POV You Are One Of Scaramouche Subordonates And You Didn’t Listen To His Orders 

[ THE TIES OF TWO SOULS ! ] genshin soulmate au ! 

Genshin Impact x Gender Neutral Reader Headcannons !

INCLUDES: Genshin Impact male characters! Soulmate aus, which would fit them and how the two of you meet!

WARNINGS: None!

Female charcters version will be out whenever I have time!

Keep reading

In the Light of the Moon

Part Of: ‘Gods Among Us’ Collaboration

Also In: ‘Gods Among Us’ Library

Summary: The God of the Night is a busy one. He is in charge of riding his Chariot across the sky every night and bringing the stars to the sky. These are but a few of his duties among many more. So, how else to keep his head calm than to seek the counsel of his one and only beloved wife? The Goddess of Darkness is one of few to always welcome him with warm and open arms, after all.

Genre: Greek Mythology! AU, God! AU, Goddess! AU, Supernatural! AU, Fluff, Fluff Smut

Pairing: Nyx! Taehyung x Erebos! Reader, Husband! Taehyung x Wife! Reader, God! Taehyung x Goddess! Reader, Male! Taehyung x Female! Reader

Warnings: Sexual Themes, Mentions of Sexual Actions, Sexual Language, Mentions of Slight Possessiveness (Not in an Unhealthy Way)

Word Count: 2,163

Written: June 11, 2021, Posted: September 27, 2021

Important! A/N: Nyx is the Greek Goddess of the Night. Erebos is the Greek God of Darkness and the Consort of Nyx. Nyx and Erebos are also siblings. For this fic, I have done a genderbend of the God and Goddess and have also made them husband and wife instead of a consort relationship and sibling relationship.

Taehyung has many duties that are a part of his job. To most in the world of Gods and Goddesses, he is Nyx, God of the Night. He rides his Chariot every night to sweep across the sky and change it to night, dropping sparkles and shimmers of stars as he gracefully rides along, his dark horses just as graceful in their movements across the midnight sky as him at work. But this is only one of his jobs. He is also God of Dreams and Sleep. He influences people’s dreams and shows them visions rather often. He gives them visions of the future or of possible events, and he decides if you must have a restless sleep full of nightmares or one of peacefulness and quiet. He controls Death as well. If a person was to pass in their sleep, it is the work of the God of the Night, taking them in their hours of night and darkness to send them to Hades in the deep Underworld. Once Taehyung has finished his duties and the time has come for the Sun to rise high in the sky again, he takes his leave, swiftly moving towards Tartarus.

Although where he goes is known often as the darkest parts of the Underworld, it is not a place he detests to be in. Tartarus simply delivers the divine punishments that those who sinned deserve to suffer through. This is the place where the Gods and Goddesses are to imprison their enemies. Though it may be cruel in the eyes of a human, a God or a Goddess would understand the responsibility in carrying the burden of punishment for those who have wronged so terribly.

Even then, it is not just that Taehyung quite likes his home, it is also that there is another reason for his longing to be at his palace. His wife, his wonderful Goddess - Y/N. Y/N is her name to Taehyung and to other Gods and Goddesses with whom she is friends. To acquaintances, formal events, and to humans, she is Erebus, Goddess of Darkness.

Y/N is beautiful with her flowing hair and her glimmering eyes. Her smile so radiant it fills whichever room that she is in. She carries herself with poise that only she is capable of, and her elegance is one that has attracted many Gods for centuries, although she’s never given in to any except her Taehyung.

Erebus was the one who completed the Underworld, filling the empty spaces - the little caverns and large chasms, - with her shadow and mist and deep, deep darkness. She gave the Underworld its colour and design. But still, it is not the just the Underworld that uses her powers, but also Nyx. Her beloved husband uses her mist and darkness in his rides among the night. He uses her powers to help draw in the calming depth of the later hours and he swears he can feel her with every swish of his hand and every swipe of mist across the night sky.

It is with these thoughts of his wife that he makes his entrance in Tartarus for the early hours of the day. He knows that Y/N is probably done with her duties for the night as she usually awaits him in their palace. Their home. Theirs, Taehyung thinks. It warms him to refer to the castle as one he shares with the only person he adores and cherishes in all of Olympus. And as he continues to let his mind wander of his Goddess, he sees his palace come into view.

Taehyung’s palace is in one of the darker parts of Tartarus, one of the parts that Y/N herself had had a hand in designing with its misty appearance and mysterious aura. The palace takes up quite a bit of space, tucked in to the corner of a mountain range, but large enough to accommodate perhaps even an army of a thousand soldiers. It is on thicker, elevated ground so as to overlook Tartarus from their very own haven. It was rather well lit in a way that didn’t hurt the eyes with vintage style standing lanterns places neatly around the palace and hanging style lantern hooked around the multilevel home. Their palace was darkish grey with plenty of rustic highlights including many, many French-style doors, balconies, and windows. The rooms were all spacious and the throne room was one to die for with its elegant yet nature-oriented decor. The room had vines flowing from the corners and around the back of Taehyung and Y/N’s throne, the leaves glittering with the ambient amount of light given from the lanterns placed rather strategically around the room in a way that felt balanced.

Taehyung and Y/N had decorated their palace together. With both of them having good eyes for interior design, they knew they wouldn’t be satisfied to have the other Gods and Goddesses simply gift them a palace at their marriage. Instead they slowly built their own, working out each and every element of the house as they wove their magic together to create something they knew would hold their eternal memories.

It was one of Taehyung’s fondest recollections, one he thought of every time his palace came into view. But that thought quickly washed away when he saw his wife on one of the balconies — the one connected to their bedroom, he realized, — with her palms resting on the gothic style railings, her midnight blue Chiton flowing around her in graceful waves as she gazed down onto the valley below her, watching the lava falls that dropped down viciously, only to then split off in smaller trickles that turned to magma.

Although, Y/N sensed her husband’s presence as he got closer, — just as she always does, — and turned her head to see Taehyung begin to land his horses on the veranda in front of her as their servants came in to take the large beasts into their spacious enclosure. The chariot was wheeled off to the barracks for storage and Erebus watched as her husband’s eyes never left hers while he slowly made his way up the many stairs and into their home, away from her line of sight.

As Y/N made her way out of their bedroom and through to the hallways outside, she could see over the railing and down into the centre of the main floor in their palace that Taehyung had already walked through, the evidence being in the servants dashing around with his coat and scarves yet to be put away.

As she turned around, she felt a smooth movement as Taehyung wrapped his arms around her waist, catching her by surprised. “You moved through the house fast,” she remarked. Taehyung simply bent down to nuzzle his face into his wife’s neck, letting out a gentle hum.

“How can I not move so fast, especially when I know what awaits me here?” He gently pushes her against the railing, nudging his hips into her own as he moves his head up gently to nudge her cheeks with his lips in small kisses. “Do you expect me to move slowly and take my time with useless things while you just stand here looking so delectable, my wife?” Y/N lets out a small laugh as his arms squeeze around her a little tighter, ensuring that she wouldn’t be able to pry him off of her anytime in the near future — not that she was going to, anyways.

“Then what is it that you would like to do that you consider to be useful, dear husband?” You breathed out your words gently as Taehyung ran one of his hands down your waist to subtly squeeze at your backside.

“I have not decided which would be most efficient to make ourselves useful just yet, either. That comes first, yes?” Taehyung sends the cheeky retort towards you.

“And what does that mean?” You challenge him back just as easily.

“It means,” he leans close to whisper in your ear again and he pulls you just a little bit tighter, “that I’m not sure if I should waste time in taking us back into our chambers or if I should I simply take you right here.” He leans his lips closer to yours again, gently dragging his lips over yours. “Right here in front of everyone.” He gives you a gentle peck, “For everyone to see exactly who you belong to, and who’s name it is that you scream and cry out every night…”

You feel goosebumps prickle out across your skin as you stare into his eyes and feel yourself melt under his stare, his gaze looking right through you. His arms are the only thing holding you up at this point, or else you might’ve melted against the railing a long time ago.

He’s always had this effect over you, though. Ever since the first day he’s met you, he’s made you crumble from the inside out with his sharp yet warm gaze and his subtle smirk that spoke more secrets than you could ever begin to imagine. He’s always just been able to draw you to him in a way you can’t explain.

He was calm and convincing. He was carefully drawing you in little by little as he charmed his way into your heart. Taehyung was strict on boundaries, so he never did cross any. He did, however, tempt. He constantly was a tempter, and still is, you think as you feel him connect his lips to yours.

Taehyung asked you to dinners and galas with him all the time, claiming you to be the most tolerant person in Olympus in teasing ways while also sensually whispering how you were the only he wanted near him. How he wanted to be the only one near you at all times, — that thinking of you with anyone else was a thought too scalding to even imagine.

And just as sensually slow and calm as Taehyung, your relationship bloomed. It bloomed from friends to something just a bit more. And that little bit more turned into frequent nights spent in each other’s places as new lovers, which then turned into your clothing align with his slowly moving into your new palace as husband and wife, eternally.

You were brought back into the present as you moaned into Taehyung’s mouth, his hands roaming a bit more. You break away for a breath, “Perhaps it’s best we do move this back into the chambers, yes?”

“I reckon it might be just a tad too late for that, darling,” Your husband teases back. “I’m already too far deep in at this point to stop…”

“Taehyung,” you whine out, “it would be far too improper to let the servants see this.” Taehyung smiles at you. “This would be a new line, even for us.”

“What? Are you telling me that we’ve never crossed dangerous lines before? Have you simply forgotten the fact that I took you in the one hidden corridor during Zeus’ ‘all important council meeting’?” Taehyung retorts at you as he mocks the meeting Zeus once called all of the Gods and Goddesses of Olympus for. “It was boring and we simply found ways to entertain ourselves, and not a single soul bothered even while they all knew exactly what it was that we were doing.” And then he looks at you with cunning eyes. “They did only find out because of you though, my love.”

You guffawed at him, completely ignoring his hands groping you as you were distracted by this statement. “My fault?!”

“Why yes,” your husband shrugged at you, “you were the one who was so loud after all.” Taehyung gives you a cheeky grin as he watches your shyness overtake you in the way you curl into his chest, your head going lower between your shoulders.

“Well I wouldn’t have been so loud had it not been for you,” you retired quietly. You felt his chest rumble in amusement, his hands finally going up to grab your cheeks and tilt your head to look up at him.

“I do take that as a compliment to my skills,” Taehyung murmurs out as he connects his lips with yours again. He gently lifts you up, your legs going to wrap around his waist and your arms looping around his neck.

“Strange,” you utter out, “I don’t seem to be able to recall any of these skills you speak so highly of.” You look at him with a cheeky grin on your face as you watch his eyes twinkle.

“Well then,” your Nyx starts off, placing you on the bed and closing your chamber doors with a swish of his hands, “I’ll have to show you again, won’t I?”

“Yes,” you giggle out as he crawls on top of you and lets you tangle your hands into his hair, “I believe you will have to show me again, dear husband.”

——————————————————————

Please do Reblog and Comment as much as you Like a post - any post - you guys! It’s what really helps the word get out, lets other readers also find the kind of fics they might be craving at the moment, and constantly encourages writers~ Please do talk to me on Asks as well, it’s always lovely!

I googled define brilliant writing and it showed you 😤 omggg you're one of my favourite authors. I live for your fics on quotev and now you made a tumblr and do requests too?? 😩 Must've saved a country in my previous life for this honour. That new addition of orphic was GOOD SHIT ‼️ I saw you write for Haikyuu?? Can you please feed a desperate hoe and write some yandere! Oikawa? Only if you want to 😊 I'd love to see how you write him. Your writing is SO amazing 😭 thank you for your hardwork!

lmaooo three years later what’s up chief!!!!!!!! haha.....

i couldn’t bring myself to write canon, so here Yan!Demon!Oikawa. after three centuries. i think this is progress for me bc me getting ANYTHING done is #offbrand.

no beta we die like men 

TW: burning, death. 

word count: 2.3k 

“Not a good idea.”

“Stop being such a baby! You watch too many movies, Y/N. Nothing’s going to happen, and, if something does happen, it’ll happen to all of us, at least.” Your friend paused. “Actually, I don’t know if that’s actually that encouraging, but don’t be a wimp! It’s going to be fine.” Incredulous, you glanced around at the others present at the house party, solo cups in hands. “Ugh, if you want to be a baby, just stay up here I guess.” Wordlessly, you began to clean up the stray cups from your previous games of flip-cup and slap-cup as the rest of your friends hurried through the door, their steps fading into the basement. You sighed.

Your friends had always wanted to be more “crackhead.” They wanted more stories to tell their friends at school and some cool things to take videos of to post on their finstas. Though you’d agree to say your stories are also rather bland compared to the general college student, you really didn’t want to spice up your life with the… “demon summoning” your friends found deep online. It wasn’t like you actually believed it would work, but you’ve always been the “what is the worst-case scenario happens” type of person.

“But what if it works?” You paused your cleaning, stood up straight, and peered at the door. “Y/N, don’t be ridiculous.”. How long do these types of things take anyway? Hopefully no longer than it will take to clean the rest of the cups off the floor and to wipe the puddles of beer staining the floor.

It was the screams first. Bent over trying to reach a particularly hard cup to reach in the corner, you bumped your head against the wall in your jolt. You fell onto the floor and rubbed your hand against your head. Groaning in pain, you decided the house owners could grab this one. It must have been your friends being dramatic over nothing. You were only halfway back on your feet when another bout of screams resonated with a few ‘helps’ in the mix, nearly sending you back down to the floor, but then it fell silent. Frozen to your spot, hands squeezing the plastic in your hand, you waited with bated breath and a palpitating heart for something else. Boisterous laughter, footsteps, murmurs, anything, but there wasn’t a single sound.

The door was pretty far from you though. Tip-toeing across the floor, you put your back against the wall next to the door and held your breath so you could listen better.

“—someone upstairs?” The voices were muddled behind the door, but you could make out bits and pieces.

