noomimi

[noomimi]

doodles from last night, happy super late father's day ig

[noomimi]

ONE - SIGNAL FOUND

they’re co-hosts. fans beg them to “just kiss already.” they’re doing a whole lot more than that—and no one has a clue.

18+, minors do not interact. afab!reader, otoya’s a jerk, mentions of sex, innuendo. divider by me. do not use. word counter: 2,229

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“Are you two hooking up?” Yuna, HR.

“Do you carpool or do you just spend the night?” Jin, editing room twelve.

“Wait, wait—are you sleeping together or not?” Maika, digital promotions. That one’s not a shock.

KBC 89.3, regional FM with national ambition. A handful of overworked producers, one too many interns, and enough stolen pens to start a black market. You’d only been there a month when they shuffled the schedule and paired you—newcomer, night owl, fresh meat—with him.

Karasu Tabito. Late-night voice of Tokyo before 2 a.m. Sharp-tongued, surprisingly witty, and apparently, some kind of minor legend from his college radio days. People still passed around grainy clips of his old segments like they were tapes from a cult.

He wasn’t chatty. Not in the halls, not in meetings, not with you. But he listened. Closer than anyone you’d ever worked with. And when he did speak, it was with purpose. Cut-glass clean. He was professional.

Which is probably why it surprised you, the way he took your side. That day in the booth.

“You’ve got your hands full, huh?” Otoya had said, feet kicked up on a spare chair, half a protein bar in his mouth, looking at Karasu but jerking his chin toward you. “She talk this much during segments too?”

You paused, caught off guard being mid-sentence, hands still hovering over your notes. Asshole.

Otoya grinned wider. “I’m just saying. Could’ve paired you with someone easier. Like Nao. Nao’s got that whole quiet-girl, wide-eyed thing.”

You weren’t sure what had pissed you off more—what he said, or the fact that it was said right in front of you like you weren’t even there.

The late-night slot hadn’t even started. The show was still in pre-production—no studio time, no ad promos, just one working title and a dusty old sound booth that stank of someone’s leftover peach Red Bull.

You’d been assigned to co-host the new experimental segment: part interviews, part anonymous call-ins, and part improv that management insisted would appeal to the 1-3 a.m. demographic. The logic was simple: put the seasoned veteran with the sharp-tongued rookie. Watch what happens.

You weren’t exactly fast friends. But you worked.

At least, until Otoya decided to get involved.

He nodded again at Karasu, who was deliberately ignoring him now, fingers dancing over the knobs. “Still stuck playing co-parent to the intern?”

You scoff, pushing off the table. “I’m not an intern.”

“Right. Contract voice talent. Big difference.”

“You’re the new late-night cohost, right?” he asked, pointing a half-eaten sandwich at you. “The one with the voice that doesn’t match her face?”

You raised a brow, not missing the way his eyes snagged a little too long on your chest before crawling back up to your face. “That a compliment?”

“Could be. You sound older on tape. Hotter.”

Karasu didn’t flinch once.

“And you,” Otoya added, turning toward him. “How’s it feel being the station’s new power couple?”

Karasu adjusted a dial, still not looking over. A soldier, that one. “You’re being weird.”

“No,” Otoya shrugged, “I’m being observant. You’re nicer when she’s around. You’ve smiled this week.”

You open your mouth to fire back, but it closes as soon as it opens. Karasu cuts in, letting the ballpoint pen roll from his hand off the table and down to the floor.

“Would you stop being such a dickhead?”

Otoya gaped, clearly not expecting nor very pleased to be put in his place. “Sorry, what?”

He looks him square in the eye. “You’re not funny. And you’re not welcome in this room if you’re going to waste our time. Leave.”

And guess what? He. Fucking. Does.

The next week, Otoya mostly leaves you alone.

No more offhand comments. No weird, backhanded compliments about your voice or any of your other parts, thankfully. There’s a new, deliberate space he gives you now. Just wide enough to notice.

He doesn’t linger in the studio. Doesn’t drop by uninvited. Doesn’t test his luck again.

Which is fine by you.

He’s nicer. Holds the door when your hands are full. Sends a clean tech report without a complaint even when you send it back. Even offers to check your mic levels for you, as if trying to smooth the air between you with gestures in lieu of an apology.

Whatever Karasu said to him that day—however he said it—it landed. Walked him like a dog, even.

Maybe that’s why it unsettled you. It made you realize you’ve watched people bend around him without even realizing they’re doing it. He’s not loud. Not one to charm. He simply moves like someone people make room for. So they do.

In many ways, you think you’ve started to make room for him too. Whether conscious or subconscious, you’re not quite sure yet.

The show was live now.

A small handful of loyal listeners tuning in night after night, quiet calls and messages trickling in from time to time. Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.

The station boss—Mrs. Fujimoto—was growing restless. She had hoped ‘Dial L for Lonely’ would be the next big thing by now, the kind of show that got buzz in all the media circles. Instead, it floated in that frustrating middle ground: good, not great.

You sat in the main booth with your headphones pulled off, staring at the rundown and listening to the faint fizz of empty audio beneath the soundboard.

The episode was fine. No breakthrough, but fine.

Karasu was in the adjacent sound room, running cleanup like he often did when you stayed late—rolling up the cords ‘til you slid out to help.

You noticed a faded polaroid in his phone case, a little girl with a huge grin, face obscured by sunglasses far too big for a head that size.

“Who’s that?” you asked outright, slowly losing your filter to sleep deprivation. He didn’t seem to mind.

“My niece,” he answered, making a flicking gesture with his thumb and middle finger yet kicking the empty energy drink cans into the bin with his foot.

You smiled. “She’s adorable.”

“She’s six. Wants to be a marine biologist. Or a radio host. Depends on the day.”

His features softened. “Used to fall asleep to my late shift in college. Thought I could talk the sun down.“

“Women must love that,” you yawned. “Cool voice, good with kids. Feels like cheating.”

Karasu laughed, first time for you. “Yeah. Sure.”

You tilted your head, surprised at the flatness in his tone. “What, they don’t?”

He yawned too. “You’d be surprised.”

You swallowed. “No girlfriend waiting at home, then?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Apparently I work too much. I’m hard to read. I don’t always explain what I’m feeling, even when I should. That most days, this—” he gestured to the studio, to the board, “—is all I really have energy for.”

“That’s bleak.”

“It’s true.”

You didn’t know why, but you felt like you owed him the honesty. Karasu stared down at the table like he could hear more than what you said out loud.

So you said, “Most of my relationships end because I make people feel like they’re not enough.”

“If someone texts me too fast, I think they’re desperate. If they text too slow, I think they’re bored. I exhaust myself trying to read people who probably aren’t thinking half as much as I am.”

“Guess we’re both idiots.”

You ordered some takeout, brainstormed some more, talked about family, friends, and all you could until you eventually ran out of options and were forced to let the silence do what it did best—stretch.

Then: “Heading home?”

“I was going to catch the last train.”

He looked at the clock. Then back at you, somehow apologetic. “You missed it ten minutes ago.”

You checked yours. “Shit.”

Karasu stood, nodding his head like he was agreeing with himself. “I’ll drive you.”

He clicked open the passenger door, and you slid in without thinking, regretting it immediately.

Not because you didn’t want to be there.

But because the second the door shut, the space closed in around you. Tight. Quiet. Weirdly familiar in a way that made your pulse hitch.

The car smelled like him. Not cologne—he didn’t strike you as someone who wore any. Instead it was clean fabric, static-warm air, and old coffee.

A small black soccer ball hung from the rearview mirror, scuffed and worn from age. It swung gently when he switched on the heater.

He didn’t look at you when he settled into the driver’s seat, just adjusted the mirror with one ringed hand and set both palms on the wheel.

You watched the veins in his wrist shift under his sleeve.

He was still in studio clothes—fitted black sweater, stretched at the elbows, collar pulled loose from habit. His gray coat was tossed in the backseat, forgotten for now. There was a teddy bear right next to it.

He turned the key, the engine sputtering but refusing to start. Again. Then again. Nothing.

You both sat frozen for a moment, caught between frustration and fatigue. Then the laughter bubbled up, unexpected and shaky, escaping from your throats before you could stop it. God, you were tired.

“Of all the nights.”

You think it could’ve been the talk about hard relationships. Maybe the pressure from the station, or even just how lonely the two of you were.

After the fifth call to the tow company went to voicemail, you leaned in. He met you halfway.

You don’t remember much after that.

You remember unbuckling your seatbelt, climbing over the center console. You remember your mouth on his neck. His hand under your bra. The passenger seat pushed all the way back. You remember hands grabbing your hips, guiding you down, adjusting your leg when it got caught on the e-brake.

When you reached down to get him out of his jeans, he lifted his hips for you—urgency that told you he’d already made the decision. This was happening.

He just made room.

And you realized, without thinking, that you were doing the same. You’d started weeks ago.

Your brain scrambled to catch up with what your body had already decided. You weren’t thinking about the show. Or the car. Or the fact that you’d be back in the studio in eight hours. He didn’t seem to be either.

The elevator doors dinged open with a lazy chime, interrupting your flashback, and you both spilled into the office hallway at the same time—coffee cups in hand, hair still damp from rushed showers, clothes on as if they’d been shrugged into mid-sprint.

“Technically,” Karasu said between sips, “we’re only eight minutes late.”

“Technically,” you adjusted your overflowing tote bag as you walked, “we were supposed to be here twenty minutes early. But who’s keeping track?”

“You’re so glass-half-empty,” he pushed the studio door open for you. “Good morning, by the way.”

You stepped inside with a quiet laugh, thankful for the lack of staff around. “Good morning, Karasu.”

The booth was still warm from the early news crew, mics blinking and standby music looping low in the background. You dropped your bag into your chair, slid into your seat, gave the rundown sheet a skim.

“You sore?” he asked, under his breath.

You shot him a look.

“I meant from the console. Looked like it got you in the ribs,” he added, corners of his mouth twitching.

“You’re a pain,” you rolled your eyes.

“You’ve got a glow to ya today.”

You grinned, finally glancing up to meet his eyes. His hair was spikier on one side, a crease from his leather seat still faintly pressed onto his cheek.

“Yeah? You look like shit,” you said fondly.

A crooked smile. “You know just what to say to a guy.”

Karasu slumped into his chair with a groan, swiveling before catching your eye. “Do you think they’ll check the security cam footage?”

You squinted at the lens. “If they do, they’ve seen worse. Heard worse too, I bet.”

He faked a dramatic shiver. “Big Brother’s watching. Somewhere in a basement office, scrolling through footage of us coming in late every day like we’re their own personal nature doc.”

You played along. “Here we observe the male in his natural habitat: doing absolutely nothing productive. Note the puffed chest and vaguely eager expression. Classic indicators that the male feels threatened by basic accountability.”

He laughs again. “And here we have the female of the species, tight little top, two sizes two small. The male pretends not to notice how hard her nipples get when they’re arguing—textbook behavior.”

