#x readers also suffer from this

[hexite-nightmares]

I saw a post suggesting shipping Jayce and Viktor reinforced ableist stereotypes for Viktor.

Bffr this is a fandom wide issue it cannot be blamed on a specific ship 💀

[angelizs]

[Club Activities - part 2]

Summary: Crowley keeps knocking at your door, quite literally, wanting to hear your club choice. You might as well get this over with.

Notes: gn!reader, humor, it's kinda long, reader is oblivious, mentions of minor injuries but in a funny way dw, it's the looong overdue pt2

Part: 1.0 / 2 (you're here!) / 2.5 (soon!)

"So, have you decided?"

Crowley stands by the doorway. He looks completely normal, a pleasant smile plastered on his lips. You blink, sluggish, resisting the urge to slam the door on his face.

"It's five a.m. on a sunday."

"Yes, that's correct, good to see you're keeping up with the passage of time."

You feel there's a jab aimed at you for taking your time on choosing a club. Or on answering the door. In your defense, Grim was sleeping on top of you and you didn't want to disturb his sleep. Nor yours. You were hoping the Headmaster would just give up and leave you alone, but instead he only knocked louder. 

"Well?"

"Uh..." You take a bit to remember the first thing he said. "No, I still have some meetings to go to."

"Were the sports clubs not to your liking? I'm sure you'd do well in one, should you put your efforts on it."

"Nah, I'll pass."

"I see. Then, you'll tell me your decision by the end of the week, yes?"

"Since when did we agree on this." It was a question, but with your drowsy state it just fell flat.

"Since now, of course! I was very kind to let you take so much time to chose a club, but you must understand I'm under some pressure as well to make sure you'll have the best possible education here. We can't afford to lose too much time!"

You blink again, your brain still sleepy. "Oh. Alright."

Crowley claps his hands in an excited manner. "Wonderful! I'll be eagerly waiting for your decision, then!"

Only as you watch his retreating back getting farther away that it finally registers just what you agreed on. You groan, closing the door and leaning against it.

Well, nothing to do about it now. You should really get onto it, anyway. Still, your break will be missed.

Film Research Club (Vil, Ortho platonically)

You had finally left the sports clubs behind, time to try something new, like arts!

Since you've worked with Vil at the SDC, you were already used to his strict personality and thought you'd be able to handle yourself pretty well. You might not have that much experience with acting but you did know how to pretend everything was ok and your life wasn't falling apart, so you think you might have potential.

It was quite surprising to see Ortho there, but the sight of your friend's welcoming eyes and cheer made you feel relieved, relaxing amidst the Pomefiore students. They were intimidating, though in a different way the guys from the Spelldrive club were. The latter looked like they could easily beat you to a pulp, while the former looked like they'd give you a disgusted stare and call you a peasant in such a condescending tone you'd implode on spot. They were all very pretty as well, but you wouldn't let that make you self conscious since you knew no one could beat Vil anyway.

Speaking of, Vil himself comes to speak with you and explain about the club with a professional conduct as he says that Crowley had warned him of your special situation and that he'd let you help out, since they always needed extra hands on deck. You got hopeful at that, perhaps it was time for you to shine and discover a hiden talent of yours! These daydreams are soon crushed as Vil puts you on backstage duty and turns around, having something or other to talk about with the other members.

Well. That was... not what you were expecting. Ortho explains that in order to enter the club as an actor, you must audition beforehand and prove yourself worthy. That makes sense, you guess, so you accept it with grace. Backstage work might not be as exciting as being on the actual stage, but you had Ortho by your side to make sure things won't be too dull. And a side of you wants to make Vil proud of your work, so you suck it up and ask Ortho to lead the way.

Ortho shows you around the set you'll be working on for the day. It's one of Pomefiore's dorm ballrooms, and it's huge. You look in awe at everything, even though it's a bit plain in terms of furniture, it's quite detailed. In moments like this you remember Pomefiore's dorm is a castle, as you feel the royalty emanating from the ceiling, with it's luxurious chandeliers, to the walls, with it's intricate golden patterns, even at the floor, by it's quality.

He teaches you how to operate the lights and sound for a bit while the actors decide on what they'll film that day. You feel just the tiniest bit of jealousy at them, especially because Vil seems to be very focused on everything they say. Ortho must notice this (of course he would), and tries to cheer you up. After all, you're his friend! He doesn't want you to feel bored at the club when there are so many insteresting things to do!

You move from the more technical parts and go to the storage room, where they keep most of the props and extra accessories. You explore it, looking at everything but not touching, not wanting to get in trouble if you break anything on accident. As you're looking at an old mirror, Ortho picks up one of the pink cowboy hats and puts it on your head. It looks goofy, not matching with your uniform at all, and it makes you laugh.

You retaliate by putting a pirate hat full of colorful feathers that's way too big on him. It slides down and covers his eyes, making him look like a little kid trying on their sibling's clothes. Not to mention the feathers, that also clash with his body's design. You both laugh and go to different directions, trying to find more things to put on.

Ortho ends up with a vivid red sash wrapped around his waist and a wooden rod in hands, while you've got a pink feather scarf around your neck and a hollow steel rod in hands. You stare down at each other from your sides of the room, pretending you're on one of those western cowboy movies, even acting like it too. You drawl out something about the town not being big enough for the two of you. Ortho goes along, putting up the worst pirate accent with his robotic voice and telling you to prepared to be boarded.

Between giggles, the two of you meet at the middle, your rods clashing as if they were swords. You make exaggerated moviments that would be impratical in any fight while dropping the most cliche lines you can think of. Ortho dodges your attacks in slow motion and retributes with his own, making it seem more like some funny dance than a sword fight.

You were having so much fun you kind of forgot you were there to do a job. You're quickly reminded as the door suddenly opens and you, startled, let the steel rod slip from your hands mid attack and hit the wall with a loud clang. There stands Vil, hands on his hips as he stares at the two of you with one arched eyebrow, an unimpressed look on his face even after almost being hit right on it. You're not looking the most dignified, with your whole attire. Nor is Ortho, which helps you to not feel alone on the receiving end of Vil's judgment.

The three of you leave the props behind and return to the main area. More precisely, to the actors' dressing room part. It's not an actual separate room, but rather a space of the ballroom reserved for this. Most have put on their costumes and are adjusting the finer details, Vil instructs you to help them while he sets up the stage.

You try your best, but every actor sends you a glare as you approach them, making you turn on your heels and try another one. And another. And another. You're not feeling very helpful. How you wish you could just ignore it like Ortho does. The only thing you actually do is helping zip up some clothes when they can't reach their backs and do it themselves. You don't dare to touch their hair or you feel they'd explode you with their minds. There is one instance when you have to lace a guy into a corset, but you get a bit confused with all the laces. Maybe it's like tying a shoe? You pull on it with too much force at first, leading him to complain at you the entire time. In your defense, you've never done this before! You tie it up with a cute lace at the end to make up for it and scurry away before he could release more of his wrath upon you. You settle on following Ortho around like a lost puppy.

Finally, everyone finishes up and you move to the middle of the room, where the scene will be taking place. From what you gather, the movie they are making is about a royal family that's having their heir assume the throne, but there's a plot against him going behind the scenes. The main character seems to be corset guy, who still glares at you whenever you pass by his camp of vision, much to your (un)luck.

Ortho leads you to the first place he showed, since they'd start recording soon. You watch him work with the lights, turning them on dramatically as they start the scene and making it follow the main lead as he monologues about his woes of assuming such a big responsability and how he feels between the sea of people present. The actor does a good job, good enogh to appease Vil, who watches attentively near the camera. The thing is, he's trying to replicate a foreign accent and that, combined with his melodramatic lines, makes you have to stifle a laugh.

You try your best to stay quiet and pay attention to the story, but some of the lines and the way they dramatically deliver them sound so silly you can't help but giggle in your palm. Ortho looks at you inquisitively, tilting his head and trying to understand what you found so funny. You whisper an explanation to him, making him see the words in a different manner. As you laugh, he laughs along discretely, both of you having fun again.

Vil motions for you to keep your volume down, as to not disturb the actors and break their concentration, and you send him a thumbs up. Still, you keep on reacting, even mouthing their words with exaggerated facial expressions. Ortho seems much more interested in what you have to show than the lights, since he misses some of his cues and gets it later or sooner than intended. Which is also funny, since the confused looks on the background actors' faces are very entertaining. 

It comes to a point in which you're holding in your laughter so much you're a bit out of air, and you end up bumping into one of the controls, making the background music change suddenly, from a calm waltz to an action scenesque one. Your startled eyes meet Ortho's, and in true friendship fashion you both burst out laughing. Vil cuts the filming and strides up on you two, reprimanding you once again, and you feel like a guilty puppy being scolded by their owner. You must look like that too, since he sighs like an overworked mother and takes pity on you, deciding on something else for you to do and leave Ortho to do his job without distractions.

Vil gives you the role of an extra to play, just for you to have an idle conversation with the protagonist that won't last even five minutes. He shows you exactly how the scene should go, taking hold of your hand to conduct a dance and dropping casual chatter with you, looking you in the eyes, with a conduct that's so charming you're sure you feel your heart skip a beat (too bad it's just acting though). You feel like you can do that as well, so you hurry to change into one of the formal outfits and repeat the line Vil told you over and over again in your head, heart beating way too fast.

There is just one thing you didn't count on: you apparently have a bad case of stage fright. Or perhaps it's happening especifically because you know Vil will be watching you like a hawk. As you position yourself amidst the other extras, you feel your heartbeat accelerating and your hands start to sweat. You try to relax your tense shoulders and clear your throat, looking at the floor to steady yourself.

As your cue approaches, you move closer to the corset guy, whose attention snaps at you as soon as you enter his vision field. Even if his face looks polite, like a prince, you can feel the glare he's still sending your way, just on a more subdued level this time. You can also feel the stares of the others on your back and your tongue seems to have been tied. Your head comes up with a blank when you try to remember what Vil told you to say. Oh, this is not good. Why did this have to be so nerve wracking?

Time passes slowly, seconds feels like hours as the protagonist waits expectantly for your words. Trying to not disappoint, you blurt out a joke improvisation line, like the ones you see on movies sometimes. Unfortunately, your sense of humor is vastly different from Pomefiore's students', and the joke falls so flat everyone has to take a moment to recover. You wish for the ground to swallow you as Vil yells a "Cut!" and the other actors look judgmentally in your way. Maybe if you close your eyes it will go away? You can still hear the other's whispering, and although you don't understand what exactly they're saying, you can only guess they're mocking you. Welp, guess it's time to become a hermit at ramshackle and never show your face at school ever again!

It takes only a minute, but as soon as Vil has recomposed himself he commands everyone to be quiet. You open your eyes again, gathering all your courage to see the disappointed look on his face, but you're surprised that's not what greets you. Instead, Vil's got a nasty glare that's sharp enough to cut a man, and it's not directed at you at all! Vil procceds to reprimand the rest of the cast for being so inelegant as to make fun of a begginer and even mocks their need to feel superior. You've never felt more grateful for him in your life, maybe you can still go to classes after that, since no one will dare to mess with you and risk his wrath.

As the others look ashamed for being yelled at by their leader, Vil pulls you aside and tells you that maybe it's better to try something else if your stage fright is going to affect your performance so much. He sounds strict as always, but he has an almost soft look in his eyes as he congratulates you for trying to overcome that fear and that you did well enough for someone with no experience. You feel a lot better after that and thank him sincerely, promising to give it your all at whatever other job you can do to help! He smiles at your enthusiasm and it's as if the clouds have parted ways for the sun to shine. (The other club members look amazed, as they've never seen such a soft smile on Vil's face before.)

He then asks you if you know how to work with a camera. If taking pics with Cater to post on Magicam counts then yes, you do have some experience with it. Vil says he's got the perfect job for you: being part of the camera crew and helping to film everything. You accept, after all, how hard can it be, really?

Apparently, a lot. Vil had just left out a little detail from this job: you'd be filming the aerial angle of this scene. Which meant using Kalim's magic carpet. As you recall, you're not the most adept at riding it, flashbacks from winter vacation entering in your mind. Still, you had promised Vil you'd help on this, and you weren't sure if he'd find you another thing to do or get your complaining the wrong way, so you decide to give it a try anyway.

You wobble on it, camera propped up on your shoulder and secured by a sling strap just in case you losen your hold on it. (Which is very likely). Surprisingly, you manage to get the carpet off the ground without many complications, so things are looking up (quite literally)! And then comes the part where you have to guide it and you're almost thrown out of a window with the force it makes a turn. Your grip on it tightens and you try to wrestle it into submission, with little success.

Things procced like this, you trying to learn how to drive the carpet while making turns on the air and holding on for your life. (And making sure the camera is safe. You don't want a repeat of the chandelier accident from the start of the year, so you're not taking any chances). Anything you might have tried to film is probably so shaky and blurry it isn't even usable, but you have more important matters to worry about.

That goes on until you make a particularly sharp turn, causing the carpet to lose control and go spiraling straight to the floor. Luckly, you manage to land on a convenientely placed couch (has that been there before?) and doesn't get much hurt. You're clutching the camera to your chest in a protective manner, so it isn't damaged either. At least, not much, but it isn't anything the Ignihyde guys can't fix.

Vil and Ortho are by your side in an instant, asking if you're alright. Vil extends his hand and pulls you up like a gentleman, fixing your hair softly. He's really close to your face and you can feel your heart beating faster, though you're not sure if it's due to that or the adrenaline of the fall. Ortho reassures you that not even him got the hang of piloting the carpet, as it seems to only actually obey Kalim, and that you did your best!

You really did try, so you can safely say you won't discover any hidden acting talent any time soon. Time to check out other clubs. 

(Ortho tells you to drop by another time at practice and watch the recording with him, since he had a lot of fun! Vil tells you that should you wish and work hard for it, you may have potential and he'd be willing to help you reach it. You agree, since it was very nice to visit and, most of all, to get to see Vil on his element like this. There's an added bonus of you not having ended up at the infirmary as well, which is enough to put the club on a positive light in your books. It's a bit sad that's the standard, but oh well, nothing to do about it.)

Science Club (Trey, Rook)

Alright, art may not be for you, but maybe science is! Or... whatever it is that they do in this club.

It's a bit intimidating since there are way too many people there, more than you've seen in any other club. What could they possibly be doing to attract this many people?

Rook, as observant as ever, notices you before you've even set foot inside the lab, coming close to greet you and ask if you were going to join them for the day. You relutanctly agree, staying close to his side as he leads you deeper into the room, opening the path. You make sure to not bump into anyone and cause an accident.

Trey is at one of the work tables at the back, sharing it with Rook. He sends a calming smile your way and explains that it's a club with a vast variety of activities, as long as they're not of the physical sort. You sigh in relief, listening to him reciting things such as plant cultivation and chemistry experiments. You already have to do those things on your regular classes, so you're confident in your ability of succeding for once. Rook adds that this flexibility in activity has attracted many people, creating a beauté diversity of members. (Trey explains that there's a lot of odd people as he side eyes Rook).

You sit with them, since you don't know anyone else. Rook goes on about the experiment he'll be doing this time, something that will leave a beautiful impact and stay on the mind of anyone looking. It sounds a lot like what happens when you partner up with Ace and Deuce at alchemy class, that is, stuff is about to be blown up. You scoot closer to Trey.

Taking pity on you, Trey reminds Rook that there's an ingredient missing, since they had used all from the lab's storage on their last class, and offers to get it at the botanical garden for him, inviting you to come along. You jump at the opportunity, agreeing and getting up to follow him. Rook thanks his generosity and explains that there's no way a gentleman like him would leave all the hard work onto the two of you, so he follows along. Trey looks a bit annoyed, but you only wanted to get out of being roped into a crazy experiment so you don't mind much, as long as you keep Rook away from any potential explosive plants.

