened to you.” 

you angle your face back up, leaving a lingering kiss on his lips before pulling back. 

“are you tired?” you ask. 

he leans back, in confusion. 

“no?” 

“then, i’ll tell you right now.” 

sukuna’s eyes widen. 

“i’m not trying to pressure you.” 

you smile, before linking your hands into his. 

“i know. you’re not. i’ve been thinking about how to talk to you about it. and one of the biggest hurdles is…having to address that it happened? but if you already know…all i have to do is tell you now. and…” 

you sigh. 

“and it’s you. i feel safe enough to tell you about it but just…just don’t be weird about it?” 

sukuna reaches forward, crossing a little x shape onto your chest. you tilt your head to the side, in confusion. 

“what was that?” 

“crossing your heart. like the promise?” 

“you’re supposed to cross your own heart.” 

sukuna glares. 

“i’m not going to spell it out for you. you’re smart enough to figure it out.” 

it takes a few seconds, but you reach the conclusion. 

sukuna crossed your heart instead of his. he made the promise on yours, because yours was more important than his own – enough to make an oath on.

yours over his. 

it’s the only reason you’re able to muster enough courage to even tell him what happened in the first place.

--

next part linked here

an: ladies and gentleman, we cringe. (this was a long time coming but it's for plot purposes)

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[papiliotao]

꒰ 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔 ✩࿐

pairings: alhaitham, kaveh, kazuha, lyney, scaramouche, and xiao x gn!reader (separate)

content: fluff, modern au, college au, the reader is a sleep-deprived student, correction: everyone in this fic is a sleep-deprived student, cuddling, reader is sick in scara’s, venti makes a cameo in kazuha’s part, reverse comfort in kaveh��s

summary: small scenarios with the genshin boys as your roommates! ♡

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while, so i decided to finally finish it up. i hope you enjoy!

₊˚ପ ALHAITHAM

Tonight, it feels like endless night ebbs and flows into the very core of your being, chilling you with fragments of a glacial atmosphere.

It’s cold.

Even with multiple blankets wrapped around you, you can’t help but shiver, shake like a vibrant autumn leaf in a passing zephyr. Winter is approaching, and unfortunately for you, you may have relished a little too much in the gilded threads of summer warmth that had graced the world a few months prior. For now, you’re unable to stand the gradual freeze that’s beginning to spread throughout your city.

Slumber is tempting. It lures you in, wrapping you in a blanket weaved of starlight and dreams. However, it’s all an illusion. In reality, you’re far from sleep. You know that there’s no way you’ll be able to pass the gateway into the oneiric realm. Not with the sensation of frostbite threatening to consume you whole.

Eventually, you decide to get up. You’re certain that you won’t be able to fall asleep, at least, not without more blankets, so you decide to make your way to Alhaitham’s room to ask if he has any spares.

Although you’d normally feel guilty for rousing someone from slumber, it’s not that late as of right now. Either way, you’re quite certain that your roommate is still wide awake, most likely losing himself amongst the yellowed pages of a verbose book. After all, he always seems to have his nose buried in a complex tome, filled with words that make your brain hurt.

Slowly, you drag yourself out from under the plush covers of your bed. The floorboards groan slightly as you stand, exhaling under the pressure of your footsteps. You make your way down a hallway drowned in shades of midnight, making your way towards the golden light seeping out into the corridor from under the cracks of a closed door.

The door to Alhaitham’s room.

You knock, the sound seemingly echoing down the walls of the hall, repeating in a chorus of onomatopoeia.

A few seconds pass before the door opens to reveal Alhaitham. Strands of silver hair messily frame his face, and yet as the aquamarine hues of his irises meet your gaze, you find that he’s just as dazzling as ever.

“Do you need something?” he asks, his voice as flat and monotonous as always. As usual, your roommate’s front doesn’t betray a single hint of emotion. Not even irritation.