You grimace. “You sound like one of those guys who records voice memos while he’s jerking off.”

Didn’t miss a beat. “I do have a good voice for it.”

He grabbed his mic and switched it to stand-by. “Should we do a test run? Really professional stuff?”

You made a face. “Gross. Say that again and I’m transferring to Otoya’s time slot.”

He turned toward you, casually throwing an arm over the back of your chair. “What’s that? You two already working that closely off-air? I’m hurt.”

“Shut up, you know it’s not like that.”

Karasu leans in. “Bold of you to assume Otoya’s not already keeping your seat warm.”

Before you could answer, the studio light blinked red. He didn’t set that mic on stand-by.

“Oh my god, we’re live.”

romy’s note: fact no. 1 - his ‘ringed’ hand is a matching mood ring with his niece on his pointer finger! fact no. 2 - the first few pieces of dialogue are actually about otoya … gotcha

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[noomimi]

"The Masks We Wear"

Summary: as a journalist, you are itching to find the identity of this mysterious hero. But could it be that the hero is closer to you than you think?

Wc: 7.3k eat up

Warnings: Wriothesley x afab!reader, gn! reader, modern au, hero and villian au (one of each), reader is a journalist/cameraman, fluff, making out, crack (i laughed a lot writing this), angst (oops), one small sex scene, slightly under the influence, cursing, it's pretty unrealistic, petnames used: sunshine, love, and sweetheart.

Notes: i poured my heart and soul into this, i think it's my best piece so far ^^ give it a chance, maybe you'll love it. (Pleasepleasepleaseplease) Rbs are greatly appreciated!

Credits: banner art by the great @/danijaci

Click!

The city is absolutely beautiful today. No, no. It’s not because of the lights that makes the place brighter and a bit more magical, how it seems livelier with a group of teenagers laughing together while buying street foods together, or the old couple that seem still very much in love, the gentleman kneeling down and tying her shoes just to make sure she wouldn’t trip this time.

Humans can be cute, you think.

But of course, among those innocent ‘humans’ are those who desire destruction.

This time, you think you might have caught something in the shadows, and you stare intently at your camera, zooming it in to see the faintest color blending in with the darkness. Hair? A part of clothes? You don’t know, but you got it.

you have this obsession of finding out who the hero of this city was, or even the villian. Although, you would be technically be walking into death if you try finding out who the villian is.

Where did this hero come from? No one knows. Sure the crime rate has lowered, but it felt like the world became even more messed up.

It all started a couple of years ago when you were in your college days, one day almost dying from a falling building, and you thought you saw the scythe waiting to take your soul at that very moment but, no.

The mysterious hero of the city that you never thought you would never encounter carried the building with his super strength power, apparently.

He who has no name, took your hand and lead you into a safer area with the police.

cliché story, right. But that’s what got you into journalism and media now.

And let’s say… you’re too far into the deep black hole to back down now.

The almost blinding light made you come back to your senses, the sounds of engine roaring in the air as the bike approached you, and your shoulders were already slumped.

“How did you find me?” You raise your voice due to the loud engine running, covering parts of your vision from the light.

“Lucky guess.” Wriothesley replied gruffly, pulling his helmet off and shaking his head slightly to fix up his messy strands.

“Care to explain what on earth are you doing here in this shady alleyway? At nine thirty where the moon is out and wolves could be coming for you?” He starts scolding you, quirking an eyebrow when you give him the bored expression, and he immediately mimics it back.

“Taking pictures.”

“Of the rats?”

“Wriothesley.” You shoot him a look and he raises his hands in the air. “I understand your… obsession. But it could hurt you in the process, mentally and physically.”

You know he’s saying all this because he cares so much about you. Loves you too much that it would break his soul piece by piece if one day what you’re doing will hurt you.

“Hop in, sweetheart.” He hands you the extra helmet, and you take it with a sigh. Securing it around your head before taking your place behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he revved the engine.

The whole ride back was silent, yet traffic, which entirely ruined the whole mood. With the constant car horns ringing in your ear.

You tap at his thigh to grab his attention, “Why’s it traffic?” You grumble, rising yourself from the seat to look at the row of cars trying to get through.

“Not any holidays or events i can think of,” he responds back to you.

Red mixed with orange fills your vision, suddenly the car at the very front explodes. The car parts flying in the air and landing at the other vehicles which makes you frozen in shock.

Wriothesley’s clenches his hands tightly as he turns the bike around, speeding his way far away from the scene. “Hold onto me tight, and don’t look back, you hear?” He yells enough to grab your attention, and your arms tightens around him, but you have your head turned around to see the people yelling and dashing out of the vehicles. You want to capture the moment with your phone so you could submit it in for the news, but you know more than to ignore Wriothesley right now.

It’s not rare to see destruction happen in your city, it’s just… terrifying every time anybody witnesses it.

Maybe it wasn’t an accident, maybe it was planned.

“You’re not allowed to go out after seven.” Wriothesley makes it clear to you with his firm tone as you both step inside your shared apartment, locking the apartment with a click. He then tosses his keys into a bowl on a small table, before turning to look at you.

“Are you seriously setting a curfew for me? Please. what happened was not new—”

Your face is now being cradled by his rough hands, but the way he swipes a thumb under your eyebags really makes you melt. And you forget what you were going to say when his lips curl the slightest.

“I don't want anything happening to you. Ever.” He takes you in his arms, holding you like you were the most precious thing he ever held. “I didn't mean to pressure you like that. I'd hate it if you were in the position of those injured people.”

You pat his back to reassure him that hopefully nothing like that will happen. “And, if, hypothetically, something like that happened; What would y—”

“I'll kill everyone.” he doesn't even let you continue before he answers, though the chuckle against your hair followed after makes your tense shoulders relax.

“maybe not to that extent,” he lifts your head up to lean in and press a tender kiss on your forehead.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“what is it?”

“… something or someone.”

Your boss gives you a nonchalant sharp look when you eagerly showed him the bits you managed to capture last night before you were interrupted by your great boyfriend.

His eyes squints at the more of a blurred photo that sits on the display of your camera, taking the glasses that hanged from his collar.

The sigh afterwards makes you feel discouraged when he hands you back your camera.

“i see it.” He starts and you perk up immediately.

“it looks like a blurred image of a fucking bird taking a shit on the electrical cords.” You press your lips into a thin line at his description. Too detailed of a description,

what a bastard.

It.. certainly didn't look like that.

You clear your throat, pinching the bridge of your nose to compose yourself.

“You're lucky i like your determination or you would've been fired,” he utters out in a lax tone, resting his glasses on his big bald head that you want to spill with ketchup.

“Keep looking, i need the hero's face, details, anything. Just think of the money you and i could both earn.” He seems too enthusiastic about it, showing you determination with his fists pressing together and his wide ear to ear smile.

You leave work early that day, starting your daily walk of looking around for at least two hours or—one hour?

No, Wriothesley would be too worried if you came back after… nine. Your words not his.

You need to rearrange a schedule in your head.

Step one: somehow convince your boss that you need to leave early everyday.

Step two: search every nook and cranny of the city, ask every shady person if they get to talk to the hero in person or got a glimpse of his name.

Step three: go to the dark web— is that car flying infront of you right now?!

Shit. Just why does everything have to go down wherever path you go?

The people around you panics, and you equally panic with them because you're no fucking hero to tell them to get away from that flying car.

You take your camera out hurriedly from its case that slung around your shoulder, pressing record while frantically looking around. The ground shakes, it shakes so much that it feels like an earthquake almost.

“it's him! The villian!” Someone shouts from the distance, and just like that the screams that follows are in sync.

You know why the ground shook, the street has become a battlefield for the hero and villain fighting together with all their strengths, the air is filled with tension as they both clash in an epic confrontation. The ground trembles beneath your feet again as they traded blows, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. The once tranquil street has now been transformed into a chaotic arena of power and destruction. As the battle rages on. The hero and villain continue their fight, each strike more powerful than the last, their movements a blur of speed and precision.

You try capturing anything with your camera, but your hand shakes that it was impossible. When the villian lands a powerful punch on the hero’s shoulder, sending him way back, it makes you think it's time to leave.

You run with the rest without stubbornness this time. You should've listened to Wriothesley, why did you always have to be so curious about everything?

This curiousity will kill you next after the cat.

“Taxi!” You shout, waving your hand at the yellow vehicle, but every taxi seems to ignore the people's pleas, determined to save themselves instead.

Guess it's time to burn calories and run back home.

You were a panting mess once you reached back to your comfort space, eyes zeroing at the running television in the living room. Watching the newscaster talk about today's battle and how it affected the shops and buildings.

It seems like the battle lasted twenty minutes before the villian gave up and fled away.

Your head snaps to the bathroom once you hear the sink water drip, you didn't even think if he would be here this early.

“Wriothesley,” you say breathlessly when you swing the door open, arms squeezing his side as you take a deep breath in.

“woah, easy there. What happened?” He takes you in, hand rubbing at your arm.

“i was…” nevermind. Maybe you shouldn't tell him what you have witnessed, he'll know once he checks the news.

You only realise that he was chest bared at the moment, and you furrow your eyebrows once you see a bruise on his shoulder.

“What happened?” It was your turn to ask, talking a gentle finger and running it over the bruise, earning a hiss from him.

“was changing the car oil at the repair shop.” He mumbles, gaze turning to the mirror, “then accidentally hit my shoulder once i got up.” he turns his arm, swinging it slowly.

“but you don't work at a car repair shop?”

“it's a side hustle, sunshine.”

“why didn't you tell me?” You press on, and he hangs his head low, both of his hands gripping the sink bowl.

Okay, maybe you have annoyed him a little too much now. Upon sensing your incoming apology, Wriothesley smiles at you.

“don't worry your pretty little head too much. The bruise will fade.”

“i can massage you later?” You offer, and he lets out a breathy chuckle. “You're the best.” He gives you a chaste kiss on your lips on his way out, which makes you feel a little fuzzy.

The evening gave way to the night sky, and you found yourself lying on the bed, replaying the video captured on your camera. The footage was far from perfect, shaky and lacking in clarity, but it still managed to capture fragments of the intense confrontation between the hero and the villain. You couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement as you watched the brief glimpses of the clash that had taken place earlier.

How the villian managed to blow a punch on the hero’s shoulder, sending him way back. Must've hurted.

It's almost like the same spot Wriothesley got his bruise on.

…

Wait, the same spot?  You sit up on the mattress, replaying the video on repeat of their fight.

The hero was about the same height as him, the same physique, same cake—

You shake your head, focus. Wriothesley can't be the hero, no that's impossible. He was a busy man, doing… side jobs and whatnot.

Sure he was kind, always helping everyone, even walking the neighbors dog because they got sick one day.

But then again… you never saw Wriothesley and the hero at the same time,

Or was it merely a coincidence, a random alignment of physical features?