The fresh air from the gardens is much better than the stuffy feeling from the crowded lab, and you take a deep breath to appreciate it. Trey takes you to the temperate zone, the path filled with beautiful flowers of all colors and scents. The sound of the little river below you only adds to the pleasant atmosphere, the sun rays warming up your skin and soul. It's wonderful. You'd like it if your club classes were to take place there. It might be enough to convince you to join, the nature so full of life energizing your mood, a smile blooming on your face.

You pass by an area that has thicker vegetation and stands out from the whole, attracting your curiosity, so you ask Trey what could be there. He warns you to not wander to that side of the garden, as there were carnivorous plants being cultivated by the third years. You wave him off, saying you had those back in your world and they were pretty harmless. Trey looks at you in doubt, but decides to not question it, aceptting your answer and going back to his search for the missing ingredient. 

Since you have no idea what you should be looking for, you leave the boys to it, deciding to observe the flowers instead. Distracted, you end up getting farther away from them, the flora enticing you and putting you under a spell, demanding your attention. It's not until you bump into a tall... something, that you realize how far you had gone. You lift up your head, wondering if you had bumped into a tree, only to find two open hinged lobes dripping with sap closing on your face.

A scream gets caught in your throat as you take in the gigantic carnivorous plant in front of you, that's only coming closer. You didn't know that when Trey had mentioned them, he didn't explain that they aren't like the one from your world at all. Not only were they huge, but also seemed ready to eat a human at any given chance.

You're pulled by someone behind you, falling into a secure chest and feeling strong arms embracing your waist as the plant's jaw's close into the air where you were just a second ago. The sigh you let out shakes your whole body and you let your weight be supported by your saviour. You find out his identity soon enough, as a familiar voice by your ear calls you chéri and asks if you were fine.

After thanking Rook, he guides you to the main area of the garden with a protective hand behind your back, making sure you wouldn't stumble into any more potential dangerous plants, as he goes on about how they were "the hunters of the natural world" and how "such danger has it's own alluring charm, non?" You don't catch the glint in his eyes as he asks the question, too busy trying to get your heart beat back into a normal rhythm. 

Trey scolds you lightly for ignoring his advice, but he seems busier trying to equilibrate the plants he harvested in his arms and glaring at Rook, probably for leaving him alone to do all the work. Rook stays unbothered, putting his hands on your shoulders and staying close as he directs you to the exit, his usual smile stamped on his face.

As you put the fresh ingredients near the others that Rook had selected earlier, you notice some strawberries in the mix. You shot a questioning stare at Trey, making him laugh and explain he took the chance to harvest some of his hand grown special strawberries. He takes some from your hands, brushing your fingers together before lifting them up to inspect closely. The strawberries are a beautiful shade of red, making you salivate only by looking at them. Trey has a contemplative expression as he murmurs he should use them as soon as possible in order to make the best use of their ripeness.

You suggest him to make a strawberry tart with them and offers your help, on the light price of getting to eat it as well. He smiles and agrees to your proposal, telling you to follow him to the kitchens. You do, happily so as you carry some of the strawberries in your arms, leaving Rook to take care of the potions experiment. Really, you feel like you've killed two birds with one stone, so you pat yourself on the back for doing a good job.

Back at the first month of classes, you remember cooking with Trey, Ace, Deuce and Grim, and how much fun you had, despite the circumstances. With the group reduced to two, it might be more toilsome, but you were confident it would be worth it.

Trey finds an extra apron for you, tying it himself to make sure it would stay in place. He gently explains the steps to prepare the ingredients, helping you whenever you didn't understand something. It was quite nice, seeing Trey look so in his element, an unconscious soft expression on his face, as if he was enjoying himself. It's domestic, even, how you dance around each other in the kitchen, passing bowls and cutlery back and forth. He is good humored as he recalls stories from the club, making you laugh whenever he bemoans Rook's experiments.

The stories he tells are very captivating, so much so that you don't look at the recipe book, doing the steps on automatic. Once or twice you almost spill what you were mixing or use too much force to cut something, but it's salvageable every time, so you don't comment on it. You leave the crust on the oven for a bit too much, but it's only slightly charred, so you're pretty sure it's still edible. One of the flour bags slips from your hands and falls on the sink, covering your face in flour powder. Trey helps you clean up, but he's laughing at you and your now white hair. It comes to the point in which you're mixing the crème pâtissière and you get too close to the stove, making the ends of your sleeves to catch on fire. Trey quickly puts it out and runs your arm under cold water. The crème ends up a bit too lumpy, since neither of you were stirring it for a while, but it's not too bad.

Alright, maybe you're not the best at cooking. Still, arranging the strawberries in a circle on top of the tart was pretty fun. The last thing left to do is to let it cool. You lick your lips thinking about eating it once it's ready. You're about to help Trey clean the mess you've made in the kitchen when Rook bursts through the door, looking excited. He tells you there's no time to explain and takes you by the hand, dragging you back to the laboratory. You send Trey your best regards and wish him luck in cleaning everything alone. He sends you a pitying look back.

You should wish yourself some luck as well, since the motive for Rook to have brought you to the lab was for you to help him with the new formula he thought for his experiment. He explains that the one he was trying didn't have it's desired effects, as you could clearly see from the scorch marks on the table you were sitting before. He says that for the new formula, he'll need help to get the ingredients prepared and handed over, since he couldn't stop stirring it until everything was added in. You don't know how he came up with this solution, and honestly? You don't want to know.

Having no other choice, you agree to help him. He reminds you to put your gloves and safety googles on before starting, making a comment on how your cute apron would do as your lab coat. After getting into place, you follow all of Rook's instructions, preparing and handing over the ingredients he asks for. You have no idea what it is that he's going for, as your potions classes are still on a basic and more theorical level, but you decide to trust that he, as your upperclassman, knows what he's doing.

Dread pools on your gut as you watch the ingredients going into the cauldron. There's a hissing sound and bubbles emerge from the deep purple concotion. You have no time to react as Rook thows his arm in front of you just in time for the explosion to take place. You grip onto the table tightly and manage to stay upright, thanking the Sevens for your safety googles. If it were not for them, your entire face would be covered in a sparkling purple powder, some getting into your hair as well. Rook laughs and tells you that you shine bright like the sun. You look on unamused. Trey appears, having heard the explosion, and sighs, clearly being too used to this happening. He tells you and Rook to clean up as he starts to clean your mess, bless him.

Rook takes you to the nearest bathroom available, both of you trying to wash the explosion's results off. It has stuck like glue, and you have to splash your face with the cold water over and over for it to go away. You think there's still some of it on your hair, but can't bring yourself to care much. The apron wasn't enough to cover your body, so your clothes weren't spared either. Rook doesn't comment on it, but you can see him looking at you funny by the corner of your eye.

As you enter the lab, you see that the students that stayed after the first explosion had left. Rook wonders out loud on why they didn't like the innovation of his experiment, sighing as he goes on about the beauty of curiosity. You and Trey exchange glances as you clean everything together. You feel like you stayed way past the club's scheduled time and your arms hurt from moping the floor. At least you get to share your wonky strawberry tart. It doesn't taste as good as Trey's usual ones do, but you like it. You can't decide if it was worth all the trouble though.

Grim laughs at you once you get back to Ramshackle, your face is itching for the rest of the day, there's some sparkles in your hair for the rest of the week, your slightly burnt arm won't stop aching, you sent your clothes' laundry bill for Rook to pay. As much as you respect scientific advances, you feel that being involved in the research isn't for you (nor the cooking). Time to check out other clubs.

(Rook keeps approaching you at the halls to update you on how he's thought of possible changes to make the potion work. Trey comments he liked having company in the kitchen and help for cleaning up for once. They aren't very subtle. You don't even have to agree to visit the club again another time, as Rook has already volunteered you as his lab assistant and Trey has gifted you a recipe book with markings on which recipes you'll try to bake next. Guess you have no other choice but to go back now.)

Pop Music Club (Cater, Kalim, Lilia)

And back to the arts you go. But this time, instead of performing, how about playing some music? Joining the school band might be fun!

You're surprised to only find three people in the club. All the others had a bunch of people, but in this one, once you enter the classroom you're met with three of your friends hanging out in a couch. Why was there a couch in this classroom in the first place!?

It's not just three random people, either. It's the chillest and most extroverted people of the school, the ones that got along with everyone and were very popular. They whip their head so fast to the direction of the door once you enter you get a little worried for their necks. They seem elated to have a visitor, so you suppose this won't be so bad, even if you don't feel confident enough to play an instrument in front of other people.

Kalim jumps at you and envelops you in a big hug, a smile shining on his face as usual. Lilia pats you on the back, pushing you closer to the center of the room and welcoming you. Cater takes out his phone and takes a selfie with everyone, declaring it would go viral to have the cutest people of the school all together in one place and gushing over how many likes he'd get. They sure are a lively bunch.

Lilia plops you down on the couch, telling you to feel at home and winking. There's a center table with food containers in front of you, Kalim offers you a bite, explaining they made the snacks to bring to their club meetings, and Cater proposes to make it a culinary competition, in which you'd judge which one was the best. You were pretty sure you had left the cooking behind at the science club, what did it even had to do with music? Well, you weren't going to complain about getting free food!

Cater insists you try his first, a round tupperware with fried corn tortilla chips and guacamole in a dipping bowl at the center. It looks amazing, making your mouth water a bit. You take one of the chips, lightly lower it on the dip and take a bite. It's overall very good, the consistency and the crispness are wonderful, there's just one little problem: it's very spicy. Very spicy. Not the "oh no there's a tiny bit of spice in my otherwise bland food" type but the "my eyes are burning my thorat is burning my stomach is burning I'm going to burn from the inside out" type. And that's how you feel as you fan your face and drink the water Kalim brings you, though it only makes the burning worse, spreading it throughout your mouth and making your eyes water. Lilia appears upside down, hanging from the ceiling and scaring you, and offers you a glass of milk instead. You gratefully take it and chug it down as quick as you can.

Once you've calmed down, Lilia explains how he keeps milk around for Cater's food, that's way too spicy for his liking. Cater looks at you with puppy eyes, asking if you liked the chilli peppers he added to the recipe. You didn't, not really. It would be one thing to add some, sure, but it's like there's more pepper than anything else. You weakly smile at him and explain apologetically that it might not suit your tastes so much. Cater seems a bit down, but he only shrugs and jokingly says that not everyone can have good taste.

Kalim bounces up to you next, shoving his container in front of your face and telling you to try it. He proudly says he made it all without Jamil's help and that he hopes you'll like it. You look at the fried dumplings, remembering it's a sweet called awameh. It looks good as well, although a bit burnt, nothing that would stop you from eating it. You take one, getting surprised by how crunchy they ended up being, the sweetness exploding in your tongue. It would be very good, but you have the impression Kalim must have used the wrong measure of the ingredients. Yes, it was sweet, but it was way too sweet. Not only that, the sugar mixed with the cinnamon on the syrup also left you thirsty, as you downed another cup of water. It was like cinnamon was impregnated on your mouth, there was definetly too much.

While you accept your tongue will never be the same after the combo of strong flavours, Kalim reveals he tried to follow one of Jamil's mom's recipes for it, declaring it to be the best he's ever proved. He just got a bit confused when taking the measures for some ingredients, but he was proud of his work! You make a mental note to try to eat one of Jamil's awameh later, sure that it would taste delicious, and compliments Kalim on his efforts, suggesting gently to ask for help next time he has trouble with it.

The last one is Lilia, and you start dreading what might be hidden on his container. He seems preppy that someone will get to try his food, telling you that he's the one that cooks dinner at Diasomnia and how Silver and Sebek love his food. Cater and Kalim look at you with pity, shaking their heads. You've heard of Lilia's infamous cooking skills before, so you have to mentally prepare yourself before looking at what he prepared. It's... uh... something alright. Though it's unrecognizable, a dark glob that just looks sticky and burnt after the point. Your desperate look does nothing for Cater and Kalim to try to save you, as they look away furtively.

Aceppting your fate, you take one of the spoons Lilia brought and take the smallest bite possible while he stares at you attentively. It tastes foul, as expected, as if something had died in your mouth. You resist the urge to gag, trying to go for a smile and ending up with a grimace instead. It's horrible, there's no other way to describe it. All the rumors don't do it justice, it's way worse than what they say. You suspect you will get food poisoning later, as you down another glass of water. At least you're keeping yourself hydrated. Lilia seems to either not notice or pretend he didn't, as he keeps his cheery attitude and asks if you liked it. You nod weakly, hoping it would be enough for him to not force you to take another bite. He mercifully looks satisfied with the answer and you sigh with relief.

In the end you tell them you don't know which one was the best (you side eye Lilia's, thinking on how you knew which one was the worst at least). They don't look disappointed, content in having you prove their food as each munchs on their own snacks happily. You wonder how they manage to do it. Suddenly you miss Trey's baking and the wonky strawberry tart you've made.

As everyone sits together, Cater puts on some electropop song on the background that reminds you of the famous vocaloids from your world. You have an epiphany that Cater would listen to Hatsune Miku. You're not sure what to do with that information, staying quiet in shock as the other three talk between themselves. You remember him mentioning something like it when you went to do the SDC auditions, but you had other things to worry about and it must have slipped your mind. Once you've recomposed yourself, you ask what the food had to do with music, since the question had been burning in your mind for some time (not as much as your tongue burned tho).

They explain that the pop music club doen't really do much music, as the name suggests, they mostly just hang around to chat and chill. It has gotten them in a bit of trouble with the Headmaster, as they don't do anything that could actually be considered a club activity, causing him to have threatened to disband the club. Not to mention there's no new members for a while, no matter how much they try to attract more students. You consider joining this one just to spite Crowley. They clarify that they do play their instruments every once in a while to cover some song, but with their different music tastes they never reach an agreement on what to play most of the time.

You're curious on how they might sound as a band, sure it would be a chaotic but entertaining sight. You would ask to see this, if it was not for Cater excitedly declaring it's "gossiping time". They put on elevator music to play at the background and huddle close together, leaving a spot open for you to join their little circle, as if you were about to be in into the school's secrets. And that's exactly what happens, as the three of them seem to know about everyone and everything that goes on Night Raven College. There's so much drama you've never heard about, and you feel you know way too much about the lives of people you've never even met, but it's nice to create conspiracy theories about what would happen next in the soap opera that was other people's lives.

The topic changes to Magicam, since you were lowkey stalking the boy that had caused a ruckus in the cafeteria the past days. Cater likes his account's aesthetic, saying it passes the bad boy vibes he has, and whines about their club's magicam page. You weren't aware they even had one, so you ask to see it. It's... not what you were expecting. They might as well not have an account, since there are no photos other than their icon, which was the symbol of the club. Cater complains that they couldn't come to an agreement on how the page should look and were too lazy to try to work something out, so it has stayed like that for months.

Since you know how much he cares about this stuff, you offer your help! After all, it could be a lot of fun, and it'd feel as if you're the manager of the club. Cater lightens up with joy, throwing his arms around you and bringing you close to affectionately rub his cheeck on the top of your head, thanking you for being such a prestative underclassman. You enter your business mode, thinking on how you could go about this. It makes sense to promote the club doing something other than hanging out, so you tell them to pick up their instruments and pose.

You go around them and try many different angles. Kalim and Lilia have fun doing weird poses that makes very clear they aren't playing at all, but there's a charming genuine smile on their faces. Cater poses with his guitar like a professional, making captivating facial expressions that make even you swoon, only encouraging him to make different ones. He could be a model, you think, with how he knows all the right ways to smile at the camera and tilts his head just so to make him look cute and alluring at the same time, fingers skillfully positioned at the eletric guitar's chords, eyes lidded, hair messy deliberately, body facing forwards with confidence. He has everything to ace the rockstar persona, at least in looks.

You try taking some of them together as an unit, but none pleases you enough. There's something missing, but you can't quite put your finger on what. You give his cellphone back as you ponder about it. Cater looks through the photos, commenting how one looks "super cool~" and in the other he's "slaying". He decides it'd be a great moment to take advantage of his cuteness streak to take a photo with everyone together, yourself included. Cater drapes his arm around your shoulders and keeps you close to him, cheek coming to rest at your forehead. Kalim and Lilia make poses behind you two, laughing at how silly they look with all the filters Cater tries on. 