You pause for a moment, still a little intimidated by Alhaitham. Although you’ve been living together for a while now, his apathetic demeanour can be slightly off-putting at times. Nonetheless, you eventually manage to steel your nerves.

“Yeah,” you say. The word comes tumbling out of your mouth clumsily. “Do you happen to have any extra blankets?”

Alhaitham pauses for a moment, seemingly deep in thought.

You hold your breath, hoping that he’ll say yes, and you’ll be able to get this over with.

However, he shakes his head, and you feel your heart drop, shattering into a thousand shards of fragmented ruby.

“Oh,” you sigh, trying your best to hide the dejected expression overtaking your features. “That’s okay. Sorry for bothering you.” 

You turn away, ready to head back to your room, but Alhaitham’s voice stops you.

“I think it’s safe to presume you wanted a blanket because you were cold, right?”

It’s a rhetorical question, so you don’t bother to answer it. Instead, you freeze, becoming akin to a statue carved of pale blue ice.

“Then allow me to propose an alternate solution.”

You turn around, meeting Alhaitham’s eyes once more. Lakes of turquoise, typically devoid of emotion, are now filled with a particular spark. You can’t quite determine what it is, but there’s a subtle glimmer — barely visible, but it’s there.

“Why don’t you stay in my room for the night?”

Your eyes widen, and you feel your jaw drop. For a moment, you just stand there, absolutely still and dumbfounded.

Perhaps you had heard Alhaitham wrong. Or maybe your mind is playing tricks on you, making mirages materialize out of nothing. The blank expression painted over your roommate’s features certainly makes you think so.

“Excuse me?” you blink languidly, staring at Alhaitham as if he’ll disappear into thin air if you take your eyes off him.

“I said why don’t you stay in my room for the night?” he repeats nonchalantly, the evening chill seemingly intertwining itself into his tone. His gaze remains fixated on you.

Your mind blanks for a second, each intricate acrylic line of a composition painted over, leaving you with nothing but an empty canvas. As you stand still, a thousand scenarios seem to flash through your head, filling up the blank space with a myriad of thoughts — some pleasant and some unpleasant. However, you soon realize that you don’t have time to weigh all the pros and cons of your decision, as Alhaitham is staring at you intently, awaiting your answer.

“Sure,” you blurt out.

You’re not sure what compels you to accept his proposal. Perhaps it’s your longing for the comfort of shared warmth. Perhaps it’s a result of your inability to say no to others due to a fear of disappointing them. Or perhaps it’s because you’ve grown a lot closer to Alhaitham than you’d care to admit.

Although you’re still slightly intimidated by him, you’re certain that he’d never do anything to harm you. And there are even times where he shows he has your best interests in mind (despite the fact that you were initially under the impression that he cared little for others).

You’re snapped out of your trance of reminiscence as Alhaitham speaks once more.

“Alright,” he says, taking your hand and leading you over to his bed. His grip is firm — not suffocating, but at the same time, not so soft that the connection between the two of you would be easily severed.

Alhaitham’s touch sends butterflies, tinted a colour reminiscent of spring blossoms, dancing within the pit of your stomach. It’s enchanting, and at this rate, you’re not sure how you’ll be able to handle sleeping in the same bed as him.

He allows you to climb into bed first, tucking you in with an unexpected amount of care. You know Alhaitham’s not exactly the cold-hearted jerk many make him out to be, but you didn’t anticipate that he’d be this gentle, his touch akin to the caress of sunlight on a spring day.

After the man ensures that you’re cozy, he lies down beside you, embracing you. As he does so, you feel a wave of heat overwhelm you. To your relief, the frigidness that had once gnawed at your very soul is now gone, but unfortunately, you’re faced with a new problem.

Alhaitham’s actions have flustered you, and to your misfortune, it feels as though crimson embers of embarrassment are bursting into flames far too quickly for your liking.

You’ve solved one issue, but in turn, you’ve accidentally created another.