“Sunshine?” You gasp when you snap your head up to find Wriothesley leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

“y-yes?” You set the camera aside on top of the drawer. He moves closer, seating himself on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixated on you then glancing at he camera.

“dinner's ready.”

You nod, silence fills the room after. You know he's waiting for you tell him more, on why you were so shocked.

“was looking at the hero's pictures.”

“not mine? I'm wounded.”

You roll your eyes, a slow smile creeping up your face, and he loves it. He takes it as an invitation to lean closer, suddenly pinning you down on the bed to capture your lips with his.

It's slow, and gentle. It makes you hum softly, taking his face in your hands to kiss him back, moving your lips together until you were gasping for air.

You forget you were even suspicious of him a second ago.

Your fingers lightly trace his jawline and you feel the pricks of his growing facial hair. A small smile plays on your lips as you inform him in a soft tone, "You need to shave." Wriothesley chuckles softly, the sound warm and low. He reaches up to your hand, gently taking hold of it and bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss on your palm. "Is that why you stopped kissing me?" He says, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "No! I find you more.. attractive. Plus it.. yeah, it feels like little needles on my face.” you admit quietly.

Wriothesley presses his face into your neck, his lips tracing soft kisses along your skin. His hands begin roving your body, each touch sending a gentle shiver across your flesh. He whispers quietly next to your ear, his voice low and smooth as he responds, "I'll shave after dinner." The sensations of his lips against your neck and his hands exploring your body mix together, creating a heady combination that heightens your senses and ignites a slow fire within you.

“I'll.. help.” You whisper, bringing both of your arms to wrap them around his back. “What a sweetheart.” he uttered out, voice muffled from trying to mold into your skin.

Your mind stops working for a second when he presses his knee gently between your legs to pull them apart, “Wriothesley, what about dinner?” You frantically ask him, tugging his hair up so both of your gazes could meet. And the almost drunken expression he has on makes you let out a shaky breath.

“later,” he drawls, his fingers tracing lazily along your sides.

Hero? Pftt, what hero? This is just your wriothesley, it's quite impossible for him to be the hero.

You snap out of your daydream when your colleague hands you a cup of coffee, he raises an eyebrow at you and you smile back awkwardly.

A sip of the coffee to get a bit of energy, but only just a bit, since too much caffeine makes you nervous.

“You filmed the crazy battle yesterday?” Your colleague sneaks from behind you, watching the video replay again on your camera.

“they do movies about them now, insane huh?”

“well atleast the hero knows he's popular.” You reply bluntly, taking anothsr sip from your hot beverage.

“flash news, someone heard that his name starts with the letter ‘W’ or som—”

You spit out your coffee all over your white��attire. You both exchange surprised looks, but you quickly wipe your mouth using the back of your hand.

“where exactly did you hear that?” You get straight to the point, gesturing them to sit next to you.

“from my father's friend’s cousin sister.”

His reply makes your eyes twitch, from who and who?

“Okay…” you whisper, turning around and thinking of the utter nonsense they spouted.

“you don't believe me.” he sighed, “I've been telling this to everyone in the building but no one is believing me! Just tryna’ do my job here.”

Let's say maybe you believe him. But the dots are connecting too fast that you want to refuse from believing it.

Was your target closer to you than you had expected?

“I'm clocking out, can you cover for me today?” You inform your colleague, and he crosses his arms while eyeing you up and down.

Your roll your eyes, “I'll be the cameraman for next week. So you could get three days off.” You force a smile and they smile back enthusiastically.

Wriothesley is definitely home. Earlier than the usual time he'd be back.

Oh, he's asleep on the couch. Leaning back tiredly with an almost stern expression on, but his body seems relaxed.

Now is the time to do anything. Investigate? Go through his things without his permission? That sounded all awful… surely he's not hiding any—

“go search his things.” You furrow your eyebrows when the devil on your left shoulder speaks, it makes you rub your face in annoyance.

Then a sudden white little angel poofs on your right shoulder with a disappointed face, “no, don't do it. He's a little scary when he gets mad. But he'd never betray you!” you feel reassured at it's words and you nod in agreement.

“don't listen to it. He could hurt you if you keep it a secret.” The red devil whispers again and it makes you shiver a bit.

“he would never hurt you.” The angel frowns.

“yes he would, he's a man.”

“a good man.”

“yeah? You're no better than me, you just want that—”

“okay shut up both of you. Shoo.” You brush both of your shoulders off before taking a deep breath to brace yourself.

You'll just search his.. clothes.

You feel guilty once you pocket his jackets and pants in his side of the wardrobe, checking every hidden pocket thoroughly while glancing at the door once in a while to make sure he doesn't wake up.

As your fingers brush against his jacket, you notice an unusual sensation – a cool, metal feeling hidden underneath the fabric. Your eyes widen in surprise as you recognize it to be the form of a gun's handle. A mixture of curiosity and concern floods through you, freezing you in place.

It really is a gun. You study it carefully, turning it around and feeling it's heaviness in your palm.

But you feel your heart run out of your ribcage when two pairs of arms wrap tightly around you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

Shit.

“hi,” he whispers next to your ear, but you're too nervous to even look back at him.

“nice thing you got there.” He muses, and you feel like you're losing oxygen once he tightens his grip around you even more.

“… i just found it.” You mutter, mostly to yourself. Your head hanging too low to avoid his eyes.

“Could've just asked me, no?” He clicks his tongue, almost in disappointment.

“i have it on me because—”

“because you use it for the good, right? Because you're the hero?” Your voice is shaky when you ask, the gun in your hand shaking with you, and you're afraid to drop it.

“hero?” Wriothesley repeats, shaking you gently awake and you gasp harshly, taking in big breaths, your boyfriend immediately trying to soothe you.

it was a dream.

“you were mumbling something about a hero in your sleep. Are you okay?” He asks in concern, brushing a strand off your face. You were sweating too much for your liking.

“when did i get here?” You look around, taking your palms to rub the sleepiness off. “Right when you got off work. You slept on the bed without changing your clothes.”

Oh… so you never checked his clothes. Deciding to just sleep instead.

Your head turns back to the wardrobe, staring at it intently. Could the jacket be in the same arrangement as you found it in your dream? Or will the gun also be there?

“you're going to poke a hole through it if you keep staring.” He stifles a laugh, and you couldn't help but try to smile as well. “Drink up. Slow sips.” He offers you a glass of water, and you hold the glass firmly in your hand.

“so… what was your dream about? Even this hero appears in your dreams? Can't say I'm not jealous.”

“You'll have grey hairs too early from overthinking.” You tease, sitting upright in bed, “oh no, you already do, old man.” you frown, tracing the grey strands along with his black hair. He watches in amusement.

Wriothesley lets out a deep sigh, “give your old man a break. They're a badge of wisdom and experience,” he rests his head on your lap, nuzzling close as you massage his scalp.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Breaking news: the ‘’lola” flower shop sets on fire just three hours ago. Our dear hero saves the day yet again, protecting the old lady just in time before her shop explodes. The cause of the fire is still unknown…”

Destruction out of nowhere again. Accidents out of nowhere again.

The voice of the newscaster on the television fades away in this little diner you're in. You drive your attention away from it, instead focusing now on the Polaroid pictures laid out infront of you.

The hero always wore a mask to cover his identity, obviously. But even after watching the countless of interviews he had, the deep tone slightly matches Wriothesley’s voice, or maybe he's changing his tone on purpose. You can see it by zooming in on the video, how he's catching his breath everytime he speaks when he's just sitting down.

Asthma? Nah.

You tap your fingers impatiently on the table, this is not helping at all, and the slightest itch in your brain worsens as the time goes by.

You think about giving up on this, but the possibility of finding the answer on how or why did all of this happen is probably closer to you than you think.

“Bad guys never end with their schemes. Bunch of attention seekers.” The hero speaks on the television, and you hum curiously as the hero salutes the camera playfully before disappearing from the crowd.

Is it possible that there are multiple heros? Working all together in some basement and taking turns to go out and do a better job than the police?

Possibly, and you write down your new theories down on your little notepad.

You check your phone next, Wriothesley still hasn't answered you back from your most recent text to him.

It's nothing to worry about, but the thought that he's busy saving the city is gnawing at you.

Batman?

You shake your head again, gathering your things to stand up from your seat. You should be blunt asking him about it tonight.

It's cold. Colder than usual. Was the air conditioning on? No. But the windows are sure wide open. You look around the living room before closing the windows and curtains from the outside world, as you draw the curtains, the outside world becomes obscured, leaving the room in a soft semi-darkness.

“Wriothesley, honey?” You call out softly, peeking through the bathroom, not there. The bedroom? Nope.

That leaves the kitchen, you slowly peek your head in he kitchen, and sure enough, he was there.

Wriothesley was rubbing his face in exhaustion while mumbling words under his breath that you can't quite hear. Having one singular glass of some drink in his hand.

“hero this.. hero that..” you finally listen to his mumbles, which makes you furrow your eyebrows together.

"Wrio...?" You call out softly, flipping the switch to turn on the light. His sharp eyes immediately dart up to look at you, and you can't help but shiver under his intense stare. You let out a small gasp of surprise as he suddenly stands up, the glass in his hand slipping from his grip and shattering on the ground along with its contents.

Taken aback by his sudden movement, you instinctively take a step back as he approaches you. But before you can even register what's happening, he crashes his lips against yours in a hasty, rushed kiss. Caught off guard, you cling tightly to him, desperately seeking support to prevent yourself from toppling over.

“You love me,” Wriothesley's voice breaks through the heated kiss, his words coming out in a low, guttural groan. He grips the back of your thighs, hoisting you up against the wall and wrapping your legs around his waist. “right?” His voice holds a hint of vulnerability and desperation, as if seeking reassurance and affirmation of your feelings for him.

And when you don't answer him right away, he takes your lower lip between his teeth, nipping at it gently, “answer me.” He almost growls.

“love, what are you taking about? Are you drunk?” You ask breathlessly in concern, your lips feeling swollen.

His jaw clenches, “Why can't you say it?” he inhales your perfume, your scent filling him that it makes him groan, his mouth lavishing your neck and collarbone, leaving kisses and littering marks then soothing the area with his tongue that it makes your pant softly, pressing your face into his hair while your fingers weaving through his black-greyish strands.

“i love you,” you utter quietly, and it suddenly makes him start grinding his hardened length against you. “I'm sorry in advance, sweetheart.”

One minute you're confused about his words, and then the next he's pounding so hard into you like there was no tomorrow.

Strings of “don't leave me,” and “i love you’s,” are echoed in the air. Wriothesley's mouth moves against yours with a sense of urgency and haste, his tongue gliding and tangling with yours in a fervent dance. The bed creaks so loud underneath you that you think it might break anytime, the embarrassment of the headboard banging against the wall immediately gone once he hits your sweet spot rapidly.