“No, there’s—.” It went silent again. A single set of footsteps began to thump against the stairs. Closer and closer they came until you heard them stop on the other side of the door. If you moved, whoever was on the other side of the door could—.

God, you were so dumb. What the hell were you freaking out about? The chance of this actually working was impossibly low. Your friends were just messing with you because they knew you were a big baby, so the laugh they could get out of this would be of you being terrified. You exhaled and let your shoulders fall.

“Real funny, guys!” You kicked off the wall and faced the door. “You’re not going to make me the butt of this joke! Find someone else, assholes! I’m already your maid!” You put your hands on your hips, waiting for them to emerge and complain about how you were ruining their fun, but it remained silent. “Fine, keep the act up! I’m calling my DD and leaving!” You shook your head and turned around.

“Sorry, you got us.” Your friend creaked open the door. “Just come downstairs with us, at least. Promise we won’t do anything. It was kind of shitty of us.” He was jolted forward just a bit as if he was pushed. “A-and we’re sorry!” You narrowed your eyes. “Really, we are.” You sighed.

“Fine, fine. No more puppy dog eyes.” Opening the door fully, you followed them down the stairs. “Now, what did—.”

“Ah, my Y/N. You finally show! Well, it only makes sense the star comes last.” The friend that escorted you down was now pinned to the wall by an invisible force. All the others were trembling in terror, eyes blown wide and chests heaving against the cement of the walls and floor. All of them seem to be pinned by the same thing. Some looked fine, while blood leaked from others. You took a shaky step back. “Ah ah ah, Y/N. No leaving now. Not after your friends did all this to bring me here.” Though the sweet voice spoke to you, you could not see the source.

“W-where are you?”

“Trying to hide your fear? My Y/N is so brave! You don’t need to be scared,” a moment passes, then another, “because I’m right here.” His breath blew across your ear and you jumped away, turning to see the figure of a young man where you were just standing. “This is the form you’re most likely comfortable with, right? Tried my best to make it good looking. Took some energy to make, but I’d do anything for you.” Your eyes glanced around the dimly lit room.

“So you’re a demon? Like really?”

“Really, really, my love!”

Why did this demon drag you down here? Did he simply want you to see the scene around you and intimidate you, or did he bring you down because he could not go upstairs and do anything himself? You knew nothing about this type of thing, but you noted the full circle drawn near your feet. Perhaps he was bound to the basement? If that were the case, then—. “You’re real observant, you know. It’s one of the first things that drew me to you, after all.”

“Huh?”

“But it is not only the basement. You’re almost right, though.” You furrowed your brows.

“How did you know?” He smiled. “How did you know I was thinking that? You can’t… you can’t read my mind, can you?” The demon chuckled and took a step forward. Lithe fingers lifted to play with a few locks of your hair. “W-what do you want?”

“What do I want?” He repeated. “I want what I’ve always wanted: you, and with just a little push, some whispering in your friends’ ears to try something new, they have brought me here to you. I, Oikawa, Lord of the Sixth Ring of Hell, am here to retrieve you. I have been waiting for centuries for you to be born and to grow, and finally, finally, it’s time to come home, to where you belong.” One of your friends was shifting behind him. Extended a little away from his arm was a small vial. Holy water. You did not think about it; you kept your mind centered on the demon before you.

“U-uh, what? I don’t—I don’t understand. Explain yourself to me, demon, or spew your lies somewhere else. How do I know you’re not telling me this just to take my soul or something?” Oikawa laughed.

“Lying? My love, there is plenty I want to do to you, but lying is never one. I just think it’s funny you think I don’t already own your soul. I have infinite power to see the past, the future, and to know and attain everything I desire. If I wanted to kill you, my love, I would have already, along with your cattle of friends, but I wanted to be nice. I didn’t want your first impression of me to be terror, and I still don’t. I wouldn’t want my partner to be scared of me. Well, not too scared. Don’t want a cowering puppy all the time. I want you to love me as I love you.” He extended his hand. “Just come with me, my love.” Your eyes centered on the fingers.

“To where?”

“I think you know the answer to that, my love,” he whispered.

“Do you want to know what I think? I think you should go back to hell, monster.” With a swing of their arm, the crescent of water descended onto the demon and landed with a distinct sizz. You did not waste any time pushing past and sprinting up the stairs, ignoring the anchor of fear that fell in you with the shrill, furious scream that followed. You managed to leap back to the first floor, and turned around to see your friends’ despair the moment the foundation of the stairs burned, forcing them back to the ground.

You scrambled to your feet, inching just far enough to be able to view the basement. The stairs were still aflame, your friends' bodies moving still, but in such obvious pain. At where the last step usually was stood Oikawa, blood and hot gashes burning through parts of his clothes and one side of his face. Head tilted slightly down; his eyes burned hotter than the fire around him. You could see the tautness of his body, his fists tightening at his side. Oh, he’s pissed. Oikawa’s lips fell into a dangerous snarl.

“I wanted to be nice, Y/N! I didn’t want to be the one to have to kill your friends and forcibly take you with me, but you’re leaving me no choice! If you want me to be a monster, I can oblige.” Ever so slowly, he rose his hand and snapped.

Screams of agony, pain pierced the air, your soul, and you ran, covering your ears with frantic hands. You touched the doorknob to the outside, but it burned your skin. Recoiling, your adrenaline and fear pushed you to the nearby window, but the frame burned you as well.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your head jolted around. The stairs to the second floor were the only things left. Their screams did not cease.

“Y/N,” his voice resounded, but you can’t see him. “You did this! I wanted to do this peacefully, but you did this to them! Can you hear them, screaming in horrible, horrible pain? Burning until they are nothing but crisp bones.” While he spoke, you sprinted up the stairs into the farthest bedroom. With no other option, you hopped into the closet and fell to the floor, using a shirt to breathe into so your breaths were not so loud. You could still hear them; you choked out a sob. “Do you think I’ll stop? I’ll burn this whole house down, my love!” Oikawa’s voice seemed like it was coming from a body again.

Footsteps took their time up the stairs. Sinking your teeth into your lip, you bit so hard you tasted the metallic blood beneath. “Centuries and centuries have passed. Do you think that I would let anything get in my way? I just wanted you to be able to see my love and want to feel the same, but… I don’t mind forcing you.” His voice came closer and closer. “Oh? Are you hiding from me? You’re hiding from your future husband? Ah, you’re a little brat, but I’ll indulge you.” Oikawa inhaled. “Come out come out wherever you are.” He did not even bother to check the other rooms to act like he didn’t already know.

You looked around the little space around you. Was there nothing you could do? Your movements stopped when the door to the room was seemingly kicked open. “I can hear your thoughts. My poor baby is so scared. Don’t be scared! I’ll never do anything to hurt you. We’re going to be married. You’ll forget about all this, and you’ll be properly mine for eternity. If you come out for me, I promise I won’t be mad.” He paused. “Actually, I change my mind.” Violently, the door opened and light flooded into the closet. He gripped your legs and forcibly pulled you out. Oikawa was quick to trap you under his weight. “There you are.”

“P-please don’t—.”

“Sh sh sh, it’s alright, my love. Everything is alright,” he said as screams came muffled through the floor. His chest connected with your own, hands petting your hair, your skin. “You’ll have nothing to worry about. You’ll have everything you want and more. I love you so much, and you’ll come to love me too. One way or another,” he said and then slanted his lips onto yours once, twice, three times. Each one’s passion growing exponentially as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, suffocating and overpowering you. His hands tangled in your hair to pull you closer, to take in more. “Let’s go home.”

Last night, there was a fire on Fifth Street. The owners of the house were not home, but their two kids had five friends over that night. When the neighbors smelled and saw the flames from the house late in the night, they said it seemed that the entirety of the first floor was engulfed in flame. By the time the fire department arrived, the house’s foundation was completely eradicated. Their statement says that they “have never seen a fire of this degree. It is nothing like an electrical or gas fire.” They have not yet determined the source of the fire.

However, in tragic news, of the seven people present, six of their bodies have all been found in the basement under the rubble. The last body of Y/N L/N has not been discovered, but they remain missing and unseen by family or friends. It is said that they were present in the house and there were no accounts of them leaving from the person who was supposed to be their designated driver for the night. Both the fire department and police are looking into the source of the fire and the missing person.

lmaooo three years later what’s up chief!!!!!!!! haha.....

i couldn’t bring myself to write canon, so here Yan!Demon!Oikawa. after three centuries. i think this is progress for me bc me getting ANYTHING done is #offbrand.

no beta we die like men 

TW: burning, death. 

word count: 2.3k 

“Not a good idea.”

“Stop being such a baby! You watch too many movies, Y/N. Nothing’s going to happen, and, if something does happen, it’ll happen to all of us, at least.” Your friend paused. “Actually, I don’t know if that’s actually that encouraging, but don’t be a wimp! It’s going to be fine.” Incredulous, you glanced around at the others present at the house party, solo cups in hands. “Ugh, if you want to be a baby, just stay up here I guess.” Wordlessly, you began to clean up the stray cups from your previous games of flip-cup and slap-cup as the rest of your friends hurried through the door, their steps fading into the basement. You sighed.

Your friends had always wanted to be more “crackhead.” They wanted more stories to tell their friends at school and some cool things to take videos of to post on their finstas. Though you’d agree to say your stories are also rather bland compared to the general college student, you really didn’t want to spice up your life with the… “demon summoning” your friends found deep online. It wasn’t like you actually believed it would work, but you’ve always been the “what is the worst-case scenario happens” type of person.

“But what if it works?” You paused your cleaning, stood up straight, and peered at the door. “Y/N, don’t be ridiculous.”. How long do these types of things take anyway? Hopefully no longer than it will take to clean the rest of the cups off the floor and to wipe the puddles of beer staining the floor.

It was the screams first. Bent over trying to reach a particularly hard cup to reach in the corner, you bumped your head against the wall in your jolt. You fell onto the floor and rubbed your hand against your head. Groaning in pain, you decided the house owners could grab this one. It must have been your friends being dramatic over nothing. You were only halfway back on your feet when another bout of screams resonated with a few ‘helps’ in the mix, nearly sending you back down to the floor, but then it fell silent. Frozen to your spot, hands squeezing the plastic in your hand, you waited with bated breath and a palpitating heart for something else. Boisterous laughter, footsteps, murmurs, anything, but there wasn’t a single sound.

The door was pretty far from you though. Tip-toeing across the floor, you put your back against the wall next to the door and held your breath so you could listen better.

“—someone upstairs?” The voices were muddled behind the door, but you could make out bits and pieces.

“No, there’s—.” It went silent again. A single set of footsteps began to thump against the stairs. Closer and closer they came until you heard them stop on the other side of the door. If you moved, whoever was on the other side of the door could—.

God, you were so dumb. What the hell were you freaking out about? The chance of this actually working was impossibly low. Your friends were just messing with you because they knew you were a big baby, so the laugh they could get out of this would be of you being terrified. You exhaled and let your shoulders fall.

“Real funny, guys!” You kicked off the wall and faced the door. “You’re not going to make me the butt of this joke! Find someone else, assholes! I’m already your maid!” You put your hands on your hips, waiting for them to emerge and complain about how you were ruining their fun, but it remained silent. “Fine, keep the act up! I’m calling my DD and leaving!” You shook your head and turned around.

“Sorry, you got us.” Your friend creaked open the door. “Just come downstairs with us, at least. Promise we won’t do anything. It was kind of shitty of us.” He was jolted forward just a bit as if he was pushed. “A-and we’re sorry!” You narrowed your eyes. “Really, we are.” You sighed.

“Fine, fine. No more puppy dog eyes.” Opening the door fully, you followed them down the stairs. “Now, what did—.”

“Ah, my Y/N. You finally show! Well, it only makes sense the star comes last.” The friend that escorted you down was now pinned to the wall by an invisible force. All the others were trembling in terror, eyes blown wide and chests heaving against the cement of the walls and floor. All of them seem to be pinned by the same thing. Some looked fine, while blood leaked from others. You took a shaky step back. “Ah ah ah, Y/N. No leaving now. Not after your friends did all this to bring me here.” Though the sweet voice spoke to you, you could not see the source.

“W-where are you?”

“Trying to hide your fear? My Y/N is so brave! You don’t need to be scared,” a moment passes, then another, “because I’m right here.” His breath blew across your ear and you jumped away, turning to see the figure of a young man where you were just standing. “This is the form you’re most likely comfortable with, right? Tried my best to make it good looking. Took some energy to make, but I’d do anything for you.” Your eyes glanced around the dimly lit room.

“So you’re a demon? Like really?”

“Really, really, my love!”

Why did this demon drag you down here? Did he simply want you to see the scene around you and intimidate you, or did he bring you down because he could not go upstairs and do anything himself? You knew nothing about this type of thing, but you noted the full circle drawn near your feet. Perhaps he was bound to the basement? If that were the case, then—. “You’re real observant, you know. It’s one of the first things that drew me to you, after all.”

“Huh?”

“But it is not only the basement. You’re almost right, though.” You furrowed your brows.

“How did you know?” He smiled. “How did you know I was thinking that? You can’t… you can’t read my mind, can you?” The demon chuckled and took a step forward. Lithe fingers lifted to play with a few locks of your hair. “W-what do you want?”

“What do I want?” He repeated. “I want what I’ve always wanted: you, and with just a little push, some whispering in your friends’ ears to try something new, they have brought me here to you. I, Oikawa, Lord of the Sixth Ring of Hell, am here to retrieve you. I have been waiting for centuries for you to be born and to grow, and finally, finally, it’s time to come home, to where you belong.” One of your friends was shifting behind him. Extended a little away from his arm was a small vial. Holy water. You did not think about it; you kept your mind centered on the demon before you.

“U-uh, what? I don’t—I don’t understand. Explain yourself to me, demon, or spew your lies somewhere else. How do I know you’re not telling me this just to take my soul or something?” Oikawa laughed.

