I think Chrollo likes the idea of you by his side and dangling off his arms at Troupe meetings or when he and the Troupe are disguising themselves as upper-class socialites. You’d think the fantasy would be hindered by the risk of one of his enemies recognizing him and attacking, but getting to play the role of the Knight in Shining Armor is just perfect for him. Look how safe you are with him, doesn’t his readiness to defend you and kill for you win you over?
The problem is your refusal to actually dangle off his arm. Hell, he can barely get you to sit next to him. He has to settle with dragging you along to ‘Charity Events’ while you sit on the farthest side of the room, monitored by Machi and Paku.
You’re trapped in one of those Wattpad stories as YN’s roommate trying to keep to the background. You have a good thing going here; rent paid, bills paid, don’t have to worry about struggling since your bestie is in some crazy BDSM situationship with the cunning mafia don Azul Ashenwhatever. Things are going well…until it’s your turn.
OOOOOO what you don’t realize is that your classmate, Jade Leech, has also gotten trapped in this same story alongside you. Nerdy, loser Jade Leech who you rarely paid much mind to until now. It’s a fictional story, so he could do whatever he wanted and get away with it, right? :) he could be whoever he wants.
In this story, he’s the mafia don’s right-hand man. While the main characters have their wild relationship, he gets to use his resources to stalk you. You practically live alone now, what with Y/N moving into Azul’s penthouse apartment. ^^;;; and unlike the main character you’re just a normal person looking to survive this terrible plot, clichés and all. >_<
It goes from mildly inconvenient and a little cringe to a psychological horror when you start getting stalked by a stranger on your way home from work or to the grocery store. And unlike this Wattpad romance Jade’s determined to have you all to himself. With all his cutthroat cunning, it becomes clear you’ve got an actual threat on your hands. And in a world where things are so absurd already, what’s a little darkness to keep you on your toes? :)
There is a particular archetype of yandere I need to see more of. They are the type who has convinced everyone—including themselves—that they're completely chill, totally casual, absolutely not obsessed with you at all.
But they are. Oh, they ARE.
It's the character who shrugs and says "whatever, do what you want" when you mention going out with friends, then somehow ends up at the same restaurant "completely by coincidence." It's the one who maintains that perfect façade of disinterest while knowing your exact schedule, your favorite coffee order, and the name of the dentist you mentioned once eight months ago.
"Oh, you're going to that concert? Cool, I guess. Might check it out too. No big deal."
*has already bought tickets directly behind yours and memorized the setlist so they can casually discuss it with you afterward*
The beautiful psychological complexity of the nonchalant yandere is that they're fighting a constant internal war. Part of them genuinely WANTS to be casual about you. They HATE how much they care. They're embarrassed by the intensity of their feelings and trying desperately to play it cool. But beneath that carefully constructed indifference is someone who has memorized your class schedule, your allergies, your childhood pet's name, and probably has a secret folder of photos they "happened to take" when you weren't looking.
What makes them especially fascinating is the DENIAL. They're not just hiding their obsession from you—they're hiding it from themselves. They have elaborate justifications for every "coincidence" and "accidental" encounter:
"It's not weird that I know their work schedule. I just have a good memory."
"I'm not following them, I just happen to enjoy the same coffee shop they frequent... at exactly the same time... five days a week."
"I only have their location because they shared it with me once for safety reasons. It would be irresponsible to turn it off."
The nonchalant yandere believes their own lies, and that self-deception makes them all the more convincing to everyone else. Their friends think they're just casually into you. Their behavior skirts the line of normal interest just closely enough that pointing it out makes YOU seem paranoid.
And the most delicious narrative tension? When something happens that threatens their carefully maintained façade. When someone else shows interest in you and suddenly that mask of indifference CRACKS, revealing just a glimpse of the obsession underneath before they hastily patch it back together.
"Did you see how they looked at you? Not that I care. Just seemed disrespectful. Anyway, whatever, it's fine."
Or when they accidentally reveal they know something they shouldn't possibly know:
"You don't need another umbrella, you already have three at home."
"Wait, how do you know what's in my apartment?"
"You mentioned it once. Anyway, this weather sucks, right?"
It's that constant push-pull between wanting to appear nonchalant and the all-consuming need to know everything about you, to be near you, to ensure no one else gets close to you—all while maintaining plausible deniability.
And the payoff when they finally break? When something pushes them too far and that carefully constructed indifference shatters completely? That moment of "I've pretended not to care for so long but I've memorized every detail of your existence and I can't pretend anymore"?
NARRATIVE GOLD.
Give me the character who says "yeah, whatever" while reorganizing their entire life to orbit yours. Give me the one who maintains they "don't get jealous" while subtly sabotaging every potential relationship you pursue. Give me the one whose room looks completely normal until you find that one drawer, that one password-protected folder, that one notebook that reveals just how deep the obsession runs.
They aren't just trying to fool you—they're trying to fool themselves. And there's something beautifully tragic about someone so consumed by feelings they're ashamed of having, trying, and failing to be the chill, casual person they wish they could be.
That's my catnip right there. The one who's dying inside every time they force themselves to say "no big deal" when every cell in their body is screaming that you are, in fact, the biggest deal in their entire existence.
Yanderes who don't care how much you cry .... oughh
Oh, he knows it's so hard to adapt to such a situation, he knows how much you miss your family, your friends, everyone. It's alright. He hushes you, kisses your face, wipes your tears with a thumb, tells you you don't need to miss home anymore, it's right here. And when a heavier fit of crying takes over.. oh, dear.
You can scream if you want. Maybe he's so in love with you he doesn't even mind going deaf. It doesn't matter how loudly you scream, the walls are soundproof anyway. Oh, but your lovely throat is going throb with pain. He can't have you losing your voice, hm?
You can be a brat if you want. He thinks it's alright. You can destroy the furniture, break, throw, smash them to pieces. It's not like he can't replace it. If you get too violent.. well, you'll only hurt yourself that way, dear. He'll tie you down nicely. And he does it so tenderly. With silk ropes and always cooing and chiding at your reddened or bruised skin when you try to resist.
And you can pathetically whine, beg, cry, sob and plead all you want. He'll listen to everything. And when he can tell you're burning out, he hushes you with kisses and softly kneads your sides, massaging and coaxing you to sleep as he softly brushes off all your whining. Perhaps he even works his hands to turn them into moans.
And oh, dear. You're going to be the end of him. He has all the patience in the world for you, though. Until your bones are worn out and he can put them back together when you've made a mess of yourself. He'll always be beside you when you wake up with soft names lovers use for each other. Because, well.. you both are now. And another fit of crying is on it's way. He knows just how to take care of you.
Little twst blurb but I was thinking about being invited to Diasomnia on a hot day at NRC. FemMc (sorry yall)
Basically: Sebek seeing fem Yuu wearing a tank top lmfao
Perhaps the tank top you chose wasn’t the best choice after all, not with the way Sebek began malfunctioning. Sorry ladies, he can’t handle a little collarbone.
“Wh-WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?! LORD MALLEUS CANNOT NOT SULLY HIS EYES WITH THE SIGHT OF YOUR IMMODESTY.”