He ends up telling you to decide which photo looked better, as he couldn't chose just one, something like: "any photo with you would look cute, of course I can't chose!" You look through all of them, but only one gets your eyes, the only without a filter. Everyone looks genuinely happy, making your heart warm. Cater's is not looking at the camera itself, but slightly to the side, where you are, with such a soft expression you can't help but be endeared by it. It's him, not a forced smile and exaggerated pose, just Cater, happy. That's what the other pictures were missing. 

You show it to him, insisting it's the best and should be the first photo on the club's Magicam page. He pouts about the lack of filter, saying how the other ones look much cuter, but you explain that you like the real him much more than any filter, since nothing could ever come close to the real deal, no filter in the world could make him justice. You're very genuine with it too, since it's the truth. Cater stares at you, caught by surprise, and turns his face away from you, ears tinted pink, taking a minute to recompose himself, leaving you confused. Lilia looks on knowingly, smirking at him. You weren't alone in your confusion, as Kalim seemed to be just as clueless as you.

Your argument manages to convince him, though, as he soon comes up with an eye catching description and posts it, grumbling that you should be happy now. You are, actually, so you simply smile at him, giggling at his playful eye roll. Only after the picture was already posted and you entered on your own account that you notice your eyes were closed. You yelp and try to convince Cater to change it to another one, but he refuses, telling that you were the one that chose it so you should stick with it, sticking his tongue out at you in a childsh manner. You whine some more before giving up. Cater seemed really content with the choice, if the soft smile on his face as he glanced at it meant anything, so you let it be, resigning to your fate. You weren't even a member, so you hoped you wouldn't attract that much attention. (You really hoped Ace wouldn't find it, otherwise you'd never hear the end of it.)

He suddenly gets an idea to decorate the classroom to make it look more "magicamable", dragging Lilia with him to get the decorations. Lilia whispers something to him that makes him glance back at you with a red face, quickly scurrying away and leaving you and Kalim to look on in confusion. How weird, what had gotten into him? 

At that moment, the playlist shuffles, coming up with a song that has a very upkeep beat. Kalim jumps in excitement, saying that was his favorite song and he couldn't not dance to it. You can't help jumping your leg and moving your head to the beat, swaying to the contagious rhthym. Kalim notices and extends his hands in your direction, inviting you to dance with him. You know you're nowhere near his skill level and you'd look clumsy compared to his fluid moviments, but his earnestness convinces you to give it a try. You were sure he wouldn't make fun of you, so why not have a good time too?

Hand in hand, the two of you move together, not completly in sync, but in a rhythm that feels right, that's only yours. It's nice, seeing his content expression up close, foreheads almost touching, feet following the other's steps, hips swaying together. You spin once, laughing, he spins once, grinning wildly. You're lost in the trance of the hypnotizing beat of Kalim's heart.

The song gradually comes to a stop, making both of you calm down too. Kalim has one hand on your waist, the other still holding yours. You hold onto his shoulder, your noses touch, breaths coming in puffs, his eyes crinkle and it's warm, he's warm. Your chest follows his in it's rise and fall, your stomach does pirouettes, to the point you're dizzy, your cheeks feel hot. You start worrying you might have really gotten food poisoning from Lilia's cooking.

Before either of you say anything else, the sound of Cater's giggle burst your bubble, bringing you back to the real world. You whip your head to the door, watching as Lilia and Cater giggle deviously, Cater's fingers working fast on his cellphone's keyboard. You separate from Kalim's burning touch, your hands suddenly feeling cold, and stride up to them, demanding to look at what they found so funny. Lilia shows you, on his own phone, a videoclip of you and Kalim dancing together, nearing the end of the song. Your focus is initially on Kalim, as he glows, movements showing years of expertise, it's... beautiful. Then your gaze averts to yourself, and how, like you suspected, you were looking goofy near him, not matching the tempo at all.

You whine up at Cater again, asking him to delete the stories he posted, but he refuses, saying it was way too precious to miss. You lightly hit his chest and look up your lashes at him, pouting. His teasing expression falters, as if you were on the brink of convincing him. Lilia pulls you away and explains it was only on close friends anyway, so you needn't worry about the whole school seeing it. Kalim agrees that the video is very nice, beaming as he watches you two having fun. You sigh and give up, not having the heart to be a killjoy.

Lilia and Cater's hands are empty of any decorations, so you question them about it. Cater frowns exaggeratedly, drowning on dramatically on how they couldn't find any and how it was such a pity. Lilia covers his hand to hide a giggle, only making the action more obvious. Cater glares at him subtly. Kalim notices how the club's reserved time is almost coming to an end, deciding that to make a grand finale you should play an instrument, after all they should at least pretend they did something club related for you to report back to the Headmaster. And it'd be a lot of fun for you to play with them!

Lilia claps his hands together, agreeing it would be a most gleeful experience. He insists on teaching you how to play the bass, not wanting to hear whether you already knew how to or not. He gives you the instrument and shows how to hold it in the right way, trying to teach a few chords. It's a bit difficult to understand the confusing terms he uses, so he sighs and comes behind you, taking your hands in his and doing the movements, pressing his chest against your back, his deep voice right by your ear as he explains. You can't pay attention to it all, for some reason. You kind of feel dizzy again. Perhaps it's the food poisoning for real this time?

His fingers guide yours along the strings, gently pressing on the right spots, strumming the chords at the bridge. He murmurs the instructions, voice ressonating like the low pitch of the instrument, hot breath tickling your skin. You let him do as he pleases, dazed. The simple notes ring in your ears, lulling you into calmness, eyes closing as you let your sensations take the wheel, the frequency making your heart vibrate in your chest, as if dancing along, your head floating in the clouds.

It's all good and well until Lilia starts singing along. Or whatever it is that he calls "singing". In reality, he starts screaming some punk-rock lyrics right by your ear. Your heart jumps so quickly you swear you almost had an arrhythmia, your soul leaving your body for a second. Your eyes snap open so fast the lights from the classroom blind you and make black spots appear in your vision. You elbow Lilia in your surprise, thankfully making him stop trying to burst your eardrums. You get away, taking off the strap of the bass and giving it back to him. You think that's enough practicing for now.

Later on the day you confirm your food poisoning suspicions to be true. You've gained a new found respect for Sebek for enduring the poison Lilia calls cooking everyday and still managing to keep that impressive disposition of his. At least you helped the pop music club get more followers on magicam and spread their word out there. A bunch of people sign up to know the club, so you're all really happy! You felt like you've done a good job. (In the next week, the people arrive and see no sight of you, only of the dynamic trio. They don't show up again, leaving the members number back to it's original three.)

It was pretty fun, all things considered. You didn't get hurt other than in your pride and your social image, so it's a win in your books. Still, you're not sure you could handle their energetic and chaotic personalities combined like this evey week and risk getting deaf or suffering stomach failure. Time to check out other clubs.

(Cater comments on how the photos you took together got the most likes, insisting you come over again for a photoshoot. Kalim says he's got new songs to dance with you and that he's asked Jamil to help him cook for the next club meeting. Lilia tells you that you still have to take some more bass lessons to get the hang of it. Well, you suppose you could pass by sometime to be in the know about what goes on at the school and to get to prove Jamil's cooking. And to enjoy your friend's company, of course!)

Masterlist

[judasgot-it]

i would like to request what hunting dogs would do when their s/o has insomnia, a lot of hugs and kisses please🥰

Sorry for the inactivity, I apologize everytime and I feel horrible about it :,(

I have horrible insomnia right now (I can't sleep well no matter what I try, it's hopeless) so I'm 100% using this to cope a bit. Also sorry about how messy reader is in Tecchou's part, I just love messy crying. I'm so weak for it.

Scenario: They help you fall asleep (Jouno, Tecchou)

Jouno

893 words

Jouno couldn't tell the time.

Whatever time it was, his body didn't care - it was screaming at him to go back to bed, making his bones feel sluggish with their weight.

Unfortunately, his ears kept pestering him, since no matter how quiet you tried to be, he could still hear you in the kitchen. Doing what? Jesus Christ, who knew.

Whatever it was, it was too damn loud.

It felt nearly impossible for Jouno to make his body move, but by some feat, he managed. He found his feet both on the ground, walking towards the bedroom, out the too-long hallway, and into the kitchen to see what in god's name you could think was worth losing sleep over.

By his guess, it was most probably around 2 in the morning. How horrible.

"Hi."

There was a loud clatter as he heard you drop the dishes in the sneak rather unquietly. Also, you screamed, but that was to be expected.

"Oh my god!"

Is there a God at this forsaken time of night?

Jouno sighed as he leaned against the wall, rubbing his eyes out of habit.

"Yeah. I'm right here."

He gave you a moment to collect yourself, your heartbeat still skyrocketing through the roof. He yawned, nearly deafened by the sound of his jaw pulling at his muscles.

"So."

As patient as he could, he waited. There was noise on your end - a clattering of dishes, and he was sure you threw a towel somewhere, but that was of lesser importance.

"So. Jouno."

"Yeah?"

You patted your bare thighs, popping your lips together. Nervous.

"Why are you up?"

You tried to play your words off with a giggle. He knew he probably looked the least bit pleased, but nothing was going to convince him to go easy on you right now.

"Y/n. You know why I'm up. I'm the one asking the questions here, if I recall."

"Oh, right. Because you're 'the greatest hunting dog' and all, right?"

Jouno sighed, covering his eyes. He took a deep breath in, holding it in. It was calming, feeling his lungs slowly fill with air. His head cleared, helping him realize that the headache he had was I'm part due to the tension he was keeping in his body. In that time, he heard your heart beat skyrocket, your breath slowing as you stared.

He tried not to smile as he let go of his breath slowly. If Jouno wasn't exhausted he would have teased you about it.

"'Don't do this to me. It's 2 in the morning, go to bed."

Your laughter was a nice noise to hear. Just not now. God, not now. His body was dragging him to the ground and your laughter was reminding him that he was standing, awake - as if he were in hell.

Your laughter shouldn't be in a place as torturous as this. Like the hell between staying awake and crawling back to bed, because someone thought baking at two in rhe morning was a good idea.

"Sorry princess, but I need to put these brownies in the fridge. I'm trying out this recipe I saw online and I think-"

You didn't get to finish that sentence, as you were instead kidnapped in Jouno's arms. The man didn't care to hear the end of it - he only wanted it to end.

"No." He sighed, pressing his cold nose against your neck. "You're insane, honestly."

He muffled his words into your shirt collar, still restraining you as you struggled against his hold. There was no point, as no matter what way you fought, you couldn't fight against a super-enhanced human - even a tired one.

"This is so ..."

You paused for a bit, looking for the right words. Your brain was tired, although it hadn't registered to you just yet. Your heart still beat fast enough for you to convince yourself that you were awake, even if your eyes and mind were exhausted.

"So ...fun police of you."

The words that came out of your mouth came out sloppy at best, but they got a lame chuckle out of Jouno.

With care, he took you back to the bedroom - dropping you onto the bed like a pile of unfolded laundry. You practically laid there as if you were dead anyway.

"I have no problem arresting and cuffing you to bed if it means sleep is involved."

You giggled, as much as your tired brain could push from your throat. The bed shifted as Jouno dropped himself on the mattress, pulling up the still warm blanket over the two of you.

"What if that meant something else was involved too?"

Jouno groaned, turning back towards you. He could imagine the stupid smile on your face right now.

"Y/n."

"Yeah?"

Jouno took his hand and slowly, carefully, dragged it across your face. He felt as your eyebrows pinched in confusion, and your eyelids fluttered before he finally set his fingertips on your lips.

"Shush."

He felt you nod against his hand, before finally relaxing. Tiredly, he pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair as he slowly pressed his lips against your forehead.

"Goodnight, sleepyhead."

Jouno felt a smile pull on his face at those words. Like an idiot, he let you roam your hands around his body - when really he should have smothered you to death.

Tecchou

739 words

Waking up before you were supposed to was like a coin toss - depending on the mood it's either a great early start, or the worst feeling in the world. Sometimes the body had gotten it's full rest, or it was forced awake by something talked about in horror stories.

Tecchou decided he was indeed not well rested, and that waking up at what could well be 2 in the morning was equivalent to a horror story. Why would he want to wake up to one of the worst sounds a man could hear - his own partner, crying?

Maybe if he was Jouno, but he didn't want to think about that.

He sat up, listening as he tried to decipher what you were doing.

You were rather quiet, trying your hardest to hide your cries behind your blanket (gross, but he appreciated the effort). Opening his eyes, he glanced over to see that you were enraptured by some sort of video on your phone, the blue light illuminating your face (and probably burning your retinas, from Tecchou's guess).

He shuffled closer, trying to peak at the screen while not disturbing you. Whatever you were staring at on your phone had distracted you well enough to not even notice his presence, was slightly concerning to Tecchou - you were very spatially aware.

Shaking your shoulder, he winced when you screamed - right in his ear, with snot blowing right across his face. He elected to not react to it, considering how red your eyes looked.

"Tecchou!"

"Yea. I'm here." He replied while casually wiping off his face with the blanket he was once sleeping peacefully under.

He stared at you, his amber eyes glowing from your phone screen. You looked back, trying to readjust to the sudden change in brightness.

"M'sorry, did I wake you?" You had finally shut off you phone, resting it on your chest - giving yourself a good chance to see his full face.

"Why are you crying, babe?"

His hand roamed around your stomach, softly pulling at the fabric around it. It made you shiver as you felt his legs press against yours, warming you underneath the sheets.

"Oh...um..." You tore your gaze away from his, staring straight at the ceiling. You fidgeted with your phone, trying to stop your trembling lip.

Carefully, Tecchou reached over and wiped away your spilled-over tears, thumbing your cheek as if your skin were made of glass. He pulled you closer, resting your head against his chest, trying to calm you. Adversely, this had the opposite effect, making you start to cry even more onto his naked skin.

There were muffled stupid and sorry between your sobs, although he elected to ignore them for now. Instead, he waited as your body was racked with tears, shaking and holding onto Tecchou as if he were a lifeline.

"Hey, babe?" Calmly rubbing your shoulder, Tecchou waited as you wiped your snot and tears along your sleeve, sniffing as loud as an American bullfrog.

"Can I ask what upset you so much?"

You lightly smacked his shoulder, still hiding yourself within his warmth.

"You already did, ass."

"Right."

He went back to holding you, waiting for your reply. Eventually, when he thought you would have maybe decided to fall back asleep again instead, with the room still cast in pitch-black shadows, you decided to reply -

"I failed my exam."

Silently, Tecchou nodded.

There wasn't anything he could say to make you feel better, at no words that he knew to say. It was easier to simply pull you closer, to make you feel better through his hold than to say anything more.

"It's fine, you should try and sleep. Maybe you'll feel better in the morning."

Carefully, he pulled your phone from your hand, sliding it onto the bedside table, hoping to stop you from looking at your failure once again.

You didn't need to be reminded of it anymore, not when he could distract you right now.

As gently as a man like Tecchou could, he took to scratching at the soft skin at the back of your neck, gently tapping his rough fingernails along your spine. He smiled as felt you begin to relax, breathing out a sigh as his fingertips brushed alongside your bare shoulder blades.

He watched as you relaxed into his form, waiting until you started to breathe slower so he could allow himself to fully fall asleep once again.