“Lying? My love, there is plenty I want to do to you, but lying is never one. I just think it’s funny you think I don’t already own your soul. I have infinite power to see the past, the future, and to know and attain everything I desire. If I wanted to kill you, my love, I would have already, along with your cattle of friends, but I wanted to be nice. I didn’t want your first impression of me to be terror, and I still don’t. I wouldn’t want my partner to be scared of me. Well, not too scared. Don’t want a cowering puppy all the time. I want you to love me as I love you.” He extended his hand. “Just come with me, my love.” Your eyes centered on the fingers.

“To where?”

“I think you know the answer to that, my love,” he whispered.

“Do you want to know what I think? I think you should go back to hell, monster.” With a swing of their arm, the crescent of water descended onto the demon and landed with a distinct sizz. You did not waste any time pushing past and sprinting up the stairs, ignoring the anchor of fear that fell in you with the shrill, furious scream that followed. You managed to leap back to the first floor, and turned around to see your friends’ despair the moment the foundation of the stairs burned, forcing them back to the ground.

You scrambled to your feet, inching just far enough to be able to view the basement. The stairs were still aflame, your friends' bodies moving still, but in such obvious pain. At where the last step usually was stood Oikawa, blood and hot gashes burning through parts of his clothes and one side of his face. Head tilted slightly down; his eyes burned hotter than the fire around him. You could see the tautness of his body, his fists tightening at his side. Oh, he’s pissed. Oikawa’s lips fell into a dangerous snarl.

“I wanted to be nice, Y/N! I didn’t want to be the one to have to kill your friends and forcibly take you with me, but you’re leaving me no choice! If you want me to be a monster, I can oblige.” Ever so slowly, he rose his hand and snapped.

Screams of agony, pain pierced the air, your soul, and you ran, covering your ears with frantic hands. You touched the doorknob to the outside, but it burned your skin. Recoiling, your adrenaline and fear pushed you to the nearby window, but the frame burned you as well.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your head jolted around. The stairs to the second floor were the only things left. Their screams did not cease.

“Y/N,” his voice resounded, but you can’t see him. “You did this! I wanted to do this peacefully, but you did this to them! Can you hear them, screaming in horrible, horrible pain? Burning until they are nothing but crisp bones.” While he spoke, you sprinted up the stairs into the farthest bedroom. With no other option, you hopped into the closet and fell to the floor, using a shirt to breathe into so your breaths were not so loud. You could still hear them; you choked out a sob. “Do you think I’ll stop? I’ll burn this whole house down, my love!” Oikawa’s voice seemed like it was coming from a body again.

Footsteps took their time up the stairs. Sinking your teeth into your lip, you bit so hard you tasted the metallic blood beneath. “Centuries and centuries have passed. Do you think that I would let anything get in my way? I just wanted you to be able to see my love and want to feel the same, but… I don’t mind forcing you.” His voice came closer and closer. “Oh? Are you hiding from me? You’re hiding from your future husband? Ah, you’re a little brat, but I’ll indulge you.” Oikawa inhaled. “Come out come out wherever you are.” He did not even bother to check the other rooms to act like he didn’t already know.

You looked around the little space around you. Was there nothing you could do? Your movements stopped when the door to the room was seemingly kicked open. “I can hear your thoughts. My poor baby is so scared. Don’t be scared! I’ll never do anything to hurt you. We’re going to be married. You’ll forget about all this, and you’ll be properly mine for eternity. If you come out for me, I promise I won’t be mad.” He paused. “Actually, I change my mind.” Violently, the door opened and light flooded into the closet. He gripped your legs and forcibly pulled you out. Oikawa was quick to trap you under his weight. “There you are.”

“P-please don’t—.”

“Sh sh sh, it’s alright, my love. Everything is alright,” he said as screams came muffled through the floor. His chest connected with your own, hands petting your hair, your skin. “You’ll have nothing to worry about. You’ll have everything you want and more. I love you so much, and you’ll come to love me too. One way or another,” he said and then slanted his lips onto yours once, twice, three times. Each one’s passion growing exponentially as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, suffocating and overpowering you. His hands tangled in your hair to pull you closer, to take in more. “Let’s go home.”

Last night, there was a fire on Fifth Street. The owners of the house were not home, but their two kids had five friends over that night. When the neighbors smelled and saw the flames from the house late in the night, they said it seemed that the entirety of the first floor was engulfed in flame. By the time the fire department arrived, the house’s foundation was completely eradicated. Their statement says that they “have never seen a fire of this degree. It is nothing like an electrical or gas fire.” They have not yet determined the source of the fire.

However, in tragic news, of the seven people present, six of their bodies have all been found in the basement under the rubble. The last body of Y/N L/N has not been discovered, but they remain missing and unseen by family or friends. It is said that they were present in the house and there were no accounts of them leaving from the person who was supposed to be their designated driver for the night. Both the fire department and police are looking into the source of the fire and the missing person.

sincerely,

yours truly (part one). / sincerely (part two).

premise: your diligent efforts to uncover the identity of your secret admirer had ultimately amounted to nothing. in fact, your investigations only raised more questions — your companions' strange behaviors and shifty-eyed gazes hadn't completely escaped from your awareness, not to mention you've become... privy to some of their affections...

and what is the last thing you need while trying to search for one person who liked you? more people to like you, of course!

but that is exactly what you receive. (goddamn it all.)

includes: zhongli, kaeya, scaramouche, itto & the real secret admirer !

note: oh god i have done it. it's even longer than the other one but since this is the 10k celebration fic, it's only rightfully so! i hope you enjoy this... likes and reblogs are appreciated <33 please read the first part if you haven't already!

zhongli:

all things considered, zhongli is an unrelated figure to your personal issues, not particularly concerned with such trifling matters. you lived worlds apart, and he's generally preoccupied by his own studies anyway, too absorbed in his thesis to mind who has a crush on who and whatnot.

yet it seems as if fate is intent on pulling you two together whether you like it or not.

you belong in different majors, your lecture halls on opposite sides of campus, and he's an upperclassman. not to mention the upperclassman everyone looks up to, the senior equivalent of albedo. though he holds an air of benevolence and warmth, he's unapproachable in the way nobody would dare impose themselves in fear of bothering him with their presence.

professors only speak of his name in accordance with endless words of praise, and legend has it that any paper he proofreads is guaranteed to receive a high grade... not that anyone could confirm it, since nobody has been gifted that luxury.

except for you, of course, living the y/n life — you'd been slaving away on your assignments per usual at diluc's cafe when, in a moment of misfortune, zhongli had crashed into a waiter and spilled his coffee on your papers, soaking pale sheets in brown splatters and smudging the inked sentences you'd painstakingly written for the past hour.

if only your laptop hadn't run out of battery, you wouldn't have resorted to drafting with pen and paper. or you could have done your work in a later date instead of being productive for nothing. fuck.

witnessing your expression crumpled to disbelief and misery, zhongli apologized through offering his assistance in doing your assignment with you. and oh boy, he did it well. it was better than what you could've ever done, the insight he provided beyond profound. he was humble even as you showered him with compliments, still looking quite apologetic for the fiasco he caused.

and. right. it could've ended there. after that occasion, you would wave at him if you passed by each other at the hallways, but that's where the extent of your relationship ended, a pair of underclassman and upperclassman who'd known each other once.

but of course it's never that easy.

he pops up when you least expect it, running into you frequently even though the rumors articulated “you'd hardly get a glimpse of him since he's busy all the time” clearly. and he's acquainted with people you know well, just that you never paid attention to it; keqing seems to respect him a lot, so does xiao, ganyu perks up whenever he's brought up in conversations, and childe sticks to him when given the opportunity. perhaps it was only a matter of time that you begin a friendship with him as well...

but what's up with these horribly timed drama tropes you keep experiencing with him?!

bumping into him and dropping your books to the floor so he offers to walk you to the library, locked into a room when a professor asks you to collect materials for class with him and the door has a faulty knob, getting photographed by a student while you study in the same table and everyone assumes you're dating,,

you've been seeing far too much of him.

everyone's patience has been wearing thin. xiao tries his best to keep his annoyance at bay but fails. childe has resorted to bribing zhongli for free lunch to lead him away from you. albedo straight up drags you to the opposite direction whenever he spots zhongli within vicinity.

but it's like there's a force of nature compelling you to stick right back to him.

hosting events for college fests had never been your kind of thing, but attention follows you if you're acquainted with famous people, and keqing was unwilling to be an emcee if she didn't have a friend alongside her to act as a second host. of course, that meant everyone was deadset on dragging you with her.

you're not very keen on standing on a stage to face the whole school like a kid participating in a talent show, but you've never been good at saying “no” to your friends.

hence why you find yourself clutching on a microphone now, blinded by bright stage lights. you would much prefer if you were part of the audience. or if you were in ayaka's place instead, holding up cue cards behind the curtains.

there's some kind of beauty pageant going on, a popularity contest for the prettiest people in uni. votes are collected via online polls, and you're tasked to reveal the top 10. you don't doubt for a second your friends will all join you on stage eventually, and you've already asked ganyu to drag xiao up the platform if he tries to escape. sweeping off a piece of confetti by your shoulder, you flip open the folden paper in your hand and announce the winning names.

zhongli steps up as one of the candidates for first place and you faintly hear gasps of awe and high pitched squeals.

you nod at him in acknowledgement, and he returns the gesture in kind. you head on over to hand him a mic of his own, keqing busying herself by doing the same job for other contestants, and...

in your carelessness, distracted by fumbling with the paper in your hand to hide it back inside your pocket, you trip over an electrical cord.

you've been waiting the entire night for the time where you'll eventually embarrass yourself in front of a crowd. perhaps a voice crack in what's supposed to be a tense situation, a stutter in your words, falling off a stage even, but here it is, even more horrifying than what you could've imagined.

squeezing your eyes shut instinctively, you brace yourself for the hard surface to tumble onto. instead, what meets you is something squishy, someone's hands gripping around your shoulders, and-

FUCK. you banged your knees on the ground.

the first thing to pop in your mind is a myriad of swears that could stun a sailor.

the second is the oddly plush surface your lips had landed on.

the third is the sight of widened golden eyes. they look very familiar. but you'd rather not think about who they belong to.

the ugly screech of the microphone dropping to the floor is drowned out by gasps, yelling, and the scandalized choke of keqing behind you. xiao — who did end up being a contender for the stupid popularity contest and is standing only a few meters away, makes an alarming noise that could trigger a person's fight or flight reaction.

you hastily attempt to rise to your feet, but the floor is slippery what the actual fuck, and zhongli, oh for fuck's sake, innocent and oblivious zhongli grabs your hips to keep you steady.

.....of course the accidental kiss and caught in a compromising position tropes were going to happen eventually.

kaeya:

“it's from me.”

your gaze travels from the fresh, new bouquet of flowers emitting a sweet fragrance lying in your arms, and the face of the man currently standing before you, lips curled in what seems to be a supposedly reassuring smile.

“you mean... this and the carnations last time?”

his lips are still firmly quirking upwards, admirably patient in spite of reiterating the same phrase over and over again whenever probed with your repetitive questions.

still, he doesn't quite give off the impression of someone deeply infatuated.

and okay, not to be narcissistic, but you expected a secret admirer to... well, admire you more, yet this person looks as nonchalant as ever.

and he doesn't look like the type to profess love through subtle means. at all.

you'll be blunt. you've heard of kaeya. who hasn't? whether it be of mischief, or something more scandalous in nature, he's more or less always involved with trouble, gossip about him traveling fast. it may be an insane prank in the boys' dormitory or someone he bedded (who's supposedly out of everyone's league, yet fell for his charms so easily), you hear of his name quite often.

it's just that you didn't expect you'd associate yourself with him...

and if you have at least two brain cells to rub together, you can easily piece together the conclusion: this guy is definitely talking out of his ass.

nobody has ever heard of kaeya pining over someone so badly that he personally sent bouquets and other small gifts to appease them, admiring them from the shadows. it's so clearly not his style. if he likes someone, he'd flirt with them a bit and cleverly worm his way into their heart, and absolutely not give away presents expecting nothing in return.

but if he's not your secret admirer, then for what reason is he pretending like he is?

you want to seek the truth, and playing along for the meantime sounds like the best option. and this may draw out the real secret admirer, the sly part of you voices internally.

thinking it'll be rude to turn him down publicly (since of course he initiated this exchange in the middle of a crowd, and that only gives you more reason to doubt him), you decide to see how things go first.

if anything, this whole “wooing” business with kaeya seems like it's done out of spite. does he have a bone to pick with you? or he made one of those stupid “it'll only take a week for you to fall for me” bets with his friends? hopefully not, because that's terribly out of trend.

your indifferent responses do nothing to deter him from sticking to you like glue though, doing this and that to earn your favor. he's... not doing anything wrong, actually. if you didn't know any better, you'd think he's like any other eager guy who wants to receive your love.

he does a great job of remembering what things you like and dislike, making a habit of inviting you out for a meal in your favorite restaurants every now and then or taking note of what movies you're looking forward to so you could watch it in the cinema together.

... it feels more like hanging out with normal friends now.

kaeya eases into the idea of that notion, too, insisting on meeting you outside of his shady “i'm your secret admirer” business. it doesn't take too long until you begin to reach out to him as well, inviting him to go shopping with you to look at jewelry together (and dear lord, does kaeya know how to accessorize) or giving him a ticket to the amusement park when kokomi bails on you. (“so i' m just a rebound? a back-up plan?” kaeya arches a questioning brow, acting deeply hurt to provoke a reaction. you smack his shoulder and he laughs in mirth.)

(he definitely tries for the “let's go to the haunted house so you can cling to me when you're scared” cliche but fails. why does he feel disappointed though...)

if given more time, maybe the time would come where you'll both just shrug off the secret admirer thing and continue on normally as friends. it'll be the last thing on your minds, a joke that never had a punchline. just some prank kaeya didn't see through the end.

but then it resurfaces when kaeya had already given you your daily dose of coffee — yes, he somehow knows the secret recipe you like, something you plan to ask him about later — but another cup is waiting at your desk, its once warm temperature turning lukewarm.

you inspect it, judging for yourself, and you confirm it's the same recipe you like.

so this one is from the real secret admirer then, the one who's still hiding in the shadows. that, or this recipe is just popular.

the people residing in the same room as you observe the scene with interest, because apparently your romance drama became a spectator sport, stares pinned in kaeya's direction.

you knew he was a fraud from the very start, but others do not, and he's not sure what to say.

someone else makes the excuse for him. “do you have another person who likes you, [name]?” amber asks innocently, essentially saving kaeya's ass without her realizing it. you let your gaze shift from her to kaeya.