“Sebek, it’s a tank top, I’m not naked.”
“DO NOT SAY SUCH WORDS IN THE PRESENCE OF MY LORD.”
“I’ve seen Lilia wear much more revealing shirts than this.”
“THAT IS A SEPARATE MATTER, HUMAN. YOU ARE A GIRL, THEREFORE YOU ARE DISTRACTING IN YOUR CURRENT STATE OF DRESS.”
You smirk, “you think I’m cute?”
“W-WHAT?! I-”
“Ooooh Sebek fancying a human?” Lilia butts in, clearly enjoying this.
“NO I AM NOT”
Queue teasing from everyone and Malleus indeed being distracted 🙂↕️
TW: Non/Con, Dub/Con, Fem!Reader, Prolonged Captivity, Social Isolation, Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Hivemind Dynamics, Implied Previous Domestic Abuse, Non-Consensual Touching, and Obsessive Behavior.
It had been six days, three hours, and twenty-four minutes since the last time you saw one of your crewmates blink.
Which, admittedly, might not have been the smoking gun you were trying to make it into. Most of your conversations were spent with your eyes cast respectfully downward or held through comms, since they preferred not to acknowledge you directly whenever possible. Still, from the control bridge’s auxiliary seating, you had a pretty good view of their stiff, expressionless faces – the way their glassy eyes seemed to focus on nothing in particular as they carried out their respective roles with all the life and all the energy of clockwork dolls. Really, the fact that they’d asked you to join them on the bridge at all was a red flag. That wasn’t the way things were supposed to work. You were more of an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ issue.
And yet, here you were, sitting on a cheaply cushioned titanium bench as a dozen or so scientists sat in complete silence, toiling away at their various monitors with their various instruments. No one had spoken in the past ninety minutes. The last person to stand up had been the engineer, when she’d wordlessly brought the geologist another pen after his had run out of ink a few seconds prior. No one had anything to eat or drink save for the captain, who kept a thermos on the corner of his desk and took a long sip every six minutes exactly. You’d timed it. Somehow, that was worse than if none of them had done anything at all.
For your part, you stayed where you were, doing everything in your power not to move or breathe or think too loudly. You might’ve stayed like that for the remaining daylight hours, for as long as you had to until dismissed, if the pilot hadn’t spoken.
“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?”
You startled, then snapped in her direction. The visuals were more-or-less right – her long hair pulled into a thick braid, the sleeves of her coveralls tied around her waist, all the little things you’d subconsciously come to expect after months of living in proximity to one another – but her tone was all wrong, far away and airy where you’d come to expect a certain edge, a directness. She also, notably, had not looked away from her monitor. The captain was the only one with his gaze directed upward, toward the floor-to-ceiling windows at the bridge’s helm.
You took that as a sign to do the same. Admittedly, the view was beautiful. The sea floor stretched on as far as the eye could see, illuminated by spotlights and roaming underwater drones and what few rays of sunlight managed to dive this deep. When you strained your eyes, you could see the dull glow of bioluminescent animals emerging from the sea floor, always moving so slowly toward the surface, but they tended to keep their distance. The walls of the Mariana Trench sat snugly to either side, your stationary base nestled between them. Usually, you loved it – that feeling of being so totally enclosed, how simple the world felt when cast in shades of blue and green. Now, it just felt a little claustrophobic.
The geologist turned to you, dull eyes over wire-framed glasses, and you realized that you were supposed to answer. “I guess so.”
The captain nodded, pleased. You forced yourself to clear your throat and go on. “How did last week’s expedition go?”
The biologist straightened. He’d always struck you as the quiet type, only liable to respond when addressed directly. Today, though, he seemed more than capable of speaking for the group. “Oh, it was uneventful.”
And then, the engineer, her normally clipped voice melodic, as if finishing the biologist’s thought. “Nothing to report. Just the usual marine activity.”
It was a lie and it wasn’t even a good one. They should’ve corrected you the second you called it an expedition. In reality, the captain, the pilot, and the biologist had taken one of the submersibles on an unplanned voyage to an area worryingly close to your base that had been exhibiting readings no one could seem to make sense of, least of all you. As soon as they’d gotten back, the geologist and the engineer were called to the labs for some unspecified emergency. They’d locked themselves away for hours, not making a sound, only resurfacing once you gathered up the courage to knock. You’d been too shocked to do anything when they actually opened the door, when they invited you inside, when they showed you the deformed remains of a new specimen and tried to tide you over with explanations of unusual geological activity and pre-historic fossilization. The not-blinking had started around then, too.
“Huh,” you said, layering the nonchalance on thick. You pushed yourself to your feet, stretching your arms above your head. “Well, I—um, I better get going. Filters to check and all.”
Five heads snapped in your direction at the same time. Thankfully, your panic was limited to a pair of pressed lips and a small, mostly swallowed squeak. Only the captain actually spoke, his voice calm and his tone easy. Somehow, that made it worse. You would’ve preferred the chorus, discordant and unintelligible, to a lone mouthpiece. “You’re in such a rush to leave us. Did we do something wrong?”
“I have to do my job, sir.”
He hummed. “Make sure to report back when you’re done.” He paused, something like a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your input is so very important to us, after all.”
You hated the way he said it, like he was fighting not to laugh. You hated the way the pilot was looking at you, now, head cocked and fingers drumming over her desk. You hated the way the geologist was moving, back too straight and limbs too stiff as he started to push himself out of his chair and—
Oh, fuck.
It was time to go.
You offered another dull excuse before slipping out of the bridge and back into the vessel proper. You knew where you were going – hell, you’d spent the last twenty weeks dreaming of the day you’d finally get to make this walk. Down the hall and past the communal spaces, then up through storage – carefully avoiding the labs on the same floor. The transport module (or, more realistically, the elevator shaft) had its own compartment, carefully sectioned off from the rest of the craft. It was only meant to be used twice: on the day you arrived and then again on the day you left, when you would be ferried up to the surface and granted the privilege of never having to think about life on the sea floor again. Only the captain knew the launch code, but there had to be a manual override. And hopefully, you’d spent enough of the past few months wrist-deep in the vessel’s wiring to figure out how to activate it.
You didn’t have time for delicacy. You’d barely stopped moving before you were dropping to your knees in front of the access panel and prying the interface out of its casing. It came away easily, and then you were digging through wires and ports, searching for something to connect, something to pull free, something that would get you out of this godforsaken pit at the—
There weren’t footsteps, or voices, or any warnings you might’ve heard over the sound of your own racing pulse. There was only a hand on your shoulder, another around your wrist – gently easing you away from the open panel.
“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary.” A voice, simultaneously painfully familiar and altogether alien, sighed in your ear. Your captain. Or, what used to be your captain, at least.
You weren’t sure you ought to be calling him that, anymore.
And, judging by how softly he spoke as he went on, he seemed to be thinking the same thing.
“I think it’s about time we met properly. Don’t you agree?”
