#DESPITE HAVING NO ABILITY TO JUMP

[flecks-of-stardust]

and that's all missions and expeditions goals done! fuck red lizards.

[fingertipsmp3]

Like ultimately staff can do what they want with this website. That’s their business. I just wish they’d stop pretending to care about their userbase while rolling out features basically nobody wants lmao

[the-kipsabian]

still trying to piece it together what kips agenda was back in the day when he tried to cost oc the title against qt out of all fucking people lmao

[yandere-3-sagau]

Yandere!SAGAU x Secret!Creator!Reader Part 3

Short Summary: You’re on the Crux and want to test the limits of your new abilities. While you’re on your way to Inazuma, more and more people become aware of your existence. characters: Venti, Xiao, Zhongli, Beidou, Kazuha warning(s): none word count: 2221

(Sorry i’ve been inactive. I stopped playing genshin but i’ve come back for my bby Neuvillette. i’m including him soon to this series hehe)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *.☽ .* : ✧.───

The Anemo Archon may be inactive, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t listening. As they always say, the wind carries words… even those meant to be kept secret.

Despite being a god that hasn’t shown himself to his people in ages, Venti is a lot more informed about his nation than most would think. And it’s not just his nation, but other nations as well.

So, when the wind carries the latest rumor to his ears, Venti drops the wine bottle he’s drinking. The glass shatters to the ground, the red liquid seeping into the wooden floors of Angel’s Share. Diluc groans, putting down the wine glass he was cleaning with a tired look on his face.

“Maybe it’s time you head home, Venti. It seems you’ve had too much to drink.”

Diluc’s words don’t seem to reach him as Venti’s aqua green eyes are widened in shock, his face unmoving. The red haired swordsman snaps his fingers in front of Venti’s face.

“You alright there?”

Venti snaps out of it, shaking his head. There’s a large smile on his face that he’s unable to wipe off.

“Yeah… it’s seems you’re right. I’ll be off, now.” He rushes out of Angel’s Share leaving Diluc bewildered at his speed.

“But you haven’t paid…” Diluc sighs, the words dying in his throat. He shakes his head at the Anemo Archon’s erratic behavior, red locks swaying.

As Venti exits the tavern, he jumps into the air and allows the wind to carry him, not caring who sees it.

His small frame is shaking with excitement over the new rumor… but he had to confirm it.

There have been countless times where the words he hears are false…but on the off chance that this new rumor is proven true, it would be groundbreaking.

So, Venti rides the current of the wind, directing it towards the neighboring nation of Liyue where the subject of the rumor was last spotted.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *.☽ .* : ✧.───

You’re shocked, seeing the almost love stricken gaze of the vigilant yaksha.

The curse word slips from your mouth but Xiao doesn’t bat an eye, too dazed.

When you finally regain your senses, you have no time to think about Xiao or how he even knows you’re the creator. All you know is that you’ve been discovered and that you need to get back on the Crux before Grandpa Fuyi wakes up and discovers you’re missing.

With that goal in mind, you close your eyes and try to concentrate, thinking of the lower deck of the Crux and Grandpa Fuyi.

Slowly, you open your eyes but immediately jump back, startled. Instead of the lower deck of the Crux, you’re faced with Xiao who has moved disrespectfully close to you.

Xiao’s body is moving on autopilot, subconsciously bringing himself closer as his mind is only filled with thoughts of you. He wanted in engrain the image of you so deep into his brain that he’d remember every detail even when he closed his eyes.

Your presence is so warm it feels like all of the pain he’s suffered has disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Even just the scent of you is so addicting that he’s unable to remain composed. No matter how disrespectful Xiao may seem for invading the creator’s personal space, the need to be near you overcomes any sense of shame he may have. When he notices your shock, he immediately bows his head down.

He can’t stop the tremble of his hands as he stands so close to you, his heart racing. If he just lifted an arm, he’d be able to touch you. He fights the urge with every bone in his body before speaking so quietly that you almost couldn’t hear him.

“I-I’m sorry! I just… I’ve only ever dreamed of meeting you… to think that you’re really here…”

You don’t notice the internal conflict Xiao is having, only feeling your anxiety rising. If Xiao is already aware of you, who knows who else has been informed of your “descension”.

“Listen, Xiao…” he shivers, hearing you call out his name. You’re heading to the exit, determined to find a hidden spot where you can try again to teleport.

“You may have confused me for someone else. I would love to stay and chat but I have some really serious business I need to attend to-“

“Your grace…”

The deep voice that cuts you off fills you with panic as you slowly turn your head and come face to face with the Geo Archon and the sole reason from your departure from Liyue. His tall stature blocks the only exit, hands twitching as his eyes rake all over you.

Zhongli’s long legs make wide strides over to you. He seems to have lost all reason now that he’s finally found you. That face… so filled with joy that it’s almost insane… it makes you shudder.

With deep fear and desperation, you squeeze your eyes shut.

The Crux, The Crux, The Crux…

Finally, you feel that familiar energy surge through you and you know you’ve succeeded. Zhongli and Xiao watch you disappear before their eyes, the Geo Archon’s hand stretched out to touch you before you vanish completely.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of a tea cup clashing against a table. When you open them again, you’re met with two sets of eyes that stare at you in shock.

In front of you, Kazuha and Beidou sit at a round table, the steam from a freshly made teapot slowly rising in the air as the room is filled with silence.

At least you made it to the Crux.

“Well, hello stranger. That’s quite the entrance you’ve made,” Beidou drawls. Her cheek rests upon her hands as she stares at you with interest.

You’re thinking of excuses to make when Kazuha decides to speak after staring at you for a while.

“You’re bleeding,” he says. Panicked, you look at your clothes for any indication of blood but you’re unable to see anything from the dark color of your clothes.

“N-No, I’m not…” you lie, trying to play it off.

“You are… and it must be a lot since I’m able to smell it all the way from here.”

Of course, you know he’s right. The pain is still there since it hasn’t been that long since you were shot and you’re not exactly an expert at patching wounds.

“Why don’t I help you,” Beidou says. “In exchange for the secret on that little entrance you made.” The leader of the Crux steps closer to you causing you to take a step back.

“No, that’s fine! I’m just passing by. My grandpa is on the lower deck and he’s recovering from a heart attack so I really need to-“

With speed faster than you could even comprehend, Kazuha’s hand grips your wrist tightly, preventing you from leaving.

“You’re too suspicious to let go… state your purpose or we’ll have no choice but to treat you as an enemy.”

Beidou sighs, walking over and patting his shoulder as if telling him relax.

“Give them a break, Kazuha. Can’t you see they’re injured? At least patch them up before you start your interrogations.”

You have half the mind to teleport but their movements are so fast, you’re unable fight back. Within the blink of an eye, your hands are bound and you’re seated on a stool as Beidou lifts your shirt to inspect the wound on your back.

Her eyes widen, seeing the messy cloth stained with golden blood. Her hands pull back so fast it’s as if she was burned. Her ruby red eyes snap to look up at the back of your head.

“The creator…”

Kazuha studies you, his face blank but you can see the surprise in his eyes. Both of them take a step back, as they stare at you in silence.

Unexpectedly, it’s the calmest reaction you’ve witnessed so far.

“What brings the creator aboard my humble ship?” Beidou asks, forcing her voice to stay steady as if a big shot… no… the big shot of Teyvat isn’t bound to a chair on her ship.

You sigh. This is the exact reason you wanted to avoid being discovered.

“I wasn’t lying when I said my grandpa is on the lower deck.”

“The grandpa of the creator…”

“Well, adoptive grandpa… but you know, same thing.”

“You’re heading to Inazuma? What for?”

“…vacation.”

Beidou’s hands move back to you this time, asking permission before touching you. You nod your head allowing her to untie you. She then carefully lifts your shirt and removes the wraps to assess the extent of damage. As you twist your head to look at it, you realize it looks a lot less worse than before.

“Who was stupid enough to attack the creator…” Beidou asks but Kazuha nudges her.

“We tied them up… and threatened them,” he says quietly. As if realizing the severity of their actions, Beidou flinches.

“We greatly apologize, your grace. I hope you can understand us. We were just taking precautions to ensure the members of the ship are safe.”

You nod your head, not thinking anything of it. Beidou helps you patch it up and you wince, feeling the stinging pain.

“I will accept your apology… as long as neither of you speak a word of me being here. Don’t tell anyone what you saw or heard. Act as if you’ve never met me.”

You can sense their confusion. They want to ask you why but they stay silent, only nodding at your request. After Beidou patches you up, you immediately leave to the lower deck of the Crux.

The two of them bow their heads down respectfully, waiting until you are completely out of earshot before speaking.

“You’re gonna keep the creator’s secret, right Beidou?”

“…we’ll see how much mora someone offers me for it.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *.☽ .* : ✧.───

The pupils of Zhongli’s eyes shake as he stares at the spot you had just disappeared from.

When Zhongli had arrived at Wangshu Inn, he immediately recognized the scent he found back at the house he discovered. Like a hound, he followed the scent to the top of the inn and when he saw you… his whole world froze.

Unlike when he first met you back at the stall, he knows exactly who you are. This time, he was able to truly take you in.

Staring at the full glory of the creator, illuminated by the warm glow of candles, Zhongli thought that you were more than he could have ever imagined. For the first time in his thousands of years of life, he was completely awestruck.

He forced himself to steady his voice, quietly clearing his throat before speaking. But just as he called out to you, just before he was able to feel you, you vanished.

Zhongli feels as if the coldest of waters was suddenly poured all over him. His breath hitches and the emptiness of his hand physically pains him.

You disappeared. No… you ran away. From him.

It wasn’t obvious before, but Zhongli is sure of it now. You are running away from him.

Your stall that had been opened for months closed just after you had met him, and now. The moment you heard his voice and the second he almost touched you, you left.

The former Geo Archon feels his heart clench up. He slowly turns to Xiao. The intensity of Zhongli’s stare sends a shiver down the Yaksha’s spine.

“You… why was the creator here? When did they arrive? How come you didn’t tell anyone?”

“I-I’m not sure… From what I can remember, I was just thinking of them and suddenly, they appeared. They were only here for less than five minutes.”

The creator appeared for Xiao when he thought of them… but disappeared when Zhongli came.

The ground rumbles beneath them and the walls of the inn begins to shake. The two can hear the guests of the inn start to panic.

“Earthquake!” someone shouts.

Zhongli takes a deep breath and suddenly the rumbling stops. Still, the words keep circling in Zhongli’s head.

The creator appeared for Xiao.

Why? he thinks. There’s not a single second since he’s been aware of your descension where Zhongli is not thinking of you. For longer than Xiao had even been alive, Zhongli prided himself on being the most loyal acolyte of yours. With how much of his being that Zhongli devotes solely to you… why would you appear for Xiao and not him?

Are you unsatisfied with him? Was there something he did?

