#to impersonate yourself au

[theanonymouslightbulb]

How Vee and Hunter handle traumatic memories

Vee: I'll put this one under N for Never going to bring this up if I'm given a choice.

Hunter: I'm gonna put this one under N for completely normal thing to bring up in front of friends and family.

[feisaru]

Beloved Mephisto,

You know naught about love.

(But Mephisto did in fact know

About the suffering brought about by this thing we call "love"

You just believed him to be incapable of it

Too arrogant for it, perhaps

Dear Gretchen,

You failed to notice

In your ignorance

That the devil might feel too)

[daylite-writes]

Welcoming Legacy (It welcomes you) - SAGAU ft. Foul Legacy Tartaglia

Ever since you woke up in Teyvat, you’ve been… confused. The memories of your previous life fading, leaving you to wander. One thing was for certain though, the people here despised you for the face you wore. That was, until waking in the Snezhnayan wilderness after another death, a certain abyssal harbingers saves you from the cold.

cw: imposter au SAGAU shenanigans, temporary death, hyperthermia, passing out, not very yandere (but from his perspective it definitely would be), hurt/comfort, Capitano cameo! Written to be x reader ish, but it’s vague and ur kinda cold so can be read as Romantic or Platonic! Will be tagging as both lemme know if it shouldn’t be.

1.5k words

~~~

It’s almost funny, you think, how he’s the one who reconsized you first.

No. Not recognised. This was the first time you’d met any of them. The vision holders, the ‘characters’ that you once fawned over and held very dear. They wouldn’t know your name, your face—except for the fact they did. And they hated you for it. “Impersonator”, “Heretic”, “Damned”, “Witch.”

They all looked at you as if you’d committed a grave crime. A slight that could not be forgiven. But how could you have? You were given this name, and born with this face.

And yet you were hunted. And yet you were killed. Arrow through the heart, spear through the back, claymore to the ribs. The pain was unbearable, but death wasn’t the end. Each time you closed your eyes, hoping for an end to the nightmare, you awoke somewhere new.

You recognized the landscape from hours spent playing the game, and quickly learned to avoid settlements, villages, and most importantly, vision holders. The pain of death was too much, leaving your body trembling with sobs and quietly pleading to whatever force put you on Teyvat to just let you go home.

After the fourth death—at the hands of an electro charged spear, courtesy of a certain mahamantra—you woke up, shaking uncontrollably. Only this time, not from phantom pains or the emotional toll of death. This time, is was due to a heavy, bone deep, unnatural cold.

Snezhnaya.

Of course it had to be Snezhnaya.

You whimpered, cursing your luck. This would be a slow, painful death if you couldn’t find shelter and fast.

Stumbling to your feet—bare, the clothes that stayed with you after death did not include them—you looked around pitifully. A snowy forest. Beautiful, but useless, and hard to see far in. You’d never been to Snezhnaya in game either, so there was no way you’d be able to find shelter. Pitifully, you dragged yourself under a tree, curling into yourself under the pine’s branches, hoping it wouldn’t be too painful. Achingly, you let your eyes close, waiting for the next place.

Only, before the cold took you, a rumbling call broke through the tranquil silence of the forest.

Blearily, you opened your eyes. Some kind of beast? It wasn’t like you were familiar with the creatures of Snezhnaya. But it didn’t sound like a normal enemy monster. It was sad, keening… longing.

It called out again. You… would rather die quickly to a beast than slowly to hypothermia, you supposed.

“Here,” you called out weakly. You clicked your tongue a few times, as if luring in a cat. “Come on.”

You laughed slightly. Had delusion from hypothermia set in so quickly? You were making kissy noises at the monster in the forest. Luring in your death with soft sweet noises.

The forest was still for a moment. And then it wasn’t.

Snow crunched underfoot of what was undoubtedly a large creature. You were pretty sure you heard the waning bend of pine trees as it shoved pass.

Was this a mistake? Probably. You were too cold to care. Maybe its claws would be warm as it tore you apart. Ha. Wouldn’t that be nice?

At some point your eyes had slipped closed again, but it was close now. You could hear it. So close—you waited for the sink of claws into your flesh—

It came to a stop in front of you, inches away, maybe, if the warm breath on your skin was any indication.

In a raspy, warbling tone, it spoke English. “Creator?”

What?

You opened your eyes again, and gasped as you saw… Tartaglia? No, not him, exactly. But, his Foul Legacy. The rough plates of armor adorning his limbs, the red mask with a singular clouded pearl eye in the center, the sheer size of him.

“Ajax?” You mumbled.

“Creator!” It said again, rough, desperate, as if it had a throat not made for speaking.

“Hi.” You said simply, before your eyes slipped closed.

~

Warmth.

There was warmth.

A lot of warmth.

Fire.

You sighed, not daring to open your eyes for fear it might disappear. That you might still be laying in the snow, your blood crystallizing in your veins.

A smooth, clawed hand cupped your cheek, then your jaw, tilting your head back. Was this when the pain would come? You stirred a bit, but little nothing happened. The thing holding you sighed, gently pressing the sides of your cheek to open your jaw. What? What was happening? You hardly had time to panic before something warm was poured into your mouth, and his inhuman hand latched around your mouth to keep it shut.

You whimpered, eyes still closed—gods you really didn’t want to open them. You really couldn’t mentally confront what was happening. For now, it needed to stay invisible, it needed to not be real—as the liquid sat in your mouth. You refused to swallow, but it tasted like broth? Was it broth? You decided you didn’t care, not so long as you were being forced to drink—

That was, until its other hand came up and began to massage your throat. You sputtered, the rough finger pads gently rubbing against your throat forcing you to swallow after a moment.

It’s… nice. Warm but not hot, and definitely just some sort of broth now that you think about it. The next time the edge of a bowl is set against your lips, you drink of your own volition.

Whatever was caring for you seemed happy, as its rumbling chest, reminiscent of a cat's purr, seemed to indicate. Honestly, you were too, going slack against it, hiding your face in what you think is it’s neck, lined with a mane of fur, as it rubbed circles into your scars. The old aches of death soothing under its fingerpads.

Sleep came easy.

~

The next time you woke up, you weren’t so afraid to open your eyes.

Strangely calm, you didn’t even jump at the sight in front of you.

Probably seven feet tall, with thick, armored plates running up his body, a mix of purples, blues, blacks and reds coloring his body. His mask was a dull red, and an abyssal blue, almost jewel like eye was set in the center.

Foul legacy. Tartaglia’s abyssal form. This was Childe, no—

“Ajax?”

He practically melted, wrapping around you at the raspy croak of his own name.

You sighed, snuggling into the small fur mane around his neck.

“What are… what are you doing here?” Wasn’t he out of the country? You weren’t sure what point in the story you arrived during, but none of them had him in his homeland for long. “Isn’t being in that form for too long dangerous?”

He smiled. Well, ‘smile’ was a bad term. He curled back his lips and opened his plated maw, one you didn’t know he had. It was hidden among the red armor of his mask, which you were now convinced were just, ya know, his face when in foul legacy. His maw, black and almost a void inside, lined with row after row of sharp, shark-like teeth. He yawned, wide, before snapping his mouth shut with a little clack.

You couldn’t help the small giggle that bubbled up from your throat.

He seemed to like that, purring as he set his chin atop your head.

Your giggle faded away, and your face fell. You gave a soft sigh, body aching slightly. With a quiet voice, you could help but ask what’d been gnawing at you since you woke.

“Why… Why are you helping me?”

“Because the ones who hurt you are fools.”

That was not Ajax.

You turned your head, towards the entrance of the cave Ajax had holed the two of you up in.

When you saw who it was, you shied into the arms of Foul Legacy, who was happy enough to wrap his arms around you.

Capitano’s intimidating figure blocked the entrance of the cave, mask glinting in the fire light.

“I apologize for the late arrival, I was combing the west side of the valley for you. Tartaglia seemed to find you first.”

“I…” What?

Capitano stepped deeper into the cave, his steps were confident, but the closer he got, he lowered his head. It almost looked like a sign of respect.

A mere few strides away, he reached a hand out—to greet you? Touch you? You were sure, as before he could do anything, Ajax dragged you closer and responded to Capitano with a guttural growl.

“Quiet, eleventh.” Capitano commanded. Despite his unhappiness, Ajax obliged, letting Capitano closer.

A cold metal gauntlet approached your face slowly, before cupping your face. Gently, it tilted your jaw up, forcing you to meet the void of his mask.

You didn’t know that when the firelight hit your irises, they glittered with constellations, or that the veins barely visible against the white of your eyes were gold.

What you did see through, was the way his heavy shoulders dropped, and you heard a reverent sigh of relief. He dipped his head lower, and you swore crystal blue eyes blinked slowly down at you.

“Welcome to the waking world, dear Creator. Celestia has kept you asleep and unseeing for far too long.”

~~~

Omg this had so much more but the plot got out of hand so I just took the first bits and left the rest out. TECHNICALLY there’s lord and explanations but I know I’d never finish a cohesive plot so here we are! My first attempt as SAGAU!

Gonna update my ask specifics soon as well as answer one!

ALSO IVE BEEN TRYING TO FIND THIS SOULMATE AU SCARA FIC WHERE HE FINDS READER LIKE TIED OUT AS A SACRIFICE AND FINDS OUT SHES HIS SOULMATE AND HE LIKE BRINGS HER ALONG WITH HIM AND SHE IS LIKE SICK FROM THE COLD AND HES ALL WORRIED AND LIKE “FORGET THEM THEY BTRAYED TOU” AND I CANT FIND IT AGAINNN AAAA anyways if you’ve read it and know pls tell me

[loliwrites]

The One You Need | one

🎶 I spent most my life thinkin' love was out of reach, so maybe just this once, you could be the one I need, if you let me be the one you need 🎶

Pairing: neighbor!joel miller x f!reader  Rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni  Summary: when you move into town hellbent on keeping everyone at an arm’s length, your neighbor Joel finds his way into your life. Warnings/Tags: au, neighbor joel, age gap [reader is late 20s/early 30s, Joel is late 40s], slow burn [ish], hyper-independent reader, a bit of a misandrist mindset [boys are problems], mentions of family drama/turmoil, passing mention of death [elderly neighbor], brief non-violent use of a pocket knife, mention of stabbing [as self-defense], furniture building, reader described as female, hair long enough to tie up, no other physical descriptions, eventual smut, protective!joel, soft!joel, no use of y/n. Word Count: 4.6k Series Masterlist | part two a/n: this is my first time writing with this sort of format so pls be gentle. i’ve done my best to tag as thoroughly as possible, but if you think i’ve missed something, let me know. i have no outline for this. but i’ve got a whim and a direction and i’m going with it. **please read the warnings/tags for every part as they will be updated**

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You’d done it. Finally. No one ever thought you would, including you. And yet, here you were, lugging your sparse personal belongings out of the back of a U-Haul truck and in through the front door of your new home. And for once in your adult life, it wasn’t in some impersonal apartment building or complex. It was a house. In a town that was actually affordable, though it was further from home than you might’ve preferred. A town that was away from family, which had been the impetus, but also away from friends, which hadn’t been. 

There was a perk to this being the first house you’d ever moved into. Being confined to seven hundred square feet had meant there was only so much room to fill. And it had all been cozy. But now there was a bit more space to work with. Not to say this house was large by any stretch of the imagination – it was on the smaller side of all the houses in the neighborhood – but you had rooms now. And as you loaded in different boxes and suitcases full of clothes and books, you realized how much of the space was going to be left empty. With the exception of a mattress, bed frame, dresser, a couple chairs, and bookcases, you left every other large piece of furniture behind. Couches, dining table, kitchen chairs, media console, TV… you planned on buying all of that in town. You only wanted to bring what you felt you could move yourself. 

It was the season of life you were in. Young enough for people to say you had time before focusing on creating a family for yourself, but not young enough to avoid their awkward and worried glances when you told them you were only focused on your career. It was odd; never something that settled right. With each birthday, every time a candle was added, the world around you seemed less secure with your aloneness. As if you, a single female, were something of a threat to the rest of the world. Your solitude, an act of rebellion. God forbid you didn’t have a man to look after you. In your experience, boys didn’t do too good a job at much. Were they useful? Absolutely. You’d much rather delegate tasks to a boy than have to do them yourself. Mow the lawn, fix a creaky door, seal a drafty window, get you off… sure, there were any number of things a boy could do, but not only were they not necessary, you generally found you were better at any job than they were. That had been instilled in you long before you began dating. 

How many times had it been proven that dad could not be held accountable for his entire emotional spectrum? And instead you, a mere child, were to be responsible for it. Though it wasn’t always bad – somewhere deep down you knew your parents had done the absolute best they knew how to do with the tools they had – but the emotion dad was never short on was anger. Thus, it was the emotion he was most comfortable expressing. And yes, you apparently were the catalyst for all of his loud expressions of anger and rage. Everything was always conditional. I’m sorry but you did this… 

I love you but…

By the time dating had entered your life (which only happened post-college), let’s just say no therapist was surprised by the pattern of boys you chose to have in your life. All of them modeled the thing you were familiar with, which only served to imbed the quality you hated most about yourself. There was a tendency to accept any treatment a boy was willing to give you, without expressing needs or desires or even if there was a problem. Boundaries? Never heard of her. As far as boys were concerned, they seemed to have carte blanche over you. Your own resentment and anger would grow by the lack of your needs (which had never been verbally expressed) being met, until you’d had enough and cut them off. Every new relationship felt like a complete betrayal of yourself.

The highly independent and ‘don’t need a man’ personality quirk had strung a ribbon of apathy around your life. You liked to think of it that way. Like a Christmas bow around a present. Realizing you didn’t care about forming intimate relationships with men seemed a little less painful when given the image of a box neatly wrapped beneath a tree donning tinsel and colorful lights. It was at that point, while pondering your ribbon of apathy and clumsily shoving your mattress up the front porch steps, that a voice interrupted your progress.

“Lemme help ya’ with that, ma’am,”

The voice had arms. And those arms were simultaneously reaching for the same end of the mattress you already had hands on. Instinctively, you tugged your bed out of reach, “I got it.” But hands kept coming. They were insistent. Of course they were a man’s hands. A woman would’ve listened the first time. So with an extra strong tug and a tone that spat fire, you turned toward the owner of the hands and stood your ground, “I said, I got it!”

Dark brown eyes that almost looked black had the sun not been playing in their favor. They were soft. Gentle. Despite the fact that he’d just gotten yelled at. And those soft dark brown eyes… well they looked dumbfounded. Whether it was because of the volume of the statement or the fact that people generally didn’t turn down friendly help here in the South, he lifted his hands off the mattress and held them up innocently. 

The force with which your action had been committed meant that the moment he released  the bed, you went stumbling over, the entire thing thudding down on the porch. You shot him another icy glare as he slowly backed off the steps, though he remained in place and watched you crouch down to lift your mattress once again; the pad now harboring dirty stains.

“Can I help you with something in the truck?” He offered again. Unwanted persistence was a uniquely male quality.

“I don’t need your help, thanks. I got it,”

He watched for just a second longer at the image of you fumbling with the heavy mattress, barely able to keep it upright. Then he turned on his heels and went back from whence he came. Which you came to realize, when you looked over your shoulder to ensure he’d actually gone, was across the street and a few houses down. Fuck. Back in California, not too many people were neighborly but it wasn’t a point you were hoping to make. Especially not on the first day. There was a quaintness to the idea of a neighborhood full of people who liked and looked out for one another. You’d just hoped that would’ve come in the form of some old, opinionated woman sipping tea in a rocking chair on her front porch. The kind that maybe the kids were afraid of, but she was awesome. That’s when it came to mind that maybe that was the void in the neighborhood you were filling. You were to be the crotchety old woman, yelling at “those darn kids”. Fabulous.

Unfortunately (for no other reason than your own ego) you only got the mattress in through the threshold of the front door before it fell to the side and flopped back down to the floor. With a sigh and a thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad if it just lived there, you stepped over it and padded into the kitchen. Managed to place the boxes designated to the room in it, but had yet to unpack anything. You turned on the tap and tilted your head to the side, leaning in to take a sip of water directly from it. Only to find that upon turning off the tap and looking out the bay window by the sink, the man that had offered to help was visible from his yard. He wheeled out his trash and recycling bins to the curb. Resting his hands on his hips, he glanced around and took stock of the neighborhood. All seemed quiet and to his liking.