~
The captain, as you’d known him, was a man just south of middle age with white streaks in his startlingly dark hair, crows’ feet carved into the corners of his eyes, and a scar across the left side of his mouth that he would joke was from biting down on a fishhook in college. At least, you’d assumed he was joking.
You guessed you’d never get the chance to ask, now.
He was also gigantic – taller than most sailors with the physique to match. Even seated, he seemed to dwarf his surroundings, to leave you frail and minimized on the other side of the table. He’d wanted to do this in his office, but you’d insisted on the canteen. At the time, it seemed like neutral territory, somewhere wide and open with plenty of space to breathe. Now, you could only lament not pushing for someplace more closed-in. At least, if you were cornered, you wouldn’t have to keep glancing over your shoulder.
It didn’t help that the engineer was posted by the doors, back to the wall and her unblinking stare focused on you. The captain tilted his head to the side apologetically. “I’m sorry. I’ve only just gotten used to having so many eyes.”
“Eyes you stole from my friends.”
“These people weren’t your friends.” Pity dripped from his voice, honeyed and thick. You squared your shoulders. “This one, maybe, but not the rest. They saw you as—What’s the word?”
“A janitor?”
“Oh, dearest, not even that.” He paused, smiled. The expression looked wrong, like he was manually calculating how far to strain his lips. “A criminal.”
You inhaled slowly, holding your breath for a moment before letting it out again. The sting was present, but manageable. You’d known that. You must’ve known that, even when you first volunteered for this. There weren’t a lot of people willing to spend half a year of their life on the bottom of the ocean, and even fewer who would spend that half-year doing laundry, sweeping floors, and changing lightbulbs. But it was better than jail. This way, you could pretend you’d chosen to be here.
“Not to worry!” He clapped his hands together. “They won’t be saying much of anything, anymore. And the names I call you won’t nearly as cruel.”
“They weren’t—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “What are you?”
“You can see that for yourself. I’m sitting right in front of you, love.”
“No, I mean—Where did you come from?”
“You call this the… Pacific Ocean, don’t you?”
You shot to your feet, slamming your palms into the tabletop. “Why are you doing this?”
He glanced over you, then met your eyes. “That would’ve been a question for your coworkers. They were the ones who dug me up.”
You fell back into your seat, huffing. This was getting you nowhere slowly. The captain – the monster – seemed to feel the same way.
“You don’t seem very scared.”
“I don’t have to be. If you could do—” You gestured vaguely to the engineer, still lurking in your peripheral. “—that to me, you would’ve.”
“Would I, now?”
You opened your mouth, but stopped short of spitting anything out. It felt like a dial being turned, a switch being flipped. There was nothing, and then, there was everything.
In an instant, it was all too much. A hundred thousand voices in the back of your mind, chanting the same hymn at their own tempo. A hundred thousand images flashing across your vision, each stolen from a new set of eyes. You tried to focus on something else, to feel the cool wood under your hands, but even that sensation soon blurred into a million others until you couldn’t tell what belonged to you and what belonged to another body, another mind. You were being pulled downstream and the current was using your arms and legs against you. You were listening to the loveliest song you’d ever heard and you couldn’t seem to open your mouth and—
And the music stopped as you fell back into your own body, as you blinked away other perspectives and heaved air into your own aching lungs. You were on the floor, splayed across the tile. There was saliva at the corner of your mouth, and more concerningly, the captain was kneeling over you, his thumb stroking your cheek.
“Do we understand each other?”
You forced yourself to swallow. Your voice came out hoarse, dry. “Get away from me.”
“I can try, but it’s a small craft.”
“Then let me leave.”
His thumb settled, then slipped lower. “You know, there are so many things I’ve always wanted to try.” He cupped your chin, stifling a laugh. “With someone who isn’t myself, I mean.”
Disgust tore you through you, curdled and vicious. You brushed him off and scrambled to your feet, stumbling past the engineer and out into the hall. The captain joined her in the doorway, but only watched on as you did your best to get away.
~
The weeks following your conversation passed slowly, cold honey through a tight bottleneck.
The assigned date of your designated departure came and meant. It was quickly made clear that you weren’t allowed anywhere near the transport module. Someone, usually the geologist, always seemed to be posted outside, just waiting for you to try your luck again. For the first few days, the engineer also followed you in-person, but that wasn’t a permanent feature. You couldn’t get into much trouble nearly seven miles below sea level, and whatever project your captor was working on seemed to be an all-hands-on-deck situation. It had something to do with excavation, but how far it fell outside of the vessel’s expected field of research was lost on you. Still, you were thankful they were distracted. It seemed to be enough to know that, no matter how much distance you tried to maintain, you’d always be within arm’s reach.
You spent most of your time hiding. It felt a little childish, honestly. Not very long ago, you would’ve gladly done anything if it meant never feeling alone again, and now you were locking yourself in your bunk, tracking movement patterns on security cameras, pressing your ear to every door before you opened it and praying that there wouldn’t be footsteps or voices on the other side. Your contract was only for half a year, but you had enough food and fresh water to last five times that, meaning that entertainment was going to be more of an issue than survival. You ransacked the others’ rooms, stealing books and card decks and gaming consoles, anything that might help pass the time. And, at night, when the isolation was almost too much to bear, you fled to the atrium.
It was a large, open space on the vessel’s uppermost floor, which was otherwise reserved for vehicle bays and tool storage. The ceiling was high, domed, and entirely transparent, and even before something took over your crewmates and everything went to shit, you liked to lie in the center of the room and watch the dark water ebb and flow. Now, you tried to keep your visits brief, to leave before anyone had the chance to join you. You’d only slipped up once. A swarm of bioluminescent jellyfish was passing over your vessel in the small hours of the morning, and you must’ve lost track of time. A storm of gold and crimson lights was still gently bobbing past when he joined you.
They were all limbs of the same creature, but the captain seemed to be the designated face. He settled next to you, legs crossed and head bowed. You stiffened, got ready to bolt, but he only laughed, waving off your skittishness. “You’ve been avoiding us.”
You swallowed. “…should I not be?”
The way you said it, muted and questioning, must’ve given away your paranoia. The captain shook his head. “There’s no need to worry. If I wanted to keep you on a shorter leash, I could.”
Great. Perfect, actually. He thought he was being nice.
“I have something for you.” He never looked away, but the sound of clipped footsteps drew your attention to the doorway. The biologist, uncanny smile plastered over his face and a small, silver tray in his hands. “A gift. To celebrate our three-month anniversary.”
The biologist stopped in front of you, and you recognized what you’d desperately been trying not to. A perfectly round, perfectly generic cupcake, the icing only a little smudged. Your stomach dropped. Perishable food was hard to get down here, even harder to keep fresh. There was one for every member of the crew, and they were supposed to be saved for birthdays – a little piece of home to keep you all sane, in theory. Anyone taking more than their share would mean there wasn’t enough to go around, which meant someone would be angry, which meant someone would be angry with you and—
And you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to look at the biologist’s grinning face.
You guessed you didn’t need to worry about that, anymore.