“...maybe.” you place the two cups of coffee side-by-side, feigning nonchalance.

if the real secret admirer found out that someone's pretending to be him, this must be his way of saying kaeya's a fraud in front of everyone. after all, if he was actually the secret admirer, there'd be no need for kaeya to give you another cup when he'd already placed one on top of your desk.

and a couple of people already know who the real one is, anyway. xiao just doesn't want to tell you.

kaeya sends what seems to be a longing gaze your way but ends up turning away to head to his own classroom. he'd only offered to walk you towards yours, and you didn't share classes. it gives you more time to ponder how to confront him.

you didn't have to. he explained things himself.

it comes in the time you least expect, a peaceful lunch like any other. he suddenly arrived at your table, tray in hand, and sat opposite of you. “it's not me,” is the first thing he says, no context at all. he admits the obvious truth and you shovel more food in your mouth in your hopes of hiding how curious you are for what else he has to say.

“but i know who's been giving you flowers... and the coffee. also the chocolate the other day. i helped him pick out the presents, actually.” and that's where you choke because that's not what you were expecting at all.

“he was considering sending a love letter, but i told him you'd recognize his handwriting because you know him very well. and he refused to give a printed letter because he thought it was 'lacking' and you deserved better than that.” he scoffed at the thought. “and that's cute of him. endearing, if you will. but he seriously pissed me off last month and i wanted to mess with him a bit.”

“so you... tried to date the person he likes?” your expression sours. that's a dick move. he immediately shakes his head, as if to say perish the thought.

“not that. i knew for a fact you wouldn't like me anyway. i was just teasing him,” kaeya huffs. “and he got angry at me. well, it's a justified reaction. but i didn't plan on keeping up the charade for long. i only wanted to fool around for a few days.”

“and then?”

“...i missed the timing to pass it off as a joke. then we started to hang out like friends. but i assured him that you didn't actually think i was the real secret admirer, so he forgave me as long as i... do some work for him.”

oh. he's right about that though. and that also explains why kaeya looked so tired recently, helping out a friend with his project as a sincere apology.

“does he plan on revealing his identity anytime soon?” you can't help but ask, your eager eyes betraying the nonchalance in your voice. kaeya sighs at that, leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms.

“i've been trying to convince him to. it's exhausting to look at him flailing about like an idiot. he talks about you all the time.” he frowns at the way your cheeks color. “you should try luring him out.”

you tilt your head in question. to show his point, he reaches out his arm, grabbing your hand. you let him do as he pleases, even as he brings the spoonful of your meal to his lips, and takes a bite out of it.

distantly, you hear a metal clatter against the floor and a voice cry out in surprise. you turn your head towards the noise, and you see—

the hell. it's just bennett tripping.

... but it's not like bennett dropped a metal utensil or anything. he is the one who cried out, though.

“wrong direction, sweetheart. you were supposed to look at the right. what a shame, you didn't see him picking up his fork like a fool.” kaeya laughs, releasing your hand from his grip.

he seems strangely reluctant in doing so, but you decide not to look further into it.

scaramouche:

at best, he is an unwilling spectator.

emphasis on “unwilling” because he truly does not wish to see you. like at all. you're pretty sure he hates your guts, but he'd amassed a lifetime's worth of misfortune and keeps seeing you... and the guys around you.

it's safe to say if your love life was turned into a k-drama, he'd probably seen the entire series.

he'd walked in on you when childe confessed he likes you, purple eyes narrowed into a sharp glare before he turned on his heel and left the room. he'd seen the way xiao looks at you, starstruck and excruciatingly fond, because of course scaramouche sat beside him in class (long, long ago they settled a mutual agreement to not speak to each other unless necessary, even if they hadn't verbally discussed it). he'd seen you at diluc's cafe, too, when diluc poured coffee at the angry customer. scaramouche's clothes were stained, as he was the customer sitting beside your table.

he'd seen you with kazuha when kazuha came to pick you up in the rain. he'd seen albedo draw sketches of you in the corner of his notes. he'd seen thoma with you while out for grocery shopping. he'd seen gorou follow after you not unlike a loyal puppy.

he's, reasonably, tired of seeing your stupid face and your stupid harem and he hates you.

by the looks of it, none of your friends like him. especially mona. she had a few arguments with him already. they didn't mix well, and scaramouche liked poking fun of the astrology she loved, a firm disbeliever of such things. “how is my birthday supposed to dictate my personality? or my relationship status? is this fortune-telling? tell me, then. what's my lucky color for the day-” and he only shut up when mona landed a clean kick to his shin.

...yeah. he's kind of an asshole. the type to scowl 24/7, glare at you for no reason, and bump into you without apologizing. then when you do try to make small talk to alleviate the awkward atmosphere, he scoffs and pointedly ignores you.

but you can't blame him for finding you and... the guys following you irritating. you imagine it must be an eyesore for outsiders. there's already quite a bit of rumors about you going around seducing men (and women, you add, because apparently you can't be friends with pretty girls without having those kinds of intentions... and yoimiya and ayaka could be somewhat touchy) and rumors are almost always wildly changed with each pass of gossip from one person to another.

of course your friends don't believe it one bit and are ready 24/7 to defend your honor, but scaramouche is very obviously not your friend, and he may regard you with something less than pleasing.

it's only understandable you're caught by surprise when you chance upon him picking a fight with people badmouthing you, shoving a boy to the wall with brute force you wouldn't expect from someone his size. (you berate yourself for making fun of his height in this kind of situation.)

“shut the fuck up,” scaramouche drawls out, fisting the boy's shirt collar. “your voice is grating to the ears. surely, you have better things to do than yap nonsensical bullshit out in the open?”

“what's your fucking problem?!” the guy responds, panicking within his grip. “it's not like we were talking about you! don't think so highly of yourself!”

that prompts a scoff from him, and he tightens his hold on the boy's collar. he immediately shuts his mouth, thinking it better not to retaliate. scaramouche's glare promises something beyond simple violence if he continued to act prideful.

somwhat satisfied by the fear glistening in the guy's eyes, scaramouche finally releases him. “scram.”

the group runs off, and you quickly duck behind a wall to hide from his sight as he walks away. you're not sure what to feel, conflicted by his usual prick demeanor and shockingly kind(?) actions behind the scenes.

unfortunately, your confusion reflects directly on your face. after a handful of times catching you staring at him, he finally snaps, “what do you want.”

your expression twists into something complex, and scaramouche's frown deepens. “uh... no, it's nothing, really...”

“you've been looking at me all day. do you take me for a fool?”

your face sours. so much for planning to thank him. maybe he didn't stand up for you and actually just found the noisy gossiping annoying enough to choke a guy and pin him to the wall. if it's scaramouche, it isn't too far-fetched at all.

and what were you going to say to him, anyway? it's not like he explicitly stated he did it for you. it would be beyond mortifying if you thanked him for it and he clarified that little detail, thinking you were stuck-up enough to assume the world revolves around you.

... no, that's too much overthinking, isn't it...

“well?” scaramouche impatiently taps his foot, raising an eyebrow expectantly. you hold back a defeated sigh and decide to stay put.

“sorry if i made you uncomfortable. i was, um, looking at...” who does he sit with again? “xiao!” you mentally apologize to your friend, using his name as an excuse.

impossibly, he becomes more irate than before, his taps ceasing into a calm quiet. the silence pierces more than the tense conversation prior.

without another word, he walks away.

...well. okay. that was safely evaded.

life continues on per usual. you don't interact for the next week, and you want to leave it at that.

except your life is a joke. a romantic comedy you never wanted to be a part of.

...you're assigned to a group project. with him. with childe too, no less. the childe who confessed his love to you not too long ago and you still have problems wrapping your head around it, not sure how to talk with him like you did before.

amidst this drama, scaramouche is stuck smack dab between you. he's unquestionably furious.

he's present when childe looks at you in the same excruciating way xiao does. he's present when childe tries to make jokes to ease off the tension, and it doesn't work in the slightest. he's present in the lingering gazes, awkward pauses when you graze fingers as you hand materials to each other, and reluctant conversations that never last any longer than seven clipped sentences.

scaramouche feels wronged. had he committed a war crime in his past life to deserve this despair?

and you. you just want to get this over with. collect information, make a powerpoint, and present in front of the whole class. easier said than done.

the three of you together doesn't sit right with you, but left with only two isn't any better either. childe and scaramouche don't get along if you leave them long enough for an argument to brew. scaramouche hates you and doesn't fill the silence when childe leaves for a bathroom break. childe tries too hard to talk when scaramouche leaves for a coffee break.

when the first day of working together ends, you nearly cry tears of joy.

“i can walk you home,” childe offers out of goodwill. it's certainly not because he has other intentions in mind, he's just concerned since it is pretty late.

“we take the same bus,” scaramouche speaks, for the first time joining your conversation. “we can go together.”

childe smiles in relief, lifting a hand to ruffle your hair. then he stills. old habits die hard. damn.

for his sake, you don't comment on it. you walk out of the library, scaramouche in tow.

the stroll to the empty bus stop isn't a comfortable one, but at the very least, you're accompanied by an acquaintance and you don't have to feel anxious being alone. you take a seat as you wait but scaramouche chooses to remain standing, placing a fair amount of distance between you.

“...you haven't made up?”

his voice is small, almost swallowed by the howling winds. you're surprised he wants to talk about it, but you laugh. “we didn't fight or anything.”

“fighting would've been better,” he replies. “an apology could still repair your relationship. but there's nothing you can do if you don't see him that way, and he can't see you as a friend.”

you look down at your feet, heels resting firmly against the pavement. “yes... it's tricky. i don't know how to act around him. i don't want to hurt him, but... maybe not rejecting him is painful, too.”

“then turn him down properly.”

“it's not that easy...”

“would you rather him still have hopes for a chance with you and eventually get disappointed instead of dealing with it once and for all?”

he makes an excellent point. it's reasonable enough... but you don't know how to bring it up with childe. not now. not yet. you'll have to think about it properly, the way to reject him with the least amount of discomfort from his side.

“receiving relationship advice from you... if someone told me this would happen today, i'd think they've gone mad.” you chuckle. “do you deal with friends whining about hardships like these often?”

“apparently, they think of me — someone who has no interest in dating — as the perfect person to consult for relationship problems.”

“hm? you don't date? do you like anyone, at least?”

he gives you a look. it's perfectly blank, devoid of his usual arrogance or irritation. you blink at him, the pause in the conversation stretching too long to be comfortable.

“you could say that. but i don't... try things i know won't work out.”

“...like?”

he rolls his eyes. “think about it this way.” he removes his hands from his pockets, approaching your seated figure. he comes startlingly close, mere centimeters away, and his fingers curl around your wrist. your lips part and close, and you wonder if he's trying to kiss your knuckles-

“if i told you now that i like you, with this many people who like you too, there's no way i'd win, is there?”

it's an example, you tell yourself. you asked him a question and he answered it.

“...so the one you like is popular...”

but his gaze looking directly into your eyes is too earnest, too honest. sincere. light reflects against the violet pools, a turbulent storm clouding within.

you neither nod nor shake your head. the bus arrives and you scramble to get on it.

scaramouche pulls you by the wrist when you nearly trip over the small set of stairs, leading you to a pair of seats. if you have something to be grateful for, it's that he doesn't try to talk anymore, using the pair of headphones resting by his neck for the rest of the ride.

itto:

itto barges into your life in a whirlwind of chaos.

it comes in the form of a stray volleyball plummeting towards your back, and the sheer force behind it knocks the wind out of your lungs. your knees buckle and you kneel on the floor, heaving violent gasps of air. the searing pain makes you wonder if you broke your spine.

distantly, a screech bellows from the court. a figure almost flies past the gymnasium's doors to check on your condition. “are you okay?!” it's gorou, you realize, his eyes blown wide with panic.

you don't want to worry him and say you feel as if you've permanently shattered a bone, but your back hurts like a bitch and you tell him so, “fuck me with a hammer, did a bowling ball crash into me or something?”

he ignores your interesting choice of words and answers, “my friends and i were playing volleyball, i'm so sorry! we didn't see you there at all!”

you steer your sight to the gymnasium entrance and oh my god. the doors aren't especially massive, and one of them is even closed, so what are the chances you walk past the small space and precisely get slammed by a stray ball? it's gotta be lower than a five star drop in gacha.

“can you stand?” gorou holds up a hand for you to take but you really can't move away from your fetal position without an explosion of ache jolting through your body. he's three seconds away from offering to carry you when someone else beats him to it.

“did you get hurt?!” a blur of white hair passes through your eyes, and you blink up at an unfamiliar man. gorou's friend, you're guessing, most likely the one who injured you too — that powerful force from the volleyball could only come from someone like him. tall, athletic, muscular. he's ripped. shredded. probably tore your muscle fibers too.

you don't let the pain cloud your mind. he didn't mean to kill you, you remind yourself. you stretch your lips into a smile, but it may just look like a grimace.

however, with a gentleness you didn't expect from him, he carefully hoists you on his back. oh. he's strong. and really warm.

...sticky with sweat too, but you'll try not to mind it too much...

“i'll carry you to the infirmary!”

your brain clears up from the haze of agony. “...wait, you don't have to-” before you get another word in, he rushes to the clinic, and you bypass many, many people. you settle for hiding your face as best as you can.

after proper treatment, he gives you a serious apology. you learn his name is itto, and you instantly recognize him. you've heard of the name itto before, that one popular student on a sports scholarship for basketball, but he's known more for goofing off with other sports teams. he's broken a lot of windows when he played baseball... and probably also broke bones of other people when he roughhoused too much on the soccer field. it's just that he's insanely talented, enough for most people to overlook his troublesome tendencies.

anyhow, famous or infamous, you can't tell yet. but he's very much willing to make up for your injury.

a free meal would honestly suffice just fine, but even after that, he insists on following you around, offering his assistance whenever needed. and, well. you have no problems with having an extra hand to help when you need to carry heavy equipment.

then he learns about the whole secret admirer thing and he proposes he'll help you lure him out.