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Joel liked routine. Habit-forming had become a sort of habit. It meant he knew what his days looked like. It meant he was prepared. And after having been handed a life where being ill-prepared meant something was going wrong, there was great comfort in knowing how things were going to go day by day. Though he wasn’t rigid. He could include new things in his routine. For instance…

One morning he woke up, made his usual pot of coffee before work, and stood out on his porch. It’d be one of his only moments to slow down and actually notice the day. That’s when he noticed something new in his routine. A “For Sale” sign went up on Mrs. Wilson’s front lawn. Everyone in the neighborhood had been expecting it because, well, Mrs. Wilson had passed away. In her sleep one night. Joel thought that must’ve been the nicest way to go. And every morning, he’d go out on his porch and ponder Mrs. Wilson before carrying on with the rest of his routine. As such, he saw when it sold and went into escrow. He saw Mrs. Wilson’s son move out all of his mother’s old furniture until the place was left empty. Everything was routine. 

That is, until the U-Haul showed up this morning. It was a small one and he remembered thinking there was no way that little truck contained enough furniture to fill up that house. But he brushed it off, continued with his routine, and went off to work. Though he had to admit, he was wholly curious about the new neighbor he was about to inherit.

He left his jobsite early afternoon, his truck ambling back to his house when another neighbor waved him down to stop him.

“Hey, Mr. Cole,” Joel smiled at the elderly man. Mr. Cole had been the first one to greet Joel when he’d first moved into town. Mr. Cole knew everything going on in the neighborhood, courtesy of Mrs. Cole.

“You see that gal move into Mrs. Wilson’s house?”

Joel nodded, “saw that woman move in, yeah.”

“Mighty pretty,”

Joel chuckled, “surely not as pretty as Mrs. Cole,”

“I don’t know,”

Joel laughed a little harder. “I’ll see ya’ around. Stop snoopin’.”

He’d only just arrived back home and parked his truck in the driveway when he saw you struggling with the mattress. And his mama raised him better than that so he went to offer his help. There hadn’t been a fiber in his being that thought you’d snap back like you had. That’s why he tried a second time. And when the second snap was stronger than the first, he raised his hands and backed off.

Shit. Out-of-towners were getting meaner and meaner.

He meandered to his house and only looked back once, just in time to see the mattress fall to the floor just inside the front door. He smiled to himself and continued on with his routine as much as possible. Tomorrow was trash day which meant the bins needed to be brought out.  Simple enough task, just the way he liked it. He liked it even more when he spotted a glimpse of you looking at him through your kitchen window. 

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You forwent unpacking anything that day. It wasn’t worth it. Nothing you pulled out would truly have a place to live until you got the furniture situation handled. And seeing as though your bed was still in the entryway, you figured there were bigger problems to handle. But just by looking at the hallway, and the thin doorways, you knew you were going to have a hell of a time bending and twisting the mattress to your will… and the architecture. Grocery shopping proved to be more time-sensitive, and once the fridge was as fully stocked as your bank account would allow, it already started to feel more like home. Which also meant, the way you’d snapped at your neighbor started to bother you more. You had to live in this person’s realm – whatever that looked like. He was your neighbor, and short of literally becoming the crotchety old woman that never left her home, there wasn’t a way for you to avoid him altogether. He seemed to have a lot of friends on the block. That’s also when you decided to suck up to your pride. To apologize to this man who really didn’t deserve an apology at all. Whatever it took to just live in peace.

The more you thought about it, the more it angered you. That was pretty par for the course. It would’ve been more odd if a man wasn’t pissing you off. It was still running through your mind as you plucked a six-pack from your fridge and crossed the street in the direction of his house. You thought about how you were going to have to plaster a phony smile on your face and make niceties to this person who you didn’t want to get to know. You just wanted to live. And you thought you’d have more time. As you ascended his porch steps, you made for the front door, zeroed in on it.

“Hey,” 

The voice startled you, tripping over your own feet and stumbling, very nearly losing the six-pack of bottles to the wooden porch. You glanced over at him, and in the dim light his porch light gave off, watched him take an acoustic guitar out of his lap and set it beside his chair.

“Hi,” you mumbled and walked in his direction. “I’m your new neighbor,”

“I know. You yelled at me,”

You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t yell at you. I was just letting you know–”

“S’for me?”

You looked back down at him and noticed how he pointed at the six-pack of beer. “We got off on the wrong foot and I just want to live in peace and quiet so,” gesturing to the beer, “peace offering.” You handed the pack to him.

Joel cradled the cardboard sleeve in his lap and pulled out a bottle. “Want one?”

“No, thanks. I just came to drop them off,”

He flicked his eyes up and pulled out a second bottle. Then, setting the remaining bottles on the floor beside him, he twisted the first cap off. “S’not nice to yell at someone and then refuse their offer to share a drink,”

“I didn’t yell at you,”

“Sit down.”

And for whatever reason, you listened. In the past, had any man spoken to you like that, especially one you didn’t know from Adam, you’d’ve smacked him. But not this time. This time you sat in the chair perched next to his and awkwardly took the open beer from his hand when he passed it over to you.

The silence that ensued was tense and palpable. Neither willing to bend first. Joel kept his eyes focused on his beer bottle and you kept your focus on… him. Naturally suspicious and wary, you thought if you kept your gaze on him, you’d catch him before he did anything out of hand. But really all you noticed was the way his nose had a slight downward curve to it. And the way the graying hair at the back of his head curled along his neck. And the way his beard, also graying, came in in patches, but in the most endearing way. Wrinkles and worry lines had etched their way deep in his forehead. Crow’s feet found a home in the corners of his eyes. Both told you this was a man who had felt and lived a lot of life: the good and the bad. You thought you saw a small scar on his cheek just below his eye, but you couldn’t be sure. The man was middle-aged. His skin and hands gave the appearance he was a blue-collar, working man who’d spent his life in the beating sun.

“Get everything moved in?” He took a sip and eyed you, aware that you were nodding, but still the glance he gave you made you think he knew you were lying. Obviously you were.

“My bed is still by the front door,” you relented.

“Not where I’d recommend a bedroom be, but to each their own,”

“I can’t get it down the hallway by myself.” You tried to ignore that he seemed to light up at the admission. You? Needing his help? “It’s too narrow,”

“Want help?”

You looked at him almost incredulously. Had you treated California neighbors the way you treated them, you'd have been lucky if you didn’t find your car keyed the next day. But he was offering his help? Again?

“You’d help me after the way I yelled at you?”

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “You didn’t yell at me,” another smile flashed over his face and he looked over at you again.

You hated that it made you smile, too. Yet you waved him off. “That’s alright. I’ll figure out a way,”

Joel chuckled and shook his head, taking a pause before he downed another long sip of his beer.

“What?” You urged. 

“S’nothin’,'' he shook his head again with another grin. “Know you probably could figure out a way, but… s’just that you don’t need to. Why won’t you let me help you?”

You sucked in a deep breath, “look, I’m sure you’re a nice guy…” you trailed off realizing you didn’t know his name more than referring to him to yourself as that nosy neighbor guy.

He seemed to pick up on it and pointed to himself, “Joel. Miller,”

“But I don’t need a guy to get on with life, y’know? I’m a self-sufficient woman. I don’t need to rely on anyone but myself.”

Joel finished off his beer and stood up from his chair, “acceptin’ help when it’s offered isn’t relying on anyone else. It just makes life easier.” He started down the steps and crossed over his lawn.

“Where’re you going?!”

“To move your bed!”

Leaping up from your chair, you ran after him, in quick pursuit as he neared your home. You knew it was a wreck inside. Trash and boxes everywhere. Not ready for any visitors, even ones you didn’t want there in the first place. 

“Really! It’s alright.” When that didn’t stop him from advancing toward your house, you tried another path, “the bed frame’s not even put together!”

“Then I’ll put it together,” he said over his shoulder, nearly in your front yard now. 

You managed to lunge forward and grab onto his jacket sleeve, effectively stopping his advance. At least for the time being. “I don’t usually let men I don’t know into my home,”

“What?”

“You know… in case they’re crazy and kill me.”

Joel furrowed his eyebrows, utterly perplexed. He tried to make heads or tails of you as a whole and was having a hell of a time trying to do so. But he shoved his hand into the back pocket of his jeans and produced from it, a pocket knife. He unfolded it, which gave you some pause, but then he quickly held it out for you to take. You did, and as soon as the small weapon left his hand, he turned and continued toward your porch.

“Hey! What am I supposed to do with this?!”

“Stab me,”

“What?!”

He ascended the porch steps and waited at your front door, where you soon joined him. “If I do something weird, and you think I’m gonna kill you in your own house, you can stab me. Full permission,”

You looked down at the knife, and then back up at Joel. 

“Can you open your door?”

Gulping down nerves, “it’s unlocked.”

“Still,” Joel pressed a smile, “I’m not in the habit of letting myself into women’s homes. I’d prefer if you opened it and let me in.”

For the second time today, you found yourself doing something all because a man told you to do so and you wondered if the move was making you soft. Regardless, you reached past Joel, pressed down on the lever, and nudged the door open. It stopped short from opening all the way as it hit the edge of your mattress. Joel flicked his eyes at you, as if silently saying see, you need me.

He shimmied his way in, with you close behind, half-heartedly pointing the pocket knife in his direction. He bent over and picked the mattress up off the floor, seemingly with ease. Though you did hear his knees click when he crouched down, but due to his age, you thought better than to bring it to attention. Hell, even your knees creaked every now and again.

��I’ll go backwards and steer it. Think you can be the muscle?” He waited until you nodded and set the knife down, and gathered your hair in a messy bun on top of your head to keep it out of the way. Poised at the other end of the mattress, he lined it up for its plight down the hallway. “Alright, nice and easy,” he began to pull, feeling more frictionless movement as you began helping on the other end. It wasn’t too hard; more awkward than anything. But he guessed the mattress weighed as much as, if not more than, you, so by yourself it must’ve been like dragging dead weight around. “Easy, easy,” he murmured, tilting the mattress to the side to accommodate for the doorjamb, “that’s it. Take it slow,” he elongated the end of the word, completely focused on the side of the mattress as it brushed along the door. “We’re in,”

You helped him lean the mattress out of the way and against the wall. “Thanks for your help, Joel,” you backed up toward the door, hoping he’d follow you.

But he ignored you completely, and instead found the parts to your metal bed frame laying on the floor. He lowered himself to his knees and inspected it. “You got a Phillips head?”

“Joel…”

“S’gonna take me ten minutes. The longer you stall, the longer I’m gonna be here.”

He had a point. And a very good one at that. So you turned and all but ran down the hall, searching for the box you’d so astutely labeled as “tools”. A fear set in that the longer you were away, the more time Joel had to go through your belongings (albeit sparse). You didn’t want him getting too comfortable in your home, least of all in your bedroom. So you rushed, tore open the “tools” box, dug through it until you found the screwdriver, and then raced back down the hall as if you’d have time to catch him snooping. But as soon as you arrived back in your bedroom doorway, you didn’t find him snooping. You found him still on his knees, crawling around, laying the different parts out to make the square your bed would soon sit on. 

Joel smiled when he noticed you returned, and held his hand up to take the screwdriver from you. Only when he grabbed it, his face turned to horror and he grimaced at the pink floral design on the handle. “What’s this?”

“A screwdriver,”

“It’s got flowers on it,” he protested.

“It’s cute!”

He chuckled and started putting the bed frame together. “Y’know they charged you thirty percent more because they slapped flowers on it and marketed it toward women,”

You sat on the floor beside him and watched him work. “Well if I have to be the man in my life, my tools are gonna be a little more feminine,”

Joel glanced at you momentarily. Just long enough to question your statement, but not long enough for you to really notice he’d stopped working at all. “What about the actual man in your life?”

“Don’t have one. Don’t need one. I’ve got my floral tool set to prove it,”

A hum was the only acknowledgement Joel gave to that. As if that answered all his questions.

“What?”

“You talk a lot about how you don’t need anyone. I’m gatherin’ you actually only mean you don’t need a man. Which is fine and all, but s’just that that seems kinda lonely.” He set the screwdriver down and held the next two pieces together. “You remind me of me ten years ago. Stubborn. Determined to be alone.” He moved on to the next piece, “thing is… if you don’t need anyone, it also kind of implies that you’re not needed by anyone. And what good is life if you can’t give yourself to someone in that way?”

Jaw-dropped, you gathered yourself, eyes widening. “Wow, your wife must love having you as a husband,”

He smiled and chuckled, “I don’t have a wife.”

“So what do you know about giving yourself to someone and being needed?”

Joel flashed his eyes to you. Gentle and filled with love, “I have a daughter. Sarah. She’s in college now. She’s quite literally the best thing that’s ever happened in my life,”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a father,”

“‘Cause I look so young?” He grinned and tightened one final screw. With the frame now positioned where it needed to be, he stood up and went back to your mattress. You scooted out of the way as he single-handedly maneuvered it onto the frame and adjusted it until it was just perfect. “Check it off the to-do list. Now you can get a good night’s sleep,”

You admired his work and it wasn’t lost on you that it only took him a third of the time it would’ve taken you. Before you’d even gotten through that realization, Joel had already passed you and had made his way back out to the hall, where he walked down it back toward your front door. You followed after him, remaining quiet as he picked up his pocket knife from where you’d left it and tucked it back into his pant pocket. His hand got to the doorknob and you still hadn’t spoken, so he was the one to bite the bullet.

“You know, I never got your name.”

Heat crept up your neck, trying to make a home in your cheeks, as you mentioned your name to him. He smiled and nodded but offered nothing more, so you figured it was still your turn. “Thanks for your help, Joel,”

“No problem,” he waved you off.

“Maybe if more guys were like you, I wouldn’t hate them so much,”

“Give it time. You’ll be back to yellin’ at me soon.” He opened the front door and took a step through it. “Give me a holler if you need something, you know where I live,”

“Will do,”

He started to close the door but then opened it again and poked his head through. “Make sure you lock the door this time,”

You pressed a smile and approached the door where he waited until your hand was on the knob. With one last quiet goodbye, he pulled the door shut and you followed it up by locking it. Then with little time to spare, you ran to the window in the living room to watch him walk away. He pressed his hands into his pockets and looked around. Then a smile stretched over his face and he kicked at the grass before he crossed the street and moseyed back to his house.

[filmbyjy]

TWITTER SUCKS!

PAIRING > lee heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis > who knew you could become famous overnight for paying $8 for a single blue checkmark? however, it does come with consequences…what happens when the actual BELIFT Lab comes knocking at your door. all because you simply impersonated your bias.

GENRE > twitter update au? idol! heeseung & enhypen. engene!reader

FEATURING > mae & subin (ocs) and of course the rest of enhypen :) more idols will be added if chapter requires!

SCHEDULE > inconsistent schedules bc I just post whenever I want to🙃

TAGLIST > just drop an ask or fill out this form to be added!

START: 20 March 2023 | END: 18th June 2023

profiles: ENBEANs | EN-KINDERGARTEN ❌❌

prologue: tf elon musk

one: gen old people

two: out of besth

three: HE LIKES YOU

four: please don’t embarrass yourself

five: he anti-romantic

— idk why the read more disappeared on me😒 —

six: she’s gonna fly

seven: BL MOMENT??

eight: take you out to a nice place

nine: your fruitiness is showing

↳ special: enhypen disbands

ten: well I be damned

eleven: father to future kids added

twelve: what is air?

↳ special: private rants thread 📌

thirteen: mhm, he’s broken

fourteen: fvck you 🫶🏻

fifteen: the punishment

sixteen: let me sniff [written]

seventeen: us when-

eighteen: smelled it and her eyes rolled back

nineteen: can YOU guess?

twenty: i THINK I like her

twenty-one: heerizz (very effective)

twenty-two: thanks 👍🏻

twenty-three: I hate feelings

twenty-four: is that ENHYPEN? [written]

twenty-five: y/n had a boyfriend

twenty-six: clean the dishes, you furry ass

twenty-seven: unforgiven, she’s a villain

twenty-eight: kiss the girl [written]

↳ special: enhypen behind the scenes

twenty-nine: i’m gonna resign

thirty: now the squad has boyfriends~

thirty-one: breaking my silence

↳ special: is the duck drunk?

thirty-two: ENGENEs flame her!!!

thirty-three: jieun’s downfall

thirty-four: mamma mia pisa is back

thirty-five: my other half [written]

end

got a question for our cast?

