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hamsterclaw · 3 months

Text

Your ex-boyfriend's new song reels you back in.

Pairing: Namjoon x f! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Idol! Namjoon, smut, angst

Warnings: Sex, swearing, toxic relationship

Word count: 2k

‘The fuck you say about me?’ you demand.

The tall, buzzed blond man looks up, insolent, arrogant, so fucking sexy it hurts you.

He tucks his tongue in his cheek, flicks his hooded eyes over your rigid body.

‘If the shoe fits,’ he drawls, that familiar low voice smooth as silk.

‘You’re an asshole,’ you hiss, angry tears standing in your eyes. You blink and they stream down over your cheeks.

Kim Namjoon, your ex boyfriend, tilts his head. His gaze hasn’t left yours.

‘I miss making you cry,’ he says. His words come out slow, deliberate, every word like a bullet hitting its mark.

His aim’s always been sharp.

‘You never will again,’ you spit out.

You turn on your heel and yank open his studio door.

His hand lands on the door above your head, closes it again, caging you between him and the door. All six feet of him, packed with the muscle he’s put on since he started working out again.

He leans down, you can feel his breath on the back of your neck as he whispers, ‘How does it feel to be the one caught off-guard?’

You try to turn around and face him but his large hand lands on your shoulder, pinning you into place.

He’s always been bigger, but he’s never used his strength against you before.

You’re shaking with a rage and hurt so deep you can’t verbalise. You sob, a gulp of air, and try to turn again.

He holds firm, and you can’t move.

‘Stop,’ you say, throwing an elbow back, struggling against his grasp.

Namjoon releases you just enough so you can turn to face him.

There’s a hardness to his expression that you haven’t seen before.

‘Now you know how it feels,’ he says.

‘Let me go,’ you scream, right up into his face, so loud your ears ring.

He barely blinks.

‘You come into my studio to start shit? What did you expect?’ he hisses.

‘You touch me, I’ll go to the press,’ you say, shoving at his chest.

Namjoon laughs, short. ‘And say what? No one knows we ever fucked.’

His words hang between you.

The tears are still falling, but your composure is returning.

‘I know,’ you say, voice thick. ‘And you know.’

Your words make some of his anger drain away. You can see him visibly easing out of the rigid posture he was in, leaning back so he’s not looming over you.

‘We know,’ he muses.

‘And now anyone who listens to that track will know,’ you say, looking at him steadily.

He runs a hand through his buzzed hair.

‘They’ll know you fucked me over,’ he says. ‘They’ll know my side.’

He’s not wrong. There are two sides to your tumultuous relationship, and he’s told his side in the way he does best.

It’s unfortunate for you that he has the platform to reach millions of people.

You’re standing a foot apart now, bodies still turned to each other.

‘I fucked you over,’ you muse. ‘I fucked you over.’

He’s staring at your mouth and you know exactly what he’s thinking.

For all his emotional intelligence and his intellect, he’s always been a simple man.

‘Come down so I can reach,’ you say.

He leans down and your hand comes up to slap him. He catches your wrist mid-air, grip so strong it’s like steel, and lowers his mouth onto yours.

His kiss is hard, bruising, his tongue delving into your open mouth in a rhythm that makes you shiver.

He tugs you up on tiptoe, and you bring your hands up to keep space between you. He ignores the way you’re pushing at his chest, takes the way you’re kissing him as consent.

You give up.

You melt into his frame, close, arm curling around his neck to hold on as he presses his hot mouth to your neck. His tongue flicks over your skin, his lips form a seal and he sucks, a sensation that has warmth pooling at your core.

He groans, low, his hands already sliding up under your top, cupping your breasts over your bra.

Instead of unhooking, he hooks his finger under the band of your bra and tugs, up, lowering his head to suckle at the tip of your breast. His tongue swirls, and heat pulses between your legs.

‘Take it off,’ he says, eyes hooded, pupils blown.

You tug your top off, then your bra. You’re not self-conscious about how you look in front of him.

Namjoon’s shown you a million times how much he loves your body.

Sure enough, he’s pushing you back onto the couch, mouth all over your tits, his big hands splayed around your waist, gripping you tight.

You try not to moan but you can’t stop yourself. He knows exactly how to pleasure you, it’s a learned skill from the hundreds of times you’ve fucked.

He laves his tongue over your nipple, and you’re already craving the thick length of his cock inside you.

He’s watching you as he kisses a path down the bare skin of your torso. He gets to the button of your jeans, undoes it deftly and you lift your hips so he can tug them off.

Underneath, your panties are sticking to you. He splays a hand over the curve of your hip, places his hand on you and you close your eyes as he rolls the pad of his thumb over your clit, slow, teasing.

You put a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans, and he tugs it away, rough.

He’s still fully dressed, the lights all blazing above you, and the juxtaposition of how he’s fully in control and how he’s taking you apart under him adds an unwanted intrusion to the haze of pleasure.

Shame.

It’s more about the way you’ve treated him than the way he’s got you spread and almost naked under him.

It’s more about the things you’ve said to this man who you’re supposed to love than the moans of wanton pleasure you’re expressing now.

He’s the one with a finger in your cunt but you think over the years you’ve fucked him just as much.

The tears come again, and Namjoon notices. He’s seen you cry so many times but there’s still a thin thread of decency that makes him lean down and kiss your forehead.

‘If I stop we’ll only feel worse,’ he murmurs, certainty in his tone borne of experience.

‘You know I love how you fuck me,’ you say, softly, speaking like it’s a secret between you and him.

There’s a flash of regret in his eyes but he doesn’t dwell on it. Fucking won’t close the chasm between you but it’ll sure as hell make you both forget for a while.

He gets up, unbuttons, lets his loose jeans slip down and then he’s in his chair, thighs spread, hard dick in his hand.

There’s a smear of pre-cum on his grey tee that’s probably worth more than your car but Namjoon’s never given a fuck about his clothes.

He watches, intent, as you slip your panties down, kick them away.

He cups your bare bottom as you straddle him, lets your hand cover his around his cock.

You curl your fingers around him, and he huffs out a breath.

More pre-cum slips between your fingers as you position the head of him where you need him.

Namjoon’s dimple flashes, brief, as his lips curve.

‘Take it slow, baby, you know how sore you get.’

There’s a taunt in his low voice but the hands still supporting your ass are gentle.

You take the tip of him inside you, and he clenches his jaw.

His body, underneath you, is tense with holding himself back.

Namjoon can be gentle but he’s not a patient man.

You lower yourself, slow, thighs quivering with effort.

The slide of his cock is so damn satisfying, every time.

Namjoon lifts his hips, a push, two, then he’s in all the way.

You both groan.

You rest your forehead against his, fighting to regulate your breathing.

He’s struggling too, his heart thumping against his chest.

‘Fuck, fuck,’ he mutters. ‘Why’s it so good every time?’

He catches your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, squeezes your tear streaked face.

‘I want to make it work,’ he vows. ‘Why can’t we make it work?’

He’s squeezing so hard you’re worried he’ll leave fingermarks on your cheeks.

You could give a trite response, a dozen snappy comebacks are in your mouth ready to be said, but instead you close your eyes.

Take in the feel of him inside you, his body around yours. His scent on your skin.

Every time could be the last time.

Then again you’ve been saying that since you met him.

You curl your arms around his broad shoulders, move your hips, pull his head between your breasts.

He comes willingly.

You lift your hips, up so he’s just barely inside, then drop them. The sounds of your joined bodies in the otherwise silent soundproofed studio are obscene and beautiful.

You keep up the rhythm, slowing when you’re close, when your peak’s within reach.

Namjoon’s looking up at you.

His dimples flash.

‘Always did need me to finish you,’ he says. If there’s arrogance in his tone it’s been earned over all the times you’ve fucked.

You press your thumb into his cheek.

‘So do it.’

Namjoon grasps your hips, grinding you onto his pelvis. He fucks up into you, grunting with the effort. His skin gleams with the sweat he’s worked up.

‘Fuck,’ you gasp.

Namjoon swears.

‘Gripping me so tight, fuck!’

Namjoon pulls you down, plunges his tongue into your mouth as he fucks you.

You cry his name as you come, words passing from your mouth to his, and he closes his eyes.

His thrusts slow, erratic, as he pumps his release into you.

You get up, legs wobbly from being fucked so hard and well, totter to the couch and press your face between the joins. You can’t look at him or you’ll cry again and you both hate that.

A moment later you feel the weight of him next to you.

His big palm lands on your ass along with the whole weight of his arm.

He buries his face in your hair.

You don’t think there’s anything left to say.

***

You’re curled up in Namjoon’s pre-cum stained shirt, knees up and together on his cum-stained couch, watching him flick a lighter on and off.

Without turning he says, ‘Don’t give me that fucking screw face when you’ve got my t-shirt on and my come running down your leg.’

You try to readjust your resting screw face but he turns and catches you.

You have to laugh at how well he knows you.

He’s picked up your panties, twirling them around his finger.

‘You gonna go?’ he asks. He’s looking at you, so you do him the courtesy of meeting his gaze.

‘Yeah.’

He nods. ‘I had the codes changed on all the doors. Your fingerprint won’t work anymore.’

It’s your turn to nod.

‘I moved,’ you feel the need to tell him.

‘I know,’ he says.

You’re not surprised to hear he looked for you.

It’s the hallmark of the many years of toxic codependency you shared.

Your friends got married and had babies.

You and Namjoon went up in flames and rose from the ashes. The cycle went on.

Fuck, cry, repeat.

You get up, start getting dressed.

You’ve got your hand on the door when you turn back to look at him a last time.

He’s already looking at you.

‘You hungry?’ you ask.

It takes him less than a second to decide.

#bts smut #bts rm #rm x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon scenario

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 3 months

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Who kidnapped age gap reader?? :(( AND WHY??

You sit on the cot and try to stay calm. Calm is good. Calm is safe. If you stay calm maybe you can make him think you're going along with it. That you're going to let it all happen like he wants. And he'll let his guard down.

This time it's a storage unit, it looks like. And- oh, how kind. He gave you a bucket. And some gossip rags. About yourself? what the fuck? "We'll have 7 kids," he declared, "We'll need 7 to be in our band-"

"Oh what instrument do you-"

"SHUT UP!" he barked rounding on you, "You owe me this. You don't TALK unless I tell you you fucking can, do you understand?"

You stare at him insolently. Blinking. Waiting.

"Answer me, you useless foid," he screamed.

"You didn't tell me I could talk to you," you answer simply.

But when he brandishes the knife at you again, only to have a Batarang hit the back of his hand and force him to drop it, you exhale slowly. "That's quite enough of that," Bruce said, handily backhanding the man out of his way towards Clark.

"Well, I feel special," you manage, through chattering teeth. Not sure why you feel so cold.

"My mother is a big fan of your movies, ma'am," Clark called over his shoulder, as he carried the still howling kidnapper away. Off to find a convenient cop to hand him to.

