#how is that fic merely just existing bothering you THAT much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

atzfilm · 4 months

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— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [5] (M)

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find. it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

— pairing: ot8 x reader, mxm (this chapter); san x reader, yunho x reader; 9.98k

— note: this is a yandere fic. sensitive topics such as manipulation, gaslighting, murder, and other topics involved with the genre. please heed the warnings and read this work of fiction while keeping this in mind.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: murder references, manipulation, blood, torture references, dark magic, lying, emotional turmoil, injuries, slight descriptions of gore

Chapter 5:

The town is quiet as you walk down the road. Stores closed, streetlights beaming onto the pavement. Rarely does a car pass, light shining against your face before disappearing. You hold your bag close. Being here feels a bit strange, to say the least. Holding yourself together long enough to break down in your apartment. Soobin won't be there, that you're sure of. Something tells you you won't see him for a long while. Kicking a rock you turn the corner, your eyes on the apartment. Nothing had changed from what you can see – streets still silent, neighbors still quiet. You push your key through the lock and open. Even the eerie creak is familiar, rusted and lacking security. You shut the door behind you, looking around the room.

Nothing has changed. The books you left in a pile still sit in the same place, though a thin layer of dust rests on the top. The dishes you left in the rack sit, your coffee cup way beyond spoiled in the sink. You throw your bag to the side, chest tightening as you make each step. You said you'd be okay with entering this place again. You said you'll be fine. But all it does is remind you of how lonely you are. You glance at your phone that sits on the edge of the coffee table, plugging it in. You grab your gloves off the side of the sink and begin washing, the stream of water the only noise in the apartment.

You're over him.

You'll be okay.

Your fingers grip the cup tightly, scrubbing roughly. It is just not shiny enough.

He left you.

He won't be coming back for you.

The handle of the cup breaks, pulling you from your thoughts as it cracks against the framing of the sink. You stare at it, shutting off the water. Nothing you can do to go back in time, fix this. It's not your fault he left. It's not your fault he abandoned you like this. You should be over it now, it's been so long.

The sinking feeling only deepens.

You close your eyes, very much expecting Soobin to reflect in the darkness. Instead, your mind travels to the soft caress of Mingi's palm against your cheek; the sweet smile of Jongho as he adamantly discusses a novel he's reading; the irritated glare of San watching you eat; the loving look in Wooyoung's eyes as you scold him; the curious gaze of Seonghwa watching you silently; the very obvious avoidance from Yeosang; Yunho holding you delicately as you walk through the halls; the creepy grin of Hongjoong.

You open your eyes.

“Hell,” you murmur, throwing your gloves to the side of the sink. You don't bother picking up the pieces of the shattered ceramic, turning off the lights and roaming down the hall. Sleep. That will stop all of this. That would help you forget about the Unseelie. Maybe even help you forget that you killed a faerie yourself. Not that you remember anything from it.

Just the blood.

The one thing you can't forget.

—

“Sorry for not calling you in so long, I’ve been occupied.”

“It's been only a couple days, sweetheart. We just thought you were busy with the shop and all,” your mother says softly. The sound of dishes being washed echo in your ears, plates scraping against one another. “How are you feeling? Customers tiring you out?”

You hold the phone against your ear, stunned. It had to be over a month that you resided in your home. Or at least close to it. And you didn’t call your mother throughout that time. How could it only be a few days to her? What the hell did they do?

Slow down time?

You swallow, “Um, plenty busy Mom. Sorry I didn't call again.”

“No worries. We were just worried about you, you know. Soobin and all – we want to make sure you're faring well without him.”

You glance at the framed photograph on your desk. Soobin’s lips pressed against your forehead, your eyes shut in pure glee. His arms around your waist. You turn it away from you, leaning against the wood. “As well as I can be, it still feels fresh. Has his mother reached out to you about him? Anything new?”

“She told me he's still out and about. But nothing about him coming back. y/n, I hate to pry into this, but it might be time.”

“Time for?”

“Moving on. If he hasn't contacted you this whole time, you should let that settle in your mind. It's terrible, I know. But it'll soothe your heart. I hate to see you dwell on something that'll never come true.”

“Maybe I'll take you up on that.”

“I hope you do, baby. No need to dwell on things you can't change.”

You continue the conversation, love yous exchanged before ending the call. You stare at the front of the bookstore, the door slightly ajar. The sound of a crow loud enough to be heard in your store. You can remember the day Seonghwa walked in, head to toe in casual clothing, beauty unreal as he meandered around your shop. You were still in the early stages of mourning your relationship when he appeared. At that moment you thought he was strange, but it was a reprieve from your inner turmoil.

You wished you sent him away back then. Maybe things would be different now.

The bell rings, pulling you from your thoughts. An older woman from town enters, a few others just behind her. You thank them for coming in, distracted from your lingering thoughts for just a moment. As you’re helping her grab something off the top shelf, the bell rings again. Facing away from the door, you greet the customer.

“Welcome to my bookstore!” You say loudly, fingers gripping the spine of the book as you pull it down.

“Didn’t I tell you to be careful climbing up that ladder, you’ll hurt yourself moving around like that.” Hands wrap around the base of the metal, your body frozen, afraid to turn back. You can recognize his voice from anyone’s, soft but sure. The customer thanks you for the book, sending a greeting to the man holding you up.

You step down slowly, unable to face who’s behind you. “Why are you here?” You ask, your tone harsher than you planned it to be.

“I forgot to tell you some things.”

You try to calm your nerves, but your body is trembling, crumbling beneath your hold. He isn’t supposed to be here. You were moving on, you were going to be okay again. Why is he here?

“y/n–” His cold hand wraps around your elbow but you shove him away, eyes finally looking at his.

Soobin looks exhausted. Bags heavy beneath his eyes, the usual warm gaze of his a bit cold, off-putting. His clothing is wrinkled, loose against his body. You recognize the coat he wears, the same one he wore when he left you alone that night. When you cried as you held that note between your fingers. Neat hair combed back from his face, skin unusually pale. As if he hasn’t slept nor seen sunlight since he left. He takes a step away from you, glancing around the bookstore.

“You’ve kept it up well. A bit dusty, but you don’t have me around to get to the hard to reach places,” his finger drags along the top of a shelf, a thin layer of dust coating the surface of his skin. He rubs it between his thumb and middle finger, humming. “Maybe you should hire a part-timer. A tall one, preferably.”

You ignore his words, looking up and down the aisles of the store. Noticing no one inside, you lock the door, flipping your sign to close before looking back at him. There’s a mix of emotions, deep within you some form of yearning. You thought you’d never see him again and yet here he is. You didn’t notice it before — how well you’ve handled hearing his name without breaking down, falling to your knees. How easily you lied about your feelings, how people haven’t realized just yet that the thought of him makes you feel ill, makes you remember all that’s he’s done and has yet to do.

“Your mother has been looking for you.”

He pauses, nodding solemnly, “I know.”

“You can’t just disappear off the face of the Earth, Soobin. There’s people that care about you. What,” You rub your face, thoughts scattered. “Where the hell were you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he shrugs.

The man in front of you now, expression cold, eyes uncaring. He’s not the Soobin you know. Even before he left, before he was upset with you, he never looked so ill. Like he hasn’t seen sunlight in months. Even the blush of his cheeks are gone, skin seemingly hollow. If he weren’t in front of you now speaking you’d think he was a corpse.

“How are you going to waltz in here to see me, and act so cold? What’s wrong with you?” you glance over his clothes. “Are you sick?”

He scoffs, the expression only making the pit in your stomach grow. “No. I called mother today, she’s fine. Spoke to the sibling too. I just came here to settle things before I go.”

“I thought you settled it with that little note of yours?” It’s long gone now, somewhere deep in your closet filled with gifts he’d given to you. You couldn’t bear to throw any of it away.

“No, it hasn't been settled,” he digs in his pocket, pulling out an envelope. He slides it across the table. You stare at it for a moment, a sigh echoing around the empty store. “Open it.”

You grab it, ripping the tap off and looking at what’s inside. It’s a letter, a legal document in fact. You look at the header, words in bold font.

Transfer of Deed of Land to Y/N, on Behalf of Soobin Choi.

“The bookstore will be solely in your name, and Choi Soobin will be removed from the paperwork, relinquish all rights to it. You won’t have to worry about it being taken from you. You’ll have it for yourself and own the property. Do whatever you want with it, I don’t care.”

You do care, you think. You’ve wanted this for so long.

“Think about it tonight,” Soobin says. “I can be back tomorrow. You probably would need someone as your witness and a notary. It’ll take you a bit of time, but there’s no rush. I’ll give you the PO box to send it to,” he digs in his pocket, taking out a small business card. He does not hand it to you, sliding it across the wooden surface between the two of you. “I’ll be around in the afternoon.”

“Is this it?” You look at the card, a firm’s name and office printed. “This is all you came for?”

“What else would I come here for, y/n?”

You’ve known Soobin for so long, enough so that you’ve never seen him this distant, this cold. Who is the man in front of you now? He is not the man you’ve known for over a decade. Something must have happened in the months he was gone. There’s just no possible way he’s the same Soobin that was angry with you. But pushing for answers would be useless, so you merely nod.

“Nothing. You don’t have to come tomorrow, I’ll sign and send it to your attorney.”

“Great!” A smile cracks his solemn features, hands clapping together. “Have a good life, y/n. I hope you take care of this shop well, or leave it to someone else. These people in this town are pretty fucking shitty towards you.” He moves himself off the bannister, swallowing. “And don’t bother his mother anymore, she’s been through enough as it is. Hearing you or your mother’s voice would only make her more anxious. The relationship ended such a long time ago.”

Your brows furrow. “Who’s mother am I bothering?”

“Hm?”

“You said his mother.”

His smile stays, “Must have been a slip of the tongue.”

You stare at him, his brow raised in waiting. He is just not himself. You can only wonder what happened in the time he has been gone. Still, you cannot help yourself. “We were going to get married soon,” you whisper. “You said it would be me and you to the end. You said you wouldn’t hurt me, but you did. You left me alone, and so much has happened since then–”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he stops you. “Don’t make this harder than it is, y/n. Just forget about it and move on.”

“You…” You close your eyes for a moment. “Get out.”

He raises his hands, backing up away from you. Just as he begins to turn the knob, he turns around one last time. “I will always care for you y/n. In a strange, twisted way.” The door slams almost violently, the handmade sign you two made together falling to the hardwood. You flinch as it hits the floor, led shattering.

—

San hears a door slamming a bit down the hallway from his own room, quite aware of who it could be. Seonghwa slid by his room earlier and told him about Mingi. It was enough of a hint that he decided not to feed tonight, waiting for him to come back. He gets up off his chair, placing his journal to the side and walking down the hallway. Hongjoong’s door is shut, as well as many of the others. Including the one he’s looking for.

The closed door greets him. No one else has left their own dwellings, likely due to their leader's instructions. Mingi is not to be disturbed at times like this. He will recover on his own. San has learned to never take those words to heart; the last time they left him alone he was distraught for days.

He grips the brass doorknob, slowly turning it open. It creaks. Torn clothing scattered about. Human blood dripping onto the floor. If looked upon with an untrained eye you would see a human on the brink of death. All San sees is his Mingi, body twisted into someone unlike himself. He’s forced himself into the couch, back to the door. All he wears is underwear.

“One.”

San holds out his hand, staring down at Mingi. The large Unseelie seems smaller now, body curled up, shaking every few seconds. He hates seeing him in such a state, his heart aching at the pain he's under. It is something Mingi rarely does – shape-shifting into a human. It takes a toll on his physical and mental state, his physique unable to handle it for longer than a few hours. Though he did not stay long at the bookstore, it was enough to make him slip. Lose himself.

“One,” San repeats, arm still extended. He is in the middle of transitioning, deathly pale skin warming, brown strands fading into a darker green. “Repeat it, Min.”

“No,” his voice is hoarse, fingers digging into the soft cushion beneath him. Though the door is ajar, none of the others appear to help. It is something only San and Yunho can do well. With Yunho preoccupied, he is the chosen Unseelie to pull Mingi back. “No, no.”

San reaches out, forcing his thumb against Mingi's temple. He whispers as the Unseelie claws at his arm, flinching when his nails peel off the surface. He grinds his teeth, his other hand pressed into the cushion beneath him. Perspiration coats his forehead. Mingi's body slowly calms down, hands dropping to his side.

“One.” San murmurs.

“...One.” He says back, blinking slowly. None of them enjoy this. His mate is in pain, dire need of their assistance. The only aspect he enjoys of bringing him back is seeing life breathed into his skin. The iridescent eyes staring back at him. Mingi is not truly there yet, lids heavy, but he almost is. It is enough for San to continue.

“Two,” San says.

“Two.”

“Tell me your name.”

Mingi's brows furrow, tongue dragging across the cracks in the plush flesh. “Soob–” His jaw tightens. “Mingi.”

“Right,” San's cheeks indent, hand off his temple. “What is my name?”

Mingi blinks quickly. Eyes growing moist the longer his gaze settles. It is difficult for him to speak, lips opening and closing. He sighs. “My San.”

“Right,” San presses his lips against his skin, covering the mole just beneath his eye. “I am your San. Always.”

Without another word, Mingi's arms wrap around his body, pressing San deep into his chest. The remaining pieces of the human’s clothing peels away as he holds his lover, chest trembling after each breath. San lets himself settle there, knowing it may take him a while until he is himself. His fingers dig harshly into San’s skin, his grip rough enough to rip right through. San holds back a hiss, letting him continue. It grounds him. He will be upset with himself later, but right now all he cares about is making sure he’s okay.

“Don't leave me,” his voice is hollow, unnerving. “Don't let me slip away.”

“Never, Mingi,” San's voice is sure. “You'll always be yourself.”

—

“Everything is going too far,” Yeosang dips his spoon into his bowl. “Mingi can barely leave his room without his thoughts fading into one another. I greet him and his speech is slurred. As if he's still that human. We’ve prevented him from human shifting for a reason.”

“I know,” San holds his drink, gaze lingering on the doorway. “It’s not needed anymore though, the Soobin persona completed his duty. He will no longer awake from his slumber.”

“For now, until our leader finds another use for him.”

“I will not allow it.”

Yeosang stops gnawing on the slim branch between his lips, gaze glued on San. The smell of cinnamon wafts through the air, softening when he sees how terrible San looks. Nails bitten bloody, hair thick with dust and oil. Jaw tight. Burdened with the feeling of care. Very unlike an Unseelie, but do any of them fit the true embodiment of a wretched faerie? Even Hongjoong, as conniving as he can be, is still warm-hearted. Deep down beneath that scorned heart and thickened skin. Yeosang reaches over, stopping himself halfway. He is not one inclined to physically comfort someone. That type of caretaking is heavily given by Wooyoung or San himself, not Yeosang. He cares a bit differently.

Yeosang digs in the box in front of him, nudging San slightly as he hands him a smaller branch. Said faerie takes it without question, sincerity in his smile as he begins to chew. The smell calms him down a bit as he chews, throbbing headache lessening with each swallow of the tainted saliva.

“Have you spoken to him about it? About the toll it takes on Mingi? Yunho is barely himself these days, it will only hurt us all more if Mingi crumbles too.”

“I've attempted,” San’s smile is wiry, plush lips set in a pout. “Hongjoong doesn't want to hear it. He told me that Mingi could decide on his own and he does not dictate his actions.”

“In summary: Mingi does not want to let him down so he won't deny his wishes.”

“Right,” San agrees. “He will continue to appease as long as mentally and physically possible. He would be nearly on his last breath before saying no. It's in his nature.”

“Hongjoong is taking advantage of that,” Yeosang merely sighs, chewing the branch slowly. “Once Yunho finds out he'll be–”

“Once I find out what, exactly?”

The two turn, Yunho leaning against the entrance to the room. Yeosang closes the box in front of him, Yunho’s eyes catching the movement. He is not one to get inebriated and dislikes it when the rest partake, but he does not say much about it. His nose might wrinkle a bit, but that’s all. So seeing him stand there, without as much as a twitch of his brow, only worries them both. Seonghwa said it would take a little longer for Yunho to truly be himself.

“What’s going on? I went to the lab and Seonghwa wasn’t there. I presume the rest are out feeding?”

Yeosang shrugs, “Some may be, some not. There’s a bit of disorganization around here lately, with the Seelie and all.”

“You didn’t answer my question about y/n.”

Yeosang’s gaze shifts to San. They were told to hold that information until Yunho was truly well, and neither of them knew if that was the case now. He’s allowed to be upset about the circumstances, but finds out suddenly like this- it may only hinder his progress.

“I am fine, you can say it.” Sharpness beneath the words.

“How did you get out of your room? I was sure Seonghwa placed a spell upon it.”

“He didn’t solidify it again, which is why I went to his room first to see if he could. But not seeing him there and the house eerily quiet, I decided to walk around and see what’s happening. And since neither of you are telling me where y/n is, she’s likely removed from our land, no? Where did Hongjoong take her?”

Again, neither says a word.

This time, Yunho’s brow twitches. “Do you want me to be upset?”

“She’s not here,” San says. “She could be anywhere. But she is safe.”

“If she is anywhere how would she be safe?” Yunho’s jaw tightens. “We were to protect her.”

“Are you not the least bit concerned as to why you’re so infatuated with this girl?” Yeosang asks, taking another bite of the branch. He raises his brow, “She has left on her own. We’re leaving her alone.”

“We as in all of you?”

Again, another question they cannot answer. Yunho gives San a hard look, before turning on his heels. Yeosang makes no movement to follow after him himself, watching as San leaves after him.

His steps are close, slightly jogging to catch up to the lanky Unseelie. “You are not thinking clearly.”

“Neither of you will tell me what's happening so I'll gather the information on my own.”

“Yunho, stop,” San slips around him, blocking his path. He sees the familiar fury in his gaze, the onset of his clenched jaw. It makes worries continue to swim within him, the thought of Yunho further losing himself lingering. Despite the circumstances, San reaches for his hand. Yunho almost pushes him away until San rests his hand on his chest, gazing at the floor. “Please.” Desperation coats the singular word.

It's enough for Yunho to sigh lightly.

“You've hidden things from me, San. What else am I to do? Accept your silly explanations?”

No. San knows him better than that. And he knows Yunho would leave with the slightest hesitancy in his response. San lifts his hand, wrapping it around his waist. Yunho tenses up, but does not move.

“I'll take care of you. I'll take care of this.”

“How?”

San's head lifts. He can see the hurt in his pretty eyes. He loves him, dearly. There is nothing that could come between him and his spark. Nothing he wouldn't do to make them happy. It is his duty – to protect them from all the hurt and terrors. It is hard to be so entwined with seven Unseelie, unable to resist helping them in whichever way he could. It is not something he'd ever fail on. So if Yunho wanted the human with him, if he hurt in even the slightest way without you, San would scour the Earth for you. He would hunt endlessly, until his last breath.

“I'll get her for you.”