TWITTER SUCKS! : ask

ask: TWITTER SUCKS! cast

-

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[bloompompom]

Your Boyfriend Eren

♡ content: eren jaeger x female reader. domestic au/established relationship, very fluffy & smutty narrative-style headcanons (is that a thing?), 'baby' as a pet name, some possessive language/behavior, rough sex, explicit sexual content, explicit language. as always, reader discretion advised. ♡ word count: ~3k (this was supposed to be short but... you know)

The thing about your boyfriend Eren was...

He was absolutely crazy about you. 

Okay. Maybe it was more like you drove Eren crazy. According to him, at least. 

He said it enough that you could now proudly predict exactly when it’d happen again. You’d say it together, with you offering your very best impersonation of his husky voice.

But all that aside, it didn’t necessarily mean he always meant it in a bad way. 

Sometimes Eren said it because he found you so damn distracting; his words, not yours. ‘You drive me crazy,’ he’d say in that cute voice all boys seemed to have—that low chuckle that managed to wiggle its way so deep inside that you could practically feel it vibrating in your chest. 

There were even times when you’d distract him from, well, you—if that made any sense. Eren clung to the specific and excitable waver your voice took on whenever you spoke of your passions. He could come up with cliché after cliché to try and describe it, but none felt apt enough for the honor; all he knew was that he was utterly transfixed by it. But what he loved the most was how you made yourself laugh an embarrassing amount of times per day—something he was sure you’d deny if he ever fessed up about it.

Eren wasn’t good about hiding this inattentiveness of his. He’d always get this blank thousand-yard stare on his face. It was the same sort of avid fascination one would study a painting with, his head tilted and all. 

Truthfully, Eren couldn’t mask any of his emotions. He had always been like that—someone who felt things in a big way—as if he were the living, breathing antonym for stoicism. It left him with no choice but to wear his heart on his sleeve, even if it meant he’d interrupt your ramblings with a kiss because you were that damn distracting. Nothing salacious, just tiny sips of you through chaste pecks.

You’d totally find it inappropriate if he weren’t so endearing about it. You liked the stupidly-smitten grin he’d always sport right after. So easy and disinhibited, like he knew he had gotten away with it because you were already pulling him back for another, notwithstanding the importance of whatever topic was at hand.

Perhaps it was your lips that drove him the craziest. In fact, there wasn’t a single thing he disliked about them. The color, the shape—how beautifully they pulled into your smile—and above all, how soft they felt on his own. It was almost as if they were meant only for him. 

Yeah, to him, they were perfect. 

That was likely the reason why Eren enjoyed watching you get ready. When he could, he’d stop and lean in the doorway of the bathroom, like he was just in time for his favorite show. You’d see him in the mirror, his sultry eyes following your every move as you finished your makeup. He’d marvel at you until you’d finally give in and plant a sticky, lip gloss kiss on him. He never minded, though; it was easy enough to wipe off with just the back of his hand.

But if you took too long, he’d come up and steal one anyway. He always thought he was smooth with it, saying he just wanted to see if your lip gloss had a taste. By then, you both knew you didn’t own any flavored glosses, and you’d remind him of such with a kittenish giggle. And when Eren eventually bought you some—just for him, of course—you already knew he planned to use it as another excuse to kiss you. 

He was also driven crazy by the way he could never keep his hands to himself when you were around. It didn’t matter the time of day, or if he was absolutely exhausted, he still wanted to hold you in any way he could.

He liked the times when he’d catch you drifting off. He’d watch you with sleepy eyes, one arm cradling you with the other letting his fingers delicately trace over your features—from your forehead, down your cheekbone, and across the bridge of your nose. 

Once you were asleep, your eyelids no longer fluttering, Eren would try to stay as still as possible so as to not wake you. It was always a kind attempt, only lasting as long as he was awake. After that, all bets were off, and you’d usually wake up sprawled along opposite sides of the bed. Not to mention, Eren was a complete blanket hog, so you’d usually have to fight his dead weight to steal some back on those extra chilly mornings. 

He was always the handsiest during idle times, like when you’d lay together and watch TV. Picture it: Eren, sat in bed with his back resting against the headboard. You, on your stomach, lounged up at the opposite end of the bed because maybe you knew it gave him the perfect glimpse of your ass. And maybe that was why you chose this specific pair of shorts to sleep in. And just maybe that was why you didn’t complain when he tugged them up a bit higher for a better view. 

His hand would massage up your legs. He’d squeeze at your calf, the back of your thigh, and up the plush of your ass until you’d coyly prop your ass in the air for him. He’d toy with the band of your underwear only because he knew it drove you crazy when he teased you like that. You’d listen when he’d tell you to spread your legs for him. And when he’d eventually ask you, ‘Do you wanna come for me, baby?’ you’d be babbling and begging for him because he’d been playing with you through the fabric of your panties for far too long. 

And only after he’d pull a desperate and enthusiastic, ‘yes, yes, yes!’ from you, he’d fuck you with his fingers. Your face, once sweetly held between your hands, would bury deep into the sheets until you’d come for him as many times as he wished.

But no matter how cool Eren played it, he could never mask how much you riled him up. You could always spot the flush of his cheeks—how the ruddy hue spanned all the way to the tips of his ears—and the sharp stutter of his chest. Heart on his sleeve, remember? 

Eren loved you. The sort of love that required you to spell it with at least three O’s. Loooved you in the springy and boyish way that made a person’s voice go up an octave. High enough to elicit a comment or two from his friends or even his observant mother. 

Knowing him, you’d think he’d hate bringing you around—you know, since he didn’t exactly shrug off said comments easily—but nothing made him happier than seeing you get along with those he cared about most. It warmed him from the inside out and had him gawking at you with the biggest heart eyes ever just because you made his dad laugh. 

It went without saying he was not shy about introducing you to everyone in his life. And when you said everyone, you really meant everyone—no matter how humiliating you found it. After only a few meet-and-greets, you started hearing the same comment over and over again: Eren’s just so much happier now that he’s with you. According to them, he was nothing like the broody guy he once was. You couldn’t even imagine it because the Eren you knew had always talked your ear off. 

But out of everyone, Eren always put you first. It didn’t matter who was around because Eren naturally made you feel like the most important person in the room. Hell, he even managed it when you weren’t in the same room, going as far as to leave boys’ night off no more than a quick text saying you missed him. And if you included a picture of yourself—preferably one that showed a bit more skin—he wouldn’t even need to respond because you knew he was already on his way home. It was something you were quite proud of after all this time together, even if everyone else was sick of it.

So you were sure it didn't come as a surprise that Eren always wanted you at his side when you were out together. Whether it was his arm loosely draped over your shoulder or his chin resting on the crown of your head, he found comfort in knowing you were with him—as if he needed the reassurance that you were still really there.

But, hey, Eren wanted to make sure people knew you were his, considering you had him hopelessly wrapped around your little finger. 

And if you still needed a reminder of who you belonged to, Eren wouldn’t hesitate to jog your memory once he had you back at home and all to himself. Even years later, you still had this indecent game of cat and mouse between you, with you bounding around with your pretty come-and-get-it eyes until he’d rightfully take what was his.

Lucky you—tonight was one of those nights. After a short drive home, your night filled with dinner and drinks, Eren swept you off your feet. Literally. He was fluid in the way he walked around the car and opened your door so you'd flow right into his arms. He didn’t let your feet touch the floor until you were inside and kissed you full on the mouth. Neither of you minded how the other tasted like beer. 

You made out in your living room first—the room you painted together in just one weekend last summer. It was obvious, too. All rushed in the corners and patchy when the light caught it just right—just around four in the afternoon, to be precise. Still, you convinced yourselves you liked it because you had spent even more time trying to compromise on a color. 

The night you moved in, you celebrated laboring the last of the boxes inside by ordering Chinese takeout. You ate on the floor—no, on the rug—together. The brand new one you told Eren you just had to have. The very first purchase for your new home, even before you had a couch. 

Who knew rugs were so expensive? 

You remembered Eren said you drove him crazy that night, too. With a playful growl in his voice as he pinned you down on that very exorbitant rug. The world outside the windows was nothing more than an inky blue. Kisses were broken by laughter and knocking noses, and the brilliant smile on his face melted into that concentrated look he got when he was getting turned on. 

You had sex, right there, to the croony sound of Eren’s record player because he insisted on unpacking it immediately. You slept there, too—under the blankets you had to open four boxes to find—and thought, ‘This must be it.' Everything you ever wanted, laid out in front of you. 

Well, on top of you, but that was getting into semantics. 

After Eren determined you had spent enough time pressed up against the living room wall, he lifted you by wrapping each of your legs around his waist, one at a time. It was tight; the pinching denim of your jeans was far from suitable for the way you were handling one another. Even so, it didn’t dull your fervor. The glowy tingle, sitting in the low part of your stomach, was only ignited once he brought you back in his arms, with yours locked around his neck. 

Eren could carry you wherever he pleased with little effort. This time, it was the bedroom. He laid you back on the bed gently. Under any other circumstances, you would have expected something friskier from him, like a toss, but one of the bedframe's legs had recently broke.

You knew how it sounded when you said that, but it didn’t break in the fun sort of way—more like someone with big emotions flopping dramatically onto the bed, making an already long day even longer. It happened last week, and the temporary solution had been stuffing a few forgotten textbooks underneath.

You viewed the laughable sight with a strange fondness. Who would have thought you’d fall so head-over-heels for a man that you’d find even his most bumbling moments swoon-worthy? 

That wasn’t something Eren needed to know though, so you bit back the smile on your lips and hoped he thought it was because you were just that needy for him.

You were, of course. And now, you were the one that couldn’t hide it. Eren took in the way you ogled at his forearms as he rolled up the sleeves of his black button-down. They were smooth, tanned, and more than strong enough to restrain you any way he desired—as if his prominent eyes, never leaving you once, weren’t already holding you down. 

You stared—with eyes all dreamy and soft—just long enough that Eren wanted to tease you for it, but he had no room to gloat; he was too focused on the straining in his pants, growing more unignorable by the second with you looking feverish and achy right below him. 

Eren kissed you like he wanted to make it a competition of who craved the other more. He cupped your face with his warm fingertips resting behind your ear. His tongue softly met your own and, for a moment, it was like nothing else even fucking mattered.

And when he heard you whisper, “Eren,” against his mouth, he merely nodded into the kiss, already keenly aware of your body and what you were asking of him next.

He kissed the corner of your parted lips. Then you felt him suck at the lobe of your ear. At your neck, Eren only stopped to leave behind a few lovebites, his teeth nibbling all the spots that made you buck against him. 

You bunched your top over your breasts so Eren could continue, his mouth wanton and opening as he kissed from your chest to your navel. It started to tickle, and you reminded him to shave tomorrow through giggles and gasps. Eren didn’t say a thing back, only raising you by the hips so he could rub his face even further into you until he was laughing just as loudly as you.

When he was at eye level with the button of your jeans, he started to help you out of them. His lips followed the fabric down the length of your legs, ensuring not a single inch of your skin went neglected. You squealed and twitched and let the back of your head sink deeper into the mattress as you felt the weight of your jeans slip off your feet. But when you expected to feel his lips at your ankle, you were met with his fingers, wrapped around it like he was inspecting it. 

Eren looked up at you and asked, “Where’s your anklet?”

He was talking about the anklet. The only one you own. The one he bought you as a gift for your first anniversary together. A dainty chain adorned with a tiny letter E that you still wore every day. Almost.

You didn’t think much of it when you sat up to answer, “Oh. I must have forgotten to put it back on after my shower.”

You fell back to the bed thinking he’d promptly go back to kissing you. When he didn’t, you checked on him again only to find the playful mood about him had suddenly shifted. He stood to his feet and, presumably, went to fetch the anklet for you. It didn’t seem all that important to you until he returned with darkened eyes, staring you square in the face as he grabbed your ankle again to latch the flimsy piece of jewelry around it. 

A shudder, innate and teeming with anticipation, wracked through you. You liked, perhaps in a twisted way, when you crossed Eren—how he’d eye you with furrowed brows like you were some defiant little thing. 

He wasn’t taking his time with you anymore. Oh, no—he had both you and himself stripped entirely in a matter of seconds, so quickly that you thought he may have even torn your underwear. Not that it would have been the first time. 

Eren yanked your legs apart and took you in one deep thrust. A shaky, depraved moan ripped through you, eyes prickling with tears as you became tangled up in the knot where pain met pleasure. Unspokenly, he gave you a moment to adjust as he threw your legs limply over his shoulders. When you were ready, he fucked you with your feet framing his pretty face. 

Sure, there were times for slow and deliberate sex, but you both just so happened to like it best when it was like this. It didn’t happen often because, as was already established, Eren didn’t know how to hide his emotions and, holy shit, you drove him insane, actually. He was already prone to abrupt breaks in his composure like—

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, drawing out the curse as if it were more than one syllable. He kissed your leg, right where your anklet bounced with every snap of his hips, and grunted, "You do know you’re mine, don’t you?”

You could only respond in a vaguely affirmative ‘hmmph!’ because he had your cheeks pinched in his hand, gripping even harder when he commanded, “I want to hear you say it.”

He looked down at you, breathless and bleary, with shimmers of sweat at his temples. The sight bloomed in your chest like fire between your lungs.

“I’m yours,” you tried to say, but the words were barely distinguishable, your voice sounding smushed. Still, it pleased him enough to release your face, and you shamelessly cried out, “I’m all yours!"

“That’s right.” Despite the gruff in his voice, Eren leaned over and kissed your forehead. You felt it in your toes. “This is only for you.”

[vixensp1ce]

fem!reader, uni au

There's a stranger in your bed, and he's fucking you better than any of your boyfriends have before.

Veritas Ratio pistons into your abused cunt, puffy and raw from his tongue, fingers, and cock. It's slender but long, almost elegant in shape, reaching so deep into you that you're nearly satisfied by him bottoming out alone.

But you're not so easily filled. And it's part of the reason why you're out on town, having finally freed yourself of your previous boyfriend, looking for a good dick to get fucked by.

But no one told you a stranger's dick would be this insane.

"Giving up already?" Everything Veritas says manages to sound judgemental and disappointed. You squeeze tighter around him, whimpering as your pussy protests, but he doesn't even crack an inch. "Slut."

He has you crumpled, exhausted, every muscle twitching from your past orgasms, and still he shows no sign of stopping.

"Can't even cum for me." Those long, deft fingers release their grip on your hair. You lurch forward with a whine of relief - at least until his hand creeps down to your cunt.

"Don't- please- ah, ah, ah~"

He rubs harsh circles into your clit. Sparks rush up into your belly, slamming you shut on his hard, hard dick, the knot ready to snap.

He groans, one of a limited range of sounds you've heard from him this night, and if it was even possible, his strokes get even faster. "Don't, my ass. Make me cum, you little bi- hrrrrrrph."

The knot unravels. "Veri, Veri, please, ah, please-"

A syrupy warmth spills out over your back, and his scent fills your nose again. You whimper, legs trembling, flashing hot and cold as your pussy spasms emptily from your orgasm.

Finally, he lets go. You collapse shakily, turning over.

He's hunched over you, purple strands concealing his expression as he ducks his head to catch his breath. There's a full moon high in the sky, and even the streets have gone quiet on this Friday evening. Or Saturday morning.

Veritas lowers himself slowly onto the mattress next to you, the only indication that he'd ever exerted himself the sheen of perspiration on his forehead. His amber eyes pass impersonally over you, roving over your room as if it were his.

That was how he typically was, you'd learnt. Veritas Ratio was indifferent, coldly analytical towards the softer parts of humanity. Even in the club, he hadn't had much to say about anything except "It's too loud in here."

He was an architecture major something-or-other, handsome in the same way his blueprints were - all flat planes and sharp angles. Veritas had been eyed by a number of girls all over campus (and professors too, so it was rumoured), but his chilling attitude toward each and every one of them had spoken its own message.

Then you'd gone out with some course friends to a club. His liquid amber eyes flashed blue, green, pink under the club lights, digging into the flesh visible just above your thigh-high boots, and you'd decided, hey, why not?