Bruce was grateful all you had was a few bruises. But when you start to cry, he pulled you against his chest, "It's alright," he soothed. "You're safe. Princess, I'm here."

"I tried to run but-"

"I know," he murmured. "You did everything you could do." He wrapped his cape around you when he heard cop cars. Aware that your clothes were torn from the struggle.

"Do you have to go?" you asked him.

"If anyone asks," Bruce said smiling a little, "Superman picked me up because he wanted help putting the case together. And I helped because all my Robins liked your movies."

"So sell it."

"Peak starlet. Or just faint if you don't want to do press things. Did he hit your head? What hurts, baby?" You're still sniffling. Even if you're not clinging to him now that there are witnesses.

"I'm just so tired, Brucie," you murmur.

And he knows you're not just talking about today. You're tired of being afraid. Tired of having to protect yourself and not knowing who to trust. And his heart aches. "Just talk to the cops and then faint," he murmurs. "I'm going to disappear. They'll take you to the hospital. Then Bruce Wayne will come and pick you up, okay?"

"Okay," you murmur, wiping tears away on the back of your hand.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #age gap!reader

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majordemonblockparty · 4 months

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mary campbell winchester who doesn't necessarily regret her demon deal, because she loves john, she does, in a deep and intense and preternatural way that scares her, sometimes, if she looks at it head-on for too long, but sometimes....

sometimes she just misses what she lost. what she traded in exchange for john. to have his snapped neck put back to rights and the breath put back in his lungs; what has to stay dead because she wanted john alive more.

she misses her parents when she has to clean out the house without him. she calls her cousins, campbell kids semi-settled within a day's driving distance, and four of them descend on lawrence to gut the house of everything hunting related before john gets it in his head to help her. she misses her daddy when she puts her hands on john's chest and looks up at him with real, actual tears trembling on her waterline and tells him she needs to be alone to pack up her parents' things. she misses her mama when john tucks her hair back from her face like she's something delicate and worth protecting, something that wouldn't trade two lives already lost for his.

it all has to go, everything hunting.

they pack it up into cardboard boxes and plastic milk crates -- the books, the journals; the cb radio set in the den and the armory behind the false wall in the bedroom; thousands of rounds packed in ammo cans labeled with her daddy's neat draftsman's hand printed on strips of masking tape: CONSECRATED IRON. SILVER -- PURE. SILVER -- ALLOY. COPPER -- STANDARD. her mom's correspondence book of every hunter they've ever known, the names and numbers and home addresses of people who sat at the campbell's dining room table and bled with them and died for them all throughout mary's entire childhood.

most of the clothes in the closet get donated, but mary keeps the box of baby clothes her mama had kept tucked up high on a shelf in their bedroom closet, in case she someday has a little girl with john's dark hair and the winchester name. she keeps the memory box with her first lock of hair and the jar of her baby teeth and the tattered scrap of her crib blankie. she keeps her dad's letterman sweater and her mama's canvas jacket with the padded shoulder where a rifle's meant to rest. she wants her daddy's wristwatch, but it goes into the pyre with the rest of his effects. their wedding rings, her mother's engagement band, all of it; mary watches it all burn down to smoldering cinders with her parents' shrouded corpses.

mary keeps what she has to -- her knives (one for every birthday since she turned ten), and a few handguns. john knows she and her parents were big into "target shooting", so it's not implausible she'd keep a couple. but most of it goes to her family downstate, redistributed amongst the campbell clan. she keeps the slim leather-bound volume printed in 1932 with detailed runic symbols and protective sigils, the sort her mama used to draw with magic marker on the underside of the insoles every time mary got a new pair of shoes. (she misses her mama when she does the same thing to the tiny shoes she puts on the baby boy mary named after her.)

she misses her daddy, who never gets to walk her down the aisle. he's not there to give her grief about "that goddamn nightgown of a hippie wedding dress; jesus, mare, you gettin' hitched today or you just roll outta bed?" or do his best to scare john shitless "as is a father in law's prerogative, damnit!" but then make sure his tie's on straight, 'cause john hasn't got a dad to do it for him.

she misses her mama worst when she's pregnant -- the first time with her little angel, her baby boy with ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes and two-thirds of his grandmama's name on his birth cert. and almost worse with sam -- john stayin' nights on a cot in the back room of that damned garage and herself to blame for it (he shouldn't'a said that, but she shouldn't've drawn her pistol on him like that, either; not with dean in the next room, sprawled out on his belly on the rug in front of the tv), eight months pregnant and huge as hell, dragging the garbage cans to the curb at five o'clock in the morning with dean on her hip 'cause he'll scream if he's set down even for a minute, and her housecoat coming open at the front and mary wants to sit down in the new-mown grass and weep, she's so goddamned tired, she wants her mama, she wants her daddy, she wants to go back and change her mind and have them flanking her on either side at john winchester's funeral. she wants her mama to brush back her hair and give her a kiss on the forehead and tell her everything's gonna be alright, and she wants her daddy to admit that john was a decent boy even if he was a civilian, and she wants to trade all of them -- her husband and her son and the baby rolling like a hoopsnake inside her -- for her family back.

(she'll feel different in a few hours. after she and dean have gotten a little more shut-eye, and she's made breakfast that caters to the demands of a bacon-obsessed toddler but doesn't also make her wanna hurl, maybe they'll go see john. see if she can't win john's forgiveness with the guileless screams of delight her sweet boy will no doubt give his daddy, and a few kicks from baby to the hand john will inevitably rest on her belly. but for the moment she thinks, oh, god; I should've let him die.)

#mary campbell winchester #supernatural #supernatural headcanon #she speaks #mary you're a hot mess babygirl and i love you

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firstkanaphans · 2 months

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You teased 1 for the smut prompt for AkkAyan in your last fic. They won’t go straight to hell for road head if the car is parked

Ah, yes. You found the loophole. I actually really like how this one turned out so I hope you do as well 🫶🏻 Word Count: 1600ish

{going} down on them in the backseat of a car

Aye was drunk—pleasantly so, but drunk nevertheless. They were at a bar celebrating Kan’s twenty-first birthday, but Aye had lost interest in the party. In fact, he seemed to have lost interest in everything that wasn’t Akk. He was sidled up next to him in the half of the booth they shared and he had his chin tucked flirtatiously over his shoulder. Every time Akk’s attention dared to wander over to their friends for even a second, Aye’s hand would start to snake its way up his thigh.

The third time this happened, Akk clamped his hand down on Aye’s and listened as he giggled.

“Not here,” he hissed into Aye’s ear. Aye shivered as if his words were foreplay and not a genuine admonishment.

“Then where?” he asked.

“At home,” Akk answered. Where respectable people had sex. Obviously.

Aye pouted up at him, his eyes wide and forlorn. “But I don’t want to wait that long.”

“Well, you’re going to have to.”

“Please, Akk. Don’t make me.” He fluttered his eyelashes as if he thought that might help curry Akk's favor and then his hand started to drift up Akk’s thigh once more…

Akk was done. He couldn’t take this anymore. He stood, causing Aye, whose head had still been resting on his shoulder, to tip sideways into the booth.

“We’re leaving,” he announced to the table at large, holding a hand out to help Aye up. Aye beamed. “Happy Birthday, Kan.”

“Happy Birthday, Kan!” Aye agreed, addressing the birthday boy for the first time in an hour. Akk didn’t give him a chance to say anything more. He grabbed his boyfriend by the hand and dragged him out of the bar before he could embarrass either of them further.

“Where are we going?” Aye asked eagerly as they stepped out into the parking lot. There were a few people milling about, but for the most part, everyone was still inside. The heavy bass from the live band carried out into the night.

“I’m taking you home.”

“But I don’t want to go home,” Aye whined, grinding suddenly to a halt and refusing to let Akk drag him any further.

Akk sighed, coming to a stop a few steps ahead of him. “Well then where do you want to go?”

“I want to have sex,” Aye said as if Akk might have forgotten.

“Yes,” Akk agreed. “At home. Where I’m taking you.”

Akk tried to continue walking, but Aye still refused to move. “I don’t want to wait until we get home.”

“Then you can jerk off in the car. Now, come on.”

This time, Aye followed him, but he didn’t seem happy about it. He stomped along behind him like an insolent child.

Akk took the keys out of his pocket to unlock his car door, but before he could even press the button, Aye—in a burst of speed and agility Akk hadn’t thought him capable of in his current inebriated state—shook Akk’s grip from his wrist, snatched the keys from his hand, and ran around the car to jump in the backseat on the other side like they were playing some drunken game of tag. Akk was so surprised by the sudden burst of energy that he made no move to stop him. He just stood there, cursing his luck.

Aye slid over to his side of the car and grinned at him through the window.

“Aye, give me the keys,” Akk demanded, trying to sound stern. Aye giggled and shook his head, clearly not intimidated. “Aye, come on. Please. I can’t drive without the keys.” Aye giggled some more and then patted the back seat next to him in offering, silently asking Akk to join him inside. And what else was Akk supposed to do at this point? He had to get his keys back somehow. So he opened the car door and climbed inside.

“Now what?” he asked stubbornly. He needn’t have. Aye made his intentions perfectly clear when, as soon as the car door swung shut behind him, he pressed his lips to Akk’s.

Akk immediately pushed him away, his cheeks burning. “Aye, no. We can’t,” he said, looking out the window in search of anyone who might be watching. No one was. Aye cocked his head in confusion.

“Why not?” he asked in a whisper.

“Because we’re in a car!”

Aye waited for him to say more, but when he didn’t, he snorted. “Oh, stop being such a prefect,” he said, and then he kissed him again. This time—either because of the challenge in Aye’s voice or simply desire—Akk kissed him back.

Even drunk, Aye was a good kisser. So good, in fact, that Akk was starting to think he might not be as drunk as he let on. He tangled his fingers in Akk’s hair, kissed him deeply, and for a few moments, it was sweet. Innocent, even. And then Aye’s fingers found the zipper of Akk’s pants.

“Aye,” Akk warned.

“I’ll be quick,” Aye said, quieting him with a kiss.

And in his defense, he was quick. Within seconds, Akk’s pants were undone and Aye was breaking their kiss to pull them down just far enough for his cock to spring free.

“Aye, seriously. We can’t—”

“I’m going to suck your dick now,” Aye interrupted bluntly, and then, without another word, he leaned down and took Akk into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Akk groaned, looking frantically out the window, expecting to find someone staring back at him through the pane—a witness to his sins—but although there were still people moseying about, none were close enough to see them. Still, knowing they were there, just on the other side of the glass? It made him feel like he was being watched. His blood caught fire.

Aye smirked around his dick, pleased to have finally quieted his arguments, and then he took him deeper.

The back seat of Akk’s car was cramped. Akk was on one side, half-turned toward Aye with his head resting back against the cool window behind him. Aye was sprawled out on the other, his ass in the air as he bent down to suck Akk’s cock like it was the reason he had been put on this earth. There was no stopping him now—not because Aye wouldn’t if he asked, but because Akk no longer wanted to. Like Aye said, his best hope was to get it over with quickly. Preferably before they were arrested for public indecency.