This is going to be a long night.

₊˚ପ KAVEH

It’s no secret that your roommate is a perfectionist.

Whenever his eyebrows knit up in a jumble of discontent and pools of liquid ruby tinged with sunsets glint with hints of frustration, it becomes obvious what’s going on. He’s spent too long trying to perfect yet another assignment. The bags that seem to perpetually line the undersides of his eyes are dark shadows — serving as an eternal reminder of the man’s exhaustion.

There are times where you find him hunched over his desk, teetering on a thin tightrope, walking a line between the waking world and a wonderland of dreams. Of course, he refuses to succumb to the temptations of a golden slumber time and time again, forcing himself to fixate on his projects until he’s finished and happy with the final product.

Today is one of those days. The cold light that leaks through the cracks beneath the door to Kaveh’s room seeps into the hallway, serving as a warning written in a display of molten opalescence.

Stark white. Cutting through the darkness of deep midnights with ease.

It’s jarring, and when you press your ear to the door and listen carefully, you manage to make out the sound of Kaveh muttering underneath his breath.

You know you have to do something. Now. Before your roommate decides to work himself into a stupor again.

You take a deep breath, inhaling night air reminiscent of the crystalline waters. It’s refreshing, and as you breathe out, a sense of tranquility washes over you.

Steeling yourself, you knock on Kaveh’s door, the sound seemingly reverberating through the corridor in a myriad of echoes.

“[Name]? Is that you?” he asks, his voice ringing out loudly, fragmenting and shattering the quiet ambience. 

You hear the sounds of drawers opening and closing, papers rustling, and footsteps falling.

“There’s no point in hiding anything,” you tell your roommate, picturing the distress swirling like nebulae in his vibrant crimson eyes. “I know you’ve been working late again.”

The noises come to a halt, and peace returns to the late night atmosphere once more. Soon, the sound of soft footsteps fills your senses, gradually growing louder in a crescendo until you’re sure that Kaveh is right in front of the door.

Not a second later, it swings open to reveal a sleep-deprived Kaveh clad in pyjamas.

“Alright, I’ll admit it,” he sighs. “You caught me red-handed.”

Silence permeates your senses for a few seconds, but the illusion of stillness is quickly shattered as Kaveh breathes out a sigh.

“I just can’t seem to figure out this one last thing,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. “I seriously can’t take it anymore. It’s driving me insane.”

For a few seconds, his gaze remains averted, staring down at the wooden finish of his desk, tinted a subtle peach under the topaz shades of light spilling from Kaveh’s lamp. If you didn’t know any better, you would have sworn that he had fallen asleep. However, your eyes eventually meet hues of dulled rose, glittering with a faint spark concealed by exhaustion.

“You should rest,” you tell your roommate, cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder. To your relief, he doesn’t flinch or pull away when you touch him. He simply slumps and begins to stand up.

“I suppose you’re right,” he speaks slowly, his voice laced with resignation. “Maybe a short break will help me clear my mind.”

Kaveh walks over to his bed, brushing locks of sunshine away from his eyes. The mattress sinks like quicksand as he lies down and tucks himself under the covers, enveloping him in layers upon layers of plush comfort.

You turn away, switching Kaveh’s lamp off before you head back to the door. However, just as you’re about to leave, Kaveh calls your name.

“[Name],” Kaveh starts, his voice seemingly amplified by the abyssal midnight overtaking your surroundings.

You spin around, only to be met with the sight of Kaveh’s silhouette outlined against backdrops of navy and black, enveloping the world in curtains of phantasmagoric silk.

“Can you stay with me?” he asks. His voice trembles slightly, and he sounds sheepish — almost shy. “It’s just that, if I don’t have you around, I might convince myself to start working again.”

You freeze.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

It takes three seconds for you to fully process Kaveh’s request, and when you do, you feel your heart skip a beat.

“I would be happy to.”