His phone buzzes insistently somewhere in the room. Veritas sighs impatiently, climbing over you to rummage for his possessions. You're too sore to move much and the sudden loss of warmth stirs up an unwelcome hint of disappointment.

You listen to him move around your room for a moment. Warm breath on your ear gives you reason to turn over.

"I have to go now," he says, face inches from yours. You jump in surprise, clutching your blankets to your chest.

"Already?" Maybe you should have expected it. "Do you need a shower first?"

He hesitates. "...That would be nice, thank you."

You wave a hand lazily in the direction of the bathroom, watching him go. "And raise the door up before you latch it!" you call after him.

You hear the brief sounds of struggle, then Veritas manages. The sound of running water starts shortly after.

You let yourself lie for a moment longer, then groan and get up. The sheets and laundry would need to be washed, the house cleaned, and your work for school still needed to be tackled.

You're in the kitchen, doing the dishes, when you hear the front door open and shut.

[azlrse]

a/n: goddamn this account's dead asf but an imagine would revive this place chdhfh

cw: fluff w/ a bit of angst, au not tied in the og! storyline, ooc characters, mc didn't attended the exchange program

Imagine an AU where the reader doesn't go to RAD (not even in the Devildom) but instead, they met one of the brothers while that specific bother went on an errand in the human world. To set the scene, you accidentally dropped something that valuable and then that brother finally catches up to you, returning the said item to you. At first, each of the brothers weren't too fond of you since 1.) You are a powerless human, duh and 2.) You are a bit of a clutz and almost lost that one item that's valuable to you but as time went by, the more you met him, had some kind of small talk to him and by God's love, the shared interest you two shared (for ex: Lucifer's being old records/music, Satan's being cats, etc.), you two became friends and met each other often at the same park you dropped that item months ago.

Fast forward to 2 years and the two of you fell for each other, especially that brother who often came to the human world just to visit you. You and that brother were now dating and he's now open about his life, about his siblings and his fake occupation. Out of all the things he told you in his life, he will always kept that one secret he prays you'll never find out.

Is the fact that he's not a human but a powerful demon that's residing in the Devildom, not to mention as one of the avatars of sins. He didn't want to scare you and this man loves you so much to the point that he is willing to keep such secret in order to protect you.

And the fact that his other siblings are beginning to be suspicious about their brother visiting the human world so often that they began to follow him and eventually meeting you for the first time. Despite you being a human, they know that deep within their hearts that you are a kindhearted person that makes their brother very happy and accepted you when the two of you are now proposed.

Now, 5 years has passed and the two of you are now very happy and married.

Until that specific day wherein your husband's acting very strange lately to the point that you became worried about his health, even offering him to go to the hospital but he refused. Hell, even those late nights he came back as a red light shines through the window of your shared bedroom. You became paranoid, thinking that he might be seeing someone else and leaving you or something or someone is watching you and your husband in your quaint and quiet life in the suburbs.

But it looks like it was different.

Because the moment you came home from your errands in the supermarket, you screamed in horror at the appearance of your husband–horns on his head and wings/tail appeared on his body. Your husband forgot to change back by the time he got home and began to chase after you in an attempt to comfort you, saying that he won't hurt you. You lock yourself in the bathroom and began sobbing hysterically, yelling at the demon that he's an impersonation of your beloved husband, a monster and a human's worse nightmare.

He didn't force his way into the locked bathroom. Instead, he sat down by the door and reassures you that he's the same person you truly loved for all these years, the same man that gave you that item that almost got lost and the same man you befriended and get to know. He knows that you still don't trust him because all the secrets he kept from you, hell even his own siblings were demons and he didn't want his worse fear to happen right in front of him–leaving you for another person because this man loves you very very much.

After an hour of the ordeal, you emerged from the door and sees him on the floor, still sitting as to prevent you from being scared again. He, still on his demon form, opens his arms and hugs you very tightly as he apologizes profusely for keeping such secret Even though the two of you are in good terms, you are still wary of your husband, even if he's on his human form but it's okay. As long as you warm up to him being a demon and doesn't harm you, he is finally contented with you on his arms.

Not until you begin to constantly bug him about seeing his wings/tail excitedly but who are you to blame about admiring the appearance of your husband <33

[please credit/tag me when you compose a fic/drabble with this imagine!]

[myntrose]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊redemption𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

ft: Zhongli x gender neutral! Reader

cn: hurt no comfort :D, sagau/imposter au! , golden blood au! , mentions of blood and attack, attempted execution, use of Zhongli's archon name, slighty cultish theme, grammar

a/n: y'all the absolute CHOKEHOLD that sagau! has on me is insane (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`) i wrote this with spite due to zhongli never coming home to me. y'all i've lost 50/50 to his all banners t-t

word count: 731

song on replay: Shinunoga E-Wa by Fujii Kaze

"...goodbye~ Oh don't you ever say bye bye, yeah"

He knows he doesn't have the right to be jealous. He knows that the the heaviness is heart is something he deserves, a sliver of punishment he must feel for causing you all the pain and suffering you endured.

To this day, months after the incident, he can still feel the blood, your golden blood, on his hands. It's ironic, really. Zhongli, or Morax, the God of Contracts, the God of War. Everything he did was in your name. As the oldest amongst gods and mortals, he always prided himself as your most loyal follower. He strived to protect your name against blasphemy.

In his nightmares he can still hear your voice. The tremble of your pleads. The shaking "please, spare me" and "mercy".

more utc!

This is just a dream, you told yourself. You were sending your day like you do most others. Following the same routine, passing by the same buildings and houses like every other day. Nothing seemed off, until you awoke from your sleep to realize that you were no longer in your world.

Maybe you would have felt excited. In Teyvat, you could have had a chance to meet all your favorites, all your comfort characters. After all, everyone treated the Traveler, an outsider from another world, well. What difference would it be as another outsider as yourself?

Your breath grew heavy, and your feet started to drag along the earth below you. How did you even get to this position? All you wanted was to find a friendly face, perhaps Amber or another one to the Knights of Favonius.

Running from Mondstadt to Liyue was no easy journey. While it was the people who were after your head, you could only thank whatever force allowed for the other creatures to stay away from your path. The hilicurls never seemed to notice you; the slimes would sometimes lead you towards places to hide.

You hoped the people of Liyue would give you a different welcome than those of Mondstadt. In a way, they did. In Monstadt, they gave you a chance to escape. Here, they didn't.

The ever so busy streets of Liyue were crowded once again, but now for a different reason. Zhongli happened to be amongst the crowed, when the Tianquan herself announced the situation before them.

"We have the traitor here, the one who dares impersonate the Divine Creator"

With that alone, Zhongli came out of hiding and announced himself once again as the Archon of Geo. How else was he, the creators most devoted acolyte, suppose to bring this traitor to justice?

His spear, the Vortex Vanquisher, the weapon you spent months saving up for, was pointed directly at your head. You've survived this long, all to die at the hands of the character you've cared for the most. Morax granted you the luxury of saying your final words. He expected you to cry out for mercy, but was met with something that left him frozen.

At this point there were no more tears for you left to cry. Tired and exhausted, you look up at him. Moving carefully, you lift your hands towards the weapon inches to your face. Even with such a weak grip, the spear cuts into your hand.

"I would rather die at your hands than that of a stranger"

Morax backs away from you, his polearm falling to his side. It was easy to mistake the gold color on the tip of his spear to be the shine of the sun illuminating the ore that made it. But Morax knew what the golden glint was.

Time may heal all wounds, but it doesn't erase the scars left behind. Zhongli has tried his best to redeem himself. He knows he is the least deserving to be at your every call. Even so, he feels that he's more fit to serve you than those fools from Sumeru.

He can't help but feel his heart drop whenever you dismiss him, when you tell him his services aren't needed. But what hurts him more is the visible fear in your eyes whenever he gets a bit to close.

No, he refuses to be the reason why you don't feel safe. He refuses to be the one you fear. He'll redeem himself, he swears. In one way or another, he'll show you that he deserves to be at your side.

zhongli bby pls come home

[jasonsmirrorball]

TONIGHT YOU ARE MINE JASON TODD (7.8K)

synopsis you hadn’t meant to screw it all up. only a few months ago, you’d been spending your nights in a bed that wasn’t yours, sure that it would last. it was always going to be him, and then suddenly it wasn’t. OR: an au where jason is your band's guitarist and one single review makes your world come crashing down.

cw: gn!reader, afab! reader, band!au, breakup, angst, self loathing reader, exes to lovers, stephanie brown is a meddler, roy harper cameo, porn with plot, car sex, exhibitionism, piv sex, minor spanking (like once), emotional/angry sex. minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked

Everyone in the crowd can sense the underlying tension. Only a year ago, you’d spent the majority of tour unable to go five minutes without reaching for or looking Jason. 

You’d feel sorry for tonight’s crowd, the last night of tour is always supposed to go out with a bang, but you haven’t been able to so much as approach the pretty guitarist this evening without feeling heat rise in your chest, wicked curls of anger licking at your wounds everytime you near him. November skies descend on the crowd with a chill rivalling your own and you stay a good range away from the taller man at all times, repelled like opposite poles.

Jason, similarly, keeps his eyes on the strings, a hard edge to his jaw. 

On the drums, Steph flicks her eyes between the both of you, sharing a thinly veiled look of discomfort with one of the sound technicians backstage. 

It’s been like this all month, and though the both of you had managed to keep it somewhat professional it’s clear everyone has begun to feel the weight of the awkward silences suffocating the dressing room. The blonde fears if you open your mouth at all, no one will leave the room alive, lips often pursed so tightly as though you’re keeping a barrage of words locked away. 

You refuse to look at Jason at any given moment, and though your voice remains level when you address him, it isn’t so much an address as it is talking at him, instructions doled out like a military seargent, stiff and impersonal.

There’s no shadow of the playfulness that had just about driven her insane in the spring, no lingering touches and the stolen kisses in the summer when you’d still thought no one had caught on. (They’d all been very aware, given the poorly hidden love bites on the guitarist’s neck and the added secrecy in your shared grins) No whispers in the dressing room, no ganging up on Roy–she felt as though she’d fallen into the worst timeline.

They’re coming up on one of their most popular songs, and Steph’s feeling the heat of the stage lights despite the bite of late Fall, beads of sweat crowding at her temples when you fiddle with your mic on stage and there seems to be no intent of committing to your usual tradition. If the crowd hasn’t already picked up on your obvious tension, they’re sure to when you’re singing almost in the wings instead of wrapping yourself around Jason like you’d made sure to every single concert since your first big gig. 

It’s fine, she tries to assure herself, but her eyes track your movement and you’ve planted yourself firmly away from him and she knows the media is going to have a field day with this. She can already see the headlines, every quack with expertise in body language is going to be crawling out of the woodwork to analyse this–and the worst part is, they wouldn’t be wrong. Her own despair is painted on her face in a frown that she isn’t so sure she can explain as concentration. 

Roy, nearby, looks over his shoulder and she can tell by the slant of his mouth that he’s displeased. He mouths a single word at her.

She looks back to you, to Jason, to the crowd. You close your eyes, arms outstretched as you spin in slow circles, and Jason picks at the strings of his guitar, lifting his eyes only for a moment to gaze at you. It’s the confusion painted on one of the front row attendees that seals her decision. 

Blue eyes narrow at Roy and she tips her chin in agreement.

“No.”

“Are you serious?” Steph explodes in front of you, hands flying up. You look at her evenly, sat on the couch in your dressing room, nursing the bottle of water you’d snagged from the fridge. You’ve changed out of your outfit into something looser, feeling the itch to get out of the get up the moment you’d stepped off stage and into the wings. 

“Does it sound like I’m joking?” you snap. “I get you guys are concerned, but you need to stay out of it.”

“How are we supposed to stay out of it when the both of you can’t even be normal around each other?” she retorts, flicking a heavily hairsprayed lock of blonde hair over her shoulder. Her face gleams in the aftermath of the concert, eyeliner smudged and lipstick all but faded on bitten lips. Even out of her get up, she still looks formidable. 

“Listen,” you say, feeling your chest twist uncomfortably under her piercing gaze. Your hands feel slippery around the cold plastic, and you fiddle with the label, picking at the corner with your fingernail. “I’m sorry we went and made things all weird, but I didn’t mean to. Pretty sure he’ll tell you the same thing. But what do you want from me, Brown? It’s just gonna take a bit of time, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

And it’s the truth.

You hadn’t meant to screw it all up. Only a few months ago, you’d been spending your nights in a bed that wasn’t yours, sure that it would last. You’d never been so careless with anyone, ever, but it was Jason. 

The sound of his name, the very thought of him, empties your lungs of air. He had always been there, constant, steadying, Jason. It had always been the both of you in this together. His had been the hand you sought for when the flashes got to be too much. When the homesickness hit hard and you spent days in bed skipping out on rehearsals and meetings it had been Jason who’d showed up and shoved you into the shower and sat outside talking to you the entire time, who’d stripped your bed and replaced the sheets. 

It was always going to be him, and then suddenly it wasn’t.

How were you supposed to come back from that unscathed? How the fuck were you supposed to go back to teasing touches on stage and near kisses over your microphone like it didn’t mean a thing?

You hadn’t lost your boyfriend, in that fight, but your partner, too. Steph and Roy were your best friends, too, but Jason was your heart. And you’d gone and broken it all on your own. 

Steph must see it in your face, as you slump back into the couch, because she sighs, dropping down into the seat next to you. She kicks her shoes off, sneakers hitting the floor a few feet away with a thud and she curls into your side, pressing her cheek to your shoulder. 

The TV in the corner switches on and some late night talk show provides a soundtrack for you to sit in your despair. 

What a way to finish the tour.

You throw yourself into Jason’s arms with a drunken giggle and he catches you, arms coming up to steady you, an easy grin on his handsome face. In the dim light of the dive bar, the shadows sharpen his already strong features, teal eyes boring down into yours affectionately. You reach up with a careful hand, running your thumb under his brow where a speck of glitter lingers on his skin. 

“Hello,” he rumbles and you can’t help yourself, pushing yourself up in his lap to slant your lips against his. 

“Hi,” you breathe out, starry-eyed. 

“You were amazing tonight,” he tells you, stealing another kiss before tucking you into his side and taking a swig from his bottle. His arm lies heavy around your middle, anchoring you to your seat on his thigh. Across the booth, at the bar, you can see your bandmates arguing as they wait for their drinks.

“Me!” you exclaim, reaching for the slice of pizza on the table. “You were amazing. And distracting. D’you have any idea how many times I almost forgot what I was singing ‘cause you looked at me?”

He laughs and the sound reverberates through your back, drawing a smile from you. You think you’ve barely spent a moment tonight not grinning, feeling the rush of satisfaction from playing the crowd. It’s been a good night–but then again, every night seems to be a good night, you think to yourself. 

How could you not be happy, when it feels as though everything is finally going right?

Jason takes you home that night and kisses you silly in the back of the cab, fingers trailing dangerously under the hem of your shirt and swallowing your whispered protests in his mouth. And when you get home, he draws them from you tenfold, the noise spilling into the air of his bedroom where he can savour them uninhibited.

Having the boy in your bed, the stars within reach, soaring towards the sun, higher, higher with no end in sight. You are foolish to believe it’s everlasting. Being on top of the world blinds you, so focused on the clouds brushing your face that you forget the danger of misstep. 

The end comes on a Wednesday afternoon, when a missive of 2000 words and an unrelenting pen strike you down where you stand, shoot you midair like an arrow. Falling feels like flying but you’ve never felt fear in the air til now.

Freefalling, you are stripped down to your barest parts and sewn back together with a few clumsy words–you can’t help but feel as though you’re missing an organ.

Only the combined efforts of your manager and Jason pull you from bed, four days of missed rehearsals are all they give you to mope before he storms the fortress. 

“Up,” he demands, moving throughout your room and throwing the curtains open. Afternoon sunlight streams in, bright and merciless against your internal plight. Jason tugs the covers off, eyes blazing with forceful determination when you make to pull it back. “No. You need to get up. We gave you space, now you gotta get it together.”

An unintelligible noise is your only response, rolling over onto your stomach and groaning into your pillow. You’ve spent your tears, but you can feel your face burning once more and you refuse to let him see just how much this has affected you. 

Your name leaves his lips, stern and stripped of its usual affection. “Cut the shit. You got a bad review. ‘S not the end of the world, kid. You can’t spend the rest of your life letting it get to you.”