Yunho's hand reaches up, holding San's face delicately in his hands. Said man's eyes flutter beneath the faintest touch. A soft groan escapes his lips when he feels Yunho's brush against his. It is merely seconds between that and San gripping his waist tightly, his back pressed against the hallway wall. Wood cracking beneath the strength of their combined desire. Their hands are everywhere as San truly shows Yunho what he means to him.

Blind devotion.

—

This is foolish.

This is completely foolish.

In fact, you wonder why you’re even thinking of doing this, the act silly and stupid all in the same.

You stand in the train station, scarf wrapped around your neck, the holiday lights still up despite the season passing. A small clover growing in the cracks of the sidewalk. You grip your suitcase, fingers trembling from the breeze. You hold your train ticket in your phone. The Unseelie informed you that your home was protected from Seelie, that you’d be safe there. You’re far enough away that it’d be impossible for whatever spell was placed to work on you here. But you need to get away. You’re sick of being in that apartment, in that bookstore, surrounded by reminders of your ex-lover who left you. Seeing him only days ago just made everything much worse. The ill feeling in your body continues.

“Quite cold, hm?”

You glance to the side, a man much taller than you, a yard or so away. He leans on a nearby pole, hands tucked in his pockets. He shivers, blowing his breath into his cupped palms. “They didn’t say the temperature would drop this much.”

“It is cold,” you agree, giving him a quick smile before staring forward.

“Little humans like you shouldn’t be out and about alone,” he says after a moment. “Could get yourself into trouble out here.”

Your grip on your suitcase tightens. Humans.

Is he a Seelie? You barely left the perimeter of your town. How could they find you so quickly?

Your thoughts wonder, landing on the spark of Unseelies. Hoping that somehow, someway, one would come. One would help you.

“Surprised you left them,” he continued. “The source of your protection. And without telling them? Humans are truly stupid.”

“There’s people around, you-” You point, noticing the once busy station completely empty. “There’s…” The once full staircase of people waiting for the train was utterly empty, seats against the walls unoccupied.

“No one,” he shrugs. “What will you do? Call the police? Believe that they will help you?” He moves off the pillar, slowly coming into the light. With each step he takes, his body changes, growing taller and into the grotesque creatures that were in your bookstore not too long ago. You haven’t trained enough with Mingi to truly protect yourself against a Seelie alone. That one time wouldn’t be able to be replicated again since you haven’t the slightest idea how you killed it.

Will you finally, truly be helpless?

“Messing with what’s mine?”

The name gathers chills within you, mouth running dry. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer into his side. You do not bother to look up, his laughter enough for you to know who it is. Your heart, used to the fear that would run through at the mention of being his possession, almost warms when he presses you against his side. He smells of metal and plants, head tilted as he looks at the Seelie.

“Have they not told you to leave her alone? This is not your territory, Seelie.”

The Seelie pauses, gaze narrowing. “It is free of your protection spell.”

“She is our human and she is under our protection. Big mistake, coming here by yourself,” his tone is cheeky. “She has already killed one of you alone. It would be idiotic of you to come by yourself.”

The Seelie laughs, “A human killing a Seelie? I haven’t heard of that.”

“Beomgyu would say otherwise. Emphasis on would,” you glance at San, a slight pout on his lips. “Since he is very dead right now. Right, y/n?” San nudges you slightly. “Poor guy screamed for death.”

“Yeonjun said he was on a mission,” the Seelie grunts. “That is not possible.”

“I cannot lie, you know that well.”

The Seelie looks between the two of you, “You have forgotten yourself, San. There is only so much you can do before she knows as well.” The face distorts, a grin creasing each corner of its face. It looks at you briefly, before disappearing into nothing.

—

Sounds echo in your ears as the stations immediately increase in volume, travelers out and about. San holds you close as he walks through, fingers gripping your side. It's strange, feeling his touch on you. He is one of the Unseelie who hates your presence. Having him so close, hands desperately holding you, feels wrong. Wouldn't be much different from what you've been dealing with lately.

“Inconceivable,” he murmurs, stepping through the open doors. “Do you know what you were about to do? Have you been taking our words lightly?” The cool breeze bone chilling. San hands you his scarf, wrapped tightly around your neck.

“You found me.” You say.

He hums.

“Am I that easy to find?”

“No,” he says. “We just know when you leave town. I followed the smell of Seelie. It was easy to spot you then.”

“Did you all know that this would happen if I left?”

He pauses. “Yes.”

“Should I be worried now that one may pop up since we're not in town?”

“Why would you be? I'm here with you. No Seelie would dare to come near you with one of us around,” his eyes roam over your face. “You look tired.”

You touch your face at his words, feeling the thick bags beneath your eyes. You cannot see your face now, but you can only guess. After seeing Soobin you haven't slept. More tears than anything else. Body barely able to get out of bed some days. His visit rocked you to your very core. Having San confirm your haggard appearance only makes it so much more real. Soobin was here, and he shattered you again. And now knowing of him being somewhat okay without you while you struggled to hold on, crumbled your heart. But there is only so much crying you can do. The tears dried up days ago. Sleep still evades you, though. You look at him.

“I–”

“Mingi did not train you enough for you to run away on your own. You could have died. Or worse, they could have taken you. Humans with your abilities don't last long in faerie territory. They would torture you.”

“I don't care.”

He stops walking, hand dropping from your side. “I didn't catch that.”

“I don't care, San. I could give two fucks if they took me away, if they tortured me. I don't care,” Your words sink in. You don't. You're exhausted. Everyday takes the air out of you. You wake up afraid that you might go through something similar again. That you'll lose yourself and won't know what happened. That you'll kill, unable to control yourself. It hurts to even think about it.

San looks at you. Your sure resolve from before has worn down. Body struggling to hold itself up on two feet steady. You haven't known them for long and you're already breaking down. None of them have drained you and it looks as if it has already happened.

He should not care about your well-being. He should not feel sorrow the more he looks at you. He should not feel ill that he hasn't checked to make sure you were okay. So why can he not shake the feeling? Why does he want to move closer, hold you, whisper comforting words? No, he does not, of course. He has a much stronger resolve than he gives himself credit for.He thinks back to his spark. The hurt emitting through the walls.

“I'm not going to let you kill yourself.”

You freeze at the words. You don't want to die, despite how peaceful it may be. You have too much to live for. You just cannot explain how little you care if something did happen to you? None of it makes sense. Nothing you can concretely say. So you look at San, his strong gaze looking back.

“I don't want to die.”

“I can help you. We can help.”

You swallow, “How?”

“Yunho–” his pauses for a second, notice how your heart quickens at the mention of his name– “is well enough. We can help you move your things into a spare room of ours. You'll be around us, so no Seelie will be able to hurt you. The barrier will remain intact since it is not just one of us around. You will be gone for an extended period of time, y/n. It may be a long time. You won't see home. But no one you know, no one you're related to will be in danger.”

“Is there no other solution?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Now that they know of you, and know that you've killed a Seelie, there is no going back. You will be in danger for the rest of your life. Everyone you meet, as such, will be in that much more danger. Including your parents. It will be more exhausting than it is now. ”

You never thought that the conversation you had days ago would be the last. You would have said more. Would have told her how grateful you are for being her daughter. The pain is too much to consider now, but you have no choice. You love her. You want her safe.

“Will they hurt while I'm gone?”

“They will remember you as you are, y/n. They will think you're okay, they will have memories of being with you all the time. You will remain in their life, they just won't be in yours. You will have to make this decision on your own.”

You don't want to say the next words. You don't want to leave your friends and family. But there is nothing else you can do. You let out a low sigh, “Okay.”

He nods, holding out his hand. You take it slowly, and he pulls you into his chest. You can tell he keeps himself in shape, but feeling how solid he truly is against your body – if you weren't feeling so down you'd be nervous.

“Wooyoung does not know how to move through the air with a human,” he explains softly. His breaths are steady, eyes closed. “He just learned. When transporting your kind, there needs to be permission given. Trust. Without it, it will be painful, disorienting. Can I touch your cheek?”

You nod.

“Words please.”

“Yes.”

His hand lifts, lightly cupping your cheek. You can feel how rough it is, though solid. No shaking. His eyes open. They look a bit lighter, brown focused on yours. “I ask that you trust me to help you. Let me pull you through to my home. Are you willing to come?”

“Will it hurt?”

He shakes his head, “Trust me and it won't hurt at all. Will you be able to do that for me?”

You do not trust any of them. All are conniving, cunning. Easily use their tongue to lie without explicitly doing so. San could be speaking between words, between your fears and comforts. But with this, you do trust him. You know how he practices his magic, how he protects his spark. You are not one of them but some do care for you. And you doubt San would let you get hurt, if only to protect their hearts.

“I trust you to take me there safely.”

“Okay, close your eyes.”

Yours flutter close. His arm wraps around your center, hand still cupping your cheek as he molds your body into his. His lips are merely centimeters away from yours.

“May I?”

“Yes.”

His soft skin drags along your jawline, before pressing against the corner of your mouth. You shudder, the stroke of his thumb against your temple distracting you. Without another word, his lips cover yours. San does nothing more than that, pulling away. His hand moves off your face, touch gone from your body. You open your eyes, San several feet away from you. His eyes look around you.

“Home again, y/n. Yunho would be glad to see you around,” San steps around you swiftly, the sound of his steps crunching through the leaves. You follow him, the familiar home resting in the middle of the forest. You can feel how your stomach drops at the sight.

How your hands were tainted.

The front door is open. San pauses for a moment, looking at you. “Your bedroom has all of your belongings inside. It's the same as when you were here prior. There's a few of us home, and the rest are out. You don't need me to follow you around.” He does not mention the kiss, disappearing before you can say another word, specifically questioning what that Seelie meant by him hiding something from you. Your chest aches as you step inside, pushing that to the back of your mind. Trying to settle your thoughts about not seeing your family again.

The house is eerily quiet as you make your way to your room. Usually there's one or two meandering the hallways. But there's not one, not even a quick spotting of San. He did say some of them are around, but you can't spot one. You drag your suitcase up the stairs each knock echoing around you. Your door is already unlocked, swinging it open.

You almost freeze at the sight. All of your things are where they should be. Oddly similar to the layout of your own room. The books you’re currently reading stacked up next to the oversized bed. Obnoxiously oversized, close to two kings combined. Your closet with all of your clothes on hangers neatly. You place your suitcase next to your door, walking to the dresser. Peeking inside, your underwear is how you left it at your home. Dwelling on the thought that they've dug through your belongings will do no good. It has been done (though, fairly quickly).

“She is here?”

His delighted voice sings through the hallway, stomps louder than he has ever been. You step slightly away from the door, prepared to be hugged, possibly violently, in his embrace. There should be no joy with this situation, stuck under their gazes, but you can't help but feel excited to see Wooyoung. With your door ajar, he lands outside of your room, peeking in. Much different from the man who invited himself around you whenever he'd gotten the chance.

You can see how roused he is, body trembling in anticipation. His gaze glances around the room before meeting yours, grin wide. Nothing on him suggests that he was feeding, though his eyes are a bit darker. His hand grips the frame, holding himself back.

“Solaris!” He looks at the frame, the ghost of a pout on his lips. “Has someone placed a spell on your room?”

You raise your brow, stepping closer to the frame. You didn't quite notice it before, but you see small carvings around the borders, words you cannot understand. Your fingers brush against it, a whine escaping Wooyoung's lips as he leans on the outside perimeter.

Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.

Latin, maybe?

His eyes follow you, shifting each time you do so.

“Let me in?” He asks softly.

“I don't know how–”

“It was a simple spell,” you both look back at Seonghwa, a bit down the hall. His eyes are cold which you expect, but they seem to linger. Glance over your body before looking away. “To prevent anyone from entering without her explicit permission. It will activate again when the person leaves. Only she can enter.”

“Did you do that to stop me?” Wooyoung deadpans.

“Not only you but yes, I did. It is a precaution.”

“I’m not going to take her away while she’s asleep,” Wooyoung frowns. You watch as even his fingers struggle to penetrate the barrier, pushed back slightly. “And I wanted to welcome her.”

“As I have said, a precaution. For everyone.”

It’s strange, the way Seonghwa looks at you. He does not step closer, arms crossed against his chest. Gaze glued behind you. There is nothing there - you’ve checked - so you can’t really explain why he’s acting this way. And why Wooyoung doesn’t seem to notice the shift in his behavior. Though Wooyoung is Wooyoung, he’s easily distracted when you’re around.

“You can invite him in if you’d like, human. He won’t be able to sneak up on you anymore. See you,” he turns on his heel, leaving the two of you alone. Wooyoung ignores him, pouting as he meets your eyes.

“Let me in?” He asks again.

You really don’t have to now. He seems to read your mind, falling to his knees in front of the opening of your door. It’s humorous enough to make you chuckle a bit, watching the drama of it all. He lies on the floor, arms spread out as he sighs quite loudly.

“Come in, Wooyoung.”

He moves so quickly, you can barely blink before you’re enveloped in his arms. His hands gripping your sides, face in your neck. He breathes you in, fingers rubbing small circles into your skin. You wrap your arms around him as well, the sound leaving him odd in itself. “I’ve dreamt of your touch so heavily.” His lips move against the skin of your neck. His chest rises and falls, body trembling. “I want you to want me so badly, y/n. I think I like you a little too much," Wooyoung says, pulling back. You don't give him a reaction on the surface, but you feel your heart tighten, breath hitch. "It's nice to speak to you even when you don't utter a word. I hope you never leave me."

"You're so fond of me that I can't help but wonder how I look in your eyes," you admit.

"You are my sunlight, solaris. There is no one that shines brighter.”

"Wooyoung," you merely sigh, stepping away from him. It is a miracle that he moves back. "Half truths are annoying to listen to."

"I'm not lying. I can't."

"I know that. But I also know that you speak using words that aren't exact so you can slip them through as truths. It only makes you even more of a liar. Now let me finish unpacking so I can go to Seonghwa." You step past him, burying yourself further into the crevices of your suitcase.

He places his hand on the zipper, forcing your gaze on his. The teasing look in his eyes is gone, lips tight. You would be scared if it wasn't Wooyoung doing the gesture. He tilts his head slightly, watching you. "Do you like me too?"

Yes.

"You're a good friend."

His eyes narrow. "A non-answer. You've been around Unseelie too long."

"What do you want me to say, yes?" You frown.

He sighs softly. His hand reaches out, fingers almost brushing against your cheek. before pulling back. "I want you to say what you feel."

"Wooyoung, you're pulling me away from this,” you say, gesturing to the suitcase.

"I like you." There is no hesitance in his words, no stutter. He stares at you as he says it, blinking slowly. The fear is coming back, the sureness of his words too much too soon. You barely know him, know any of them. How could he like you so easily? And why would he confess something like that? What's his end goal? "And I want to know if you like me too."

"I don't," you whisper. "Now leave me alone."

"You lie so easily," a smirk easily forms as he slumps into a chair by the doorway. "At least I know you aren't a fae."

The night is quieter once Wooyoung leaves you alone after several hours of occupying your time. You’ve finally unpacked your things, rearranging your room. The familiar sight of things where you left them at your apartment felt too eerie. And though this is not what you want, you’d at least like it to be somewhat different. Not the same design that you had when you were with your fiance. You sit on the edge of the bed. Exhaustion flows through you.

“Ah, there you are.”

Your head whips up. Yunho stands outside your door. His gaze rolls over you. The soft gaze he holds each time he looks at you. His outfit is comfortable, long pants and a sweater covering his upper body. There’s nothing in front of you that shows what happened to him that night. How his body was dragged away from you. How you ran, not daring to look back. You’ve regretted that ever since, hoped and prayed that he would be okay. And here he is - a bit tired looking, but he’s Yunho. Not much has changed.

You stand up, and he shakes his head. “Just walking by.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m sorry for running and leaving you alone, I’m sorry.”

“y/n, I didn’t come here for an apology. I came here to make sure you were okay.”

“I still want to apologize.”

“There is nothing to apologize for, just as there’s nothing for me to forgive. You are alive, and I am alive. That is all that matters,” his head tilts as he stares at you. Cheeks lifting, “You’re safe.”

His presence does not give you a hint of anxiousness. You’ve been wondering why he hasn’t entered yet, until your eyes move to the barrier around your room door. “You can come in if you want to, Yunho. No need to linger in the doorway.”

He smiles, slipping in easily once you’ve let him. “I didn’t want to ask.”

“You’re welcome here, Yun.”

Your response is all too quick for your liking. Easily showing him that you crave his attention. At least a little. Yunho is ever so kind not to point that out to you.

“Thank you,” he takes the chair that Wooyoung was sitting in, sliding it closer to your bed. He sits in it, height matching yours even as he rests below you. “I was worried you’d be sulking alone without anyone around. This transition must be difficult for you. Leaving all you know behind.”

You’ve tried not to think of it, mind focused on making sure everything was in order. “It is hard, yes. But I’ve been distracting myself,” you gesture around the room. “Still wondering how the hell you guys got everything I own into this room.”

“We are Unseelie, y/n. Our magic can easily do things like this,” he smiles. “Did you think that we’d place everything one by one? That would be an invasion of your privacy. Some of us wouldn’t mind…”

You can easily guess who he’s speaking of.

“...but we do want you to be comfortable.”

Ah, so your underwear is free from prying eyes. You could kiss his feet for this revelation.

“She should not be here.”

“Yunho needed her here. As did Wooyoung. It was the best choice at the time.”

“I told you to stay away from the hu-” Seonghwa’s mouth is unable to say the next word. “Her. Now we’ll have more problems coming for us.”

“She was in danger, hyung. Did you expect me to let her suffer?”

Seonghwa merely sighs, flipping through his journal. “No. She would have saved herself as she did before. Or have you forgotten how she killed that Seelie?” It is not something he’s forgotten. The name still rings in his mind each time he sees you. “She should not be here.”

“It will be fine. We can protect her now.”

“You’re not taking in my words.”

“She can’t even control when she can defend herself. She doesn’t even remember how she did it. Seonghwa,” San watches him walk around the room, avoiding eye contact. “Is there something else you’re not telling us? Is that why you’re so defensive about this?”

“She is a liability,” he says simply. “She killed a faerie, San. I do hope you remember that. If she can kill one without her killing herself in the process, what do you think is the outcome?” It is a simple question with an even simpler answer. San only sighs, fingers rubbing his temple slowly. “Exactly.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” San sits on the edge of the table, ignoring the glare Seonghwa shoots at him. He’s fairly close to the set of blocks Seonghwa has been working on. “I don’t think she would hurt any of us. Not on purpose.”

“An accident is still possible,” Seonghwa points out. “I hope you know that she’s your responsibility now. If something were to happen, it is on you and you alone. Watch her.” Seonghwa glances at his set, “And don’t break anything.”

Hongjoong enters the room as Seonghwa exits. San tenses up at his appearance, knowing what he said to Yeosang not too long ago. He stands by it, of course. A direct command from their spark leader would make him sway, though. And with enough digging at it, he would be at the mercy of his words, just like the rest of them are. Hongjoong has only done that once, with Wooyoung, but never again.