Still, the idea of choking down freeze-dried cake was enough to make your stomach turn over. “I’m sorry, I—” You pushed yourself to your feet quickly enough to make your head spin. The captain followed you up, catching your arm when your balance threatened to give out. “I really can’t do this, right now.”
“Of course. You must be tired.” The biologist was already leaving. “Let me walk you back to your room.”
It wasn’t a question, but you shook your head regardless. “I’m alright, just a little—”
“I insist.” His hand slipped from your arm to your upper back. “Unless you’d prefer the captain’s quarters?”
“No.” Bile rose into the back of your throat. The repulsion was instinctual, the rejection reflexive. “Please, no.”
“How you break my heart, love.”
This time, his hand slipped down to yours, squeezing gently. You should’ve just taken the fucking cupcake.
“It’s a good thing I have spares.”
~
Four months. That was how long you made it post-invasion, trying to live every moment as if you were under constant observation, ignoring every base human urge that might’ve been at odds with your all-seeing captor. Sixteen weeks. One hundred and twenty days. People had cracked under much more banal forms of torture in much less time.
And, in your defense, you had the foresight to take precautions. An especially busy day that saw all useful members of your crew posted at their stations. An unused wing of the medical bay rather than your own room. An allotted fifteen minutes to do what you could. You figured, failing everything, you could be proud of yourself for giving it your all. Admittedly, you hadn’t spent much time thinking about worst-case scenarios.
This was definitely worst-case.
The pilot stood on the threshold of the medical bay, the door hanging open behind her. Heat flooded your face, your cheeks, and you made a valiant effort to pull your hand out of your pants and wrestle your coveralls back up to your waist – as if that’d do anything to undo the damage. She waited until you were (mostly) redressed and scrambling off of the cot before edging forward, careful to keep her body between you and the door. That was fine. You were too mortified to so much as think about going much of anywhere.
“It’s a—a human thing,” you rushed to explain, as if it made this any better. As if it would get her to stop staring at you like that. “To blow off steam, and kill—”
You tried to step around her. An arm lashed out to stop you, barring any hope of retreat to your left. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”
“I’m not—” You cut yourself off, swallowing. “I’d like to go back to my room. Please.”
The pilot didn’t respond. Her attention flicked downward once before returning to your face and refusing to let go, pinning you under the weight of her wide-eyed gaze. You were stuck there, trapped and immobile, as her free hand found your collar, then drifted south, lean fingers grazing over your collarbones, your midriff. Finally, she dipped below the waistband of your coveralls, dragging her two fingers over the seat of your panties. The material was still disheveled, too flimsy to provide any real sense of comfort. Her thumb caught on your clit and—
“Please,” you gasped, surprising yourself. She didn’t seem fazed. “Stop touching me.”
A second passed, then another. When she eventually did draw back, it was with an airy sigh, the smallest quirk of a frown tugging at her lips. “Fine.”
You waited for her to pull away entirely, to lose interest and return to the bridge with the rest of the crew – not totally unlike the previous inhabitant of her body had, on the rare occasion she was forced to speak to you. Instead, her hand curled around your wrist, blunt nails pressing into your skin as she tugged toward the door. You half-expected her to take you a little too literally, to drag you back to your bunk and lock you inside, but she passed the rooming area entirely, taking you down the hall toward the captain’s quarters. Your heart seized up inside your chest, but you tried not to let the panic seep into your voice. “Where are we going?”
“To do different human things.” And then, more cheerfully, “You’ll like it.”
You doubted that, but her pace was steady and her grip was unwavering. It didn’t seem like she planned on giving you another choice.
The engineer was already waiting by the door. She followed you and the pilot in, keeping close in case you tried to bolt. You were given all of a second to take in the massive, king-sized bed before being mercifully pulled in another direction, into the en-suite. The engineer must’ve worked quickly. The shallow tub (an Olympic pool compared to the shoulder-width shower stalls in the communal bathrooms) was already full, steam still rolling off the water’s surface. A body scrub and matching oil sat on the low wall, neither used. You did your best not to wonder who’d brought them.
You looked to the pilot, then the engineer, who both watched expectantly. It took an embarrassingly long moment to realize they were waiting on you. “Oh, I’m supposed to…?”
You nodded to the tub. The pilot’s smile turned sympathetic. “Before the water gets cold, yes.”
The engineer chimed in, “You have taken a bath before, haven’t you?”
“Shut up.” And just like that, more out of spite than anything, you were wriggling out of your uniform. Your clothes formed a wrinkled heap where you let them drop, each layer leaving you that much more exposed, that much more desperate to crawl back inside of something thick and warm and protective. Covering yourself would’ve been an admission of defeat, so you kept your arms stiffly at your sides as you stepped into the tub. The scalding water burnt at your numb skin. You hadn’t realized how cold you’d been until you started to thaw.
Surprisingly, they didn’t join you. The engineer perched herself on the basin’s wall while the pilot leaned against the vanity, taking in the view. You pulled your knees up to your chest, but it was clear you were being overprotective. The engineer only hummed as she cupped the water in her hands and poured over your head, soaking your hair, your face. It reminded you of something else, something sacred. You had to hold your breath, but that part was holy, too.
The engineer’s hands found your shoulders, massaging gently. The words caught in your throat and snagged on your lips, but you spit them out regardless. It would’ve been more painful to let the silence sit. “Is this your idea of what humans do? Or did you just want to embarrass me?”
“Partially,” the pilot answered. You chose not to wonder which question she was responding to. “My other reasons are much more selfish.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s a little silly.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought she sounded shy. “I wanted to see what it was like to take care of something else.”
Oh.
You sank that much deeper. The engineer’s hands followed you down, never leaving your skin for a moment.
You’d never noticed how cold she felt, before.
~
“I really didn’t mean to.”
The biologist hummed. He was sitting at your feet, leaning against the wall next to your cubby of a bed. He’d brought tea, the mugs mismatched and the contents still hot enough to steam. You were determined to let yours go cold, and he seemed happy enough to run his thumb over the ceramic rim, soaking in the warmth as it seeped out.
“You did an awfully thorough job.”
“I didn’t—” You stopped yourself, sucking in a deep breath and pressing your cheek into your stiff pillow. Behind you, the geologist shifted, slotting his chest against your back and draping an arm over your waist. Your captor had become increasingly more interested in that type of thing, recently – touchy, sentimental, human. You would’ve liked to say that they wore you down, but honestly, you hadn’t put up much of a fight to begin with. “It was self-defense.”
“You didn’t call the police.”
“I was going to, but there was so much blood, and—and then they were already outside, banging on the door. Anyone would’ve frozen up.” You let your voice get very, very quiet. “He kept me in that apartment for sixty days. Two months. What was I supposed to do? Go outside and make small talk with the neighbors?”
“And the trial?”
“I wasn’t allowed to talk at the trial, the lawyers—” Again, you cut yourself off. “And you already know this. You’ve been in my head.”
The geologist’s forehead settled against the back of your neck as the biologist spoke. “I like the view better out here.”
“You’re so creepy,” you huffed. “It’s just, if this is hell, or some stupid karmic punishment you’re all in on, then—”
“You don’t think I’m real?” He almost sounded offended.