Just tell him, he thinks. Instead of running away and leaving him in the agony of uncertainty, just tell him what he did.

Does he need to prove himself to you?

Zhongli is more than willing to prove himself. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to repent and prove himself worthy if the reward is your presence. He’s spent thousands of years devoting himself to you and he’ll worship you til the day he dies.

So now that you’ve finally descended, he doesn’t care if he has to chase you around all of Teyvat. Whether it’s stealing his gnosis back from the Tsaritsa and becoming Morax once more or defeating all the archons of the other nations to prove himself worthy, nothing will deter Zhongli from gaining your acceptance.

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[hazbinwhoree]

Guardian Angel

Part 1/3 Part 2

A/N: Starting a series where f!reader is the child of a demon and a human and Adam’s been tasked with keeping an eye on her. Please leave requests!

“It has recently come to my attention that a demon and a human have reproduced,” Sera announced. 

Adam cocked an eyebrow. “No shit. For real?”

“The spawn is already grown. So far she hasn’t caused any trouble so I do not see the need for actions further than simply keeping an eye on her.”

“Okay and what does that have to do with me?” Adam asked, taking a long sip from his drink.

“You’re going to watch her.”

Adam spit out his drink. “Sorry, what?”

“You’re going to be her guardian angel,” Sera smirked. Adam’s jaw dropped idignantly. “Do I have to?” He whined.

“Yes.”

That’s how Adam found himself on Earth, stalking some random demon/human hybrid.

Although despite his apathy, she wasn’t just some random, a demon/human hybrid was almost unheard of. She was the third documented instance of that happening.

But as far as he could tell, she led a boring, painfully bleak life. Adam almost felt bad for her. She seemed really depressed. But his job was getting boring. Her routine was always the same. Work, sleep, eat, shower. It seemed that the hybrid was completely unaware of her origin and the powers she possessed. It made Adam’s job easy. Easy and boring.

He started fucking with her, using his ability to be invisible to the human eye in order to fuck with things in her apartment to mess with her head.

One day, while her roommate was out, she stood in the middle of her room, staring at nothing. “Come out you annoying fuck!” She called out. It took Adam by surprise. “I know someone is here,” she hissed. “And you’ve been fucking with me, and it’s pissing me off, and I know you’re here right now, so show yourself!”

Adam debated for a moment. Sera had just said to watch over her, she’d never said it had to be no contact. In fact, Adam was pretty sure Sera would prefer he try to bring the hybrid to the light, but she chose the wrong angel for that task.

Tired of watching her while she was unawares, Adam let himself appear to her. He appeared behind her, just to fuck with her one more time. She turned and jumped, and Adam snickered. To his surprise, she recovered rather quickly.

“What the fuck are you?”

Adam was once again taken aback, and then offended. “I’m an angel, babes, could you not tell by the halo and wings?”

“Well you look like a demon," she replied.

Adam scoffed indignantly. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you! Who are you and why have you been following me?”

“I’m Adam. Like, first man ever, Adam.”

“Wow, I’m so impressed.”

“And who the fuck are you, bitch?”

“Shouldn’t you know that since you’ve been following me?”

Adam was seething. “Yeah well I didn’t give enough of a shit to remember your name when Sera told me.”

The hybrid narrowed her eyes. Adam narrowed his. The attitude on this bitch! He hadn’t seen such life in her in the weeks he’d been watching her. He definitely didn’t enjoy seeing her come to life like this. Totally not (he did).

“Well you might as well tell me cause you’re stuck with me now that you can see me.” Adam smirked.

She huffed. “(Name). I’m (Name). Why am I stuck with you?”

“Because my job is to follow you, babe, orders from the Seraphim herself.”

“But why?”

Adam thought about fucking with her for a moment, before spitting out the truth. “Because you’re a Cambion, and Cambions are dangerous.”

(Name) blinked at him. “The fuck is a Cambion?”

“A demon/human love child.”

“What, so you’re saying one of my parents is a demon and I’m like, half a demon?”

“Basically.”

They stood in silence for a moment while (Name) processed this information.

“So,” Adam broke the silence. “What’s for dinner?”

[diejager]

Hi! In your Only Human AU what would happen if TF 141 + König and Horangi go into a something like a “rut”? Or is that possible in this universe? If it is would they ask Y/N for help? If possible can it be in the form of a Drabble🥺?

Rut Cw: rut/heat cycles, mention of sex, possessive behaviour, obsessiveness, mention of knotting, implied smut, tell me if I missed any.

Ruts were odd phenomenons, it reduced hybrids and monsters to desperate and horny men, clinging onto the person they considered their mate for relief and pleasure. Some hybrids had ruts, like canid and felid shifters or shifters in general, a monthly cycle that incapacitated them. Others were luckier, having a few ruts per year, sometimes once every few month or once a year; these could range from a dragon to a harpie or from a percht to a gorgon. There, however, were some exceptions, spectral beings and the undead were without ruts, their body long dead and able to function without it, yet they could impregnate and be impregnated as any other hybrid and monster could. They suffered from bouts of occasional arousal, little flares of pleasure when faced with a situation that turned them on or by strong emotions towards someone or something.

You were unfortunately enough to be thrown into a group of rutting hybrids - with the sole exception of Ghost - unprepared and without a forewarning on how to deal with them. You had to deal with a clingy werewolf, howling at the moon and whining in utter heartbreak because you told him off for humping your leg in the rec room, huffing and gasping down your neck. A hissing and possessive tiger, stalking you down the halls and jumping you whenever you were alone to ravage you against the wall, mouthing and nipping at your neck, making sure his scent would stick over the wolf and nagual musk. And a protective nagual, looming over you like a shadow, arm slung around your shoulder and ready to start a fight with the other shifters if they tried masking his scent.

Luckily, their ruts never overlapped, it might’ve been a fortunate coincidence, but one that you wouldn’t take for granted. You had a schedule drawn up in the first year after they accepted you into their pack, Soap’s was always after the full moon, the silver disk being the catalyst to his urge; Horangi had his in the later days of each month, oftentimes beginning on the last day of the werewolf’s rut; and Alejandro took the first week of the month, starting slowly on the third or fourth day and ramping up on the following day.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t put in consideration for the others. Price, Gaz and König also had their moments in the yearly cycle, falling victim to the throes of instinctual need. You thanked your lucky star that Gaz rutted once or twice a year - thrice on rare accounts - with little to no change in his character. He might’ve been more hands, wanting to keep a hand around your waist, to give you soft and loving kisses on your lips as much as he did on your cheek, nose and forehead.

Price and König were a handful, one hoarded you to his office and had you follow him wherever he went, and the other was deathly possessive and deep into his instincts. König was on the extreme side of his type, breaking out nearly six to seven times a year, stuck mid shift with broader shoulders, red eyes and a monstrous appearance, and he had half the mind to stay considerate to other. A danger stumbling on two feet. Price was the medium, a perfect balance with three or four ruts yearly and a the self control to let you go if the situation demanded it. Despite his self-control, he was still a dragon, controlling and possessive, ordering you to come straight back to him whether or not you were knotted to Soap or Rudy was balls deep inside of you.

Despite Rudolfo being considered a monster, he was simply a human with the ability to control cadejos, as vulnerable and as resilient as one. And being human meant that he got aroused, coaxing you into his room for the night and taking care of the heat brewing between your legs. Much like Rudy, Ghost retained his bodily function - human wise - and came back as a monster, but he was a stranger to ruts, scoffing at the neediness and vulnerability of one. That, however, never stopped him from indulging in his sexual kinks and dark fetishes, having you as the subject of his exploration if no one else hit their cycles.

They were a handful, from Soap’s mutt-like character to Rudy’s calm demeanour, they had you exhausted, wringing you dry and panting, always ending up face down or backed against the wall. You were grateful - truly - that the others would willingly jump in and take over for you, helping whoever it was spend his rut. Now, you’d have to redraw your calendar, tired and clinging to your bed to stand up.

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[tragedybunny]

Something Like Love - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion has failed to seduce you, but even so, a bond has begun to grow between the two of you. It all comes to a head when Astarion almost loses you.

You infuriated Astarion. At first it was because stopping to help every person you happened upon was delaying dealing with his problems. Now that you had been traveling together for some time, not only were these little side adventures a delay, but you didn’t seem to be careful about how much they took out of you and how tired they left you. Even your other companions didn’t seem to care, letting you agree to solve every problem that you came upon and even adding to the pile.

But not him. Astarion was always right there at your side with a glare and a snapping refusal, which you’d usually brush off, but at least he tried. The rest of them just smiled and nodded, without noticing the circles under your eyes, or how slow you moved some mornings, or how thin you’d gotten. Protector wasn’t a position he normally found himself in, but you were different, you were kind to him, without expecting anything in return, as far as he could tell anyway. The two of you hadn’t even slept together, not for lack of trying on his part. The couple times he’d tried you firmly refused, and yet somehow you stayed kind to him, even still offering him your blood. In fact you didn’t seem to want anyone in camp. That was also exasperating. How could he expect your continued kindness, and protection which he desperately needed, without repayment? And what was he better at than sex?

So he resolved he’d give you whatever small gestures he could. Whenever you tore an item of clothing, he’d mend it at first chance. When the group made camp for the night, he always made sure your tent was up first, in whatever spot you wanted, and helped you pack when it was time to move on. Every battle, he stood at the backline with you while you cast spells, aiming arrows at anyone who got too close to you, his first priority keeping you safe. And he still tried to keep you from overextending yourself, despite no one ever listening to him. Which had led to the shouting match with Halsin earlier. Well it wasn’t really a shouting match, the Druid had remained frustratingly placid in the face of Astarion’s blustering. He’d already been vocally unhappy about looking for this Thaniel or whatever, but you’d found him, and still Halsin asked more. “We need to worry about Thorm, we don’t have time to keep bothering with this!”

“Curing the land could help break Thorm’s hold. I know you all don’t owe it to me.” Gods why did he ask like that, all humble and dissembling. You would cave to that for sure,

“You’re right, we don’t.”

“But…”

“Hells, can’t you see how much all of this is taking out of her!” Astarion had exploded, voice loud enough that some of your other companions jumped.

“It’s fine Astarion,” you’d gently placed a hand on his arm, “let’s finish this.”

With a frustrated growl, he’d yanked his arm away, regretting the hurt on your face. “Fine.”

That all led to this moment, you’d fended off the creatures summoned by the corrupted spirit, and Astarion watches as you calmly approach it. Speaking softly, your words soothe it, and he could see it starting to trust you. As always, you amaze him with your ability to solve things with your words, but he feels a twinge of something else, a want for something like those kind words that fell from your lips so easily. The spirit vanishes and Astarion finally feels a bit of relief it seems over. That is until your knees give way and you collapse to the jagged paving stones beneath you.

He's at your side instantly, a scream tearing itself from his throat. “Somebody fucking help her.”