Sorry about the months-long break, I didn't mean to abandon Tecchou. Also btw IRLs of mine know about this account so if I start sounding even weirder on here it's because I stopped caring about my employment opportunities

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

what if you were from Khaenri'ah.

you weren't a noble or any type of royalty, just someone who was trying to live life to the fullest in the underground kingdom. yet somehow you still found Foul Legacy, an injured Abyssal monster who slipped past the city's defenses, and took him in to heal his wounds. you cared for him in secret, using your own medical supplies to patch him up and tending to him when he fell ill afterwards, all with a gentle voice and precise hands.

and Foul Legacy fell in love.

you showed him the passage to the Abyss once he was fully healed, expecting him to leave the next day... but he never did. instead, Foul Legacy stayed by your side, following you around the house and watching you work with curious chirps and trills. he perks up whenever you turn to face him, star-speckled wings fluttering with delight as you bring your hand to his face for him to lean into. he relishes the affection you give him, your kind words and friendly laugh, and tries his best to show how much he adores you through gentle nudges and purrs. he loves this new peaceful life, this second chance you've granted him away from the bloody chains of the Abyss, and he loves you most of all.

then Celestia rains its judgement down upon the kingdom, the sky turning red and buildings burning away into ash. amidst the chaos and screaming and fire, Foul Legacy loses track of you and awakens to the ruins of a great city, alone. you are nowhere in sight, and frantically the Abyssal beast looks for you, whining and crying out for you and receiving no response.

a scream of grief echoes through the rubble of Khaenri'ah that night, but Foul Legacy refuses to give up. the worst offenders of the kingdom, in Celestia's eyes, were turned to immortal Sinners, suffering endlessly but alive. you could be one of them- you must be one of them, for who else would ever hold his face and kiss his forehead and call him "my Legacy"? and that's what he is, your Legacy and your Legacy alone. so he journeys above, to Teyvat, the sun hurting his eye with its brightness, in search of you, a Sinner of Khaenri'ah.

for what is the greatest sin than to make peace with the Abyss?

[rawbin-hsr]

Aventurine x reader

You die.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

TW: DEATH, heavy angst, gore, blood, kind of disturbing, a bomb explodes, derealisation/disassociation, graphic, I'll be so honest this fic is kind of fucked up

Lmk if I should add any more specific warnings!

If you're sensitive to violence and dark themes, you probably shouldn't read this.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

This mission had gone terribly awry. 

It was only meant to be a routine checkup. The IPC was planning on allocating resources from this planet, something the locals had not been pleased about. Aventurine understood. He would not be particularly happy to have his planet drained of all that made it worthwhile either. (He had not been happy. But all things considered, he thought he was being generous. Nobody was being directly killed, the IPC merely wanted a cut of the many materials the planet offered. The Avgins on Sigonia had all been very intentionally exterminated. He was not doing that to these people.)

Still, he couldn’t afford to take risks, hence the many IPC assigned bodyguards he had brought along. Deals like this, where the clients were undeniably on the losing end, were bound to go wrong in one way or another. Often violently so. 

He just had not expected the bombs. He had not expected the mass amounts of guns. The people were more capable and vengeful than he had assumed, then. Ultimately, it was his own fault.

Most of his goons were dead. Most of the government officials were dead too. It made sense they’d want to go out in such a loud and proud way. A declaration to their people they wouldn’t lay flat before the otherworldly corporation that had come to essentially take away what made their planet their home. Bold to be ready to kill so many of their own, but he could respect it. 

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be very angry. It was fair, all things considered. He’d had this long coming; being killed by the people whose lives he was ruining. In their positions, he’d love to kill him, too. The only issue was that this hadn’t happened under normal circumstances. 

No, you were with him. You’d been just a bit away from him when they opened fire, when they set off the bomb. 

It was so stupid. It was so, so unbelievably stupid that he’d let you come with. It was your job, yes, but he should have reassigned you to some other mission. Something safer. Something that didn’t involve visiting planets to drain them of all their worth. Something that didn’t bring about rage from the clients. 

He could see you. He’d been saved from the brunt of the impact, and his luck had once again protected him from serious harm. He had only been slightly grazed by a bullet, had only been slightly burned by the heat of the explosion. Nothing serious. Nothing he couldn’t walk off within a week or two. You had not been so lucky. 

Your arm was outstretched over your head, body lying limply on the floor. Missing the other arm. There was only a gaping, red hole where it had once been attached to your body, a little bit of bone sticking out of the gory mess. The blown off hand with your engagement ring lay close enough to him that he could touch it. Maybe intertwine his fingers with it for the last time. The pinky was missing.  

He pushed himself onto his feet on unsteady legs. He could barely feel his own body at all. One glance down at it told him he’d been right in his initial assumption, though. No parts of him were missing. He was intact. 

He stumbled over to where you lay, your expression calm, almost peaceful. No pained pinch between your brows, no worried frown on your lips. Were you unconscious, or were you dead? Though he knew it was unlikely you’d leave this place alive either way, he hoped desperately for the former. 

He fell to his knees next to you. Something was buzzing beneath his skin. Something was buzzing in his vision. Had the world always been so blurry? Had there always been such a loud noise ringing in his ears? His hands trembled as he carefully reached out, a hand tenderly cupping your cheek. Your face was red, slightly burnt in places. Your hair was singed. You felt hot to the touch. 

No, not hot. Warm. Warm as in alive. He couldn’t hear you breathing, but warmth meant life. Warmth meant life. You were alive, surely.

He brushed his thumb under your eye. Tried to find something to say, but he found his mouth refused to open. Carefully, so carefully, he shifted you onto his lap. He stared at the dust from all the debris that had settled onto you. He couldn’t breathe. 

(He thought back to a time when the dust had been sand. He thought back to the red that had painted the ground then as it did now. He thought back to another body he had pulled closer, with hands much smaller and weaker than the ones he had now. He thought back to the taste of salt as tears fell in an endless stream from his eyes to cover his face and hers.)

He moved his free hand to your neck, gently pressing a finger to where he knew he was supposed to find your pulse. It wasn’t there, but only because he wasn’t searching hard enough. He carefully felt around, and though he couldn’t find it, he knew it was still there. He just didn’t dare press down hard enough to find it. The same applied when he felt your wrist. He was just bad at finding things today. 

(He stupidly hadn’t found a good enough reason to put you out of this mission. He stupidly hadn’t found anything that happened before the explosion suspicious enough to leave early. He stupidly hadn’t found his way next to you quickly  enough to save your life.)

When his hand landed on your chest, absent of a heartbeat, tears started falling from his eyes. But why was that? You weren’t dead. In fact, the longer he looked at you, the more sure he became this couldn’t be you. Your skin wasn’t this hot. Your arms were both still attached. You did not have fresh burns covering your face. Most importantly, you were alive. Alive and well and happy and safe from this little mishap. He had misremembered, you had stayed home during this mission. The hand he’d been so sure belonged to you had been someone else’s, he’d merely mistaken the ring for yours. It was such a bland ring, after all. He’d have to buy you a new, much prettier one once he came home to you, and apologise for his oversight in giving you such a boring design. 

He ignored the repeated whispers of ‘not again, not again’ going through his head. Nothing was happening ‘again’. This was not Sigonia. This was not a person he loved, or even knew. He couldn’t understand why his body curled over the stranger’s, sobs wracking his frame as he pulled them close, soft apologies tumbling from his mouth. He nuzzled his face into your- their hair, hand carefully cradling the back of their head as the other supported their back. 

The body smelled like you. The body felt too similar to yours in his arms. The body had your face, even if your features were a little damaged. The longer he stared, the more he could feel his gut sinking. So he shut his eyes and reminded himself that there was no possible way this was you. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t. The universe would not be that cruel to him, would it?

Then again, maybe he had deserved this. If it was real. He was not a good man. He had not come to this planet with good intentions. Losing the thing most precious to him, the only thing precious to him, after taking away so much from so many others was a befitting punishment. 

But you hadn’t deserved this. Wouldn’t have, if it was real. You were so kind and generous and perfect and lovely, so different from him, so different from the position your job wanted you to be. You didn’t deserve to die. 

Die. Dead. 

Dead. Dead. Dead. 

You were dead. 

(Aventurine had seen so much death in his life. He should have been used to it by now. He was used to it. He had just forgotten how much it hurt when it is someone he loves.)

He held you tighter. If he held you tightly enough, could it piece you back together? If he held you tightly enough, could he replace the parts of you that were missing with his own? The sobs that escaped his lungs were violent, and quickly, some morphing into gagging. He felt sick. He had to turn himself away from you briefly to throw up, not wanting to soil what was left of you further, before he desperately held you again. Would it be the last time he held you?

Maybe if he took you back to the ship quickly enough, something of you could be salvaged. Maybe he couldn’t piece you back together, but he could find someone who would. There had to be something he could do. This couldn’t be it. He couldn’t lose like this again. 

He could barely stand. His body was already weak and your added dead weight made it even harder to balance. He picked up the parts of you strewn about on the ground he could quickly spot. Your hand, your shoulder, what he thought might be your bicep. He couldn’t find your forearm and he didn’t have time to properly search for it. Maybe someone could put all of you back together? Maybe you’d be whole again. He wanted you to be whole again. 

(He couldn’t save his people. He couldn’t save his mother. He couldn’t save his sister.)

(But things had to be different now, surely. He was a different person now. He had power, he had wealth, he had everything. What would it all be good for, if he couldn’t save you?)

Other IPC personnel met him outside the building as he stumbled out, and Aventurine’s mind was so hazy he couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening. He was pretty sure his own, now dead, workers had sent a distress signal. People rushed in to find anyone else from the wreckage. After, Aventurine found out he was the sole survivor. (He always was.)

(You had not survived.)

He demanded you be taken into surgery. That the medical staff on board had to get you to breathe again. For some reason, they had been hesitant. He threatened to have them fired or killed if they didn’t get to it. He set you as first priority, putting the best doctors they had on hand to work on you. 

They sewed you back together as best as possible at his insistence. They got your heart pumping blood again, they hooked you up to machines and forced your lungs to breathe. The surgery lasted for four hours.

It did not change the flatline on the screen signalling your brain activity. 

He could find the best doctors in the whole galaxy, but he already knew the line would remain flat. Nothing was bringing that back.

He stared at you for hours after your surgery. Interlaced his fingers with yours, feeling the artificial warmth of your hand. It did not feel like you. The temperature was wrong. The look on your face was wrong. Your body was wrong. Everything about what remained of you was wrong. 

He eventually laid his head on your chest, and then he cried.

He cried until the black spots in his vision grew so numerous he could no longer see, until everything faded and he could no longer hear the beeping and humming of the machines keeping you hollowly alive. 

(Why did he ever let himself love again?)

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Sorry that was messy I wrote everything today because I am con-crunching tomorrow and won't be available for like at least 3 days after this (usually I write over the span of multiple days so I can re-read for grammatical/spelling errors and so my language will be a little more varied + I get fresh ideas). Sorry this fic was ?? kind of messed up ??? I think ??? I think my perception of what's messed up and not is kind of weird (I grew up on warrior cats HELP.) so to me it didn't feel that fucked up to write about Aventurine literally picking up your body parts after you died but I've realised upon mentally summarising that part of the fic that maybe that was kinda horrific. Just a glimpse into my twisted mind heh 😈.... sorry

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3

[ridreamir]

Nebarra is ugly. His hair is a tawny brown, not the illustrious flaxen blond of his brother nor the prettiest of Altmer boys and girls growing up. For a mer, he's short. Sure, he stands on par with a man, but that means little in the eyes of his people. He's not a perfect golden. He's muddy. Off-color.

He's scarred. He has all the tells of a weak mer. Conscripted as a foot-soldier. Discarded after fighting in a disaster war when he was but a boy. Scorched in the deserts and haunted by those that will never get to see the peaceful future they've all fought so hard for.

That peaceful future that he's given up hope for. He's never been the pride of his family. And still, the perfect sheen of each septim he pockets in a pristine white envelope to be shipped off back home mocks him.

He dons himself in golden elven armor. The symbolism of divine light and perfection. And yet underneath, there's nothing but dirt. Forgive me mother, father. I am so tired of not being the mer you wished me to be. He glides a finger over the smooth curve of a near-empty bottle of weak swivel, a hint of winterberry and a tinge of hops. And now he has to play second-fiddle to the supposed reincarnated savior of man and Mundus.

What irony. The ugliest part about him, then, is how he's found himself wanting to believe that it's true.

Save me again, please.

[isaut]

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓— f!reader x captain rex. 2.7k. ao3.

you and rex have both been through a divorce... just not with each other. your youngest daughter and his youngest son are best friends. he coaches their little league team. you have a conversation at the beach house you're at. (also, it's 2003). pls enjoy!!! this au has given me such brain rot. it's fun

It feels almost surreal, sitting on the couch with your knees tucked up under you and a glass of wine in your hands, being involved in a light conversation with other adults that isn’t small talk. You listen happily, interjecting every once in a while. The beach house is a nice one, with plenty of rooms to sleep in. You’d been invited at the end of a night on the town with Rex, where he’d driven you home because you weren’t allowed to drive when they went out, always claiming that parking was a mess. And while you had only been invited because Rex’s eldest was spending the summer at an internship, he’d been earnest about wanting you there. 

They aren’t quite your friends, not yet. Though you hear your mother’s voice telling you that they wouldn’t have invited you if they didn’t consider you a friend. And anyways, you know Echo from your youngest’s baseball practice. You know the rest of them from those nights on the town, from those barbecues Rex has. 

Rex is saying something, and you turn your gaze to the other end of the couch to listen. These are Rex’s friends, but the two of you are the only unmarried ones, the only single ones, and it’s regulated you both to the same couch again. 

Not that you mind. 

Rex laughs, eyes crinkling on the sides and thumb smoothing over the edge of the throw pillow in his lap. Then Fives interjects, and you like Fives, you like the way he raises his daughters and his wife is kind yet also shouldered with the same burden you carry of being the not-fun parent. You hate the fact his grown out hair mimics the floppy nature of your ex husband’s. 

Speak of the devil. Your phone rings, jostling you out of your thoughts. Reaching forwards, you check the caller ID. 

Your ex-husband’s name flashes across the screen. Your heart drops in your chest as you do the math. 10am in Tokyo. 

“I have to take this, sorry,” you say, leaving your wine glass on the coffee table and standing. Every horrible situation flashes through your mind. Something has happened to one of your daughters, they’ve gotten lost in the city, they’re sick, they’ve broken a bone. 

You answer the phone with a worried, “Hello?” as you open the sliding door and step outside into the cool night air, crisp from the salt water of the ocean. 

Your ex husband says your name gently. “How are you?” 

The minutes are racking up. “I’m fine. How are you? How are the girls?” You care about one more than the other. 

“I’m well, thank you for asking. The girls are alright. We’ve been keeping busy. I’m calling about Rosamond.” 

Your heart stops at the mention of your youngest, newly-six year old daughter. “Is she alright?” 

“Who’s the Tooth Man?” 

You sigh, sitting down on the bench. Maybe you should have brought your beverage. “He’s sleep paralysis. He stands in Rosamond’s room and watches her, sometimes threatening to eat her. He’s got a lot of teeth.” 

Your ex hums in interest. “I would have shared this information with you.” 

“I’m sure it’s come up and you just weren’t listening.” 

“I always listen when you speak, darling.” 

“I told you not to call me that anymore.” 

“Ah. Of course. My apologies.” There’s a pause. “Is this what she’s in therapy for?” 

You take a deep breath. “Yes.” You don’t mention the fact she’s been in therapy since you moved to the States a few months ago, that all of the girls have been in therapy. You don’t mention that the therapist thinks the Tooth Man is a manifestation of Rosamond’s fear of leaving home. 

“I see. Well, she’s been asking all morning to talk with you. Is now a good time?” 

Your heart skips in your chest. There’s a feeling of relief bubbling up in you, eyes becoming watery. “Absolutely.” 

“Just one moment.” He speaks Japanese off to the side, calling for Rosamond. In a few moments, there’s rustling, then:

“Maman?” 

Your smile is watery. “Coucou, chouchou. How are you?” 

“Good. I miss you,” Rosamond says earnestly. 

You swallow thickly. “I miss you too. What have you been up to?” 

“So many things! We went to the zoo and the aquarium and have been doing so much walking. I got new Pokémon cards!” Rosamond details the cards for you, talking about their holographic edges and rare beasts. Suddenly, you don’t care about the minutes anymore. 

“That sounds like so much fun,” you say, just as earnest. “Things here have been so boring without you.” 

Rosamond giggles. “That’s not true! It’s summertime! You can’t be bored during the summer! You have to find something to do!” 