"She is an experiment to you," Hongjoong says, eyes flicking over San's face. He leans against the table, candy between his lips. "Just as it is for Seonghwa. There is nothing more?"

"I…" San cannot help himself, his mind immediately sliding to just days ago. When you stood with the others not too long ago, rolling your eyes at something Wooyoung said. Yeosang watched you silently, but San could see it. He could see how he looked at you. He would have been a fool not to.

"You are quite devoted to us, have been ever since you left them. But the lines seem to be blurring now," Hongjoong continues in. "You know that this is temporary."

"It is," San agrees softly. "It is temporary."

"But do you want it to be?"

He is not sure how to answer that.

—

It’s been a little more than a week since you’ve arrived at your permanent home. The others have greeted you as if you’ve never left, aside from Wooyoung, often stuck on your side if he isn’t with Yunho. Hongjoong even, a strange look on his face as he spotted you, welcomed you with open arms. Oddly enough, San has rarely left you alone longer than a few minutes. He did not really sit by you, but he’s always in the room. What was at first a curious coincidence became quite obvious. The only time he didn’t bother you was when you were in your own room. Aside from that, he’s always around. The scowl has shifted a bit whenever you’re with him though.

Like right now, as you’re sewing up a small hole in your shirt. You began the conversation around a book you were reading, the genre romance. San surprisingly brought up Jongho, and how he enjoyed the same types of books as you.

“He’s a hopeless romantic,” San murmurs, eyes steady on yours as he watches you sew. You pause in your stitch briefly, before continuing. “The type to want to belong to someone since the beginning of time, breath in your soul, kiss the path you walk, type of faerie. It’s a little humorous to think of an Unseelie with an affinity for affection. They usually thrive off terror and distaste.”

“He doesn’t seem like the type,” you note, glancing at San. He hums, sinking further into the couch despite the glare you send him. You already told him that you didn’t need him around, and he insisted that it was only for a few minutes. Those few turned into over an hour now. “Do faeries love like humans?”

“Not quite. If a faerie ever chose to love, it’s unlike humans. We can’t just stop loving or move on to a different partner. Desire is different when you are born to wreak havoc on poor souls. It is a luxury to be able to mate more than one. As for us,” he rolls onto his stomach, “We care for one another as a spark should. If one of us were to die, then it’d be physically detrimental to our beings. It’s less of an explanation of love and more of an obligation. We get to choose our family, but you don’t.” His lips downturn. “I do not pity you for that.”

“Are you not… born?” Is that the way to say it?

He laughs, “Not like you are. Our essence is created from the universe as well as our chosen destiny. I was more so created from matter than born from a biological relative. That is what I envy, just a little,” his brows furrow, thinking. “I know not all human parents are good, but a lot are. It would be nice to have a connection with someone without even trying. To have someone care for you without limitations. I can see why Jongho wants an affection so very deep when he has not ever or may never experience it himself.”

“So it is not just the books he likes to read, then?”

He agrees, “No. He has us, yes. But he is not truly a romantic mate. He loves us, but not that deeply. He is the last to join our spark. It makes sense that he does not feel as strongly as the rest of us.”

“Unseelie feel love?”

San's brows furrow, “Just because Unseelie are mischievous does not mean that they cannot experience happiness, joy and desire. Chaos is what drives their being, but there's always room for something other than that.”

“San.”

The two of you turn, Yeosang entering the room. He greets you with a light smile, turning to his mate. “Hongjoong wants to see you. I'll stick around her for a while until you come back.”

“Ah, so you are watching me,” you frown at San. “You think I'm going to chop you into bits or something?”

“The or something is what I am wary of,” San mumbles, standing. His hand brushes against Yeosang’s hip before disappearing from the room. You haven't spent much time with Yeosang on your own, so you don't say a word and continue to mend your shirt.

He rests where San once was though sitting straight up, a small book floating in front of his face, the air flipping through the pages as he reads. You do not mean to stare at him, but you can't help it. Seeing magic performed in front of you, real magic, is fascinating. You can't believe humans are so boring.

“It is a wonder any of us are interested in you,” Yeosang says, glancing at you. “Humans are boring.”

“You heard me?”

He shakes his head, low laugh escaping his lips, “No. But I heard your thoughts. A bit loud in there, I might add. You should keep it down.”

You blanch.

“You can hear what I’m saying in my head?”

A page pauses mid-flip. “Not exactly. I can only hear what you want me to. It’s quite complicated,” he glances at you. “No one but me can pick up on stray thoughts, if you were worried about any of the others somehow picking up on what you’re thinking. That one I heard just now slipped because you were so in tuned to me.”

Oh, you hate this. You definitely hate all of this. He drops his book on the table, body fully turning to look at you. “Would you like to take a stroll with me?”

#fic: wonderwall #ateez x reader #ot8 x reader #san x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #mingi x reader #jongho x reader #ateez fanfiction #ateez angst #ateez fluff

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billiedeansbitch · 1 year

Note

How have you been!? Idk if you have TikTok or seen this trend, but it’s basically where someone is putting on lipstick and it ends up smudging the wrong way and the camera shows another person wiping it away and the other person had a bunch of kiss marks on their face.

I think it would be cute if that could be a one shot with Larissa Weems? It could be that Larissa is putting on the lipstick or the other way around with y/n?

𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞

(𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

a/n: thank you for requesting this anon i really liked the idea and immediately worked on it (like i'm not working on a couple of fics already) this was too cute.

warning/s: nothing.

Larissa took the compact mirror from her desk drawer and uncapped her lipstick, mindful of your lingering eyes that glimmer with excitement, lips slightly ajar in anticipation.

She started to apply her lipstick wantonly slow. You watched it glide on her lips like butter, painting her lips red. The colour was sensual contrasting the cool, breath-taking big blue eyes. It was so tempting and inviting you couldn’t help yourself but ask for a kiss. Just a kiss. One quick peck on the lips.

“Please?” Her lipstick wasn’t smudged proof, it would transfer to your lips but that didn’t seem to bother you at all and she had seen you proudly walk in the halls of Nevermore wearing the sheer colour on your own lips, unapologetically flaunting it to everyone.

She chuckled and beckoned you to come closer. You complied with unbridled enthusiasm and stood from the armchair in front of her desk. Larissa stood, leaning halfway over her desk and grabbed the collar of your button-down to pull you closer and peck your lips. And as always, you giggled as you attempted to kiss her deeper, ruining the freshly applied coat of lipstick.

And it happened, again and again. In the morning before she exited your shared bedroom, you asked for a kiss just after her lipstick was done, she shook her head, and kissed you.

After lunch with the faculty, which included you, she excused herself, grabbed her little purse and disappeared in the restroom to retouch her make-up and lipstick–for the third time and it was only midday. The culprit? You.

Eventually during one afternoon, you waltzed in with your hands behind your back, Larissa didn’t think much of it. You were holding back a cheeky smile when you noticed the tube of her favourite lipstick in her hand and her lips were popping red. “No” she said immediately while shaking her head knowing how this would go.

“You will not ruin my lipstick.” she added glaring playfully,, her tone final and dismissive.

You merely laughed, stalking toward her desk, “I’m afraid you’re overreacting, Love.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes and ignoring your antics. “Why are you here?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my favourite Principal now?”

“It’s usually more than that.” she said knowingly while feigning disinterest.

“I’m actually here because I’ve got you a gift.” But it wasn’t her birthday or your anniversary. Her eyes shot up.

You pushed the little box you had been hiding behind you. You saw her eyes lit up. “Go on, open it.” She tried to hide her excitement by rolling her eyes but her lips betrayed her by curling into a dainty appreciative smile. She took it in her hands and unwrapped the gift.

“Now you don’t have to worry about running out of lipstick.”

In the box was three full sized lipstick in similar shade–her favourite.

“Come here, darling.” her voice was much softer now like she was melting inside.

Sat on her lap, her arm smoothly pulled you in, keeping you close by the waist, eyes were levelled with yours and as if that little-to-non-existent gap wasn’t enough, Rissa leaned forward, her lips ghosting on the shell of your ear, “I think you deserve a kiss.”

The kiss was fond, very sweet and gentle, short but satisfying. You thought it was over, that it was done because you confusingly watched her retouch her lipstick. You thought she would usher you off her lap but then Larissa ’s lips were hot, a little damp as they made contact with the outer corner of your eye, then to your nose and automatically, with the attention she was giving you using her lips, you puckered your own, directly asking for a kiss on your lips. She chuckled and gave in. She nipped on your lip affectionately, moved on to kiss you down to your jaw again.

It was so wholesome and light, then it turned to sloppy, playful bites and before you knew it her lips were smothering your whole face with kisses, faint marks filling your face like an art on a sheet of canvas. Larissa’s very own art.

The adorable sound from your lips falling in between a snort and laughter filled the room. Larissa kept kissing you, filling the areas where she hadn't kissed yet. You let her fill your face with the imprint of her perfect lips.

And then the doors flung open without any sort of warning catching you off guard in Larissa’s lap.

Wednesday’s eyes widened in disgust. Enid, who was trailing behind her bumped to her roommate when the goth girl suddenly stopped in her tracks.

“Oh, hi Mrs Weems!” The werewolf greeted with a wave—you waved back. Larissa pinched your side.

Enid had a megawatt smile on her face like finding you in their Principal’s lap, your face filled with kisses was the most normal thing on earth.

Wednesday turned without breathing a word and pulled the other girl outside. The door slammed leaving you two alone.

“I think I just saved you from Wednesday.” you quipped and bursted into laughter. Larissa laughed along, too carefree to care–for now–about what Wednesday and Enid just witnessed before resuming to kiss you all over again.

Now this, this is heaven, you thought.

#larissa weems imagine #larissa weems x reader #principal larissa weems #larissa x reader #larissa weems #gwendoline christie imagines #gwendoline christie #wednesday netflix #tooth rotting fluff

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chiffiorra · 1 year

Text

╰┈➤ You're Relaxed, You're Sublime, You're Amazing

➜ Synopsis: You've had many try and claim to be your "number one fan" ever since you've started gaining a following, but this one was different from the rest. And he'd never let you forget it.

➜ Pairings: Ryusei Shidou x fem!singer!reader

➜ This Fic Contains the Following: Dubcon, mentioned stalking, forced entry, reader is a well-known singer in the community, reader being a cabaret or pop singer implied, restraining, bruising, floor sex, unprotected sex, creampie, reader is smaller than Shidou, potential word vomit, author simps for Shidou way too much and is still new to writing smut oops

➜ WC: 4,000

➜ Note: for part of the dark content collab by @/ilyluffy! i just had to join in and write for my insect boyfriend <333! while there are allusions to reader being a cabaret or pop singer, feel free to use your imagination if neither are your thing <3! i also took a little inspiration from my kinktober day #6, iykyk. it's also my first time writing for my boi, apologies for him seeming off ;w; title from slipknot's "virus of life"

➜ Songs as Inspiration: Virus of Life - Slipknot, Killpop - Slipknot

➜ Also Posted on Ao3: here

Now usually he didn't care for any type of person, much less any type that threw themselves at him. Most of the time he would roll his eyes and be on his way or even entertain them a little and never follow through with his promises on some occasions. The only one that fully got his attention was Sae and nobody else.

This time would be different however. And it all started when he saw one lovely little entertainer on the stage.

You.

For months, Ryusei Shidou would go to the bar every Saturday night to watch you sing for the bar patrons. Ever since he first watched your performance weeks after your debut, he felt something inside him stir.

How you sang your heart out on the stage, how you moved the crowd with your voice without much effort, how you looked… Shidou was entranced by it all. Just who were you? How long did you perform for this shithole of a bar with sometimes below average drinks and food? In his eyes, you were a mere jewel in mystery. One that needs to be picked away to a better place than this, that’s for sure.

What was that Ego said about someone being a “diamond in the rough” again?

As you continued to serenade the crowd, he leaned forward to get a better look at you and focus on your singing better. In this moment, he could imagine himself being alone with you in this lonely bar. At this very moment, no one else in this dingy bar existed except you and him. To him, it was you singing and swaying your hips for him. Not for the crowd, but for him. For his eyes only.

It was a good thing that he went to said bar alone tonight, otherwise Sae would wonder what was going on in his head. Then again, he doubted that the other man would even bother to ask.

Try as he might, Shidou did attempt to tune the rest of the crowd out; but unfortunately he could hear them all: the wolf whistles, the whispers about you, and the not so quiet comments among sober and drunk men on what they would do to you. It irritated him so badly, he wanted to drag those men away from the bar and beat them senseless. His fists clenched tightly just thinking about it.

Sure he couldn’t blame those men, you looked even more divine than usual. With your light makeup and high slit dress, you truly were a sight for sore eyes tonight. A real beauty so to speak. A beauty that should not be shared let alone seen by the ordinary folk who don’t deserve it. Hell, Shidou felt like he didn’t deserve you on some occasions.

As Shidou watched you croon the final notes of your song into the mic, he decided what he needed to do. Something that he should’ve done so long ago after watching you perform at the very same but very shady establishment.

It was time to pay a visit to his favorite songbird.

Yes, this was perfect for him. Even if you wouldn’t love it, you would eventually. You would see…

—

The next day came and you were alone in your house, sipping some coffee while watching TV in your living room. All was quiet and well as you reflected back to your performance. The crowd enjoyed you as per usual, and you even seemed to pick up one or two new fans. You even gave someone an autograph, which surprised you. It wasn’t the first time that people wanted your autograph or on rare occasions a picture with you, but it still felt unreal to you. You didn’t think you were super famous or anything along the likes of that, if anything you thought of yourself more as a small singer within your community who had a dream of hopefully making it big into stardom.

It seemed like wishful thinking, but you could always dream either way.

As you were daydreaming while sipping your coffee, you almost jumped from your spot on the couch hearing a knock on the door. Tilting your head to the side in confusion, you began to wonder, ‘Did I expect someone today?’

Nevertheless, you got up and opened the door and were greeted by a smiling man. Immediately his appearance surprised you— tall, well built, pink and blonde hair, and the most striking feature of all: his eyes, being a pink color and appearing almost catlike. As you continued to take in his full appearance, his smile stretched into more of a grin. You won’t deny that the sight of it made you a little anxious. Still, you didn’t want to judge from appearances alone so you tried to be friendly.

“Hello sir, can I help you?” You asked, beginning the conversation. You opened the door a bit more to reveal more of your figure.

Shidou had to refrain from licking his lips at the sight of you. Sporting a slight bedhead, a robe, and a sleepy expression now waking up at the sight of him? He still thought you were the most beautiful woman ever. And he was definitely curious to know what was under that layer of clothing. But he had other matters to focus on first, that part could come by later.

“None of those formalities now babe, I’m just here to greet ya and tell you that ‘m your biggest fan! And I wanna know if I can get your autograph, what do ya say?” That grin was still there on his face. And that’s when you noticed it, he had a piece of paper in his hand.

A confused expression painted on your face as he continued on, noticing it, “Doesn’t ring a bell, huh? I saw you last night if that helps. I always swing by on Saturdays to catch you singin’ live, and I’m surprised you’re not putting out any albums yet.”

“Oh! Forgive me, it’s still early in the morning and I’m not one hundred percent awake yet! I’d be happy to give you an autograph!” You exclaimed, your expression changing into a smile. “Could I ask for your name?”

Shidou almost melted at the sight of your smile, he almost wanted to take another picture of it like he had the previous times. Before he could let his mind wander any further, he waved you off before digging in his pocket, “Got a pen here. Just be sure to add ‘To my biggest fan’ somewhere, why don’t ya?” He asked, which made you laugh in response. Your laugh just made his heart beat and that stirring feeling inside him arose even more.

After signing for him and wishing him well on his way with a teasing “See you around, biggest fan!” and a laugh, you shut the door on him, back to whatever what you were doing previously. Shidou frowned after you shut the door, unhappy with what you just said.

Looking down at the autograph, he was greeted with the previously blank sheet now written with your handwriting. On it, in bright red ink were the words: “To my biggest fan Shidou, thank you for all of your support. With love,” and there was your name at the end with a star drawn next to it.

It wasn’t the autograph that now irked him, far from it actually, it was your laugh and teasing tone when he told you he was your biggest fan. Maybe it was because you had others in the past claim that they held the title? He wouldn’t have doubted otherwise if that were the case. As he turned away from your home, the frown on him grew deeper. No, he refused to have anyone else claim to be your “biggest fan”. Not now, not ever.

Two people walking by noticed the angry man storming off in their direction and immediately moved out of his way but Shidou couldn’t give any less of a damn. There were many thoughts going on in his head but out of all of them, only two stood out the most.

One: Stop himself from crumbling the autograph. Otherwise, all that time planning to meet you would’ve made everything a waste if he chose to destroy something so precious from you. It took so long pinpointing your address after all… even more so when he chose to hire a private investigator for help.

Two: You may have been laughing and joking around with him, but he was really serious when he said that he was your biggest fan. And he was going to prove it to you one day, all he needed to do for now was bide his time. It was a good thing that he could stop by on Saturday too, which left him to eagerly wait until your performance ended later.

With that, his frown changed into a wide sickening grin as he let his mind finally wander. He couldn’t wait to see you after the show, he had something for you.

—

“Good night, everybody! Thank you!” You cheered into the mic, waving goodbye to the crowd. As you walked off the stage, you smiled. A lovely showstopper, which was rare mind you, and with a supporting audience? You felt like you were on fire tonight. You’d get a simple applause from half the crowd whenever you sang for them, but tonight was different. Everyone was really tuned into your act. This had rarely ever happened to you but who were you to complain? As long as you got to sing for people and at least gain a little support, you were happy. This time, you felt like you were slowly but surely coming closer to your dream of becoming a famous singer.

Sure the dilapidated bar with stale drinks and food was not really ideal for you compared to other nicer places you sang at, but in a way it was like another home for you. It was the first place you ever sang at.

Before you could reminisce some more, you headed outside to your car. When you opened the car door, you felt an… odd feeling. Like you were being watched. Looking around cautiously, you saw no one. The street lights illuminating the otherwise shady parking lot and streets caught nobody hanging around, it was only you and your car alone out in the dark.

Never mind that, you shook off your paranoia as you quickly got in and headed home. But you still felt a little afraid that there was someone or something out there and you couldn’t see them.

That feeling only got worse as you got home.

The feeling of dread seemed to grow as you quickly stepped into your house. But what you never anticipated was someone being fast enough to follow you home.

As you tried to quickly shut the door, you were horrified to be greeted by a large hand stopping you at the last second. You gasped out in shock and tried to use all your might to close it, but this person was much stronger compared to you.

After they forced the door open with great strength which caused you to stumble back, you were greeted with the same man you met last week, same grin on his face too but much more sinister compared to your first meeting.