“and how do you intend to do that...?” you inquire just as you enter the lecture hall, itto trailing after you and setting your bag on the table. his face splits into a grin and you have a vague idea of what he plans on doing.

he wraps an arm around your shoulders and tugs you close to his chest.

several things happen at once. a huff leaves xiao's mouth involuntarily. the crack of pencil lead breaking into pieces sounds from beside him, scaramouche holding the pen in his hand with too much force. the laughter ringing seconds prior comes to a halt, childe's face no longer displaying a bright smile.

itto blinks, retracting his arm. he didn't expect this outcome. “you have really overprotective friends, [name].”

as one would expect, you never got the results you want because too much people react to his provocations. it's tricky to pinpoint which one of them exactly is your secret admirer when they all like you the same. (this whole situation is truly absurd. it's not that you fed all these guys love potions by accident, right?)

itto doesn't dare upsetting gorou with this though, but with anyone else, it's free game. he begins calling you the most ridiculous pet names he could come up with, in the wrong place and in the wrong time.

my precious cupcake. my sweetest honeybun. little ducky. snugglepuff. they send shivers down your spine. (albedo is noted to be most affected when itto does this. it's not hard to imagine his brain cells frying when itto shamelessly calls you by such awful names.)

but then it becomes a habit. he's not doing it ironically anymore. his mouth had become accustomed to addressing you in manners only lovers do. more often than not, your friends would be caught by surprise when he wholeheartedly calls out “babe” to earn your attention and you turn towards him as if it's like the most natural thing in the world.

the cherry on top is when you attend one of his games for the basketball team.

it's not like you wore his varsity jacket to rub into everyone's faces the fact that you're dating. nor did you wear a cheerleader outfit of some sorts to show your passionate support as his significant other. you'd only come with gorou and kokomi, waving the banner the three of you made into the air as you were seated in the stands along the sides of the court.

when they won the finals, people on your side all rejoiced, flocking over to the team to praise them and offer their congratulations. thinking it would be better to stand by instead of joining the sweaty crowd, you stood aside with kokomi while gorou insisted on diving headfirst to the sea of people.

then a tall head approaches from afar. white hair, bright eyes, and a similarly blinding smile. “[name]!”

you didn't expect him to come to you. well. spares you the effort then. you throw a towel around his neck. “you're drenched in sweat. please don't touch me.”

he frowns. “not even a congratulatory hug?”

“not when you're this gross.”

at least that wasn't a stern no. itto grins. “wasn't i great out there?” he cards his fingers into his hair, fishing for compliments. you thought he had enough of those from the crowd currently swarming him. “i did a ton of 3 pointers. you saw me, right?”

“would you be disappointed if i said i was on my phone the whole time?”

immediately, his face twists into an offended look. of course that was a lie. you laugh and lean on the tips of your toes to reach his hair, ruffling it into a mess. “kidding. you were amazing, babe.”

that moment, you hadn't seen his expression clearly, occupied with patting his head. perhaps you hadn't even realized what you called him.

but to everyone around you, they could see it, plain to the eye — the shock in his gaze, the small twitch of his lips, the rise of his brows. then his cheeks flush a lovely color as he stares at you under his lashes with a hesitance as one would look at the sun, longing to admire its radiance yet afraid to be scorched by its brilliant rays.

he takes the leap anyways, staring at you as long as he wanted.

a lovestruck fool, keen to your touch.

your secret admirer.

relatively speaking, it's an ordinary day so far.

or as ordinary as it can be with a life as silly as yours. the past few weeks didn't feel real. you wish they weren't. everything has become too complicated. everyone kept on acting suspiciously and skirting around you, avoiding eye contact only to observe you from behind.

your day starts out seeing thoma when you open your front door, both of you telling each other good morning. you pass by kazuha having breakfast at a fast food joint. then you run into itto first thing in the morning, where he gladly helps in carrying a 3d model of your project into class. kaeya swings by to bring you coffee since you didn't get a chance to visit diluc's cafe, not having the extra hand to carry among the pile you already have. you make your daily greetings, saying hi to your friends and annoying xiao, as you always do. you nod towards scaramouche, and you even had enough courage to say hi first to childe too. when walking to another lecture hall, you happen to meet albedo, gorou and zhongli in separate times.

then at lunch time, when you briefly leave your belongings alone for a moment, someone leaves a packet of candies stuffed into your bag.

a sticky note is stuck on the surface, “please meet me at the physics classroom at 6 p.m.” scrawled in black ink.

the penmanship is good. it twists in elegant curls at the edges, brush strokes light and even.

you're able to recognize it at first glance, just as kaeya has told you.

you've seen it enough times to burn it in your brain. you've rigorously studied notes with that same handwriting, after all.

at 5:56, you stand in front of the classroom doors. in different circumstances, you'd have second thoughts before blindly following somebody's orders but you know who it's from, and it is decidedly not a murderer out to get you.

you collect an intake of breath, and twist the doorknob.

the last traces of sunlight bathe the room in a heavenly glow, a haze of aureate like shimmering flecks of gold. the billowing curtains hide the figure standing by the windowsill, the gentle breeze caressing your cheeks as you squint in its direction.

the figure moves of their accord, the sound of a book snapping shut following their actions.

albedo walks out, a serene smile displaying on his sun-kissed face.

“...hey.”

your heartbeat pounds in your ears. though you expected his appearance, it does nothing to dull your surprise.

“it's you.”

albedo had always admired you in quiet adoration.

he can't provide a clear explanation why his gaze is naturally drawn to you, turquoise eyes sweeping by your countenance before he realizes it. but it started out simple, as everything does: a curiosity piqued, when he heard of a person tagging along the supposedly unapproachable girls in school.

gossip comes and goes every season, and albedo knew it will pass soon. it's only a matter of time before they cling to another topic to babble about. most likely something kaeya did again, because he chases after trouble like a dog with a bone.

rumors are nasty. they paint you in malicious light, a person seeking attention among the most eye-catching lot. you wished you were on the same league as them, they said. you were only after the benefits of acquainting with those girls, they said.

but you were special on your own.

the way you carried yourself with confidence, against the judgmental stares and muddled opinions. the way you hadn't cared about what other people said, because you knew best about the situation and you were different from what they made you out to be. the way you genuinely loved your friends, sincerely wishing them happiness and doing everything you can to put a smile on their faces.

you were dazzling.

your laughter rang like bells in his ears, your grin a delight to see. your voice was melodious as you prattled on about the latest film you watched, or as you hummed a song with headphones covering your ears. your colorful expressions were amusing, a reflection of the feelings in your heart.

as the professor drones out during lessons, albedo finds himself distracted by his daydreams. what if he stood beside you? what if he could partake in conversations, not only able to hear your voice but you'd also hear his? what if he was the one faced with your smile, the reason of your smile, the one who made you feel such joy?

what if you permitted him to go further? to brush hands with you, to intertwine your fingers in simple intimacy, to curl his arms around your waist in a loose embrace, to press a kiss on the corner of your lips-

his ears burned in humiliation. what on earth was he thinking?

but forget “seeking attention from others,” it didn't even seem like you were interested in dating.

you showed indifference towards the idea, avoiding mixers and drinking parties. you also turned down quite a few dates. not to mention albedo wasn't even friends with you. he wasn't even sure if you knew of his name.

then you showed up at the library, and for the first time, albedo was thankful for the privilege nobody bothered his table, so you could sit alone together.

you became friends after his (despairingly embarrassing) insistent attempts to acquaint himself with you.

and he files away the little details, storing the small things about you in the corner of his mind. what you like, what you dislike. what days were you free, what things you prefer over the other.

it's a happiness he relishes in, the comfort of your friendship. but his greedy little heart yearns for more, for what you cannot give.

he tries anyway.

he's running out of time. you're always surrounded by people, whether you realize it or not. but he considers himself a selfish person. he doesn't want you to be taken away.

he may lose you entirely if he does it wrong.

but you're already here, eyes gleaming, lips pressed in a nervous tight line. the red dusting your cheeks leaves some hope for him, so he musters up his courage and simplifies the storm of feelings that eats away his heart each day:

“i like you, [name].”

Stolen Orbit

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: alien au, yandere jk, dark horror, enemies to lovers,

summary: you were meant for eradication with the rest of your planet—erased without a trace, just another speck in the galaxy's endless purge. but jeongguk saw you. fragile, insignificant... human. and something his kind had long forgotten stirred in him. Instead of erasing your existence, he took you, stole you from extinction and made you his.

now you live in a celestial cage, adored and possessed by something not quite capable of love, but desperate to keep you. he doesn't understand your fear, your resistance, but he craves your surrender all the more because of it. and if it takes breaking you to make you his completely... he will.

warnings: slow burn, mass extermination, alien jungkook forced captivity/proximity, psychological manipulation, stockholm syndrome, dubcon, smut, ritualistic copulation

word count: 5,857

The Beginning

The sky split open the night they came. You didn’t see it at first, no one did.

You brushed your teeth that night. Standing in your tiny bathroom beneath flickering fluorescent lights, humming faintly to music you can’t remember anymore. A song that cut out mid chorus when everything else did.

You paused, frowned, the mirror vibrated faintly, a shiver running across your reflection. Confused, you flicked the light switch. Nothing.

Reach for your phone. Dead.

Outside, the city dimmed as though someone had thrown a heavy blanket over the world. Buildings blinked out, window by window. Cars stalled silently in the streets.

Then came the sirens. Low and unearthly, vibrating deep in your chest rather than ringing in your ears.

You pressed your palms to the vanity, trying to pinpoint the source.

No alarms.

No helicopters.

No dogs barking or people yelling in the distance.

Just… stillness.

Until the sky broke.

You saw it from your window, face pale in the glass as blackness carved itself across the heavens like a wound tearing through flesh.

It didn’t glow or rage, it hummed.

And through that terrible void came beams of sterile white light.

You watched—paralyzed—as they swept through the streets, swallowing people whole. No fire, no blood, they simply ceased.

Your neighbor clutching her husband on the balcony. The delivery boy halfway up the stairs. A child pedaling frantically on his bicycle.

Gone.

Your mouth moved, but no sound came out. By the time your legs remembered how to function, chaos had bloomed outside.

Screams.

Desperate, useless prayers. People running without knowing where safety even existed.

It didn’t matter.

Your chest crushed inward as panic overtook you. You grabbed your phone, screaming into dead silence, dialing numbers that wouldn’t connect.

Your father’s voicemail.

Your sister’s disconnected line.

The beams moved without emotion, erasing everything they touched as easily as wiping chalk from a board. You don’t remember deciding to run. You don’t remember leaving your apartment. You only remember the maintenance tunnels.

You shoved yourself beneath concrete and metal, nails splitting and bleeding as you slammed the hatch shut above you.

And there you stayed.

For minutes.

Hours.

Days.

Time broke.

The silence that followed was not peaceful.

It was dead.

::::::::::::

When you woke, it was worse. Not because you survived. Not even because the world was gone.

But because you weren’t there anymore.

Your eyes opened to sterility. Smooth, seamless walls of faintly glowing white, like pearl carved from bone. No corners or seams. Just endless smoothness in every direction, as though the room itself were grown rather than built.

There were no windows.

No doors.

Only a faint humming, familiar and yet not. Not the gentle whir of an AC or the buzz of old light bulbs. This was deeper, vibrating at a frequency that scraped against the base of your skull. It sounded like something alive.

You sat up too fast, your breath catching painfully in your throat.

The bed beneath you was impossibly soft, molding to your shape like memory foam, but it didn’t feel right. It smelled faintly of something sweet and sterile, like a flower that had never known dirt.

You clutched the sheets tighter to your chest, your head spinning.

“Hello?” you rasped. No answer, just the never ending hum.

You tried again.

“HELLO?”

Your voice echoed strangely, rebounding without substance, as though the room itself were swallowing the sound.

A prickling sensation raced down your spine as you scrambled to your feet. Your legs were weak and shaky, like you hadn’t used them in days. You stumbled toward the nearest wall and pressed your palms flat against it.

It was warm.

Not cold like metal. Not smooth like glass.

Warm, as though the structure around you was some kind of living skin.

You recoiled instinctively.

“What the fuck,” you whispered.

Your chest heaved as you tried to remember.

Where were you?

Where was your family?

Had you died?

The last thing you remembered was hiding. Listening to the world end. And then— nothing. Your stomach twisted violently. Panic set in like lead poisoning, slow but lethal. You began slamming your fists against the wall.

“LET ME OUT!”

“WHERE AM I?!”

Nothing. No doors appeared, no voices responded. But the hum grew louder, though, it didn’t feel or sound angry. Not mechanical.

It sounded oddly interested.

You froze, pressing your back against the bed as a low chime resonated throughout the space. The wall directly across from you rippled, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a stone, and opened.

A doorway formed from nothing, and something stepped through.

At first, you thought he was wrong. Everything about him felt off in ways your mind couldn’t fully process.

Tall—towering—with limbs too graceful and too fluid to be comforting.

Skin pale and luminous, glowing softly from within, threaded with faint iridescence that shifted as he moved. Hair dark and weightless, littered with braids adorned with glimmering otherworldly metals, drifting as though underwater. Framing features too symmetrical, too perfect.

And his eyes.

They were unsettling, solid black at first glance.

But as he drew closer, they shifted—illuminated galaxies of silver, violet, and deep cosmic blues, swirling softly in patterns that hurt to stare at for too long.

You stumbled backward, your legs colliding with the bed as your pulse thundered.

He did not flinch, but instead stepped closer.

Graceful. Effortless.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Every primitive instinct screamed at you to run, but your body betrayed you. He tilted his head as he regarded you.

Not cruelly, not kindly. Curiously.