“I don’t think you deserve to keep me here.” There wasn’t a point in answering. Whatever was happening to you, it was real enough. “I’ve got family waiting for me to come back.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Fine. I have friends. People who are going to miss me.”
The biologist sent you a skeptical glance. You bit down hard on the side of your tongue.
“You can’t keep me here forever.”
The geologist’s hold on you tightened abruptly, crushing your ribs into your lungs before going slack just as quickly. “Not forever,” the biologist mused. “How long do you think the oxygen recyclers will hold out?”
This time, you didn’t bother responding at all. The geologist seemed content to draw you that much closer, and the biologist was more than happy to sit at a distance and watch.
~
You found the captain on the bridge, sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of the glass wall. The room was dim, the overheads switched off in favor of the softened blue of the emergency lights. No one else was there, his spare sets of eyes scattered to different parts of the vessel. It looked like he’d been waiting for you.
The jellyfish were passing through again, too. The swarm was dense and close, the view all-but completely obscured by bobbing golden lights, casting the bridge in a ruddy bronze. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve thought you were on another planet.
…you did know better, and the thought still lingered longer than it should’ve.
You sat down next to him, legs bent in front of you. It was uncomfortable, but that didn’t matter. You doubted you’d be staying in this position for very long.
“If I—” The words burnt like acid on your tongue. You rushed to find a less corrosive replacement. “If I do what you want me to, I can leave, right?”
“I don’t remember saying that.” His voice was lilting, tone playful.
“Then say it now.” You huddled into yourself. “I need to get out of here, and this is the only time I’m going to ask nicely.”
“I don’t seem to recall you ever being particularly nice, either.”
Something shifted out of place deep in your chest. You moved to stand, but he laid a hand over yours, laughing. “Sorry, sorry. I should know better. I know what it’s like to be trapped somewhere very, very small for a very, very long time.” He lowered his voice. “Let me have this. You’ll get what you want out of it, too.”
“Just this once?”
“Just this once. Then, I’ll take you back to the surface.”
You didn’t want to. No part of you wanted to give anything to the monster that’d held you captive for over a year, but you needed fresh air in your lungs. You needed to see another person, someone who didn’t look at you like something to cut open and dissect.
This didn’t seem like a lot to give up, in comparison.
You nodded, and his hands were on your hips immediately. He hauled you into his lap, and then you were straddling him, your legs clumsily thrown around his waist and your chest pressed into his. There was no pretense of reluctance, just his mouth on your neck and his fingers working at the buttons of your uniform, haphazardly pulling and dragging until fabric slackened and you felt cold air wash over newly exposed skin. This close, he should’ve been enough to warm you up, but even that small comfort rang hollow. His body was malleable stone against yours – willing to give, but so undeniably lifeless below the surface.
A calloused hand cupped your breast, groping harshly. A pained hiss slipped through your grit teeth, and his head tilted back, wide eyes meeting yours. “Can I kiss you?”
“Would it matter if I said no?”
“Of course.” His smile had turned simpering. “I would cherish any reaction you showed me.”
That didn’t mean he would listen, though.
His lips were chapped and tender against yours. There was nothing romantic about the way he kissed you, just a heady sort of affection and a curiosity that made him lap over your tongue and push into the hollow of your cheeks like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. At the same time, his thumb swiped over your nipple, fingertips biting into the plush flesh of your chest. It was almost a relief when he moved on, his touch skirting over your midriff, your navel, your stomach before settling just above the waistband of your panties. You wished you hadn’t worn them at all, in hindsight. Anything to save yourself the stabbing agony of realizing he would have to take them off of you.
Not that he seemed to be in a rush to. The pad of his thumb dragged over your clothed slit, mapping the terrain, before pulling back and pressing into your clit. His mouth fell to your throat, sucking harsh bruises into your skin as he traced mindless patterns into the most sensitive part of you. It was humiliating – how quickly your deprived boy gave in to the first hint of stimulation you’d gotten in the better part of a year. You could feel yourself getting hotter, getting wetter, the seat of your panties soon uncomfortably damp. You felt the captain’s grin against your jugular and clenched your eyes shut.
His touch was sickeningly exploratory. Your panties were pulled to the side, two thick fingers eased inside of you. Even that was too much of a stretch after surviving so long on nothing at all. You buried your face in his chest as he rocked his palm against your cunt, doing your best to keep your teeth planted in the flesh of your cheek, your nails burrowed into the back of his neck. It was unfair – he was still dressed while you were being split in half. He was going to get what he wanted and you’d be the one to suffer for it.
A third finger, added while the heel of his palm ground against your clit. You jerked forward, a strangled moan escaping before you had a chance to swallow it down, and the captain cooed in sympathy. “That’s it, love.” He pressed a kiss into your temple. “I’m only trying to make what comes next a little easier.”
“I—” He curled his fingers and you sucked in a shallow breath. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Yes, you do.”
God, you hated him.
“No, you don’t.” There was another kiss, this one to the corner of your mouth. You were beyond caring where he touched you, how he touched you. Minutes too soon, you could feel a steady pulse playing in the pit of your stomach, a tightness in your chest that wasn’t entirely due to burning hatred. You felt his tongue against the side of your neck, following the curve of your throat once, then twice before biting down – teeth sinking into skin too fluidly, too easily. It took you a second to decide why it felt so unnatural beyond the initial shock, but not much longer.
He hadn’t hesitated. Not the way he should have, when he knew what he was doing to you might hurt. Not the way anything human would have.
He stayed there, latched onto you and sucking gently, as what was left of your self-control eroded and fell away entirely. Your hips bucked against his hand, the movement jolting and involuntary, and then you were moving on your own, working to fuck his fingers that much deeper, to make up for that many more days of your third and final stay in prolonged captivity. When he raised his head, it was only to chuckle, to nuzzle against you, to pay more attention to the angle of his wrist, to how exactly he nudged you closer and closer and closer to the ledge. “So beautiful,” he whispered, mouth close enough to your ear for his voice to echo in your mind. “I could keep you like this forever.”
You made a mewling, pained noise, cut off abruptly as your body went rigid against his. He led you through the worst of it, pace slowing as he drew out every little clench and tremor, but his patience was clearly thin and his attention clearly elsewhere. You felt him shift underneath you, and then your body was being lowered to the floor by too many pairs of hands. You didn’t realize that you’d shut your eyes until you had to force them open, until you saw the pilot’s smiling face above you, her unblinking stare fixed on your face.
Dread and embarrassment and panic flared in your chest, driving spikes into your heart, your lungs, your throat. “I don’t want other people to—”
“They won’t.” His hands were already pulling at your uniform, dragging it off. Your panties were stripped away just as quickly, just as heartlessly. You tried to grab for his wrists, but the pilot was faster, catching yours instead and drawing them above your head. “It’s just us. It’s only ever been us.”