So he tangled his fingers in Aye’s hair and began showing him exactly how he wanted to be pleasured. Aye was a fast learner. He sped up at Akk’s instruction, leaving Akk free to just lean back, close his eyes, and enjoy it. But the closer he got to the edge, the more he realized it wasn’t enough to just sit passively by as Aye did all the work. He wanted Aye to feel the thrill of exposure too.

“Goddamn it,” he cursed under his breath. What had this boy done to his sense of decorum? "You're going to kill me one of these days, you know that?"

He reached down, feeling blindly for the front of Aye’s pants, and although the angle wasn’t great, Aye was aroused enough that it wasn’t difficult to find his erection and massage him through his jeans. Aye thrust into his hand, just as hungry as Akk was, but Akk couldn't figure out how to unbuckle Aye's belt one-handed.

When Aye realized what he was trying to do, he reached down to help. Soon, he was shimmying out of his pants without ever once breaking his rhythm on Akk’s cock. Once his dick was finally free, Akk licked his palm and used his saliva as lube to begin stroking Aye in time to his racing heartbeat. It felt woefully inadequate compared to the warm, wet heat of Aye's mouth, but he did what he could.

“Fuck,” Akk hissed as Aye swallowed him down so deep that he could feel his cock pressed against the back of his throat. “Yeah. Just like that.”

Aye smirked up at him from his lap and then grabbed Akk’s hand and tangled it back in his hair, silently asking Akk to do what he had done before. To guide him. To use him however he wanted.

And so Akk did.

He held Aye still as he fucked into his mouth and in the quiet of the night, all he could hear were the sounds of his own moans echoing overtop their lovemaking and it was so loud in the small space, so intimate, that he knew he wouldn’t be able to last much longer. With a few final thrusts, he came down Aye’s throat.

As soon as he was completely spent, Akk collapsed back against the window breathing heavily as Aye cleaned his cock with his tongue. Once he was done, he smiled up at him, his eyes sparkling with happiness despite his swollen lips.

Akk couldn’t help himself. He lunged for Aye, pushing him down onto the other side of the back seat and kissing him fiercely. He reached for Aye’s still-hard cock and began stroking him in earnest once more.

“Akk,” Aye moaned, not even trying to keep quiet. The sound of his name on Aye’s lips excited him. How had he gotten so lucky? What had he done to deserve someone like Aye? Aye was still the only person who could get him out of his head. The only person who could convince him to be reckless and spontaneous and wild. The only person who could convince him to live.

Aye came all over himself, Akk’s hand, and the back seat of his car and Akk stared down at the mess with a defeated sigh as Aye laughed.

“This is your fault,” Akk said.

“Not this time,” Aye said lazily. “You should have been a good boy and swallowed like I did.”

Akk feigned smacking him with the hand still covered in come and Aye laughed again. But Akk wasn’t mad. Not really. Aye was more than worth the mess.

#this may make it onto ao3 eventually if i can think of a title #there's nothing i hate more than coming up with titles #except for maybe coming up with summaries #the eclipse #the eclipse fanfic #akkayan #akkayan fanfic #sarah writes things #smut prompts

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fishhjuice · 5 months

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An In-depth C-Side Characterization Guide/Cheatsheet by Dottie Fishjuice

Greetings! I am very autistic and therefore knowledgable/cursed about C-Side, and i hope to curse you too. I at least to my knowledge has read thorugh everything provided to us and pondered on it, and now i will be sharing.

This was very much inspired by the analysis provided by @/arogustus and @/evil-urchin.

Everything I will say I will point (at the very least try) to point the source of, because i minored in Comparative Literature so this is how I do literary analysis. The smaller text inside parathesis will be my thoughts and speculations, and I will try to keep these at a minimum, trying to stay as factual as possible.

C-Side as a Whole

C-side is the representative band of the Splatlands region. In fact, it is said that "No band reps harder for the Splatlands than this trio" in Splatbase, not even Deep Cut. They are, aside from Riot Act (which is like C-Side 2), the sole splatband to be from Splatlands.

The Riot Act introduction tweet [by the wording of SplatoonJP] calls them "exemplifying Splatlands values". These values can be a sensitivity to fleeting nature of life, and an effort to be as chic and bold as possible [from Fia's translation of the Artbook]

They have at least been active for 8~ years, being active at the same time as Squid Squad (from Beika's tweets).

In the words of Big Man, "C-side has been making great music for a long time", and has served as one of the musical influences to Deep Cut. [X]

In the tweet presenting Paintscraper [by SplatoonJP, for this bit was lost in translation], they are characterized as a "tight-knit trio". This fondness is also portrayed in several of Beika's tweets.

Who else but Kiki would come back to a band they quit once? Well, I'm pretty sure that the guys who let 'em back in probs would too.

Paintscraper is based on a demo that Walter made. I heard that he played the guitar himself too. It's very silly and ridiculous, but it has a unique charm to it. If I get the chance, I'd like to share it.

(I believe this to be also evident in their music, with Beika and Kikura dueting in all of C-side songs, even Splattack which is originally a solo, speaking into their cohesion as a band and whatnot. Not to mention with Splattack, Uotora and Kikura basically enabled Beika's revenge quest. With the vocalists shouting "C-Side" in Headhammer and Paintscraper, they seem pretty proud of themselves too (which they are and ill talk about it), but this is more speculation than fact. I will get into things more in individual character sections.)

One of the only bits of characterization given by Nintendo to C-side is the fact they have 1) the ambition and 2) the attitude. [X] (I find their ambition to be underrepresented in fandom)

In their introductory tweet [by SplatoonJP, this part again not being translated to English] , they are said to have come from lower economic backgrounds and have no formal music education, making up for this with the said ambition.

As for their attitude, Inue himself has said "The members of C-Side aren’t a well-behaved bunch.". C-side has also been called rowdy, and rebellious.

The combination of their ambition and attitude seems to manifest itself in the form of insolence. It is said that "These three don't doubt for a second that they're the greatest band alive." (And I would like to emphasize "These Three", not only Beika)

That isn't to say their confidence is totally misplaced. They are said to have the most momentum to become the most popular band of Inkfish world [X] out of all, to the point they might have even inspired a counter-movement in the form of H2Whoa ("An Inkopolitan retort to the wild "Splatlands sound" folks were used to"). This is also supported by how the exact word Beika uses to describe Inkopolis is repeatedly used to describe H2Whoa both in their introduction and their Splatbase page, pretentious.

Not only that, Bait and Click (normal and mutation) could also speak into the recognition they get as artists, since the W-3 Cellist is said to recognize only the most radical of works [X]

As for their opinion on salmonid, although Beika uses the word "funny" to describe the salmonid arrangement, Beika calls the Deep Cut arrangement of Now or Never "funny" as well, which overall seems to indicate they have the same level of enthusiasm or respect for Deep Cut and Omega 3. It's remarkably positive language for Salmonid.

They also seem to be very well loved within Splatsville. Despite having no billboards or posters in Splatsville unlike Wet Floor and Squid Squad, the statuettes of their shrimpets are all over Splatsville, in a food stand during Splatfest and in Grizzco office. (It seems to me more like they don't need to advertise in Splatsville at all, people already know who they are, whereas they have posters in Inkopolis)

Another thing to support this is the fact is that trains that come from Splatsville seem to play Clickbait, which you can hear during Big Run [X]. For comparison's sake, the Inkopolis trains play Calamari Inkantation, so it can be said their fame is at least comparable to Callie and Marie.

Speaking of these shrimps, they are implied to be the kind of animal that spooks easily by Frye in her boss dialouge, talking about how "[Neo3] can't treat her eels like shrimp"

Murch's suitcase features an older version of the C-side logo, indicating he is probably a fan.

Although SplatoonNA calls them grungy in their introductory tweet, it is pretty obvious from the tempo of their music, their characterization and the fact they are self taught that C-side is supposed to be less of a grunge band and more of a punk band. For us who are unfamiliar with the difference between genres, grunge is more dark, nihilistic, wretched, angst-filled and anguished, whereas Punk is more rebellious and filled with fighting-spirit. Inue also calls their music "bright, easy to groove to, but still heavy". (I would personally love to see them being characterized as such)

The fact they have no sad defeat theme also probably plays into how C-side is supposed to be bright. The name "Learning Curve" also is a bit more hopeful/positive, possibly giving a glance to how their lyrics could be. (This could speak into their attitude towards their fame, which came after years)

Again playing into their ego, "Rinse/Repeat" seems to be imply something about how effortless winning is to them.

Their music is supposed to be intentionally (by developers) reminiscent of Squid Squad's. In the words of Inue, "We’ve also been keeping in mind the feelings of "primary colors" and "impulses felt when starting something" from the first game." and in the words of Minegishi, "What was at the forefront of music in the first game was a fast, playful and summery feel using just a few notes. For C-Side, which plays a central role in the third game's music, we made the deep bass and upbeat melody stand out in their music while reminding the audience of the sound from the first game."

Interestingly, their music is also supposed to "counter" Wet Floor's.[X].

It is said that "They don't ask permission to cover other artists' tracks, and they claim their versions are better.". Although this brings up the question if they frequently cover other artists' songs, it is most likely refers to Splattack and Splattack only, as Beika feels the need to clarify why they covered Splattack.

And this is the end of the band section.

I will be getting into the very little we know of their individual characterization under Read More. This part will be a bit more speculative, and cannot be as factual due to the nature of how character analysis works. Your interpretation of these facts is just as valid. If you skimmed or scrolled this far, thank you so much for your time.

I will be going in the order of how much we know of these characters. Unfortunately because most we know about these characters come from Beika, in a way at times they are characterized by their interractions with Beika. I hope to not sound biased. Here we go.

Uotora

Uotora is a long spine porcupinefish.

One thing that jumps out from the album art itself is that Uotora has their spikes out. Spikes of porcupinefish, which Uotora is, only stick out when they are are inflated and otherwise is supposed to lay flat against their body. You already probably know that these fish inflate themselves when they are frightened/threatened. Given this fact, it is very likely Uotora has an anxious personality. (This could be also be playing into Uotora's name in an ironic manner. Uotora, which means tiger fish, could be a play on the scary fish being scared themselves)

They must have a bit of an ego though, considering "These three don't doubt they are the greatest band alive."

They, along with Kikura, seem to support/enable Beika's conflict with Ichiya, from the wording "In the case of Squid Squad's Now or Never!, they [as a group] even claim to be the originators."

They play the guitar and the drums in the Uotora demo. Listening closely, you can seemingly vaguely hear Beika singing along, which speaks to their bond.

Speaking of bonds, the phrasing of Beika's tweet characterizes them as just as willing to welcome Kikura back as Beika was.

Who else but Kiki would come back to a band they quit once? Well, I'm pretty sure that the guys who let 'em back in probs would too.

Best guitarist in C-side. Sorry Kiku.

Kikura

Kikura is a peacock bass.