And with Kaveh’s permission, you climb under the covers of his bed with him. He wraps an arm around you. The position feels far too intimate for two roommates who harbour nothing more than platonic feelings for each other, but you decide that that’s a problem for future you to address.

For now, you decide to close your eyes and seek solace in a realm of breathtaking dreamscapes. Finding joy in each cotton candy cloud, each droplet of crystal rain, and each gilded leaf within a fantastical world found far away from reality.

And yet as you drift off to sleep, you find that there’s one thing in the waking world that has become far more tantalizing than anything your imagination could ever conjure: the warmth of Kaveh’s embrace.

₊˚ପ KAZUHA

Golden ribbons of warmth caress your face as you open your eyes to find yourself awake again. A wave of tranquility washes over you, weighing down your eyelids with a serene lullaby — an ode to quiet mornings spent in the solace of your home. You want nothing more than to stay in bed for a few more minutes, but you have classes.

Groggily, you stretch and then pick your phone up from where it’s sitting on your nightstand in order to check the time. The screen lights up with a cold radiance, a stark contrast to the gilded rays of the sun, as you turn it on.

And that’s when all hell breaks loose.

It’s 9:30 a.m., and you’ve already missed the start of your first class. You grimace internally, but you can’t dwell on your feelings for too long. After all, the longer you delay, the more you’ll miss.

You change in record time, pulling on a comfortable hoodie and jeans, grab a few of your belongings, and rush out the door.

The chilly autumn air brushes against your skin as you make your way to class, and the enticing fragrance of sap hits your nose, tantalizing you with a perfume that carries nostalgic memories. In the corners of your vision, you watch as leaves coloured shades of vivid crimson, marigold, and amber swirl in a waltz signaling the end of summer and the beginnings of harsher days. The scenery is beautiful, and if you weren’t in a panic, you would have stopped to admire it. However, you force yourself to ignore the scenes around you, continuing to focus on your primary objective.

When you arrive at the lecture hall, you’re panting. Simple oxygen feels like ambrosia to you, sweet and satisfying, refreshing in a way that it’s never been before. For a few moments, you stand outside the room and catch your breath. With each inhale and exhale, you get closer and closer to finding a rhythm until finally, you’re no longer gasping for air.

Quietly, you walk into class, trying your best to avoid disturbing anyone. Thankfully, nobody seems to notice as you take a seat near the back of the hall, settling down in your seat. Time passes slowly as class continues on, and it almost feels like universal laws operate differently within the small bubble of the room you’re currently sitting in. Everything seems to take an eternity, and you can’t do anything except watch the minutes tick by, each addition of one moving you closer and closer to the end of a mundane lecture.

It feels like the moment will never arrive, but eventually, you’re dismissed. Thankfully, there’s quite a while until you have to go to your next class, so you decide to wander around for a while.

For a while, you stroll aimlessly, eventually finding yourself back outdoors once more. Now, you can truly savour the beauty of your surroundings, relish in the splendor of each flaming leaf that drifts by and each rivulet of tepid light that pierces through the crystalline coolness of the autumn air.

You stand there for a while, simply enjoying a break after a hectic morning.

Until something else — or rather, someone else — catches your eye.

Under the shade of a maple tree stands your roommate, basking in the glory of a crimson waterfall composed entirely of maple leaves dancing gracefully until they hit the ground. His platinum hair is tied back in its usual ponytail, each strand of silken moonlight swaying as a gentle zephyr blows by, and his eyes are a shade of ruby that flawlessly mimics the autumnal landscape.

He’s as breathtaking as ever.

But before you can admire him for long, hues of starglitter and rose petals meet your gaze, and a small smile dances across his lips. Without a word, he walks over to you.

“Running into you here is certainly a pleasant surprise,” he says, his grin widening.

“You say that as if we don’t already live together,” you remark, laughing a little.