But it wasn’t, not really, not in the way that matters. You could see the others in your peripheral, made shadowed and faceless by your refusal to look closer. It was almost a mercy when the pilot ducked, lowering her head to your chest and latching onto your breast, reminding you that there were worse things in the world than unwanted voyeurs – worse things you were currently experiencing, in fact. The captain’s hands found your sides, then your hips, pinning you to the floor as he settled between your legs. You whimpered, sobbed, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the sounds of rustling fabric and hitched breathes, to distract you from the feeling of something hot and blunt pressing into you pussy.
He hesitated there – the pilot, too, her tongue going still where it was lapping over your nipple. “I love you,” he said, nearly under his breath. “And I wish this wasn’t the only way to make you understand that without getting rid of the you.”
You didn’t know what he was talking about. You didn’t have time to figure it out, either.
He was already inside of you.
Big. He was too fucking big. For the first time, you genuinely resented – sincerely, deeply, searingly resented – that the captain had been chosen as the dominant mouthpiece, rather than one of your much more moderately sized crewmates. It felt like you were being torn open from the inside out, his thick cock splitting your cunt in half, jagged veins and liquid heat arousal only making it more overwhelming. Your legs snapped closed around his waist, hips bucking against his hold, but the captain didn’t seem to notice. He buckled, head falling low as he caught himself with a palm planted next to your head. The pilot moaned against your skin.
Long, agonizing moments passed before he started to move. You became terrifyingly aware there was still more of him that he was trying to ease into you. His thrusts were short and slow, every inch another way to make you squirm and clench. You weren’t in control of your body, anymore. If you cried, if you struggled, if you went limp – that wasn’t your fault. You were only doing what you had to.
Finally, finally, you felt him bottom out, his hips pressing into yours. There was an airy grunt, another less dignified noise, and then he fell into a steady pattern of grinding down and pulling back and thrusting in with enough strength to force the air out of your lungs, to make your back arch off of the unforgiving cement. Your hands grabbed for his shoulders instinctively, and he let you, falling that much closer. The pilot retreated, but only far enough to pull your head into her lap. Touching wasn’t the priority. She and the others were just there to observe.
His cock twitched inside of you. There was no cursing, no unconscious reactions, but his hold on you tightened and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breath cold and wrong against your skin. “I’m sorry, I don’t—” A rough groan, a stilted thrust. “I don’t want to, but—”
He didn’t have a chance to finish. It was already happening.
It wasn’t like the first time. That day, it’d been deliberate, a calculated plunge into the middle of a very large, very cold body of water. This time, his influence came in fragments, pulling you into the river but giving your mind a chance to cling to the shore. You could feel the ground against your back as you blinked through a hundred million sets of eyes, and you were aware of the pressure in your core as that pulsing, heartbeat choir overwhelmed anything else you might’ve heard. There was water in your lungs, but at least you still knew which lungs were yours.
Your orgasm came in waves, flooding in from multiple perspectives. There was your pleasure, strained and confused, and then his, tender and so loving and filling you to the brim. That was enough to bring you back to yourself, although there wasn’t anything you could do to mitigate the damage. His hips were pressed flush against yours, his hands clamped tight enough around you to bruise, excess cum dripping down your thighs, the curve of your ass. You couldn’t be sure how long you stayed like that – a second, a minute, an hour. It didn’t matter. It was all an eternity to you.
Eventually, he seemed to catch himself, straightening with a slight laugh. “How embarrassing. I—” He cut himself off, smiling. “Next time. I’ll be more considerate, next time.”
Your only response was a low, disgruntled whine. Sympathy softened the corners of his expression. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up?”
“And then—”Your voice gave out immediately, dissolving into a coughing fit. The pilot rubbed the back of your neck. “Then the surface, right?”
“Of course, love.” The words might’ve been more comforting if it hadn’t been for the way he looked at you. “And then, the surface.”
~
Half an hour later, you found yourself slumped against the captain’s side in the transport module, still not quite able to rely on your own legs. Both the elevator walls and its shaft were entirely made out of glass, but even as you ascended out of the abyssal darkness, through the brightening twilight and back into the more hospitable sunlight zones, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to enjoy the view. A few stray jellyfish from the previous swarm were still bobbing diligently toward the surface. You tried half-heartedly to name the species, but nothing came to mind. You’d had a tense conversation with the captain (the real captain) early on about deep-sea life, but he didn’t seem to think you’d run into anything more interesting than—
You straightened abruptly. The captain hummed, holding that much tighter. “Is something wrong?”
“There aren’t supposed to be jellyfish this deep. Not in a group this size.”
“So there aren’t.”
You hesitated, then tried another angle. “Whatever you’re doing down there, is it—”
“The work will carry on, but the worst of it is over.” He squeezed your side. “You’ll understand, soon.”
Neither of you spoke for the rest of the ascent. There was a brief depressurization, and then the doors opened into the sterile, chromatic control bay you only vaguely remembered from the day you were sent down. You let go of the captain, rushing forward. You were going to get out of here. You were going to breathe fresh air and feel the sunlight and talk to someone else, anyone else. You were going to kiss the first person you saw. You were going to—
You made it one glorious, euphoric step outside of the module, then came to a stuttering halt. A half-ring of strangers stood perfectly still in front of you, a mix of scientists and engineers and operators you wouldn’t know if you recognized. Any familiar traits, any human spark – all of it was made alien by identical, calculated smiles and those unblinking, unfeeling, unthinking eyes. You were tempted to rush to the closest window, to hope beyond hope that this hadn't spread any farther than the facility, but you smothered the urge quickly. You already knew what you were going to find.
The captain stepped behind you. “You can go on running, if you’d like,” he said, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I shouldn’t have problem catching up.”
“But, it can’t be—”
“It is.” He laughed, the noise bright and giddy. For once, it sounded natural.
In which the Devildom citizens discuss the infamous m/c ⋆˚꩜｡
The Devildom is confused.
For centuries the 7 demon brothers have been strict, powerful figures that invoked fear in the hearts of even the most powerful demons. They were a unit so powerful and unmoving that it was worthless to even attempt to go against them.
But recently, that unmovable object had met an unstoppable force.
That force? A mere human!
To say the citizens were confused would be an understatement. The concept was unfathomable; a measly human had managed to form pacts with all 7 of the endlessly powerful brothers in less than a year of not just being in the devildom, but even knowing that the place existed!
Rumours spread, discussions were held — did this mean that human was now the most powerful person in the Devildom? Would they takeover with the newfound power they have over the rulers?
”I saw them force all the brothers to freeze in place at a restaurant. All of them, just with the word stop!”
“I heard that they now rival Solomon in power, maybe even surpass him!”
The human had become somewhat of a Devildom celebrity, known solely in hushed whispers laced with both admiration and fear; just wondering what this elite being could be like.
So yes, the Devildom was confused when they were not met with something of old myths of half-human half-god beings, but instead a regular-old human who didn’t even need to use those pacts to walk the once feared rulers like dogs.
A demon stared in disappointed horror as they watched one of their ‘fearsome’ rulers begging on his knees for the human to get matching hoodies with him.