You want to scream at him. You want to take him by the shoulders and yell, did you read the same article? How can you be so unfeeling? 

A nasty, bitter part of you whispers that of course he wouldn’t understand. Why would he? They had nothing but praise for him, the pretty boy wordsmith of your band whose pen had produced the best of the band’s discography. And you know it isn’t unfounded, you know you’re being unfair–Jason is talented. You’d known it at seventeen, when the both of you had been messing around on his dad’s piano and you know it now. You’ve always loved him for it. He’d always celebrated your successes, you knew he deserved every bit of recognition he got.

You only wish it hadn’t come at your expense.

Green curls around your senses as he wrangles you out of bed and into the bathroom, leaking through your veins and only thickening as you wash yourself of the last few days. 

When you emerge from the steam, it is with vengeance and a vow. Reborn, you gather what you can of your wings.

You’ll fly once more.

There are 15 unread messages on your phone and the light of the recording studio is the only thing keeping you company. The clock on the wall points to it being well into the night. 

Your eyes burn as you stare at the pages of your notebook, ivory filled with scribbling you can make little sense of. It’s a brand new one, blue skinned and thick, pages pressed flat with disuse. All around the small coffee table you kneel in front of lie your old books, sheaves of loose paper fluttering under the expulsion of air from the nearby fan. Lines on lines of old writing, crossed out and highlighted and annotated with blood red ink, surround you.

Your muscles lie stiff in your back and hips, fingers curling around your pen. Empty bags of takeout lie abandoned and emptied behind you–you’ll surely be told off in the following morning when your manager returns, either for staying to work so late into the night or for bringing food into the studio. 

“Do you plan to go home at all?”

You don’t flinch at the sound of Jason’s voice behind you. His reflection stands in the glass of the studio window, filling out the doorway in a manner that anybody else might find threatening. You ought to, too. There’s displeasure in his voice, disappointment in your habits. 

Jason lets you get away with most things. His temper is sweet, at least where you’re concerned. You’ve never felt the need to test it, and rarely have you been the subject of his ire, so softened by time that it takes a great deal to be drawn. You’re used to his indulgence, his saved smiles and the gentleness of his hand and tone. This is a stark contrast to the honeyed words he reserves for you. 

But it’s also your new normal. And isn’t that an awful thought, that you’ve grown used to it now, having heard it enough times in the last few weeks for it to lose its weight. Disappointing him, once upon a time, might’ve destroyed you. At seventeen, you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him down. But you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve caught his doleful look cast at you, mouth drawn in a hard line so uncannily like his father–another person you’ve let down, you’re sure, from the messages in your phone from him sitting untouched. 

“I’ll go home when I finish,” you say tersely. Or you try to. It comes out mumbled, eyes tracking across your notes. 

“Yeah?” Jason asks, stepping further into the room, shadow moving in your periphery. His voice is unimpressed, and you can sense the lecture coming. “When, exactly, is that gonna be?”

“Jason,” you hiss out, raising a hand as if to say, please just don’t. 

“What.” he bites out and you squeeze your eyes irritatedly. 

“Look, just–I’m busy. I’ve got to work on this. Go home.”

He ignores your dismissal and moves into your line of sight, and you stare stubbornly at your notes. Even when he drops to his knees across from you, you stare as though through sheer will, the lyrics will write themselves, letters spelling out onto the pages what will bring you back to grace. 

“Work on what?” he presses, and you can feel your own temper beginning to burn. “You’re dead on your feet, you’re not gonna get anything done if you can barely keep your eyes open.”

“I’m–” you try, but he grabs your pen. You grab another, clenching your jaw so hard it hurts and his temper bursts.

“Will you look at me?”

He grabs your chin, and when you look at him finally, he is wide eyed and pleading but you are too far gone, poisoned by your own words and fears. Not even he could bring you back now, you have ventured out of Elysium, where he cannot reach. You find yourself apathetic, jagged, unflinching in the face of his tears. Cruel, and someone neither you nor he know. 

“What is with you?” he demands and in the yellow light he looks a little crazed, hair messed and chest heaving, eyes electric green, almost luminescent. “You don’t talk to anyone, we barely see you, you don’t answer your phone. I’ve been trying to reach you all week, I–”

His face twists and you watch angry tears splash against his cheeks. “I thought something happened to you, you fucking idiot,” he seethes. “What is it, huh? You go totally ghost on us–on me and I find you here working on–what even is this? You never keep stuff from me.”

You watch the moment you break his heart when you shrug out of his hold, crystalline eyes fracturing when you scowl. His shoulders slump and you find just another thing about yourself to loathe.

“I’m fine,” you insist, your breathing growing shallow. Red and green cloud your vision, anger and envy spilling into your every word. “You know, I have my own shit. I don’t have to tell you everything.”

He looks helpless, confusion swimming in his expression. “I…I know that.”

“Do you?” you demand and he blinks rapidly. “You wouldn’t be barging in here like you have the right to know everything I do, if you did.”

“What?” Jason questions, but you’re determined to cut him now, your own angry tears blurring your vision.

“Listen, we can’t all be great like you, okay-”

“-That’s not fair-”

“Some of us,” you say loudly, “have to put in a little work because it doesn’t come to us naturally. We can’t all be goddamn prodigies, so excuse me if I’m just trying to catch up. I thought you’d be happy that I was finally putting effort into this band.”

“Hey,” he snaps. “I’ve never said you didn’t put any effort into this band. You know that I know you work hard.”

“Then what the fuck is your problem?” you exclaim, scrambling to your feet and he follows. The both of you stand toe to toe in the studio, heat in your faces as you descend into what is the first proper argument you’ve had in years. Part of you is screaming not to let it get this far, to quit while you’re ahead, while it’s still salvageable, but it’s drowned out by the roaring in your ears.

“My problem!” Jason echoes, scoffing. “You’re the one who’s lost it.”

“I’m doing this for the band!” you roar and you swear you see lightning in his eyes, teal blazing as he bears down on you.

“That is such bullshit,” he snarls and your heart quivers in its cage. “Do what you want but don’t stand here and lie to my fucking face like all of this is about the band. This is about you!”

You stand, silent as his voice breaks, anger filling the cracks like lava. “This is about you and this…complex you have, like you can’t ever be happy because you care too much about what people have to say–people who mean nothing. And I’m here, telling you otherwise but it’s like you’re so fucking determined to not hear me–like you wanna do it alone. We’re supposed to be in this together.”

It’s a plea and a reminder. Even in his anger he begs, beseeching you to remember, like it’ll somehow get through the wall you’ve constructed between the both of you to remind you–It’s you and me, kid and clasped hands in the back of the bus and the first demo and–please remember. 

All you can hear is the whir of the fan in the wake of his words. Jason stands in front of you, grief lining the features of his beautiful face and you feel as though he will never be this close ever again. You can say nothing, your own tears spilling silent, dripping onto your collar. He closes his eyes, and nods, once. The very air between you shifts and you can feel the moment your heart cleaves in two. 

“You wanna do it alone,” Jason says again and he sounds very, very tired, echoing your unsaid decision. He runs a hand over his face, and you hear him take a shuddering breath. “That’s fine…I won’t stop you. I hope it makes you happy.”

He turns and walks out of the room. 

At your feet, the empty pages flutter.

Steph and Roy are, as far as they’re concerned, the best friends in the world. You aren’t so convinced. 

In the week that follows the end of tour, you all return home. You hear little from Jason, who only speaks in the band group chat, but you aren’t expecting anything anyway. When you recall your words that night, you flinch. His expression is burned into your mind, and you don’t think you’re likely to forget it any time soon. Steph invites you out regularly, both directly and in the group chat. 

You decline. And decline. And decline. 

The pages of your notes remain ever unfinished, and the walls of your writing studio grow increasingly familiar. You think you would know it blindfolded. Pale winter sunlight does not fall here except in thin, ribboned streams, and when you return upstairs, it’s long after sundown. You’re lucky to see a few hours each day before you’re descending into the studio, determined or desperate you aren’t sure. 

Jason has always been quiet on social media, but all of a sudden his face is plastered everywhere. Neither of you have removed the other–you think your manager would actually cuss you out for the stir that would cause. She hadn’t been pleased at your dating, and even less pleased at your separation, brown eyes narrowing at you in a way that left you wondering why you’d hired her at all. 

His brother posts a photo on their family ski trip, and your heart twinges at the unknown girl in the background tucked next to him on the couch, pretty and beaming in a way that is effortless. Jason sits beside her with a half smile playing at his lips. Her account is private, and you switch your phone off when the feeling in your chest at finding he doesn’t follow her feels a little too much like relief that you have no right to feel.

January rolls around. You ring in the New Year alone, over a spread of sheet music and Thai food. 

The world is blanketed in thick, powdery ice. You leave the house when even ordering in loses its charm, craving the warmth of a meal not delivered to your door, and the wind nips at your nose. The scarf around your neck belongs to someone else, but you had reached for it instinctively, hanging around the post by your front door, on your way out. Its weight is familiar in your hands, and your jaw aches as you loop it around yourself.

Lovers huddle close together in the streets, giggling when their shoes slip against the iced over pavement, and you avert your eyes. Holiday music filters through the speakers indoors, familiar jingles you might’ve found amusement in on any other occasion. In the produce section, you stare blankly at the array of greens, and end up exiting laden with a bag of groceries you don’t remember putting into your basket. 

Back outside, you linger outside the store, listless and distracted. It’s then that you hear the call of your name, and a flash of blonde hair appears in your periphery.

“Hey!” Steph chirps, smacking a kiss on your cheek affectionately, arms winding around you tightly. “I haven’t seen you in ages! I didn��t expect to see you today.”

You squirm in her embrace, feeling your face flush. “Hi, Steph,” you murmur. 

She pulls away, blue eyes bright and assessing as she takes you in. She’s lovely, pink cheeked and wind bitten. You know what you must look like, pallid and a little sickly from the lack of sunlight and you fidget, self conscious.

“You look like shit,” she says baldly, and it startles a laugh out of you. She grins at the sound of it.

“Thanks, Brown,” you say dryly, feeling a little easier. “You know exactly what I wanna hear.”

“What can I say,” she shoots back just as quickly, with a wink. “It’s a gift.”

“Definitely something, that’s for sure,” you mutter, cracking a grin and the both of you settle into silence. You eye your car in the distance, parked in the lot next to a red sedan, and then your groceries.

“I should–” you start, lifting the bag, but she cuts you off.

“Come out with us tonight,” she says, an oddly intent expression on her face, and you grimace. “We’re going to the place on Broad.”

“I don’t know…I’m making dinner. Maybe another time.”

You have little interest in dressing up to go out. You have even less interest in figuring out who the ‘us’ in question encompasses. But Steph’s got an unnervingly steely look in her eyes, like she’ll refuse any no’s you give her. Her lips flatten into a line, and she takes your hand.

“I haven’t seen you in months,” she says unhappily.

“You could’ve come by,” you remind her and she levels you with a deadpan look. Would you have let me in? Goes unsaid. 

“That’s not the same and you know it. I miss you,” she stresses, and you have to give it to her–she’s good. Guilt curdles in your stomach and you avert your eyes. “We miss you. I’m the one who has to deal with Roy’s complaining now you’ve decided to hide at home.”

“I’m not hiding,” you mutter lamely, and she raises her brows pointedly, as if to say, really?

“Come out with us,” she says again, squeezing your fingers.

You sigh. 

The snow has begun to fall in soft, light clusters when you get out of your car, streets twinkling in soft white and yellow. A snowflake lands in your lashes and you shiver when it dissolves, a minute stream of ice water running down your cheek.

Through the window of the restaurant, you can see your band mates tucked into a booth. Steph and Roy sit on opposite sides, already squabbling over something, and your heart slows when the latter leans across the table to point out something on his phone and Jason comes into view. Tucked into the corner, he watches the exchange with bored eyes, shaking his head when Steph turns to him. Don’t bring me into this, you can already read his lips, and that old familiar ache you’ve been nursing for the last few couple of months blooms behind your ribs once more.

You’re an idiot and a coward, standing on the side of the street debating on whether or not you should just go home. 

In the end, your decision is made for you when Steph spots you through the window and bounds outside, making a face at you as she loops her arm around yours.

“Were you planning to stand outside all night like a freak?” she laughs, pulling you out of the cold and into the building. The rush of heat overwhelms you, rolling over you in waves as you enter. 

“No, I was just…”

“Hm?” she raises an eyebrow, waiting for your answer. When she knows you can’t come up with one, her face relaxes. “I thought so. You’re here now, so come on.”

Whatever you think is going to happen when you approach the table is severely let down when you’re simply greeted with some semblance of normalcy. It feels like a farce, when Roy stands up to wrap you up into a hug that’s near bone-crushing, and over his shoulder, Jason greets you with a nod. Your throat is dry, and you think it feels worse than being ignored outright, dipping your head back at him as best you can from the grip your red haired bandmate has you in. 

It’s a far cry from the outburst you had agonised over all the way here, imagining Jason fuming at the sight of you, refusing to even look your way. You’d thought maybe he might even leave, picturing his beautiful face colouring red and storming out–he’d more than have the right to. But that isn’t him, and he makes no move to leave his seat, slouching into the booth comfortably and taking a sip of the water in front of him. 

You take a seat next to Steph and the movement feels like you’re cutting through water, limbs thick and heavy with unease. 

The next hour moves agonisingly slowly. You feel every second of every minute, hyperaware of your movements and avoiding Jason’s eye as you eat. The muscles in your face have never felt more rigid, plastic smile holding you together as Steph and Roy weave conversation around the both of you. 

The drinks come and go, various fruity drinks and margaritas littering the tabletop alongside your food. At some point, Steph wiggles out of the booth and pats your arm drunkenly, murmuring something about having to go to the bathroom.

“Do you want me to come with?” you ask, and she grins, giggling. 

“No, no, no. You stay here,” she says. Strangely excited, she squeals and smacks a kiss on your jaw. You can’t help but grin uncertainly. 

“Okay…”

The moment she disappears out of sight, Roy slides out of his seat too and mutters, “Be right back. Have to ask the waiter something.”

You frown. There’s something about the way he looks at you furtively, almost defiant, that makes your stomach twist. Your suspicions are allayed and then confirmed in a matter of seconds.

Several things happen. Roy walks to the register, pulling out his card and you scowl when he points at your table. But then, instead of returning, he bee-lines for the door. When you hear a drunken cackle and see a flash of blonde hair outside, you realise you’ve been set up–Roy and Steph booking it in the direction of his car. 

A text comes through on your phone almost immediately, and you can feel your temper rise when you read Steph’s message.

jason need s a ruide and u gusy need to make up you can thank is layer xoxoxo  i wanne be godmothed  godmother csll me tomororw

“I’m going to fucking kill her.”

“You can’t tell me you came here and expected her not to meddle.”

The sound of Jason’s voice, directed at you for the first time all night, startles you. You turn to where he’s lazily picking at the label on his beer. He looks untroubled, if a little resigned to his fate for the night.

“You knew she’d do this?” you ask, confused. He lifts his eyes and you’re pinned to the spot.

“You didn’t?” he asks, like you ought to have.

“I–of course I didn’t,” you defend yourself. He raises a brow disbelievingly and you frown at him, a noise caught in your throat. “I didn’t.”

“Okay,” he says softly. He stares back at you, and you can feel your palms beginning to sweat. For the first time since you were children, you can’t read the expression on his face. 

You worry your bottom lip with your teeth as you look at him. “Guess I’m driving you home, huh?”

“I can take a cab.”

You shake your head, grabbing your bag. “Save your money. C’mon. At least they had the grace to pay the bill.”

“‘S ‘cause they know we know where they live,” he rumbles behind you as you move through the restaurant. The waitstaff throw you a smile as you exit, but you’re too frazzled to offer a plain upturn of your mouth, a weak imitation of a grin as you open the door. 

“Yeah,” you say absently. “I’m just down here.”

It occurs to you, just how small the space between the both of you is, when he opens the passenger door to your car and slides in.

“Where am I dropping you off?” you ask carefully. You look over and he lets out a scoff of laughter, shaking his head, as if your question amuses him. But he answers, a wry grin playing at his lips. 

“My place, thanks.”

You nod. 

The radio is off, and the silence prickles across your skin uncomfortably as the car drives down the icy road. If Jason’s bothered, he says nothing. You tap your fingers across the steering wheel.