He chuckles, the sound as light and airy as autumn winds swirling leaves around in a finale of farewells. The lighthearted atmosphere is truly euphoric, especially after such a stressful morning.

Of course, good things never last for long.

“Good morning, Kazuha. Good morning, [name]. How’s my favourite couple?” a cheery voice asks. In the edges of your vision, you see a figure donning twin braids of sapphire and turquoise approaching. It’s Venti — one of Kazuha’s friends.

Both you and Kazuha freeze, a frigidity crystallizing the ambience into icy fractals. And yet at the same time, you can feel your face beginning to heat up.

Couple?

Before you can clear up the misunderstanding, Kazuha speaks.

“Good morning to you too, Venti,” he says. “We’re doing well, but I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” Kazuha subtly averts his gaze, staring at the ground, but you swear you can see a blush dawning on his cheeks in shades of sunset. “[Name] and I aren’t a couple.”

“Oh really?” Venti asks teasingly, giggling in a manner that sounds almost maniacal, “then why are they wearing your hoodie?”

You look down, and sure enough, the top you chose to wear today was Kazuha’s. He had allowed you to borrow it a few days ago when you complained about the chilly autumn weather, and you had forgotten to return it. Apparently you were in such a rush this morning that you pulled it on without a second thought.

“It was an accident,” you blurt out, wanting to clear up the misconception as soon as possible. “I woke up late, and I was in a hurry.”

“Uh huh,” Venti nods, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Sure. I believe you.”

“No, seriously. We’re not a couple,” you reiterate, sighing as Venti laughs quietly.

“Whatever you say,” he says. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be. I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”

Without another word, Venti skips off, jubilantly humming to himself. And now, you’re alone with Kazuha, left to deal with the awkward aftermath of Venti’s assumptions.

“That was… interesting,” you remark.

Kazuha nods.

“I hope you didn’t feel too uncomfortable,” he says, smiling at you gently, a light blush still coating his cheeks. Although you’ll never admit it out loud, you find him quite cute when he’s flustered. Venti would have a field day if he knew you found your roommate so adorable.

“I’m fine,” you reassure Kazuha, “and I’ll return your hoodie to you as soon as possible,” you add.

However, to your surprise, Kazuha shakes his head.

“You can keep it if you want,” he tells you.

“Really?”

Kazuha chuckles.

“Really,” he assures you. “As long as you don’t mind being mistaken for a couple, that is. I know I certainly don’t.”

₊˚ପ LYNEY

“Lyney, if I remember correctly, you told me you perform magic as a sort of side hustle, right?” you ask your roommate.

The question comes from out of the blue, but you want nothing more than to learn about the man you’ve recently grown to be infatuated with. Besides, he’ll probably think nothing of it; it’s only natural for someone to want to get to know their roommate.

“Yeah, I guess you’d be right,” he responds, averting his gaze from his phone and glancing at you. “Although I’d say it’s more about putting on a good show than the money.”

Lilac hues make your mind go blank as you make eye contact, enchanting you with oceans full of stardust and sunshine alike. Lilac. It’s a colour you’ve come to adore. Before meeting Lyney, it was a shade known to you as the border between night and day, mixed into compositions of dawning sunrises and fading sunsets. But now, it’s synonymous with magic and mystery, and it’s all thanks to your charming roommate.

“Oh, I see,” you mutter.

You’re surprised that your voice doesn’t end up shaking. Simply looking into Lyney’s eyes is causing your heart to beat rapidly, igniting crimson sparks of giddiness and glee with each thump.

Perhaps this is what it feels like to be in love.

“Why do you ask?” Lyney inquires, tilting his head slightly. “Are you interested in seeing a trick?”

Lyney flashes a charming smile at you — a smile embodying the enigmatic charms of various twilight hues. He reaches his hand up to brush the few strands of dusky hair that had fallen in front of his eyes away, and somehow, the subtle action makes you find him all the more attractive.