His voice slid across your mind rather than your ears.

“You are… fragile.”

You flinched, shaking your head as if a bug was caught in your hair. The words felt invasive, sliding into your consciousness without permission.

He stepped closer.

“I am Jeongguk.”

The name thrums with alien cadence, yet tastes almost familiar in your mind. His glowing eyes flicker faintly, as if pleased by your terror.

“You reside aboard Virexum,” he continues calmly. “This vessel collects and preserves what remains after eradication.”

“Eradication?” you whisper, voice hollow.

“Earth was terminated.”

A pause, as if considering how much you can process. “Your species had reached decay. Pollution. War. Rot. The Kaereth do not preserve weakness. We cleanse.”

The words hit harder than any weapon. You shake your head violently, sobbing openly now.

Your father, your sister. They’re…gone?

“No. No, you can’t— you didn’t—”

“It was mercy.”

His voice softens slightly, but not kindly. “Existence without evolution is entropy. The Kaereth do not allow suffering. We end it.”

You can’t breathe.

You drop to your knees, pressing your palms to your face as the horror swells and breaks inside you.

But he does not.

Tears flooded your vision, hot and blinding as your sobs shattered the sterile silence, ugly and helpless.

He watches you the way one might watch a dying star—quietly admiring, deeply fascinated.

When you finally stilled, he crouched before you, his claws retracting as he reached out. You recoiled instinctively, but he only touched your hair, brushing it back from your damp face with a tenderness that felt foreign.

“I did not erase you,” he murmurs.

You flinch, but his hand cradles your face delicately, tipping it up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

“You glowed,” he says, softer now. Almost enthralled.

“Amidst destruction, you clung to life. You burned brighter than the dying world around you. You will not suffer,” he said quietly. “You are mine now. You will be kept.”

Kept.

The word echoed as he stood again, gesturing to the room around you. “This is yours. Safe. Nourishing. You will adjust.”

You choked on disbelief.

“Why me?”

He paused.

And for the first time since he arrived, his expression shifted. His eyes darkened. His lips parted just slightly, almost pious.

“Because,” he murmured, as though speaking to himself, “you glowed brightest before death.”

With that, he turned and left, the wall sealing behind him in silence.

Leaving you alone with the hum, and the terrible, hollow truth that you were the last of your kind. And you were his now.

Whatever that meant.

Whatever that would become.

::::::::::::

You don’t remember sleeping, but when your eyes open again, raw and heavy from hours of silent sobbing, the room is dimmer. The walls, once glowing faintly like a moonlit sea, have softened to a deep, low shimmer, as though mimicking the concept of nighttime.

You’re still here.

Still locked in this dreamless nightmare of seamless walls and soundless air.

Still wearing the thin, pale shift you woke up in, neither warm nor cold, but irritating in its neutrality.

Still alone.

Except… you aren’t.

You feel him before you see him. The hum of the room changes. Deepens, sharpens as though the ship itself reacts to his presence.

You sit up slowly, wiping your face, throat dry from hours of ragged breathing.

When the wall ripples open again, it’s almost gentle. Less like a command, and more like the way curtains are drawn back to allow moonlight in.

And there he stands.

Jeongguk.

Alien. Impossibly elegant.

Unfathomably tall, framed in the soft glow as though carved from the bones of dying stars.

You freeze when his eyes meet yours, not because they’re cruel. But because they are intent.

Hungry.

Unblinking.

“You are awake.”

His voice slides across your mind again, as smooth as silk and as cold as space.

You swallow tightly, sitting rigid on the edge of the bed. Your legs are weak, but you fight to keep your spine straight.

“Please,” you whisper hoarsely, the word tasting hollow in your mouth. “Please just tell me what you want from me.”

He pauses.

“I have told you,” he says, moving forward, soundless as shadow. “You are mine. You will be kept. That is what I want.”

His words make your stomach twist violently. You push up from the bed, backing away until your shoulder blades press into the wall behind you.

“You can’t just— keep me!”

Your voice cracks, teetering between hysteria and disbelief.

“I’m not some… some thing you can collect!”

He stops mid step, considering.

His expression doesn’t change and yet, you can feel the weight of his scrutiny press down on you.

“Incorrect,” he says softly, as though correcting a child. “You are precious. Not a ‘thing’. Not to me.”

You open your mouth to argue, to scream, but your breath catches as something changes.

The bioluminescent lines across his body shift subtly. They pulse gently.

You don’t know why, but the sight makes your heart stutter.

Is that emotion?

Before you can question it, he raises one hand.

A low chime echoes through the room, and from the far wall, a smooth panel unfolds. It reveals a strange, device that emits fragrant steam.

Your stomach clenches painfully as your senses recognize what it is before your mind does.

Food.

Or, at least, something meant to replicate it. Soft, pale orbs float in an iridescent broth, giving off a smell not unlike fresh bread and honey.

It should be comforting.

But in this place, nothing feels comforting.

“You have not consumed nourishment in sixteen of your planet’s hours,” Jeongguk says calmly, gesturing toward the offering.

“Your body weakens. This is inefficient.”

You hesitate, eyeing the bowl warily.

“I’m not hungry,” you lie.

His head tilts, faintly reptilian in the gesture, and for the first time, a flicker of something sharper edges into his tone.

“You will eat.”

The words are not barked.

Not threatening.

But absolute.

You stare back at him, shaking slightly.

And when you make no move to comply, he steps forward and takes the bowl himself, walking closer until he is far too near. He crouches, folding gracefully in front of you like a predator settling in for the kill.

But instead of violence, he offers you the bowl directly.

Holding it out, waiting patiently.

“Eat,” he murmurs.

His eyes glow faintly as they fix on your face.

“For me.”

Your lips part helplessly. Something in the way he says it. Quiet, almost intimately, sends your skin crawling and burning at once.

You hate him.

You hate him.

You hate him.

And yet…

Your body obeys. Your fingers tremble as you accept the bowl, lifting one of the pale orbs to your lips.

It tastes… nothing like food.

But it dissolves softly on your tongue, leaving behind warmth that creeps slowly down your throat.

Not unpleasant, not pleasurable. Just… filling.

Sustaining.

You eat in silence, aware of his unwavering gaze as you do. When the bowl empties, he takes it back carefully, setting it aside.

“Better,” he says quietly.

You can’t meet his eyes.

The tears come again without permission, sliding hot and heavy down your face. You curl in on yourself, trying to muffle the broken sounds that escape your throat.

And then… a touch.

Featherlight at first, fingers ghosting against your temple, sliding into your hair.

You tense, but he does not press.

“You fear me.” His words are not questioning. “Good. It is natural. You are fragile.”

Your breath hitches painfully.

His hand slips lower, knuckles grazing your cheek with maddening delicacy.

“But fear will fade,” he continues softly. “In time, you will see. I am not cruel. I am constant. You will not be harmed. You will be… cherished.”

You turn your head away sharply and his fingers slip free, but you feel the weight of his focus intensify.

“You misunderstand your position,” he murmurs. “Earth is gone. You are alone in a universe that has no place for you. No one will come for you. No one can.”

You clench your fists tightly in your lap, the truth cutting deeper than his touch ever could.

“Why me?” you ask, voice breaking. “Why not let me die with the rest?”

He leans in slightly, his presence invading your every sense.

“Because when others knelt and wept… you raged,” he whispers. “You burned. You clung to life with ferocity. That is rare.”

His eyes soften, if such a thing is possible for something so alien.

“I collect what should not exist.” A faint smile, too serene, too knowing. “You are an anomaly. You are mine.”

You bite down hard on your lower lip, forcing back another sob.

“This isn’t cherishing,” you whisper bitterly.

“This is prison.”

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he rises slowly, towering over you once more. His hands fold neatly behind his back. The perfect image of composed, regal authority.

“No,” he agrees softly. “This is preservation.”

He steps back toward the door, but his voice reaches you again as it ripples open to accept him.

“Rest. I will return when you are calmer.”

A pause.

“And eventually… you will thank me.”

Then he is gone.

And you’re eft in the silence once more—but not alone.

Not really.

Because his scent still lingers. His voice still hums faintly in your mind. And worse, you realize part of you is already listening for his return.

::::::::::::

You don’t see him again for three cycles. You don’t know how you know this. There’s no sun here, no night and day, no ticking clock on sterile walls—but your body remembers.

It remembers the ache of hunger.

The slow unraveling of sanity when left in isolation. The bone deep dread that blooms in the absence of any other voice but your own.

For seventy two hours, maybe more, maybe less, you are alone.

The ship hums softly at all hours, the walls glowing faintly like a slumbering beast. Your room, if you can even call it that, remains locked.

No doors.

No windows.

Just blank, seamless walls and a bed that conforms to your every restless shift.

Food appears twice, delivered silently through a hidden panel in the wall, but you ignore it. You sit curled on the bed, stomach clenching painfully, but you refuse to give in.

Not again, not after last time.

He’d fed you like a child.

Watched you with something sickly tender in his eyes while you cried and ate and fell apart in front of him.

No.

You will not make this easy for him. Your anger is all you have left. The only shield between you and the quiet, desperate terror that creeps in when you allow yourself to feel anything else.

So you don’t eat.

You don’t sleep.

You don’t talk to the empty room, no matter how loud the silence becomes.

You wait.

Because you know he’ll come back, of course he will.

Men like him, things like him, always come back.

And when he does, you are ready.

—

He appears on the fourth cycle.

Not like before, there’s no grand entrance. No rippling doors or ominous hums.

You wake to find him already there, standing at the foot of the bed like a phantom who has always belonged in your nightmares. He watches you in silence, arms folded behind his back, eyes glowing softly in the low light.

You glare at him, lips cracked from dehydration.

He says nothing.

“Fuck you.”

Your voice scrapes like gravel against your raw throat, but it feels good to say.

Good to bite, even if your teeth barely graze.

His head tilts slightly, that same alien gesture that makes your stomach turn.

“You are weakening,” he observes softly, almost clinically. “Your refusal to consume nourishment endangers your cellular structure. This is illogical.”

You laugh, sharp and brittle.

“Good. Let me die, then.”

For the first time, his expression shifts, not dramatically, but his brows knit slightly, his mouth drawing in the faintest sliver.

He doesn’t like that.

“Negative,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “I will not allow termination.”

You push yourself up on shaking arms, baring your teeth in something that feels more animal than human.

“I don’t belong to you. You can’t keep me like this. Feeding me, locking me in this—this cage! I’ll starve before I let you win.”

His eyes narrow faintly, glowing brighter. “You misunderstand,” he murmurs, his voice lowering dangerously.

“This is not a contest,” he moves closer, slow, deliberate steps that make your pulse spike and your limbs tremble. “This is inevitability.”

You scramble off the bed, stumbling backward until your spine hits the wall. His presence consumes the room, filling every atom of available space, as though the ship itself responds to his shifting mood.

He stands before you now, towering and still.

“You may resist,” he allows softly. “You may cry, scream, refuse… for a time.”

His hand rises, not threatening, but steady as his fingers gently, maddeningly, brush your jaw. The touch sends a bolt of revulsion and something more complicated spiraling through you.

“But you will acclimate.”

His voice vibrates softly in your bones, dangerous in its certainty.

You slap his hand away, the sound cracking through the air like gunfire.

For a moment, nothing happens.

He simply stares at you, the tips of his fingers still poised where they had been, motionless, as though stunned.

And then…he withdraws, silently. Without anger or words. Simply steps back, gaze unreadable, and turns for the door.

Panic flashes hot and instant through your chest. “No—” you gasp, confused by your own terror at his sudden departure.

He stops just before the wall seals behind him. For the first time, his voice emerges aloud, not through your mind, but spoken.

Low.

Flat.

Cold.

“You have chosen isolation.”

Then he’s gone, and so is everything else.

The hum of the ship fades, the lights dim to near darkness. The temperature drops, not enough to freeze, but enough to chill your skin, to make your breath puff faintly in the air.

The bed retracts into the wall.

The food panel vanishes.

You are left standing in nothing.

Cold.

Alone.

—

For hours—maybe days—you are abandoned to the hollow, oppressive silence.

Your tears dry.

Your voice fades from hoarseness to nothing. Your legs give out, and you curl on the hard floor, clutching yourself tightly as sleep eludes you in the endless dark.

You hate him.

You hate him.

You hate him.

But when the wall finally ripples open again, soft, warm light spilling through and his tall, silent figure appears in the doorway once more, you sob.

Relief.

Humiliation.

Rage.

You don’t understand which emotion is which anymore.

He crosses the threshold slowly, eyes glowing faintly in gentle shades of blue and pink. Soft, careful, like a predator soothing prey after the kill.

Without speaking, he kneels before you, gathering your shaking body into his arms. You don’t fight him this time.

You can’t.

You’re too cold.

Too broken.

His hand strokes your hair as he murmurs something low in his language, soft syllables that sound like lullabies from a galaxy you will never see.

“I will not harm you,” he whispers, pressing his lips against your temple. “Do not make me hurt you through absence again; I ache.”

Your fingers clutch his robe weakly, sobs muffled against his chest.

“I hate you,” you whisper, but it’s empty.

Weak.

He hums softly.

“I know.”

He pulls you closer, cradling you as though you are delicate and rare, because to him, you are.

“And yet you need me.”

You can’t argue.

Not right now.

Not when his warmth is the only thing that feels real in this endless void of stars and silence.

::::::::::::

You don’t sleep, even when your body begs you to.

Sleep would mean trusting the silence, surrendering.

So you lay awake on the strange, pliant surface that the ship has provided. Not quite a bed, but softer than the floor that left your bones aching and cold during your punishment.

You are still recovering from that.

The ache of isolation.

The terror of being truly, utterly alone.

But more than that… you are recovering from the humiliation.

Because when he returned, when he found you curled and trembling, teeth chattering and face raw from tears, you clung to him.

You didn’t mean to.

Your body simply reacted, desperate and starved for anything warm and familiar.

Your fingers twisted into the dark folds of his robes, your face pressed into the cool planes of his chest, and you wept like a creature broken open.

And Jeongguk did nothing but hold you.