God, what a sad sight you must make. 

“I, um,” you lick your lips nervously. “I saw you guys went skiing.”

“Yeah. Old man wanted to do something with the family.”

You’ve spent Thanksgiving with ‘the family’ more than once. You know Jason’s various family members–the mystery girl was decidedly not among that company.

“Right,” you say. And you suppose something in your tone must tip him off, but then again Jason had always been very good at reading you. In your periphery, he turns his head and you hear him exhale softly, a bitter chuckle.

“You don’t get to be mad,” he says. His voice is devoid of anything, light as air, as though you’re discussing the weather. But still, you’ve been caught out and it makes your face warm.

“I know,” you say, hoarsely. You clear your throat. “I know.”

“You dumped me, you know,” he reminds you and you think that “I know.” is all you know how to say, echoing it once more pathetically. Grief fills the cracks in your heart when you hear the hitch in his breath, cool facade fracturing.

He says quietly, after a few moments, “I didn’t.”

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. The image in your mind had plagued you for weeks, of bodies wrapped up and kisses shared over firelight. His words are a reassurance you don’t deserve. The car turns off the highway, and you bite your lip.

Quiet blankets the car for the remainder of the drive, your engine purring as you steer the car back down familiar roads. 

“Jason, I…” your voice fails you when he turns to look at you, only a few minutes away from his place. “I’m sorry. For how it all went down, how I treated you in the end. I’m sorry.”

He exhales, a ragged breath like you’ve gut him, and you swallow. Misery leaks into your voice as you continue, the words coming out far steadier than you feel.

“You didn’t deserve that from me,” you tell him, gripping the steering wheel and looking over. The car comes to a stop outside his building, and you turn the key, the engine shutting off as you swivel in your seat to face him fully. “I should never have lashed out like at you, not when you were just trying to help.”

He sniffs, and even in the dark you can see the sheen in his eyes. His lips part, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Just…” he rasps out, frowning at you. “Why’d you push me away? Wasn’t I good enough? We’re supposed to be partners. You promised me–you remember?”

“I remember,” you say gloomily.

“Then why?” he demands. “You said it was you and me and then all of a sudden you’re closing yourself off. I wouldn’t have cared, y’know, if you were writing your own shit without me. Even if you didn’t wanna tell me. But you pushed me out.” He stresses the last three words, and you can only stare back wretchedly.

“Why?” he whispers.

Your mouth opens and falls, searching for the words and the courage to say them.

“I was jealous.”

The silence in the car is deafening, Jason staring back at you, shell-shocked. Whatever answer he was expecting, this clearly was not it. 

“What?” he murmurs. 

“I was jealous,” you admit woefully, picking at your nails. You tell him then, about the review, about the words and the sense of failure. “I mean, that’s what it was, at first. Jealousy. That at the same time they had all these things to say about me, they were loving you. It felt unfair. And then–and then I realised I was being selfish, ‘cause of course they were going to love you. Everything they said about you was true, it’s what I’ve been saying for years and you deserved that.”

His brows are furrowed still, as he listens to you, eyes growing stormier with every word. Your hands tremble as you continue carefully.

“And then, after that…” you trail off, staring at the console between you both. Shame colours your words, voice dropping steadily as you speak. “I thought, if I could just improve, I’d be doing something right. If I could just catch up to you guys, instead of dragging you down. I’d be someone worth doing it with.”

Jason’s eyes are tearful once more, winter fires raging on in teal seas. He shoots you a frown so fierce as he speaks, voice cracking.

“That’s bullshit.”

“What?–”

He leans back in his seat, hands coming up to his face, scrubbing at the skin. He groans and the sound is muffled by his palms. You watch him, humiliation burning your skin from the inside.

“You are so fucking stupid, do you know that?” he tells you, sounding anguished, and you break, tears crowding your lashline slipping forth and down your face.

“You’ve never, not for one moment, been not good enough,” he tells you angrily. “The fact that you thought you had to earn–to catch up. ‘Be someone worth doing it with’ what the fuck does that even mean? You’ve always been the one we all look to.”

You bring your hands up to cover your face, now openly weeping silently but he catches your wrists in his, the movement drawing you closer to him. You gaze at him through your tears, waterlogged and beautiful. His eyes search yours and he shakes his head, exasperated.

“The fuck ‘m I supposed to do with you, huh?” he asks, tilting forward to press his forehead to yours. “What’ve I gotta do to get it into your head that you don’t have to go it alone?”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, eyes slipping closed and his breath skitters across your cheek, nose pressing into the skin. You can smell the beer on him, and the cologne you’d gotten him last holidays, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him. 

“It’s not enough, for me to tell you, is it?” he says, and then he’s tugging at your arms. “Get over here.”

Your eyes fly open to stare at him, startled, confused, but there’s no softness in his gaze. He looks at you, eyes steely and firm, head tilting as if to say, well? What are you waiting for?

“What?” you garble, confused. 

“Get over here,” he repeats, and only then do you notice the dangerously low tone his voice has taken on, the darkness of his pupils as they swallow his irises. “Gonna teach you somehow.”

A shiver skates down your spine, and your hands tremble with anticipation as you reach for the console to balance yourself, rising onto your knees shakily and clumsily climbing across the space until you’re in his lap. He nods, leaning below him to move his seat backwards, and you clutch onto his shoulders as the both of you move.

“Someone might see,” you whisper, and he stares up at you, faintly amused.

“Baby,” he says, laughter in his voice, and you soften at the sound, fingers scratching at the nape of his neck. His fingers rub at your hip where your top has lifted. “Take a look around. ‘S the middle of the night, nobody’s awake to see us.”

True enough, the complex Jason lives in is canopied in thick onyx, the quiet street so still you’d be hard pressed to believe anyone lived there at all. You look back to him, shadows turning him sharper, tear tracks smudged below his eyes and marble cut features.

“You gonna listen to me?” he rumbles, chin tilted to look at you. 

You wait, heart beating in your chest, and then you nod. You see a flash of his grin, and then he’s surging upwards to capture your mouth in his, all teeth and tongue as he devours.

Your blood turns molten at the first touch, his thick hands tugging your hips down into his and pressing you closer as he licks into your mouth. The heating has turned off but you’re far from cold, the air thickening as you whimper into his mouth.

“Fuckin…” he groans, and you cry out when his mouth slides across to latch onto your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Missed this s’much.”

“Jason,” you sob out, and he rasps out a laugh, rolling his hips upwards. “Jason, I–”

“What, baby?” he hums, lips detaching from your neck with a wet pop. You’re delirious, drunk on the touch you hadn’t felt in months, spending lonely nights reaching out for only to be met with the crushing emptiness of unoccupied space. “Y’miss me? Huh? ‘S that it?”

You whine in response, nodding. He laughs, but it’s a mean sound and it shoots straight to your core, muscles tightening at the sound. 

“No going back after this, hope you know that,” he tells you lowly, tugging at the waistband of your pants. “Off. Need to be inside you.”

You scramble for your button, rising again to tug them off in awkward jerky movements that lack any sort of grace. But Jason doesn’t seem to care, more concerned with the zip of his own jeans, shoving his jeans down roughly and stroking his already hard cock.

He sinks into you in one fluid movement, a groan filling the car as he fills you, stretching you out deliciously. You choke on a gasp, and he stills for a moment, before he’s setting his feet flat on the floor of your car and using that to fuck up into you, rapid, sloppy movements that are desperate and rough. Each thrust has you seeing stars, and you’re scrabbling for his shoulders for some sort of balance, but your arms weaken as he drags along every sensitive part of you.

“Never…fuck…never letting y’go again,” he grits through his teeth, “Had me losing my damn mind. You’re always gonna be mine, you know that. Always. Been. Mine.”

Your breath stutters in your chest when his hands come to your hips, gripping your flesh as he bounces you over his cock, a slew of curses spilling from his lips. “Who do you belong to?” 

“You–you! I’m yours,” you cry out.

“You need me to fuck some sense into you, hm?” he snarls. “Is that what I’ve gotta do? To get it through your fuckin’ head? Tell me.”

“Yes, yes!” you sob out, his name leaving your mouth in a broken cry. 

“Yeah?” his voice drops, condescending and utterly mean. “You’re gonna let me take care of you now? Not gonna argue w’me?”

“Jason I–I’m close,” you squeal, fingers biting into his shoulders and he huffs.

“Not until you answer me,” he says, slapping your ass. “You’re not gonna fucking cum until I tell you.”

He doesn’t slow down, despite this, thrusts growing deeper. The car windows have fogged up, and you’ve not taken any care to quiet down–although nobody is around to see you, they most certainly are around to hear you. But it’s difficult to focus when Jason reaches down between your bodies to rub your clit. You keen, a high pitched sound expelling from your throat and when he sinks his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, your eyes roll back, overwhelmed by the sensations all around and within you.

“What did I say?”

“Please! Oh fuck, Jason, yes right there,” you mewl, tears burning your eyes once more. Your hips roll downwards, meeting his thrusts. 

A large hand comes to grab your chin, firm as the other settles on your hip. You look at him through bleary eyes, sweat matting his hair to his forehead and a flush painting him red that even in the pale moonlight you can make sense of, eyes blazing as he stares at you.

“Say it,” he commands, and you pant into his mouth. “Tell me you’re gonna let me take care of you. ‘s all you gotta say, baby, be good for me, I know you can.”

“‘M gonna let you–” you cry. “Gonna let you take care of me! I’m sorry, please.”

“Yeah?” he grunts, and you nod your head rapidly, feeling your stomach beginning to tighten up. “Y’gonna stop doubting yourself so fucking much? Gonna stop pushing me away?”

“Y-yes!”

“Swear,” he says, and you sob, feeling the tears beginning to stream down your face. It’s stifling in the car, and you’re desperate, but Jason has you ensnared–you won’t come before he lets you. “Swear it t’me.”

“I swear. I swear, Jason,” you gasp. Sweat rolls down your back, your top clinging to you. Jason’s shirt is soaked through, and when you tip your head down, you grow lightheaded at the sight of the mess you’ve both made, white smeared across the inside of your thighs and his stomach. Lewd sounds echo in the small space of your car as you bounce on his cock, and Jason–

“Come for me,” he breathes out harshly, hand slipping from your chin once more to swipe at your clit in broad, firm strokes. In a matter of seconds, you fall apart on him, and he follows soon after, hips stuttering as he empties himself inside you with a loud moan. 

You fall forward limply and he catches you easily in his arms, the both of you breathing heavily. You’re boneless against him, sticky and covered in sweat, and when you go to move off him, his arms around you tighten.

“I meant what I said,” you whisper into the silence of the car, cheek pressed against his shoulder. “About you deserving that recognition. ‘M sorry I was such a dick.”

“I wish you’d just talked to me,” he tells you softly, and now you’re the one clutching him a little tighter, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt like he’ll disappear from under you if you look away. “‘S you and me, remember?”

“I forgot for a moment there,” you admit and he breathes out through his nose, a sardonic laugh as if to say yeah, I know, “but I remember.”

“I’m still mad at you,” he says, quietly and you twist your lips in an effort not to cry. “I love you, baby, but that was the worst few months of my life.”

“I’m sorry,” you can only say again. He kisses your temple, and it feels like a step towards forgiveness. “I’m gonna make it up to you.”

“Good,” he says firmly. “I’m never letting you go, you hear me?” 

When you look up, there’s a grin on his face and you lean up to press your mouth to his. It’s chaste, and sweet, softer than your reunion and holding every promise you intend to keep to him, old and new. 

“It’s you and me.”

this took me 2 weeks to write and i didn't think it would be this long. like i thought maybe it might reach 4K? but somehow this managed to become my longest fic!! crazy. i do currently have a longer wip in my drafts that i'm working on but this is one of the longest oneshot fics i've ever written which is mad and i'm kind of thrilled about.

i hope you enjoyed this fic and guitarist!jason and reader's breakup -> reunion. i tweaked the reunion a bit from the initial post i made about it, because i think it just fit better in the moment, but i hope you enjoyed that too! and i hope you don't hate the reader too much for the whole breakup because they genuinely have my entire heart. i think sometimes you get caught up in wanting to be the best that you don't realise you already are good enough to the people that matter – to jason, reader is everything and it's baffling that they don't see that. but i hope i did their reunion justice.

[therhythmafterthesummer]

How do you think Chris (pre getting together) would have comforted her on a bad mental health day or on a day where she’s sad?

I’m in my feels rn and am in need of some wolfie comfort immediately 😤😤😤

P.S - Love you, Rhythm! Hope you’re doing well always! 🩷

- N. 💄

sorry i held onto this one for so long! i just really wanted to write something for it. here's how i think that would go...

Pairing: Werewolf!Chan x Human!F.Reader (one of the main pairings of my WereRoomies series. you don’t really need to read any other instalment to understand/enjoy this piece). | Word Count: ~2k | Themes & Warnings: fantasy/supernatural AU · roomies idiots to ??? · fluff · hurt/comfort · pre-relationship scenario

minors do not interact.

Fridays were supposed to be the days to unwind. They were supposed to be the day in which you could let loose and forget about work for the next forty-eight hours. At least, you figured they were supposed to be like that for most people.

This Friday particularly, though, had been absolute hell. The whole week had felt like you’d been impersonating Sisyphus and work had been your boulder. You supposed some weeks just… were like that. 

Tonight, all you wanted to do was sit in your room, in the dark–preferably in complete silence and just be nothing. If anyone else came to you and so much as muttered a word you were sure you’d break down and start weeping right then and there. 

Which was why, as soon as you found yourself in your flat, you went straight to your room. There was no energy left for showers or baths. All you did was take off your clothes and bury yourself under the covers.

You had a total of ten minutes of complete silence before the front door practically burst open and boisterous voices filled your home. It kick-started a twitch in your left eye, it had frustration tears pooling on your waterline, but you couldn’t just… ruin their fun. 

You supposed this was the downside of having a roommate. And not only was he a roommate, but he also happened to be the alpha of a pack of wolves, which meant that more often than not your friends and neighbours made themselves at home.

It was fine. That was fine. You loved your friends, you loved to hang out with them and joke and have little parties in your flat. You loved them all, you knew it very well. But, tonight, every little noise they made made you absolutely furious, which made you feel worse because, logically, you shouldn’t be feeling furious at something like this.

Dealing with these conflicting feelings was hard, so you tried your best to just… tune everything out. With your pillow over your head to muffle any sound as best as you could, you laid on your bed, fully naked, probably leaving mascara stains on your pillowcase, but you honestly couldn’t be bothered to care.

You managed to mute all background noise… the downside was that you’d done so by replaying events of the week over and over again in your head. How you dropped your coffee mug in the middle of the lunch room on Tuesday, that very passive aggressive email one of your colleagues sent you, how you’d stumbled over your words in a meeting today… 

It felt like your heart was preparing itself for a marathon with how fast it was beating, but for the most part, you were trying to ignore it. You were trying to ignore everything.

At least, until you heard a knock on your door.

“You up, pretty girl?”

Your roommate’s voice was slightly muffled, but you heard him well. Any other day, you would’ve probably felt your mood immediately lift at the sound of his gentle voice and the pet name he often used to refer to you. But, today, you couldn’t even find it in you to answer.

Eventually, you heard him walking away, and it was honestly like a weight had been lifted off of your chest. 

Which, again, made you feel horrible.

You loved your friends, and your roommate was no exception. Although, you weren’t sure if it was fair to compare the feelings you had for your friends to the ones you had for him… 

Regardless, the fact that you felt relieved that you didn’t have to talk to him made you feel terrible. The rational part of your brain knew that this was all due to your exhaustion, but even that couldn’t push away the feeling that you were a horrible friend because you were annoyed by his presence.

Your phone vibrated next to your head, and you immediately sighed in response. 

You were tired and cranky… but you were also chronically nosy. So you picked up your phone and read the notification on the screen.

> Xtopher 🐺: hey pretty > were gonna watch an episode of that series Felix likes > feel free to join us if you want :]

You figured it was easy for your roommate, Chris, to know you were home. You’d left your shoes at the entrance, and, considering his supernatural senses, you were pretty sure he could always hear and smell whenever you were here.

You genuinely appreciated that Chris took the time to send you a text, it somehow reminded you that he wouldn’t just hate you all of the sudden because you didn’t respond to him when he knocked on your door–it probably wasn’t even the first time you’d done that, anyway.