“Sh-Shidou?!” You exclaimed as he shut the door and locked it. “Why are you here? What do you want?” You cried out as you quickly backed away from him.

Shidou only quietly approached you no matter how much you tried to put as much distance between you two. This made you turn and try to run away to the back door, but it was no use. He chased after you in no time and grabbed you by your forearm. Dragging you back to him, he wrapped both of his arms around you, preventing you from moving away from him.

“I can show you where the money is! Name a price and I’ll cough it up, just please don’t hurt me!” You pleaded, squirming around to try and free yourself.

You then froze up and felt your blood run cold as he leaned down and brushed his lips against the shell of your ear. “I don’t want any of your money, baby,” he whispered. “I want you.”

“What do you mean… what are you talking about?” You whimpered out, already frightened from the situation. How could someone think that this was okay?

“You know what I mean,” he responded. “Y’see, I hate how many dudes at that damned bar look at you. The shit they say about you irks me and you either don’t notice or care about them wanting you all to themselves for the night or to rip off those pretty little outfits you wear on stage… makes me wanna beat them up until they’re blue in the face,” he added, before licking your earlobe.

You couldn’t even move a muscle as you tried to comprehend what he was saying, but he didn’t seem to mind that. Nor did he seem to mind the shocked expression on your face as he continued, “What really bugs me the most was that you didn’t take me seriously when I said that I was your biggest fan. It seems like y’ had people in the past tell you that, no? Don’t worry, I can prove to you that I’m serious.” With that, you felt his hands work his way under your shirt.

You finally snapped out of your stupor as you tried to push him off of you, but alas it was to no avail. He grabbed your wrists and held onto them with such a tight grip that it made you wince out in pain, it seriously hurt.

As you looked up at him to plead, you were shocked to see him staring down at you with an angry glare. “You better stay still,” he threatened.

But you refused to give in, still resisting him and wanting to get away so you can call for help. All your efforts were in vain as he kept his grip, even more so when he knocked you both to the floor. At this point, you could already feel the bruises forming on you, mainly on your wrists.

“Stop it,” He growled out, pinning you down after you tried to kick him away. “As much as I love babes putting up a fight, it’s already getting old. Knock it off.” His tone made you freeze up again and even cry. You didn’t want to give him what he wanted, but what else can you do at this moment? He was much stronger than you and was already bruising you up. His strength terrified you and so did he.

Chuckling darkly at you finally starting to give in to him, he began grinding into you. You could feel his length starting to harden under his jeans, which made you whimper again. He leaned in closer to start kissing and licking up and down your neck. “See? Wasn’t so hard now, was it? Hm?”

You couldn’t respond as a lone tear slid down from your eye, trying to keep your breathing stable. You could now feel your body starting to betray you as you began to feel your clit throb from his grinding. You kept your lips pursed shut, trying not to make a sound.

“Hey now… don’t look so terrified, songbird. I’m not gonna hurt ya now that you won’t fight me anymore,” he said. Pulling away from your neck, he stared down at you with a soft smile, as soft as it could be anyway. He wiped away more tears sliding down as he cooed at you, his eyes seeming to show a glint in them. Did he enjoy the sight of you crying and trying to keep yourself calm?

You only closed your eyes, not choosing to say another word as he lifted your shirt up to reveal your bra before unclasping said undergarment. After he held you up to remove both items, he immediately latched his mouth onto your right nipple. Sucking and tugging on it, he barely heard your whisper, “Shidou, please…”

“Ryusei.” He added, removing his mouth.

At your questioning gaze, he grinned, “Call me Ryusei, babe. ‘S my real name and would sound better coming from your pretty lips.”

“Okay… Ryusei,” you said. This made his eyes light up with glee before he latched onto your breasts again, switching from right to left as he began to remove your shorts and panties. Now completely naked under him, he ran his fingers up and down your slit, chuckling at the wetness that formed.

“And to think that you didn’t want me, this pussy says otherwise and she’s begging for more attention,” he muttered, covering his fingers in your slick as he moved away from you so he could see everything.

Before you could protest, he slowly inched his middle finger into your opening, slowly stretching you out. You let out a gasp as he began moving it back and forth before he let another one in. The stretch was unexpected, but you tried to adjust.

“Don’t clench now. If you can’t take my fingers, how are you gonna feel when you try to take my cock, hm?” He hummed, watching your expressions before looking down at your pussy taking his fingers in. He smirked, watching you relax and unclench so his fingers could go deeper into you.

As your breath hitched and you flinched a bit, he laughed knowing he found your sweet spot before pumping his fingers faster and faster, abusing your g-spot. He was, however, displeased that you were covering your mouth with one of your hands to prevent yourself from making a sound.

Ryusei tsked, using his free hand to move yours away, holding it down next to your head. “Nah nah, we can’t have that happening. I thought it was already clear that you weren’t gonna fight me anymore,” he teased, enjoying your distressed expression. “Don’t worry your pretty head now, I won’t deny you the chance to cum after that, I can’t do that to my favorite star.” With that, he pumped away even faster, causing you to let out a loud moan.

This pleasurable feeling was very different compared to the previous times you were intimate with someone. You wanted to kick yourself for even thinking this was pleasurable, but you couldn’t think right now as you came, letting out a loud gasp at how unexpectedly quick it happened. And without warning too.

Ryusei smiled down at you, watching you catch your breath after gushing all over his fingers. “Look at that, you sure came a lot, huh?”

You didn’t say a word, choosing to turn your head away from his leering gaze.

This didn’t sit with him as he used the hand that held your wrist down to grab your chin and make you face him. “Don’t get all shy on me now. The best part is coming now.” That made you feel flustered.

Yet, you began to feel… excited? At this point, you just gave up. There was no way to leave him now, not until he was done.

You felt yourself become wetter as you watched him strip away his clothing, purposefully taking his time as if he wanted to tease you. You whimpered again, not liking the way he was messing with you.

He cackled at the sound of it, “Ah, so you don’t like that huh? I see. It would be rude to keep my little star waiting for too long, right?” He removed his pants and briefs to finally reveal his cock.

Your eyes widened a bit at the sight of it, not ready for what was to come. You tried to back away, feeling nervous. “I- I can’t-” you began to stammer out.

Seeing you like that from his cock of all things made his sinister grin come back and his ego soar. He grabbed you by your thigh and pulled you back to him. “Stop bein’ scared, babydoll. It’ll fit. We can make it work, right?” His grip on your thigh tightened after he said that, almost as if it were a warning. You nodded frantically before laying back down.

You gasped as the tip began to rub against your clit, before Ryusei began to coat your slick all over his length.

As you took a deep breath, you let out a long exhale as he pushed into you. As he began to fill you up, you couldn’t believe that he was already stretching you to your limit. Even Ryusei let out a groan, unable to believe that you were so tight.

When he finally bottomed out in you after what felt like a while, you let out a quiet moan as you tried to relax again. This was much different from taking his fingers, so much longer than them. And girthier.

“Shit… so tight even after me fingering you, this’ll be a lot of fun,” he laid down on top of you, careful not to use all of his weight as he began to whisper in your ear. “Hold onto me, baby. I won’t go easy on you soon enough. Already feels so good,” and before you could react, he began thrusting into you.

His pace was not fast but it was hard; leaving you a breathless, moaning mess under him. You didn’t think you would cling onto him as he fucked you, but he did. The room almost felt hot as you held him close to you, your breasts jiggling slightly against his chest.

You let out a loud moan as he once again found your sweet spot, Ryusei could’ve sworn you grew wetter from that, and so, he began pistoning his hips. Repeatedly nudging against your spot along with him leaving love bites on your neck, it was hard to keep quiet. Sooner or later, the neighbors would hear the commotion and know what was going on from your moaning alone.

“Ryusei… I’m so close,” you whispered out, making him smirk. It was funny that you were letting out the loudest moans but you decided to whisper that you were reaching his peak.

Nevertheless, Ryusei let out a groan in pleasure before kissing your cheek, “Me too baby… I’m gonna cum too.” He then continued to mark you up, not satisfied with what he left on you so far.

Finally you feel it, you reach your climax around him, letting out such a pornographic moan that would make the passerby blush if they heard you. Scratching up his back, you began to whimper from the overstimulation starting to reach you as Ryusei continued.

After a few more thrusts, you let out a gasp as Ryusei bit down on the junction between your neck and shoulder, finally cumming and filling you up to the brim. He gave a few more thrusts before finally pulling out slowly, making you wince.

Now that you felt his cum leak out of you, you let out a long sigh and closed your eyes, glad that it was all over… that was until you felt yourself turning over on your stomach. Opening your eyes, you attempted to get up before feeling a large hand press down on your back. Now on your hands and knees, you looked back to Ryusei; only to be greeted by the same sinister grin that now scared you.

“C’mon now, did you think we were done so soon? ’m only just warming up,” he teased, grabbing your hips. Just as he inched his cock inside you again, you gaped, feeling that he was deeper than ever as soon as he bottomed out.

“Now why don’t you put on a little show for me like you did at the bar earlier? After that, I might just keep you as my little nightingale from now on.”

#candy uploads 🍭#blue lock #blue lock x reader #ryusei shidou x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #shidou x reader #after dark 🌩#lemon pastries 🥐

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lemonhemlock · 6 months

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No because all the anons talking about the Aemond x TB OC self insert fics are so real. Because those are so ridiculous derivative it is crazy

-White haired Targaryen looking child of Rhaenyra, probably named Visenya is either 1- takes after her mother because genetics don't exist 2-is the one trueborn daughter of Laenor and Rhaenyra who was conceived during consummation

-Can sword-fight, ride, talks like a 21st century woman, is a #girlboss and a 3rd wave feminist

-Takes Aemond's eye out as children instead of Luke being the one to do it

-Aemond somehow falls head over heels in love with her because she is #notlikeothergirls and just really really super hot

-Aemond abandons his family, his brothers, his sister, his mother and all the people he cares about to go fight for Rhaenyra because apparently the SI is just so hot and he is so in love with her

-They probably repeatedly have amazing super hot poorly written pre-marital sex but SI ofc doesn't get pregnant but there is no explanation like moon tea or anything

-Aemond calls his family out for being misogynistic haters or something for some reason????

- 639363 pages of Alicent bashing

-Aegon is the devil himself

-SI and Aemond get married and have children with white hair who they name after Rhaenyra and Daemon

-Author somehow managing to sneak in their own opinions that Rhaenyra is the one true heir and her and Daemon are innocent little saints who do no wrong

Just explained the plot of like a min. of 50 of Aemond x TB OC fics

i mean.... yeah :)) good for them for having their fun, but, bless their hearts, i had to check out

at the end of the day everyone can relate to this feeling of frustration when the majority of fics skew in a direction you're not a fan of. and every author should absolutely feel like they can post whatever they want and enjoy themselves; the target audience isn't always you and that's fine. but i simultaneously feel like venting these annoyances with like-minded people in your own space is also not a crime. sometimes we don't like stuff and want to gossip about it. it's really not that serious, everyone has the thinnest skin imaginable these days

it's like we've forgotten how to interact with one another. not liking something is not a personal affront to the person who does like it. it does not require outrage at the expressing of an opinion. it does not require a silencing campaign. you shouldn't expect others to keep quiet all the time just so your feelings won't be hurt. the fuck. especially when, i repeat, the tags can always be muted. what are you even doing interacting with the posts if the mere act of verbalizing a dislike bothers you so much?

there's a world of difference between occasional banter and sending authors hate, leaving disgruntled reviews, telling people to kms or insinuating that on your blog, casually accusing them of being illegal sexual deviants and whatever other deranged insults stans trade like candy and we definitely should stop acting like these two things are the same. you don't have to turn everything into a fight in the trenches

Anonymous asked: Yeah while I don't expect Alicent to be portrayed in every fic as the best mother who has no bad qualities since nobody is perfect it's becoming tiring to constantly read about how she's always trying to actively destroy her children's lives and is to blame for most things including the upcoming war while Rhaenyra is an amazing mother who truly loves her children and can do no wrong, like the worst she'll do is maybe arrange some unwanted marriage to her OC daughter or betroth her to another man who is not Aemond. I've come across to stories in which Alicent was abusive to Aemond for no reason other than she's a bad mother, was physically recoiled by his lost eye, turned and indoctrinated him into a religious extremist just like she's always portrayed in many fics or even tried to have Rhaenyra's daughter be assassinated just to prevent Aemond from defecting to the other side by marrying her and not the Baratheon daughter the greens want him to marry. To some extent I do believe it's very hard to avoid some OOC-ness from these characters since they're being put into new scenarios that didn't happen in canon and everything about this is being left to the author's personal interpretation which will naturally spark some debate whether or not what a certain character's actions are believable within their universe, however, due to the formulaic nature of a lot of those fics most characters (especially green ones if we're talking about Rhaenyra's daughter OCs) are brought to insane levels of OOC just to make their story work. Like yeah, if Aemond has constantly been abused by his mother (not physically necessarily), by Aegon, by his grandfather and, on top of that, Alicent and/or Otto try to have his beloved OC assassinated well, chances are this will make him denounce his family and switch sides sooner or later. Something that would've never happened under normal circumstances. Oh and I've also noticed a trend in quite a few of these fics of using Alys in cheating tropes and always turning her into an evil witch and seductress who tries to separate Aemond from the OC and use him for her own benefits…all I'm going to say is you don't want to see how demented and misogynistic people get about her in the comment sections. Anyway I'm sorry about extending this discussion about Aemond x OC fics and I hope it hasn't attracted too many weirdos who are spewing hate in your inbox!

i pretty much agree with you, anon, not much more to add. :))

#at any rate guys i feel like this is enough lucemond / TB OC fic content for now #ask #anon #fandom critical #anti team black #for filtering purposes #anti aemond targaryen #LOL #also for filtering purposes don't @ me #anti lucemond #bc i mentioned it in the tags and it MIGHT pop up in the search idk

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jungkookslipring · 10 months

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what abt a seonghwa fic when y/n (fem) breaks down one day when everything is seemingly fine abt abuse she had from her mom when she was akid.

y/n's really independent and admirable and hides her feelings underneath a warm friendly exterior but no-one knows what's underneath it.

idk if this is too intense, but i kind of feel like it..

haha love you

I LOVE THIS! Thank you so much for the request!

Pairings: Seonghwa x Reader

Relationship: platonic or romantic

Genre: hurt/comfort

Warnings: mentions of verbal and psychological abuse, crying, mentions of eating disorder but no graphic description

Mother Knows Best

Mother knows best, right? Even when she was very protective of you growing up and claimed to be a mama bear and 10 times out of 10 always acted on it, it made up for the things she’d say to you, right?Every time she said you’d look prettier without all those piercings, every time she’d comment how your body wasn’t VS material, every time she’d gaslight you and say you weren’t depressed you were just having a bad day, or “it could be worse”, she knew best, right? Your parents could do no wrong, no matter what they said was said with a purpose right? What they said, especially what she said was okay, right? They were allowed to say negative things cause they were your parents and that fine, right? Well it sure took you long enough to realize it was far from fine. It took one memory for you to break down in your bedroom. You were scrolling through Pinterest looking at constellation piercings, trying to decide which piercing you’d like to add to your collection. Maybe a double helix? Or a tragus? Or go for the more simple route and do a third lobe? There were just so many options at the end of your fingertips. You found a combo of jewelry you loved, and when you went to hit “pin”, the words invaded your brain.

“Why would you do that?”

“There is no reason for you to get those”

“That’s so ghetto”

“You’d look prettier without those piercings”

You lost it. Your vision blurred and your heart began to race, the fear from your childhood when you’d cry over something and your mom would comment

“Of course you’re crying”.

It was all too much. When you heard footsteps you threw a hand over your mouth and squeezed your eyes shut, imaging your mom storming down the hallway to yell at you, to stop crying, and to suck it up. What you didn’t expect was a dip at the end of your bed and a soft

“Hey, hey sweetie, what’s wrong?”

You opened up your eyes and saw Seonghwa, looking at you with a concerned facial expression. You shook your head, you’ve never wanted him to see you like this.

“Let’s try to catch our breath honey okay? We’ll take deep breaths together, you and me, yeah?” he asked oh so kindly. He wasn’t yelling at you, wasn’t telling you to suck it up, he was gently helping you calm your breathing. Just the mere thought of this new way of calming down actually existed was enough for your breathing to level out within maybe 30 seconds.

“Was there something or someone bothering you?” He asked as he put a hand on your knee. You looked down, worried that if you express your feelings, you’ll be shut down. Seonghwa took his hand and slowly tilted your chin up to look him in the eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I respect your privacy. I just want you to know I’m here, okay?” he said so sincerely. Your lip wobbled and before you knew it you were hiding your face in his shoulder, weeping as you held the back of his sweatshirt If he was startled he didn’t show it as he wrapped his arms around you, resting his cheek on your head. He’s never seen you so sad before, let alone shed a tear. It hurt his heart hearing you hiccup with every sob.

“My sweet girl…whatever it is, I’ll be there. I can help. I can help fix it,” he whispered. You shook your head. How? How can you fix childhood trauma.

“I-I don’t think it’s s-something that can b-be fixed” you whisper tearfully. He held you tighter and started stroking your hair. It was his silent way of saying

'I'm here, whether you want to tell me or not, I'm here'.

You let out a shaky sigh and found only a small bit of courage to tell him. You told him everything: the verbal and psychological abuse from your mother as a child, the way that abuse followed into your teens and young adult years, how you were paranoid over everything you did cause you knew she’d have an opinion on it, the fear of speaking up, the challenge of expressing your feelings, and the shame of feeling sad. Everything you let out was word vomit, and the strong confident girl that Seonghwa met was replaced with a shy, quiet and scared girl that was weeping from years of trauma. But Seonghwa didn’t care. This side of you he had never seen before and even though it broke his heart, he was relieved that you were letting go of the pressure that built up inside of you for so long that you kept trapped in a box refusing to open it.

“…so…you know I guess that’s what did it…I couldn’t take it anymore…but I’m really sorry I didn’t want you to see me like this-“ you rambled before Seonghwa oh so gently, in the nicest way possible, cut you off by pulling you further into his hold.

“Shhh shhh shhh. My y/n, you don’t need to apologize over this type of thing, bubs, this isn’t your fault, none of this is your fault,” he said with his voice only slightly shaky. He pulled back a little to cup your cheek.

“I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t talk to me sweetheart, and I don’t want you to feel afraid to show your emotions. Your feelings are valid and no one can tell you otherwise cause it’s your body, not theirs. And I’m so so sorry your mother caused this,” Seonghwa said sadly. He genuinely felt so sorry for you.

“It’s okay…I mean…I know it’s not okay but don’t feel bad, I’ll get over it eventually,” you say shrugging. Seonghwa had sadness in his eyes as he took your hand into his.

"You are loved. You are so so loved sweetheart. You have a family who loves you, even if its just me and the rest of the seven crackheads that live in this household," he chuckled as you let out a wet chuckle. You loved them all so much, you really did. This conversation wasn't going to change the past, but it was going to help you move forward, knowing that you had the best support system, even if they weren't blood.