Poor neighbors

"Wrio... Wriothesley?” you slowly flutter your eyes open, still in the hazy realm between sleep and wakefulness. The sunlight streams through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room, and you blink a few times as you take in your surroundings. A quiet sense of contentment washes over you as you remember the events of the night before, the memories of Wriothesley's body against yours and his lips on yours still fresh in your mind.

You prop yourself up using your elbows, only to look down at the sight of your sleeping lover with his head pressed up on your chest. You collapse back on the bed with a tired sigh.

You still couldn't understand the reasoning behind his.. desperate actions last night. He seemed so pent up and stressed, you'll forgive him this time.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• It's the day where you're covering for your colleague, being the cameraman for tonight's news. Yes, tonight.

Wriothesley would kill you if he knew you were working so late at night, but only because he cares about your safety. Good thing he's out of the city for a day.

Or he claims to be out of the city for some important work.

You press the button on your video camera, adjusting the lens to focus on the newscaster standing in front of the camera, holding the microphone with a serious expression. The news van is parked in front of a desolate, run-down neighborhood known for its high crime rate and dangerous reputation. The newscaster speaks into the camera, her eyes boring into the lens as she reports on the neighborhood.

“We are now standing in the heart of one of the most dangerous areas in the city. This neighborhood is notorious for its high crime rate and volatile atmosphere.”

Your senses are heightened at this rate and you really try to focus but the moment you hear the faint crunch of leaves, you lose composure just a bit.

Okay you're a bit scared, but as long as your workmates are he—

a group of armed gang members suddenly appear from the alleyways between the buildings, surrounding the news van and the camera crew. The newscaster, taken off guard, gasps and steps back.

The gang members brandish their weapons, circling the news crew menacingly. One of them shouts at the newscaster, waving his gun in the air. “Hold it right there, pretty lady. This is our turf! You ain’t gonna be broadcasting nothing about us!”

You're about to shit your pants for real this time.

“Drop your cameras and get outta here, or things are gonna get real ugly real fast,” he growls, and one of them points the gun right on your camera.

“I'm talkin’ to you too.”

Yeah, you're not going to fight anyone and act all big. You simply drop the camera on the ground to raise your hands in the air.

As the gang members close in on the news crew, the atmosphere is suddenly shattered by the sound of footsteps pounding against the pavement. Everyone turns to see a tall, muscular figure approaching from the distance.

It's the hero.

You watch in awe as the hero strides towards the group of armed gang members, his movements fluid and precise. With a swift swing of his fist, he lands a powerful punch on the leader's face, sending him stumbling backwards. The other gang members are taken aback by his sudden appearance and the display of force, their eyes widening in surprise and fear. They exchange nervous looks, realizing they're facing a much stronger opponent than they anticipated.

“Hey, let's go!” Your workmate calls for your name. Her hand waving at you so you could all retreat back to the van.

And before you could follow, the van explodes.

The sudden explosion catches you off guard, jolting you out of your stupor. Shouting in surprise, you recoil from the loud blast, ducking instinctively as debris and fragments fly through the air. Your colleague, sitting next to you in the van, lets out a terrified yell as the force of the explosion propels the driver backward. The van shudders and lurches from the impact, the windows shattering and various objects sent flying.

“in the building! Let's go!” All three of you dash to protect yourselves inside this tall company building.

“I will call the police,”

“but the hero is here!” the driver of the van speaks, almost yelling in frustration.

“the hero is also a human. Just a strong one. We can't rely on him—” but before you could continue, you all cover your ears once you hear gunshots come from outside.

Ohmygosh. It’s—it could possibly be Wriothesley who's getting hurt right now. What are even the chances?!

“Fine! Just call the fucking police!” The driver gives up, leaning back against the wall while breathing heavily.

You want to go out there. You want to see. It's your chance to see who the hero is if he got hurt. Just to get the crumbs of news in exchange for your life apparently.

When it grows quiet, you peek outside, “it's clear, I'll take a look—”

“No, you're not.” her hand is firm as she grips your wrist, “just let them go.” He, on the other hand, scowls.

“Be safe!” She shouts at you as you make a run for it, running down the alleyway while looking left and right.

Someone's in the area.

You dart behind the nearby dumpster, heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline courses through your veins. Hiding as best you can, you press yourself against the rough metal, trying to keep your breathing steady and quiet. Peeking out from behind the dumpster, you cautiously scan the surroundings, trying to catch a glimpse of someone nearby. For now, the area seems to be clear, but you can't shake the feeling that someone is in the vicinity, lurking in the shadows.

“Where ya at, lil’ birdie?” You cover your mouth when you hear someone speak, it sends a chill down your spine and you can feel your heart drumming in your ears.

Your sharp eyes turn to your side to find a metal rod, you don't hesitate to grab it before smacking the shit out of the guy.

No that did not happen, but you wish it did.

Instead, the minute you see his feet pass the dumpster, with a swift movement, you grab hold of both of his ankles, using your weight and leverage to pull them out from under him. He lets out a pained shriek as he suddenly loses his balance and topples to the ground, his body hitting the pavement with a thud.

Alright, you can be cool sometimes.

Stepping at his hands to hear him cry again, you run put of the place, making turns and finally spotting the hero sitting down against the building wall while panting, seemingly exhausted.

“…” you take slow steps once you approach him, looking down at him with your eyes already glistening.

This is it, you just have to confirm it.

Your hand pulls at his mask, “Wrio—”

Huh?

This…

Is not

Wriothesley.

“Ah, what the fuck?” He grunts, the blonde grabbing the mask from your hands and you take a step back.

“Elias?!” You yell out in confusion, it's your colleague that you're covering for supposedly today's shoot.

“You're the hero??”

“not a word. Scram, you freak.” he mutters, eyes diverting away from you and staring up at the roof. “The roof,” he whispers to himself, making the effort to stand back at his knees.

Is this bitch serious? He's the last person you expected to be the hero. With his stupidly arrogant and lax attitude.

You give him an almost death stare, studying his features again before making your way out.

You need to check the other people that were with you.

But when you arrive back at the building, they were gone.

Did the police arrive? You don't hear any sirens. Could they have possibly went up on one of the floors to hide?

You find yourself in the elevator next, watching as the doors close with your hands clasped infront of you nervously.

You take deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart and steady your nerves. Hey, at least there's nice elevator music.

As the elevator comes to a halt, the doors slide open with a soft ding, revealing the rooftop and the figure standing in the open space.

There's a figure standing at the edge of the building, you can see the person's silhouette clearly now, but you can't make out their features just yet.

Your steps are hesitant as you slowly approach the figure, the wind gently billowing around you. The city lights twinkle below, but your attention is entirely focused on the person standing at the edge of the roof. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever may come, and call out tentatively, "Hello?”

Your voice rings in the air, that the person's shoulders tense.

When they look around, you're met by the same blue eyes you've known for three years now.

“Wriothesley.” You whisper, in shock, breathlessly under your breath.

He's holding.. a gun? The same gun you remember seeing in your dream.

Something in his mind snaps when you turn around, in fear. Like it was a mistake to ever see him in the first place.

Wriothesley doesn’t even give himself time to think before his body suddenly reacts, suddenly reaching out and circling his hand around your wrist to forcibly tug you back.

He yanks hard enough that you lose your balance and fall against him, his other arm coming up to wrap around your shoulders, preventing you from going anywhere.

“W-wrio—”

“think it's time we talk, sunshine.” He speak into your ear.

When you try to move the slightest from his hold, he grips you around him tighter. You figure it's best to stay still for now.

“what? Are you going to kidnap me now?” You manage to chuckle out, nervously though, your voice coming out more shaky than you intended to.

“Is that going to satisfy your little fantasy? What, I should play into it and shove you into a corner, keep you under my thumb until you’re begging me to set you free? Or no… you want to be saved by the hero.”

"You know you're not helping with your case, right? You really sound like the bad guy now.”

You’ve definitely found his breaking point because that comment makes him snap.

Wriothesley suddenly whirls you around so you’re facing him before he’s pinning you against the nearest wall, his body practically covering your own.

“Well…” He whisper, raising an eyebrow calmly in the way you look being at his mercy. “Aren’t I?”

Your jaw practically hangs at his words. Is he... Playing the bad guy now?

Or was he really… not the opposite of the hero?

He sees the shiver you try so hard to suppress and smirks at that, clearly satisfied with your reaction, “What’s wrong, sunshine? Finally realize that the man you’ve been dating isn’t the hero you've obsessing over?” He chuckles.

“i… i knew it—”

“You didn’t,” he says, his tone suddenly becoming cool and firm.

Wriothesley leans forward, pressing into you so that you’re smashed between him and the wall. His hand suddenly comes up, cupping your jaw so that he tilts your chin up to look directly into his eyes.

“If you’d known, you’d never have come within twenty feet of me. You’d never have been alone with me or spent a single night in our bed.”

He's right. And you hate it. You feel betrayed, lied to, even.

It makes you rethink your life choices.

You've gotten too comfortable with him that you didn't even think about him being the villian. You've gotten too close while you were being a complete idiot.

“you hid it.”

Wriothesley laughs, the sound almost sounding cold, “of course I hid it, sunshine. I wasn’t going to just come strutting in wearing a big, red sign saying ‘look at me, I’m a bad guy!’ was I?”

You clench your fists together, “you tricked me.”

“Tricked? No.” He shakes his head slightly. “I simply… left out key details.”

“Why?”

“ah, there it is.” He steps back, giving you space to breath, to recollect your thoughts.

“why? Because the hero isn't a hero. He started all of this destruction. Why? To get fame, recognition, power, and to be seen, to look like he's doing something when he's not.” He lets out all in one breath, and you lips part again.

“four years ago when the building almost fell on you? He did that, on purpose. then saved you to make it look like he's the one that everyone needs.”

What the hell?

“Wriothesley, we were strangers to each other four years ago. How did you know?” You don't hesitate to step closer to get more answers out of him, but he only stares at you.

You swallow thickly when he draws infront of you once again, “i did this all for you, love. I-i will do everything in my power to stop him, i will kill him so you wouldn't get hurt—”

“Okay, fucker. Out of my way,” Elias, the ’hero’, suddenly barks, and without warning, a gunshot rings out. The bullet pierces through Wriothesley's shoulder, causing him to flinch and stagger backwards.

Your eyes widen in horror as you watch the scene unfold. "Wriothesley!" you cry out, watching as he turns around despite the injury and charges towards Elias.

Despite the pain he must be in, Wriothesley doesn't relent. Ignoring the gunshot wound, he barrels towards Elias with unmatched determination, closing the distance between them.

"Bastard," Wriothesley manages to grit out as he collides with Elias, knocking him off his feet and sending them both crashing to the ground.

You don't hesitate to rush forward, with adrenaline fueling your actions, you move quickly towards them as they roll dangerously close to the edge of the roof.