Good parenting comes back and hits you like a truck. 

“You’re right,” you say. “What should I do?” 

Rosamond hums as she thinks, just like her father. “Maybe you can play with my toys! I bet my Littlest Pet Shops want to see you.” 

“That’s a good idea. I’ll make sure to give them some love.” 

“I brought Lady and Dressy with me, though,” Rosamond continues. “So you won’t find them.” 

“Are they also having fun with you?” 

You can hear Rosamond nod through the phone. “Papa bought me a purse to put them in.” 

“What else do you keep in there?” You know Rosamond loves bags, loves putting things in bags. Loves carrying your lip products around in her little one when you go out. 

With her gone, it feels quite strange that your lip balms and glosses and sticks are all in your own purse. 

“Uh… lip balm and some yen,” Rosamond says. “Because I’m a little lady and need to be prepared!” 

You smile softly. Little lady is not your doing, it’s her baseball coach’s doing. Rex’s doing. 

“I bet you are the most prepared lady out there,” you say. 

There’s Kuroro’s voice on the other end. Rosamond responds to him in Japanese with an, “Okay, papa,” before returning to the call. She continues to speak in Japanese. “Papa says it’s time to go.”

You return the language. “Okay, chouchou. I’ll talk to you later. Take lots of pictures for me.” 

“I will!” Rosamond promises. “Bye bye, mama!” 

“Bye bye, Rosa. I love you.” 

Rosamond returns her love and includes a big kiss before the phone is passed back to her father. You let out an exhale. 

“How are Dorothea and Celia?” You ask, inquiring after the twin nine year olds. 

“They’re doing great,” your ex replies. “They’re happy to be doing all the things they used to do.” 

“That’s good.” 

There’s a moment of pause on the phone. 

“Perhaps for their winter break you should come here instead of me coming there,” he suggests. “I think the girls might prefer that.” 

“We can talk about it later,” you say. “Can I talk to Dorothea and Celia?” 

“They’re with a friend,” he says. You feel tears start to well up. 

“I’d love to talk to them, when they come back.” 

There’s an interested hum through the receiver. “Would you?” 

Everytime you’ve told him the girls couldn’t talk because they were with a friend flashes through your mind. 

“Yes,” you breathe. 

“I’ll let them know. Take care.” He finishes with your name, and you barely have a chance to say goodbye before the line goes dead.  

You should head back inside now. Instead, your waterline grows heavy. With a shaky exhale, you blink rapidly. Press your fingers against your closed eyes, willing the tears to go away. 

Instead, they begin to slip out. 

You suppose the healthiest thing is to let them slip. Better now than when you’re inside around everyone, moved by the white wine in your cup. 

The only problem is that once they start, they don’t stop. Your sleeve wets more and more with every pass as you wipe under your eyes. 

“What a fucking asshole,” you whisper under breath, speaking about your ex. 

Taking a deep breath of the salty air, you try to calm yourself back down. Your face feels warm from crying, a little puffy too. Part of you wishes you were still in your bathing suit— Swimming at night is dangerous but a quick dip would shock your body back to normalcy you think. 

The door behind you slides open, with it chatter follows, then it closes off as the door itself is shut. 

“Hey,” Rex’s drawl is smooth against the warm night. “Everything okay?” 

You nod, but don’t turn to look at him. The lights from the house will shine upon your face. “Yeah, ‘m fine.” 

“Brought you something,” he says, coming around and offering you a refilled glass of wine. Gratefully, you accept it. “You sure everything’s okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say, unaware of how watery your face is. You take a sip of your wine. “Just miss my kids.” 

“I’m sorry,” Rex says. He is, he truly is. “It’s rough.” It is. Truthfully, he can’t imagine going so long without seeing his own. When he had first heard about your custody agreement, he’d felt bad for the father. Only seeing his kids for twelve weeks seems brutal. Then, he figured that it was only twelve weeks for a reason. 

You nod. 

“Want some company?” 

No. But you’ll take Rex’s. You shift over on the gliding bench you’re sitting on. Rex takes a seat, beer bottle resting on his knee. He rocks the bench once before stilling. 

It’s quiet. The stars are brighter here than they are in the city, but still drowned out. The ocean crashes just beyond, in the inky darkness of night. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Rex asks. 

You sigh. There’s a knot in your throat. “I don’t know what I’d say.” 

“That’s okay,” Rex says. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “We should go back inside.” 

“We don’t have to,” Rex says. 

You’re too much of a mess to go back in. You take a sip of wine. 

“But they get it,” Rex says. “They watched me go through mine.” 

His divorce. You’ve never breached this topic with him. Instead, the two of you have always danced around it. 

You’re quiet for a moment. Take another sip. “I thought I’d be glad for a break. It was nice the first two days. But now…” another sip. “They should be here, y’know?” Here, with their friends, who were all sound asleep in their twin beds and bunks.

“Yeah,” Rex murmurs. “But I’m sure they’re having loads of fun in Tokyo.” 

You sniffle and swallow heavily. “Yeah, they are. I just… I wish it had worked out.” 

Rex nods. “Yeah. But everything happens for a reason, right?” 

“I suppose so.” 

“You don’t seem convinced.” 

Even your laugh is watery. “I’m not.”

“I think one day it’ll click,” Rex says. “Something’ll happen and you’ll realize everything’s how it’s meant to be.” 

You suppose it’s already turning out that way for you. There’s no more constant gaslighting, no more unwanted touches, no more manipulation. It’s almost suffocating how much you can breathe now. 

“Yeah. I think I just miss them.” 

“I’m sure they miss you,” Rex says. 

“I don’t know if they do,” you admit, voice cracking. Tears begin to well up. 

“Oh, Ophie,” Rex says, “I know they do. You’re their mom. You’re there for them everyday.” 

“I know,” you mumble. “But…” 

“But nothing,” Rex says. “Those girls adore you. My kids adore you. All of their kids do too. You’re just at the shortest stick of the draw right now. But you’ll be back to being the luckiest in just a few weeks.” 

A tear slips from your eye and you’re quick to wipe it away. “I’m sorry.” 

“What are you apologizing for?” 

You shake your head. “It’s just– I just– It’s very unbecoming of me.” Your laugh is watery, and you wipe at your eyes again. 

Rex balks at you. “You think crying about missing your kids is unbecoming?” 

You sniffle. “Yeah, ‘cause I’m crying.” 

Rex wants to take your face in his hands, wipe away your tears and tell you that you’re experiencing one of the purest emotions in the world. That it would be weird if you weren’t crying. 

Instead, you take a sip of your wine, then pass the glass off to Rex. “I think I need to drink some water.” 

“You don’t need to blame your emotions on the alcohol,” Rex says, but takes the glass anyways. “Really.” 

A shaky sigh escapes you. Rex’s brows furrow. His voice is soft. “Want me to get you some water?” 

“No, that’s embarrassing.” You sniffle again. “I’ll be okay in a few minutes.” 

“Do you want to tell me how the girls are doing?” Rex asks. 

You don’t have any good news to report. “I don’t know. I’ll have to wait for him to send me the stupid email.” 

Rex furrows his brow. “What was he calling about, then?” 

“Oh.” You let out an exasperated sound. “Rosamond is having those nightmares still.” 

Those nightmares still. Rex knows about them– One day after practice, on a gentle Saturday in April, Rex had come up to you. His normal compliment about how well Rosamond is doing, how much she’s improving, had followed up with a: “She’s been really tired these past few practices. Is everything okay?” And you’d given him a flippant: “She’s having nightmares.” Then, you’d detailed them in brief: “There’s a man who has lots of teeth who threatens to take her away and eat her. We’re working on it. Practice is the highlight of her week, though.” 

“Really?” 

You nod. “So I’m a bad mother because of it.” Before Rex can interject, you speak, “He didn’t say that. But I felt it in his tone.” 

“Are you going to let him ruin your night?” Rex asks. 

That gives you pause. 

“What?”

The advice Rex has had has been given to him– One night Rex had gotten up from the Dungeons and Dragons table to answer a phone call from his ex when they were freshly divorced, and come back in shambles. This wasn’t the first time. Nor the fifth. Fives had placed his hand on Rex’s shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes: “You going to let her ruin your night?” 

If they were still in the military, Fives would have called her a bitch. But he has daughters now. 

“Are you going to let him ruin your night?” Rex repeats. “You can’t.” 

Rex has met your ex, met him at an end of season baseball party. He was in town to fly back to Tokyo with his daughters, and wanted to come experience everything. And Rex gets it– he was smooth and suave, shaking hands and proudly introducing himself as Rosamond’s father. Charismatic’s definition. Rex only exchanged a few sentences with him. 

He can’t imagine the phone calls you must have with him. Can’t even fathom the fights. He knows, from brief discussion, you’d been trying to divorce him for years before he agreed. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. Reaching over, you take the wine glass back. “You’re so right. Fuck him.” You take a long sip, then press the cold glass against your puffy eyebags. “Lord, he’s such a douche.” 

“He seems like a piece of work,” Rex admits. 

You chuckle dryly. “Yeah, he is. But then again, I guess I am too.” 

You are, but Rex doesn’t mind. He doesn’t look inside to confirm his next statement, instead focused on you and the parts illuminated by the house lights. “I think we’re going to play poker soon or something.” 

“Let me get myself together first,” you say. “I’m not very good at poker.” That’s a lie. 

“I’ll teach you,” Rex says, just as you hoped for. “You seem like you’ll pick up on it quickly.”

Inside, with a can of sparkling water instead of wine, you sit side by side with Rex at the coffee table. Everyone is on the floor around it, Fives is dealing cards out, and your knee almost touches Rex’s thigh. The fabric of both of your sweatpants dusts against each other. 

“We’ll play a practice round,” Fives says, handing everybody chips. 

Rex explains the amount of every chip to you, reaching over you to point at every stack. He looks at your cards, too, and advises you on when to bet and when to fold. Perhaps you lean a little too close to show him your cards, a little too close when you whisper to him for advice. 

But he’s happy to help. Anything to keep you from crying again. Anything to keep you close.

[loosesodamarble]

how would nacht react or what would he do if he found out that his crush or s/o came from an abusive family.

Sorry for the wait, Anon. Hopefully the headcanons I share now make up for it.

Content warning(s): abuse in Reader's backstory; as such, there will be brief depictions of abuse (specifically emotional abuse/neglect)

..........

Nacht believed there was plenty about you to admire. You treated everyone with kindness. Or at least civility. Your smile was warm and beautiful. You spoke fondly of your loved ones and passions. When he spent time with you, he felt like a normal man.

He believed you were one of the few, rare, people that was good right from the start.

He fell in love with how you were good in the simplest but best ways.

One day, Nacht decided to express his admiration for you, possibly even confess. He called you "an amazingly kind person."

You stopped short and looked at him, brows furrowed and lips curled into a frown. "Nah, you've got it all wrong. I'm nothing special."

Nacht was confused but when you pulled away from the conversation, he knew it wouldn't be right to press you right away. But the seeds of worry were planted that day.

That worry grew when one day, when he tried to ask about your latest creative project, you brushed him off. And your kindness started to feel more strained. And you acted more restless, anxious even.

Nacht tried to approach you, but you brushed him off over and over. Eventually, he took you by the shoulders, looked you dead in the eyes, and begged, "Please, tell me if something is wrong."

You broke down in tears and through your sobs you explained how you'd visited your family and how unpleasant it was.

You had tried to explain your recent project to your parents but they brushed you off saying "okay, so are you doing anything that's productive?"

When you talked to your sibling about your job, they remarked that you could've "been doing better."

You were hysterical and ended up venting. About how they never had time for you. How you could never impress them. How invisible you felt at times.

"They were right when they said I haven't changed at all since they last saw me," you sobbed to Nacht.

Nacht let you vent. Let you cry on his shoulder. Hold onto him for stability. The intimacy he wanted with you had been achieved, but possibly in the worst circumstances.

Once you'd cried yourself dry, Nacht put an arm around you and whispered, "I'm sorry that your family has treated you in such a way. To think that the people who should've supported you treated you coldly, you don't deserve it."

Nacht now understood why you'd reacted the way you did earlier on, because you'd been led to believe that you weren't worth notice.

"I know this doesn't make up for your family's treatment, but I want you to know that you're wonderful and deserving of love."

His words were so soft and while somewhat unsure, there was a power to them that moved you to tears again.

After that conversation, Nacht would you rebuild your confidence. Small affirmations daily. Reminding you that he wants to hear about your life, even if it seems mundane. Stopping you from being too critical of yourself.

He wouldn't go overboard with praising you. He would've tried and realized it actually made you more self-conscious. But Nacht definitely lets you know that your efforts aren't wasted.

He would do his best to make himself emotionally available to you. When you need to vent negativity or ramble about good things, he'd be there to listen to you.

Nacht might be a little overly cautious and would ask you not to visit your family. Not for a loooooooong time. He doesn't want them to break your spirits all over again.

A proper confession would wait for another day. He does want to love you, openly. But you loving yourself comes first.

[ilkkawhat]

[Nick Stokes/Reader | 1,723 words | also on ao3 here | I have some of the best inspiring dreams ever, and a couple days ago I had one about a whumped Nick, though there's actually only a few things I took out of it to write this.]

You’ve been in this store before, although you really haven’t been.

“Attention shoppers.”

And you’ve never been in any store past closing, let alone, with all the lights off.

“Attention shoppers.”

You feel like there’s too much space between the aisles, and though the parking lot was scarce you can’t help but feel like someone will emerge from the shadows.

Or come up behind you, as goosebumps tickle your neck.

“Attention shoppers.”

You know better though, having been called here as back-up to investigate a live crime scene, that the owners of those lone cars will never drive them again. 

There’s one shopper left in the store however, and you and Grissom are heading straight towards the fast paced rickety cart wheels swimming through the darkness.

“Attention…shooooooppppppppers.”

The automated intercom call warbles out, having been looped likely not on purpose but rather a side effect of the supposed employee that was butchered and fell on top of the controls, according to the account given over the dispatch call. 

You also know that Nick Stokes was in this store when it happened. He was assigned to this case first, when it was just a petty burglary before it became a massacre.

Desperately, you want to call out to him. You already tried texting him, and got no response. From a tactical standpoint, the element of surprise is more apropos in this situation but your heart doesn’t give a damn. You just want to see Nick.

And you do see him, when your flashlight passes over the aisle of canned goods.

He’s there, on the floor. Face down. His face striped with blood. Cans are littered around him and one is broken near his head. 

“Nick!” you gasp, and run over. His body rises and falls ever so slightly, and he softly wheezes as you kneel next to him, wiping strands of hair out of the way of fluttering eyes and your shaking fingers are becoming sticky with the blood pouring out of the pulsing wound on his forehead. 

“Help….her…” he whispers to you in a strangled voice. His eyes roll behind their lids, falling victim to a void of consciousness.

Grissom, who was standing nearby during this time, transfers a bit of the radiation of his concern with a hand to your shoulder, in agreement to Nick’s request.

“We need to move,” Grissom tells you. “I think he’s close.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod shakily, and become Grissom’s heel, after quickly taking your gun out because Grissom doesn’t have his; just a flashlight and a white knuckled fist.

The chase continues down another long, dark aisle but the sound of squeaky wheels carrying weak-wired mesh grows louder. Your heart pounds harder, and faster. 

You turn back to look at Nick, and in those few seconds you somehow lose sight of Grissom.

Swearing under your breath, you pick up the pace and quickly shake your head between the rows, finding nothing but fallen items and shadows of fellow officers, but you nearly run into the sliding door that leads out into the garden section of the store.