Shadowheart js the first to respond, hands peeling away the light armor you wear, revealing gashes left by one of those shadow creatures that had gotten close. Teeth bite down into his lip to hold back a sob, he hadn’t even noticed, he’d failed the one duty he had. That ire finds a new target easy enough though, as Halsin attempts to join Shadowheart in tending to you. He’s barely started to kneel next to you when Astarion lunges, hissing and fangs flashing. “No you stay the fuck away from her, this is your fault!” For a second his face falls with guilt, but Astarion is in no state for empathy, all blame now on the Druid in his mind.

Hands fight to grab hold of him, to get close enough to tear his thick throat out. A pair of strong arms wraps around his waist, pulling him back from his murderous goal. “Easy Fangs, she’ll be alright,” Karlach tries to reassure him.

He struggles against her iron hold, still flinging curses and furious words. “That’s not the point, this shouldn’t have happened. But no one wanted to listen to me, none of you selfish idiots care when you’re asking too much!”

That was it, they’d all turn on him now, especially without you aware enough to defend him. To his surprise, Karlach just holds him slightly tighter, and keeps whispering that it was going to be fine. Wyll comes over to lay a hand on his shoulder, face stoic. "Shadowheart has this.”

At least Halsin has stepped back, expression troubled. Good, let him suffer. A spell glows in Shadowheart’s hands, suturing back together your skin, and your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, for a moment before closing again. Karlach wisely releases him, leaving him free to hover over you and ward off Halsin as he takes a hesitant step toward you. He’d be damned if anyone else was carrying you, the lot of them were untrustworthy. Reverently, he leans down, taking you in his arms, and lifting you from the ground. Gods, you were so small, there was almost nothing to you. How did you seem so imposing most of the time?

Silently, the group makes it’s way back to camp, Astarion holding tightly to you the whole way. When they reach the cluster of tents, he goes straight to yours to lay you down gently in your blankets. Turning back to the rest of the party he snarls in their direction. "All of you better stay the hells out of this tent until she's properly healed," he snaps the tent flap shut and wishes he had a door to slam on their faces.

Sitting down next to you, he pulls your hand into his and tried to forget about the stinging in his eyes. "You're going to be alright Darling. You have to be."

For hours he sits there, hand holding yours, waiting, watching your chest rise and fall, the reassurance he hadn’t lost you. Losing you, he can’t even fathom it. His protector, companion, he'd even go so far as to say friend. Even if you didn't notice how he was always at your side whenever you stayed up to launder your clothes, or how you never took a turn to cook alone, or how he was always walking right next to you on the road.

You sigh in your sleep and he feels a tug in that place that sometimes wonders if you could be more than friends. Which was stupid, you hadn't even wanted sex with him. Besides, what you already gave him was more than he deserved considering what he had been planning after sleeping with you.

Finally, exhausted, he drifts into meditation, still holding onto you, until your sleep heavy voice pulls him out of it. "Astarion?"

His eyes are wide immediately and without a second thought, he throws himself into your arms, nuzzling into your neck. "You're awake." Then he starts crying like an idiot; ugly, undignified sobs against your skin. "I was worried," he tries to explain leaping on you and his ridiculous tears.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you." You put your arms around him, accepting him without question, like always.

"You silly, silly girl, you were the one that almost died. Don't apologize to me." He's trying desperately to stop bawling uncontrollably.

"I know, but I don't like to see you upset." Ever so lightly, he can feel your hand brushing through his hair.

"Why," he's managed to get himself somewhat under control, but doesn't move from where you've let him lay. "Why are you like this? Always giving, even when it's too much for you?"

You hesitate for a moment. "Because I care about you."

"You do," he asks, unwilling to let himself believe what he's heard.

"Well, I care about everyone," of course he should've realized, "but I care about you a very great deal, Astarion."

Astarion freezes, the words leaving warmth in that secret place inside that he's been trying to keep from himself and you. "I don't understand."

"I see you. I see how hard you try and how far you've come, and how much you try to do for me." There's a smile in your voice and impossibly he thinks it has something to do with him.

"Why didn't you say anything?" His hand searches yours out and your fingers interwine.

"I didn't think you were ready to hear it. But today it was almost too late to tell you." You've placed both of your hands over your chest and he can feel your heartbeat.

"I…I don't know how I feel." Inwardly, he quails, worried that will drive you. "But this is nice."

"It's alright Astarion, there's no rush to this." Impulsively, he leans up to leave a feather light kiss on your cheek, grateful for you in ways he can't understand.

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: loser!jungkook, sub!jungkook, softdom!reader, oral (f receiving), mentions of blowjob, etc.

part 1, part 2

wc: 1709

a/n: the comeback of loser!jk<3

masterlist

"we should- mhph!," he gasped when you interrupted him with yet another kiss, attempting to speak again when your lips barely disconnected, "we should stu-" unfortunately for him, your lips did not stray too far.

you had no interest in holding any type of conversation right now. not when the pretty nerd was alone in your room for the third time this week.

surprisingly, despite your lack of ability to pay attention while jungkook was over at your place, your grades had still gone up. on the down side, this small improvement proved to be enough for your horny brain to make the executive decision that it'd be a waste to spend any more time studying when you could be playing with your pretty boy toy instead.

jungkook never had any complaints. even on the days you did study, you'd bid him goodbye by sitting on his cock and kissing up and down the length of his neck. he always left quite satisfied, though also dizzy with desire.

the sudden addiction you had with the boy couldn't have been helped. it was impossible for you to understand how he didnt have all the girls on campus trailing after him. he was clearly handsome, just incredibly shy. his shyness was so severe, he had trouble holding eye contact with anyone who spoke to him, only ever responding in incomprehensible stammers of nonsensical sentences.

you were more than fine to work with this. you knew it'd only take a while for him to warm up to you, and you were happy to patiently wait. the two of you sometimes conversed, getting to know each other past the math and the sex. he had already warmed up to you quite a bit, able to push his shyness aside for you. you'd break all that down any time you removed your shirt and propositioned yourself to him, but that was just to be expected.

as of now, your midterms were over and you felt no need to study for regular assignments despite jungkook's insistence. this meant you had all the time in the world to rearrange your tutoring sessions to fuck him instead. even as he attempted to form a single sentence, your tongue would find its way to his mouth, interrupting any thought that might break you away from his touch.

"i ... we're supposed to study at least a bit," he reminded you with a breathless tone as your lips went to his neck.

"don't wanna, baby. wanna fuck you instead. don't you want that too?", you whispered when you made your way to his ear, nibbling at it suggestively.

nodding feverishly, his eyes began fluttering shut, hands lamely digging into your hips like they usually did, "if- if you're sure."

you chuckled at his statement. you never had any second thoughts about fucking jungkook. he was a pretty nerd and former virgin whom you had the power to mold into the perfect boy for you. how could you ever pass out such an opportunity?

"i'm sure, pretty," you reassured as your hands went to pull up his shirt, yours joining soon after.

now sitting on his lap, top halves nude, you got up before his eyes could zero in on your breasts, throwing off your pants and helping him out of his own. unlike other times, you did not sit back down on his lap, instead opting to sit on the bed next to him, letting yourself fall back as your legs hung off the side of the bed.

looking up at him, you gestured at him to get off the bed with a quick flick of your eyes. the way he quickly understood and went to kneel between your legs made you chuckle. he was such a smart boy.

to this day, the pretty boy had never eaten you out. the extent of your sexual relationship only went as far as penetrative sex thus far. no oral had been involved for some reason – likely due to your need to jump him every time you saw him.

what you wanted most today was to claim your high on his tongue. you needed the pretty boy between your legs, struggling to lick into your cunt and fumbling to find your clit. you knew that with some guidance you'd easily get his skills at oral perfectly tailored to your tastes. that was the nicest part of having a pretty and untouched boy such as jungkook – you could teach him everything just the way you liked it.

staring up at you with his gigantic doe eyes, his brows furrowed in worry, likely unsure of what to do next whilst simultaneously intimidated by such a suggestive position. your fingers went to his chin, lifting up his face whilst yours lowered to almost meet in a kiss. a pretty whine was felt against your lips when you moved away just before your lips could connect.

"pretty?"

"yes?", a gulp accompanied his inquiry.

"will you be good and lick me?"

a groan left his lips before he began nodding dumbly, practically whining as he confirmed his enthusiasm.

"please ...", he whimpered when you created a larger gap between you, grabbing onto his hair and pushing his face into your bare cunt.

opening your legs wider, you led the pretty boy almost all the way to your pussy, stopping right before letting his lips touch your own.

"tongue out, baby," you instructed.

wordlessly, he followed your instructions as his hands went up to your thighs for support. he gave you a decided nod before leaning in and shyly licking into your cunt. groaning against you, he licked experimentally once, twice, thrice – enough times for his resolve to break and for his shyness to be replaced by want.

your hands continued to guide him by his hair, grinding into his mouth in sync with the movement of his lips. it was easy to fall into a trance while the desperate boy ate at you. it was as if he'd had prior practice, except you knew that wasn't the case. jungkook was clearly just letting his hunger take over, leading to an ethereal feeling you knew only jungkook could give you.

"kookie ... oh, fuck," you cried out, fingers digging harshly into his hair.

he reacted accordingly, groaning at both your voice and the feeling of his hair getting pulled at. his hips were also uncontrollable as they ground into the side of the bed, pathetically humping in hopes of some stimulation.

as he ate at you with an unprecedented desperation, he let out the prettiest whimpers and pleas against your cunt, leaving you lightheaded at how needy he was for you.

"it's so good ... fuck, so good. thank you- thank you, oh, fuck ...."

"tastes so fucking good, oh god ...."

"it's for me? fuck, tell me it's mine. t-tell me it's all for me, please ..."

"oh, thank you thank you thank you thank you ..."

encouraging him, you claimed him as yours, telling him how good he was and how you'd give him anything he wanted. he cried even more at this, continuing to thank you for granting him access to your cunt. you knew he meant this in both a sexual and emotional way, which only made you feel even dizzier.

a few minutes into jungkook sloppily making out with your cunt, you pulled him away a bit (despite his resistance), making him look up at you.

under you, you found foggy glasses, messy hair, and half his face covered in your wetness. and even with all that, he looked like the prettiest thing you'd ever had between your legs. he whined the moment you separated him, attempting to reconnect his lips with your cunt, but you remained stubborn.

"baby, you're doing so good for me," you wiped a bit at his lips, though he misinterpreted your intentions, instead taking your fingers into his mouth and suckling.

he was a natural at being a needy mess.

"need you to play with my clit, though, pretty. c'mere, like this. let me show you ..."

with your fingers, you showed him where he'd find your clit, instructing him to stick out his tongue for you again and kitten-lick at it. he went the extra mile and began suckling at it after just a few moments, making your eyes roll back and your toes curl.

going back and forth between licking at you and suckling at your clit, his intensity only increased the more you cried out for him, beginning to hump against his face with zero finesse. the squeaks of the bed could be heard as he himself bumped his cock against it, whimpering into your cunt out of neediness.