#ateez x reader #ateez #ateezedit #ateez angst #ateez fluff #seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa #ateez x atiny #ateez hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort

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fixaidea · 2 months

Text

Excerpt from a fic I'll probably never write:

(From the DMBJ end this takes place in a sort of mixed 'verse that's mostly book, but Zhang Rishan is still around, because it's fun to bother him.)

(The premise would be that an ancient artifact in the Smithonian starts acting up. By the combined efforts of Dr Strange and the leading historians of the museum they work out that this thing is likely a piece of a set of four, and might be stopped from taking out the museum and half of Wasington with it if reunited with the other pieces. Problem is, no one has any idea where to find these pieces beyond 'somewhere in China' which, let's be real, is kind of a broad scope.)

****

This was the kind of situation where someone knowing a guy who knew a guy would have helped a lot, but since he cut ties with the SHIELD a lot of these connections went up in smoke and, regrettably, Steve Rogers did not know a guy.

He did not, but, as it turned out, Doctor Strange did. Not only did he know a guy, he knew an entire clan of once-powerful mystics who doubled as professional graverobbers and had connections all over the Chinese antiques mafia.

Phone calls were made, plans were discussed, and by the time Steve, a handful of ex-Avengers and some new faces he managed to round up landed in Beijing the Zhang clan was waiting for them with people and equipment ready to go, and the probable location of the three missing pieces all worked out.

Used as he was to taking the lead, Steve was both appreciative of and, honestly, quite nervous about having been swept up in the flow like this, but since the matter was extremely time-sensitive he was ready to swallow his pride and follow along.

As it turned out, not everyone on his team felt the same way.

About two hours into packing and organising people into teams (three teams for the three tombs with three graverobbers for team leaders) Steve was approached by Doctor Strange's main contact, a man called Zhang Rishan.

Director Zhang did not look happy.

'Tell me Captain, your friend, Mr Stark - would you say his behaviour today is typical?'

Steve stifled a groan, opting for a deep sigh instead.

'No, I'm afraid usually he's much worse.'

Director Zhang nodded.

'That settles it then. He's going with the Iron Triangle.'

Steve followed his gaze all the way to the other end of the hangar, to a white minivan and the three people around it. If Steve had to sum up his first impression he would have described them as a middle-aged substitute teacher, a slightly older guy who was as round as he was loud and some twenty-something prettyboy who never quite grew out of his emo phase. He sighed and tuned back to Director Zhang.

'I take it you don't like this 'Iron Triangle' very much?'

Director Zhang opened his arms in an elegant shrug.

'Let me put it this way: there is some lingering tension due to conflicting loyalties and... certain past events, but I have no personal problem with any one of them. I'm certainly not trying to punish them by foisting your friend on them. No, out of all three team leaders Wu Xie is best qualified to deal with him.'

'How so?'

'Because I don't want to work with him and judging by his performance today he'd just waste Xie Yuchen's time and energy by trying to engage him in a power struggle the whole way. Wu Xie has the air of a harmless nobody even if he's anything but, so he's unlikely to provoke your friend's ego by merely existing. Besides, his greatest strength is how well he gets along with even the most difficult people. Give him enough time and he will befriend a stone statue.'

Steve sniggered and shook his head.

'Oh good! I just hope this friendly energy keeps up when Stark tries to steamroll over him.'

'That will not be a problem' said Director Zhang 'Wu Xie himself may not be naturally confrontational and might let him get his way, but the Iron Triangle is three people for a reason.'

He turned towards the trio in the far end of the hangar, nodding at the boy in black.

'I haven't worked with Zhang Qiling since the sixties, but unless he'd become a fundamentally different person since, I can tell you exactly how any disagreement will go. Mr Stark will have his opinion, Wu Xie will try to reason will him, Zhang Qiling will listen to them for about one and a half minutes and then take whatever action HE thinks is best.'

This time Steve didn't hold back a snigger. Stark was going to have and interesting week.

#mcu #the avengers #captain america #steve rogers #dmbj #zhang rishan #wu xie #crossover #tony stark #in spirit #iron triangle #also in spirit

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zuffer-weird-girl · 1 year

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can you write a fic about y/n whose very touchy (their love language being physical touch) and has to touch overhaul in some sort of way whenever they see him?? either it being holding hand, a hand on his shoulder or just resting their head on him. just innocent little touches 😗

Never on his life he liked even the concept of touch. Ever since he could remember, just the thought of someone hugging him was suffocating while merely touching was repulsive.

He didn't liked touch. He despised it.

Although, in his almost three decades of life... he could pit point two exceptions for that.

One was the boss. How could he not be a exception? He was the man that took him out of the streets, gave a place to stay and even proclaimed he was his successor of a whole group of yakuzas. He changed his life. So of course the old man could touch him. From a scolding slap on the back to a simple yet so refreshing patting on the top of his hair when he was little.

The second exception was more shocking that it even existed for him to be honest. But alas, it was here... and it was resting their head on his shoulder right now.

He side eyed your figurine, which was navigating through the internet, for a moment before looking back at the clock on the wall.

Funny... with you, time seemed to pass with more speed than usual...

"You should go to sleep." He muttered, yet his voice was very evident due to the comfortable silence that was in the room.

You hummed while arching one of your eyebrows at him with a smirk.

"Are you going to sleep?" You inquired while he let out a scoff.

"Don't act so smug now you brat." He muttered before standing up suddenly, making you blink up at him.

"I'm not. Is it that wrong to not wanting to leave my boyfriend alone in the middle of the night?" You asked with pure innocence in your eyes, making him sigh before averting his eyes away from your figurine to the door of his office.

"Is it wrong of me to want you go rest then?" He heard your soft chuckle before feeling your fingertips brush on his upper arm.

"Alright, that's fair. But care to join me?" You mumbled sleepily on his shoulder.. shivers running down his spine at every single touch you provided him.

And the shivers... didn't felt bad. They didn't made his skin erupt on those hives he despised so much like it had happened to many other poor fouls that accidentally touched him.

No. They were like sparkles of electricity, almost giving him a overwhelming feeling of.... being wanted. Cared. Loved.

It was oh so strange...

You were.... a true exception.

"Perhaps I should take a break." He muttered while leaving the room with you trailing behind him, a soft pinky linked with his.

"Yeah, perhaps." You snorted and smiled up at him, surpringly making a small one appear on his usual stoic face.

"And perhaps I should have you with me?" He muttered in dark, close to your face as he felt your hands once again traveling up from his hand to his torso and finally cupping his jaw softly.

How exactly you managed to do that? How exactly have you managed to make a numb, problematic, mysophobic man ... secretly adore your magical touch?

Sometimes, he swore that despite being quirkless, you had this effect on him... he couldn't quite explain it... but it felt calming, healing even.

"Perhaps I should." You whispered delicately near his lips, he felt the hot air leaving your soft ones and his eyes softened even more... his own gloved hands taking a mind of their own and simply positioning themselves one on your waist as the other cupped your chin to tilt it up.

"Have you got the knowledge that this little habit of yours could result on death?" He muttered as you hummed in confusion until he spoke again "Touching me without a fear of being killed ever since we met."

"It never seemed to bother you when I did it... so I never stopped... after all, is how I like to show I love you." You whispered before tilting your head to the side "you want me to stop?"

If it was anyone else he wouldn't even answered. If it was anyone else he would have killed them. Scoffed in disgust. Anything that surely wasn't considered... right.

But to his surprise once again, a 'don't even dare' escaped from his lips before his mind could comprehend them before his lips connected with yours.

Chisaki Kai hated touching others and that others touched him.

But certainly he didn't minded when it came from you.... not even one bit.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha x reader #bnha villains x reader #kai chisaki x reader #zuffer writings

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woohookafka · 10 months

Text

Genshin/Star Rail Fic Masterlist (Updated as on 21/08/2023)

Here's my AO3 account in case you wish to give them all a read.

Explicit fics will be marked in red (it's going to be almost all the links lol)

Multi-Chapter fics:

Freefall : Zhongli/Lumine (violence, canon deviation, angst, pining, fluff, smut) Genshin Impact

When the Warrior God took it upon himself to cleanse Liyue of the never-ending corruption of the Abyss, he realized that there is only so much that even his unyielding body, as ancient and titanic as the mountains, can take. Hope shone her grace on him when his long-time friend, the Anemo Archon, told him of a miraculous traveler who had purified an elemental relic corrupted by the Abyss, and he actively sought her out to bind her to a contract to purify himself. But alas, to cleanse a tainted Archon is easier said than done. Merely her presence is not enough to purify him. He must learn everything about her, she must learn everything about him...they must share everything within their hearts together. Then, and only then, will he be truly freed.

Sabaism : Alhaitham/Lumine (canon deviation, angst, fluff, smut) Genshin Impact

Alhaitham does not believe in things that he cannot see. Faith, sacrilege, blasphemy, they do not matter to his pragmatic existence. He also does not believe in things as meaningless as infatuations. Obsession, love, adoration, they do not matter to creatures with a life as fleeting as theirs. And yet, when the golden-haired Traveler proposes a joint research initiative with him, it only takes one day for everything that he believes in to crumble to dust. He gives in. He relents. He believes.

Sunshine and Sunshine Protector : Zhongli/Lumine (violence, blood and gore, Mafia AU, fluff, smut, slice of life) Genshin Impact

Lumine is a shining beam of sunlight, brightening the lives of everyone around her. And Zhongli is the luckiest of men, that he should have her all to himself. And so, he happily walks in the grim shadows, dirtying his hands so that his queen may continue to illuminate the world he strives to protect.

Blaze : Diluc/Lumine (violence, blood, smut) Genshin Impact

Trapped in Starglow Cavern, something fiery and feral awakens within Diluc when his favorite outlander suffers from frostbite.

Did The Heavens Drop You in My Arms? : Jing Yuan/Stelle (smut, fluff) Honkai: Star Rail

Stelle ends up becoming the involuntary guinea pig of the errant space anchors on the Xianzhou Luofu and finds herself being transported to all sorts of odd locations, some of which begin to show a particular pattern over a period of time. This pattern involves being teleported into the vicinity of a certain sleepy Arbiter-General, who is more than happy to be distracted from his work.

Oneshots:

Inferno : Welt Yang/Stelle (smut, age difference, porn with plot) Honkai: Star Rail

A rescue mission goes horribly, horribly wrong when a volcano resonates with an unstable Stellaron. Alternatively, here's 17 hours of Welt surviving amidst a literal inferno while also trying his best to stabilize a densely concentrated bomb of a star that his companion carries within herself.

Stay : Dan Heng/Stelle (smut, fluff, body worship, shower sex) Honkai: Star Rail

Stelle and Dan Heng are alike in more ways than one. They're both distant, aloof, cold on the outside but warm on the inside, and very taciturn and silent. Dan Heng and Stelle also share a mutual secret. They are attracted to each other, but they cannot exactly understand how to label it. And to better understand just what it is they feel for each other, they conduct a series of experiments. Every night, Stelle comes to his room. Every night, Dan Heng takes her on his pristine white sheets. Every night, they feel the other as close as possible, to decipher what exactly it is. Nothing more, nothing less. But when morning comes and Dan Heng wakes up, Stelle's already gone. Not that he bothers. That's just how their relationship is. An experiment. After the incidents of Jarilo-VI, Dan Heng experiences nightmares involving Stelle. He is unable to sleep, something that is picked up by Stelle. She has a heart-to-heart conversation with Dan Heng, and he opens his heart to her, this time hoping that she'll stay by his side when he wakes up.

Wild Card : Zhongli/Lumine (sexual tension, shameless smut, praise kink, size kink, breeding kink) Genshin Impact

Lumine introduces Zhongli to the world of Genius Invokation TCG. But it's no longer fun and games for Lumine when he outclasses her in just a week's time. Zhongli decides to let Lumine in on his ancient secrets, his guide to winning wars, in a bid to make her improve her skills as a TCG player...through an interesting lesson held in the new Adeptal realm built specifically for TCG matches. (That's 10k words of smut written over Genius Invokation TCG)

Diffract : Alhaitham/Kaveh (smut, light bondage, choking) Genshin Impact

Alhaitham thought that he could play the devil for fun, but unfortunately, his roommate was a more dangerous devil than him at this moment. How else could he explain the fact that he ended up tangled in the bed with Kaveh over a fucking flower pot?

Wakeful Moonlight : Kamisato Ayato/Lumine (fluff, smut, body worship) Genshin Impact

Lumine and Ayato are alone tonight. Only the moon bears witness to their adoration for each other.

A Chrysanthemum, White Like Snow (major character death, angst, Modern AU) Genshin Impact

Had someone told Doctor Baizhu a few months ago, that he would be having a conversation with Death himself, Baizhu would have laughed and dismissed it as mere banter. But now, in this moment, it is not at all surprising. Neither is it scary. Nor is it painful. It’s just… there. It’s happening. Nothing more, nothing less.

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yuhhxhxx · 8 months

Text

Grieving. (Luocha x reader)

| Pairing : Luocha x reader (indirectly)

| Warnings : Reader is passed away, mentions of death, violence (lots of), revenge, hatred, Luocha is grieving, kind of angsty overall

| Genre : Like I said, angst 🥀

| Summary : You are (or, were) his beloved significant other and he is now suffering, for he has lost his dearest person in the world.

| !SPOILER ALERT! This fic also merely contains spoilers from the Xianzhou Luofu's latest Trailblaze quest, but even so, I mostly wrote about my own perspective upon Luocha's reason of existing and overall his reasons of being a traveling merchant. I hope you'll enjoy :D

It has long been since he had last seen you. It has long been since he had last spoken to you. It has long been since he had last touched you, since he had felt your warmth against his- since he had kissed you, since he had heard your voice, listened to your stories, enchanted you songs, fought alongside you- it has been a long, rough time for Luocha, for not a single day has passed without thinking about you- and how cruel the destiny has been with you. He curses those who had brought you to your end sooner than it should have happened.

He reminisces the day you have left this world- the day you had left him- how cruel and merciless your murderer was. He still recalls how their weapon pierced straight through your heart, looking back with horror at how terrified you were in those very moments- your last moments. He blames himself even to this day that he couldn't save you. He was weak in those moments- the moments when you needed him the most.

He swore that he would tear the individual that dared kill you to pieces- craving nothing but avenging you and seeing them crumble to death, just like it happened to you.

Nobody, not even him, would have ever thought that such a higher and noble being would ever do such terrible things to a mere, innocent, harmless human. But Luocha should've known better. He should have. He shouldn't have let himself be captured, he shouldn't have let himself become so helpless before a being whose reputation has been made of deceiving truths. Such ugly being hiding its devilish side underneath a charming facade... who would've thought?

After all...

...Aeons are supposed to be Holy...no?

Ever since you have passed away, Luocha has been on a never-ending journey hoping to find a way to bring you back to him- bring you back to life. His heart also seeks and craves vengeance, for he never forgets. After all, his dearest thing in the world got stolen away from him so cruelly and so quickly that he feels like things haven't yet been solved- he neees to return the favor to the same Aeon that murdered his beloved.

Despite his healing aptitudes, Luocha cannot bring the deceased back to life- at least, he fails to do so. He has tried several methods to revive your poor body, yet he never brought himself to succeed. Thus, he always has a talisman with him all the time, just in case he will eventually succeed, or just in case he himself gets wounded. Of course, now, it would be weird to carry around a deceased person's body- he might even get arrested for that, so what better way to carry a corpse at your discretion than placing it in a coffin? A lot of people wonder what's with that big, weird, decorated and elegant coffin that he always has with himself, yet they never really bother to ask too much.

Luocha's interastral journey and every single one of his travels revolve around you and the purpose of your revival. He always seems so close, yet so far from the Aeon whom he wishes to end so badly. He has always been a rather special man- always wearing a mysterious, elegant and innocent facade despite his dark secrets lying deep within him.

After failing to bring his never-ending journey to an end, he has decided that his next destination will be the Xianzhou Luofu, where destiny will help him cross paths with his greatest enemies- or, perhaps, his potential allies. What is unknown is the outcome of all events. After all, he too is a slave of destiny.

!HUGE SPOILER ALERT BELOW THE CUT!

☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆

"What's wrong, Luocha? You seem pretty down."

"Jing Liu, the general will surely disagree with allying with us. Of course, now, I wouldn't mind fighting him or the whole nation- however, it'd only be a meaningless journey, and the Luofu seems to be amongst the few settlements that is rather acquainted with the Aeon of Abundance."

"Oh, Luocha... what a man of emotion you are. Traveling world after world just to revive your deceased partner... I would probably let it slide. However, I do understand why you would seek revenge so eagerly. After all, we have a common enemy...

...Hm. It seems we have arrived. Make sure to play your part well."

"That's the Astral Express over there, no?"

"Indeed, it is. But no one and nothing will stop us."

"Indeed. We will find Yaoshi and avenge well." Caressing your coffin, Luocha says those words and proceeds to plant a kiss on the heavy package of porcelain and stone.

Jing Liu chuckles. "Besides, I do have somebody that I have been hunting down for centuries now... this time, I will end him."

"Ah... you're talking about your old friend that has now become a Stellaron Hunter, correct?" He stands up and smirks, looking at the Luofu.

"Correct."

"Well then, Y/N, Jing Liu, let's take our leave."

To be continued...

#hsr #hsr luocha #luocha #luocha x reader #jing liu #angst #fanfic

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the-infinite-hole · 6 months

Text

hi my ~realistic~ narry/reader broken marriage thoughts turned into a 3k word fanfic about trying to reconnect with him.

you're in the shower but you don't do anything xD

tentatively tagging @caltverkeys because i probably wouldn't have thought about it for so long if they hadn't expressed interest in my initial thoughts. :)

not that i expect ANYONE to actually read all 3k words of this silliness lol.

(*i wouldn't normally post whole fics to tumblr except this one probably wouldn't exist WITHOUT tumblr.)

sooo here ya go

...

When you hear the faucet squeak to life and smell his soap beginning to waft down the stairs, you smile because you know it means he's had a good day— or, at the very least, that he hasn't had a bad one, which is sometimes all you really need.

Sometimes.

Saying his name quietly to yourself (you know he can't hear you over the din of the water, but you feel like saying it anyway), you creep up the stairs, heading toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. The door is half-open, and through the noise you think you can detect him muttering something to himself.

His muttering doesn't bother you, though; it never has: Thinking out loud is something he's always done, and anyway, it's actually quite nice to hear his voice— especially when he's been flat-out ignoring you in favour of his own pursuits, which lately he's been doing quite a bit.

For days and days now, your Narrator (actually, he's your husband; however, he just as often insists upon being addressed by his own chosen title) has been holed up in his dark, smoky little office, working on his very own video game: His 'parable' as he likes to call it. He's been building it privately on his computer for as long as you've known him, adding dialogue and settings and characters and concepts at what most people would describe as his leisure.