Needless to say, the Devildom was going to be fine.
a/n: when you think about it m/c is like those microcelebrities in nyc but for the devildom.. .🤔
Malleus Chocolate Birthday 4: Of Crane Games and Fat Dragons (This one is so cute I promise omg)
~ La Bonbonniere spoilers below! Please filter out "twst la bonbonniere spoilers" if you don't want to see ~
So Rook asked to tag along, and Malleus lets him, saying Rook should have asked that from the start instead of watching them like a stalker. 😂 Rook asks where they're going so Malleus tells him they're going to an arcade.
Rook is SHOCKED. But Malleus says Lilia recommended it to him because there's not a more fitting place to spend one's youth than in an arcade.
Malleus: "So this is a game arcade............. I see. It is, very. Noisy."
LMFAO he put a pause on every word. 😂
Rook: "Oohlala, Malleus! Your honesty is charming, but you are in the middle of a shoot."
Malleus: "Oh, that's right."
"It is very... Lively. And there are so many machineries that I've never seen before. I've heard that each one of them showcases a unique game."
"From machines to take photos with, machines that let you race, and even machines that let you pick up items. It appears there is many to choose from."
Rook asks him which one he'd try, so Malleus mentions that from his research, the best game for beginners is a crane game. He's confused though, why in the world are there so many machines that look the same? Which one of these is a crane game?
Rook explains that the whole row are crane games, and that you just choose which one you like the prize the best.
Malleus: "The entire row, you say?"
HE LOOKS SO SURPRISED IT'S ADORABLE
Malleus shares that the guide he was looking at say that the easiest crane game is that with large prizes. So he chooses the biggest, fattest one.
"Alright, I shall aim for this dragon stuffed toy. This machine is offering three tries for 500 thaumarks."
"It seems I did it correctly; the machine has started. ....... 'Operate the arm'? The arm is... this claw-like thing here, I suppose."
"Though do I operate this? If I press these aglow arrows, would it move to the corresponding direction?"
Rook also adds that you can't move it anymore once you let go of the button, so Malleus should only let go once he's found the perfect position.
Rook: "Non! Malleus! Relax! The machine is groaning from the strain!"
Malleus: "Gh. Understood. Gentler, gentler..."
Malleus: "Alright. With this, I should be able to get the stuffed toy......"
".... NOT?!"
"I'm certain I've had it right in the head, yet it didn't even budge an inch? Why, this machine is malfunctioning!!"
^ HE IS SO STRESSED OUT AND FEELING INDIGNANT OH MY GOD IT'S SO CUTE
Yuu gives him some tips, and assures him that you're not meant to win it in one go.
Malleus: "Well, one more time... Now the button is not responding. Is it broken, after all... Has it been three tries already?"
"... No, I mustn't give up after going this far. Not when I'm getting the knack to it."
So he tries again, aiming for the chest this time.
"Great! It has budged further than last."
"I shall aim for its foot next... No, how about its rump next? Should I change my tactics and aim for that instead?"
Rook: "Hehe. How incredible it is to see Malleus having this much fun. I'm glad to have joined you two."
"Next, I will aim here..... THERE, I HAVE CAPTURED IT!"
OH MY GOOOOOOD! HIS FACE!! HE IS SO HAPPY! OH MY GOD!
Rook congratulates him and Malleus revels in the incredible sense of accomplishment... and fatigue. He thinks arcades are a formidable foe indeed.
Malleus: "What an adorable face this dragon stuffed toy has, now that I have it plush in my hands."
Malleus: "Today was a valuable experience. Now I understand why students like to gather in game arcades like this."
Pairing: idia x fem!reader
Summary: (wc 3.4k, wow i cooked) now that idia has graduated from NRC, not only must he take over the "family business", but (according to his parents) he must get married to some stupid noblewoman, too. today is the day he finally meets you for the first time, much to his chagrin.
A/N: i was told by a friend that i MUST write this. and i trust their judgement.
'today is actually the worst', idia thought to himself as he trudged towards the fancy restaurant he was supposed to meet you in.
he feels out of his element in the stupid fancy suit his parents made him wear for the occasion, not to mention the acrid smell of the cologne that his father made him put on.
they even made two STYX workers escort him just so he wouldn't flake out last minute which he considered an egregious overreaction (he totally would have done so if they weren't there).
he steeled himself, taking a deep breath in front of the door and pulling on the handle.... only for it not to budge at all and for him to realize it was a push door.
"fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck..." he mumbled under his breath, the air of confidence he built up along the way here now completely shattered.
"i can't do this!" he turned back to the two STYX employees, gaze pleading. maybe they'll take pity on him and let him loiter around the town for a few hours and then go back so he can pretend like he met you.
"it will be fine. just be a gentleman." one of the workers replied, not at all sympathetic to his pathetic frown.
"hahaha... hehehe. that's rich." idia felt like he was losing the plot.
"in you go." the other eployee said dryly, pushing idia inside the restaurant curtly and closing the door behind him. idia sat there, frozen, for about 5 seconds.
"dammit..." he muttered, swiveling his head around nervously to take a look at his surroundings. the interior of the place was cloyingly gaudy, that's for sure. something befitting of a spoiled rich prince's bedroom. jeez, he so doesn't belong in a place like this.
"...-ir?"
'seriously...? now i look like one of those rich boy normies who act like they're deathly allergic to beef that isn't wagyu.' idia chided whoever picked this as the meeting place in his head.
"...sir? are you okay?" the unfamiliar voice snapped him out of his thoughts and his eyes met with those of a young waiter for just a moment before his gaze fell to the ground.
"yes! yes. i-i'm just... dandy." idia cringed at how unconvincing he sounded. and who the hell uses the word 'dandy' anymore?! this is really the worst day ever.
"alright." the waiter didn't really look like he believed idia, but he took pity on him (thank the seven) and asked "your table number, please?" before holding out his hand in a practiced motion.
"oh, uh... here." idia awkwardly rummaged around his front pocket, pulling out a decorated slip of paper with a number gilded in gold printed on it.
"great. follow me, sir." the waiter instucted and led idia towards a set of private suites on the second floor of the restaurant. guess the two families weren't willing to spare any expense on this.
time seemed to slow down as the dreaded suite came into sight. he caught sight of your shoulder as the two of them approached the door, the sight hardly being conducive to a calm state of mind.
the waiter pulled out idia's chair for him, idia awkwardly sitting down on it without so much as glancing at you.
"another waiter will be with you shortly to collect your orders. you may order anything your heart desires since your meal has been paid in full beforehand, esteemed customers." the waiter bowed slightly in goodbye, then left idia alone to his worst nightmare.
"...hello." you started, voice soft and unsure. you held out your hand across the table, intending to shake his hand in greeting. alas, idia didn't intend to so much as look at you properly anytime soon, so you awkwardly retreated your arm back to your side, acting like you weren't totally embarrassed by this.