"g-gonna make me cum, kookie ... oh, fuck, i- i'm gonna cum, pretty. eat it f-for me? p-please?"

you hadn't planned on becoming so needy for him, but you also hadn't planned for him to be such a quick learner. he simply nodded into your cunt, speeding up his movements as he grumbled against your lips, clearly growing desperate to make you reach your high.

this was easily one of the most intense, neediest orgasms you'd ever had. your voice reached a pitch it never had before as you shamelessly used jungkook's face to get off. at some point his nose began nudging against your clit, almost causing you to black out in pleasure. by the end of it you had been singlehandedly doing all the work whilst jungkook let you guide his face however you wanted.

"fuck ... kookie," you breathed once your high subsided, "c'mere, baby."

climbing up the bed, he hovered over you, shy in initiating a kiss but putting his all into it the moment he realized how into it you were, suckling your juices out of his tongue and moaning into his mouth.

"was ... was it good?", he murmured into your neck once your lips had disconnected.

"it was so good, baby. you're such a quick learner," you caressed his back reassuringly, ignoring the hardness poking against you for a moment.

"want me to try it on you?" you asked, chuckling when he suddenly stilled.

"o-oh ... you want to?"

"lay on the bed, kookie. let me show how good it feels," you grinned at him, knowing you were about to blow his mind yet again.

[atlabeth]

too sweet

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: a night out makes hotch realize a few too many things.

a/n: me??? writing for criminal minds again out of nowhere??? what is going on. and i do not have an answer i was just in a hotch mood bc he's fine asf and i finally have the confidence to write for him here we are lol. hope u enjoy this short lil thing

wc: 2.4k

warning(s): alcohol consumption, a sexual joke or two, written in one go so might be a mess! aaron is all in his head but this is basically all fluff

Hotch can’t focus. 

Mostly because he can’t stop glancing over at you. Normally it’s not a problem—he’d lost count of how many times he’d distracted himself from mounds of paperwork by meeting your eyes through his office window, often accompanied by a smile that made even his heart beat a little faster—and especially now, it shouldn’t be a problem. 

You and Derek have had some kind of bet going on during the past few nights out—you didn’t believe he was as charming and suave as he claimed, and Morgan was all too happy to prove you wrong.

You bet that he couldn’t get at least five numbers every night, and come last Thursday, Morgan took the win at the end of the evening with a smile on his face. As punishment, the first round of their next night out was on you. 

And that’s nice, sure. Hotch is always thankful that his team can still joke around and have fun with each other despite everything they have to deal with each day. He hopes they keep the light in their eyes as long as possible, especially the younger ones. He’s fine with being the stick in the mud, the one who never smiles, the iron willed chief that scares local uniforms.

Hotch is not so fine with the way he feels right now. 

It’s a busy night at the bar, which is understandable. Hotch is sure half the precinct is out alongside them, celebrating the BAU finally solving the case that had torn them to shreds over the past week. You, Reid, and Garcia put the threads together an hour into scouring through evidence, and the unsub was cuffed before noon. 

Certainly something to celebrate—there’s a reason the whole team agreed to go out tonight and leave tomorrow. Even Rossi decided to join when he learned you would be buying, but he’s already abandoned them in favor of catching up with some old friends. Hotch even thinks they might have another round in their future because of their solve, courtesy of the local chief. They had a long night ahead of them. 

But you haven’t gotten the drinks yet, and Hotch wonders how long it’ll take even after you do. Because some officer is trying to talk you up, and you’re smiling and laughing along and giving him every bit of your attention. 

Hotch recognized him the moment he set eyes upon him, even in plain clothes. He’s some joke of an officer from the station, and he’s been trying to get your number—or even just get your attention—throughout their whole visit. Always sidling up to you during debriefs, specifically giving you any information or evidence he finds—Hotch has overheard him asking for your number more than once. 

Hotch has been so focused on the case he’s not even sure if you’ve rejected him or not, and the mere thought is enough to annoy him. If he wasn’t equally as sure of your ability to defend yourself and afraid of overstepping with you, he would have stepped in. 

But it makes sense. The officer is young and handsome, you’re young and pretty—not to mention you have a way of lighting up any room you step into. Hotch spent the whole first month of your employment wondering why you would want to do a job like this. He’s spent the rest of it thankful that you did. 

You’re sharp as a whip, naturally, but you’ve also done wonders for the team atmosphere. It’s hard to feel down with a smile like yours beaming his way. The job weighs you down like it does everyone, but you still manage to lift everyone’s spirits on the jet ride back before they jump into the next case. It’s impressive. 

It’s also trouble. You’ve been part of the BAU for almost two years now, and Hotch has spent just as much time tearing his eyes away from you as he has working. It’s wrong, and it’s wholly inappropriate in terms of your working relationship—he’s your boss, for god’s sake. 

But sometimes, Hotch will be beating himself up over one thing or another on a case, and you’ll plant yourself in his vicinity and refuse to leave until you’ve helped him work through it. If you ever tire of the FBI, he thinks you have a second calling as an elementary school teacher. 

Sometimes the hotel they’re staying at will have truly shitty coffee, worse than they’re used to at the BAU, and you’ll already be in the lobby with a tray full of the team’s orders. Hotch never recalls telling you his order—you just figured it out, and you remembered it. 

Sometimes his gaze will drift your way, and he’ll find you already staring at him. You look away just as quickly as he does, and it makes him wonder. 

Hotch has made a living off of studying the behavior of others. More often than not, he finds himself profiling his co-workers just out of instinct. His job is to know what others are thinking. 

But god. When it comes to you, Hotch doesn’t think he’s ever felt more unsure in his life. Especially when you look at him the same way he wants to for weeks, then act nothing but proper another day; when you fall asleep against his shoulder on the jet one night and entertain some desk jockey another night. 

It makes him feel like a highschooler again, trying to figure out if Haley really liked him or if she was just playing around, and it’s more embarrassing than it should be. Especially when he’s still dealing with the lingering emotions from the divorce. 

“Hotch.” JJ’s voice is enough to break him out of his trance, and he blinks as he turns to her. At least someone paid him the mercy to dispel his thoughts, even if only for a temporary time. 

“What?” 

“Did you hear a single word I said?” she asks, a slight smile curving on her lips. 

“Of course,” he responds. “The chief’s over there talking with the commissioner. He’s the same guy who made your life difficult the last time we were in Milwaukee.” 

JJ’s eyebrows shoot up, and she nods. “I didn’t think you were listening.” 

“I think he just got lucky,” Morgan cuts in, his gaze darting over to you momentarily. “I think you were too focused on our drinks.” 

Reid frowns. “I don’t think he was focused on the drinks. He’s—” 

“Just making sure they’re still coming,” Hotch interrupts, and he straightens his tie. Today really has been a long one—usually, he’s better at covering these things up. “And I wasn’t lucky. I was listening.” 

“Trust me,” Morgan says with a laugh, “I’m watchin’ her until I’ve got a glass in my hand. She’s not getting out of this after the way she bragged this whole month.” 

“The stupidest thing to make a bet on,” Prentiss remarks, “especially with you.” 

“She said she just wanted to prove you wrong,” Reid contributes. “She thinks you’re too cocky.” 

Morgan grins. “It’s not cocky if you can back it up.” 

Hotch’s attention goes back to you, and you’ve finally gotten their drinks. You’re loading them onto a tray like you’re the bartender yourself, and his brows crease. Maybe he should have gone up with you. 

“Do you think she needs help?” he asks. How obvious is too obvious? Why does it feel like his brain only works at half power whenever it comes to you? 

“She’ll be fine,” Prentiss says. “And if she needs it, that guy talking her up can help.” 

“Jason Rodriguez,” Reid remarks. “He hung around her the whole time we were trying to pinpoint a location, and he wasn’t any help, which makes sense because he's practically desk-bound at the precinct. I’m surprised she got any work done.” 

JJ chuckles. “I’m surprised he hasn’t given up yet. He’s been following her around all week, like some lost puppy.” 

Morgan shrugs. “I dunno. She seems pretty into him.” 

“I don’t think ex-frat boys are her type,” Prentiss says wryly. Hotch doesn’t think so either, but he doesn’t say anything. Contributing to this kind of conversation is certainly too obvious.  

“I doubt we’ll be back here for a while. She might as well.” Morgan smiled. “She probably needs a win after such an embarrassing loss.” 

Thankfully, before Hotch has to keep pretending not to care about this topic, you walk over carrying a tray of cocktails—and you’re alone. The subject of their previous conversation seems lost in the crowd, and he feels a dangerous amount of relief. 

“Are you all talking about me?” you drawl. 

“You know we are, sweetheart. Thought you were never gonna get here.” Morgan sits up, smiling at you. “What’d my win get us?” 

“Long Island Iced Teas,” you muse as you set the tray down. “Enjoy it, because I’m gonna be working some overtime to make up for all these.” 

Morgan grins as he takes his drink. “You should’ve never doubted my skills.” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t need any help,” Prentiss says. “You’ve done this before, huh?” 

“Bartended my way through college.” You slide into the booth next to Hotch, just a bit too close for a bit too long, and he hopes that no one can see his chest still for a moment. It’s impressive that he still hasn’t figured out how to lessen the effect you have on him. “I’ve probably got better hands than you, Morgan.” 

“Do we need to make another bet?” he asks. “Because I’d love to clean out your wallet.” 

“Maybe wait another month before you prey on any more poor, defenseless agents,” you croon, and Morgan laughs. 

He pivots the conversation away from you when you pick up your drink and take a sip, and you look at Hotch. Whenever your gaze is on him, you make him feel like he’s the only person in the room. He’s sure you never look at anyone else that way, but Hotch wonders how much of that is his mind trying to justify his imagination. 

“I’m surprised you agreed with this,” you say, mercifully interrupting his thoughts. “I thought you’d want us to go back tonight.” 

“You all earned a night out after the work you did,” Hotch says. He thinks about taking a drink, but he decides against it, at least for now. He can barely trust his sober mind. 

“You’ve earned it too,” you say. “We wouldn’t be anywhere without you, Hotch. You keep us all together.” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever would’ve connected the dots like you and Reid can with Garcia. I hate unsubs with secret codes.” 

“I’ve always liked puzzles,” you muse. “There’s nothin’ like it when it all finally clicks.” 

Hotch hums, and for a moment, he’s silent. Your gaze remains fully on him, and that might be why he has trouble thinking. It’s too easy to get lost in your eyes. 

“What did that guy say?” Hotch finally manages to ask, because he honestly can’t help it. Morgan’s points actually worried him a bit, and he wonders what that says about him. Ex-frat boy certainly isn’t your type, but someone forgettable for a one night stand isn’t the most absurd thing in the world. 