“So…what are you making?” Grissom’s voice, a disguised disgust with equal intrigue, per his  norm of course but you wince as you worry he’s getting too close to the killer—

“Soup,” a strange voice answers simply. “You see my ingredients in the cart here…”

Speak of the devil, the killer is still shopping and throwing items into his cart…

That’s carrying a hopefully unconscious and not dead woman, her arms and legs hanging outside of the cart with various vegetables and meats and packets of flavoring and for some odd reason, large sacks of soil on top. She has a similar wound to Nick’s on her head, though you have no time to wonder what a Nick-flavored soup would have tasted like, as the conversation that you stopped paying attention to goes south, and both the killer and Grissom are suddenly gone—

You whip your head and hear splashes of water, your flashlight locates the source of the struggle below, in a large display of filled ponds and pools for backyard enjoyment, Grissom wrestles the killer and your instinct should tell you to either jump in and help, or draw your weapon and fire but—

BANG-BANG!

Grissom stops and you see the shock on his face in the handheld spotlight that traces the trajectory of the bullets that pinned the killer into the water, and also punctured the walls of the pool that drains away. 

Catherine stands breathless, a wordless exchange with Grissom and a side glance to you, freeing you from obligation as they begin to talk out loud—

“I’m going to check on Nicky,” you tell them, and run back towards the love of your life.

The main aisle seems longer than ever, the lights are flickering on and the eerie silence is replaced with chatter, radio chirps, and distant sirens that give you and odd sense of relief—you’re near the end of the story, the day is saved and more importantly—Nick is safe, for the second time in a far too short of time and this time it’s not dirt you’re sliding on to comfort him, but harsh, unforgiving lamination that you know you’ll feel in your knees later.

“Nicky, I’m back, she’s safe…” you half-lie because shit, you forgot to check on that victim and instead chose this one, but you do hear calls for an ambulance to take her.

You tap his cheeks, clammy and pale and still sticky. He’s not responding, and your heart stops beating. You look around the aisle, a halted shopping cart happens to have a case of water that you cut into, and pour onto Nick as if it’ll bring him to life—fortunately, it works; he sputters and rolls over onto his side, propping himself up and you sigh in relief. 

“What happened?” a new voice asks, feminine and Sofia’s behind you, ready to relay anything you tell her to the rest of the team.

“We found the perp, and the victim. Cath got him after he tussled with Grissom. Nick here, well…I don’t…” you start bumbling your words, Nick scrunches his face and wipes blood out of his eyes.

“I tried to stop him,” he says in a strained voice, one arm cradles his stomach. “Asshole rammed me with that damn cart and a stupid can fell on my head…”

Nervously, you mutter, “Guess you really got cantripped, huh?” in attempt to lighten the mood. You’re not sure if Nick actually heard it.

“Heard you were the one who caught him in the act, that true?” Sofia asks. Nick nods and your heart pangs. As if the both of you don’t see enough dead horrors as it is, it’s harder to witness live ones.

“Found him cause he was the only guy who didn’t run out of the store when I triggered the alarm.”

“Alarm? There’s nothing ringing…” 

“Yeah, cause I used that intercom to tell everyone to evacuate,” Nick clears his throat and adds a bit of deep authority to his voice, “‘Attention shoppers, please get the hell out of the store if you want to stay alive.’”

You can’t help but laugh, “You did not!” 

“Course I did. How else would you get the shoppers out?” Nick almost smiles himself, before he reigns himself in. “That’s when the bullet hit the poor John that fell onto the panel, and I took off towards it.”

You stare daggers into Nick’s avoiding gaze, both admiring his bravery but admonishing his stupidity for running towards danger. But he’ll get that earful later. Or sooner, as Sofia puts away her notepad.

“Thanks, Nick. I’m gonna check in with Gil and Catherine. Make sure you get checked out, okay?” Sofia raises her eyebrows and points at Nick’s forehead.

“I’m fine,” Nick waves off.

“You’re not!” you harshly whisper as Sofia walks away. “The hell were you thinking, running towards the gunfire?” 

“It’s our job, baby,” Nick tells you. 

“Nuh-uh, their job,” you point to the uniformed officers. “We’re supposed to come after.”

“But, they can’t always—”

“Neither can you!” you interrupt. You stand up and Nick takes the opportunity to pull your arm and lift himself up with you. 

“Alright, alright, I get it…”

“I don’t think you do, but before we lay this to rest…what if a bullet hits you?”

“Then I’ll just walk it off, like I’m walking this cantripped bullshit off.”

“You’re not invincible.”

“I know that,” Nick tone become sour and frustrated and you feel his muscles tense up. “And you know that I’m damn well aware of that, too.”

You sigh, but notice that he isn’t shrugging you off just yet. You can see a shimmer in his eyes and feel a wave of guilt wash over you. 

He’s hurt more than he’s willing to admit.

I wasn’t strong enough, you remember the broken words amidst tears that fell onto your chest, soaking into your clothes. 

You know it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a small head wound for him to get to that point again, but feel the need to comfort and lighten the mood nonetheless.

"You know…it’s a good thing you shaved that stache," you say, once again stroking loose strands of hair out of his reddened, dampened eyes. "Make you look like you're a redhead, at least in facial hair."

"Well, I am attracted to redheads..." Nick smiles coyly and you playfully swat his chest, before he reels you in for a tight hug.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he whispers.

“It’s okay. I know you don’t give up that easily,” you tell him with a soft kiss to the side of his face. 

“And neither do you,” he reminds you with a kiss of his own.

You both stand there for a solid minute of silence, and you lean further in, but the slight movement of your body seems to scare him, and he somehow grips you tighter.

“Don’t let go,” he asks of you. “Don’t let go, please…”

“I made that promise to you a long time ago, Nick. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he tells you, and he takes you out of the almost nightmarish, liminal dreamscape into the best fantasy you could ever dream of.

[hungharrington]

hi ..currently thinking abt writing this for my own but until I kick this writers block, i’m thinking maybe having a biting obsession with steve? like obviously not hard enough to hurt or leave a mark or anything, just being fixated on the idea of doing it as love language? it’s always at the most random times and always catches him off guard but he’s learned that’s just like affection overload for you so he doesn’t care and lets it happen !!!

YODELING anon you and me are ONE in the same!! and look like, you never think of yourself a biter or even consider yourself to be one, you get all the normal emotions when you gaze at your boyfriend— you want to kiss him, want to hold him n touch him and this feeling always feels like it comes left field. steve doesn't ask the first couple times, mainly because he's like :O..... did you just bite me? after you've gnawed on his finger for a moment, wrapped in his arms at a party together and you've just ducked your head and not said anything, clearly a bit embarrassed. and it just feels like an elephant is sitting on your chest, squishing out all your affection in every direction and you can't explain it to him— you're a little too embarrassed and also a little bit loves that he is surprised but doesn't tell you to stop :')

one time, you're just bundled up beside him in bed for an afternoon nap, legs tangled together, tucked into his chest but god you just want to give him a little nibble. you just love him so much. you check, pulling back an inch and glancing upwards and his eyes are shut, probably dozing sweetly so you just snuggle up him closer, arms squeezing around his middle as you sigh dreamily and try contain your affection. it won't do. his hand is on the pillow within reach and you plant a soft kiss on his palm, then just.. give it a little bite, in the pillowy bit of his palm— soft as you can. you don't even notice steve open one eye, spying your antics with a smile and he gives you a little fright when he speaks, "whatcha doing, honey?" and you shrink back, apologies falling off your tongue, "sorry- do you find it that weird? i can stop but-- it's not bad, i promise, i just, sometimes i just love you so much i feel like i can't contain it. guess it... comes out in the form of a bite?" and realisation breaks over steve so fondly, that you get the same surges as he does, that it's all love "s'okay," he whispers, tightening his hold with a smile, "if that's what it means, y'can bite me any time you wanna," and you do :) and steve loves it :)

[mysteriesmuse]

Blushy Breezeways 💕🍃

When he’s not following you around like a puppy dog he’s busy in the guard yard. Sparing with his fellow guardsmen, running with his fellow guardsmen, lifting, sprinting, swimming, you name it. Getting the blood rushing and keeping up his physicality so that he can continue being the best and continue being around you as often as he is. And obviously you know exactly when he’s off doing his mandatory training because he leaves and some other guy comes to follow you around. Although the replacement is nowhere near as fun to have hanging around as Bakugou is. Which is precisely why you’ve decided to schedule your day how it is. Meeting with other dukes and princes and diplomats and making boorish conversation as you give them a tour of the castle including the royal courtyard which neighbors the guard yard. The breezeways lined with yellow roses and cheery wisteria that flutter down into your shoulders as you put in face and chat with these young suitors and sometimes your own advisors, depending on your schedule. And both companies allow you the privilege of catching glimpses of Bakugou doing his mandatory training.

You knew his credentials: superior hand-to-hand, excellent swords play, excellent archery, skilled horsemen, skilled mediator (not that you could see that one based on his rather brutish tongue, but apparently being a solid brick of steely eyes and muscle qualified in that department) and detached as his personality, which you would now strongly argue with.

Anyone who was allowed to be directly assigned in your presence must be fairly good, but you’d never actually saw him do any of it. He just followed you around and put up with some of your delightful escapades and frantic whims. Usually just going along with it because what else could he do? And because your kingdom was so well liked and respected you’d never had any problems with anyone so he’d never done anything in his actual job description, thankfully, but that still didn’t mean you weren’t curious as to what the man could do. You caught glimpses of him being off duty around the castle before and you knew what sheer strength and power he had based on those frankly embarrassing partner lessons he’d been roped into. The man was better looking than any marble statue or royal painting in the kingdom.

And who were you to say that you didn’t want to see it. That you didn’t want to sneak at least a sliver of a peek. It’s in your birthright to know exactly what’s in your presence everyday, right? Wanting to see your guard without a shirt hmm well I guess thats fair game under those stretchy rules and conditions you gave yourself. And so, you planned it that way in those hopes, but you never succeeded. Apparently they train with everything on too! Ridiculous! But you continued anyway. Parading around half-listening to attendants, advisors, assistants, and suitors talk your ear off. And Bakugou, despite being busy with his own tasks, noticed. For heavens sake he has your damn schedule memorized to help make sure you’re in the right place at the right time. You know, pertaining to however you felt at any given moment. He liked watching you debate on canceling, pacing around the room when sick or stressed, only to meekly smile and politely decline whenever some attendant came to fetch you. Bakugou espically liked it because he loved to glare at the weasely guy who dragged you to-and-for. Which he’d sometimes get chastised for right after, but ultimately you’d sigh and thank him.

“I ain’t your scary guard dog for nothing princess. There’s perks, use me.” At first when Bakugou glanced at your adjusted schedule he nearly had a heart attack. Because why on earth are you parading around with these losers in the courtyards breezeway, what happened to the royal library, or tearoom, or maze? Okay well, he knew what happened to the royal maze. You had a terrible sense of directions and they have had a few incidents where some garden employees have come back into the castle asking for him to come “get” you or “find” you. Because somehow you could get to the middle with the bench and fountain just fine, but you just could not get back out of the maze. And so he’d march in and exclaim, “oh there you are. It’s time to get going.” To which you always looked extremely relieved and would chatter on and on about how lovely it was chatting with whatever man it was and you’d wave him off at the doors. Always none the wiser those guys. Except for Prince Todoroki who Katsuki actually liked, if you could call it that. Probably because you really liked him, something about having the two of you being diaper buddies and being menaces at some royal christening and causing a whole conundrum with the missing doves. Either way Prince Todoroki either took care to memorize the way out after the first couple of times or proceeded to insist he didn’t need to be shown the maze again. Thank god. So it made sense that they finally took that off your list of locations on these pointless tours. And Katsuki could guess that the breezeways were a safer less difficult destination for you to explore while you talked with these guys. And you looked ravishing while doing it. A full face of makeup and just the right amount of blush on your cheeks. The slope of your strong nose burrowing into dangling flowers when you brushed past. Your tiara nestled into your hair and causing more light fractals to bounce around in the guard yard than they already had because of the swords and metal. You looked incredible and he knew exactly what all those feathery touches to the elbow felt like. He knew when you actually found something funny because your laugh was more boisterous and noisy and joyful than anything one would guess because it rung out loud and clear, no matter how loud the clash of metal and the thumping of his own heart was. And so he knew he already had to push himself. He already had the drive to do that, but now he had to do it for you. To protect you, to impress you, and if he dared dream it to ask for your hand. Something that was astonishingly not out of reach because you were in line for the throne. You heard that correct. You weren’t the eldest child, thus not the direct heir of the throne. And there was a chance. A slim chance for him to impress everyone enough to marry you. So he put on a good show at all his royal duties. A good show that you particularly enjoyed, despite the disappointing presence of shirts and chainmail. Katsuki was a beast. Sprinting faster, lifting more, and more agile than any other man in his platoon. And occasionally you’d see him huff over to the side and put on more armor on top of what he had. You’d see him pick up a shield bigger than the rest. The one that held your families crest and fit with an emblazoned crown at the top that told everyone it was you. Because that crown held a glimmering red ruby. The royal gem picked out for you from birth. The same one you shared with your grandmother, the one you inherited on all your royal possessions. The same one that Katsuki shouldered now fighter against his platoon for a pretend you.

A beautiful beast of a man snarling and grunted as he attacked; offense and defense from the entire group. And anytime he did this particular exercise everything flew in one ear and out the other. You being deaf and mute as you watched. Which once earned you a sly grin and laugh as your friend patted your hand that was wrapped around his arm. Practically making you jump out of your skin with the incredibly unhelpful comment, “you should just talk to him,” attached to it, from your friend Prince Todoroki.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Love me some alpha! Characters x beta! Readers omega au fics

I think this says a lot about my character. Might write it or not, idk yet as I've always been a bit iffy with it. But still.

[tender-rosiey]

plsss would u do sukuna taking care of his pregnant wife? like noticing his robes keep disappearing, only to figure out its his wife. or more dad!kuna 🙏🏾

robes — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: me👰‍♀️ ➕ 👹heianera!sukuna

sukuna is a deeply preceptive man.

it’s something he prides himself over, and since he is observant, he quickly notices that his robes start going missing.

in the beginning, he thinks that it’s probably the increased number of bloodied robes because he has been going on a higher number of rampages the past couple of days.

so, he goes to uraume to inquire about why the delivery of his robes has been later than usual.

uraume quickly responds that they have been personally delivering the clean robes to his chambers and ensuring that they are placed where he can clearly see them.

the revelation makes sukuna annoyed because that means that someone has been stealing his robes directly from his chambers.

he is presented with two courses of actions—excluding the option of saving himself the trouble and just killing all the servants: sending uraume to spy on the whole ordeal or investigate it himself.

considering how he has been pretty bored the past couple of days, he decides on the latter. the past few rampages have given a clear warning to the rest of the villages surrounding his castle.

so, with nothing else to do, sukuna takes it upon himself to monitor the main entrance of his chambers to see whether anybody enters the room after uraume places the robes in the room.

so, he situates himself near the room but far away so that they can’t catch him.

he stays there for a good couple of hours, yet he sees no one, not even in the darkness of the night: the supposed prime time for a thief.

perhaps the thief has been made aware of sukuna’s inspection? but that would mean that the robes would still be in the chambers. so, sukuna enters his room in search of his robes, but, to his surprise, he doesn’t find them.

that immediately leads him to concluding that whoever is stealing his robes is someone who has access to the hidden door of his room.

and no one knows about that door except—

“y/n.”

you yelp and slowly turn to your husband. he is standing there, arms crossed, brows furrowed, and an everlasting frown on his face. you have been caught and are in some big trouble.

you don’t falter immediately though. you try to act normal. you smile nervously, “yes, my love? is something bothering you?”

keyword: try.

he repeats your name lowly, and you quickly crumble. you visibly deflate and lower your head as you murmur, “yes…”

he nods in satisfaction before asking the awaited question, “where are my robes?”

your hands rest on your lap, and you fidget with your fingers.

you still can’t figure out what his reaction will be. so far, he is just gathering information. he is giving you nothing to work with, so you have no other option but to comply and just keep answering him.

sighing, you answer him, “my closet.”

he quirks an eyebrow and sits in front of you. his hand is placed on your head, and he raises your head, so you’re looking him in the eyes. it’s something that you have noticed only being done to you.

you had absentmindedly asked your head servant about it, and said servant, uraume, had told you that it’s because he views you as an equal and does not take pleasure in your fear and acting inferior to him.

and in the end, sukuna only does what pleases him. if it doesn’t please him then why do it?

he hums as if in thought before egging you on, “and why are my robes in your closet? in fact—” he smirks, eyes observing your frame, “why are you currently wearing my robes?”

you pull the robes tighter around yourself, and you purse your lips. sukuna wants an answer right now, and while he is enjoying your ‘suffering’, he also wants to know what’s wrong.

if there is anything that he hates then it’s not knowing, especially if it’s something about you, his very pregnant wife.

his hand travels to your jaw, and he grips it lightly.