Peacock bass are said to be aggressive and "downright belligerent" (pointing this out since it would probably affect them the same way Finn being a betta affects Finn)

Apperantly there is still an ambiguity about this, Kikura is the owner of the high-pitched voice without any doubt. In the music for Splatoon that has multiple vocalists, the vocals are panned to only play in one ear and which vocals play for which side line up with the album art for these groups, which makes Kikura who is in the right lined up with the high-pitched voice. We are also able to infer this from Clickbait, in the call and response part of the song, the high-pitched voice only sings when the guitar is playing.

They are stated to be often late to the studio.

They are said to be known for their deep and edgy guitar riffs [X].

According to Beika, they at some point left the band but came back. Beika speaks fondly of this, implying a level of trust between the two.

Who else but Kiki would come back to a band they quit once?

The relationship between the two seems to go beyond this. Despite Beika writing the Triple Dip, they are barely in it, propping Kikura in the song. This also happens in Splattack, which is not only turned into a duet, but also is more guitar heavy, at times removing the bass sections [X]. (It seems to me that Beika likes to show off Kikura)

They, along with Uotora, seem to support/enable Beika's conflict with Ichiya, from the wording "In the case of Squid Squad's Now or Never!, they [as a group] even claim to be the originators."

Again, they are implied to have a bit of an ego, "greatest band alive" yada yada yada.

The tweet about leaving is not about Riot Act, since Riot Act is said to be "Hot on the indie scene", implying it is a new development.

Riot Act is a side project, which in popular music, is a project undertaken by one or more people already known for their involvement in another band, which SplatoonNA also points towards. So no, Kiki didn't leave C-side for Riot Act (but did steal Finn from Beika).

However it might be important to mention when asked about No Plan Survives, they with Finn said "We wanted to play as freely as possible".

Beika

Beika is an inkling. Shocker.

Despite their vague similarities the idea Beika is Frye's brother is contradicted by canon, as Beika implied from their tweets (and the fact that C-side acted as a musical influence to Deep Cut) is older than Frye, not younger. (I made a chart for this)

They are the lower voice for the same reasons I stated for Kiku.

From their first tweets, they come off as friendly/cool or at the very least make the effort to come off as friendly/cool (I use cool very loosely).

There is likely a delibarate effort to cultivate a positive persona by Beika, in how they seem to chastise themselves about how upset they have gotten and /or how they presented themselves with "I rambled too much last night." Another thing pointing at how Beika might be avoiding negativity is with how they seem to undercut their criticisms of Inkopolis scene by stating how they like Bottom Feeders and how they would like everyone to listen to their music.

They seem to be very invested in the music making process, as their first tweets are entirely about their music.

They seem to have the potential to be overdramatic sometimes, as they start their rant with the words "I'm typing this in a drunken stupor". Then again, they are drunk so take this with a grain of salt. (You know C-side lyrics probably go hard)

THIS IS ACTUALLY SO IMPORTANT: Beika does not make the accusation that Ichiya stole the song while drunk!! Please look at the wording!!

I've said this half a billion times this year alone, but Now or Never is a C-Side original.

"I've said this a million times this year alone" clearly shows Beika has made this accusation before.

Other than being very funny, the fact Beika can't seem to even remember Squid Squad's name seems to imply they are indifferent to it. The fact Ichiya is the only Squid Squad member called by name in their tweets goes to show it is Ichiya and Ichiya alone that drives Beika's ire. This is also supported by Beika's, although backhanded, compliment.

The tweet Beika makes before revealing Ichiya was their middle schoolmate is "If there's anything better than a late night meal alone, let me know.". This could very well be interpreted as Beika associating that feeling of loneliness with Ichiya.

It is also important to point out Ichiya did contact Beika.

He decided he was going to go to Inkopolis, and then after a little while, he told me that he had debuted with a band. I tried listening to them just to find out that their sound was so soft that it made my ink churn.

Along with "The Secrets of Front Roe" pointing out Ichiya is avoiding Splatsville "for some reason", it is more than reasonable Beika is not making up the fact Ichiya and them know of each other, and it is not a fit of baseless jelaousy.

While dissing Ichiya, they make time to talk about how they think their fans are cool and talented.

... Any of you guys would be able to make a song that's just as cool.

While doing so they also flaunt their talent, showing the extent of their ego.

I mean our song is this one 300 times better, right? Just wanted to make it clear that we're not trying to pay homage to it or anything like that.

The "You have some nerve to come crawling back home." is said in a very, very harsh tone in Japanese. The wording specifically seems to imply they are very upset at Ichiya leaving in the first place.

While Beika is a loser, they aren't seemingly the type to back down from a fight. Rather than apologizing, they simply say "I rambled too much last night." and go on with their lives.

And this is the end of it.

NOW. For a complete speculation,

From wording of "Who else would come back to a band they left" and their need to prop up and show off Kikura,

The fact Ichiya is self taught much like C-Side,

The fact Ichiya is avoiding Splatsville,

The fact Beika seems too proud of their work and very involved in the music making process

The fact C-side is characterized through their ambition

makes me think Ichiya more likely than not did steal Now or Never. It seems to me Beika's pride and ambition would not allow them to lie about a thing they didn't do. If i were to guess, from the fact C-side's Now or Never is a duet, it is likely song was written together before Ichiya took off.

Thank you so much for reading if you actually read this far. See you when Side Order Art Book demolishes all of this!!

#splatoon #splatbands #c-side #cside #beika #kikura #uotora #dottie does meta

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wannaeatramyeon · 1 year

Text

Ryuhei Kuroda x Reader: Moon and Tide

F!Reader. Colleagues to Lovers. Mitsuki leaves, Ryuhei has some realisations.

Ryuhei experiences his first heartbreak at nineteen.

(In truth, his heart had broken time and time again with his unrequited love. Each time that Mitsuki dismisses him, each time he saw her with Shiba Inu.

But each time he used to see her, he also fell in love all over again too.)

Shortly after Sinu Han leaves, Mitsuki also departs.

"What?!" Ryuhei slams both fists down on the boardroom table, "Then I quit."

"Haven't you harassed her enough? She obviously doesn't want you to follow." Samuel Seo gazes over the top of his glasses, smirk on his face and relishing the blonde's distress.

"Watch your mouth." Ryuhei snarls, low and menacing, a clear warning as any.

"Samuel is right," Eugene is calm, voice even. "Please respect Mitsuki's wishes this one time." Unlike all the other times you've ignored her boundaries does not need to be said.

The room stills at his words. The chairman has spoken, although it does nothing to dissipate the tension. The air hangs heavy. Like an elastic band stretched taut, to its limits.

Samuel observes Mandeok tensing and Ryuhei’s nostrils flaring, and he wonders who will break first.

Ryuhei's eyes flit around the room. The silence, lack of support, from Kenta or even yourself is damning.

"Fuck you," he hisses. Leaving, not wanting to be here a second longer.

The door slams, reverberating off the walls.

"My apologies for Ryuhei's interruptions," Eugene gestures to you, "In Mitsuki's absence, Y/N will take on her duties and title."

You give a curt nod to the rest of the room, acknowledging your promotion, but your eyes stay glued to Ryuhei's empty seat.

To both of your surprise, you're the first one to reach out.

(You like to think it’s you fulfilling your new duties as president. The alliance, the uncomplicated relationship you always had with Ryuhei helped too.)

Gently knocking on his room door, calling his name. The voice, the tone, the pitch pulls him out of his mood. Briefly, for a second, before he realises the two of you sound nothing alike.

"Go away,"

He watches you respond by jiggling the handle aggressively. So much so that the entire door shakes then a second later - it opens with you striding in.

"That's handy," Ryuhei, lying in bed, glances over at you rearranging the pins back into your hair, "And a complete invasion of my privacy."

"Like you ever cared about anyone's privacy,"

Right. Another jab about Mitsuki. One that he used to take on the chin because it's true, he's not ashamed. He pines after her openly, certain that everyone in 2A would have heard of his antics by now, if not the whole of Workers.

Tonight is a different story. It's less the wound being raw and tender and more Ryuhei is missing an entire limb.

How can she leave without saying goodbye?

He misses her.

Ryuhei throws the covers over his head.

The message is clear though not enough to drive you out or to muffle your voice.

"You have 3 days to get yourself together, then I need you by my side."

Fuck off he wants to say. But what's the point anymore?

"I have negotiations that could go wrong. I need all the manpower I can get my hands on."

Like you wouldn't be able to handle it by yourself, a small voice in his brain retorts.

Whatever. This, Workers, everything has all been a complete waste of his time.

Ryuhei was officially Mitsuki's bodyguard, and it makes sense that his duties now extend to you.

Everything else thus far has transitioned smoothly, except your current dilemma: how do you deal with a bodyguard that doesn't want to guard you?

After the three days, you barge in at the crack of dawn and try to wrestle him out of bed. Out of the room that stinks of despair and depression.

A one sided obsession that has run its course, ended in the best way it could. You don't voice these thoughts out loud.

Ryuhei is a dead weight in your arms, childish and insolent and completely unhelpful.

He's a grown man. There's little you can do.

Your lips crease thin with fury but no words spill forth.

You leave without him.

It's a full week later that Ryuhei musters up enough energy to crawl out of bed, throwing on something half presentable to stretch his legs.

Wandering the corridors, guilt creeps over him when he sees you talking to Kenta, right arm bandaged and in a sling.

Kenta nods at his friend's reappearance, you ignore him completely.

Well. He supposes he deserves that.

Seeing you kick starts a little change.

Not a lot, enough to get Ryuhei out of bed every day and put up an appearance of semi-normality. Key word: semi.

He slumps over a desk half the time, willing away the hours by fiddling with the edges of papers and documents, heart aching.

(A small part of him, maybe the most pathetic part, wants to doodle Mitsuki's name over and over.)

Other times he takes to training with a ferocity that surprises himself.

The only moments he feels anything other than a hollowness is when he's by your side. Eyes constantly attracted to your broken arm.

Steel pins, Kenta had mentioned, face grim as he clicks his lighter, adding that it was only thanks to your quick thinking the executives of Workers made it out alive.

Huh, it was that bad?

The guilt builds, claws under his skin and at his conscience. Could have sworn you were ambidextrous except now he watches you struggle with your dominant hand out of action.

He's not sure if it's out of stubbornness or forgetfulness that you have used chopsticks all week. Albeit your dexterity has vastly improved since Monday, watching you is nothing short of exasperating.

Ryuhei’s peace offering comes in the form of a spoon.

You've barely exchanged words since that day where you tried to hoist him out of bed. Only on a needs-must basis. Terse and to the point.

You were thoroughly pissed off and everyone knew it.

Righteous in your anger at first. You had explicitly said that you needed all hands on deck, implicitly asked for his help and frustrated he couldn't separate his personal feelings enough to do his job when there are lives at stake. Over the past couple weeks, your ire has reduced, cooled until he is now nothing but a thorn in your side.

"Go on, just take it," The thorn in your side holds out the utensil.