“I would love to,” you say, “if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

You wait with bated breath, feeling the whole world still as you await Lyney’s response. The carefree atmosphere solidifies into something denser, heavier, as tension begins to build.

“Well, I usually don’t do private shows like this, especially not out of the blue,” he remarks.

For a second, you feel your smile fall.

“But since it’s you, I can try,” Lyney says.

A grins dances upon your lips once more, and the elation from before comes back in full force. Unbridled adoration swirls through your heart, taking down each and every glacial barrier in a roaring tempest of rose and vermillion. With every day that passes, you feel yourself falling deeper and deeper into the clutches of romantic fantasies.

“Thank you.”

With that, Lyney rushes to his room. A few seconds later, he returns with some props and a top hat, midnight black adorned with velvety scarlet and magenta detailing, perched upon his head.

He performs for you, and it’s absolutely enamouring. His prowess is incredible, and it’s clear he’s enjoying putting on a show for you. The entire performance is interesting, captivating. However, it’s Lyney’s last act that stands out to you most of all.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what my grand finale will be,” Lyney announces with a fiery sort of flamboyance. It’s amusing because you’re the only audience member, but at the same time, slightly endearing.

He takes his hat off, reaching his hand into the void within. Slowly, he pulls something out.

The verdant green of a stem lined with thorns appears first. Then you catch sight of luscious leaves. And lastly, the delicate petals of a rose enter your line of vision. They’re tinted a vibrant purple, reminiscent of sparkling amethysts.

“For you,” Lyney says, handing you the flower.

Upon closer examination, you note that the rose is unblemished. It’s perfect. You wonder if Lyney put any thought into picking out this particular flower, but you brush the thought off. Embers of newly-kindled feelings of romance brush against your skin.

You’re flustered.

Flustered beyond measure.

Awkwardly, you take the rose from Lyney, your heart fluttering as your fingers accidentally bump against his. His skin is soft, and his touch is tantalizing. You wouldn’t mind feeling his hand in yours.

“Thank you,” you manage to whisper, averting your gaze and looking anywhere but into the very lavender irises that will never fail to enchant you. “It’s stunning.”

“A stunning flower for a stunning person,” Lyney says. The sincerity lacing his tone doesn’t go unnoticed, and you have to stop yourself from melting on the spot. “Do you know what the purple rose represents?”

You shake your head as sudden curiosity and cupid’s final arrow strike simultaneously.

He leans in, moving so close that you can feel strands of silken platinum tickle your skin. A soft breath lightly brushes against your ear as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Love at first sight.”

₊˚ପ SCARAMOUCHE

Weak beams of winter light filter through the curtains of the window beside your bed, illuminating your room with a radiance tinted pale blue. With a foggy mind, you make your way over to the window, leaving the warmth and comfort of your covers to do so. The chill pokes at your skin like a thousand miniature needles of ice, and yet you continue on.

As soon as velvety veils of fabric fall away from glass panes, glacial sunshine spills through. The panoramic scenery that welcomes you is a glazed-over landscape, thick blankets of pure white sprinkled with glimmers of stardust. Even the branches of the tall evergreen trees surrounding your home are dusted with powdered opal. Nothing is free from the frigid caress of winter, and you’re suddenly reminded of this fact as you start coughing.

Oh. You’re sick.

You blink slowly, an unbearable headache making itself known by jumbling your thoughts into nothing more than incoherence. Begrudgingly, you decide to lie back down, pulling a few blankets over you in order to stay warm. However, the layer of plush protection isn’t enough to shield you, as shivers continue to wrack your body.

For a while, you just lie there, huddled and trying to cling onto any remaining heat, any remaining comfort. You close your eyes, feeling absolutely helpless against the coolness that threatens to permeate the very essence of your being. The world around you begins to become distant as grogginess and discomfort plague you, but soon enough, you’re snapped out of your haze.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The last thing you want to do is answer the door.