“so?” he says as he tilts your head to the slide slightly.

“you…have been gone for longer than usual lately, and I have been missing you,” you admit softly as you try your best to maintain eye contact, but you end up looking away.

he is still silent, so you continue laying out your reasoning, “and for some reason, the robes alleviate the pregnancy pain. I couldn’t find any logical or scientific reason, but I think—

—it’s because the robes are filled with your cursed energy, maybe acting as a kind of assurance to the baby that you are beside us even if you aren’t.”

he doesn’t grace you with any reaction nor reply for quite a while, and it makes you think that he is probably thinking about how foolish the entire scenario is.

so, you add hesitantly, “or something like that…”

after a moment, though, he sighs and simply says, “you could’ve just asked me, you foolish woman.”

you blink confused, “and you, my ‘no one takes what’s mine’ husband, would’ve allowed that?”

“you, idiot, are mine, so my belongings are yours anyway,” he states, and his hands rest on your stomach, “this is mine too, so you have to take good care of it.”

a smile takes over your face, and you nod happily, “of course, I will!”

you pause for a second, and it has sukuna confused.

you frown and you point your finger at him while reprimanding him, “and don’t call me an idiot, mister! I am your wife, and I am blessed with a good name.”

a pinch is delivered to your butt which makes you shriek. you jump away from your husband and start rubbing the spot in attempt to soothe it.

sukuna smiles wickedly before suggesting, “how about I help you with that?”

“no! keep your hands off of me, you brute!”

he chuckles, and it echoes throughout the room. it’s kind of creepy. you always said that you wanted to add more furniture to avoid that situation.

you start thinking about the new design for the room when your husband speaks up, “and regarding my absence the past few of days.”

you turn your head to him, and he continues, “I will be putting my plans on pause for a while, so you don’t have to resort to the robes for the time.”

he turns his back to you before announcing, “I am expecting you at dinner and later in my chamber. is that clear?”

you feel giddiness fill you up, and you reply enthusiastically, “yes, my king!”

“good,” he smirks.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @sonder-paradise @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1 @sad-darksoul @ko-fi-heart @pumpkindudeishere @suyaaachin @babyqueen17 @chaosguy352 @murakami-kotone @sukun4ryomen @yumieis @hearts4itoshi @sleepyxxhead @dunixxd @sleepycrybbylaiah @imjustaduckwholikesbread @emilyyyy-08 @spacebaby1 @arabellatreaty @viscade @washeduphasbeen @janbannan @sugurubabe

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

check out my buy me a coffee!

[steveyockey]

In the absence of a clear and obvious angle to attack Bushnell’s protest, most likely due to his status as a serviceman that would make outright insulting him or suppressing the news itself scandalous, discussions on Western shores have now taken on the familiar framing of mental illness. In Time Magazine’s write-up of Bushnell’s death, the article finishes with a link to the suicide hotline, and asks readers to contact mental health providers if they are experiencing a “crisis.” Mark Joseph Stern, a writer at Slate, seemingly unasked, also wrote on Twitter/X:

“I strongly oppose valorizing any form of suicide as a noble, principled, or legitimate form of political protest. People suffering mental illness deserve empathy and respect, but it is wildly irresponsible to praise them for using a political justification to take their own life.”

Conviction does not exist to the American. To be willing to die in a selfless act for what they believe in only exists for those outside America's sphere of influence. Many will recall reporting on those who self-immolated in protest in Iran and in Russia for instance where this sort of approach, unwilling to engage with the root of its cause, would not even be entertained, let alone written and published with sincerity. The Arab Spring began with a self-immolation. The self-immolation of Buddhist monks in protest of South Vietnam’s persecution became defining images of the war and its corruption. Within America’s walls however, there is a belief, unspoken and ingrained from birth, that democracy allows for everyone’s voices to be heard and that its representatives are inherently inclined to respond to the people and their widespread wishes.

Desperation at inaction or complicity in terror and atrocity need not apply. Everyone incensed by their government to such an extent must simply have something wrong with them. To be able to go about one’s day knowing that children are screaming from the hunger that is eating their insides and that pregnant women are eating bread made from animal feed, and that the United States is supporting Israel’s creation of this famine, is apparently the real sign of well-adjustment.

Seamus Malekafzali, “The Words Burned Through His Throat: The Sacrifice of Aaron Bushnell,” February 26, 2024.

[moonlight-prose]

a request, if i may, of praising old man logan as he filfthly eats you out and it makes him combust the more you praise him? okay running away again

speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life

a/n: look at him taking off his glasses in absolute shock of this ask- no okay does old man logan have a praise kink? i would raise it higher and say every version of logan has a massive praise kink. this is a man who wants to know he's doing good in life. his love language is acts of service so he might get to hear a pretty thank you. also i'm not sorry for how feral this got. i have no explanation.

summary: he knew he loved you when your words begin to piece his heart back together. he knew he loved you when he flourishes at your praise. he knew he loved you when nothing in this world could matter but the sound of your voice telling him you love him too.

word count: 3k+

pairing: old man!logan x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), praise kink, logan is obsessed, dirty talk via reader, he is so pretty when he blushes, manhandling, cumplay, cumeating, overstimulation, crying, he's needy in this one, angst, tortured soul of an old man, reverence, religious trauma + greek mythology hints.

He can feel the strings of fate pull tight around his broken heart. In a failed attempt to draw him back together. To piece together an organ that barely beat for him anymore. He might have felt it once, before it broke. Before it gnarled itself like the branches of a dying tree, one half twisting away from the other in a desperate attempt of survival.

He deemed it a useless part of his body until you came along. You with your smile that held enough cloying sweetness to choke him as he stood helpless. Silently begging for you to say his name. To bring him back to life.

Whatever horrors that plagued his mind—endless nightmares that promised nothing but anguish—suddenly came crashing to a halt at the sight of you. So pretty in your denim jeans and velvet top. An angel seated in the center of a bar that held more filth than you deserved to be near. Logan couldn’t fathom that luck struck him this hard.

Not when death had already claimed his soul; notched yet another tally in the endless wall of people that came before.

He felt the dirt pack under his nails as he clawed his way out of the grave he put himself in. Years spent alone—a man lost to the ravages of time—had turned him bitter. With rough edges and biting words that stung far more than he intended. How could he believe he deserved to live after he contributed so much to the endless pool of blood that tainted his soul? How was he allowed such softness after biting off bits of brutality his whole life?

Logan was pretty sure he survived on borrowed time that had already run out. He could feel death breathe down his neck as the days went on. A reminder that what little of his life remained would be spent suffering. And he found that accepting it was easier than battling against the will of God, or whoever toyed with his lifeline.

It was far easier to die than find a reason to live.

Until you said his name.

Softly. Sweetly. Reverence wrapped in a tight grasp of need.

You brought him back from the edge—took his hand and refused to take no for an answer. You and the safety of your touch; the promise in your kiss. You dragged him into a life he didn’t earn; one that almost tasted too sweet—too sour.

After near a decade of being buried beneath the dirt, he felt himself collapse above ground and suck in his first real gasp of fresh air. Alive, once more. Hell spit him out with a vow of love and who was he to argue against it.

His fingers dug into your plush thighs, tugging them open to see what lay between. He marveled at their softness, eyes wide and awestruck at the sight of you spread beneath him. You practically glowed in the dim light of the bedside table. Yellow, musty, yet angelic when it caressed your body with its heavenly touch.

He wondered if this was real life; your nails digging sharply into his shoulders gave him the answer.

"Logan," you sighed, voice high with need.

The strings pulled taught. A vice like hold that drew him to you.

Maybe that's what this unutterable feeling was. The gnawing pit at the bottom of his heart. A greed he'd never indulged before—too afraid of what it might ask for next. He wasn't a man who asked for much. Rather someone that found himself far too content with nothing. But tonight he found his lips forming the words of a false prayer that his mother taught him as a child.

Hail the angel in his bed. Hail every good fucking thing you brought into his life.

His teeth sunk into your thigh, body jolting at your responding moan. Fingers dug into his hair, tugging at the mussed locks with a high pitched whine. You were a needy little thing, but Logan found he desperately wanted to be needed.

He smiled laving his tongue over the tender spot, working his way up to where you dripped for him.

So slick. So perfect.

Saliva filled his mouth. "What do ya want baby?"

Your chest heaved; he could feel the heat of your body under his palms. "Your m-mouth Logan."

His eyes trailed along your brow covered in a sheen of sweat. The room was thick with the humid air of the outside world. But that didn't deter him from craving your skin near his. The pressure of your thighs around his head a welcome weight. If he sunk his teeth in where the curve of your leg met your hip he knew he could draw out that soft choking noise he longed to hear on days spent driving alone.

If he had his way he'd crawl into you to seek your serenity straight from the source. He'd never divulge about the ache that chewed him up on the inside, but Logan wondered if you knew. Could you tell how much he craved you? How much he couldn't live without you.

When your glittering eyes met his, the resolve he spent years building cracked like glass. You peered into him as if he was a stained glass window. A god you were more than happy to worship.

"You want me to lick this pretty pussy?" Fuck, he sounded drunk off your taste already.

His mouth hovered over your throbbing clit, your scent now filling his senses. Overwhelming him with what he wanted most. But he needed to hear it. The lilt of your begging; the soft echo of your need that washed over him like soothing river water.

He couldn't live without it.

"Yes," you sobbed, thigh twitching.

The string sliced his heart open, blood pooling onto the white bed sheets. Oh what a sweet death your love made. Oh...what a bittersweet way to go.

He'd die right now if you asked him to. Hand over his heart on a silver platter if you so wished it. Maybe that made him far too gone for his own good, but Logan couldn't remember a time in his life where he got this. Safety. The hope of love burning far too bright and far too hot for him to fly near it.

Yet there he was. Icarus happily soaring in your sun like glow.

"I got ya honey," he murmured. "Gonna take care of what's mine."

You nodded frantically—tears welling up in your eyes. "You take care of me Logan."

The breath in his chest stuttered, eyes dark as the words fell past your swollen lips. He wanted to explain why his cock twitched against his stomach. Why he now leaked into the sheet with heavy panted breaths. But every time he came up short with the words needed to form an answer.

"Yeah I do sweetheart," he breathed. "Don't I?"

"Uh-huh."

"Take care of what belongs to me."

There was no warning when his hands dragged you closer with a rough tug, mouth closing over your clit with a desperate suck. A cry wrenched from your mouth, sparks sharply traveling down your spine. He licked through your slick with a growl. Hands an unbreakable press against your thighs.

The sight of your body bowed, mouth open for small gasped breaths that never came, snapped something in his mind. He was an old man. Well past his years. But the taste of your pussy along his tongue brought back a ferocity he often tamped down in his younger age. He felt the feral want claw at his chest, and answered it with a broken snarl.

Swallowing down every drop you gave him, he plunged his tongue into your entrance, thrusting messily until a smear of your shiny slick began to coat his mouth. It covered his cheeks and clung to the hair of his beard. He'd clean it out later, taste you on his tongue until he was aching for another go. But for now he was preoccupied with the way you cried for him.

"Oh fuck!" Your thighs trembled over his shoulders, hips canting down to drag yourself along his tongue. "So good."

He shuddered, eyes rolling back at the sound of your praise. You caught it within seconds, lips pulling into a breathless smile that left him gasping for air. His teeth nipped at your thigh briefly as his hips ground into the mattress below.

"You like that baby?" you breathed, thumb smearing your own slick against his cheek.

Something hot washed over his body. A needy sick and twisted ache that he'd never indulged in before. He wanted to be a good man to you; longed to be needed. And fuck if you didn't give him everything.

You were his walking wet dream. His future handed off and wrapped in a neat little bow.

"L-Love your tongue Logan-" A high gasp tore from your throat when he dived back in. Slurping at your clit with a heady moan as you dragged him closer. "Taking care of me so well."

His hips canted down into the bed, fucking his cock along the warmth of his stomach, as you gushed into his mouth again. Eyes zeroed in on your face, pupils dilated as he growled into your flesh. You no longer could see the man you loved, but the feral side he tamped down during the day. The animal he longed to release in your presence.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum."

His arms looped around your thighs and with a sharp yank, he had his face buried deep enough to suffocate himself. You sobbed an incoherent version of his name. Nails clawed at his shoulders, but Logan could feel the pulse of your clit under his tongue.

He sucked it into his mouth with a grunt, rolling it along his tongue as you trembled with the oncoming shocks of an orgasm that threatened to destroy you.

Tears dripped down your cheeks and Logan felt the satisfying part of his heart begin to stitch itself back together. The strings were tight enough to numb his pain. To quell the flare of agony.

That used to be all he knew, all he counted on most days. When there was nothing left and he'd propped the shovel in the dirt—his grave open and waiting—he stumbled right into your arms. He found his reason for living.

Heat curled around his spine as you shook with the impending orgasm—the stimulation on your clit practically debilitating. He grunted into your soaked flesh, eyes narrowed as he chased the release that pulled his stomach taut. But this wasn't for him to indulge in; this wasn't his pleasure.

So with a throaty moan you felt reverberate along your body, he scraped his teeth along your clit and watched as your body went stiff.

"Logan!" you cried, fingers scrambling for purchase on any part of him you could reach.

You gushed into his awaiting mouth, praises of it's so good, you're so good falling upon his ears like the whimpered prayers of a devout worshiper thanking your god.

"Taste so fuckin' good," he mumbled, drunk on what you gave him.

He didn't care that you were jolting with each pass of his tongue along your pussy. He didn't care that you were shocked with overstimulation, small broken cries of his name muffled by the press of your thighs against his ears. He licked at you until he couldn't breathe. Buried his tongue into your twitching entrance and sucked out your cum with a happy hum.

"P-Please." You tugged at his hair, pulling him off you with a sob. "I-I can't anymore Logan."

"'M not fuckin' finished," he said, eyes glazed and face coated in your slick.

You made a mess of his face. The light catching along where you spilled into his mouth and along his throat. And still he wanted more. He'd spend hours between your thighs, burning your skin with his beard, if it meant he could divulge in your sweetness.

"It hurts-"

A grunt rumbled in his chest, his arms tugging you back even as your feet kicked along his back. "Just one more honey. Yeah?"

You shook your head. "B-But-"

"Thought you said it was good."

"It is."

"Then lemme be good for you." He wanted to tell you that the world went quiet between your thighs. That all his grief, all his pain, lessened when you sobbed his name.

He wanted to show you the string that looped his heart to yours—the only thing keeping him alive—and thank you for bringing him back from the dead. But words weren't his forte. Violence had become the only tenderness he knew and you didn't deserve the rough edges of an old man. You should have more.

But when you let him touch you like this—caress your skin and lick between your folds—he felt as if he was a man who finally was worthy of someone as precious as you. He could pretend he didn't bear the brunt of a fucked up soul.

The weight on his chest lifted when your tear filled gaze met his and you nodded. Small, barely there, but it was enough for him to seal his mouth back over you with a ragged moan. Your body shook as his tongue slid through the seam of your pussy. The tip nudging against your clit—careful to draw the pleasure from your body slowly.

He didn't want to give you pain. His heart wouldn't survive that. But he was a broken man; someone who begged for more even as his teeth sunk into what was already given.

You were his meal. His sacrament in the midnight hours until dawn broke across the darkened sky. You were the other half of his soul.

How could he not indulge in your sweetened tang until his tongue went stiff?