You ignore him.

"Or else I could just feed you?" He offers, a hint of mischief returning to his eyes.

Ryuhei huffs when you tell him he can try if he wants a broken arm to match yours.

Inch by inch, you thaw.

Would have thawed quicker if Ryuhei lessened his efforts to get back into your good graces, causing headaches and extra work more often than not.

Still, he tries. Following you around, part bodyguard, part puppy. You appreciate it in hindsight. It’s almost cute.

Little by little, he also regains the bounce in his step.

Ryuhei tries once to contact Mitsuki.

She says she has no plans to return or to see him again.

She doesn't offer anything else.

He stays silent the whole time.

Some may consider that a form of closure, Ryuhei isn’t sure. Things at least get slightly easier after that.

Once an all encompassing searing pain, the hurt and heartbreak eventually settles and dulls into a throb.

Normalcy becomes less of a facade.

Ryuhei flips off Eugene in earnest, tells Samuel Seo to eat shit with sincerity, struts 2A with his confident gait once more.

"Nomen," you nudge him lightly with your shoulder. Even with your mask on, he can hear the smile in your voice. "It's good to have you back."

"Yeah," he agrees. It is good to be back.

Not everything is smooth sailing, however.

In his more melodramatic moments, in which there are many, Ryuhei vows never to love again, endure a lifetime of chastity, promising to never so much as gaze at another woman.

You snort at the declarations.

"What?" He snaps and you pointedly return his gaze as he remains indignant, "You don't count."

You let that particular one slide but- "Who's going to sleep with you anyway, you're a pathetic asshole."

"A very handsome pathetic asshole," he corrects.

"Hmm." Yet you don't disagree.

It's only later that day, stuck in another godforsaken meeting with you and Eugene, when boredom strikes and his mind wanders that Ryuhei realises that you didn't refute his claim.

He watches you, head tilted and eyebrows furrowed.

Huh.

Ryuhei doesn't care about you, not like he cares about Mitsuki. Though he doesn't care about anyone the same way he cares (cared?) about her.

It's not personal.

His relationship with you has always been easy, flirtatious without intent.

Sharp words and double entendres litter your conversations. Fun during the better moments, aggravating during others. Skin deep, superficial. He doesn't know you beyond the limits of your words, not really, and the experience is mutual.

Others have commented on your strength and character before. Formidable. A force to be reckoned with.

Even more have taken note of your looks, a common water cooler topic.

To Ryuhei, you're like the moon. Sure you're nice to look at. Yet when Mitsuki is the stars and beyond; dazzling, glittering with untold adventures, how can anyone possibly compare?

(In the end, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Though not in the way Ryuhei expects.)

He carries out his new bodyguard tasks without complaint.

It only made sense with your arm out of commission, and him technically and almost literally being your right hand man, that he carries your bag, your coffee too. Really, whatever you need.

What’s more, he now knows you take your coffee exactly like him. Quadruple shot, milky and disgustingly sweet.

Spends more time scrolling on your phone than a president probably should.

Hate sitting with your back to the door. And in meetings where there are no other options, Ryuhei makes sure to position himself opposite instead of being next to you. Himself sat where you would have preferred. One eye on any potential dangers and the exit route, giving a reassuring, roguish smile that eases your worries.

Bags under your eyes naturally mean a poor night’s sleep. Bags under your eyes and hair in a ponytail means you do not want to be here today. Something you would never voice out loud, but Ryuhei can read you anyway.

On those days, he makes sure he’s always one step ahead and extra considerate. He’s not completely altruistic, he also doesn’t want to be shouted at again.

The emptiness still comes and goes, catches him out when he least expects it. Usually he feels Mitsuki’s absence more than remembers her presence.

Ryuhei notices you a bit more too, these days. Ever since your offhand agreement.

The way you say his name is nothing like how she used to. The way you look at him is nothing like how she used to.

It’s actually warmer.

“You fucking idiot,” your tone is a complete contrast to your gentle hands, now completely healed and bandaging up his instead.

Ryuhei pouts with mock hurt and you roll your eyes. You will not give him sympathy, not for this.

(A yelp diverted your attention earlier today, and you rushed to find Kenta holding his lighter and Ryuhei cradling his own hand, wincing in pain.

You took one look at the two guilty faces and realised that the blonde moron wanted to learn how to set his finger alight like Kenta without hurting himself.

Ryuhei is one thing, but you expected better from Kenta. You turn to him, disappointment painted on your face and tell him exactly that.

“What about me!” Ryuhei had the audacity to pipe up. You roughly snatched his wrist and dragged him away.)

“Don’t set yourself on fire again,” you punctuate each word by sharply jabbing him in the chest with your finger.

Ryuhei flutters his eyelashes at you in a way he thinks must be quite charming and endearing. Who knows where the hell he got that idea from. You’re tempted to gouge out his eyes more than anything.

Somehow, you manage to resist. You also refrain from rolling your eyes at him again.

(You worry if you do that anymore, they might get permanently stuck and never return back to normal.)

Ryuhei studies his injured hand. Lying in bed, other hand behind his head, holding it up into the direct path of the silver moonlight cutting through the darkness.

He moves it, angles it this way and that. Letting the highlights and shadows illuminate your neat handiwork.

Something about this makes him feel funny. A little light headed.

He can’t recall the last time anyone touched him so kindly. Can’t recall anyone ever taking care of him when he’s been hurt before.

If he squints and looks at the neat little knot just right, he can almost see a heart shape.

It’s odd.

Were you always this flirtatious? Was he always this coquettish with you?

Did you always return his taunts with such a sparkle in your eyes?

When did you start having so many inside jokes, your own moments snickering together?

And it’s like he can finally see you. No longer subjected to his previous tunnel vision, he finally understands what everyone has been saying.

You’re much more stunning than Ryuhei remembers.

He also doesn’t remember your smile making him feel this way before.

Lastly, he remembers saying ‘you don’t count’. His words have come back to bite him.

Ryuhei wakes up at his usual time on a Wednesday.

It’s a nothing special sort of day.

Slinks out of his bed like he usually does, goes about his day as he usually does, teases you with intention and a quickened pulse. Which… ok, that one is new.

All in all. It’s fine. It’s an unremarkable Wednesday.

Except the dull ache in his chest, one he has had to endure for the last few months, isn't there anymore.

There’s a different type of guilt at play.

First-

When you’re used to something for years and years, it takes time to break out of a habit. For the first time, Ryuhei begins to see his attachment to Mitsuki as the unhealthy obsession that it is.

He’s not fully ready to pick this apart just yet.

Second-

How do you separate a rebound from something real? That you’re not just a replacement, a new person to pass the time?

And that idea, that you’re a replacement for anything, shocks him. It’s unimaginable to think of you as a passing fancy because you deserve so much better.

That really should have given him an inkling.

On the other hand. When Ryuhei has only surrounded his love life with the one red flag, and himself being the other red flag too… he has a lot to learn.

Unfortunately you did get one thing right: Ryuhei is pathetic. His baseline personality is an absolute simp.

Maybe it would have been different if his informative years played out differently. Alas.

Alone, he tries to dissect his thoughts and feelings. In your company, he is much more simple. Constantly wanting to capture your attention, which you give easily and with minimal conditions.

Ryuhei can now read you like the back of his hand, knows your preferences so well that he’s able to anticipate your needs before they develop into needs. Wants, at best. Perhaps not even that.

And when other people look at you, the desire shown easily on their face that he has tried to tamper down, his possessiveness and jealousy flares.

Unsubtle shoulder barges and sneers are thrown in their direction.

But Ryuhei is nothing if not patient. He supposes it won’t be so bad if you turn him down and you’re happy with someone else.

He’s used to that.

Giving you the opportunity to turn him down though, he’s not sure yet how to go about.

Conveniently, an opportunity does arise.

Celebrating the new Fifth Affiliates, Eugene had said, showing his face at the gathering for about ten minutes before leaving.

Then the two newbies, who Ryuhei doesn’t bother to get the names of because he sure as hell doesn’t want to know anyone with tacky ‘H’ tattoos (on their forehead and neck for crying out loud!), leave shortly after.

Ryuhei also considers it a small victory when Samuel Seo departs, after a very witty verbal sparring to see who can tell each other to fuck off in increasingly creative ways.

“You’re so fucking juvenile,” you sigh, though you begrudgingly admit that you were impressed throughout that display.

“At least I got the last word in,” Ryuhei grins, giving the finger to Samuel’s retreating back.

The room empties out at a quicker rate now that the non-mandatory, completely optional (if you want to keep your job) gathering is devoid of the more severe senior management.

No more than another 30 minutes pass and only you and Ryuhei remain. Two small figures in an oversized room, full of empty tables but one.

Ryuhei rests one elbow on the table, propping up his head and looks at you with a cocky smile.

“Remember when I said I’m never going to gaze at anyone ever again? That was a lie.”

“Really.” You deadpan, resisting once more the urge to roll your eyes. It might be the most difficult thing you have ever had to do.

“I lied when I said you don’t count too.”

Ryuhei, for all his flaws, has only ever been forthright with his emotions. In his own roundabout and very sex-pest way with Mitsuki, though he did confess in the end. As for right now, well, he has learned his lesson.

You give him a response he didn’t expect.

“I think you should spend more time on your own first.”

Ryuhei is immediately placed on a leave of absence the next day.

You explain clearly to him as he sits opposite, his very official letter scrunched in his fist and feeling extremely petulant, that while you do like him, he needs some distance to everything.

He only hears the first part. You like him? You? Like? Him? The words swim round and round in his mind.

“Ryuhei,” you snap your fingers and him out of his daze.

“Then what’s the problem?” he whines.

“Don’t make me into another Mitsuki,” Ryuhei opens his mouth to argue that he won’t, there is no way-

“Ryuhei,” you repeat his name again in an authoritative tone that leaves no room for argument. Echoing your words from yesterday. “You need to spend more time on your own. This is non negotiable.”

Ryuhei sulks like there is no tomorrow.

Tries to manifest you outside his door but to no avail. He doesn’t see you at all.

That just about surmises his first week.

The week after, he thinks about you. How strange that you started as colleagues, almost friends first. How well he actually knows you.

Now months after Mitsuki has left, Ryuhei can only piece together fragments of her.

Even still, he had never seen the whole picture. He never knew her in her entirety, only the portrait he painted.

What becomes exceedingly clear is his one sided behaviour.

The fog, the rose tinted glasses fully lifts in the fourth week.

The sixth week he carefully pries open the past.

Gently picks apart what he wasn’t ready to before.

Moments of self reflection are painful, embarrassing. If the earth could open up and swallow him whole, he would gladly take it.

He still feels something for Mitsuki, though pertaining more to the remorse and shame side rather than anything else.

In an ideal world, he would seek her out and offer an apology for his past behaviour. However, in the real world, that only helps to alleviate his own conscience.

He has already reached out once before and she has given her answer.

Nothing else from Ryuhei now would benefit either party.