Your brows knit together as you drink some more. “What guy?”

“The officer you were talking with,” he says. “He seemed to like you.” 

He’d been flirting with you since the moment you stepped into the precinct, actually, desperate for your attention, but Hotch didn’t really want to say that. He’s sure you noticed either way, if the rest of the team did. 

“Oh. Him.” You shrug. “He’s nice, I guess. Definitely a looker. But he’s got nothing beneath that hair.” 

“Morgan’s surprised you didn’t bring him back,” Hotch says. He wonders if he’s pushing too much, and again, he feels like a highschooler testing the waters. Do you know what you do to him? What you reduce him to? 

You shrug as you take a sip. “If he knows what’s good for him, he knows he doesn’t have a chance. My attention’s on someone else.” 

Prentiss calls your name and you get drawn back into the middle of the team’s conversation, and thankfully, Hotch has a chance to digest your words—and the stunner of a smile you flash at him before you get pulled into their talk. 

His decision to not drink seems even wiser, now. Hotch has to loosen his tie, and he ignores Reid watching him. It’s futile trying to hide anything from Spencer Reid—the kid already knows everything. 

Again, it's dangerous how much satisfaction he gets from it—from knowing you never really paid that officer a second thought. You didn’t smile at him the way you smile at Hotch. You don’t smile at anyone the way you smile at Hotch. He thought he was imagining it at first, or that he was just a bit too stuck up, but it was the honest truth. You paid him special attention, and he couldn’t blame the warmth in his chest from the thought on any alcohol. 

He tunes back into the conversation just to hear Morgan demand you pay for his next drink. 

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” you say. 

He puts a hand to his chest. “Generous? You’re just paying what you owe me.” 

You laugh and shake your head. “Pick your poison, pretty boy.” 

“How do you feel about tequila?” 

You make a noise of disgust and shake your head. “As long as I don’t have to drink it.” 

“You’re just paying, sweetheart.” Morgan’s eyes dart to Hotch, and he nods as he grins. “One for me and our fearless leader.” 

Hotch shakes his head. “Someone has to get us back to the hotel.” 

“That’s what cabs are for!” Prentiss exclaims. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Hotchner. You deserve to let a little loose.” 

“It takes most people an hour to process a drink,” Reid contributes, “so you’ll be fine before we leave if you want to drive.” 

“Come on, Hotch,” you say, and you nudge his shoulder. “You might as well—I’m paying.” 

“...Fine,” he says, and the whole team cheers. Even Reid smiles. 

“Y’know, you can smile tonight, Hotch,” you say with one of your own before you down the rest of your drink and stand up.

And one actually tugs at his lips. It feels a lot hotter in this bar with your eyes sparkling and you beaming right at him, and he fights the need to shed his jacket. Your grin somehow grows. 

“That’s what I came out to see,” you remark as you pick your wallet back up from the table. “I expect another when I get back, Hotch. There’s a lot to celebrate tonight.” 

Yeah, he thinks as he watches you go. There just might be. 

[hightowered]

and you know i gotta say. the vast majority of the people losing their shit this weekend made it very clear that they do not understand the difference between "artists who want a measure of comfort in their lives" and "the billionaires actually being targeted by phrases like eat the rich." that is such a weird thing to be so proud to announce to the whole entire internet.

it's also extremely weird to behave as though any individual is entitled to an artist's work for free. or that the audience should be the final say in determining what an artist creates. there is a major difference between the betrayal of an artist who produces art and then banks on their social capital to engage in harmful, violent, bigoted behavior (like jk rowling) and the "betrayal" of an artist who decides that they should be or need to be compensated for their work. the latter isn't actually a betrayal at all. it's just a shift.

the thing is that the watcher boys didn't invent capitalism, they didn't invent the streaming model, they didn't invent youtube or patreon. they aren't getting 100% of the money from either. their merch doesn't magically appear as if made by elves while they sleep. their videos don't happen out of nowhere and without incurring bills. they have a business which employs people, and sure, you can say they employ too many people, but do they actually? a bunch of randos on the internet don't actually know that. they don't know these job titles, or how necessary it is to have everyone there. it's pure speculation. the entire company exists within a system they did not invent and are trying to stay afloat in said system while a bunch of assholes on the internet berate them for not acquiescing to their every whim at the expense of their artistic integrity, their ability to compensate their staff fairly, and their ability to keep making art.

and jumping from "i want to continue enjoying this artist's work for free" to "i think people should be fired and the remaining employees should be given greater responsibilities and more tasks to complete" is wild to me. there's nothing leftist in that and so trying to leverage leftist jargon to prove some sort of moral superiority is fucking wild, it's disingenuous, and it's sketchy as hell. you're allowed to be disappointed. you're not magically exempt from being told you're being an asshole if you decide your disappointment entitles you to take part in asshole behavior.

"but we don't want something heavily produced and we don't want these shows" then don't watch! that's it! don't watch! you are not being held hostage and forced to engage with this content. you have the choice not to. throwing a tantrum and launching racist vitriol at steven lim and demanding he step down as CEO shows a level of entitlement and childishness that, frankly, i wish they could have ignored, but they're both kinder & more patient than i am.

anyway congratulations to watcher on their new streaming service and their gorgeous new website, congratulations to the boys on a new step in their careers and on achieving something they've made clear they've wanted for ages, thank you to the boys for all their hard work and for sharing their creativity with us. thank you too for taking such a big and genuinely brave step to no longer be beholden to major corporations and advertisers so you can make the art you want to make. thank you to steven lim for taking so many steps back to keep the company running and for doing your best in a shit economy and while being targeted by this kind of nastiness online. and thank you to the entire team at @wearewatcher for continuing to do amazing work despite being treated like shit by the fan community at large on the internet while you're trying to make a living and create art. you all deserve better than you've been shown of late and i hate that such an exciting moment got overshadowed by so many temper tantrums.

because the whole fucking point, the dream, is getting to make the art that matters to them, without being held back. i'm sorry y'all don't want the heavily produced and high quality shit but your preferences as a member of an audience are not the law by which artists should abide. they are artists and they are free to, and deserve to, make the art they want to make.

[sensitiveheartless]

Written followup to the horrors comic! It got away from me lol. Most of it's under the cut, cause this part is also a bit long.

~*~

Minutes passed by on the quiet moonlit dock.

Despite the renewed serenity of the night, Chuuya’s heart continued to race sickeningly fast. It hammered away in his chest, as if unable to fully grasp that the danger had passed.

His clothes were heavy and waterlogged, so cold against his skin that he could barely keep from shivering. Icy trickles ran down the back of his neck and dripped from his hair.

Closing his eyes didn’t help. There were far too many twisted corpses engraved in the darkness whenever he blinked. So he kept his eyes open, staring at the planks beneath them as he tried to steady his breathing.

Don’t think about it, Chuuya told himself. Don’t think about them.

Instead, he forced himself to remain in the present moment. Beneath the planks, he could hear the swell of the ocean waters, each wave lapping at the posts in a quiet rhythm. Salt filled his lungs with every breath, the heavy tang of the sea-soaked wood wafting around him.

And against his chest was Dazai’s head, a steady and grounding pressure. His ear rested over Chuuya’s heart, his arms still tight around him.

In that position, Dazai must have been able to hear how hard Chuuya’s heart was pounding—but surprisingly, he didn’t remark upon it. He remained utterly silent.

In return, Chuuya didn’t say a word about the almost crushing strength of Dazai’s arms where they wrapped around his middle. Dazai’s fingers were digging into his ribs, twin rows of sharp pressure, and Chuuya could feel them shaking.

Dazai’s hair was coarse where Chuuya’s cheek rested against it. Back in the day, before Dazai’s defection, he never bothered with conditioner. It seemed some things never changed, even in the light.

For one wild moment, Chuuya wished that he wasn’t wearing a pair of gloves—then he could bury his bare fingers in Dazai’s hair and see if it was as tangled as it looked. And, perhaps, warm himself up. Dazai was like a radiator against him, heat seeping through Chuuya’s drenched layers of clothes at every point of contact, but his gloves remained cold, the sodden leather chilling him to the bone. His joints ached as he uncurled his fingers from around Dazai’s shoulders.

Perhaps it would be worth it to just…indulge for a moment, if only to have something else to needle Dazai about. Really, the man needed to learn how to groom himself properly one of these days.

As Chuuya’s hand hovered indecisively over Dazai’s head, however, he realized that his heart rate had already evened out. While he was reminiscing about Dazai’s damn mess of hair, of all things.

Ridiculous. But that meant that there was absolutely no excuse for the two of them to remain wrapped around each other any longer. Dazai’s shivering seemed to have calmed as well.

“We should—” Chuuya’s voice cracked when he tried to speak, so he paused and cleared his throat before going on. “We should make sure it’s really gone. I don’t want that thing getting the jump on me again.”

Dazai tensed, and his grip tightened so much that for a moment Chuuya could scarcely breathe.

“Oi. C’mon, you need to let me up,” Chuuya wheezed, swatting at Dazai’s shoulder. He strained his neck to look down at the head buried against his chest, a pang of something that was surely exasperation tightening his throat. “I need to be able to reach it, Dazai.”

Dazai remained still for another long moment, then abruptly loosened his grip. Instead of letting Chuuya up, however, he pushed him down to sit on the damp planks, and rose to his feet himself.

“I’ll go,” Dazai said quietly, and strode past Chuuya towards the small, oval mirror where it lay shattered on the dock.

Right. It did make sense to have Dazai touch it first, in case it was an ability that could be nullified.

…But what if it’s not? What if it’s something like Lovecraft? Dazai will be defenseless, Chuuya thought, and instinctively started to his feet as well.

“Stay back,” Dazai said sharply, without even turning to look. He was standing over the mirror, staring down at it. “Don’t move forward until I say so.”

Chuuya scowled, but remained in place. He watched as Dazai bent down and extended a careful hand towards the shards of glass.

One tap, with the tip of a finger. Then another, less cautious tap against the side of the wooden frame. Then another, and another, Dazai’s touches moving systematically across every inch of shattered glass and broken wood.

Nothing happened.

Dazai breathed out, and stepped back. “There. You are now welcome to crush it into dust,” he said lightly, waving Chuuya forward.

His head was still downturned, his eyes cast in the shadow of his bangs as Chuuya walked past him to do the deed.

It was with deep pleasure that Chuuya pressed each little bit of the mirror into nothingness, grinding it down with the overwhelming weight of gravity.

After it was done, Chuuya scattered the dust into the ocean waters below. “What the fuck was that thing, anyway?” he asked, turning back to face the other.

When he turned, however, he found Dazai had moved to sit on the edge of the dock, his legs dangling off the edge.

His back was facing Chuuya. It seemed deliberate.

At first, Dazai didn’t respond to Chuuya’s question. The silence stretched long enough that Chuuya began to shiver again, the cold wind cutting through his damp clothes.