Sleep wasn’t going to claim you anytime soon, and you were out of spoons for the day, but you’d be damned if you slept without removing your make-up. So you spent the next hour rummaging the metaphorical drawer that was your brain, just so you could hopefully find that last emergency spoon you knew would be buried under the events of the week.

By the time you’d found it, a while had passed since you’d heard your neighbours saying their goodbyes, and your roommate going in and out of the shower.

You had to do this now. If you didn’t stand up from this bed right now, you’d break your one and only self-care rule. You couldn’t let the mean part of your brain win, you just couldn’t… Your week had already been bad enough, you had to have at least one win.

So you stood up from your bed, threw on the first sleeping gown you found, and left your room. 

Cleaning your face was honestly a blur. You tried to do it as fast and efficiently as possible. While you did, you debated on whether or not you had enough energy to even eat tonight, but, ultimately, you really didn’t. You weren’t even hungry, just zero appetite. 

So you made it back into your room as soon as your face was clean so you could put moisturiser on your face–there was no energy left for any fancy skin care routines, so moisturiser it was. If you had to put on any extra products you’d start crying for real…

“Hey”.

“Jesus!” You whipped your head towards the door, with your hands still on your cheeks where they’d been rubbing in your moisturiser.

Chris stood at your door looking at you, wide-eyed, dressed in nothing but his lounging shorts. Any other day, the sight of his bare chest would’ve agitated the critters that had been living rent-free in your belly lately. 

As it was right now, you were starting to feel genuine distress in his presence. Which, once again, made you feel like a horrible friend. Distress wasn’t an emotion that you would’ve associated with Chris in normal circumstances, but you figured this week had gone backwards enough for it to be today.

You swallowed, and turned back to look at yourself in the mirror, focusing on finishing tonight’s pathetic excuse of a skin care routine.

“You alright?” Chris’ tone was… tentative. Almost like he knew you were, in fact, not alright. 

You lied anyway.

“M’fine…”

When you finished with your face, you walked right past Chris and into the bathroom to wash your hands. ‘Spread what’s left on your hands to moisturise them, too…’ you could hear your mother’s voice ringing in the back of your mind, but, honestly? If you had to deal with the feeling of cream on your hands for a second longer you’d commit crimes.

As you washed your hands, you felt Chris’ presence behind you, right outside the bathroom. 

“You sure?”

“Positive”, you were, clearly, not fine. But you didn’t want to continue this conversation further, if you did, you feared what might come out of your mouth.

“Y’know you can talk to me, ri–”

“Yes! Yes, I know. I know, Chris. I really do, but I don’t want to do that, you know? I don’t wanna talk, don’t wanna hear, don’t wanna really exist for what’s left of the day, okay?! Maybe it’s better if you mind your own business instead!”

God, you were the worst person on the planet… Here he was, worrying about you like he always did, offering comfort and support, and you weren’t even capable of keeping the annoyance out of your voice, you couldn’t even stop yourself from saying things you didn’t really mean. Why did you let it escalate so quickly? Another one for the tally of Stupid Things I Did This Week that you can sulk over later…

Chris stared at you for a moment, with his eyebrows high on his forehead, opening and closing his mouth for a bit.

A knot started to form in your throat, and no matter how hard you tried to swallow it and ignore its presence, you just… couldn’t.

“My God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you…” You sighed deeply, pressing your fingertips on your eye sockets. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, I’m just so, so exhausted, and I just… I need some silence, okay? I appreciate you asking, but I really need to just… be quiet. I need you to know it’s not you, this is completely on me, but please would you just… not talk to me?”

You really felt like you wanted to cry, you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole… Especially because Chris wasn’t saying anything. Which was a very stupid reaction to have when you had just asked him to not talk to you.

When you removed your fingers from your face, you jolted on the spot at the sight in front of you. 

You knew Chris was a werewolf. Hell, you’d seen him in his wolf form numerous times already, but sometimes it was hard not to be startled by it.

Chris sat on the floor of the hall, right outside the bathroom, looking you right in the eyes while his tail swished from side to side on the tiles.

You wondered if he’d even fit through the doorway. He was so… big. So big, and so… so cute.

The logical reaction would’ve been to be at least a bit intimidated. He was pretty much at eye-level with you, he was stronger than you, he could very well hurt you with a snap of his jaw, but his eyes were just the same. Gentle, comforting… You were sure that if there’d been twenty more wolves next to him, you would’ve been able to tell him apart from the rest just by his eyes.

Chris whined, and he stomped on the floor with his paw to get your attention. You blinked at him for a bit, and only then did you notice you had actually started to tear up.

Chris whined again, and then huffed. That seemed to be enough to snap you out of it. You could feel your lower lip wobble, but you still walked closer to him, leaving the bathroom to stand in the hall with him.

As soon as you were out of the bathroom he stood on his four legs, and walked further into your space to nudge your hand with his nose. It was odd, really, but looking at him like this seemed to ease some of that squeezing sensation in your chest.

The realisation that he wouldn’t be able to talk to you while in his wolf form was steadily helping you calm down, or, maybe… It was more so the fact that he was trying to respect your wishes, while also not leaving you completely on your own. 

“M’sorry…” You apologised again, because you truly were sorry.

There was a small part of you that always worried that days like these would make him suddenly realise you were the worst roommate on the planet, that maybe you were a horrible friend. But, deep down, you knew he wouldn’t hold it against you. That was just the type of man Chris was.

With a minute shake of your head, you placed a hand under his jaw to support his head, and the other on top so you could scratch him behind the ears. Just because you could.

Even if Chris wouldn’t outright admit it to you, you knew he liked it. His wagging tail was more than proof of that.

“Are you my emotional support animal now?” You mumbled, tears were still running down your cheeks, but only sporadically now.

Chris just huffed, and if you looked hard enough, you could’ve sworn there was amusement in his eyes.

He removed himself from your space and turned in circles a couple of times before he was gently taking your wrist in his mouth. You could feel his teeth barely poke your skin, but you could tell he was being very careful.

He pulled a bit. You figured it was his way of telling you to follow him, so you started to walk. Only then did Chris let go of your wrist to start making his way down the hall.

Wiping the tears on your face–ignoring both the discarded lounge shorts by the bathroom door and the fact that you most definitely ruined tonight’s minimal skin care with your tears–you followed Chris to the living room.

As soon as he was in front of the sofa, he nudged the coffee table away with his head, and grabbed one of the blankets you left in a basket nearby to throw it on the floor. He spun on the spot a couple of times, before he plopped down and started pawing at the floor, looking right at you.

You wanted to cry again, but this time, it wasn’t because you were overwhelmed or frustrated. It was just the fact that Chris was… offering comfort cuddles. In his wolf form… in a form that’d make it so he not only wouldn’t talk, but would just be essentially a heated pile of fluff.

And you really, really appreciated it. Mostly because it made you feel like less of a failure, like you weren’t such a horrible friend after all.

Ignoring the fluttering in your heart, you made your way to where he was, took another blanket from the basket, and laid down.

With your head leaning on him, feeling him breathing steadily under you, you simply stared at the ceiling. You weren’t sure if it was the fact that you were laying on the floor, or just his warmth, but after a while, you started to calm down.

Your eyelids felt heavy, you could barely hear anything that wasn’t Chris’ quiet huffs. Eventually, he moved. You lowered your head to the floor for a moment while he took a cushion from the sofa and dropped it next to you, which you took as a sign to use it as a pillow.

Once you were comfortably laying down again with your cushion and your blanket, he simply curled around your body, keeping you warm.

You felt your heart swell, maybe even beat a bit faster against your ribcage, and as you cuddled closer to the big lump of fluff that was your roommate, you couldn’t help but mumble a quiet ‘Thank you…’ right before you fell asleep.

© therhythmafterthesummer 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.

tagging everyone that wants to be tagged in my wereroomies instalments. if you don’t want to be tagged in little ask responses like these let me know ! If you want to be added to the tag list, you can fill in this form. be aware that you must have an indication that you’re an adult in your blog if you want me to tag you in my works

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[jupitercomet]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞

summary - When you pictured your dream wedding, you can't say it ever included you eloping with a stranger in Vegas after you both got wasted. But that's exactly how it went and, after an intoxicated ceremony with an an Elvis impersonator and a miniature donkey as witness, you're now the new Mrs. Bradley Bradshaw. With your memories hazy at best and your "husband's" friends nowhere to be found, you and Bradley are forced into an impromptu honeymoon as you piece together what happened and wait to be able to file for divorce. It's not the marriage you ever planned for yourself, but don't they say couples do best in the honeymoon phase?

warnings - drunken marriage au, hangover au sideplot, language, angst, fluff, smut, no use of y/n, chapter specific

last update - coming soon!

series;

teaser prologue 12/30 week one week two week three week four week five week six

extra;

... playlist

join my Bradley Bradshaw taglist here or follow my library @jupitercometgold

[andypantsx3]

Deceiving the Duke | 1 | Todoroki Shouto

pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Female Reader length: 2.5k of 30k words | 1st of 9 chapters summary: When Camie Utsushimi elopes on the eve of her society debut, scandal threatens to destroy the family’s prospects. It’s up to you, a maid, to impersonate Camie throughout the Season, long enough that her elder sister can make a match. The only trouble? Lord Shouto Todoroki is also intent on making a match—and that match, quite impossibly, appears to involve you. tags/warnings: romance, regency au, class differences, hidden identity/identity porn, aged up characters, eventual smut

You knew Camie had done something terrible before you’d even opened the note.

It lay there on her pillow, addressed to her mother in her horrendously girlish hand, a riot of wild loops and curlicues.

Camie had gotten into enough trouble over the years that you recognized when she was trying to obscure her misdeeds under aggressively elaborate flourishes of ink. And with the volume of ink on this letterface—coupled with the fact that it was the letter in her bed, rather than the girl herself–it could only mean the message within was going to be her biggest misdeed of them all.

Your first instinct was to hide it–stuff the letter away up the chimney flue, where it would hopefully crisp and burn, never to be read by human eyes. Specifically by Mrs. Utsushimi, who was prone to even more exaggerated fits than Camie. If she never read it, she’d never be able to spiral into the dramatics you were certain would follow on its heels.

In your years of service to the Utsushimi family, you’d learned only too well how her theatrics usually ended with a mess of new things for you to mend–spilled tea to soak out of the table linens, runny eye powder to wash out of her handkerchiefs, dress collars in need of restitching after she tore them, clutching dramatically at her breast.

Camie was usually the root cause of the high dudgeon, though she was usually here to make amends to you afterwards. But now, you knew she’d never return permanently to this house. You knew the letter meant the end.

Things would be even worse, though, were Mrs. Utsushimi to be given no explanation for Camie’s disappearance, left to her own devices and flights of fancy. There would most certainly be talk of rogues and pirates and highwaymen, and you’d be sent to fetch the police.

So instead of squirreling the letter away, you carried it down to the morning room, your stomach churning.

Mrs. Utsushimi was predictably overwrought, her eyes growing wide as she snatched it from you.

“Kidnapped!” She sobbed as she opened it over the breakfast table, reaching her conclusion before the letter had even fully come unfolded. “Camie’s been kidnapped!”

You carefully suppressed the eyeroll you might have once given Camie over her mother’s head.

Camie was missing, but she had most certainly not been kidnapped.

As a maid, you didn’t have much background in the kidnapping business, but you rather thought that any criminal worth their salt might have targeted a family of more means than the Utsushimis—who were well to-do, but untitled, and living off a stipend that did not extend itself much beyond the daily upkeep of three women.

Any criminal progressing through the house would be able to tell that the majority of the Utsushimi’s belongings were concentrated in their sitting room, so as to appear well-off to any visitors, but the rest of the house was starkly barren of almost any decor. The Utsushimis’ jewels sparkled prettily by candlelight but a close inspection would reveal them to be paste, and the retention of only two household staff–yourself and a cook—would have made it clear to even the most inexperienced criminal that the Utsushimis had no funds with which to ransom a kidnapped daughter.

The note itself was also a giveaway. You doubted a kidnapper with any dignity would dare address the letter face with: Sweet Mumsy, please don’t be angry.

Finally, there was the fact that Camie had been in love with Lord Inasa Yoarashi since they were children to contend with. A note left in the dead of night announcing their elopement and subsequent honeymoon on the continent–to give Mrs. Utsushimi time to calm down, you suspected–was not entirely unexpected.

“She’s not been kidnapped, mama,” the eldest Miss Utsushimi said–Caroline, the only voice of reason in the Utsushimi household. “She’s with Lord Inasa, and you know he will take good care of her.”

“Take good care of her?” Mrs. Utsushimi echoed in disbelief. “What good can come of this? She’ll be ruined!”

Caroline shook her head. “The town will talk, but you know Camie, and you know Lord Inasa. They will be good for one another. And Lord Inasa has the means to ignore the ton–she’ll want for nothing.”

“Then what of us?” Mrs. Utsushimi cried. “What of your prospects? Already in your second season. A younger sister, wedded before you, and a history of scandal in the family? Caroline, you know very well this means no proper gentleman will have you now!”

Caroline paused, as Mrs. Utsushimi buried another sob in her handkerchief. Even you shifted awkwardly in the doorway, feeling slightly guilty.

A younger sister married off before the eldest would suggest something was wrong with Caroline, that she somehow might be damaged goods. And an elopement in the family would cast suspicions on Caroline’s own purity.

You didn’t like Caroline as much as you liked Camie, who had always been so free with her affections, even to the servants. You and Camie were of an age, and she’d taken to you immediately when you’d first come to the family as a specky teenager, desperately seeking a job to support your family. Camie had taught you to read, taught you card games, snuck you refreshments out of family dinners, and unabashedly gifted you many of her own ribbons and trinkets as she outgrew them, much to the dour disapproval of her mother.

Caroline had been somewhat more aloof, comparatively, clearly more aware of your status as a servant. But she had always been polite nevertheless, and she had definitively looked the other way whenever she caught you and Camie at your hijinks.

You did not think that Caroline, standoffish as she was, deserved the fate Camie had all but sealed for her. You counted Camie your closest friend, but even you could see this had been thoughtless of her.

You gathered yourself together, making an awkward noise like the clearing of your throat to get their attention.

“That’s only if they are seen,” you said, trying to sound reassuring, and also like it was at all your place to interject. “And as Camie’s not had her first season yet no one will recognize her.” You hoped you sounded confident in this.

Privately, you thought Camie was as unsubtle as six baboons riding a tiger dressed in petticoats playing the trombone–and the combination of Camie and Lord Yoarashi would be even worse. But no one knew Camie on sight, considering this season was meant to be her debut into society, and as long as she didn’t talk, the Utsushimi family might, just might, be saved from scandal.

“And what are people to think if she doesn’t debut this year?” Mrs. Utsuhshimi demanded, swiping a scone off the breakfast tray and buttering it angrily. “I’ve already announced the Monomas’ ball this week as her coming out. People will start talking if she’s not present.”

“She’s taken ill,” you supplied. “Perhaps she’s been sent to stay with a cousin while she recovers.”

“The ball is two nights from now, and I’ve still got an order in for her dresses, due to arrive this afternoon. I’ve made no mention of their being unnecessary until now.” Mrs. Utsushimi looked put out. “People will talk if the illness is so sudden. And what if they think Caroline a vector of the same disease?”

It went unsaid that Caroline could ill afford to be avoided. Especially not now that her efforts would need to be redoubled, to be married before news broke of Camie’s own nuptials.

You wracked your brain for a solution as the two women breakfasted. Illness was a no, pretending as though Camie hadn’t actually been meant to debut was a no…“Perhaps…if Camie did debut…..” you said, thinking aloud.

If they could feign an illness just long enough to recall her, and send her to subsequent events as though she were not already married…

Mrs. Utsuhimi’s sniffles seized in her nose. “If she—how would she debut now, girl?”

But it was probably far too late to recall Camie, and you could only guess where she’d be. Even if you could dispatch someone to collect her, you thought she would probably never agree to participate in the Season, far too put out and having been denied her adventure.

You’d have to think of something else.

“No, it’s silly–” you started to say, but Mrs. Utsushimi cut you off with a dramatic gasp.