Two full months later, Ryuhei sees you once again at work.

Your smile still makes his heart flutter and brain short wire.

Except he can now see you as a whole person, all your flaws and faults too. What he used to ignore with Mitsuki, blinded by his obsession.

His feelings for you don't change.

Ryuhei wonders when he started to like you.

Thinks his heart liked you before his brain even realised. When the time is right, he needs to apologise for how long it took him to fully catch up.

He remembers thinking of you as the moon once, paling in comparison to the stars and the great beyond.

That wasn’t quite fair. Wasn't accurate at all.

If you are the celestial body, luminous and hung high in the heavens by the gods themselves, then Ryuhei considers himself the tide.

He understands now, with its lunar radiance, there is nothing that comes close.

Quite simply: 月が綺麗ですね

(The moon is beautiful, isn't it?)

At twenty, Ryuhei experiences real love.

Experiences what it truly means to love and to be loved.

#lookism #lookism x reader #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #lookism fic #ryuhei kuroda #ryuhei kuroda x reader #ryuhei x reader #wannaeatramyeon #3.5k words on this fucking asshole #a little. maybe a lot OOC.#trying to break him out of Mitsuki's grasps #✨character growth✨#making this pathetic meow meow less pathetic

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finniestoncrane · 28 days

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Arkham!Black Mask with a female S/O who's his fling/sugar baby ... not giving him any attention to taunt him at a party or just being a brat! To which he later spanks them on his lap ... perhaps fingering, edging, and orgasm control + denial may pursue—toss in the Daddy kink too < 3

Thank you 🫶🖤

Arkham!Black Mask x Fem!Reader, word count: 850 aheeeeeeem i can't imagine anyone being brave enough to give this man some attitude but it would be so fun to rile him up to the point that he just has to punish you 💀 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: spanking, fingering, ruined orgasm/orgasm denial

Sauntering into Roman's bedroom, you could make out his form on the edge of the bed. He'd waited for you, growing all the more impatient with every minute you had him sitting there. His fingers tensed, scratching at the fabric of his white, neat pants, as you tossed your hair so flippantly. The scent of your perfume floated over to him, and for a brief moment, just a millisecond, he was placated. But that reminder of how sweet you smelled only server to anger him more, knowing you were withholding from him and had been all evening.

"Would you hurry the fuck up."

Turning to him, no expression on your face, you responded to his harsh demand.

"Oh. Were you waiting on me, Roman?"

Though his skull was fitted with a permanent scowl, you could feel his own forming underneath it, the atmosphere of the room changing as he decided he'd had enough of your insolence for one evening. He'd put up with your ignoring him, tolerated your bratty attitude when he'd demanded you sit beside him and look pretty, but the nonchalant way you responded to him had pushed him to the edge.

As you made your way past him he grabbed at your wrist, leather gloved hands gripping you firmly as his fingers tensed around, pushing tendons and bones as he held you there. You didn't fight it, you accepted it. But you allowed yourself to keep a neutral, almost blank expression in the face of his attempt at regaining control of you.

"You can try and keep that face on all you want, you little bitch. But I'm not gonna make it easy for you."

Another quick tug, your shoulder almost yanked from the socket, as he jerked your body down, pushing your back and adjusting you roughly until you were bent over his lap facing the ground.

The palm of his glove skimmed up over your thigh, not stopping at the hem of your skirt but rather pushing it up, exposing your underwear to him. As his fingers reached your lower back, he hooked them into the band of your panties, pulling them down aggressively, tearing at them as they dug into your thighs on their way down your legs. His hand was smoothing over your bare ass cheeks in soft, careful circles as he lined up his shot. And then he lifted his hand, bringing it back down with a sharp strike, an immediate, red welt forming on your skin.

You took the punishment gleefully, as always, relishing in the way you could feel his cock stirring in his pants, stiffening against your stomach as he delighted in seeing your skin respond to the pain he inflicted.

He let his palm slide over your rear, following the curve of your cheek before settling flat between your legs against your cunt. A finger teased your swollen lips, moving from side to side to separate them, letting your slick spread over them as he collected it on the gloved digit. You shifted your body, trying to force the finger inside of you, desperate to feel him, not wanting to wait anymore, but you were quickly punished with a swift slap to your cheeks, and Roman's deep groan before he began tutting.

"Uh-uh. I don't think so, toots. You think you can get what you want that easily?"

You shook your head, fighting the urge to nod and piss him off further, knowing that riling him up would make for wilder sex, but would mean you had to wait longer for it.

"You gonna use your words?"

"No."

"No?"

Biting your lip to stifle the moan, you settled your breathing before giving him the answer he wanted.

"No, daddy."

"Good girl. Why can't you behave like that all the time, huh?"

It was out before you could stop yourself. A quick retort that made his cheeks warm, flushed with arousal and a little bit of rage at your insolence.

"Because you don't like it when I behave. You like it when I'm bad, Romy."

Two of his fingers pressed into you, rough and fast, surprising you with how easily he could slide himself inside of you. He tapped against your walls, watching you squirm around him, clenching and giggling as he orchestrated your building arousal. It was effortless, there wasn't much Roman couldn't do, and bringing you to orgasm with just the touch of his fingers was certainly something he could achieve. And he was close to doing so. As he growled, fingers pumping within your wet, warm cunt, you could feel your stomach muscles tightening, eyes closing as you felt your vision blur.

And then it was over. Everything grinding to a screeching halt, your moans devolving into a deep groan of confusion and irritation as you felt your climax being pulled away with the tips of his fingers as they exited your body, dripping in your slick.

With a pout, you turned to him, trying to catch his eye. You could hear his laugh in his throat, deep and cruel.

"And you like it when I'm bad, yeah?"

#black mask #roman sionis #finnie writes #arkham black mask #black mask fanfiction #black mask x reader #black mask x you #black mask fic #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis fic #x reader

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circlique · 7 months

Text

In the era of Kyoshi, a scrap of ancient history was discovered. Faded by centuries of dust and neglect, all that could be discerned from the tattered parchment was the words, "Dai Li's agents brought balance to the chaos of Ba Sing Se." It is from this that Kyoshi would find the inspiration to establish a new police force in Ba Sing Se in her era. But what of the original Dai Li? Thousands of years before Kyoshi, Kuruk, and Yangchen--a history all but lost to time--the world teetered on the brink. Nations one incident from all out war, environments destroyed by the greed of man, and spirits angered by the insolence of humanity. The spirits threatened to wipe them all out, unless the humans could make a change. From this chaos, a man named Dai Li attempted to unite the world. With his charismatic aura and strange bending abilities, he all but compelled his followers to complete devotion. His power spread, commanding total submission. His daughter, however, would ruin his plans. After his first fall, Dai Li, thought dead, faded into obscurity, and his daughter, granted a strange power by the last Lion Turtle, rose to fill the void of the absent Avatar. Ten years later, Dai Li would rear his head again, and Juno, knowing humanity under Dai Li's rule would have no humanity at all, sought out her own band of benders to take on her father. With all their differences and flaws, she will have her work cut out for her as they face Dai Li's enigmatic cult, their own demons, and the Avatar of whom no one speaks.

Another teaser of my fic, Avatar: Threads of Power, which I hope to be posting soon! (As in, like, the next couple days, hopefully.) This is Kelsang, the character I played in the original TTRPG on which the fic is based.

#avatar #atla #avatar the last airbender #airbender #kelsang #not the canon kelsang tho #avatar: threads of power #atop #avatar oc #atla oc #avatar legends #avatar ttrpg #art #artist on tumblr #digital art #fanart #circe draws

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mcflymemes · 1 year

Text

PROMPTS FROM SCOTT PILGRIM vs. THE WORLD * assorted dialogue from the 2010 film, adjust as necessary

when i'm around you, i kind of feel like i'm on drugs. not that i do drugs. unless you do drugs, in which case i do them all the time. all of them.

does that mean we can make out?

i skimmed it.

is there anywhere you don't work?

we are here to sell out and make money and stuff.

hey, so can this not be a one night stand?

there's more than one kind?

you've got mail.

i know i can be hard to be around sometimes. i totally understand if you don't want to hang anymore.

you will pay for your insolence.

break out the l-word.

that was a joke.

what the hell...

it's amazing what we can do with computers these days.

we have an unfinished business.

what did you have in mind?

i think garlic bread would have to be my favorite all-time food.

what do you play?

it's not a race, guys!

go ahead. i'm too cool for you anyway.

i'm so happy for you.

that's kind of a big question.

this is good garlic bread.

guess who's drunk!

you'll pay for your crimes against humanity!

you have a band?

i love this song!

what's the website for that?

we're terrible. please come.

don't you talk to me about grammar!

i know you have reasons for not wanting to talk about your past.

did you make some of those up?

i could eat it for every meal.

this is impossible! how can this be?

this is only my first offense. don't i get three strikes?

did you really see a future with this girl?

step up your game.

how are you doing that with your mouth?

it's milk and eggs, bitch.

bread makes you fat?

wait, can i get your number?

they have not started playing yet.

i want you to know that i don't care about any of that stuff.

we are here to make you think about death and get sad and stuff.

what kind of tea do you want?

you are incorrigible.

you used to be so nice.

what's that? you're outside?

oh, well, that's not that bad.

you know what really sucks? everything.

didn't you get my email explaning the situation?

i know you play mysterious and aloof just to avoid getting hurt.

i have to go pee due to boredom.

call us when you're done.

i've never even kissed a guy before.

he just left.

that was a test, and you passed.

i don't know the meaning of the word.

if you want something bad, you have to fight for it.

if i peed my pants, would you pretend that i just got wet from the rain?

do you have any embarrassing stories?

you made me swallow my gum! that's going to be in my digestive tract for seven years!

everything does suck.

why can't we have our own secret shows?

sounds like someone wants to get funky.

so what you're saying is we're dating?

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fiction-box · 8 months

Text

Blood From A Stone

Blue Lions Boys X Fem!Reader

Hello, my lovelies! I wrote this in an attempt to psyche myself up for these next few days as I will be traveling for a job interview. I hope you all have been staying warm these past few weeks (the temperature has been consistently negative where I am now). I will attempt to start working on my inbox once I return. This work was not originally going to go this far in-depth, but this is where the story wanted to go. Nonetheless, please enjoy!

Requests are open. The story will continue under the cut.

After what might have been a ten minute walk, Professor Byleth halted her Blue Lions in the middle of the woods surrounding the monastery. You felt the warmth of the late spring sun shining through the trees; an experience made more pleasant by the soft breeze rifling through your hair.

You and Ingrid had been speculating what exercise you might be coming outside to do, taking an opportunity to make conversation during the walk. Each Friday, the professor enforced some group activity - shopping relays in town, competitive hunting, blindfolded sparring matches - to let everyone better learn the strengths of their classmates.

Sure enough, you watched the former mercenary pull the infamous blindfolds out of the satchel sitting on her waist. A hefty exhale resounded next to you.

“Aw, come on! Not this again…” Annette whined.