At first, you were charmed by the strength of his creative drive— however, having been married to him for as many years as you have, you now know first-hand that there isn't actually anything 'leisurely' about the way your husband works on his game.

How long has it been, you think, since he last had a job— real job; a job that actually made him real-life money? How long has it been since the two of you last went out to dinner together...? Or entertained company, or took a trip—?

...You shake your head as you step into the bathroom, banishing both the thoughts and the hard, sticky bitterness clinging to them like old barnacles.

Not right now.

He's already standing under the water when you arrive, hidden safely behind the curtain: A mere silhouette, although over the years you've grown sadly accustomed to him being somewhat of a shadow to you. He spends so much time holed up with his game in that little office of his that sometimes you worry you're going to forget what he even looks like.

His glasses (at least those haven't changed) are resting on the edge of the sink; his pants are balled up on the floor with his socks. His shirt is hooked on the doorknob, its sleeves hanging just low enough to brush up against the worn linoleum tile peeling up from the edges of the floor. Even over the soap, you can smell the sweat on it; see the coffee stains, too. It feels like a long time since you've seen him undressed, and maybe even longer than that since you've seen him without his glasses.

It's embarrassing— you certainly wouldn't admit it out loud— but the god's honest truth is that you can hardly even recall what colour his eyes are anymore.

You bite down on your lip as your stomach ties itself in knots. You've been married to him for longer than you haven't been, but all of a sudden— right here and right now— you feel nervous: Like you're intruding, or crossing a boundary.

...Like you shouldn't even be here.

He's probably busy, you scold yourself. Busy trying not to get soap in his eyes; busy thinking about his game. Busy spending time in his head with Stanley.

'Stanley' isn't real, though, and neither is the game, no matter how much your Narrator seems to wish they were. You don't resent his inclination to retreat into himself so much as you wish you understood it; you knew he was prone to bouts of depression when you married him, and you would never begrudge him his feelings. But to witness him running headlong into a set of digital arms when you've been there for him in real-life all along...

Shh, quit it. Not right now.

No, you think, it isn't the right time to indulge your own misplaced jealously and pent-up bitterness any more than it's the right time to contemplate your husband's chronic lack of employment or unwillingness to join you for dinner. You didn't trail him in here to scold him; you can do that any time. No, you came in here to...

...to...

...wait.

Wait, what did you come in here for, anyway...?

He coughs from behind the shower curtain, maybe to let you know he's detected you; maybe just because he smokes too much. The sharpness of the scent of his soap and the headiness of the humidity in the air are what coax you back to reality; you're still frightened, but before you know it, you're peeling your own clothes off and discarding them to the floor right alongside his anyhow.

Could this be it, you ask yourself—? The thing you came for? Joining your husband (or your 'Narrator', or whoever the hell he thinks he is these days) for a shower is something you haven't done in years. What could possibly be possessing you to do it tonight?

What do you think you're going to gain from it— do you really think it's going to help?

Now less-than-sure of yourself, you almost give up right then: Put on a towel and scurry out of the bathroom; maybe to go and make some tea, or even just pretend to go to bed. But then— then— you think better of retreating, because what does it really matter whether or not it 'helps'? Running away is something he does; something he does, in fact, that you loathe. What kind of message would it send to him, if you went and did the very same thing...?

Whatever precipitated that well-timed cough of his, he already knows you're here: Quite simply, you can feel it. You don't need to ask.

Goosebumps pepper your skin as your throat seems to close in on itself; without meaning to, necessarily, you start taking steps: First one; then two, and three, and then finally (it feels like it takes a lot longer than it does), you're standing at the edge of the bathtub with your hand on the curtain, trying not to breathe too fast.

Perhaps in spite of yourself, you shoot a quick glance back in the direction of the mirror, just to make sure you're still smiling. If you're here because you love him, you reason, then shouldn't you greet him as though you're happy to see him?

Next, you pull back the curtain, letting out a hot puff of steam; after that, you lift a foot, stepping high over the lip of the tub and into the shower. He isn't facing you, but the source of the water instead; he also isn't washing his hair or his face, or anything else, for that matter. He isn't moving or talking, and he certainly isn't singing to himself the way he used to when you first got married. Really, all he seems to be doing is standing there: Stiffly, beneath the water, like a pillar of something soluble— something that wishes it would melt.

You place a hand on his shoulder from behind, and his back tenses beneath your touch. Your smile fades before he's even had a chance to see it; your breath catches, and already you're terrified you've made an awful mistake.

"I'm sorry," you start...

But then, he turns around.

Nearly choking on your own words, you stop as quickly as you started: Again, it's been practically forever since you last law his eyes.

They're green.

A beautiful, sparkling emerald green; as bright and brilliant as ever, almost as if in direct and deliberate defiance of all the things that so often seem to conspire to take him away from you. They're so lovely (and so lovely on him) that you're ashamed to have so flagrantly forgotten them. Then again, you think, maybe you were meant to forget them: Maybe he wanted you to.

"Don't be sorry," he says. "I'm almost finished."

Calm and cordial (entirely too cordial, actually) his spoken words come near-devoid of any particular intonation— betraying very little of the pain or confusion swirling about behind those pretty eyes of his. It's been like that for a long time; again, you sorely miss the sound of his voice, but he just doesn't seem to have it in him to use it the way he once did.

Not unless he's narrating for Stanley, anyway.

"I wasn't waiting for you to be finished," you tell him— trying as best you can to tamp down both your long-standing bitterness and your hope, lest either of them get the better of you.

His eyes dart to the side, as if he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't try to hide himself from you, and hasn't since you joined him; however, you know that's less because he's comfortable and more because he simply doesn't give a shit— about the way he looks; about the way you feel about him. The Narrator hardly seems to care about anything anymore.

Shut up. You're here because you love him anyway, remember?

"...You aren't?" he asks, voice creaking like an old door as he places a single hand on the slick tile wall beside him and keeps on refusing to look up at you.

"I'm not," you promise... tentatively reaching back out toward him, only to stop just short of actually touching his chest.

"Then why are you—"

"I just wanted to—"

"Just wanted to what?"

Clearly off to a less-than-stellar start, you bite your lip again. "...Let's not interrupt each other," you suggest, as gently as you can. Your hand is still hanging there between the two of you, resting in the air like a spectre. His body is shielding it from the water, and therefore the rest of you, too. You shiver— cold, now, in spite of the steam.

"...I'm sorry," he says, only barely audible over the insistent pattering of the water. Venturing to lift his head, he looks first at your hand; then, eventually, up at your face.

If nothing else, you suppose, his apology is at least sincere.

"You don't need to be sorry," you tell him... and (for now, anyway) it's the truth.

"...I wasn't lying when I said I was nearly finished," he mutters, shoulders shifting as though he's about to try and move past you. In desperation (desperation you hope to god he can't sense), you let that floating hand of yours finally make its landing: A gentle one, in the very centre of his chest, warm little rivulets of water flowing over and around it.

"Wait," you plead... pressing the tips of your fingers insistently into his skin.

"What for?" he asks back, having apparently grown uncomfortable enough with your presence that it's actually beginning to annoy him. You try not to let your heart sink; how many of your fights with him have started out precisely this way—?

"...Do you remember our first apartment?" you ask him, irreverent and hopeful and still not to be deterred. "The one with the leaky toilet and the irritable landlord?"

He sighs, pursing his lips. "...I do remember," he admits, if reluctantly. "He was always complaining about—"

"The water bill!" you blurt out— unable to resist finishing for him as an entirely unintentional grin flashes across your face.

Apparently unmoved, your Narrator shifts his weight from leg to leg. "I thought we were going to quit interrupting each other," he huffs... averting his gaze yet again, this time in favour of staring intently down at the water swirling around his own feet and down into the drain.

You hate admitting it, even to yourself, but you miss when he used to stare at you.

"...I'm sorry," you say, kicking yourself internally because you should have known better than to get excited.

"Anyway," he goes on tersely, "we haven't needed to share showers to save water for years— and so unless you're here to deliver some sort of unfavourable news with regard to our financial situation, I quite frankly don't see any reason for you to have joined me."

You almost wish you'd gone ahead and interrupted him again. Nonetheless, you curl your toes hard into the ceramic beneath your feet; having come this far, you aren't giving up on him.

Not yet.

Not tonight.

"If I told you that I just wanted to join you," you start, "then would that be a good enough reason?" Gazing down at your own hand as it rests on his chest, it dawns on you that you don't exactly have a whole lot of room to criticize his reluctance to make eye contact.

Looking up, you catch his gaze and hold it— maybe for as long as you've held it in years.

It isn't easy, but it's worth the effort... isn't it?

Already flush from the steam, you can't quite tell whether his cheeks have gone red, or whether he's merely grown too warm. "I— w-well, I suppose it would be," he spits out, "but... but, well, I... I..."

Mindful of his having chided you for it earlier, you refrain from cutting in, giving him a moment to try and finish. Only when it becomes evident that he isn't going to finish do you dare to prompt him.

"You what?" you ask— emphatically, yes, but also kindly; more curious, now, than impatient.

Your thumb begins to stroke gently at a damp tuft of hair on his chest. It's familiar, but in a way that feels distant, too: Like something you're remembering from a whole other life.

He focuses his gaze somewhere behind you, then: Past the shower curtain, in the direction of the bathroom door. He could very well be thinking about pushing right past you and bolting though it; in fact, it's more likely than not that he is— but if he's thinking about running, he must also be thinking about not running in equal measure, because (it'll seem almost miraculous, when you look back on it later), he doesn't so much as move a muscle.

He does cough again— maybe just clearing his throat.

You don't stop stroking that little wet tuft on his chest.

"I... well, I suppose I thought you didn't want to," he reveals, as earnestly as it feels like he's revealed anything to you in years.

For a moment, you feel newly ashamed... but then, of course, you feel frustrated: He thinks you're the one who didn't want to be with him—?!

You're aren't the one who spends every waking moment holed up in an office with their pixilated boyfriend.

...No, you remind yourself: Now isn't the time to bring up Stanley.

"Of course I want to!" you tell him back, and once more, it's the truth: Again, you didn't join him in the shower to berate him; you joined him because you love him— you always have, and even through everything, you've never stopped. You don't think you ever will. "We're still married, aren't we?" you ask, as your feet shift forward and a nervous, playful little lilt infiltrates your tone.

He blushes. There's no question about it this time, steam or no steam. He's always been prone to it, and (for better or worse) you've always loved making him turn red.

"I— I... w-well—"

As careful as ever, you close the remainder of the distance between the two of you— snaking a trembling arm around his waist in the process. His back seems to straighten out, but he doesn't try to pull away; you look into his eyes, and (maybe because he doesn't have anywhere else to look), he stares back into yours.

You don't say anything to him, but you do smile: Not bold enough to expect, perhaps... but certainly brave enough to hope.

He pauses, drawing a breath.

"...Y-yes," he finally manages. "Yes— yes, of course we're still married; it's just that— th-that—"

In lieu of interrupting him with words, you take yet another chance... this time by tilting your head (once again, in a way you haven't done in years), and shutting him up with a kiss.

It always used to work before.

You close your eyes, partly because you're scared; but also partly because of the fine spray misting out from behind him. The water pelting his back trickles over and around your hand; he breaths in, lungs expanding against your body in a way you never quite realized until just this moment how very much you missed.

...Maybe he misses it too, because the next thing you know, he's kissing you back.

He's really, actually kissing you back.

It's been so long since he last put his arms around you that you almost flinch when he does. He tastes, as always, like his favourite cigarettes; his lips are exactly as warm as you remember them. More grateful than ever to be surrounded by water, your eyes fill with tears; you know you shouldn't cry, but your body doesn't seem to care.

The pipes, old and lime-encrusted, whine from above you. Droplets tap-tap-tap against the plastic shower curtain; the drain gurgles from under your feet; and— somehow, suddenly— you're quite positive that you can hear the far-off droning of someone's car alarm, blaring faintly from outside.

Your Narrator himself, however, doesn't make a sound. He doesn't move, either... except to part his lips, and pull you even closer to him.

...Maybe, you think sadly to yourself, he really does need 'Stanley' as much as he seems to believe he does. Maybe he's depressed; maybe he's angry— maybe he's been touched by something he hasn't yet gathered the courage to reveal to you, and it's eating him up from the inside-out. You still don't know, any more than you know how to pull him out of his head and back into real life.

Right here, though— right here, in this very moment, steeping together like human tea in the warm, fragrant steam— your Narrator seems just as content to need you as he does to need his office, or his computer, or his best digital friend.

A kiss in the shower might not seem like a lot to some people, no... but to you it's something: A lot of something, in what often feels like a sad and lonesome sea of even more nothing.

It may not be able to singularly mend everything that's wrong with him (or with your marriage, or with you yourself), no: But tonight, it feels like enough.

Maybe— for now; from him— 'enough' really is all you need.

#tsp #narrator x reader #tsp au #tsp fanfic #tsp narrator #saaaad

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silvfyre-writings · 9 months

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Let's see what tomorrow will bring (BSD Fanfic)

You may be wondering if I am okay, releasing two Ranpo angst fics back to back, and I am, I promise I am! We just feel a little sad about things, so my response is to project onto cause it's easier haha.

Anyway, enjoy the fic!!! (I promise I will be replying to the hoard of comments I have soon haha)

CW: brief suicidal thoughts, and references to self harm

Sometimes, Ranpo found it hard to keep living.

It was a hard thing to do, living, that is, and it wasn’t something that Ranpo considered himself particularly good at—odd, considering how good he was at solving mysteries. But that was mostly because he didn’t really care all that much about what happened to him, often putting his life in danger to solve a case without any regard as to whether or not he would survive or not. He always did though. He’d once been told that he had no self-preservation skills, and that he needed to take better care of himself, lest he find himself killed, but honestly? Why bother? Living was hard, and sometimes it was just easier to… not live.

He wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was depressed though; he wasn’t like Dazai who had actually been diagnosed after several years and was finally being treated for it, but he would say that he felt depressed at times, and really, that was all he needed to justify not going into work that day. He’d woken up that morning, with the feeling of chains strapped to each of his limbs as he tried to swim through the cloud of fog encompassing his mind. And yet, even though that fog was thick and crushing, his mind continued to think and think, an act that only made him feel even more exhausted than he already did. It was a feeling he was all too familiar with, one that had stuck with him ever since his parents had died, perhaps even before they had died although he’d never felt as bad as he did currently until after they’d died.

And although he didn’t feel too bad right now, he only knew it would get worse, because it always did without fail.

It’d happened too many times for him not to know this familiar, and always unwelcome, battle.

Ranpo sighed, his attention focused on the clock that told him he was already three hours late to his shift at the Agency, and while he knew that he should at least try and get out of bed and actually go to work because it would help him feel a little better at least, the mere thought of actually leaving the comfort of his bed was more than enough to have him curl up underneath his blankets until the clock disappeared from view. Why did it matter that the clock was visible or not anyway? It wasn’t like it was going to tell him anything that he didn’t already know; he already knew he was late to work, and really, all that watching that clock was doing, was making him feel worse.

His phone buzzed with a message, yet Ranpo made no move to pick it up or even look at it; he just ignored it, even as it buzzed again, inches away from where his hand lay, twisted into the sheets. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was that would be texting him in the first place, because there were only a limited number of options; it was either a member of the Agency, or it was Poe, and right now, Ranpo didn’t know which was worse.

There were only a few people—only two people actually, and that was Fukuzawa and Yosano—that knew he had days like this, and he’d very much like to keep it that way. He was the most important part of the Agency, the reason that the organization even existed in the first place, and the reason that it had succeeded for all these years, so it wasn’t like he was allowed to fall apart in the first place. Because if he did, then everyone would stop relying on him, and after twelve years, Ranpo finally felt as if he had a little family—a good family—in his coworkers, and he really, really, didn’t want to drive them away just because he felt a little sad.

He didn’t want to be alone again.

Ranpo’s phone buzzed once again, and this time, he did look at it. Fukuzawa’s name flashed across the screen, a singular message telling him that he’d put Ranpo down as sick today and to get some rest. He wasn’t surprised to get such a message, since Fukuzawa had probably grown worried when Ranpo failed to show up to work without anyone hearing from him. The same thing had happened last time he’d felt this way, so it’d only been a matter of time. And he knew he should grab his phone and actually open the message to mark it as read, because that was a sign to the others that he was still alive, but… it was just too hard, like everything else was right now. Ranpo sighed and rolled away from his phone, his eyes closing.

It was just hard to be alive right now.

The next few days blurred together so much so, that Ranpo couldn’t have said what day it currently was from the top of his head. Not that he cared. He’d stopped caring when he woke up that morning with no will to live at all—a feeling that always scared him a little, but this time, did nothing for him, and in that moment, he truly felt like just giving up and dying. There wasn’t a need to worry though, for Ranpo’s body felt like it had been encased in cement, so all he could do was lay there in bed; there was no danger of him getting up and acting on his feelings, a small win considering everything else, and he briefly wondered what his coworkers would think of him if they could see him like this.

They’d probably think he was pathetic for acting this way.

He could already hear them mocking him… judging him, even.

Stop it. Ranpo told himself, desperately not wanting to go down that path. It wasn’t easy for him to turn off his mind when he made no effort to do anything else with his day, so of course it didn’t work. If anything, the thoughts just came on even stronger, and he raised his hands to cover his ears, in a desperate attempt to tell himself that he didn’t want to hear what the people he cared most about actually thought of him. He didn’t want to know, couldn’t know, because if he did, then it would just confirm that they didn’t need them, and the fact that they did need him was the one thing Ranpo clung to in order to keep himself sane.

They need me.

They need—

A memory popped into his mind against his will; one involving himself and Kunikida, where the latter had scolded Ranpo for failing to complete his reports that day, and telling him that if even Dazai could fill out the bare minimum of reports, then he should be able to as well.

Ranpo hadn’t even bothered to tell Kunikida that the reason he hadn’t picked up a pen that day was because it was a temptation, and the faint scars on his arms had been burning all day, begging for a release he refused to give in to.

That didn’t mean he hadn’t felt the harsh stares of everyone else that had been working hard.

They don’t need me.

Tears slipped down Ranpo’s cheeks, also against his will, but he made no move to wipe them away. Instead, he focused on the sensation they brought with them; a warmth so intense it was more like a mild burning, the stinging in his eyes as more tears fell, the way they clung to his lashes, and the bridge of his nose before dropping to stain his pillow. There was no sobbing, no wailing, just silent tears brought on by feelings of helplessness and unwantedness. And for some reason, the tears hurt worse than anything else Ranpo was currently feeling, which only made him cry more.

An endless cycle.

Just like living was.

Ranpo woke later that afternoon to his eyes stuck together, from tears that had dried and become crusty in his eyelashes, therefore gluing them shut. He was more than content to keep them shut, but the sound of a key in his door prompted him to at least open his eyes and see who had the unfortunate task of making sure that he was still alive and breathing. By the time his door was being pushed open, Ranpo had managed to open his eyes, and he listened as barely audible footsteps padded towards his room.