“That’s it!” She cried. “No one knows Camie—and if we can get Caroline married off before the plot is revealed…”

You stared at her. What plot? Hadn’t you only now discussed how excuses might damage Caroline’s reputation? And what married off? Where were you supposed to find her a bridegroom at this hour?

But Mrs. Utsushimi quickly clarified the depths of her insanity. “It’ll have to be you. Anyone else might be talked into betraying her.”

You blinked. What would have to be you? That sounded almost like—

“We’ll have to alter her dresses–well, you will–and Caroline will have to imbue you with some etiquette, of course. I don’t suppose Camie left any of her jewels, did she? If not, you might borrow a few of my pastes–”

You dropped the silverware you’d been rearranging, the fork plopping into the butter with a flat little spat noise.

“You mean—impersonate Camie?” You blurted, mind suddenly reeling. “At—in public?”

“Well we certainly don’t need it here,” Mrs. Utsushimi said shortly, waving her handkerchief impatiently.

You took comfort in the expression on Caroline’s face, a horrified gape of her pert mouth that mirrored your own shock. “Mama,” she started, but her mother waved her off.

“Mrs. Utsushimi—ma’am—I couldn’t. That’s not—”

“Hush, hush,” Mrs. Utsushimi said, looking impatient. “It’s just until Caroline finds a husband. We’ll be uncovered, eventually, but Caroline will already be matched by then, and her virtues proven upon consummation.”

Caroline looked uncomfortable.

You too, could not think of a woman who might like to start her married life off on such a deception. Your heart twinged at her predicament.

But of course this entire scheme could not play out this way. You definitely could not pretend to be Camie. Not only because it was an idea so insane it beggared belief, not only because you were sure to be the least convincing gentlewoman of all time, but also because there was no benefit to you.

If the scheme was revealed, which it would be as soon as Camie returned from the continent and was decidedly a different person than the girl who’d flitted in and out of parties all season—you would be caught out. Propriety would obviously demand you be dismissed from the Utsushimi household, no matter how complicit the Utsushimis themselves were in the scandal, and you’d never work again in this town.

And besides taking care of yourself, you had parents in the countryside who needed looking after, and your wage, meager as it was, was essential to their upkeep.

“I can’t do it,” you said firmly, catching Mrs. Utsushimi’s eye. “I am sorry.”

Mrs. Utsushimi’s face pulled into annoyance, flapping her handkerchief dramatically at you. “Of course you can, I’ve just laid out the plan—”

“I mean that I have to look out for myself, ma’am. When I’m uncovered, you’d have to dismiss me, and I won’t have a job to go to next. I need the money for my family.”

Mrs. Utsushimi hummed, taking a thoughtful sip of her tea. Her eyes narrowed at you over the rim of the cup, and her voice emerged slightly muffled. “You mean you’d do it, otherwise? If your wages are taken care of?”

You blinked. “I—well, possibly—I’d need to consider…”

Mrs. Utsuhimi hummed again, twisting her handkerchief in her fingers. She was quiet for a long moment, staring at you with an intensity that had you squirming uncomfortably.

Finally, she made a pronouncement.

“While you are in between jobs, I will pay you a stipend of your regular wages,” she said. “I will also secure additional reimbursement from Camie’s new husband. Lord Inasa would think nothing of giving it.” This you knew to be true, from the little you’d interacted with him. More money than sense, that man. But generous, too, and fairly good-natured.

“And if you are unable to find work,” Mrs. Utsushimi continued, “I will ensure that Camie will secure you a place in her new household.”

Your heart warmed.

That sounded true enough. Already embroiled in scandal herself, and your friend besides, Camie would think nothing of giving you a place in her home. And given the judgmental nature of the ton, it was improbable she would be entertaining from her social set for quite some time, meaning you would likely never have the uncomfortable experience of waiting on someone you’d once duped.

It sounded foolproof—well, as foolproof as a plan that was foolish by its very nature could be.

It was utterly hare-brained…but if it meant money, and a place in Camie’s new home…

There was just the matter of you being convincing enough to pass as a member of Musutafu’s gentry.

You’d spent enough time with Camie to affect some of her genteel mannerisms, but there would be all manner of things you’d only heard tell of that you’d have to familiarize yourself with. How dance cards worked, the steps of dances themselves, affecting an educated conversation, which silverware pieces to use at the table—all of it sounded overwhelming.

With only a few days to prepare, you didn’t know if you could do it.

As if she sensed your hesitation, Caroline leaned forward at the other end of the table. She looked as though she still had doubts–you certainly did–-but you sensed a bit of resolve in her, as well. There was only so much a lady of her station could do–and she did need to marry well.

This was for her benefit.

“I’ll…help you,” she said, giving a tight, but genuine smile. “If we…if we really are doing this. We can start lessons after breakfast, and I will show you everything I know.”

You nodded, and Mrs. Utsushimi gave an artful wave of her handkerchief.

“Then it’s settled,” she pronounced, in tones that sounded terribly final. “For the next few months, you will be Camie.”

Your stomach turned over with a sudden bout of nerves. It meant risking everything about your current situation–and it would mean a new life in just a few months.

“A hundred pounds, I think, would be suitable?” Mrs. Utsushimi said, as though she could read your hesitation.

A hundred pounds. Enough to keep your parents comfortably for a few years, if you were smart about it. Enough that it was worth the potential risks.

And that settled it.

You would do it. You would be Camie. You would deceive the ton—all the lords, ladies, dukes and duchesses.

Or you would risk it all trying.

[princessleechan]

"You're the Man" Profiles #1

Masterlist

⚽synopsis: After your university cut your soccer team to prioritize the men’s team, it’s natural you have a falling out with your then soccer-star-player boyfriend and impersonate your twin brother at the rival university to play on their men’s team. Wait, it’s not? Oh well.

⚽pairing: afab!reader x ot13 (??? Member)

⚽genre: humor, romance, crack, eventual smut

⚽series tags: MDNI, she’s the man au, revenge au???, cross dressing!reader, reader identifies anything but male, sports au, queer themes, university au, love-whatever the fuck kind of shape, tags will vary per chapter

⚽Tag list: @90s-belladonna @the-boy-meets-evil @lirtha97 @hipsdofangirl @justineasian @kwanisms @multi-kpop-fanfics @pantumin @wooahaeproductions @mayashu @shuasdraftsalt @lone-lone-ranger @headlockimnida @horanghaezone @haolistic @porridgesblog @jeonjungkaka @luchiet @salmisu @ujimatchaaa @skzdesi @cheoliehansolie @vlbii @myghobi @sisterofsomeone @joonsytip @gyublues @alltheshineofthestars-blog @randomworker @isabellah29 @savgogh @too-many-kpop-hubands @kotarousproperty @shingsoluvely @kamabokogonpachro @mxnhoeuwu @skittlez-area512 @seccdlurv @softycheol @chisskaa @mochiteez @theyluvfrankocean @lllucere @xyren1 @thomawifey

Y/n (reader): Sporty soccer babe with a shitty boyfriend (now ex) that finds supporting their soccer career as productive as watching paint dry. So, their take on revenge is joining the rival soccer team to prove only to him, but yourself, and any misogynist piece of shit that men aren’t the only guys that can play soccer like Beckham. You just needed an in on this team, a cover to join. Luckily, you had one numbnut brother who couldn’t care less about being around on his college campus and just so happens to be getting out of town.

Yeonam: Twin brother of Y/n. Uncannily similar looking to his sibling. Same height, similar build (besides the obvious breasts), but could not be more different from them. While you are the athlete, he’s the musician and typical rebel child with big dreams and a one-way ticket to Japan to perform with his rock band. He just needs someone to cover him while he does that.

Seokmin : ex-boyfriend to our main character. Plays soccer like a champion besides that one time that rival player hit his balls so hard with the soccer ball it made him cry and pee in pain for a month. Thinks he loves his then partner, but not enough to respect them as a fellow athlete or human being. Needs to be put in his place to learn the world does not revolve around him.

Mingyu: striker/center forward of his soccer team. Knows his way around a ball but not his way around his feelings for a pretty girl with eyes that sparkle like the night sky. Although he’s super conventionally attractive and sculpted like a motherfucking statue in a museum, he remains a humble and all round nice guy. He is confused though about why his new roommate looks like someone who belongs in anywhere but a soccer field.

Melli: Yeonam’s girlfriend and debutant, prettiest poison you’ve ever seen.  She’s as pretty as she is nasty. Someone who thinks things should come easy to her and has never been told no in her life. Yeonam may be her boyfriend but that doesn’t mean she’ll change her attitude around you, even if you’re his twin. She has a way of getting what wants and nothing is too big getting in her way. She’ll grind it under her feet into sand.

Chae: Local campus cutie that’s confident in who she is and sees something in our main character. Something different about him, how sweet he is, how unlike the other guys he is. There’s a gentle masculinity she can’t comprehend and has to know–no, has to have. She must have this man, but why doesn’t he want her like everyone else? She knows she’s pretty enough, she knows she’s smart enough, she knows she's desirable enough. What will it take to have his attention?

[circyexistforcontent]

IMPOSTER AU! BUT WITH OBLIVIOUS GOD READER PT. 1

✿ trigger warnings: cultish behavior, yandere's, mentions of weaponry, religious themes, god reader being an idiot because they don't know someone is impersonating them.

✿ pronouns: They/them

✿ notes: prologue is here. the reader is actually the god of teyvat, and also thank you for supporting the last part. I hope this mini-series will satisfy your expectations :]

"Y-your grace! What happened?!" Venti asks worriedly. He hurried to your side to help you sit up from your position. He caught wind (ehe) of everything happening in Monstadt, rumors about an imposter wandering freely in the city. He knew it wasn't true, the wind told him so. He rushed to where you were before anyone else can.

You were found in Windwail highland near one of the shrines. Exhausted and disheveled. But you seem to be in good condition, you only looked exhausted. He wanted to cry out in relief, but then he felt your aura getting more vicious as seconds pass by. "Barbatos..." You slowly look up at him, and when your eyes met he could feel every emotion you were feeling.

Relief, distraught, frustration, exhaustion...and what stood out from the four was the last emotion.

fury.

"WHAT LAWS DID YOU ENFORCE IN YOUR NATION BARBATOS!?" it took only a millisecond for you to launch yourself in front of the Anemo archon and strangle him. "Your grace- please! I can't breathe-" While strangling him you shook him back and forth as he struggles to free himself from your iron grip.

"I GAVE YOU LIFE I CAN TAKE IT FROM YOU!"

"So that's all there is to it." Venti finishes. It took a while for you to stop strangling him and listen to what he had to say (he's never been more relieved) and he told you everything you needed to know. So apparently Venti wasn't the one who made the law. It wasn't even a legitimate law, the people decided to make the choice themselves to follow it. The "law" states that no one should impersonate the divine creator.

Basically saying whoever was born with your face is to be killed, maybe even tortured if they put off a struggle, or publicly executed if your followers feel extra quirky that day.

"I see..." You look at Venti apologetically. "Forgive me for acting out impetuously Barbatos." Venti just waved off your apology.

"You don't need to apologize for anything your grace, if anything I deserved it. I should've been there earlier to help you." He can feel the shame creep up on his back. Your actions before seemed reasonable, he was an archon, the archon of wind, he can swiftly take you away from the commotion before anyone can comprehend that you missing.

"But if I may, what happened when I was away?" Venti asks you. You just exhaled tiredly, recalling everything that has happened to you this morning. It all started at seven in the morning, SEVEN, and only in the span of a few hours did the people of Monstadt chase you out of the city.

"Well, since your curious I may as well tell you..."

You have experienced at least 7 attempted murders in the past 5 hours you entered Monstadt. With people either throwing rocks at your head, the knights trying to slash you, the bar owner trying to poison you, and a witch trying to electrocute you. You may be wondering, how are you not injured? How did you survive all those murder attempts?

The answer is very simple, dear reader. Remember in the prologue where you simply transferred a piece of your consciousness to Teyvat? That's it. That's your answer. Your form right now is simply a piece of your consciousness that has been solidified enough to be seen. But of course, if you want to touch someone you can.

Attacking you or touching you will be like trying to punch the air. Because trying to put a piece of your real form or going to Teyvat as a whole would be equivalent to pushing the sun to fit earth. So this is what you can do for now.

I mean, you could just use a host or make a human body for you to possess. But you wanted to go there yourself, and possessing a human body would cause the body to mutate. At the very least the usual red blood running through the body's veins would turn to melted gold.

But back to the main point, there was an instance of you getting chased by the guards. You weaved through the gathering crowd like liquid, turning at every corner you see. At one point you did meet Jean since one of them reported the commotion happening.

You thought, with Jean being responsible and even reasonable, you thought telling her that your god wouldn't go wrong. And that she will take your side.

No. She did not take your side and immediately tried to apprehend you. She chased you around Monstadt, along with Amber who has come back to assist Jean on the hunt for your head. At this point it was getting ridiculous for how long they could chase you.

"Please! Let's communicate!" You cry out to the knights. "There is nothing to talk about, impostor!" A flaming arrow shoots through you again. You were getting tired at this point and decided to just teleport out of the area.

But it seems fate wanted to fuck you over because you ended up teleporting at the edge of a cliff making you fall 60 feet above the ground.

"And then you found me here." You finished your story. Venti for the entire time was disappointed, he knew his people were a little more than obsessed with your godly image but he didn't think they would act so violent against anyone who looks significantly similar to you.

But then again, people before would make human or blood sacrifices to gods. He had a good portion of people being sacrificed to him before and has seen people do the same for your name. He's still disappointed though, haven't they become more humane in giving sacrifices?

"I apologize on their behalf your grace, I thought they would know better." You pat his shoulder a few times. "Don't worry about it, I was never hurt in the process."

"So, what do we do now?" You reckon for a moment about what your next move is, if Monstadt reacted so violently to your appearance what would the other cities be like? Why did they react so violently in the first place.

"Venti, do you know the reason why they keep calling me impostor?" Venti freezes before face palming.

"Venti?" You ask again. "Just, give me a minute your grace I- *sigh*"

He forgot to mention the faker sitting on your throne the entire time.

"I guess I can finally tell you something I've been itching to tell." Venti looks at you straight in the eyes.

"An Impostor has taken your throne, your grace."

...

"What?"

[fl3ur3]

SAGAU IMPOSTOR AU

Gender neutral reader

Pls ignore my rlly bad grammar 😔

Warnings:just sad stuff, reader is not happy, ooc Jean, ooc amber, gore??

What? Where was I again? Is all that comes to mind, wait..

My eyes open in an instant, my room greeting me as it had countless times before. I yawn as I try to remember what I just dreamt..? Was that really just a dream? Yes ofc, It had to be there’s no way!

I try to convince myself but ultimately fail because, I can still feel and hear everything.

Was that a dream?

I take a deep breath to calm myself, as I try to remember everything that Happened..

That’s it! I was doing my dailies on genshin when I fell asleep, and woke up on a beach. Mhm wait! That’s probably where the traveler started their journey, I was a little scared but also excited would I get to meet my fav characters… no. Pull yourself together! O thought as I made my way to mondstadt making sure to keep clear of any enemies, tho I didn’t make it that far.. as I stepped foot into timmies bridge I heard someone yell ‘HALT IMPOSTOR!’ Confused I look around for a source of this voice.

In front of me stood Jean, ‘wow she’s even more beautiful in person..’ quickly smacking myself mentally as I see her pissed off expression. ‘YOU DARE IMPERSONATE OUR DEAR CREATOR!’ She yells.. ‘AT ME?’ Before I can begin to speak I feel something. What..? Then in an instant a sharp pain in shoulder. A loud scream leaves my mouth as I stare at Jean in shock. Who shot at me? Jean doesn’t wield a bow?! Then I see her, Amber just behind Jean with her bow raised. She yells out ‘YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS SIN WITH YOUR LIFE FILTHY IMPOSTOR!’ Before I can retort I hear a swoosh PAIN! Nothing..

That’s what happened now i remember, mhm whether this was real or just a very realistic dream maybe u should stay away from genshin for a while..

A few hours later..

I yawn as I feel sleep creeping up on me. Closing my eyes I drift into a slumber..

Huh? Why do I hear.. I open my eyes quickly at the sound of water. Confused I look around to see I’m on a.. BEACH?!

THE END :>

Note: I was feeling sad so I decided to write some sagau sadness I dint think anyone will read this but if you do I hope you enjoyed<3