No one could blame her; Dedue had hit her uncharacteristically hard in the confusion of his blindness during their match. She might even still be sore from last weekend.

“Now, now - repeating the same exercise two weeks in a row wouldn’t be much help to us. This is meant to build our sense of camaraderie, not our dread for the end of the week,” Byleth corrected. “Line up, please.”

You did so, shuffling into a spot between Annette and Ingrid as your teacher scrutinized the class.

Dimitri caught a green bandana in the same second Dedue was handed a brown one. Green for Ashe and Mercedes, brown for you and Annette.

“Teams,” Dedue noted.

“Please tie them around your foreheads. I’ll explain in a moment.”

A brown scrap of fabric landed in Felix’s palm, the bluenette bringing it to his forehead before Ingrid and Sylvain received their green cloths. Silently cheering, you watched Professor Byleth fix the final brown textile to her own head.

“Today’s activity focuses on both stealth and strategy. Everyone received a color responding to their team. Your objective is to steal all of your opponents’ headbands - the first team to lose all of which will lose.”

Immediately, Sylvain reached over Ashe’s head to pull Felix’s bandana off his head, dangling it in the air.

“One down, everyone!”

“You know damn well we haven’t started yet!” the swordsman snapped.

Dimitri grinned, “I must say Felix, I never saw you as someone to be so easily caught off your guard.”

Ingrid hardly held back a snicker, Ashe’s body practically trembling with a similar sentiment as he reflexively moved out of the way of the two nobles.

Felix clenched his hands into fists, “I’ll tear that cloth into tatters while it’s still wrapped around your insolent-”

“That’s quite enough.”

Professor Byleth eyed Sylvain, prompting him to quickly return Felix’s band. Not without receiving a moderate punch to the arm in retaliation, of course.

“The forest will be split down the middle in regards to starting positions. Those with green bands will begin on the east while brown will start on the west. Each team will be given one minute to conceal themselves, come up with a plan, and do anything else they see fit before I sound the whistle.”

“Your opponents’ accessories can be taken by any means necessary. While use of stealth is encouraged, feel free to use weapons and other advantages as you see fit. The goal is to win, first and foremost. Once you are eliminated, you are to return here until we finish.”

“Prepare to sit on your ass for fifteen minutes, boar.”

You couldn’t help the sound that came out of you at that. Dimitri’s eyes flashed over to discern your reaction before his face promptly flushed a light hue of pink.

“Wh- Sylvain took your headband, not me!”

The redhead frowned, lightly ghosting his hand over his new injury, “Throwing me to the wolves so quickly, your Highness? Maybe-”

“Oh, enough already,” Byleth huffed. “Off to the woods with you all. Right now. Sixty seconds!”

Newly motivated by the time constraint, everyone shifted to group up before rushing to their respective sides.

You weaved between the trees, Professor Byleth following close behind as you trailed Dedue and Annette. Not long after you reached a central-western location, Felix instantly pulled the two in front of you aside.

“...-ce at the northern end of the forest where the dirt is…”

A bit confused, you shifted your eyes to meet those of your professor. Apparently, neither of you were invited to this strategy meeting.

That meant you weren’t needed then, right?

It was all the same to you. Better than the same, actually; an archer flying solo on a stealth mission in the woods didn’t sound like a terrible assignment in the least.

To top it all off, Professor Byleth on her own elsewhere in the forest at the same time? The anticipation would surely kill you. Maybe you would even see her skills more personally than you had on the few traditional battlefields your class fought on so far.

You were brought back to the present as your professor turned to you in real life, nodding at you before slipping into the shadow of a thick tree.

Sticking around just a little longer, you gathered enough snippets of Felix’s conversation to understand his plan. He wanted to make a hole in the ground on the northern side large enough to hold as many members of the opposing side as possible. It sounded a bit ambitious, but you supposed that was nothing new concerning the second son.

In any case, your team seemed to masquerade as the better part of a mess. You wondered how things were with Ingrid…

…45, 46, 47…

After a moment, you strengthened your resolve. The best way to see what the other team was up to would be to go see for yourself, right?

Swiftly working your way counterclockwise around the forest, you snuck over to the eastern side, crossing over only upon hearing a shrill note knocking against the trees. It was now imperative to stay hidden in whatever darkness would conceal you. Having a bow certainly made this easier in terms of mobility since you could just sling it across your body.

Even the animals seemed quiet. Accordingly, you were on high alert. Your movements became more careful, more deliberate as your heart began to race in anticipation. No stepping on branches or leaves; just grass and dirt. No bumping against the trees or sudden movements; just liquid flow and shady cover. Soft, swift, and silent.

Once you believed yourself to have rounded the terrain far enough, you stopped, climbing the tree with the best vantage point in the area and scanning the shady path where your opponents must have started. That is, if the ruined leaves on the ground served as any clue. Prepared for action, you took your bow off your back and pulled an arrow out of the slim training quiver you had been given. Patience was a game you were sure to win, especially in such a good position.

Nothing happened, though. You detected no movement, no flash of colors, and you eventually concluded that the other group must have had a similar idea. After all, most people are right handed, so they might have felt more comfortable countering on the northern side than from the south.

You were somewhat discouraged at your failure to help, but it was no big deal. Especially not when you heard the sound of branches snapping back the way you came. Felix’s strategy must have worked - there was nothing else you could imagine that might make that kind of sound. It must have been effective, too; you recalled an offhanded comment he made about Leonie teaching him something about traps.

Resigning yourself to picking off any stragglers that might have strayed from the group near Felix, you lowered yourself from your tree. Perhaps enough time remained for you to return to your side and assess the damages to see who was left.

Progressing back the way you came would be simple enough. Although you were intent on remaining undetected, you heard several branches snapping and some shouting up ahead.

Felix must have really gotten to them.

You grew close enough to the commotion to recognize Dimitri and Ashe’s voices as the ones yelling, but it made no sense. You had hardly moved a few paces past the tree you were in, and you were still circling the southern side of the forest.

Why were they being so loud? Did they lose, or did they forget this was meant to be a stealth exercise?

But that didn’t make sense, either. They were the best listeners in Professor Byleth’s class, barring Annette; there’s no way they would slack off now of all times.

Silently, you crept toward their shouts until you were brought to a wall of greenery. If you went through…

You didn’t have enough time to hide before they came barreling through the bush.

“Woah!” an ambush? And you fell for it, no less?

Ashe’s eyes widened, his natural agility allowing him to dodge you just in time. Dimitri, with no such skill, slammed into you. The two of you crashed into the ground, the prince scrambling to the weapon you knocked out of his hands as Ashe pulled you onto your feet.

“Come on, get up!” the archer begged you.

Dimitri frantically shot off the dirt while Ashe started to guide you in the direction they were running. You didn’t have a moment to collect your thoughts or ask questions.

The crown prince’s longer legs carried him past you before he grabbed your left arm with his free hand. Your right hand still connected to Ashe, the three of you formed a chain for a moment as Dimitri lent you his momentum.

A terrible roar emanated from the bush where the boys appeared, prompting you all to detach and pick up the pace. The sounds of three sets of feet slamming against the dirt bounced off the trees in the forest.

Two crest beasts barrelled through the shrubs, snapping branches in their pursuit of you and your friends.

“How?” you pleaded, your legs moving impossibly faster with the new adrenaline rush.

“No clue,” Dimitri weaved between the trees, his breath heavy, “where they came from.”

A wave of terror pulsed through you. All you felt were eyes on your back, on your friends, and there was nothing you could do about it. They approached, so much larger and covering so much more ground.

Naturally, your smaller size and unfamiliarity with the area caught up with your group. The demons pursuing you could simply demolish the forest in their path, but Dimitri could only get so far before his height forced him to fumble through a group of low-hanging branches.

Unable to slow down, you crashed into him, sprawling to the forest floor. Ashe had once again been attentive and agile enough to change course, but you and the prince lied prone on the ground.

A sound of anticipation came in the form of an unearthly squeal from one of the monsters trailing seconds behind you. If you did nothing here, you would surely die.

Upon noticing Dimitri had again dropped his lance in his fall, you snatched it and flipped over to face one of the beasts, contesting a well-timed snap of its jaw by holding the weapon up and angling it to act as a pike. It worked just well enough to force the creature’s mouth open…

…until the beast’s maw clamped down on the training weapon, struggling over it with you before it splintered and snapped.

Knocked backwards, your shoulders never got the chance to hit the ground. Dimitri had been given enough time to stand, placing his hands under your arms and dragging you back while Ashe shouted from another direction.

The archer’s cries were enough to split the horrific hunting party, though the only thing you and Dimitri did was continue running.

This is hopeless. All our weapons are meant for training, Ashe is on his own, there are no other fighters with us…

“We can’t keep running,” you breathed, looping around a tree to throw the monster off your trail, “something has to change.”

…Felix…

You curved around the forest, switching to head back to your group, “Follow me.”

The two of you determined that zig-zagging was the best way to outrun the monster, though if you slowed down, you would no doubt be back on the ground again.

Intuitively, you followed the path you were fairly certain Dimitri’s teammates must have taken to get to the western part of the forest. All the while, you silently prayed that your legs would continue to carry you at a pace fast enough that the beast wouldn’t gain too much ground.

Not that it could be helped; you took two strides for every one of the beast’s.

“Felix! Felix, where are you?”

“Felix!” Dimitri followed your lead.

A figure appeared in the distance, his fair skin and blue hair giving him away, “Why the hell are you two-?”

The shriek from the beast trailing you and the prince drowned out the rest of his sentence.

“Felix, where’s the trap?!”

“Shit,” he cursed, though you couldn’t hear. “This way!”

Pushing yourself just a bit further, you forced your mind to ignore the screams of protest from your body. Felix sprinted just ahead of you, his lack of fatigue allowing him to match pace with your adrenaline spike before he rounded a bush.

“Get the professor!” your teammate ordered someone you couldn’t see.

Dimitri rushed past you to follow the bluenette. Upon leaving the beast’s line of sight, however, he was yanked into the large shrub. You recognized Felix’s hand wrapping around your arm before you stumbled into him, entering the branches as well.

“Thank you, Dedue,” you heard Dimitri’s voice next to you, the phrase uttered out between gasps for air.

It was in the split second before the beast rounded the shrub that you turned your head and recognized the trick. The covering on the pit was placed in the path next to the bush you four were in. If someone hadn’t known to stop and take a route through the hedge, they would have fallen through the dirt.

And upon seeing Professor Byleth appear at the other end of the pit, creator sword drawn to lure the crest beast toward her, you recognized how smart your teammates really were.

The pit wasn’t big enough to hold a crest beast by any means, but it certainly did the trick to immobilize it as the monster lost its footing. A well placed strike to the crest stone on the back of its neck shattered the source of its power. You could only stare at the crumbling animal, its bony limbs reduced to dust. The only thing lying in the crater at the end was…

“A person?” Dedue balked.

You moved to get a closer look before realizing Felix still had his arm around you.