No words.

No threats.

No cruel satisfaction.

Just stillness.

Just presence.

His hands stroked your back, slow and repetitive, the way you imagine one might soothe a terrified animal.

His head bent low, his breath ghosting against your temple as he whispered words in a language your mind couldn’t translate, soft and melodic, making you feel drunk with the weight of them.

Even now, hours later, his scent still lingers on your skin.

Warm and metallic.

Alien and oddly sweet.

Like lightning woven into silk.

You hate that you find comfort in it now. You hate yourself more than you hate him, but the truth is suffocating in its simplicity.

You needed him.

And he knew it.

—

The door ripples again, seamlessly and without warning. You stiffen instinctively, heart leaping to your throat.

But when Jeongguk steps through, he does not bring the same oppressive energy he had before.

There is no towering, silent menace, or sharp glint of irritation or frustration in his starlit eyes.

Instead…he looks calm, serene, even.

His robes have changed. Still dark, but lighter now. Softer. He wears no armor, or sharp adornments. His hair hangs loose, gleaming faintly in the ship’s low bioluminescence.

He looks… domestic.

If such a word could ever apply to him.

The ship itself seems to respond, the walls brightening subtly, soft, ambient pulses that make the air feel warmer somehow.

More intimate.

Less clinical.

It unnerves you more than his previous coldness.

“Good,” he says quietly, his voice sliding into your consciousness with practiced ease. “You remain.”

You glare at him, but your body betrays you again, relaxing minutely at the familiar cadence of his presence.

“I didn’t exactly have a choice, did I?” you mutter bitterly.

Jeongguk tilts his head slightly, considering.

“No,” he agrees softly. “But you remained nonetheless.”

The phrasing makes something twist painfully low in your stomach. Before you can respond, he approaches, slow, careful steps as though approaching something fragile.

Which, in his eyes, you suppose you are.

He lowers himself gracefully beside you on the bed like surface, close enough that you feel the subtle hum of his energy brushing against your skin.

“I have observed,” he begins, tone thoughtful. “Prolonged isolation causes distress beyond simple physical discomfort in your species.”

You scoff, wrapping your arms around your knees protectively.

“Yeah. That’s called being human.”

He hums softly, as though filing the information away like a precious resource.

“I have no desire to harm you, little star,” he murmurs, and his hand lifts, pausing in the air between you, as if seeking silent permission.

You don’t give it.

But you don’t pull away when his fingers brush lightly across your hair, tucking it back from your face.

His touch is careful.

Maddening.

“I desire only your peace.”

You choke on a bitter laugh.

“Peace? You abducted me, destroyed my planet, locked me in this ship and act like that’s kindness.”

His expression softens, strangely fond despite your venom.

“You misunderstand,” he says gently.

“I did not destroy your planet. I spared you from its fate.”

His fingers trail down, brushing against the curve of your cheek, the line of your jaw, and you shiver despite yourself.

“You were meant to end,” he continues softly, voice almost hypnotic. “But you burned. You raged. You survived.”

His thumb strokes softly against your lower lip, a touch so tender you forget, briefly, how much you despise him.

“You are rare,” he murmurs. “And rare things are not discarded. They are treasured.”

The words settle in your chest like poison wrapped in silk. You should recoil, should slap his hand away, curse him until your throat gives out.

But instead…you close your eyes.

Just for a moment.

Just long enough to feel the soft press of his palm against your cheek, anchoring you in this strange, terrible reality.

He takes your silence as permission.

Of course he does.

“Good,” he breathes, satisfaction humming softly in his voice. “You are learning.”

You force your eyes open, glaring weakly at him.

“Learning what?”

His lips curl faintly, not quite a smile, but something disturbingly close.

“To accept.”

You hate him.

You hate him.

But when he shifts closer, pressing his body flush to yours, wrapping an arm carefully around your shoulders, you don’t pull away.

You are cold.

You are tired.

You are alone.

And he is warm.

He is steady.

He is here.

You rest your head against his shoulder before you can think better of it, disgust warring with relief in your chest.

Jungkook says nothing, but the ship hums softly around you, glowing faintly in shades of rose and gold. Contentment radiating from every surface.

You don’t realize how tightly you’ve curled against him until his mouth brushes the crown of your head.

“You will see soon,” he murmurs, words sinking deep into your bones. “I am not your enemy. I am your only constant.”

You fall asleep before you can argue. And for the first time since Earth fell, you sleep through the cycle without waking to scream.

::::::::::::

You wake to warmth.

Not the clinical, neutral temperature of the ship. That engineered comfort that feels more like a lack of discomfort than real heat but true warmth.

Soft.

Heavy.

Alive.

For a moment, your mind refuses to grasp why.

You are tucked beneath something impossibly smooth and weighty , fabric like liquid silk draped over your body, cocooning you in decadent softness.

And behind you, against the curve of your spine, something solid.

Firm.

Breathing.

A heartbeat thrums, steady and deep, so close it vibrates through your back and into your bones.

Not the ship.

Him.

Jeongguk.

You go rigid before you can think. Your hands clench the sheets, alien and faintly iridescent m, as you strain to control your breathing.

You are being held, no, you are being kept.

His arm is heavy across your waist, claws retracted but still unsettling, his fingers resting just beneath your ribcage with terrifying intimacy. His face is pressed lightly to the crown of your head, long hair brushing against your temple like ghost silk.

For several agonizing seconds, you debate your options.

Pull away.

Wake him.

Escape—if that’s even possible anymore.

But as your heart hammers and your stomach twists, you realize something worse.

You don’t want to move.

Because for the first time in what feels like forever, you are not cold, you are not alone, or terrified of what silence might bring.

You are simply… held.

And that, somehow, feels more dangerous than anything he’s done so far.

He stirs before you can make a decision.

The shift is subtle, the faint tightening of his grip, the softening of his breath, the way the ship’s hum lifts faintly, mirroring the change in atmosphere.

Then his voice slides into your mind, quieter than usual.

Thicker.

“You are awake.”

You flinch slightly, but he does not move away. Instead, he exhales slowly, the sound almost… content.

“You slept well,” he murmurs aloud this time, his voice low and textured, as though speaking in words costs him more effort than using your mind.

“You did not cry.”

Shame burns through you instantly. You twist beneath his arm, trying to put space between your bodies, but his hold tightens slightly.

“No,” he says softly, head dipping lower so that his breath brushes the shell of your ear. “Stay.”

Your heart races painfully.

“Why?” you whisper, hating the smallness in your voice.

His answer is simple.

“Because you do not truly wish to leave.”

You freeze.

He doesn’t say it cruelly.

He doesn’t taunt or mock.

He speaks it as though it is a fact he has long since accepted and is merely waiting for you to do the same.

Before you can respond, he shifts, drawing back just enough to allow you to turn and face him. The sight steals the words from your throat.

Up close, he is devastating.

More than alien.

More than beautiful.

His features are carved from something you do not have words for, too elegant to be called soft, too precise to be human. His silver violet eyes glow faintly in the dimness, framed by dark lashes that cast delicate shadows across high cheekbones.

But it is the way he looks at you that truly leaves you breathless.

Not with desire.

Not with hunger.

With… possession. As though you are the first and only star in his universe.

You turn your face away, pulse hammering.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

He does not obey.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m—”

You falter, teeth sinking into your lower lip.

“Yours,” you finish bitterly.

His hand moves, fingers brushing your jaw, guiding you gently to meet his gaze again.

“You are mine,” he murmurs softly, as though stating something as mundane as the time of day. “You remain only because I desire it. You live because I allow it. You breathe because I have given you this sanctuary.”

The words are cruel in logic, yet his voice is gentle.

You tremble beneath the weight of them, but he only continues, thumb stroking softly against your cheekbone.

“But you do not need to fear that.” He leans closer, voice dropping lower, coaxing you like one would soothe a frightened animal.

“You do not need to fight so hard. You are cared for. Sheltered. Treasured.”

You want to scream. Want to tell him how wrong he is, how suffocating this is.

But your body remembers the days alone in the dark.

The cold.

The ache.

The crushing silence that left you frantic and desperate for any presence at all. And your body, traitorous and desperate, does not want to return to that.

So instead, you say nothing.

You simply let him hold you.

Let his touch stroke soothing patterns against your spine.

Let your eyes slip closed, not because you want him, but because for now… he feels safe.

—

The days that follow blur together.

Jeongguk becomes a near constant presence, no longer leaving for long stretches. He is always near. Quietly watching, quietly touching, quietly existing in every corner of your small world.

Meals are no longer delivered in silence.

Now, he brings them himself, sitting beside you as you eat, observing your reactions with soft fascination, as though memorizing every flicker of expression.

He asks questions, though never demands answers.

“Why do you frown when eating this?”

“Does this flavor please you more?”

“Do you enjoy these colors?”

It’s strange. Stranger still when you find yourself answering.

Not out of obligation or out of fear. But because the emptiness left by silence is worse.

You talk quietly, giving short answers at first, but over time, they grow longer. You explain foods you miss. You describe music, books, seasons. You speak of snow and rain and laughter, and though he listens with alien detachment, he seems oddly enchanted by your words.

“You will show me,” he says one cycle, after you describe autumn leaves falling in lazy spirals.

You blink at him in confusion.

“Earth is gone.”

His head tilts.

“Virexum can make what you desire.”

You do not know whether to be horrified or grateful. But when the next cycle arrives, your room transforms.The walls ripple and shift until soft amber light filters through projected trees.

Illusions of wind rustle leaves that glow faintly gold and crimson.

You laugh, startled and disbelieving.

And Jeongguk…

He smiles.

Not wide.

Not human.

But soft, and faintly victorious.

As though every small inch you offer him, every smile, every word, every sigh, is another chain wound tightly around your wrists.

—

It happens one night as you sit side by side on the bed, eating quietly. Your hands brush when reaching for the same dish and you both freeze.

The contact is brief.

Innocent.

But it lingers. His fingers slide softly over yours, slow and intentional as though mapping the shape of them.

You don’t pull away, pulse racing, your cheeks flush, but still, you let it happen.

Something shifts in his gaze.

It’s not hunger, not cruelty…longing.

The moment stretches and the ship grows impossibly quiet, as though the walls themselves are holding their breath. You’re the one who breaks it, pulling your hand away with a nervous laugh that sounds too loud in the stillness.

Jeongguk says nothing.

But his eyes follow you all the same, glowing softly in the dim amber light.

Watching.

Always watching.

—

That night, as you lay down and let him pull you close, his arms wrapping securely around your body as though sealing you in, you don’t resist.

You let him tuck your head beneath his chin, your hands curl lightly against his chest.

And when he whispers against your hair, voice low and factual, “you are becoming mine.”

You don’t argue.

Because deep down, beneath the remnants of your rage and sorrow, beneath the tangled mess of shame and longing—

You know he is right.

two | masterlist

Inspired by @myuni-moon, @willowedwisteria, @lovelornobsessions, @versadies <3333

Warnings: graphic description of violence.

Death has cast her gaze on your wretched body.

Each puff of breath you take burns in your tired lungs, your legs long since unable to carry you any further. You were so tired but you still—

You still wanted to live.

A choked sob catches in your throat, raw and painful. Your hands scrabble over stone and dirt and snow, desperate for anything but that useless, pathetic hope is crushed into a hundred pieces when a foot pressed down, hard, on your thin wrist.

Xiao's golden eyes peer at you with just a twinge of pity but you don't want his pity, you want his mercy. Mercy from a painful death and from the hatred you'd been a recipient to ever since you found yourself in Genshin Impact, wonder and excitement all but lost when someone wearing your face declared you an imposter and demanded your head on a platter.

Cracked lips fall open, a gasp tearing from your chest like tearing flesh off bones. Your tears blur his face into another unrecognisable person, ready to be your judge, jury and executioner for a crime uncommitted yet blamed all the same on you.

Hands, golden lined and colder than Dragonspine itself clasp around your neck faster than you can sob out more pathetic pleas. You swear you can feel Zhongli bending the bones from his grip alone, your windpipe slowly, achingly giving way under his fingers yet it doesn't compare to the sheer pain you feel at the hatred in his eyes when he stares down at you.

Only a sick gurgle escaped past your lips, just as ugly as what you've become.

"Thank you, darlings," the monster wearing your skin finally appears in all their splendid glory and followed by more "loyal acolytes", smiling so serenely you would've thrown up what little food you'd eaten had it not been for your current predicament. "Still not going to repent? To ask for my frogiveness? To shed this shameful skin of yours?"

This skin is mine! You want to shriek. You want to claw at their eyes and their stolen body to see if behind it all was blood and bone or just an empty abyss. This skin is mine!

"Xiao?"

His attention is immediately on them, even the pity now long gone. You are still staring at Zhongli's eyes and it feels as though the sun itself has turned its back on your. "Yes, your excellency? What can this lowly servant do for you?"

Your monstrous twin sighs, as though they feel genuinely bad. Lies, lies, lies, liar—

"Kill them for me. Make their last breath be a scream."

Zhongli's hands falls away and you are not even granted the privilege of one breath before Xiao's spear— the one you gave him— is lodged deep in your stomach.

You scream just as the beast wearing your flesh demanded— your scream is liquid horror; it is a sound deep from the corners of the abyss where monsters lurk and the sun doesn't shine; your scream lets him— lets everyone— know that by cutting you, they are cutting themselves; lets them know that that true sound is one that can be found within them, yet by their own hands they've blackened every vision oh happiness and joy you could have shown them.

Golden ichor covers the ground, your bruised body, your hands. You cough it up your raw throat and beyond the haze of painpainpain, you feel even more hands descend on your writhing body. They plea and beg and grovel to you and even beyond that, there is another shriek but you can no longer tell if it is your or somebody else's.

You meet Xiao's golden eyes, and they stare at you in muted horror and regret. You want to laugh but all you do is choke on even more blood as you're picked, as a maelstorm of healing hydro and anemo surrounds you.