“…A Face Like Glass,” Dazai said at last. “That’s what the ability was called.”

“So it was a gifted,” Chuuya muttered. He walked to Dazai’s side, and dropped down beside him with a heavy sigh. “That mean the user is still out there somewhere?”

“No,” Dazai said softly. “She died some time ago, I’m afraid.”

Chuuya looked at him sharply. “What?”

There wasn’t much light by which to see, but Chuuya knew Dazai’s face like the back of his own hand. Better, probably. And he could tell that the detective’s features had gone unnaturally still.

It was how Dazai looked whenever he was unsure of how much he should give away. Typically his poker faces were more natural, but when he was strongly conflicted, he would simply go blank.

“Explain,” Chuuya said, crossing his arms. “That thing almost killed me, I think I ought to know what it was.”

That got a reaction. Dazai’s lips twitched downward and he looked away, hiding his face from Chuuya once again.

After another lingering pause, however, he finally began to talk.

“A Face Like Glass was the ability of a woman named Hardinge,” Dazai said, as blandly as if he were reciting a history lesson. “She could reflect the darkest thoughts of anyone who looked into that mirror of hers, and give those thoughts physical form. Quite literally a nightmare to deal with, as one can imagine. She was the terror of England. However, after she rose to prominence, the mirror began to behave a bit oddly.

“The more renowned Hardinge became, the more people began to fear her ability. She kept the exact details of the mirror shrouded in mystery, so her enemies were always speculating what horrors it might do to them next.

“Naturally, over time, their darkest thoughts became consumed with fear of the mirror itself. And when Hardinge reflected those thoughts, manifesting them into reality…well. You can imagine what happened.”

Chuuya’s hands formed fists in his lap, so tight the leather of his gloves creaked. His fingers were somehow even colder than before. “A runaway effect,” he said. Despite his best efforts, his voice came out rough. “A singularity.”

“Quite,” Dazai said. “The heights of human imagination should never be underestimated. The more powerful anyone imagined the mirror was, the more powerful it became. When their fears manifested, their imaginations ran ever more wild with terrifying possibilities. Which it would also reflect. And so on, and so on. The only one who could control it was Hardinge herself, stopping the runaway cycle by covering the mirror. She acted as a control for the ability for many years, preventing it from going too far.

“But one day, one of her enemies had the dubiously clever idea to turn the mirror back on Hardinge herself. Which, ordinarily, would have been a mere scare tactic. I’m sure their only intent was to make her hesitate to use the mirror by making her own fears manifest.

“However, that is not what happened. Keep in mind, Hardinge had been watching this ability of hers grow with each battle she fought, gaining strength after strength, only barely containing it with her efforts. Sometimes it must have seemed so powerful that it nearly eclipsed her own self.

“Anyone would be frightened of that. It can’t be surprising that her darkest thoughts contained the fear that her mirror would one day consume her.”

Silence stretched, frigid and fragile as ice.

“…So her own ability ate her,” Chuuya said flatly.

“Yes,” Dazai said. “And without anyone left to contain it, the mirror was unleashed.”

Chuuya rubbed wearily at his temples. “Okay. Then how did it get here? To Yokohama?”

“From what I hear, Hardinge was not popular with the Order of the Clock Tower,” Dazai said. “She had gone into hiding here when her ability overtook her. The Special Operations Division then sent out operatives to contain it.”

Chuuya raised his head. “Oh. They’re involved? Wait, does that mean…was that ex-drinking buddy of yours the one who told you all this?”

Dazai nodded, and Chuuya could faintly make out a crooked smile on his lips in the darkness. “Ango called to warn me of its escape. They had done everything they could to keep it locked away so it could be studied, but all it took was one researcher fearing that the creature had the ability to get out of its cell, and it immediately had that power,” he said, leaning back on his bandaged palms. He gave Chuuya a sidelong look, heavy with significance. “Then, of course, while Ango was briefing me on A Face Like Glass, I also got word that a certain tiny mafioso had gone out to fight an unknown monster that was terrorizing the shipyards.”

Chuuya met his stare with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, so?” he said. “It was scaring my subordinates. Someone had to do something.”

Dazai’s gaze darkened further. “Chuuya, you went alone,” he said. “You tried to face it all by yourself, without even knowing what it was. You could have —” He broke off, and looked away once more. His nails were digging into the wood of the dock, his shoulders stiff. 

Hiding again, Chuuya thought.

For a moment, Chuuya considered pointing out that there wasn’t anyone for him to call for help. Very few of the other mafia members could stand up to an otherworldly threat—and even those who could, like Akutagawa, were not anyone who Chuuya would want exposed to a fear-monster. Everyone in the mafia had far too much darkness to reflect.

Besides, Dazai had no room to scold Chuuya when he was the one who had left him without a partner in the first place.

But even as Chuuya contemplated speaking those cutting words aloud, he found himself unable to.

Because even though Chuuya hadn’t called, Dazai had come anyway.

And, if the reflections of that ability could be believed, one of Dazai’s darkest thoughts was losing Chuuya to Corruption. Right alongside Dazai’s fear of his own past self, and his fear of disappointing his old friend. That…changed some things.

Chuuya sighed, releasing a long-held weight. Then he prodded Dazai’s shoulder with a cold, gloved fingertip. “Hey,” he said. “Look at me.”

Dazai’s shoulders hitched higher, but he didn’t turn.

“What’s your deal?” Chuuya demanded, poking him again. “You don’t have to hide from me, idiot. What, you think I’m gonna make fun of you for having emotions?”

That, apparently, surprised Dazai enough to glance back at Chuuya, his brow furrowed.

“Because I won’t,” Chuuya said. “Not about this. I mean…look, before you showed up, that mirror motherfucker had already reflected a lot of people at me. The Flags, the Sheep, Murase, even N. That’s how it got close enough to me to grab me and drag me under in the first place. So if you’re embarrassed of breaking down or some shit, you shouldn’t be. I did too.”

“It’s not that,” Dazai muttered, his eyes darting away across the dark ocean waters once again.

“Then what?” Chuuya prompted impatiently, leaning closer.

“I froze,” Dazai said, his lips twisting in disgust. “Under the slightest amount of pressure, I broke. You could have died, just because I couldn’t bring myself to fire at a poor imitation of my friend.”

Chuuya blinked. “What’s wrong with that? I broke too. And you were there to pull me out of the water. I saved you, and you saved me. That’s what partners are for, right?”

That finally got Dazai to face him, whipping around so quickly it must have hurt his neck. His eyes were wide, his lips parted in surprise.

Chuuya knew why. It had been years since he had called Dazai his partner.

All too aware that his cheeks were beginning to heat, Chuuya reached out to pull the infuriating man into his arms, tucking Dazai’s head against his shoulder. “Not a word,” he growled, squeezing Dazai tightly in warning. “Make fun of me for this and I’m kicking you into the ocean.”

Dazai let out a choked noise, and suddenly he was clinging to Chuuya just as tight, his fingers practically clawing into his back.

He was shaking again. Or maybe they both were.

“It—it had been so long since I heard his voice,” Dazai cried against Chuuya’s neck, muffled and damp on his skin. “I don’t want that to be how I remember him, I don’t, I hate it…”

Chuuya closed his eyes and saw Albatross laying on the ground in pieces, staring up at him in betrayal. He let out a slow, careful breath, and held Dazai closer.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know. I get it.”

Dazai was still so warm. And Chuuya’s hands were still so terribly cold.

Making a reckless decision, Chuuya pulled off his soaked gloves and tossed them aside, then sunk his fingers into Dazai’s mess of curls without hesitation. He felt more than heard the sharp inhale against his neck, and the quiet questioning hum that followed. Chuuya ignored it and continued to card his fingers through Dazai’s hair.

“…Chuuya?” Dazai breathed.

Chuuya tugged absently at a knot. “Tangled,” he grunted. “It was bothering me.”

“Mm,” Dazai hummed, and his hands slid up the back of Chuuya’s jacket. “Chuuya’s cold.”

“No shit,” Chuuya said grumpily. “I fell in the fucking ocean, and it’s freezing out here.”

There was a soft laugh, then a strange sensation ghosted across the side of Chuuya’s neck just above his choker, almost like a pair of lips had pressed there. Chuuya’s hands tightened in Dazai’s hair, stiffening in surprise. He could only wonder if he had imagined it, unable to comprehend any other possibility.

He certainly didn’t imagine what Dazai said next, however.

“Come home with me,” Dazai whispered, his lips brushing against Chuuya’s skin once again.

Chuuya made a very strange noise, somewhere between a shriek and a gasp, and used his grip on Dazai’s hair to haul him away just enough for their eyes to meet. “The fuck?” he spluttered, face burning. “What do you mean, where did that — hah?”

Dazai’s eyes were rimmed in red, dulled with weariness. One of his hands wandered up to Chuuya’s cheek and rested there, circling the blush with his thumb. “I don’t want you out of my sight right now,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”

Ah. Right. The reflection of Corruption.

Well. Chuuya couldn’t really deny that he wasn’t looking forward to a night spent alone in his own apartment. He might not dream, but that didn’t matter if he couldn’t even get to sleep. Having someone beside him might help.

And beyond all that—this was the first time that Dazai had ever asked Chuuya to stay with him.

So, dazed and still a little flushed, Chuuya abandoned all common sense and replied, “Okay.”

Dazai captured one of Chuuya’s hands between his own, and brought it to his lips to brush a kiss across his knuckles. “Good,” he murmured, and pulled Chuuya to his feet. A slight smile flitted across his features. “I think I spotted Chuuya’s dreadful hat further towards the shore. Shall we find it first?”

Chuuya’s knuckles were still tingling. “Okay,” he repeated, strangled and utterly bewildered. His thoughts were chasing themselves in circles like a pack of confused terriers, but he allowed Dazai to tow him away towards the lights of the city.

And if Chuuya’s fingers ended up intertwined with Dazai’s as they traversed the shadows…well.

The streets were too dark for anyone to prove it.

“…Wait, is there even room at your place? You’re still living in that shitty dorm, aren’t you?”

A familiar grin and a pair of twinkling eyes turned back to him as they passed through a dimly lit alley. “Hmm? Chuuya has been tracking where I live? How sentimental of you, slug.”

At least he’s getting back to normal, Chuuya thought. “Oh, shut up,” he grumbled aloud. “Of course I’d keep an eye on your annoying ass.”

A scandalized, yet delighted gasp. “Chuuya likes looking at my ass?”

“…?! Shut up! That is not what I said—!”

[digestive]

2/2

Jax also seems to know a lot about the layout of the digital circus

After he finds the bowling ball, he does a bit with rolling it down the 'zooble hole' where a bunch of bowling pins are. Could just be a joke, but the way it's shown and laid out seems more like he knew they were down there despite Kinger and Gangle having no knowledge of it, suggesting that it's not common knowledge for everyone to know it's exists.