“Um…”

Absentmindedly, he released you, throwing an apology over his shoulder before going to examine the woman lying dead in what very much could have been her grave.

Unbeknownst to you, your body was beginning to shut down. Running all that way left you exhausted, and having done so at a sprint certainly didn’t make matters any better. Yet the second you sank to the ground to truly catch your breath, you remembered.

Ashe.

“P-Professor,” you coughed, “...Ashe-”

“...What?”

“Damn, we left Ashe in the forest!” Dimitri agonized.

Byleth’s eyes sharpened, “Understood. I’ll go find him.”

“I’m coming, too.”

“What?” Felix questioned. “No, there’s no way - you’re way too tired.”

“Dimitri and I are the only ones who know where he is!”

At this, the prince attempted to rise from his position bracing on his knees “Then I’ll go.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re a worse candidate than I am - you’re still bleeding from the trees!”

“Bleeding? I’m not-”

“Your highness,” Dedue cut him off, “your chest.”

Certainly, his uniform was ripped in places, blood pooling out from the cuts he received when he scraped himself on the branches, earlier.

“You must not have felt it due to the adrenaline. We should get you to Mercedes.”

Sure of yourself, you began to walk backwards in the direction you came from, “Professor, there’s no time! You have your sword, so if push comes to shove, I’ll be fine. Ashe doesn’t have a proper weapon, though, and he must have been running for a long time!”

Professor Byleth wasted no words, “Fine then. Lead the way.”

As the two of you picked up the pace, she turned to call out, “Be sure to clear that girl out of the pit! Get her to Mercedes!”

The dull ache in your legs became impossible to ignore once you ran back into the forest. Still, through a mix of retracing your steps and following the sounds of roaring and trees snapping, you managed to get close to where you and Ashe had parted ways.

Sure enough, several trees had been reduced to splinters and fallen trunks. The damage created a small clearing, through which you could see your friend. He looked really out of it, the forest around him a mess from the beast’s rage.

“Ashe! Over here!”

The professor hit the creature a few times with her sword, extending its reach to divert its attention to herself. Recognizing her attempts to hurt it, the beast reared its head and focused its efforts on Byleth.

She had provided enough of a distraction that Ashe could make it to you. Allowing himself a moment’s respite, he braced himself on his knees similar to how Dimitri had earlier. Breathless, the two of you watched your mentor’s skills at work.

The creator sword would wrap around the wild creature’s neck; Byleth’s obvious attempt at trying to break the stone. Each time, the tether was countered by a snap of the beast’s teeth, or her attack missed entirely. The angle was impossible from where she was standing.

“Fall back, you two - I’ll be right behind you!”

Ashe began to protest, “But-”

“You’re both tired, you’ll need whatever headstart I can give y-ngh!”

Her opponent had grown impatient, swiping its claws at the chain of her sword before her next attack could connect. The weapon was yanked to the side, knocking the professor off balance for a moment and sending the weapon flying out of her hand.

“Just go! I promise I’ll be right there!”

Willing your legs to move, you grabbed Ashe’s wrist and pulled him up, guiding him the first few steps of the way. Once he managed to find his footing, you took a position to lead him back to the group in the west.

You didn’t think you would be able to do much of anything tomorrow, after this. The taste of blood stained your every breath, your throat felt dry to the point it hurt, and you were surprised you could even lift your legs anymore. The adrenaline had worn off by the time you left Dimitri with Dedue.

The noise increasing behind you cut off your train of thought. The pounding of paws much heavier than your own feet thundered against the forest floor. Leaves crushed so loudly you could have sworn they were snapping logs, and the veil of the safety you thought you still had was quickly torn away.

What about Professor Byleth? She should have been on her feet, should have caught up to you and Ashe by now if-

“Keep moving!”

The voice next to you startled you almost enough to make you lose your footing, but a steady hand at your back and the sight of a flash of green hair at your side kept you upright.

“Over here, Professor! This way!”

Annette waved her arms over her head, signaling a new location nearby. They must have created a separate trap in the time you had been away.

But why…?

A snap at your backs inspired the three of you to round this new shrub at record speed. This time, you were ready when Dedue pulled you into the bushes.

“Woah!”

You supposed you had forgotten to warn Ashe.

Sure enough, everything else was the same story, just with different people. The Professor pivoted out of Sylvain’s hold in time to pull the sword she retrieved from her hip. The beast fell in the trap upon rounding the hedge, giving her a more advantageous angle to properly fracture the stone, reverting the creature to the body of a young man.

“I don’t understand,” Felix’s brow furrowed, Ashe ducking out of his hold and falling to the ground to finally breathe.

You were beginning to feel similarly. Were it not for Dedue, you doubted you would be standing. Your classmate seemed privy to this knowledge, as well.

“I will bring you to Mercedes.”

A nod was all you could muster while Dedue bent to put an arm beneath your legs, lifting you off the ground. The air you were practically drinking filled your lungs with more oxygen than you thought they could hold, and your resulting breaths sounded almost raspy. Respectfully, you ensured that your head was turned away from Dedue (though it was also to ensure you could get as much air as possible).

Even still, you managed to catch the final words of those behind you.

“Why didn’t you just take that girl to Mercedes and reuse the last trap?” Professor Byleth wondered.

“Well…” Sylvain, “there wasn’t really a point...she was already dead.”

“...then…this boy…?”

You tried not to focus on the silence that followed her final question.

A few paces later and Dedue had made it to the outskirts of the woods. It was where you all met at the beginning of the exercise.

Mercedes approached the two of you before you cleared the trees, guiding Dedue to set you down on a patch of soft grass in the shade next to three green scraps of fabric. She must have anticipated your arrival.

“Will she be alright?”

“Oh, yes,” Mercedes assured him, though her light tone didn’t match the furrow of her brows. “She’s mostly dealing with fatigue, but the strain on her lungs should be soothed before she tries to go anywhere.”

A moment of silence.

“Where is his Highness?”

The glow of soft magic hovered over you before you felt inclined to close your eyes. You tried not to focus on the strange feeling coursing through you - you still weren’t used to healing spells, yet.

“He and Ingrid went back to the monastery to consult Lady Rhea about all this.” She sighed, and you felt a pause in the flow of her enchantment, “I don’t really understand everything that happened today. It all feels so wrong.”

“I agree. There should not have been any crest beasts this close to the academy. The knights should have noticed.”

Another pause led to a stronger wave of magic passing through your lungs; it was all you could do to focus on breathing next to this weird feeling, but you opened your eyes just to make sure you were still okay.

“I will head back to the monastery as well.”

The healer nodded, “I’ll let the professor know.”

“Let me know what?”

It seemed the rest of your class made it out of the forest. Professor Byleth approached at the lead, followed close behind by Annette, and finally by Felix and Sylvain supporting a pale and winded Ashe.

As Dedue filled your teacher in on everything, Mercedes abandoned you to go help Ashe. Annette replaced her, kneeling where her friend sat just a moment ago to continue her work. Fortunately, you didn’t feel like there was much left to do.

“Right. You can head back. Take some of the training weapons with you, please - I have a feeling everyone else will have their hands full by the time we head back.”

Dedue removed the brown band wrapped around his forehead, adding it to the pile lying about a meter away from your feet. Picking up the discarded wooden lance, bow, and sword lying in a pile closer to the woods, he turned and wordlessly took the path leading back to Garreg Mach.

“My bow…” you remembered, testing out your voice from your position on the ground, “I think…I dropped it somewhere in the forest?”

Felix scoffed, “With the amount of trees those beasts managed to fell, I don’t think a bit more wood lying around would hurt anyone. The Church can just buy a new one. They replace training weapons all the time.”

“Take it from Felix, they’re used to broken weapons,” Sylvain grinned. “Repairing a broken bow can’t be much different than replacing a missing one.”

A small huff of air came from the swordsman’s nose at his classmate’s remark. Rather than respond, however, he just turned back to you.

“How the hell are you still awake after all that? I expected you to have passed out by now.”

“Me? Shouldn’t you be more worried about Ashe? Whatever running I did, he ran and then some.”

“He did pass out.”

Turning your head to where Mercedes knelt, you found your friend sleeping on the grass, uneven breaths heaving from his chest.

After everything he went through by himself, you could only think that he deserved to rest.

“Professor? What is it?”

Annette’s inquisition immediately led your mind to drop the subject, turning instead to see Professor Byleth lost in thought.

“I’m just…trying to understand something. Those people that came from those monsters - did I kill them, or were they already dead? How did this happen so close to the monastery without anyone coming to help us? And…”

No one knew what to say. You hadn’t recognized the people that died, not their clothing or their faces.

“Nevermind. We need to head back in case anything else unexpected is looking to find us.”

“That should be just fine, Professor,” Mercedes agreed. “I’ve made sure these two are stable. The best thing for everyone now would be to rest.”

“Very well,” your teacher began circling around to everyone, collecting their headbands to place in the bag she had left here earlier.

Annette extended her hand out before Professor Byleth made her way over to the two of you. Taking it, you attempted to get up only to be frustrated by the fatigue of your legs. A sharp inhale followed by a hiss of pain accompanied the feeling of Annette lowering you back to the ground.

“Yeah…might not be ready for that yet…” you gritted your teeth.

Byleth walked over, tugging the brown textile off your head in a fluid motion, “Sylvain, please help her get back to the monastery. Felix, you can carry Ashe.”

“What?!”

Sylvain barely contained his laughter, approaching you with easy footsteps and lifting you off the ground bridal-style.

“You’re sure you want Sylvain of all people carrying the woman that can’t walk? Or fend for herself right now, for that matter?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of experience with this sort of thing.”

“...with carrying people?” you raised a brow.

Sylvain winked, “...with carrying women that can’t walk.”

Professor Byleth hit him on the back of the head so hard that Sylvain dropped you on the ground.

You landed, reeling with a small squeak and a light curse. Your breath came labored through your teeth from the incidental blow to your legs. Not that it could have hurt as much as whatever she just did to Sylvain.

“Agh- What the hell, Professor?!”

“You and Felix have done an excellent job of changing my mind. I think we would all feel better if you volunteered to carry Ashe back with us, instead.”

Now it was Felix’s turn to fight a smirk, though he was hardly trying. After making sure you were okay from your slight fall, he picked you up in much the same way Sylvain had mere moments ago.

Meanwhile, Sylvain seemed to be making a point to carry Ashe over his shoulders.

The seven of you headed back to the monastery together, Professor Byleth calling off her lessons for the beginning of next week just to make sure everyone was well rested. Annette tried to reason that taking the weekend off would be plenty of time for most of the Blue Lions. After all, you, Dimitri, and Ashe were the only ones that really suffered any fatigue. Your teacher countered that if she were holding class, you three were the most likely suspects to insist on attending regardless, no matter how badly you were injured.

Perhaps you left too good of an impression on the professor today for her to think such things of you. Regardless, you agreed with her, if only to save Annette from the pointed glares of Felix and Sylvain at the idea of rejecting a day out of class.

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