"Stop!" you shout, your voice filled with desperation. "You'll fall!”

And surely enough, Your two hand clamps down on Wriothesley's, desperately grasping onto anything you can to prevent him from plunging off the edge.

Meanwhile, Elias grips Wriothesley's leg, using his strength to anchor him in place. The three of you hang there, suspended over the city, Wriothesley's body along with Elias’s dangling in the air.

“Sweetheart—”

“shut the fuck up I'm not letting go.” They're both too heavy, the feel of his fingers slipping away from yours increases everytime you try to pull them up.

Elias is purposely pulling Wriothesley's leg down to drop them both, your lips quiver, crying when two of his fingers slip now.

“hey,” his voice is soothing when he calls for you.

“at least… i protected you till the very end, right?” He tries smiling but it only makes the lump in your throat grow.

“i love you.”

“Wriothesley!”

…

“Wriothesley—!” You gasp harshly when you open your eyes so wide, finding that your hand was already reaching out for nothing.

You rest your hand on your chest before leaning back on your seat.

“are you okay?” The newscaster, the friend you made, offers you her handkerchief so you could swipe the sweat off your face.

“i think… continuesly searching about this, is making you stressed.” She points out, looking at the papers and drawings splayed out on your desk.

More theories of the disappearances of the hero and villian. Not their death. Their bodies were never found.

“it's been a year.”

The realization is like a punch to the gut as you bring a sweaty palm to rub at your temples.

“This is not over.” You whisper, more to yourself than to her. “We got no more trouble. No more heroic or bad guy news. The world is back to normal, almost like they never existed huh?”

Never existed.

She then suddenly gasps, which catches you off gaurd, “are engaged??” She eyes at the gem resting on your left ring finger.

The ring you found in one of his jacket pockets when you sorted his things out.

“yeah…” you decide to drawl out before sitting upright on your seat.

“now, if you'll excuse me, i got work to do.”

You're never going to stop searching, to find another answer of the question; 'why?'

Even if it will mean risking your life this time.

[noomimi]

Hey so I found the little drabble you wrote about Morax sacrificing Y/n for the world? And it gave me this scene of a Y/n being forced to pick between him and the world, and they choose him? And it would hurt. And I'd like to see it written in your style of angst, if you ever write it at all, because i think it would be cool. have a good day/night heart🧡

: I know I'm very late but this gives me the idea of the prequel of the world > you of Morax|Zhongli imagine.

Imagine being in a situation where you have to sacrifice the world for your love one. What would you do? Would you choose to do the greater good for others or for yourself? The answer for you is quite obvious. It would be Morax over the world.

Imagine the Archon War leaving a mental toll on your mental health, constantly seeing your lover fighting, seeing him fight for his and your dear live as well as both of your people. But what leaves you the scar the most is seeing him get hurt, although he was powerful and fearsome, that doesn't mean that he does not escape close call encounter. At times like that, you have nothing to do but to watch there and stood in horror, thinking how much of a baggage were you that you cannot even fight side by side. Because even for a supreme being, you are weak.

Imagine it wasn't just the war that took a toll on you but also the mortals. You have seen people turning their back on their Gods, you have seen people revolts on their Gods, Gods who have done nothing but to protect them and some have lost their lives upon doing so. How fucking cruel and disgusting creatures were they. And how thankful you are that your people were different. That is why this thoughts and memories remained on the back of your mind.

Imagine, or so you thought as you day you have awoken up from a dream, drenched on cold sweat as your heart hammered on your chest. It was a dream- no a nightmare- no... It was a vision. It was a prophecy of your lovers death. Died and assassinated by his-your own people.

"Love?" It was your lover who seems to have been awake.

"Are you alright? You're dren-" You cut him off as you embraced him and he chuckles before turning your embrace, giving you a tap on the back for more comfort.

"Was it a bad dream?" He asked as pull you even more closer to him, taking you in his arms as you could only tighten your hold on him.

"It's alright, Love. I'm here, it's just a dream."

Imagine the truth is that you love your people more than anything, you love them just right after Morax, your lover. That is why you decided not to pay attention to that vision. Because you knew more than anything that your people respect and worship him more than anything.

Imagine Morax should have seen the signs. The way you less and lesser interact with the people. The more you seems cautious of the way they view and talked about him. The way you stay up all night and seems to be lacking of sleep. The way the look of gentleness in your eyes seems to fade the more you look at the people you vow yourself to protect. The way you were slowly falling and experiencing signs of erosion.

"What did you just say, you low life piece of utter shit?" You glare at the man, wanting to snap off his neck if it wasn't for your lover holding you back from doing so.

"I- I was just telling the truth! It's not like Rex Lapis is all that great and might- hick!"

"It's not like I did not heard you the first time. What I'm tying to say it that, do you, know the consequence you have to face for saying such-"

"That's enough, (First name). I would like to apologise on behalf of my lover, they were just.."

Imagine becoming aware that you were losing yourself but it was already too late. All the sleepless nights, the visions that kept showing up and hunting you. The way the people in your vision- your prophecy doesn't even seem to mind that Morax have died. The way the people talks about him these days. The way your memories of the archon war and the people back in those days does not seem to think twice turning their back and raising their weapons on their own beloved Gods.

Imagine one day, you snap. Walking in the city with your fake persona. There comes the man who was just talking shit about Morax on the other day. And the nerve of this man to continue to convince you that he was in fact right, that the world is better off without the Archons, specifically Morax in it, the God of War. The one who seems to have killed the God he was formerly worshipping. The one who according to him should have died instead.

Imagine as his words went one ear to another, you smile at him before talking and convincing him to go on a remote area where no one could see the two of you and of course, bewitched by your beauty, how could he not come with you. Only to get himself killed not even a second the moment the two of you reach your promised location. And during those very moment, the way you look down at your blood stained hand. The way a smile crept up on your lips as a strange sense of satisfaction came into you.

"This is fun." You spoke looking at the bloody scene.

"This is what you get for assume you know better to turn your back against by beloved."

Imagine Morax becoming aware of the missing and killing of people within your land. But what raised his concerns the most is that you don't even seem to mind, but at least you were not going feral as you were quite some time now. So he brush it off and went to investigate only to find out that most of the people declared missing and dead were people who were talking bad about him. Most of those people were refugees of the wars and were formerly worshipping other Gods before him. Nevertheless it was still suspicious and wrong. You have always made it clear with him that people, mortals were fragile being, that is why you should protect them.

so Imagine the horror on Morax face once he have seen you, in the midst of the burning remote village, a bloody child in your hand, grabbing it on the neck as you held it up within your level, a smile on your face which become even more bright one you have seen him when it pained him even more than to see you this way. How could he have not notice this? You were always together, how could he have not notice you were slowly losing youself?

"Wha-" His voice cracked as his mind tried to came up hundreds if not thousand of reason why you have come into this conclusion.

"What- why are you doing this?"

"They were planning a rebellion Morax, how could I not let this slide?"

"No... no no no no no no no. My Love, what happened to you?"

"Huh? You're asking strange things Morax." Your eye twich as you drop the child on the ground without care.

"Let me handle this kind of things. There is no need for you to lift up a finger okay? I'll keep you safe so let's go home, okay? Thought I'll have to come back and clean up for the rest of them so their is nothing to harm you."

Imagine the moment you tried to walk towards him, you stopped at the way his iconic weapon, a pole arm appeared. Then a smile makes it's way on your lips as you clasp your bloody hand together.

"Oh Morax! I appreciate you trying to help but there is in no need of that-?"

Imagine the look of confusion in your face. The way his weapon was pointed at you, you tilt your head to the side, a look of confusion and hurt could be seen in your face. And then there was anger.

"I am doing this for YOU whaT GIVES YOU THE NERVE TO POINT YOUR WEAPON AT ME?" You screamed at him, sending glares on his way as he looks at you emotionless. As if all emotion of him were turned off.

"Doing this for me? Do you think that was enough reason to do this? To cause this?"

"They were trying to revolt against you! They were trying to kill you! Do you think I want this?! I kept having visions! I kept hearing voices! And every single damnn time they were trying to kill you! And you died! Living me alone! I could not handle that! So before everything of that come true, I'll kill them. I'll fucking get rid of them. So don't be mad at me okay? I'm doing this for you, for us." You smile sweetly at him.

Imagine Morax having a mental breakdown at those very moment. The way he was tightly holding his pole arm as you approached him with a sweet smile on your face and damn. How lovely you were in the midst of the burning town and the countless lives taken away by your very own hands.

Imagine him, one of the seven archons praying and begging at these very moment. Oh celestia. Not you, god fucking damn. Not you. This was just a dream, none of this was true. But damn, the way he felt someone, another child clinging on his feet, murmuring cries of help. He swallowed back a sob. Oh celestia, what could- what should he do?

Imagine the way his hand shake, the way he took a deep breath before leaving his chaotic mind behind. His hands were still shaking, but he held his firmly up on your direction. The way you start to emits black smoke as well as the cracks on your face says it was already too late to save you. And as much as it pained him, as much as it fucking kills him to kill you. He has to do it.

"So this is it for us?" You spoke across him.

"No one's going to hurt me, Love."

"My vision says different and you know my vision was never wrong." You chuckle as you did not stop coming at him.

"I know what you're thinking. I don't regret it." The more you approach him, the more his heart ached.

"If I am to make choices over and over again, I'll do the same thing. If it means turning thr world outside the down, if it means burning the world for you, I will, Morax."

Imagine the way his amber iris were shaken as you walked right into his weapon that was preventing you from approaching him. The way his weapon easily and smoothly pierced your chest as he held it firmly.

Imagine the way his mouth close and open, looking down to his weapon and onto you. He saw you smiling as you pull away from the blade of the pole arm, stumbling a couple of stepps backwards but still retaining your balance. He knows that smile, fuck. He knows that smile.

"Celestia. Perhaps, I have done things too far." You spoke as you look down at your bloody hand and chest.

Imagine the way Morax hold back a sob, the way his throat burns as he can't seem to find the right words to say to you. And at the very end, he could only lower his weapon as he utter the words he wanted you to know even after all of this.

"You know I love you, right?"

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2023°

: Hi, sorry if this takes too long to make. College seems to drain me out but I'm glad to answer this ask that I have been thinking for quite some time now.

[noomimi]

— 𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞.

even the sweetest of scents eventually turn bitter.

✦ featuring: zhongli.

✦ warnings: angst.