There's also the fact Jax has access to locked areas.

The fact that Jax is even able to get into other rooms means he has to have some sort of abilities/IT admin rules within the digital world. But once again he turns the topic to centipedes to distracts Ragatha and avoid her asking further about it.

And once Jax goes to the Gloink nest you get this line:

He's been through this before, he's seen others be harmed and likely killed in this world and then go back to normal. So, that's heavy.

And once Kinger explains the concept of eating in the digital world, he immediately jumps to questioning on how he got that knwoledge:

It makes sense if Jax is the only real person who is aware of as much of the world compared to others though, since he likely is wanting to escape as well.

The fact that this is brought up is important, because it takes everyone watching the episode a while to realise that Jax is actually doing a ton of things to keep the place semi-calm. He's not some amazing figure, he is a douche to everyone, but considering the circumstances he needs a release. Or maybe that's just his personality.

No matter what, Jax knows a lot about the digital world and it's secrets and is pulling tricks like a purple Bugs Bunny to keep sane and prevent further problems. Whether it's to avoid irritating situations or whether he cares about everyone else is up to interpretation.

[getonite]

(𝟏) 𝐌𝐒𝐆: I NEED LOVEAND AFFECTION.

"how they love to give you affection" — ( hajime umemiya, hayato suo, haruka sakura, jo togame, + choji tomiyama )

gn!reader ; fluff, slight cursing, metaphors, very light suggestion in suo and togame's parts. nothing just cute stuff, maybe ooc for togame?

forcing myself to write rn. wanna guess who i like the most lmao? smaus for them will be out soon! kuroshitsuji ver.

hugs

there's honestly no surprise here, hm? he's like a walking bear at times, specifically with his hugs. sure, at (rare) times he gives some encouraging hugs to the furin boys, but his bear-hugging arms are reserved for you.

umemiya has healing hugs. paired with his ability to sense a positive or negative change in others, he often surprises you with them, rubbing his face into you, swinging you around a bit with a bright smile on his face, hearty laughter from his lips.

he enjoys the way you feel wrapped in his touch. the way you lean your head against his chest or shoulder, sinking into his embrace.

it's a way he feels extremely close to you, not like how he wants (he wants to melt into your skin), but it's close enough to provide the both of you with the comfort and intimacy the both of you crave.

light kisses

despite the way he seems, he quite enjoys kisses. specifically, giving them. he enjoys giving and recieving affection equally, though there's something special about those little kisses he gives to the palm of your hand, or your knuckles. he peppers them everywhere, but those are his two favorite spots.

his eye watches the way you get flustered. especially, when he decides to make a show of it and bows to one knee to kiss you. "my liege," he'd joke, laughing at your embarrassed reaction.

he loves the way you jump, goosebumps along your arms from the way his lips ghost along your skin, tickling the small hairs on your arms. his entire aim with affection is making you flustered.

if he truly wishes to fluster you, maybe make you a bit hot, he breaths on ear, the air tickling your skin. he presses his lips to the tip of your ear, whispering a comment of praise. it amuses him how you jump and crumble from such a small action.

of course, he plays dumb, pressing another light kiss to your skin. "i haven't a clue what you mean, love."

anything (handholding).

anything flusters him. he doesn't typically initiate intimacy, it's normally you. so he doesn't have a particular favorite thing to do to give you affection. the closest he'll get to initiating something, is handholding. so perhaps that's his favorite to give you?

a combination of hugs and kisses

togame is slow-paced, he has a lazy energy to him more often than not.

he lazily wraps his arms around your waist, grunting as he pulls you back with him as he sits down. he smiles at the shriek you let out when you fall backwards with him. "calm down, will ya?"

togame bury's his face into your neck, securely holding you close to him. his lips press light kissed from behind your ear and to your shoulder, his thumbs sneaking beneath your shirt to rub circles against your skin.

there's nothing more that he loves than hugging you close to him and feeling the heat of your body. especially your neck when he peppers kisses on them. the press of your thighs against his, your back to his chest. his hands drift your thighs, squeezing them lightly, "i hope you know, i love you..." he often falls asleep like this, lightly snoring against your back, tugging you onto his lap so you don't leave.

a combination of handholding and hugs

choji is the type of guy to jump and hug you. he wraps his arms so tight, both you and togame have to tell him to let go. the both of you often fall over from the force of him. it's more of his favorite way to greet you than favorite way to show affection.

aside from surprise hugs and clinging to you, he likes to hold your hand. he's perpetually stuck in the childish way of aggressively swinging your arms back and forth as he does, happily smiling an apology when you reach your destination.

he likes to squeeze your hand at times, either to comfort himself, or you.

choji leans close, rubbing his face against you, proving to those you walk around that you are his. there's no shortage of glares he gives people who stare too hard or talk too long ro you.

regardless, he loves being right next you; keeping you close while proving you're together. and as far as cuddling goes??? he's wrapped around you like a fucking monkey. he is NAWT letting you go once he has his hands on you.

[jibunbosh]

Mesmerizer is a satire of TikTok, YouTube Shorts, and the rest of the modern short-form vertical video format

A brief thematic analysis.

I'm sure there are countless people already interpreting the imagery and details in this wonderful song & MV, like here and here, so I won't spend too much time retreading that ground. Miku and Teto are dancing. Miku gets hypnotized. Teto signals for help, but gets hypnotized at the end as well.

That part is obvious enough, but that's still pretty surface-level. What is this seemingly hyperspatial horror scenario supposed to mean to us?

While checking to see if anyone before me's already come to the same conclusions as I did and if I should bother not writing this text post at all (lol), I came across udin's great analysis video. She comes to the conclusion that the song tackles themes of disillusionment with reality and the ways we indulge in escapism to relieve ourselves of the pains of the world.

I agree with that reading! From practically the very beginning, we have Miku call to us - the viewer - to push away our true feelings. Teto comes in to peddle a solution, inviting us to surrender and empty our minds - in her words, "pretending to know nothing."

You, the viewer, are a critical character in this masquerade. For nearly the entire video, Miku and Teto's eyes are unfailingly trained on you. Or, well... perhaps they can't actually see you, but they can see a camera, or whatever other aperture the point of view is supposed to be from. And they know they're being watched. (Who else would Teto be sending distress signals to?)

Let's put a pin on that for later.

udin notes very early on that Miku and Teto are, conspicuously, kept in vertical frames - very similar to the video formats of TikTok (and Instagram Reels, and YouTube Shorts, and whatever other clones of the format exist.) You know, just like the animator Caststation's Rabbit Hole fan MV that went viral some months ago.

Hey wouldn't it be crazy if the song's producer, 32ki, released Mesmerizer shorts too haha. Wouldn't that be crazy.

Wow, wild.

These short-term vertical videos are captivating & alluring. If you're reading this, it's more likely than not that you've also found yourself caught up in them at least once, scrolling through the infinite algorithmic slurry and forgetting about the real-life issues you have at hand. Would you say, then, that you felt hypnotized? Mesmerized, even?

And so these two invite us to join their world and focus on the... uh... rectangle.

Their dances are repetitive, following the same loop. Their outfits are distinct, but their choreography isn't. They're copying the same formula, repeating it ad nauseam to the best of their ability.

They're doing a fucking TikTok dance.

Back to the pin I told you about earlier, with Miku and Teto looking at a camera.

Miku sways with the camera, eyes looking directly at it like a swinging pocket watch. She's been looking at it the entire time, after all. We've been seeing her via our screen this entire time, but, again, she doesn't necessarily see us. She's beholden to the camera, which she dances for day after day, caught up in its spell. She's hypnotized by it. Eventually, she breaks.

Teto, on the other hand, resists. For a while, anyway.

Despite her being the one jumping to us with the "solution" at the beginning of the MV, there's very quickly good reason to question how much agency she has in this. She dances for the camera as well, but she doesn't want to. She's signalling for help. She wants out.

Many content creators (as much as I personally loathe the non-specificity and soullessness of the term) have struggled with the adaptation to the short-form video format, and the preference the algorithm has had for these captivating, bite-sized videos. They're catchy, and easily drive up metrics. Practically anyone who's publishing their work via video format online needs to learn to adapt or fall behind, even if that means whittling their content down to fit the frame, the time, and people's shortening attention spans. Sometimes, that means compromising on specificity and completeness... or, in other words, the true representation of a full work.

The song's writer, 32ki, has been releasing songs on YouTube for several years. Their first YouTube Short, however, was posted only a year ago: a short, whittled-down segment of their previous song, CIRCUS PANIC!!!, hoping for it to win the ProsekaNEXT song contest. It was their first song to achieve widespread popularity and hit a million views.

The shorts, however, aren't the "true" versions of the song. The full song just won't fit.

We're being mesmerized as consumers of this endless stream of content, rather than appreciators of music and art. However, that relationship isn't completely symmetrical across the plane that is the 4th wall. Miku and Teto are trapped not by their attention spans, but by a compulsion to project their "truthful acting" and peddle that window into a colorful, problem-free world.

We, as the collective audience, need not dwell on any one thing for too long - we need only swipe, and move on to the next video. However, Miku and Teto are trapped behind the screen for eternity, day after day.

They're the only characters we get to see, of course. There's no evil 3rd voice synth character that's plotting to keep them trapped in there. We can't put a face to whatever force is hypnotizing them and trapping them behind the screen. It's faceless - like the inscrutable algorithms of YouTube recommendations or the TikTok For You page, or the impersonal corporations that develop & maintain those aforementioned apps. Miku and Teto's likenesses, on the other hand, are being exploited and extracted from for their entertainment value, being strung along by that metaphorical hypnotizing force like puppets on a string.

Many people, represented by Miku, enjoy their success on such platforms. It's freeing and liberating to throw oneself wholeheartedly into such an endeavor, of course! Others, represented by Teto, harbor their doubts of the emotional veracity of such a medium, but know they have little choice lest they face destruction... perhaps not literally as a person, but as an idea.

Wouldn't it be easier just to let oneself be swept away by it and give in?