"I love you," you sighed, eyes rolled back when he sucked at your pussy, a wet low moan echoing in the air. "My p-perfect husband."

The cold press of his wedding band against your thigh drove him over the edge. You weren't officially married. Didn't have the backyard wedding with a preacher to match. But Logan had placed a ring on your finger near a year ago, sliding one over his own with the vow of forever cemented in his words.

Even if that didn't mean much in the eyes of a god who abandoned him near a century ago.

"Oh-"

Your head tipped back, mouth dropping open as his fingers dipped into your wet heat. Thrusting lazily until he found the spongey patch along your walls—driving the pad of his middle finger into it with a needy moan.

He knew it wouldn't take long for you to fly off the edge of a second release. That didn't make watching you climb to that peak any less satisfying. The sight appeased his soul. It gave him a chance to breathe; let him know that after so much bad—after so much pain—he could do something good. He could bring you to the edge of pleasure and drag you over again and again.

He could finally be the man you believed he was.

Not the animal they created.

"C'mon," he muttered. Eyes fixed on the shape of your breasts as your body curved off the bed. Hips dragging along his face with a stunted cry.

A wail bounced off the walls, piercing his eardrums with the symphony of your cries. His fingers rapidly pumped into you with a squelch that had heat burning his cheeks—lips pulling your throbbing clit into his mouth as you broke. The climax slammed into you; battering your already swollen pussy.

Logan could feel his cock swell at the sight.

"Fuckin' perfect," he grunted, teeth bared as he clambered to his knees and wrapped his fist soaked in your slick around his leaking cock. "'M gonna cum sweetheart."

Your eyes fluttered open, fingers digging into his thigh. "Please. Wanna see it baby. Look so pretty when you cum Logan."

His chest tightened, body shaking while you watched in rapture as he fucked his fist rapidly. He wouldn't fucking last, could feel the burning consume his body, but something held him back. The string around his heart yanked him away from the edge, tearing a cry from his throat when his frustration peaked.

You could see it—the glimmer of need in his dark eyes. This wasn't the first time he longed for your words. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

So you spread your legs and sat up slowly—arms wrapping around his shoulders to bring his lips down to yours. A soft moan was muffled by your mouth; the peak of his release within reach. He could practically feel the tips of his fingers graze it.

"Cover my pussy baby," you mumbled into his mouth. "Be good for me and mark what's yours."

The growl came from the very bottom of his chest when he finally came. Your name was a bitten out snarl pressed to your mouth in an open mouth kiss as he spurted over his knuckles. He pumped his cock to milk every drop; eyes fixed on the way it covered the swollen lips of your pussy. Dripping down to your entrance that fluttered at the sight of his sweaty and crimson tinged face.

"I fuckin' love ya honey," he murmured, hand cupping your chin to drag your lips back to his. "Best thing that's happened in my life is you."

You smiled, thumbs pressing to his cheeks. "Love you too Logan."

Clutching you close, he felt the string go loose. The breath finally rushing back into his lungs at the sight of your eyes glowing with the kind of light that brought him back to the first day The night he met you in that shitty bar—alcohol the only thing on his mind until he saw you.

The night you spoke his name over his covered grave and dragged him back to life with a smile.

[redr0sewrites]

NNN Hcs With The Hashiras

🥀A/n: the title says it all!! (i didnt include muichiro for obvious reasons)

🥀Cw: smut, dirty talk, praise, degradation, breeding kink (rengoku + sanemi), squirting (mitsuri)

🥀minors dni

🥀Pairing(s): Hashiras(minus muichiro) x reader (seperate)

Giyuu:

when you first suggested the idea of NNN to giyuu, he was kinda confused

why would you participate in a competition not to have sex? did you just not want to have sex with him?

after some gentle reassurance and explanation however, he agrees surprisingly quickly

not only is giyuu ridiculously patient, he also has incredible self restraint

he would make it to the end of the month, but i definitely think he would have "almost" moments

when the month is over, hes begging you to fuck him

claims that hes waited so long, why should he have to do any work?

the minute it's december first hes waking you up, mewling and grinding on your thigh half-delirious as hes whining in your ear, begging you to take control

teasing him throughout the month will only make him more determined to last longer, if only to inflict the same suffering onto you

giyuu is very, very sensitive and you can use that to your advantage in a variety of ways

he gets really blushy when you tease him, and its only amplified during NNN considering he can't even get himself off

he also has a tough time ignoring it when he gets horny, he just feels like the type to be soooo sensitive and it's torture when he can't even jack off to relieve the painful ache in his pants

Giyuu pinned you down, his chest flush with your back as his cock rubbed against your hole. He was a panting mess, shaking above you as he pushed inside slowly. One of his hands tangled itself in your hair, forcing you to look over your shoulder as he began to thrust into you steadily. Soft moans and whimpers filled the room, accompanied by the sound of skin slapping again skin. You could feel your orgasm building as a coil tightened in your stomach, and Giyuu let out a soft groan, signaling he was close as well. You clenched around him tightly, your release ripping through you as you clawed at the sheets. Above you, Giyuu tossed his head back and whispered your name like a prayer before cumming as well, filling your hole with his dripping seed. "Giyuu- ungh- wha-" you gasped, drool spilling from your lips as he sped up the pace. You had no time to catch your breath, and your hips jerked from overstimulation. "baby, i've waited a month, please?" Giyuu whispered in your ear, eyes blown wide with lust. You knew that you probably weren't going to be getting up anytime soon.

Tengen:

im sorry but he is not making the month

he'd last two weeks at best

you and his wives would probably all team up against him, and this man is unable to restrain himself when it comes to you

quickest way to get tengen to fold? lingerie

just the sight of you in some flashy, lacy undergarments has him practically dragging you to bed

teasing him while wearing lingerie? hes gone.

"fuck the stupid month," he'd grumble, throwing you over his shoulder and slapping your ass for good measure

tengen would be rougher than usual, hes pissed at you for teasing him after all

"hey!" you gasped, squirming in Tengens grip as he practically dragged you inside of the house. You and the other wives had been been training outside when all of a sudden Tengen had snatched you up, throwing you over his shoulder as the other wives followed behind you. Your husband ignored your indignated cries as he brought you to the bedroom and tossed you unceremoniously onto the mattress. Maki, Suma, and Hinatsuru joined you on the mattress, and you turned to look over your shoulder at Tengen. "giving up already?" you giggle, crawling over to the other wives at the head of the bed. Tengen Tengen smirked and slid up to you, pulling your undergarments off in seconds as your head rested in Hinatsuru's lap. Maki and Suma began to grind against eachother to your left as Tengen's breath fanned over your bare skin and thighs while Hinatsuru ran her fingers through your hair. The five of you were in for a long, long night~

Shinobu:

Shinobu is definitely making it, no questions asked

she's patient enough to wait the month, however she will be pissed when you deny her

would totally try to get back at you, Shinobu would wear lingerie under her uniform and flash you when nobody was looking

she would run her hands up and down your thighs during hashira meetings, fingers ghosting so close to where you want her but not quite

she would enter a room and sit on your lap, kissing you senseless until your grinding up against her and then walk away like nothing happened

she's teasing YOU

i don't think theres any way to get her to give in, but at 12:01 on December 1st your waking up to her head between your legs

she would make you work for every orgasm, edging you until your sobbing

"you made me wait for so long, shouldn't i make you wait a little too?"

Shinobu smirked, gently swiping away the tears streaming down your cheeks. She placed a finger on your tongue so you could taste the salty drops, and you let out another needy sob. "Are you getting desperate already, little butterfly?" She cooed, thrusting her fingers deeper inside of you. Another mewl escaped your lips as she fucked you dumb on her fingers, stretching you open and prodding the place inside you that made you see stars. You could feel the coil in your stomach tightening, and you whimpered. "Pl-please Nobu, 'm gonna cum, please lemme cum-mgh-" Shinobu smirked at you, smacking your core lightly as you squirmed beneath her. She leaned down to whisper in your ear, caressing your sides slowly. "Shh, c'mon doll, I know you can take it. You made me wait a month to ruin you, didn't you? You can handle waiting a little longer to come~" Your body quaked at her words, soft sobs and pleads filling the air as you begged her to let you cum this time. Shinobu only shook her head, smirking and removing her hand as your orgasm begins to fade.

i went off there for a sec omg

Rengoku:

i think he would make it without too much trouble

i really don't think his sex drive is super high, and hes pretty patient as it is

so yea i def think he'd make it

unleeeesssss you teased him

listen, Rengoku LOOOOVES to please you

if you bat your lashes and play your cards right, he'll fold you in half and fuck you senseless less than a week into november

it would be the roughest, sloppiest sex yall ever have bc once Rengoku is done, hes done

He'll fuck you every day of the damn month just because he wants to, and be prepared bc this man has STAMINA

normally rengoku focuses solely on your pleasure, hes def the service dom type, hoowwweeeeverr, depending on how much you teased him, hes gonna be sm rougher

i also think rengoku would last the entire month just to irritate you because, lets face it, hes much more patient than you

just imagine begging him to fuck you at the end of the month, pleading with him to pay attention to you after he's deprived you of pleasure for so long... how could he say no to you?

the sound of skin slapping against skin and muffled groans filled the room as Rengoku pressed you down into the mattress. Rengoku leaned down, close enough to whisper in your ear, "fuck baby, can i- can i lift your legs up higher?" you nod, head foggy as he tossed your legs over his shoulder. Rengoku adjusted for a second, folding you over and beginning to thrust slowly. Your hips rocked against his as you clawed at the mattress, the new position allowing him to go so much deeper than before. "mhm baby, just like that. gonna make you feel so good after you waited so long, gonna fill you up so nice.."

Mitsuri:

i think Mitsuri would last ab a week before crumbling

She'd be so embarrassed about it, all blushy and shy

you haaave to tease her ab quitting so early, you'll get the most delectable whimpers from her<3

Mitsuri folds from MINIMAL teasing its almost like she wants to lose

once she gives in tho, please pamper her. teasing is okay but PRAISE HER‼️

shes a pillow princess at heart and will def want u to take care of her after u made her wait for sooo long

MITSURI IS SO SENSITIVE, AND ITS DEFINITELY AMPLIFIED AFTER SHE HELD BACK FOR SO LONG

she cries sm more easily during sex after being teased for so long, and it's impossible to NOT overstimulate her (she loves it)

tease her and praise her, overstimulate her and watch as she falls apart~

fat tears streamed down Mitsuri's pink cheeks as you pumped your fingers in and out of her slick heat, mesmerized by the sloppy sound it made. her legs trembled and her lip quivered as she sobbed from the overwhelming onslaught of pleasure, and you leaned up to kiss her on the cheek. "d'worry baby, im gonna make you feel all better," you coo, smiling as she whimpers. your fingers are coated in her slick, and her hips grind down onto your fingers with every thrust. "need you.." she whispers, reaching out to pull you closer. "kiss..?" she whimpers, large, teary eyes staring into yours. You chuckle, unable to deny her. "Of course~ how could i forget?" you kiss her slowly and sensually, running your tongue along her bottom lip and gently grabbing her jaw as you pushed your tongue inside her mouth. Mitsuri whined at the feeling, clenching ariund your fingers as her tongue collided against yours. her chest heaved, perky breasts bobbing as the coil in her stomach tightened. you could tell she was close, and moved the hand holding her face to massage one of her breasts as you deepened the kiss. your fingers curled inside her, pressing against her g spot as your thumb circled her clit. instantly, Mitsuri squealed, gushing around you and squirting onto your hand as she writhed in pleasure. "t-too much!!" she gasped, pulling away from the kiss as a thin trail of spit lingered between your mouths. "was that worth the wait baby?" Mitsuri blushes, nodding profusely.

Obanai:

i genuinely think obanai would last like

a week at most

im sorry but this man worships your every move, and theres NO way he can deny you anything

you tease him once and hes already bending you over, fucking you senseless as he bites harshly into your neck

or hes whining, dragging you on top of him and begging you to fuck him just right, ride him until hes a sweaty, needy mess

sex with Obanai after NNN would definitely be much rougher, he just cant hold himself back

he NEEDS to ravish you

you gasp as Obanai's cock sinks into you, his thick length filling you up as he spreads your legs. one hand rests on your inner thigh, the other entwining your hands together as he presses hasty kisses to your collarbone. your back arches off of the bed as he bites down hard on the sensitive skin, a dark hickey left in its wake. Obanai travels upwards, his teeth grazing your neck and shoulders as he kisses and nips at the exposed skin. his warm breathe flushes against your beck as he begins to thrust in and out of you in a brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, accompanied by your moans and whines. Obanai pants, his hand moving from your thigh to fondle at your chest. "can't believe you made me wait this long, bunny.." he murmured softly in your ear, nipping at your earlobe. "fuck, i missed this pretty hole..."

Sanemi:

he likes to think could make it the whole month but "doesn't care about a stupid ass challenge"

he cant make it the whole month hes too whipped for you

i think he would either last like. 15 minutes or two weeks theres no in between

Sanemi would either fuck you out of spite immediately after november starts or genuinely try but give up pretty early on and make up some bs excuse ab how he "doesnt even care"

either way, hes not making it 💀

prepare yourself, cuz the sex is gonna be ROUGH

Sanemi totally has a breeding kink, and the thought of NNN definitely ignites a feral need to fill you up- not a drop of his cum is wasted, hes bringing you to at LEAST 4 orgasms, and hes coming at least twice as well. hes also gonna finger fuck his cum back inside you, maybe he'll use a plug too just for the satisfaction of knowing that your filled up to the brim with him...

congrats!! u have a feral boyfriend

"s' too much!" you sobbed, tears streaming down your face as Sanemi fucked into you harshly from behind. his hips snapped against yours as you whimpered, face down in the sheets. Sanemi gave a swift slap to your ass and you sobbed, mewling as he fucked into your weeping hole even harder. "oh yea? shoulda thought of that before tellin' me about this stupid challenge," Sanemi hissed, thrusting deeper into your cervix as you keened. "im- m' close-" you hiccuped, warm, wet tears slid down your face as he looked into your glossy eyes. "oh yea? i thought it was t' much, doll- fuck-" he gasped as you tightened around him, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass was amplified even more as you came with a squeal. you came hard, coating Sanemi's cock and the bed below in your juices as your eyes rolled back into your head. "fuuugnck- doll your so tight- im coming too, don't waste a fucking drop of this- its what you get for makin' me wait.."

Gyomei:

i think Gyomei would make it

honestly i dont think he has a super high sex drive, and as much as he wants to please you, i think he would make it through the month with ease

hell at the end of the month hes praising YOU for lasting so long eithout him (in a genuine way, not in a condescending way ofc <33)

hes pretty chill when it comes to sex, but after NNN Gyomei might be a little rougher

he has STAMINA tho

prepare to be overstimulated bc he is MAKING SURE you are blissed outt af by the end

if your not a whiny mess in subspace then Gyomei's not having it

hes praising you for lasting so long, making you feel so good while bringing you to climax after climax for HOURS

he miiiiight fold if u bEG him but its a small possibility.

Gyomei held you in his lap as you squirmed, fucking yourself on his cock as you buried your face into his neck. "mnghh- forget how big you were.." you whine, grinding your hips sensually against his. Gyomei chuckles, brushing the hair off of your forehead and kissing you gently. "do you remember how many times you've come, little one?" your brow furrowed, your head felt foggy as you tried to remember. one of his hands squeezed your thigh reassuringly, and you whimpered, eyes rolling back slightly as you tightened around his cock. Gyomei hummed, taking in your overstimulated state as he brought you closer to release. "im so proud of you little light, you lasted the entire month," he cooed, rubbing soothing circles on your back as the coil in your stomach tightened. "let me reward you, my precious dove~"

RAHAHAHAHAHAHA ITS DONE ITS DONE ITS FINALLY DONE OH MY GOD OH MY GOD HOLY FUCK HOLY SHIT ITS DONE KTS DONE ITS DONE I LOVE LIFE HALLELUJAH AJSHSAJHAJAAAJAA ITS JANUARYYYYY LMFAO