"why do you seem to adore this particular flower?" he remembers asking you, one still night, when even the moon has decided to go to sleep. for as long as he's known you, your entire life seemed to revolve around jasmines. 

he remembers you laughing as you hang a bunch of them from his horns mischievously. "i love its versatility, my dear morax. it can be a garland, an accessory, a perfume, it can be infused into tea; it's wonderful, really. and it smells and looks divine." you playfully add later, "in addition, you look absolutely fetching with them on, don't you think?"

it dawns on him that he's never seen you without a cluster of them nestled in your hair, he's never seen you drink anything but various varieties of jasmine tea; at this point, he cannot think of one without thinking of the other. he doesn't even remember what your name means. to his mind, all it invokes is vivid pictures of your smile and the fragrance that always surrounds you.

and when you stand in front of him, a determined aura about you, that memory swims to the surface and he knows. he knows exactly what you'll say.

morax dreads those words he knows will come out of your mouth, and for the first time in a long while, he's afraid. he's afraid of breaking your heart, when all he wants to do is cradle it in his palms— but he knows he must. 

"i cannot return your feelings," he says, steeling his gaze, lifting his chin and hardening the curve of his mouth. 

he watches the hope in your eyes break, shatter like glass. he watches passively as somewhere, deep within, your heart cracks, and he swears he could hear the sound reverberate throughout the stone hall the two of you stand in. he watches as your hands start to tremble, your voice shake the tiniest amount.

he almost reaches out with his pattern covered arms, desiring naught but to hold them still and whisper honey-glazed words in your ears, rock you in his embrace and offer you uncertain promises of a happy future, but he forces them down. there is no place for love in a war, he thinks. and my presence cannot make them smile more than my absence would make them cry.

"why?" he hears you ask, voice barely more than a breath. "i-" you seem to be frozen in place, only capable of moving your lips the tiniest amount. "i thought we had something."

he swallows, saliva scalding his throat. "i'm in love with another," he blurts, knowing this would stop you from chasing after him. every syllable stabs at him as it leaves his mouth. "i always have been."

"oh," that soft, silent, broken breath of yours cuts through his armor and pierces through his core. "i understand," you lower your eyes, displaying the same grace you've always shown, and he hates that he cannot be true to both himself and you. "i hope you will be happy. i wish you the best, morax." he nearly winces. morax. not 'dear morax', and not 'my dear morax.' just morax.

as you turn to leave, he gets a whiff of the flowers in your hair, and he retches at how absolutely acrid they smell. he takes a step backward, once again fighting the urge to reach his arms out. he plants his feet firmly on the ground and watches as your figure gets smaller and smaller before you start running. 

if doing it this way is how he must keep you safe, then he'd step on his own body, heart and soul, without hesitation. 

of what use is a god who cannot control his own destiny? who cannot promise happiness to those he cares for?

he will wait, he swears. he will wait for as long as it takes. after the war, he promises himself. when time is favorable, he promises. as long as it takes for him to see you again, meet you on the other side, where the future is bright. but he knows it, in all the possibilities of the world, is pointless. after all, you were just a mortal, with a life akin to the blink of an immortal's eye, were you not?

it is the unmistakable scent of jasmine that wafts through his nose, many, many, many years later. he is simply zhongli now, the funeral parlor consultant who frequents teahouses, nothing more, nothing less, but the bitterness still bites at his nose each and every single time, all the same. 

he smiles into his cup, a little sad, a little nostalgic and he absentmindedly wonders why he chose to order jasmine tea today, of all days. a cheerful lilt reaches his ears, and he laughs to himself.

why do you think of them now, after all these years?

the voice grows louder and he jolts uptight, not trusting his hearing. he stands up hesitantly, searching, scared all over again. and it is then he hears a laugh he never thought he'd hear again. he finds the same set of features, giggling at something the other person in front of you said.

impossible. people rarely reincarnate with the same face. but hope strikes to a flame nevertheless, and he sits back down again, looking for signs that it might be you. 

sharp amber eyes find a small jasmine flower nestled behind your ear, and he can't help but smile. 

perhaps, this time, he could try again?

[noomimi]

Soulbound

Zhongli x GN!Reader (Soulmate!AU)

Summary: Zhongli hated the mark on his neck, and he hated whoever the mark bounded him to. But fate plays a cruel joke, matching him with you, as he swore he would love no one else but Guizhong.

Tags: Angst/No Comfort, Short Story, Rejection, Hurtful Words, Hatred to Love

Soulmark - A mark that binds two individuals as soulmates.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Morax had always been frustrated by the mark on his neck.

A glowing, permanent part of his body that marks him tied to a soulmate. He thinks its stupid, for the love of his life was already in front of him, a gray-haired inventor that no carving in his body could ever stop him from adoring.

He finds it unbelievable that his neck is claimed by a soulmark yet Guizhong's remain blank, and he curses Celestia above for such a foul joke.

How could he be for anyone else but her?

When her dust settled in the field of glaze lilies he thought were incomparable to her beauty, he was utterly devasted, his clawed hands held onto his neck, wanting to rip the soulmark that had been taunting him for centuries.

How could he be marked for someone else while the love of his life laid lifeless?

He loathed his mark, everything about it, and he will till his last breath.

...

Zhongli deeply dislikes you.

You are a messy, silly, babbling buffoon.

An adventurer from Mondstadt that embodies the nation's will of freedom. Bubbly, carefree, and loud, much like a fellow god he didn't particularly like.

Despite of his disdain of you, your affection towards him never wavered. You filled his somber days with excitement as you joyfully tell him stories about your adventures, share some new recipes you've learned, even ushering him to talk about obscure Liyue historical facts that you've always found interesting.

He was much too proper to shoo you away, and his cold looks and short responses didn't discourage you to try to make friends with the man that peeked your curiosity.

Ever so slowly, you had pried open his caged heart, planting a small seed that was so distinctly you.

He would have accepted you, he would have seen you as a friend... and yet...

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a faint, familiar mark on your neck, revealed when you put your hair up into a ponytail.

Zhongli knew he truly disliked you.

...

"I don't believe in the marks either, Mr. Zhongli..." You reasoned with him, but his gaze still stung you with daggers.

He caged himself back up, ensuring that you could not care for the little seed you planted, no light would be able to reach it again.

His heart would not open...

No matter how many times he catches himself smiling at your antics.

No matter if he displays every gift and trinket you give him from your travels.

No matter how much he preferred your cooking over anyone else's.

No matter how beautiful you look staring up at him with your doe eyes as you confess your affection.

No matter how frustrated he felt at himself when he made you cry as he rejects your feelings.

Because, for him, how could there be anyone else but her?

...

"Do you see why it could never be you?"

You both stood in front of a monument, surrounded by various plants and objects you assume to be from friends of this ancient goddess.

"I bet she was amazing."

"She was perfect. Perhaps that's why I was not worthy to share a mark with her."

At this point, you were used to his words, how they praise her, how they degrade you.

"You're pretty great too, Zhongli..."

Faith places identical marks on the necks of two soulmates, and the rest is a romantic story of the passion that builds up as people pursue their marks of love.

Fate is cruel to you and him.

"That mark is not for you, Y/N." The Geo Archon says to you, tearing you apart silently, as you stand and take his words.

His heart quivers despite the harsh words coming from his own mouth. Even after millennia of having the mark engraved on his neck, after concluding that maybe he would allow your little seed to prosper even just for a bit, he still chooses to cling onto his hopeless past.

Tears fall down from your eyes, but you remain quiet, only nodding in agreement.

You loathed the mark on your neck.

...

Zhongli opens the cage of his heart a little, allowing him to peak at the small sprout from the seed you planted.

So distinctly you, it was the only thing he has of you.

After letting you leave him at Guizhong's monument with tears still staining your face, he couldn't help but miss you.

He couldn't help but let you finally take your place in his heart, after so long of hating his soulmark, hating whoever the mark tied him to, he fears he has finally accepted faith.

...

"Where is it?" He grips your arm harshly, his hold not faltering as you try to shake him off. His gaze was cold, yet you could still catch the hint of alarm in his eyes. "What have you done?"

After weeks... you return to him... missing something.

You winced at the stress of his words, feeling frightened under his tense hold. "I..." His bruising grip didn't falter, urging you to explain yourself. "S-Surprise...?"

"You..." Zhongli looks at you in disbelief. "How stupid could you be?"

"M-Mr. Zhongli... it's a blessing of the Anemo Archon... I prayed for him set us free from fate."

"Y/N... I..." He was at a loss for words, his heart ached as his eyes searched your neck in vain. "Fate... going against it is painful. It must've been excruciating."

"It was... but this if for you, Zhongli..." You smiled, feeling him loosen his grip. "Because I love... loved you." You fully free yourself from him, rubbing at where he previously held you.

The wind around him picked up, and he hears the faint whispers of an old friend along with it. Whispers of comfort, as he clearly ruined what would have been the light of the rest of his days.

Your soulmark fades, but his remains...

Zhongli loathed his mark, for it bears no meaning, no one but him bears that mark.

As you leave, trying to fade away in the background of his life, you remain under a spotlight in his eyes, for you will always be the one that shares his mark, no matter if it is visible.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

What y'all think of this one? :3

I bet y'all's feelings were hurt hehe

[noomimi]

— 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋.

ending #1 to heart to heart and a branch from do you love me?

SUMMARY. holding on hurts, letting go hurts. regrets just seem to trail after you like a shadow but ultimately, you have made your decision — this is it. (right?) (3.2k+ words)

CHARACTERS. zhongli, ganyu (briefly), guizhong (implied/mentioned).

GENRE. angst, bittersweet breakup, lovers to exes (but it’s so obvi you still love each other).

CW. one use of a pet name, a breakup scene, repeated apologies, reader experiences a headache. + read the alt text on zhongli’s header for an extra summary!

THOUGHTS. this was long overdue, but thanks to those who waited! this was such a ride… 3,000+ words just to write a breakup scene?? indeed, that might be a sign to buckle up (maybe).

✰ main masterlist. // series masterlist.

Cold, so cold.

The night breeze was already nipping at your skin moments before but as you mustered the courage to hesitantly face your lover, it felt as if the goosebumps on your arms had all turned into thorns that began to prick at you slowly.

But you just couldn’t bring yourself to meet ZHONGLI’s gaze, not yet.

Keep reading

[noomimi]

— 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄?

SUMMARY. zhongli never lies; he always says the truth as it is, even if it is a hard pill to swallow. or in which you realize you are not his greatest love and that is alright… right? (3.3k+ words)

CHARACTERS. zhongli.

GENRE. major angst, hurt with little to no comfort (sort of?).

CW. insecurities to a partner’s past love and gradual acceptance (?), zhongli’s past love is implied to be guizhong and uses she/her pronouns, use of pet names, possible sappiness. + read the alt text on zhongli’s header for an extra summary!

THOUGHTS. i haven’t written angst in a vv long time, so my sincerest apologies if i’ve become rusty! but i tried my best and writing zhongli always gets me sniffling <//3

EXTRA THOUGHTS. a gift for @medeaheartly! so, do you remember the “special privilege” request you sent me in this ask?? hehe, tadaaaa. happy birthday, jae! <3

✰ main masterlist. // series masterlist.