Oh.

There was only one person in the Agency with footsteps like that, and sure enough, Fukuzawa’s tall and looming figure came to a halt in the doorway, pausing just long enough for the man to take stock of the situation before he continued on his path towards Ranpo, and carefully sat himself on the edge of the bed. Ranpo’s heart should’ve been pounding, because Fukuzawa coming to him wasn’t the norm of what they did; the last time that Ranpo had felt like this, he’d managed to drag himself out of bed and over to his guardian’s apartment where he’d stayed until he’d felt better. And the time before that, Ranpo had already been at Fukuzawa’s, a case that had ended bad, had resulted in him needing the company of someone who truly understood him.

And the first time it’d happened, had been when Ranpo was fifteen, before they’d rescued Yosano, and that time had been the worst time, because it was the one and only time that Ranpo had actually made an effort to die.

A poor effort, but still an effort all the same.

So yes, Ranpo’s heart should’ve been pounding, because it wasn’t a good sign that Fukuzawa was here, and it meant that he couldn’t pretend that these… feelings would go away on their own after a few days, not that he’d really believed that in the first place. But it wasn’t. His heart was steady, a consistent beat that gave him a false sense of calm—his body may have been calm, but his mind certainly wasn’t—and Ranpo knew he should say something, anything, to dispel the growing worry on Fukuzawa’s face.

Ranpo didn’t, but Fukuzawa did.

“It’ll pass.” Fukuzawa said, reaching out a hand to brush away the hair that lay in front of Ranpo’s eyes. “Just like it always does.”

“How do you know that?” Ranpo rasped wincing at how awful his voice sounded because he hadn’t spoken or made a noise in days. It felt like a desert had taken up residence in his throat, that’s how much it hurt to say those few words.

“Because I know you. And I know you will overcome this just as you did last time.” Fukuzawa got up from the bed, only to crouch next to it, placing his eyes at the same height as Ranpo’s were. The man’s face was filled with worry, and he reached out a hand to cup Ranpo’s cheek, thumb sweeping under his eye to wipe away the tears that Ranpo hadn’t even noticed were falling again.

He wanted to believe Fukuzawa’s words, he really did, because he was sick and tired of feeling this way, of feeling like there was no point in even opening his eyes anymore, of feeling shackled and drained, of just everything that days like these threw at him. He was tired, so, so tired. Ranpo sighed. “You say that, but what if this is the one time I can’t beat it?”

“You will.”

“But what if I can’t?” Ranpo pressed.

“Then you ask for help in beating it, like I have always told you.” Fukuzawa’s hand dropped from Ranpo’s face to rest against the mattress, and somehow, Ranpo managed to find the strength to grab onto it. It was slow, it was exhausting, but he did it, and the soft smile Fukuzawa gave him made him feel just a bit better, made him feel like he could ask for help and actually get it.

But he stayed silent.

Ranpo had never been particularly good at asking for help, especially when it came to his own personal issues, and he wasn’t about to get good at it anytime soon. But luckily, Fukuzawa understood that, and stood from his crouch, tugging Ranpo upright. The blankets that he’d been hiding under just a second ago, pooled into his lap, bringing a chill to Ranpo’s bones that made him shudder, and the change in position had the world spinning around him. Considering this was the first time he was moving in days; he wasn’t overly surprised. But he still whined, and tried to lay back down, but Fukuzawa refused to budge, tugging, and manhandling him until he was being lifted from his bed, secured in strong arms that he knew he would not be able to escape from.

“Put me down.” Ranpo mumbled, closing his eyes against the sudden light-headedness that plagued him. He wanted to go back to bed where he only felt like shit mentally instead of physically.

“No.” Fukuzawa carried him from his room to the bathroom and sat him on the toilet seat, steadying him when he tilted to the side dangerously. “You need help, Ranpo, so I am going to help.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

“You didn’t need to.” Fukuzawa waited until Ranpo was steady before he disappeared for a moment, returning after a couple of minutes with a change of clothes in his hands. “It’s been four days, and you haven’t left your bed at all. You need food, water, and a shower.”

“That won’t fix me.” Ranpo argued.

Fukuzawa raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say it would, but I do say that it will help you physically feel better, and that’s the first step in this battle. Do you need help?”

“No.” Ranpo took the clothes from Fukuzawa and placed them on the edge of the sink behind him, and then just sat there, hoping that he could outwait the other man, because he really did not want to do anything but go back to bed and sleep for a week. Of course, he should’ve known better than to engage in a war of patience with Fukuzawa, because while Ranpo was decidedly impatient, Fukuzawa was endlessly patient, an act made obvious when he simply leant against the doorframe and stared at him. “I hate you.”

“You wouldn’t have given me a spare key if you didn’t want my help when you felt this way.” Fukuzawa shrugged, crossing his arms as he stared down at Ranpo—a gentle stare but also firm at the same time. “And you also know from experience that I won’t hesitate to shower you myself, so…”

“Fine!” Ranpo huffed and yanked his shirt over his head. “I’ll take a stupid shower!”

“Thank you. Call for me if you need help.” Fukuzawa said over his shoulder as he left the room, pulling the door shut behind him, leaving just the smallest gap to give Ranpo privacy, but also making it so that if Ranpo did happen to shut it, he’d know something was wrong.

Ranpo sighed and finished stripping before he crawled into the shower. He didn’t have the energy to do much else but sit there and let the hot water pound against his back, his head tipped back to let it run over his face as well, washing away the evidence of tears. The hot water burned against his skin, and the sounds beyond the bathroom of Fukuzawa doing something—probably cooking—was more than enough for him to focus on something else other than his thoughts for a change. He dropped his head to rest against his knees, and just breathed. Fukuzawa had been right of course, in saying that a shower would help, but Ranpo was nothing if not difficult when he had no energy to do anything but be upset and… depressed.

He was still unwilling to call it depression, but there wasn’t much else it could be, really, but he would continue to deny it for as long as he possibly could—although once he was well enough to leave his home, he wouldn’t be surprised if he found himself being sat down at the same office that they’d once sat Dazai down in—but he had a feeling that Fukuzawa wasn’t going to let him keep denying it for much longer. Ranpo sighed again, and reached up to turn off the water once his skin had become numb to the heat, but he made no move to get up; he just sat there, watching the water drip off his body and drain away, disappearing from the world.

Just like Ranpo wished to do.

His eyes fell to the cabinet beneath the sink, his mind drifting towards an urge that he hadn’t felt in nearly a decade, and his breath shuddered. It would be so easy to turn towards the old habit that had once been something he’d relied on, but… he was better now, had been for years. The scars that had once been pink and raw, were old and faded now, and he had better ways of coping with the feelings that surrounded that old habit, healthy ways of dealing with the urges.

Ranpo forced himself to look away and curled up in the corner of the shower, face pressed against the wall, where he did the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his life. He called for help. “Fukuzawa-san!”

The sounds that Fukuzawa had been making over in the other room stopped, and footsteps made their way to the bathroom where the door was pushed open again, but the man made no attempt to enter the bathroom. Before Fukuzawa could even ask what was wrong, or what it was that Ranpo needed, he spoke.

“Don’t leave me alone.”

He couldn’t see Fukuzawa’s face from here he sat, but he knew that his words had been understood when the man’s calm breathing faltered just enough to be noticed. Fukuzawa stepped into the bathroom then, and Ranpo felt a towel being draped over him before it began to dry his hair. “Alright. I changed the sheets on your bed and tidied up a little, but I want you to eat and drink something before you go back to bed. Unless you don’t feel safe here, then we can arrange for you to move back in with me for a bit until you’ve recovered.”

Ranpo took hold of the towel and stood, leaving the shower so that he could finish drying himself and then get dressed. “I’m not… I…” Ranpo frowned as he struggled to say what he meant, and sighed. “Here is fine.”

“Okay. But let me know if it’s not.” Fukuzawa turned around so that Ranpo had some privacy to get dressed, for which Ranpo was grateful.

Even though Fukuzawa wouldn’t see it, Ranpo nodded, and quickly pulled on the clothes he’d been given; a comfortable hoodie that’d been a gift from Poe, and a pair of loose shorts. Once he was dressed, he turned and tugged on Fukuzawa’s sleeve to get the man’s attention and they left the bathroom behind. There was a tense, but slightly comfortable, silence as Ranpo sat at the dining table, keeping his arms firmly on the table in front of him; he rested his head against them as he watched Fukuzawa fill a glass with water and set it in front of him before returning to the kitchen in order to make something.

It wouldn’t be anything fancy of course, because Ranpo hadn’t eaten anything in four days, and didn’t feel overly hungry right now, his stomach turning over itself like the world was still attempting to do around him, so anything bigger than a granola bar was likely to disagree with his stomach right now, and Ranpo didn’t really want to find out what throwing up nothing felt like today. He sipped on the water as he watched Fukuzawa make food, the water actually helping a lot to ease the nausea and dizziness. Only once the glass was half empty, did Ranpo push it away, returning his head to his arms, and letting his eyes drift closed.

“Here.” Something nudged his arm, and Ranpo lifted his head to see a bowl of cut up fruit in front of him. Fukuzawa slid into the seat beside him and handed him a pair of chopsticks—not a fork, because that was a temptation, and Fukuzawa was nothing if not cautious when it came to Ranpo’s urges. Fukuzawa nudged the bowl a little closer. “I figured fruit would be an easy enough meal for now. If you can’t eat it all now, then we can save it for later.”

Ranpo nodded and began to eat, slowly chewing each piece of fruit as he brought it up to his mouth. After the first piece of fruit, it was like his stomach remembered that he hadn’t actually eaten and roared to life, demanding that he feed it. He was tempted to give into it, and eat as fast as possible, but experience had told him what a bad idea that was, so he forced himself to keep eating slowly. “Thank you.” He murmured after eating a few pieces.

“It’s fine.” Fukuzawa said. “Do you want to talk?”

Ranpo stared into the bowl. “Not particularly.”

Fukuzawa nodded. “Tomorrow then. We’ll see how you feel after you rest, and go from there, alright?”

“You’ll stay?” Ranpo shoved some more fruit into his mouth to hide the embarrassment of asking the man that was essentially an adoptive parent, to stay with him while he slept, because it was embarrassing, and he knew that Fukuzawa wouldn’t hesitate to do it, just because it was Ranpo asking and Fukuzawa had always made sure he was comfortable.

And just as he’d thought, Fukuzawa agreed with a nod. “I will stay. Also, I received a text from Yosano earlier; apparently Poe stopped by to see you. He was worried when he hadn’t heard from you in a while.”

Ranpo paused, food halfway to his mouth, before he smiled softly. “Poe-kun worries a lot.”

Fukuzawa nodded, a fond look on his face; with approval there if Ranpo looked a little deeper. “Apparently he wants to come and see you, as does everyone else at the Agency, but I’ll leave it up to you when you want to see them.”

Those words were just what Ranpo needed to hear apparently, because a little more of that fog surrounding his mind lifted, allowing him to see things a little clearer. It’d done that earlier when he’d asked Fukuzawa for help, although he hadn’t really been aware of it at the time, and for the first time in days, he felt like he might actually be able to win this fight once again. He knew it wasn’t that simple, that easy, and that this… depression of his would probably linger for some time still, but it seemed easier to deal with, knowing that despite thinking that no one cared about or wanted him around, it wasn’t true and that they did, in fact, care about him, and were actively thinking about him.

Ranpo chewed on another piece of fruit, thinking hard. Once he swallowed, he placed his chopsticks onto the bowl and pushed it away from him. “We’ll see what tomorrow brings, I guess.”

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #hurt/comfort #angst #comfort #edogawa ranpo #fukuzawa yukichi #fukudad #depression #writing #fanfiction

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dangraccoon · 11 months

Text

Oyuba'din - Chapter 17: Power

Summary: Jaine finally tells the Bad Batch about her past, but it all goes wrong when she gets startled.

Warnings: discussion of death, accidental injury, panic, Tech has an Attitude™

Author's Notes: *mushu voice* I LIIIIIIVE!!! Alrighty folks, hiatus is sort of ended (I’m not going back to my previous posting schedule quite yet, but I will be posting new chapters of this fic every Monday until I'm able to get back to my regular schedule! I’m really loving where this story has been going and I hope you all do too! 💛🤟

« Previous Chapter Next Chapter »

Jaine fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, part of her wishing she didn’t have to leave this little medbay ever again. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the Marauder after being away from it for only a day; something about it just felt right to her.

There was a light tap on the door, and it slid open to reveal Crosshair, his face still painted with concern.

“You can still back out of this, you know,” he whispered, taking her hand in his, squeezing it gently.

The softer side of Crosshair Jaine was now seeing warmed her heart. She wondered if anyone else had been allowed to know this side existed, let alone having it presented to them so wholeheartedly.

“You know I can’t do that,” she replied. “I’ll be okay.”

Crosshair’s eyes searched hers for a moment, before letting out a quiet sigh.

Crosshair led her out to the galley, where his brothers had gathered, waiting for her.

Jaine tried to read each of their faces. Crosshair was obviously still skeptical over whether or not this was necessary, and Echo had a similar look, though mostly concerned. Wrecker had a fairly neutral expression, if a little nervous. Hunter, with his arms crossed over his chest, wore a scowl that could indicate a migraine. Jaine wanted to ask, and grab his drink blend if he needed it, but she didn’t want to seem like she was trying to delay the conversation. Tech was looking at her directly, his datapad nowhere in sight, which threw Jaine off a little, but his was the hardest to read.

Tech usually had no problem deciphering how he was “feeling”. At least, that’s how it used to be. Over the past few months, however, he had noticed that he was experiencing multiple emotions simultaneously, and more frequently. This bothered him; these types of things weren’t alien to him, he just preferred to focus on other things, more interesting things. But this? This was a riddle that consistently pushed itself to the forefront of his mind, distracting him from all else. It was a complicated equation, one for which he was missing a few key elements, making the whole problem feel unsolvable. It frustrated him.

Jaine took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ve died four times in the past 10 standard years.”

Just that tiny nugget of information made her heart leap into chest, but she pushed on.

“The first was when my ship crashed while I was attempting to flee my homeplanet with my Uncle and…his accomplice.”

“Was your uncle a criminal?” Tech asked.

“Tech, ask questions at the end,” Echo chided.

Tech hummed. “I am merely asking for clarification.”

“But you’ve interrupted her.”

“It’s okay,” Jaine chimed in. “I think I’d rather just answer any questions you guys have. And, technically, he was never accused or convicted of any crimes by either the Galactic Republic or our planetary government.”

Tech raised his finger, a question on his tongue.

“Qoljak,” she answered before he even began speaking. “My home planet was called Qoljak, before its civilizations were destroyed by a meteor shower. It was so far into the outer rim that most people just considered it wild space.”

Tech seemed satisfied with this answer, but Jaine was sure he’d be researching the little moon as soon as he could.

“What was all the red stuff?” Wrecker asked.

Jaine took a deep breath, raising her hand out in front of her, her palm up. She shut her eyes as she broke that promise she’d made to herself all those years ago; she brought her power forth. The red smoke cascaded from her palm, flowing like water, spilling over her hand and dissipating before hitting the floor. The squad watched with varying degrees of interest, awe, and anxiety.

“Some of the people of my planet were…gifted. From the beginning of our people, the Chromira blessed seven with these powers.”

“‘Chromira’?” Tech questioned.

“Powers?” Hunter repeated warily.

“One at a time; don’t overwhelm her,” Crosshair scowled at them, before looking back to her, his gaze softening considerably.

“The Chromira were our gods. They blessed us with our strength and guided the powers to their destined bodies,” she shrugged. “When a Chromai would pass, their power would move onto the next Chromai.”

Her eyes fluttered open, looking carefully at each of her squadmates, the red smoke fading from her hand as she wrapped it back around her body, almost as though she were hugging herself.

“When Mistress Ailyn Auten got sick, I told my father. He was a medic, and I told him we had to go help ‘the red lady’. He didn’t understand until Rix Auten commed. Sure enough, Mistress Auten, the Crimson Chromai, passed that night.”

“Who got her powers?” Wrecker asked, clearly gripped by her story.

Crosshair looked at his brother in disbelief.

“That would be Jaine,” Tech replied for her, adding a small “obviously” under his breath.

“How does it work?” Echo mumbled, his eyes still on her hand.

“I-I’m not really sure,” Jaine spoke, shifting her weight between her feet. “I was really young when I got my powers, and I was only trained a little before…”

Hunter squinted at her. He could hear how loud her heart was beating; he could feel how nervous she was and he hated pressing her like this. “‘Before’?”

Jaine swallowed hard, trying to force down the bile she felt rising in her throat. “Before my uncle started the war.”

The words settled heavily around the group. Echo looked at her mournfully. Tech, for the first time since she’d emerged from the safety of her medbay, glanced away from her. Wrecker’s face was full of concern, as was Crosshair’s. Hunter had a look of pure concentration, his eyes trained on her. He nodded lightly.

“It was my eighth birthday. I was coming home from training with my mentor, Mistress Rastee, the Rosate Chromai. K-kuna,” she trailed off, hating the way she stuttered over his name and the hot tears pooling at the corner of her eyes.

“Cyar’ika,” Crosshair whispered, watching tears begin to trail down her cheeks. He rose, coming to her side, reaching to take her hand in his.

The moment his hand made contact with hers, he pulled back, yelping in pain, and gripping his hand.

Jaine jumped, her hands falling away from their positions wrapped around her chest, the tiniest hints of red buzzing around them. Tech leapt to his feet, rushing to examine the burn now prevalent on Crosshair’s hand. Jaine didn’t miss the way his expression had lost all signs of his typical curiosity, replaced instantly with anger and fear.

Hunter, who could hear the way Jaine’s heart began to race, the way her breathing became rapid and shallow, came to stand in front of her. He reached out to her, but she pulled away.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed, as though trying to comfort a cornered animal. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is her fault,” Tech spat under his breath.

“Stow it,” Crosshair growled.

Red electricity was sparking from her hands as she stared wide-eyed at the men before her.

“It’s alright, Cyar’ika,” Crosshair assured, the hints of pain leaking into his voice. “I’m alright.”

“You need some bacta,” Tech replied gruffly, hauling his brother toward the medbay, his eyes cold and calculating as they passed over the frightened medic. Wrecker, stunned into silence, followed, worrying after his brothers.

“I-I’m sorry,” she whimpered, staring after them. “I didn’t- I never-”

“We know,” Echo tried to say calmly. “We know, and it’s alright.

“I-I didn’t mean to-” her breathing was becoming more rapid.

“She’s going to hyperventilate if we don’t get her calmed down,” Hunter warned.

“Hey, Jaine, I need you to breathe, okay?” Echo whispered. “Just breathe; Cross’ll be fine.”

The mention of him brought fresh tears to her eyes and they poured down her face as she fidgeted nervously.