[hopelesslonelyghost]

part 2 for simon and his emotional support medic (protective mode)

part 1 can be found here

tw for assault, choking (the unsexy kind), violence, medical inaccuracies probably

i promise there will comfort, but i just love the idea of simon going feral if anyone ever laid hands on his medic

as always, this isn’t beta read, sorry for any typos. enjoy!

in all honestly, the enemy getting the jump on you while you were crouched and hunched over an injured soldier, trying your best to keep them alive, was a bitch move.

simon was always drilling it into you—

“never turn your back for too long. it leaves you vulnerable, love.”

oh how you should’ve paid more attention then, instead of ogling his huge biceps.

a strangled yelp escapes your throat, but is subsequently cut short when an arm bears down. you instinctively go to grip your assailant’s forearm, digging your nails as deep as you can in hopes they’ll release their deathly grip.

they snarl and bark something in a language you can’t understand. whatever it is they said must have been them voicing their displeasure at your action, because their vice grip tightens around your neck, effectively cutting off your ability to breathe.

that’s when the panic really sets in and you earnestly start to struggle against them. you tried all the moves simon taught you when it came to this exact situation. you tuck your chin into the crook of their elbow, then place your right foot behind his. you can feel your eyes drooping from the lack of oxygen, so with all your might, you bite down onto his arm.

you make sure to dig your canines as far as they can go, the taste of blood floods your mouth. the man screams, gripping your hair as they release you, tugging as they try to free themselves from your unforgiving clamp of sharp teeth. in the process of pulling your head back, you bite down harder and then throw your head back the rest of the way, ripping off a chunk of his arm, spitting it out.

there’s no chance for you to continue your attack before a fist comes flying down, hitting your face dead center and roughly getting thrown onto the concrete ground of the abandoned building you’re in.

despite the attempt to break your fall, your forehead comes into contact with the floor, a splitting pain running from the front, that travels through the nape of your neck and down your shoulders.

“гребаная сука! (1)”

your ears are ringing, but you try to bring yourself to sit up—only to be kicked back down, steel-toe boot burying itself into your ribs.

a groan manages to slip through, a small oof! as well when you fall to your side. it’s your first time able to see your attacker’s face. an angry snarl etched on their face. you feel a little satisfaction build in your chest when you see them tightly clutching their right arm, a stream of blood trickling down their fingers and onto the floor, forming a puddle.

“тебе не следовало этого делать (2)” the man spoke again, letting go of his arm and reaching behind him, a tanto coming to view as he holds it up, twirling it, “я действительно получу удовольствие, разрезая твою прелестную шейку. (3)”

his boot shoves at your shoulder, forcing you onto your back. you scramble to get up, but he’s in much better fighting shape than you are, and he jumps on you, straddling your waist and shoving you back down. your head hits the ground with a loud ‘thud’ forcing a pained whine from your lips. your ribs throbbed, the weight pressing down on your probably broken ribs was unbearable.

you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel the cold metal press against your neck. you did not want your attacker’s face to be the last thing you see before you died. your mind immediately flew to simon. simon and his pretty face. his pretty brown eyes and his pretty blonde hair.

it wasn’t fair. there were more things you wanted to do with simon. you had your whole life ahead of you, and you wanted your sweet lieutenant to be in it.

suddenly the awful weight on top of you was gone. snatched and dragged off. you heard a growl. something so primal and scary. you slowly opened your eyes and sat up, leaning on your elbows as you took in the scene before you.

simon—no—ghost—sat on top of the enemy, just like he had you, thighs around his waist and was viciously landing his fist with all the weight and strength he could muster over and over again. once satisfied the man wasn’t in any shape to get up, ghost stood, unholstered his handgun and fired 3 shots into the bastard’s skull.

you could see his shoulders heaving up and down. his back expanding and deflating with every breath he took. you wanted to so badly wrap your arms around him.

you rolled over on your right side, feet dragging broken glass as you dragged yourself up onto you knees. your hand immediately pressed down on your left side, where the enemy landed that nasty kick. you swore you could feel your ribs shift, breathing getting more and more painful each passing moment.

you hunched over, left arm supporting you up, preventing you from face planting. your pained wheezing must’ve caught ghost’s attention. quick footsteps made their way towards you. from your peripheral you made out a pair of black combat boots, and then he was kneeling by your side.

a gloved hand delicately cupped your chin, moving your head up and to the side to face him. he inhaled sharply.

“jesus fuckin’ christ.”

he dropped your head, going around and coming towards the side your uninjured ribs were.

“cmon love. we have to get up.”

he threw your arm around his shoulder, gently lifting you. you gasp as what you can only explain a lightning bolt ran down your left side.

ghost crooned, shushing you, “i know love, i know. i’m gettin’ us outta here.”

once on your feet, he left go and turned to look at you, “can you walk?”

you nodded, “i can— i can try.”

all you got was a hum of acknowledgment, “grab onto my vest, we’re leavin’.”

•••

ghost and you were the only survivors. the mission was a bust, according to laswell. the intel was false. it was an ambush.

ghost finished up talking to price and laswell through his radio. yours, as you would later find out, was ripped out and stepped on during your fight. shattered into tiny little pieces.

through his sniper’s scope he had seen the enemy make a break for you shortly after rushing inside the building to assist a fellow teammate. he’d raced down from where he was perched, and hauled ass towards you.

“found ya in the nick of time.” he had said. he didn’t see the way you silently winced, the thought that you were mere milliseconds away from certain death.

you two settled inside a safe house, where he stripped you of your gear (and unfortunately) your top.

“hafta see your ribs love.”

after wrapping them tightly, he’d moved on to cleaning up your face. butterfly stitches carefully applied after he’d wiped the dried blood from your face. then came the worst part.

“your nose, it’s broken. i need to set it.”

you think you passed out, because you woke up bundled up on the dusty leather couch. opening your eyes was hard, feeling the effects of your nose being broken as it swelled with broken blood vessels and blood.

sitting on the floor next to you was simon. skull mask long gone, and so was his balaclava. staring back at you was your sweet simon. his face bared for you.

you reached for him, trembling palm making itself home against his cheek. your thumb rubbed his cheekbone.

you swallowed the knot in your throat, “thank you.”

his brows furrowed, “wha’ for?”

“coming for me.”

simon reached up and gripped your wrist, pulling your hand away. his hand moved up and cupped yours, leaning in and kissing your palm. you shivered at the feeling of his lips.

“don’ ever thank me for something’ like tha’.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but he beat you to it, “i’ll always come for you. always.” he shook your hand, “got tha’?”

you felt tears well up. despite the ache in your neck, you nodded.

simon kissed your palm again, “need to hear ya say it, sweet thing.”

“you’ll always come for me.”

he leaned forward, dropping your hand and gently cupping the back of your head, careful not to move you too much, and kissed your forehead.

“‘m proud of ya, you know tha’?” he murmured against your skin. you hummed. “tore off a piece of his arm, could see the bloody tendons.”

you groaned, “i swallowed his blood, si. gonna have to get tested now.”

that pulled soft belly laugh from him, “i’ll be sure to let the medics on base know.” he pulled away from you, pushing your hair away from your face, “rest up. i’ll keep watch.”

you gripped his wrist, “but you’re tired too, si.”

he only shook his head, grabbing your hand and pulling it off his, before kissing the back of it. he stood up, “‘m not the one who’s got broken ribs. rest love, i’ll wake you when we’re headin’ out.”

•••

you were placed on mandatory medical leave for 3 weeks. simon requested leave as well. said someone had to watch after you. which is how you ended up now, laying on your bed on your good side, watching tv that was mounted on your wall with simon laying next to you. his hand was on your hip, drawing lazy circles into your skin.

“you’re gonna put me to sleep if you keep that up.”

“tha’s the point, love.”

you hummed, settling further into your pillow. simon pulled the strap of your top down, allowing him to place a chaste kiss in the junction where your neck met your shoulder.

“sleep, love. i’ll be here when you wake.”

and who are you to say no to that?

“promise?”

“promise.”

•••

translations (done by yandex translate, probably not accurate!

1. гребаная сука! —> you fucking bitch!

2. тебе не следовало этого делать —> you shouldn’t have done that

3. я действительно получу удовольствие, разрезая твою прелестную шейку —> i’m really going to enjoy slicing your pretty neck open.

[foone]

It's a time gun. A gun that shoots time. Not a gun to shoot time, that's a terrible idea. Time is messed up enough as it is without some fool shooting holes in it.

No, it shoots bullets of concentrated time. How much depends on the caliber. This gun is chambered for 24 hours. (Although the weird thing is that despite anti-time definitely existing, this gun has no anti-version: there's no anti-gun of time. Instead you just load the gun of time with anti-time bullets.)

So what's it do? Well, you know the saying that time is a river? Well, rivers have splits and tributaries, where some of the stream is split off and eventually catches up with the main body.

This shoves you off into one of those, as you're given more time than the general world has. You get some time that no one else has, until you resynchronize. You're in a frozen world of no time, with only you and any other simultaneously desynchronized people able to move and interact.

This may seem powerful and useful for those hit by time bullets, but it's less useful than you'd think. Your ability to interact with the world is quite limited. And the length of the time you have is critical: 24 hours is a good amount because it's quite survivable, any longer and you're likely to die of thirst or hunger. You can't eat atemporal food or drink atemporal water. Some nasty chronomancers have been known to build time guns of months or years, meaning their victims are instantly replaced with a shriveled corpse, knowing it wasn't a quick death, but a slow and painful one in a lonely world of unfeeling statues where the sun never sets.

You can still breathe, though. That one is... Well, if you can figure out why, there's a prize from the University of Towers for you. Since the existence of the temporal aether was disproven we really have no idea why that happens.

Still, a short trip into personal time can be safe and useful, if properly prepared. Pack provisions and books and writing implements and take it in short jumps, and you can get weeks worth of writing or studying done in a single night.

Anti-time bullets are simpler, at least simpler to explain. They similarly desynchronize your personal time stream, but it results in you Not Being until the timelines align. From your perspective, that happens instantly, with a moment of the standard temporal nausea. For everyone else, you're just gone until you can make up the missing time. So it functions very much like a time jump forward. A 24-hour bullet of anti-time brings you to this time tomorrow, with no time having passed for you, due to your temporal deficit.

It seems safer, at first glance. No risk of starvation, no isolation, just a blink and it's later.

But there's always the problem of telefragging. The universe doesn't like when two things occupy the same space, and while you're gone, your former and future location are accessible. There may be nothing but air there when you return, or there may be a wagon, a person, or a rock. And the results when you return are not pretty, or even explosive.

It's been experimentally verified* by chronomancers that the end result depends on how much of the returning being overlaps with the existing matter. Less than half, and they merge, in ways that are gruesome and almost always fatal. At best, you might lose a limb or a digit due to the overlap. At worst, you're dead instantly and your body is now merged with some other object in ways that will make the funeral closed-casket, and the casket will be an unusual shape.

More than half... Well, the universe REALLY doesn't like it when matter overlaps with other matter. It explodes, violently. Very violently. One chronomancer even suggested this might be used as a weapon of war, by building a siege engine that collides a large animal like a ocean-whale with a large block of limestone, utilizing a short anti-time trip to overlap them. This idea was shot down immediately, as was the chronomancer who suggested it. She'll be officially censured when she reappears, around 28 years from now.

* the tests were performed on standard laboratory voles**, not human (or other sapient) test subjects. All experiments were done with ethics board approval and whenever possible, time loops were employed to unperform any experiments that resulted in the death of test subjects.

** rats, often used elsewhere in science, can't be used here as their natural temporal abilities interfere with the experiment. See "there is only one rat", V. Tollens, U. of T. Journal of Time, TE 436.