Death has cast her gaze on your wretched body, yet she turns away from you all the same.

did anyone ask for fatui found family hc’s?? no???? too bad anyway here’s my 300 page doc on why the harbingers + the tsaritsa are the ultimate villain found family trope and in this essay i will—

Keep reading

taps fingers so that sagau huh 👀 i like the sub troupe where people think reader is an imposter and try to exterminate them for their blasphemy but what about one where reader runs into like the harbingers or the abyss prince/princess while injured and are recognised as the god they are so that by the time the rest realise what theyve done reader is smitten with where they are. like childe jokes around with them and rough houses gently bc he sees readers eyes light up at being treated normally, the reader loves to curl up on scaramouches lap and bask in being one of the only ones to hear the balladeers singing voice, they find snezhneya to be where they feel safest and are terrified to leave its borders w/o a harbinger or the tsaritsa hersef by their side?

HNGHN YESS I love this au! A few other writers have also made amazing stuff with this idea! I hope you enjoy this!! <3 I ended up writing about the fatui since i wanted to make this somewhat coherent and couldnt tie the abyss into it, but i'd totally love to write abt the abyss too!! (I really enjoyed writing this, miiight write more abt it if i have any ideas)

cw: mention of injury, trauma

Length: 1.9 k

Warm as the ice and snow

Perhaps it was because it was the first act of kindness you'd been blessed with since being forcefully flung into this strange, magical world. Perhaps it was because of the bitter resentment burning in the back of your throat like a vile poison. Whatever it was - it was the first time you'd felt - well, content since arriving in Teyvat.

You still recall the aches jabbing at your body - unsure where you were hurt, since everything ached agonizingly. Every bruise, cut - and especially the searing words echoing within your mind - voiced by ones you used to love.

Darkness.

Hallow, cold, darkness.

A never ending abyss of agony followed by numbness.

Tufts of fur ticking your nose - cool breezes brushing against your skin.

Wet flakes of snow, gracefully gliding down from the skies - only for their brief, yet beautiful life, to come to an end as they landed upon you and spread out into tiny droplets of water.

Strong arms carrying you in them, pressing you against a broad chest tightly - as though you'd fade away if they eased up their stronghold.

The crunching of snow beneath their feet. Anxious huffs of breath next to your face as the pace sped up.

Warm, plush furs underneath your frame - cradling your broken form and enveloping you in their inviting warmth. Pulling you down to sink into the softness below.

A cool, yet gentle touch upon your forehead.

Delicate fingers rolling across your skin, feather-light in their touches as they traced every mark upon your face with a barely-there caress.

"Thank you for bringing them to me."

A forehead pressed against yours - skin much too cold to be human, yet a warmth in the regal, quiet voice that spoke out.

Gradually, your heavy lids let up and allowed your eyes to open. You were greeted by a high ceiling - gratuitous silver embellishments lining the walls - crowned by diamonds that glistened like ice in the sun. Every corner of the room was decorated lavishly in cool silvers and blues - the only warmth oozing from the fire roaring near your bed.

A large bed - furs covering every surface of it and silky, transparent curtains drawn around it - fuzzing up your vision of the surrounding room ever so slightly.

Gently, careful not to irritate your injuries further, you sat up, allowing heavy duvets to slide off your form and crumple in a heap beside the bed.

Where on earth were you?

With a shaky hand, you reached for the airy textile of the curtains.

Your arm was wrapped in bandages - upon further inspection, much of your body was. The dull ache remained - but your wounds ached much less - as though a numbing and cooling agent had been applied upon them.

Before you could even attempt to climb out of the bed - the large, looming doors of the room swung open and a small crowd flowed into the room like rushing spring waters - a quiet murmur hovering around them.

You stared in awe at the people before you.

Childe, his blue gaze focused solely on you - a sincere relief upon his features?

The familiar wide-brimmed hat of an unforgettable Balladeer peeking out from behind the others?

But first and foremost - your eyes fixated upon the unfamiliar woman at the head of the group.

Icy, pale blue eyes that stared into your soul - silver-white hair enclosed in beautiful intricate braids and a shimmering tiara fixed within her hair. Her long, blue robes hugged her figure - the silver embroidery gleaming when the fire cast light upon her.

She was beautiful.

"Your Grace," she whispered, her voice like a melody sung out in a church - reverent and wise as much as it was enchanting.

She approached your stunned figure - a coldness hovering around her - something you should have figured, given the symbol of cryo worn around her delicate neck.

"We're so glad to see you're awake at last."

You hadn't expected to be held out a loving hand by the villains of the story. The harsh - merciless Tsaritsa and her loyal Harbringers. But you were glad they brought you into their loving arms within the nation of Snezhnaya - showering you in attention, gifts - worship as though you were the most delicate and valuable gem within the universe. Tending to your aches with soothing remedies and the best doctors.

A god - held in higher regard than even the royal and beautiful Tsaritsa herself - who was glued to your side, her mesmerizing eyes always upon you.

At first - you had been skeptical.

Skeptical, when Childe - Tartaglia, kneeled before you and kissed your bruised knuckles with the utmost adoration welling within the pools that were his eyes.

Frightened, when Scaramouche - the unpredictable and short-tempered Balladeer of the Harbringers allowed you to see a softness within his hardened shell - worshipping the very ground you walked in.

Intimidated, when the Tsaritsa lovingly guided you around the palace, showing you the gnosis she had acquired - promising to make the ones who hurt you suffer.

But slowly - you felt yourself melting in the company of your newfound friends, despite the ever cold winds and snow of Sznezhnaya.

"Your Grace, would you like to accompany me to go fishing?" the cheerful voice of Childe called out to you as you sat on your window sill, cocooned in a blanket.

You glanced up at him, a rare, faint smile upon your lips.

You'd been bundled up in the warmest fur coats, elemental magic keeping you warm as you rode a carriage to a nearby lake.

There, Childe had been quick to get to work, showing off his skills in a myriad of ridiculous ways. Shooting arrows at the fish - swooping them up with the claws of his Foul Legacy form - anything to keep the light in your eyes glowing.

Finally, as he attempted a complex series of tricks to catch his next fish - you allowed a laugh to bubble in your chest - pure and earnest, and vulnerable.

The icy waters of the lake had no effect on the Harbringer as he stared in awe, a dumb grin upon his own face as he relished in the heavenly sound.

He made it his mission to coax that sound out from you as often as possible, after that.

Even as he shivered in bed for days after that, a harsh fever riding over his body from the incident at the lake - he minded little, as your divine presence kept him company - slowly opening up to him. Telling him about your life before Teyvat.

He was smitten.

You found it strange, at first, how the Balladeer followed you around constantly, his eyes always on you. It was a little intimidating, given how two-faced he had the capacity to be. That being said, you were quite liking this new side of him you were unearthing.

Your head spun as you escaped your bed, throwing off the restricting covers as memories of your time being hunted crushed you beneath their degrading heel. You were desperate for air - desperate for freedom - for escape. It hurt so much and your legs could only carry you so far in the dark corridors of the palace.

You were brought to earth by soft hands gently grasping yours.

The room was barely lit by violet glow of an electro vision. Your panicked eyes bore into those of the Balladeer - and despite your best efforts, you found yourself sobbing quietly.

The usually angry Harbringer bit down his fury - fury at those that reduced your divine form to tears in the dead of night - and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close in an awkward attempt at comfort.

He guided you to the sofa in his room, allowing you to sit upon his lap as you wept - not minding the tears staining his clothing as you clutched onto his shirt.

All that mattered to him was you.

You allowed the faint scent of incense imbued within his clothes to soothe you - lulling you to a state of exhaustion. His lips moved faintly - a whisper of an ancient lullaby flowing from them, until finally, you were asleep once more, guarded by the hands of the ruthless Country Destroyer.

After that - you slowly began to seek his presence more. His tough demeanor would wither away in your presence, becoming putty in your hands whenever you were around.

He could go from degrading his subordinates to kneeling before you - eager for your attention - ready to hold you - to allow you to hold him - anything you wanted. Behind his back, few even commented that they could almost see him wagging a nonexistent tail when you were around.

The Tsaritsa was always so gentle - you found yourself getting attached quickly. You were well aware of her jagged, icy nature towards those she deemed problems, but you cared little when her gentle hands placed diamonds around your neck and sang praises to you in a soft voice. Anything you may have needed or wanted - it was yours.

She'd play with your hair gently as she stood by your throne - her throne, as you had told her many times, only for her to disagree. She seated you upon it, smiling gently as she told you of her plans for the archons. Plans for those that hurt you.

Clearly, once the archons and their nations became aware of the fact that the imposter they had attempted to vanquish was indeed you, it was far too late.

Offerings and apology letters were discarded - shredded by the ravenous wolves that were the Harbringers. All to eager to let out their anger towards your transgressors by unleashing it upon their gifts.

When they were foolish enough to enter Sznezhnaya - naïve enough to attempt confronting you - they were denied any access to you. The Tsaritsa was very thorough in her defense systems.

That being said, they were subjugated to witnessing you bloom with infectious joy in the arms of the common enemy.

From a distance - never too close. Never close enough to be seen by you - another thing the Tsaritsa and her army made sure of - but close enough to see you.

See you allowing Childe to pick you up - twirl you in the air while calling you not by your title, but your name. It sent Zhongli into a spiral of despair.

See you sat on the lap of the Electro archon's discarded puppet - affectionately calling him nicknames you made up on the spot, or occasionally leaning against his chest as his edges softened only for you, singing gently for only you to hear. It broke Ei's heart.

See you pampered by the Tsaritsa - watch laughter simmer and spill from your lips as you were entertained by the beautiful flames of La Signora. Suffer as you held hands with the Cryo archon, gifting her your attention and company as she showed you the sights of Sznezhnaya proudly - a knowing glint in her eyes as she sensed her enemies nearby.

It was enough of a punishment on it's own - sentenced to see you happier without them. Happy and safe. Showing your most vulnerable state around the enemies.

But it wasn't enough for the Tsaritsa, or her army of Fatui.

No.

They would tear down every nation if they must - anything to see you smile. Anything to vanquish the nightmares still plaguing you permanently.

Those that dared harm you would certainly live and die to regret it.

The Worshiper Series

Long ago, there were gods who resided in Heaven — existing to watch over and protect the universe. Each of them had their own flaws, trials and tribulations; some which were more sparing than others, but these are their stories…

► Important Note: each of these can be read independently on their own, but for best understanding and comprehension, read in the order below from top to bottom.

Goddess of Light and Life!OC x God of Moon!Yoongi

► 9.4k | 90% Angst, 10% Fluff

► The universe was created with four gods to rule and watch over it. But when you take the crown and become the god of all gods, what the future holds is something you never wanted to know.

➜ Read Here

Human!OC x Human!Hoseok

► 19.5k | 85% Angst, 15% Fluff | War!AU

► The Great War was started by one mortal. One man that was not blinded by prayer and devotion. A peasant who knew that the gods were cruel. And through his suffering, he had one ambition — to kill a god.

➜ Read Here

Goddess of Sky!OC x Sacrifice!Taehyung

► 35k | 80% Fluff, 20% Angst

► He wonders why the sky doesn’t cry for him. After all, he is a sacrifice to a god whose name he never heard of. A sacrifice to a god that everyone had forgotten about. A god who controls weather through emotions.

➜ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

??!OC x God of Wine!Jimin

► 9.5k | 55% Angst, 40% Fluff, 5% Smut

► The God of Wine is carefree and indulgent. Unlike many others who depend on pride and dignity, he does not care that he is not a powerful god. But when he stumbles upon a forest in the mortal realm, he discovers what desperation and anguish means.

➜ Read Here

Ghost!OC x King of the Underworld!Namjoon

► 5.4k | 95% Angst, 4% Fluff, 1% Smut

► The King of the Underworld was denounced and exiled from Heaven as a god. But with your help, he may rise to power once more and claim his rightful throne.

➜ Read Here

Pirate!OC x God of Sea!Jungkook

► 16.3k | 98% Fluff, 2% Angst

► You are the greatest pirate to set sail across the ocean and self-proclaimed ruler of the ocean. But when the true God of the Sea catches wind of your hubris, he punishes you — taking your legs and turning it into a tail.

➜ Read Here

Goddess of Love!OC x God of Sun!Seokjin

► 15.5k | 70% Fluff, 20% Angst, 10% Smut

► After the war, the God of Sun married the Goddess of Love to exemplify that such devastation will never occur again. But you knew his affections were untrue and fled. After a century, Seokjin goes looking for you to bring you back home.

➜ Read Here

Additional Information: Worshiper Series fun facts can be found here.

otherworldly ~ coraline!au (pt.2)

PAIRING ~ jimin x reader

GENRE ~ horror/thriller, smut (not in this chapter)

WORD COUNT ~ 11k

SUMMARY ~ when you discover a tiny door in your home that leads to a much better version of your own life, it seems too good to be true. little do you know, the man posing as your boyfriend may be a lot more dangerous than you care to admit. and he is NOT intent on letting you leave.

WARNINGS ~ profanity, supernatural themes, mentions of sex, depiction of an unhealthy relationship, obsessive behaviors, imprisonment, disturbing images, needles, spiders/insects, slight bodily mutilation

A/N ~ part 2 of 3. the ending is really rushed i’m sorry 😂 thank you all for being so patient and for all the love and support! make sure to leave a comment or review!

copyright © 2019-2020 under sinning-on-a-sunday. do not repost or translate my works without my explicit permission. this includes stealing my ideas/plot.

READ PART 1 HERE

It wasn’t a dream, you know that now. Dreams don’t leave hickeys.

You had to admit, you groaned out loud after waking up in your own bed. Your empty bed.

It felt like the universe was mocking you. Here you were, thrust back into your lackluster, frustratingly boring life after getting a taste of what could’ve been. Like a good dream that gets cut off right before the climax.

And that’s what you thought it was at first. A dream.

The sound of dripping water is what wakes you up, another reminder that the roof needs fixing and that you’re going to have to take care of it yourself. Rolling your eyes, you shove off the covers and swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing at how unforgivably cold the floor is.

If it weren’t for the bathroom mirror, you probably wouldn’t have noticed the marks at all.

Keep reading