Her hands were still sparking red, and she looked down at them in horror.

Hunter seemed to follow her train of thought, watching as she looked from her hands, to them, to the door behind him.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he whispered, almost pleading. “We just want to help.”

“I don’t w-want to hurt you,” she cried.

“And you won’t,” Echo replied, reaching his hand hesitantly towards her arm.

“N-no!” She sobbed, tossing her hand in front of her, unprepared for the blast of energy to lash out from her hand, hitting Hunter and Echo across their torsos, throwing them back against the table and booth behind them.

“No, no, no!” she wailed, rushing toward the door, opening it up and freeing herself from the confines of the ship.

“Jaine!” they called after her, but she couldn’t hear them. Her feet were carrying her quickly, and she paid no mind to where they were leading her.

Hunter groaned, gripping his side as he pulled himself to his feet. Echo rose next to him, looking about the same as Hunter was feeling.

“I’m going after her,” he told Echo.

“Hunter, wait-” Echo sputtered, but it was too late.

Hunter had been tracking her through the city for nearly an hour. She had the advantage over him; yes, she was panicked and likely not thinking straight, but the barrage of stimuli constantly changing and shifting, covering her trail remarkably well. He’s always hated cities. Her scent was nearly all he could go off of this time. He resented that the normally sweet, comfortingly warm scent was marred by her fear and hopelessness. He needed to find her, to tell her it was all going to be okay. He could feel himself becoming frantic, his own worry growing like the pain in his side.

And then he saw it: the Jedi Temple. Maybe she’s seeking out Kenobi.

“Hey! Hold it,” ordered a Coruscant Guard as Hunter approached an entrance to the Temple.

“I’m looking for a woman,” he started to explain.

“Ain’t we all,” chuckled the other guard.

“She’s my squad’s medic,” Hunter replied gruffly. “I think she came this way.”

The first Corrie hummed a little as he thought. “Shorter girl, red hair?”

“Yeah, that sounds like her,” Hunter confirmed with relief.

“She was crying, you know,” the second Corrie said, walking over to join the conversation.

“And she had the right access codes to get in,” the first added. “Makes you wonder who could upset someone looking as precious as that, someone who can get into the temple. Who is she, a youngling?”

“Like I said,” Hunter asserted. “She’s my medic and-”

“Why was she crying?” the second guard asked. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it, Roller?”

“Really does, Tuck.”

The first guard, Tuck, as Hunter now knew, stepped towards him, and without needing to see the regs’ face, he knew he was scowling.

“I don’t want any trouble boys, I just want to help my medic,” Hunter said, low. “I need to take her back to our ship.”

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Roller mused. “That’s right, you’re the sorry leader of that sorry batch of defectives, aren’t you?”

“Are you then? How’d you end up with a medic as pretty as that?” Tuck chuckled.

“And worse off, how could you fuck it up badly enough she runs off, goes crying into the temple like that?”

“Yeah, what’d you do to her anyway? How should we know if she even wants to go back with you?”

Tuck prodded Hunter’s chest, clearly trying to provoke him. Hunter was seething, but doing his best to take steadying breaths.

“Gentlemen, this is hardly the place for playground squabbles, don’t you think?” All three men straightened to attention at the sound of General Skywalker’s voice. The General, along with Commander Tano, were exiting the Temple.

“Apologies, sir,” Tuck spoke, his voice rigid.

“Sergeant Hunter?” Skywalker said, approaching him.

“Yes, sir.”

“What is this I heard about your medic running off?”

Skywalker eyed Hunter suspiciously, but Tano looked between them, concerned.

“I thought everything was fine after the meeting. What happened?” she asked, confusion evident in her voice.

“Wouldn’t be more of those pesky ‘irreconcilable differences’ again, would it?” the General chuckled, ignoring the stern look from his padawan.

“Hunter?” she prompted.

“Lieutenant Vale was filling us in on certain aspects of her history, but she got upset and ran off. I followed her trail here.”

Ahsoka thought about this for a moment, before looking up at Anakin. “Master, I’ll meet you at the ship after I escort Sergeant Hunter into the Temple, and assist him in locating Lieutenant Vale.”

Anakin had a soured expression, but nodded, huffing off to his ship.

“Thank you, sir,” Hunter said warily.

“No need,” she waved him off as they entered the halls of the Jedi Temple.

Thanks for reading! - Dang

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violetrainbow412-blog · 2 years

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Finally someone writing for tao i loved ur last fic would you please an enemies to lovers one for Tao ( maybe their Charlie sister or something)

Headcanons of enemies to lovers with Tao

Tao hated most people, to be honest. But you, in particular, he hated you more than most.

The feeling was mutual.

You didn't know which part of him bothered you the most; maybe it was his ability to be totally annoying, maybe it was his jokes (terrible, in your opinion) maybe something as minor as the music he played at full volume, or just his mere existence was what you hated.

And to top it off, he was at your house ALL THE TIME.

It was logical, he was one of your brother Charlie's best friends, but for you, he was the worst torment of all.

It had been years of suffering, of insulting you every time you saw each other and ending with Charlie mediating between you so that you didn't pull your hair out in one go.

Until one day, things changed.

You were crying so hard you didn't realize the front door had been opened, much less hear footsteps coming up the stairs and realize someone had entered your room until it was too late.

You expected the worst, I mean… it was Tao Xu after all.

"Why are you crying?"

you wanted to die You were already thinking about the weeks of teasing that were to come.

"Go away" you managed to say, not knowing how else to respond to the situation.

But Tao did not leave, but to your surprise, he knelt down beside you and studied you carefully.

“Are you okay?”

He had said it so kindly… so pure. There were no negative feelings involved, just… softness.

Why was he asking you that? As if he really cared about you?

"I am"

"Well, you don't look like it," he admitted. You didn't even want to imagine how pathetic you looked, but still, there was no trace of cruelty in his voice. "Do you want a hug?"

That day you let him comfort you. Partly because you had no one else, and partly because an opportunity like this would never come your way again.

But the truth was, that same boy you had been fighting for years, he would become the most special person in your life.

#tao xu #heartstopper #will gao #tao xu x reader #tao xu x you #charlie spring #nick nelson

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rockybloo · 1 year

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As a prompt Monster/Kaiju bitter dressed as Bowser in the wedding suit, a sweetheart as Peach

sweetheart and bitterbat go roller skating of course in disguise. I definitely recommend listening/watching to Left to Right by Marteen!! Definitely reminds me of BB trying to impress sweetheart in the ring

I def vibe with Sweetheart and Bitterbat roller skating but my drawing juice is low atm so I wrote up a fic instead

💗🛼💜

Amara sat on a cushioned bench, her fingers dancing along her skate's laces as she tied the strings. She made sure to double knot her loops for extra security as she gave a strong tug.

Sitting up, she kicked her legs ever so gently as a wobble test. Satisfied by how secure her footwear remained, she popped right up, making sure to grab one of the guard rails next to the rink.

"Alrighty Ace, I'm ready to go!" She turned her attention to her boyfriend who was currently leaning against the short wall of the rink. Due to his height, he practically loomed over her, though it was less intimidating with the lack of his monstrous features. His trademark bat wings were currently absent, replaced with pierced human ears. And his spikey purple and blue hair had a softer darker look to it.

The only thing that truly stood out were his bright golden eyes that glowed in the dim lights of the rink. Bitterbat wore just enough of a disguise to avoid bringing too much negative attention. However, he did garner the occasional stare.

Moreso for his fashion choices. Specifically his decision to make 99% of his outfits comprised of his girlfriend's wardrobe.

Thankfully, Amara had managed to talk him into wearing one of her larger shirts while preparing for their date. Sadly, large for her was barely a medium for him. The cute puppy face on the front was stretched and a portion of his midriff was revealed.

Ace?

Bitterbat seemed to be lost in his thoughts as he looked Sweetheart over, admiring how she just existed. Amara was very used to this trance of his and called again, this time in a harsh whisper.

"Batty!"

His response was almost immediately, snapping back to attention at his nickname. His human name wasn't said too often, just enough to know that when it was said, it was in reference to him. But unless he was already present in the conversation, it never truly worked out as an attention grabber.

"Hm~? Oh! Sorry Sweet Pea," Bitterbat straightened up as Amara rolled closer to him. "You just look reeaally cute in this lighting."

Amara raises a brow, an amused smile on her face. "The lighting of flickering fluorescent lights from the 80s?"

"Yeah~" Bitterbat responded in a dreamlike tone. His girlfriend merely rolled her eyes at how lovestruck he could be. It was only when he took the hand she had held out to him that he noticed how warm she was. A sign she was flustered even if she was hiding it.

"Mind pulling me out to the rink?"

A wide smile came to Bitterbat's face. An inhuman one that stretched ear-to-ear and revealed his fangs. Another feature of his that he often didn't bother to hide while human.

"Anything for my Queen!" Bitterbat happily proclaimed as he gently pulled up around the wall, swinging her into the rink and into his arms. His blurt had caused a couple glances from the other roller rink patrons and Amara could feel her skin heat up more in his embrace. She was used to Bitterbat's favorite name for her causing some eye rolls but she knew it was much more than just a name. And that he wasn't simply calling her "Queen" it to be, as Val loved to call him, a simp.

And as embarrassing as it was to have it said so loudly, so publicly, she couldn't help but find it utterly adorable. There was the creeping desire to give him a kiss right then and there but Amara shoved the urge down and breathed steady.

"Thank you...," She pulled back some, her hands slipping into Bitterbat's to hold her steady as she put a bit more space between them for the sake of some of the children skating on by.

Eventually, she let him go as she looked around the rink to keep track of which areas were the most congested and where there were less people. The rink was noticeably large, almost overwhelmingly so. It was smack dab in the middle of the capital of the state and one of the city's busiest tourist districts so of course it was designed to be eye catching.

On the outskirts of the rink, there was some light but closer to the middle, it was nearly completely lights out save for the neon and strobe lights and the stage outlined with foam to cushion the occasional run in. Smack dab in the middle were speakers blasting some old hits.

Bitterbat watched, his eyes locked on her face, a smile stuck on his own. He was used to this habit Amara had where she would always do a scan of the area before proceeding to do anything. He figured it was a reflex she had developed over the course of being a hero. A subconscious need to have a head count in case something ever happened.

After seemingly being satisfied with her findings, Amara turned her attention back to her boyfriend.

"Alrighty, lets roll...my King." She winked as she took off.

Bitterbat's eyes widened as his face turned a deep shade of pink. Having not reached too fast a pace yet, Amara could still safely steal a glance over her shoulder to witness the rest of her boyfriend's reaction.

And she looked back right in time to see his ears had poofed, his bat wings returning to their rightful place.

Quickly, Bitterbat clasped his hands on both sides of his head to hide his ears. Thankfully, the constant movement of the rink and the flickering of the lights were enough to keep people distracted, or at least blame whatever they did see on a trick of the lights.

Amara was still surprised at such an extreme reaction, struggling to stifle a giggle as she covered her mouth. Upon gathering himself, Bitterbat's golden eyes locked on target, narrowing as he made eye contact.

A random roller rink goer passed across Amara's vision and within the mere seconds Bitterbat was obscured from her view, he had seemingly vanished.

The smile on her face faltered into a wobbly nervous grin as a shudder ran down her spine. She knew that look he shot her before he disappeared.

It wasn't a look of anger.

It was a look of "I am going to get you".

Within seconds, their position had switched from king and queen to predator and prey.

There was some safety in the fact they were in public as it meant Bitterbat couldn't do anything extreme like he could at home. But this was also Bitterbat.

He was known for being unpredictable.

Especially with her.

Gulping, Amara turned on her heel and sped up to better match the current of the rink. She never felt fear for Bitterbat, it was quite the opposite. But there was a sort of tension in the air and excitement in her veins of locking eyes with the King of Monsters and knowing he was coming for you.

She looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of where her king had gone. There was a child holding on to their dad, a quartet of teens with their arms chain link together as they skated, an old grandpa who was really feelin the vibes, but no Batty to be seen.

Her eyes skipped over a couple of couples also in the rink. She couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. It was small but she wanted to be holding hands and laughing with her own partner. Or spinning around and singing to Whitney Houston over the radio like the two young skaters a couple feet away from her. A thought that was immediately scrapped from her mind as she saw them miss a beat and topple over each other, wiping out on the polished floor. A couple "Ooos" and "Ouches" echoed among the other skaters.

"I want somebody to dance with me but not like that." She winced hissed in sympathetic pain as she turned her gaze away from the scene.

"That's my queue then!"

Amara immediately turned her head forward towards the voice and got a face full of puppy. And puppies. All she managed out was a squeak as she peeked out from Bitterbat's chest to see his wide grinning expression. Due to the darkness of the inner rink, his golden eyes stood out in the darkness. The shifting neon lights helped to blend in the feature.

He was snickering, obviously proud of catching her off guard. She had panicked, worry on her face as her mind flashed back to the fallen pair. She was concerned about sharing the same fate, only for Bitterbat to let her go, opting to skate backwards to face her.

"As much as I'd like to cuddle on the rink, I'd like to avoid us being the second couple they gotta scrape off the floor." He stuck out a purple and forked tongue at Amara who merely looked bewildered at his sudden appearance.

"W-where did you--"

"I was here, I was just outta sight 'til I was ready to pounce~" Bitterbat raised a hand, curling his fingers to mimic claws. Though, it wasn't necessary as he already had his out. A little boy near them seemed entranced with the razor points. A "WHOA-" escaping him as they skated by.

"Alright well, no pouncing in public. We're on a date. And that means," Amara reached out, grabbing Bitterbat's hand. His claws retracted and his mischievous demeanor melted into a look closer resembling a curious kitten. "No more disappearing acts."

A look of guilt immediately came to Bitterbat's face and he quickly locked fingers with Amara, his grip tightening like she'd go poof herself as payback. His eyes got big and shiny, like he was on the verge of bursting into tears.

"Ah, I'm sorry Sweetie Pie! I'll stick right by you!" Now Amara felt guilty. She didn't mean to come off so harsh to him and she had started to open her mouth to correct herself when Bitterbat had suddenly moved again.

He had released her hand, only to grab it at a different angle with his other hand as he twisted to skate next to her, facing forward now. It didn't take much for him to pull her in, her body pressing against his side and he purred. The stage and speakers in the ceiling dulled the sound but she could feel the strong vibrations of his body rocking through hers.

"So good luck running away from me now~"

She knew if it weren't for the constant momentum and the clunkiness of the skates in close proximity, he'd be nuzzling his head against hers. But alas, as she caught a glimpse of the catastrophic couple from earlier limping away from the rink, they both figured this was as safe of intimacy they could get.

Amara just chuckled.

After a few laps around the rink, Amara noticed some people rolling patterns as they went. Most settled for a casual sway from side to side. Bitterbat also noticed, motioning their bodies in a similar fashion.

It was small motion at first, making sure their bodies were synced before they began to swivel like a two-segmented snake, gaining a quick yet still safe speed.

The sudden rush along with the sensation of having Bitterbat tugging her along sent a wave of butterflies through Amara, sending her into a fit of giggles. The sound was music to Bitterbat's ears as his smile widened.

Navigating around the slower skaters, the couple swayed and swerved, lost in the euphoria of the music and each other. Bitterbat made sure to avoid sending them crashing into anyone. For a while, they felt less like they were skating on a packed roller rink in the middle of Decking and more like they were gliding in the air with the sky to themselves.

They've done such a thing numerous times before, and the feeling was both different yet similar. The woosh of the air, the sensation of their fingers locked together, Amara's bright pink glowing eyes looking back up at him.

Bitterbat's eyes widened.

Amara's deep brown hues were pink and her pupils were white, heart-shaped, and glowing. And it was certainly more intense than his own orbs.

Not wanting to disrupt her daze, Bitterbat moved fast to redirect them to a nearby outside wall where he positioned himself in front of her. His larger statue helped to hide her from the view of other skaters but the position made it seem less like protection and more like seduction.

The halt in movement seemed to bring Amara back to the present and she looked up at Bitterbat who was busy scanning her face over.

Amara had her location scanning, Bitterbat had his Sweetheart scanning.

And it seemed like she had passed as he let out a sigh of relief and a laugh.

"You went pink."

Amara's eyes widened and she groaned. Bitterbat's laughter only continued. It wasn't harsh and was rather light, a sign he found her reaction cute.

"Agh, dammit this always happens!" Amara rubbed at her eyes as though to scrub the Beloved hue away from them. It never worked and was just a force of habit that did nothing but make her sore and Bitterbat gently grabbed her wrists. He shook his head as he lowered himself a bit to her eye level, closing some of the distance between them.

Amara raised a brow. She knew pink and dark brown were very easy colors to differentiate and Bitterbat had better eyesight than her. There wasn't a need for him to be right up in her face.

But the second she opened her mouth to ask what he was up to, her lips were covered by his own and a muffled squeak was all she could muster.

It was a quick kiss but just enough that she felt something dart past her lips and run over her tongue and bail out of her mouth.

And when Bitterbat pulled away, Amara could see the forked culprit as it returned to his mouth. A smug grin sat on Bitterbat's face as he ate up her reaction.

"All clear!"

"I swear to god, you are a menace-" Amara did her best to sound mad but she couldn't hold in her laughter.

"Hey, you're the one who's in charge of kicking my ass when I am one." Bitterbat winked at her as he straightened back up, his gaze refocusing on her mouth. The smile on his face twitched.

Amara only rolled her eyes as she moved away from the wall with full intentions of rejoining the rink. "Whatever, Batty. I'll kick your ass later on tonight--" Her movement was halted by Bitterbat grabbing her hand.

"Actually, you might wanna go to the bathroom first or you're gonna be kicking my ass a lot sooner than you planned." The corners of Bitterbat's mouth wobbled and Amara squinted in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Lipstick." Was the Monstrum's quick response. It was obvious he was trying to stifle a laugh.

"Wha-Batty I'm not wearing lipstick." The Beloved's confusion only grew.

"Well you certainly are now!" Bitterbat broke into a fit of giggles. Amara's mouth turned into a solid straight line as her brain cells finally processed Bitterbat's warning.

She rarely wore lipstick but Bitterbat constantly did.

Specifically the kind that left purple prints all over whatever his lips were just on.

And he just kissed her.

Amara simply tightened the grip on his hand, the same he had just grabbed her with, as she redirected herself from the rink towards the bathroom. She shook her head, unable to hide the smile on her face from just how ridiculous a situation this was.

"Oh yeah, I'm definitely getting your ass later on tonight." Amara had been referring to her job as a Hero and he as a Villain.

But due to the vagueness of her statement, Bitterbat seemed to perk up at what was a halfhearted threat. "Well, don't forget you gotta kick it first~"

Amara could only cover her face with her freehand as she tried to hide the pink glow of her eyes again.

#ask #ask: glitter and guilt #ask: licorice #sweetheart #bitterbat #writing #cookiethedoge #licorice #glitter and guilt #ask: sweetheart #ask: bitterbat

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