THE VERY FIRST TIME you asked him that question was on a day like every other. In fact, there was barely anything special about that day that could’ve brought rise to such a forward question. Liyue was as calm as the ocean breezes from the direction of Guyun Stone Forest, the same as ever. You were sitting across from the man of your dreams with delicacies laid out on the table at Third-Round Knockout, the same as ever.

But it was no compulsion, no forcefulness either, just a need to reaffirm. For it still felt like a dream that you were here right now, sitting across from him.

“ZHONGLI, do you love me?” You asked.

Keep reading

[noomimi]

like yes stab me with that chainsaw of a fic you wrote

fanfiction writers when they say "this is just a little oneshot" and then drop a 96k word emotional obliteration device

[noomimi]

First Husband Prank ft. ryomen sukuna

“Babe, will you take a video with me?”

He looks up from his phone and smirks. “What kind of video?”

“A regular one,” you clarify, though you’re not at all surprised by Sukuna’s initial reaction, he’s a fucking pervert. “C’mon get up, I was asked to review these protein bars.”

“Who would ask you to do that?” he snorts. 

“Get up,” you snap at him. 

He knows that tone all too well and immediately listens, getting up and standing right next to you, facing your phone with a scowl on his face. 

“What do you want me to say?” he grumbles. 

“Nothing, just stand there and act normal.”

“Kay,” he stubbornly says. 

Acting normal to him was averting his eyes from the camera, going as far as grabbing the bottle of water on the counter and taking a sip from it. 

“Hey everyone! I’m here with Sukuna, my first husb—”

You don’t even get a chance to finish the sentence before you’re interrupted by a grown man choking on water of all things.

“Can you like, stop dying right now?” you grimace at him. “I’m trying to take a video.” 

“Uhh— no?!” he scoffs in disbelief. “No I won’t fuckin’ stop. I bet you’d like that huh?”

“Like what?” you ask, pretending to be confused as you watch his eye slightly twitch.

“If I died,” he slightly crouches down and points to himself, not hiding how wounded he is at the moment. “That way you’d be free to find your second husband.”

“What? No—”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really,” you begin to laugh and reach for him. 

“Fuck off me, women,” he pouts and rubs the spot on his arm that you touched. “First fuckin’ husband my ass.”

“Babe, it was a prank!”

“Better be,” he barks back, “and if we’re not married, that just means I’m dead and you better believe I’m haunting the fuck out of you and that second husband of yours.”

You continue to laugh, “there is no second husband!”

“Yet!”

“So sensitive,” you mutter, forcing him to hug you, but he doesn’t wrap his arms around you and continues to glare at you. “Kuna, it was a joke, I’m not leaving you!”

“I don’t believe you,” he stubbornly says. 

“Babe, I'm sorry.”

“No you’re not!” he argues. “Sorry people don’t laugh.”

“What’s it gonna take for you to believe me then??”

“...lemme take the video I want now.”

[noomimi]

HII i loved the “rizz? what is that?” post so i was thinking if it were the other way around, like the reader saying a suggestive pick-up line but they don't really know the double meaning and think it's something innocent ( I hope I explained it well... )

“𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐝”

a/n: YESSS i gotchu bae

ft. isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, shidou ryusei, bachira meguru

isagi yoichi

“yoichi… if i were a watermelon, would you spit or swallow my seeds? 😄🍉”

isagi nearly dies. he literally chokes on AIR. 

he jolts, grabs the table, and stares at you like you just said the word “orgy” in front of his mom. “wait. WHAT?” 

you just smile like it’s a hallmark commercial. “i saw it on pinterest! i thought it was, like… romantic and unique!” 

yoichi’s whole soul is leaving his body. he’s making mental deals with god. 

“baby. baby. are you serious? do you know what you just asked me?” 

you blink. “if you’d spit or swallow… my watermelon seeds?” 

“… you’re so cute. and so scary.” 

he’s genuinely sweating. googles it while you’re not looking to make sure it’s not that dirty and then cries harder when it is. 

writes it down in his notes app under: “things she says that accidentally send me into heat.” 

kaiser michael

you’re cuddling in bed, scrolling on your phone when you turn and say, “mihya… are you a drill? because you’ve been filling my holes in all day 🥰” 

kaiser freezes. just STOPS functioning. he looks like he’s buffering. 

“what did you just say to me?” 

“you know, like emotional holes! the gaps in my life? you're healing me~ 💗” 

he sits up like he's in a courtroom. “sweetheart. i’m begging you to never say that in public.” 

you’re like “wait why? is it weird?” 

he snorts so hard he almost pulls a muscle. “you basically said i’ve been going jackhammer mode on you 24/7.” 

“JACK–??” 

“no no no don’t backtrack now. it’s canon. i’m a drill. i’m the drill of your life.” 

starts flexing his biceps every time you walk into the room like “you ready for construction time, princess?” 

you can’t live this one down. not ever. 

itoshi rin

“rin… are you a light switch? because every time I see you, you turn me on 😄” 

rin stops moving entirely. he’s halfway through opening the spice drawer and just… goes still. 

his eyes shift to you slowly. his soul already leaving his body. “… what?” 

“you know. like… you light up my world or whatever 💡🧡” 

he just stares. blinking hard. he’s trying to decide if he’s dreaming or if you actually just said the one thing that makes his cold little heart short-circuit. 

“you just said i turn you on.” 

you hum. “because you’re sweet and nice and warm like a light switch!!” 

“light switches aren’t warm. also, that means… something else.” 

“… like what.” 

he doesn't answer. he just drags a hand down his face and walks out of the room in pure emotional panic. 

he spends the next 30 minutes reading a psychology forum on whether you said it on purpose or if you're just a menace wrapped in sunshine. 

spoiler: he thinks you're both. and he's obsessed with you. 

itoshi sae

“sae, are you a good parking spot? because you’re hard to find… and i wanna put it in you 😚” 

sae spits out his drink. 

he blinks. once. twice. then stares at you. 

“… what did you say?” 

“you’re a good parking spot!” you repeat, smiling, “you know, rare. and everyone wants to find you.” 

“and put it in me?” 

“uh huh!! the car, duh!” 

he looks at you like you just committed treason. “you do realize people say ‘put it in’ in an entirely different context, right?” 

you freeze. “like… sex?” 

he nods solemnly. “exactly like that.” 

you shriek and fall backward off the couch while sae is just sipping his tea with the SMUGGEST grin ever. 

he’ll bring it up forever. at the most inappropriate times. 

“this place is crowded. might not be able to put it in.” 

you scream every time. 

nagi seishiro

“sei… do you like starbursts? because i’m gonna let you unwrap me 😋” 

nagi tilts his head. he’s laying on your lap and you just said the most sexually charged sentence known to man with the innocent tone of a cartoon bunny. 

“unwrap you… like a snack?” 

“yeah! like a candy 🥰” 

“you know you just told me to take your clothes off, right?” 

you blink. “wait. NO. THAT’S NOT– wait, IS THAT WHAT IT MEANS??” 

he rolls over to hide his grin. “too late, now i’m imagining it.” 

“sei–” 

“can’t unhear it. you said it. it’s law.” 

he starts looking up starburst-flavored body lotions. 

texts reo: “she said i can unwrap her. i think this is what love is.” 

mikage reo

“reo, if you were a vegetable… you’d be a cute-cumber! 🥒” 

he freezes. deadass mid-moisturizer. “… you said what?” 

“cute-cumber!!” 

“you said that to my face. in my skincare room. with GOD watching.” 

you pause. “wait… did it mean something else?” 

he goes to the urban dictionary. you read it. you gasp. “THAT’S ILLEGAL.” 

reo is dying laughing. “you thought you were being sweet. meanwhile, i just had a full-blown spiritual crisis.” 

starts writing it on sticky notes and putting them on the fridge. 

you walk into the kitchen: “stop putting ‘cute-cumber’ post-its next to your protein powder.” 

“i’m a man of pride.” 

shidou ryusei

“ryu… are you made of cake? because i wanna eat you from the inside out 😋🍰” 

shidou short-circuits. he yells. “HUHHHH??” so loud it scares the neighbor’s cat. 

he starts pacing. throws his shirt off. flops onto the couch like he’s in a romcom-induced coma. 

“no way. NO WAY YOU JUST SAID THAT.” 

you blink. “what? it’s a compliment! because you’re sweet!” 

he sits up. “baby…you just said you wanna devour me carnally.” 

“CARNALLY??” 

“YEAH!! like you want me for dessert in a porno.” 

you throw the popsicle stick at him. “I THOUGHT IT WAS ABOUT CAKE!!” 

he’s cracking up. recording this whole conversation for future blackmail. 

posts a story captioned: “she wants me like cake. i’m so back.” 

bachira meguru

“meguru… are you a campfire? because you’re hot and I want s’more 🏕️” 

bachira makes the most dramatic gasp. hands to his chest. “you wanna WHAT??” 

“have s’more of you!! like s’mores!! because you’re so warm and toasty and–” 

“NOPE. TOO LATE. i’m now imagining us naked in a tent.” 

“MEGURU STOP 😭” 

he immediately gets all giggly and chaotic, poking your cheek with a marshmallow. “you said it. i’m hot. and you want more of me. that means i’m the main course.” 

he starts calling you “campfire girl” and buys you a plush s’more with googly eyes on it. 

whispers “you want s’more, huh?” every time he pulls you into a hug. 

you live in a never-ending loop of regret. he lives in bliss. everyone else suffers. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[noomimi]

gojo knew there was a woman under that helmet.

he knew that those movements were too fluid, to precise, to calculated to be at the hands of a man. he had seen men fight, and they did not fight like you.

it was unheard of, forbidden even, for a girl to be a part of the seven holy knights. the sacred and esteemed title was usually bestowed upon the sons who came from noble families. in other words, families who could afford to have their boys trained from birth.

as second in line to take the throne gojo didn't care much for tradition and values. his brother was going to be king in a few years. why should he bother with the weighty and unnecessary rules that he's tied to?

so he spends the rest of his time, time delegated for learning calligraphy or studying neighboring relations, with his holy knights. and half that time he spends studying you.

the knights never take off their helmets; it's part of the secrecy and significance that they hold. but gojo has been holding a sword longer than he's been holding a pen, has strummed more bows than strummed instruments. he knows this, or at least, he used to.

maybe that's why he feels such deep animosity towards you.

unlike the other knights, you don't speak or jest. you don't answer, only grunt once or twice, depending on what you want to convey. you never groan when dealt a nasty blow, and never gloat when you win the upper hand.

which you always seem to do.

you best him in sword fighting, in knife fighting, in target shooting and bow making. you're better than everyone, in all honesty, and can kill and gut an animal faster than they can haul one up the hill. it's maddening, and gojo hates being bestedat for yet another thing.

and although he'd bet his titles on your secret, he would never tell anyone about it. a part of him liked wondering who you were, liked guessing what you looked like under all that armour.

he comes to dinners later, spends more time practicing in the courtyard. he snaps at the rest of the men, blinks the bite of sweat out of his eyes. he's groan restless in trying to become the best, trying to beat you.

which is probably why he didn't see where he was walking one night, exhaustion and aching joints causing his eye sight to blur and body to sway as he tried to make his way to back to his quarters, bumping into what he thought was a statue only to find out it was a real person instead.