“[Name]? Are you in there?” your roommate, Scaramouche, calls. As usual, irritation laces his tone, but there’s something new this time. Maybe you’re delusional, but it almost sounds like concern.

“Yeah. Come in,” you manage to respond.

Your voice is unsurprisingly hoarse, and you have to strain in order to be heard. However, in the end, it seems that you were just loud enough because seconds later, the door opens with a click. In its wake, a man with hair reminiscent of desolate midnights walks in. Soon enough, you find your gaze meeting hues of deep twilight fading into a paler shade of periwinkle akin to the colour of forget-me-nots.

“Wow, you look awful,” Scaramouche remarks bluntly, examining you.

You feel yourself shrink under his gaze.

“Can you not?” you shoot back, mustering the strength to glare at him between coughs and sniffles. “I'm kind of dying here.”

Scaramouche scoffs.

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone,” he says, turning away and walking out the door.

Once again, silence envelops the atmosphere, ebbing and flowing throughout the greys and blues of an early winter morning in soundless waves. Although you’re thankful for the serene ambience, you also feel awfully lonely now that your roommate is gone. All you can do now is stare blankly at the wall in front of you and entertain yourself with your own thoughts.

Time becomes a blur, and yet it stretches on as well. It feels like you’re trapped in a sort of limbo — suspended in a mundane reality without any sort of respite or the slightest idea of when you’ll finally find your refuge.

That is, until you hear the hinges of the door creak once more.

Scaramouche is back.

You look up. To your surprise, the glints of starlight that dance within his indigo eyes show a rare sort of softness, and he’s carrying a bowl of soup.

Without a word, he sets the bowl on your bedside table, staring at you expectantly.

“Is that for me?” you ask.

Scaramouche groans, rolling his eyes.

“Who did you think it was for?” he says, averting his gaze.

A small smile dances across your lips. Although your roommate doesn’t want to show that he cares for you, you’re beginning to realize that he’s looking out for you in his own way.

“Thank you,” you respond. However, just as you’re about to reach for the soup, you’re attacked by another fit of coughs.

Scaramouche’s eyes fixate on you once more, and he sighs.

“Do you need me to spoon feed you or something?” Although it sounds like he’s mocking you, you can tell he’s serious to some extent.

“Do you want to feed me?” you say, trying to muster a playful tone. Even though you’re sick, teasing Scaramouche is as fun as ever.

“I will if it means you’ll shut up,” he mutters, taking the bowl carefully and scooping up a spoon of the soup.

With caution and a shocking amount of attentiveness, he lifts the spoon to your lips, and you open your mouth. To your surprise, the soup is actually quite tasty. You didn't expect your roommate to be such a good cook.

“How was it?” Scaramouche asks after you swallow. Not a hint of emotion shows through the veils of apathy he’s crafted as he awaits your response.

“It was amazing,” you remark genuinely. “I’d love to try some more of your cooking, and… thanks for taking care of me.”

Scaramouche looks away, but as he does, you notice a colour reminiscent of delicate rose petals rising to his cheeks, tinting porcelain akin to the snow outside a vivid shade.

“Don’t mention it.”

₊˚ପ XIAO

Procrastination is every student’s worst enemy, and you’re no different.

You had spent the past few days putting off your latest assignments and neglecting your studies more than you’d care to admit. It’s not that you didn’t want to work and study, but every time you tried to start on something, you’d feel put off by the copious amounts of labour you’d have to put in. And unfortunately, now you’re reaping the consequences of the seeds you had previously sowed.

It’s currently 1 a.m., and all you can see outside the window is ebony fragmented by the occasional streetlight or polychromatic star. Your eyelids are beginning to droop of their own volition, but you force yourself to stay awake. You have something important due later today, and unfortunately, you’ve barely even started on it.

So you have no choice but to continue on, allowing yourself to fall into the treacherous grasp of sleep-deprivation all because of your poor decision-making skills.