"shit," he mtutered, hands reaching out to steady you up, "sorry, i wasn't paying attention."

you shook your head, bowing slightly at the young prince as you kept your eyes trained on the ground.

gojo wiped at his face, hoping this wouldn't become a problem for him in the morning, coming to mind that another servant complained about his recklessness.

"it's alright," you say quietly with a small smile, "happens to the best of us."

gojo squinted, nodding as he swayed once more, steadying himself on the wall. he briefly glanced at you, noting a new face. it wasn't uncommon around the grounds, especially with how much he's been missing.

"oh...you'd might like to get your wounds checked out, my prince," you tell him, worried eyes glancing over his bruises and scrapes, all at the hands of that lady knight who keeps churning him down.

gojo looked down at his arms and hands, turning them over as if seeing it for the first time.

"right, right, thank you," he says dismally, going to leave before you shake your head, pointing to the cut along his neck.

"this one?" you say, motioning to it on your own skin.

gojo looks at you, his eyes squinting a little bit as he gives you a tight smile. with everything going on he just wants some sleep, not to be pestered by some flirting maid.

"right," gojo says between his teeth, "thank you again."

you nod, bowing once more as you leave. gojo shakes his head in annoyance, making the journey back to his room as he mutters about what new strategy he could use the next time he combats his new rival.

when he finally settles down and gets off, discarding his dirty clothes, he pauses at the mirror, his fingers lightly grazing over his neck. the blood has dried off, the wound barely even there, but that's not what catches his attention.

odd, he wonders, how could you have seen his cut under such a high collar?

[noomimi]

[noomimi]

Imagine being Rafayel's non-mc significant other.

Imagine being his fiancé, one he was long destined to be with. The one he may have not chosen for himself but grew to accept and loved as time passed by. The two of you were perfect for each other even thought it did not started with love. The two of you have found peace and contentment with each other.

Imagine for years, you had believed that his silence was strength, his distance a habit, and lastly, his loyalty was none other than yours. Rafayel have always been some kind of distant to other people that does not capture his interest. Sassy to those whom he find troublesome and annoying. To yours, he was soft, he treated you with care and gentleness. But lately, something has changed.

Imagine trying to find Rafayel within the island, strange shape seashell all nested in your arms as you try to show it to him. It looks like he was need of a inspiration so you took the chance to give him the things that he often looked for, something you often saw him do as you trail behind him, letting him to all the work as he please. He looked down these past few days, often catching a glimpse of him staring at nothing. "No no no, not that one, this." "You really have a strange taste, Rafayel." He was with his bodyguard, MC.

Imagine you never really find it weird that he was in need of a bodyguard, after all the recent event, it does seemed valid that he needed someone to look after him in a more safely way. But then again, something was changing. "Shall I accompany you-?" "No, there is no need for you to be there. Ms. Bodyguard would be there with me." There was something, "Will you be visiting this week?" "Hmm, this week? I have a meeting with a client." "Will Thomas be with you?" "No, but Miss Bodyguard would be there with me." Something was changing. "Have you eaten yet? I have cook-" "Miss Bodyguard and I have already eaten out on our way home- is that my favorite?" "Well... yes, but it's alright, I'll just take it home with me." No, something had changed.

Imagine the way you notice things had changed. The way he laughs more with her, the way he relaxes in her presence, the way he reaches out to her without thinking. He never does that with you. You never thought in the first place he was capable of laughing like that. Nor could he let his guard down like that. And the way... The way he looks at her, he never looks at you like that. He never looks at you with such fondness, with such adoration, with such...

Imagine the way you tried to deny it. But the truth is, deep down. The moment you saw the two of them together you had already begin to piece it together. The quiet observation from afar, half finished sentences and moments you were never meant to witness. In the first play they aren't even trying to hide it, or maybe, they aren't even aware of what was going on between the two of them as if it was natural.

"Are you sure you don't want to see him before you go?" "Would that change anything?" There was nothing but silence. "I thought so.." You replied to yourself and look around the island for the last time. This house no longer feels like home. "You cannot heal in the same place you got sick." You added, looking into your friend. "Please don't look at me like that, I know what I'm doing." You smile sadly at her. "Then, shall we go?"

Imagine, once upon a time, you always thought you have found the right prince for your fairytale. Turns out you were trying to hold on to a love that was never truly yours to begin with. Because if it was yours to begin with, why does it felt like you meant nothing to him? After all this time? You were no longer the one his heart answers to... and maybe never was. In the end, you left. You left because sometimes, the right way to love is to leave.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: I wrote this on my notes while doing my research paper. Ngl, i don't think I'll be making a part two for any of the non mc imagines but we'll see.

[noomimi]

If I may make a request?

I saw your vampire reader x Anaxa fic and absolutely loved it! Would you be willing to do it the other way around? (with Anaxa being the vampire) lowkey obsessed with the idea of vampire Anaxa. I can just imagine him doing another wild experiment on himself again and accidentally turning himself into a vampire. So now his S/O takes care of him by letting him feed off them.

Also happy birthday!! Hope your day is wonderful!

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 l - i - licky - c - k - licky - y ! | anaxagoras x gender neutral reader

love mail — 🍒 ⨾ hiiii thank u for the bday wishes!! cw suggestive.. 🧘‍♀️ thank u anaxacannibalau for helping me w this when i asked lol ��️‍🩹 more vamp stuff coming eventually when i lock in.. also this was supposed to be short but i got carried away (*´▽｀)

coming home to your husband as a vampire should have been one of the things you had expected from the young genius, but you didn't. so now you've walked in on him draining a dead dove in the living room, how.. symbolic.

but he seemed to be relatively the same, just sharper teeth, red eyes, and far too much strength for him to need. oh, also the blood issue, that was always a concern.

you began unintentionally studying anaxa's behavior ever since he turned, taking down notes on things that may be helpful for research or understanding his new.. form. something of note was his reaction to his 'diet'.

animals and alike were working but anaxa never seemed to like them, not so big on their flavor and he always needed some sort of drink to 'wash away' the flavor, since he seemed much more relaxed after a glass of water. human blood bags were better, but he always grumbled that they were cold. never quite comparable to the real thing.

however something of note, was that the one and only time he fed on fresh blood, yours, was probably the best he had ever been. he was stronger, not at all crabby about it, and seemed to really like biting you. he got pretty into it until he could feel your pulse almost weakening, and immediately pulled away to care for you.

though since then, it seems he's trying to punish himself for almost 'killing' you. his vampiric urges won over his humanity, which almost scared him, he knew he still held great control compared to his bloodsucking kin. it still doesn't erase the fact he almost lost it, though, and has refused to drink from you ever since.

except you've always been a stubborn little thing, wouldn't be you without constantly worrying for his well-being, insisting he take the bite—to drain you, as if he's the victim. as if he didn't do this to himself and is just a helpless fledgling.

no, he was an intelligent man—with heightened senses and means of reading someone.

so yes, he could see right through your concern.

and yes, that means he knew your real intentions.

you wanted him to bite you, you were into it.

and by the titans he couldn't agree more.

even so, he still held some sort of restraint. whereas you began to wear much.. looser clothing around the house, exposing skin that was just soft to the bite, he stayed together.

till he didn't.

"titan forbid a man wants a little restraint around you." he huffed, pushing you down onto the bed firmly but not quite forcefully. "i want you safe," he says, making sure your head is comfortably rested on the pillows. "protected," one of your legs is lifted onto his adjacent shoulder to it. "but here you are. testing me like i'm some kind of hypothesis to study, do you really value yourself so little?"

breathless, you reply. "it isn't endangering myself if i know you wont hurt me."

seeing him looming over you, his eyes softly glow in the darkness of the room and there is nothing stopping him between the major vein behind your knee, and his teeth.

he then whispers quietly. "are you sure you trust me?"

"with my life, anaxa. with everything i am."

the chuckle he lets out shouldn't be attractive, but it very much is. especially with the fact he's leaning down to your thigh to bite.

"just tell me when it starts to hurt."

he presses a delicate kiss to your thigh, and you listen to the quiet hiss he lets out before biting.

while he could undoubtedly rip off the flesh from your bones, anaxa loves you too much to let his urges do so. and so he almost nibbles, and sucks on your thigh so gently you could mistake it for a kitten.

"mmgh." he grumbles, his brows furrowing as his eyes close shut—lost in the flavor of your blood, in you. but when is he not?

how is he supposed to ignore how pretty you are when you're forcing yourself to keep quiet, biting your bottom lip and making the prettiest noises. all while you still reach for his hand, for his comfort, which he's happy to give through reaching out to you and gently caressing your leg. "doing so well, dove. so well."

"an— anaxa— it hurts.."

then he's off just as quick as he bit, licking the mark and softly applying pressure to it. "good dove. now let your mind and body rest, i'll take care of you."

the most tender kiss is placed on the bite, slowly lowering your leg as his kisses trail upwards, all the way to your lips. "thank you, my sweet dove. sleep well."

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[noomimi]

Flinching at him prank with Michael Kaiser

You both were in the kitchen, kaiser was the specialist in this field of cooking but you were well.. let's just say not too good at it. Kaiser was teaching you to make red velvet cream cheese cookies! It wouldn't be so hard right?

"so instead of putting it at 100 degrees for fifteen minutes, can't we just put it 200 degrees for five minutes?" You asked, glancing at the mess on the counter of the kitchen in Kaisers house. Which had flour and milk spilled around. Kaiser let out a small sigh, "Sometimes.. I wonder how someone can be this stupid?" He deadpanned, cleaning up the mess at the same time.

Calling me stupid?! Who does he think he is?! I'm gonna prove him so wrong..

Hehe...

An idea popped into your mind.

His hand leaned up to the counter right behind your frame.

You flinched.

Not a small cute one, the big one.

Where your hands flew over to your face and your eyes squeezed shut.

You opened your eyes slowly when you saw how kaisers hand hovered right above your head for a moment, an expression of disbelief on his face.

"Why the fuck did you flinch?"

He asked, his voice wasn't mad or sad or whatever he was.. scared.

Scared that you might think of him as some abusive shit like his father.

He pulls his hand down slowly and looks at you, still in disbelief, waiting for a reply but nothing came. His breath died in his throat, he gently, so slowly placed both hands on your shoulder, "im sorry.."

You burst out laughing and he blinked in confusion.

"It was a prank, Misha!" You said between giggles. Kaiser got increasingly annoyed, his eye twitched but it slowly relaxed into a Small sigh and a soft smile, "Thank God." He whispered.

"Huhh? What was that?" You leaned closer, "I said... fuck off!!" Kaiser frowned.

[noomimi]

an omen perhaps