The minutes seem to count down all too quickly as you toil, yet at the same time, the mundane assignment makes every second feel like an eon. It’s a paradoxical distortion of the universe’s concepts, but it’s something you’ve grown far too accustomed to in your time as a student. Panic and hopelessness set in more and more with every tick of the clock, and eventually, you lose all sense of time, burying yourself in a pile of work.

The next time you look up, you notice that it’s well past your first scheduled break time, and you’re absolutely exhausted.

You stand up, stretching and relishing the sensation of being able to move your aching limbs after hours of sitting in the same position, mulling over boring assignments. However, your momentary respite is ruined, as it isn’t long before the creaking of a door pulls you out from the temporary euphoria that had taken over your mind.

“Hey,” a calm voice utters. It’s melodic like a beautiful song you wouldn’t mind hearing on repeat. “Are you alright?”

You turn around, and as expected you’re met with the sight of your roommate. Honeyed eyes filled with a dandelion warmth shimmer when met with the dim incandescent glow of your desk lamp, and locks of seafoam frame his pale face. Even though his hair is messy, and there are visible bags under his eyes, Xiao looks as stunning as ever.

“I’m fine,” you say, miraculously stringing together a couple of words despite your exhaustion.

“You’ve been up all night,” Xiao observes, glancing at your messy desk — a testament to the few hours you had been chipping away at your work. Somehow in that time, you’ve managed to make it look as though some sort of wild tempest had ravaged your room.

“You’re saying that as if you don’t stay up all the time,” you shoot back.

You flinch. Your tone is harsh and dripping with venom, but you hadn’t meant your words in that way. They were from a place of concern, but it seems that Xiao understands.

“That’s true,” he remarks, “but I’m not as keen on working myself to death as you are.”

A second passes.

Then you realized that you may have gotten a little bit carried away due to your momentary burst of energy — a rush of exhilaration prompted by a sense of urgency.

“Oh.”

Xiao sighs.

“You need a break,” he says, hesitantly walking over to you and intertwining your fingers with his.

His actions surprise you. Most of the time, Xiao avoids touch, but now, he’s holding your hand. The tepidness of Xiao’s skin on yours causes lucidity to wash over you. Suddenly, you feel more aware of your surroundings.

Your roommate pulls you out the door, exiting your dorm swiftly before you can refuse. Truthfully, you wouldn’t have denied him his demand anyway. Although Xiao seems like a tough person on the outside, his heart is forged of silvery moonbeams — glittering lights that illuminate the world with a subtle phosphorescence, not quite as glaring as rays of sunlight, but equally as bright, nonetheless. As a result, you’ve grown to develop a soft spot for him.

When you exit the building, the first thing you notice is the crisp, fresh air. After staying cooped up in your room for so long, it’s relieving to breathe in the liquified stardrops dissolved within the night atmosphere. Your head clears up nearly instantaneously, and finally, you feel a sense of peace wash over you.

“Feeling better?” Xiao asks, noticing the change in your expression immediately.

He’s usually not the brightest when it comes to interpreting emotions, so your prior distress must have been extremely obvious. Nonetheless, you brush off your embarrassment and swallow your pride, nodding to reassure Xiao that yes, this is helping, and yes, you’d like to stay here with him for a while longer.

Xiao seems to get what you’re trying to convey, so he continues walking, leading you under the gold-lacquered light of the lamps lining the path before you. Right now, it feels as though your hearts are connected, and for once, you’re under the impression that Xiao’s let down his walls.

You know that once your midnight escapades cease, you’ll have to face a world of pain, but perhaps it’s worth it.

After all, exhaustion is temporary, but maybe, just maybe, this lavender haze will endure forevermore.

thank you for reading!! if you liked this, i’d really appreciate it if you reblogged this fic.

[blitztheinkling]

SHARDILVER ON THE WALL!!!!

Shards yapping.

Silvers done with shards said yapping.