"...h-hi." idia managed to force out, his brows furrowing at the way he sounded. he can't believe he's sitting across his future WIFE right now. it feels like a crazy dream he's gonna wake up from any moment now. hopefully.
meanwhile you weren't sure what to think at that moment. he looked... strange. i mean, how many people with flames for hair does the average person meet in their lifetime? you had so many questions but decided to bite your tongue because your parents instructed you to "be a lady," and you assume asking unsolicited questions about someone's appearance doesn't exactly fall under the label of "ladylike".
then again, it was your family's fault for keeping you in the dark about him. they hadn't even showed you a picture of him beforehand, just gave you a slight summary of who he is and what his family does (which was an awful lot to spring on you at once).
you won't lie though, he is lowkey handsome. almost like one of the dateable options from otome games, but actually real. you heaved a silent sigh of relief. you were sort of expecting the other shoe to drop but you're glad it didn't come to that. at least not yet, since you don't know anything about him as of now.
he stole glances at you every few seconds, each one solidifying his belief that you will be one of the worst things to happen to him. your hair was impeccably groomed, your makeup looked like it was done by professionals and your dress gave off the air of a distinguished noblewoman... you were a total NORMIE. the type of girl who turns her nose at anything that isn't mainstream pop or love island or whatever the hell normies like nowadays.
an awkward silence enveloped the quaint room and the two of you both felt terrible about it. you took it upon yourself to break the ice.
"so, idia, huh?" you plastered a smile on your face, trying your best to not let your discomfort show. you felt so out of place in a fancy dress, makeup and heels. not to mention the cloyingly sweet perfume your parents made you put on.
"...yeah. t-that's me." idia replied quietly, not at all commiting to keeping the conversation alive.
you decided that trying to make conversation was going nowhere, so you pulled out the menu, which looked more like a fancy grimoire. is this one of those generic shojo anime which take place in a vaguely european medieval setting, or what?
at least it gave you ample distraction from your... hot date.
your first date - you realised. it was always potrayed as a somewhat sacred yet lighthearted experience for a young girl in all the romance animes you watched, but it really didn't feel that way right now.
it was more like the first day of high school, where you had to introduce yourself and say one fun fact about yourself except it's just one classmate instead of about 25 and that classmate is going to watch you walk down the aisle towards him in a few short weeks.
idia reached for the menu himself, holding it out in front of him with shaky hands. the two of you sat in awkward silence, deciding on what you should eat.
soon, the silence was interrupted by a knock on the door and the two of you placed your orders without even looking at each other.
as soon as the waiter left, you sighed. "i'm sorry, i just have to ask. why is your hair-" you gestured at his head "...like that?"
'here comes the dreaded question', idia groaned, almost pulling his knees to his chin but realising that'd be rude when his legs were halfway there and dropping them back down.
you so think he's ugly and weird looking and- wait, you're still staring at him expectantly? and your expression holds no visible disgust?
he relented.
"i-i don't know how much y-you know... about STYX." he really wished he had his handy-dandy tablet right about now. he was using up way too much brain power and LP trying to articulate sentences to a stranger's face.
"the basics, i guess? i just know it's a secret organization that investigates magic in some way." you recalled your parents giving you that briefing session just a few short hours earlier.
"so, uh. m-my family... we're cursed, o-or whatever. that's why my hair is... l-l-like that. it b-burns my blot." he really didn't feel like going into the details right now.
"whaaat? how cool! i mean, it isn't cool that you're cursed, but like, so cool! i wouldn't even need a flashlight to walk around at night!" you giggled, imagining having such hair yourself and being able to read manga at night without turning on the lights.
"... i dunno. it kinda sucks." idia muttered under his breath and the only reason you could actually hear what he said was because the two of you were alone in a silent room.
"oh, um. sorry then." you made the educated guess that asking to touch his hair will only make things worse. it didn't burn the wooden chair he's sitting on, so you assumed it wouldn't burn you either.
you shifted in your seat and the silence returned. this is going terribly. not only have you not made any progress with your date, you've also managed to offend him.
luckily, the waiter rescued you from your misery by coming back with the food. at least temporarily, since he unfortunately wasn't there to stay.
"i still can't believe i'm getting married to you in a month." you said gently, picking at your food. it was one of those restaurants where you pay 9999 madol for a meal that couldn't even satisfy a toddler, making you frown at your plate.
you mostly said the statement to yourself, feeling dejected at the notion. you can only suppose your parents married you off without a second thought because you'd stay in your room all day, gaming or watching anime - not really contributing to he household in any meaningful way.
you knew they didn't find your behaviour very befitting of your status as a noble and you sorta became the least of their priorities when it came to their children, which you thought you were fine with until they approached you one sunny summer day, telling you you're getting married to a complete stranger.
is that just how little you meant to them? they didn't even seem that torn up about letting you go, they just talked about it flatly as if they were asking you to go downstairs to eat dinner.
idia didn't seem very excited about being reminded of the reality of his predicament. "uh, yeah. m-me neither." he muttered, not even bothering to hide the disdain that twisted his expression.
'well, that makes two of us.' you thought to yourself, feeling even more dejected now that even your future spouse has made it clear he hates this. maybe you should just shut up for the rest of the day since you can't do anything but mess things up. you don't know what "normal" people talk about, dammit...
suddenly, the silence was interrupted by your phone ringing, which wouldn't be a very big issue if it weren't for the fact that your ringtone was set to a premo song of all things. you panicked, rummaging through your fancy little handbag to pull out your phone (which was littered with anime stickers under its clear case) and quickly explained to the person calling that you're busy.
after hanging up, you noticed idia staring at you like he had just seen you commit a murder and you cursed under your breath. 'fuck, he knows i'm a weirdo now...' you lamented, trying not to let the embarrassment show on your face. "sorry, i... i thought i set my phone to silent."
"you... YOU'RE A PREMO FAN?!" the atmosphere in the room suddenly felt VERY different. idia felt absolutely elated, not just at the fact that you're a girl who knows the absolute genius of premo's music, but because your ringtone was an obscure unreleased song from their early days, ergo not a "fake fan" song. you were the real deal.
"no way, you too?!" you let your excitement at finding a kindred spirit show by leaning closer to him and watching his hair flicker excitedly. you suddenly felt like you were breathing hallowed air.
"YES??? i've been a fan since the release of their first album! i even own the limited edition light stick." idia bragged with a proud smile on his face.
"oh sevens, you mean the ones that were only available for a few months after the release of their second album?! not faiiiiir, i want to have it so bad. i mean, i guess i could buy it from a reseller, but it doesn't hit the same, you know?" you clenched your fists, groaning.
"i get it, i get it." idia nodded sagely.
"so, who's your oshi? i just looove kassia's singing. can't believe they gave her barely any lines in their older songs." you glared at no one in particular, upset about the injustice against your oshi.
"i'm more of an ifegenie guy myself. nothing can beat her visual OR her stage presence."
you realise just now that he seems completely different to how he was just a minute ago. he's suddenly looking at you (and actually looking at you, for that matter) like you're the best person on earth, his cheeks dusted a light shade of pink due to excitement. and he seems to be speaking freely, like he isn't forced to be here anymore.
you relaxed because of the change in atmosphere, enough to drop the hand you were holding over your phone to conceal all the anime stickers hidden beneath. when idia noticed, he felt like passing out from excitement.
not all hope is lost for a good life, baby!
"is that freaking 'magical minnie☆chan(star not included in pronounciation)'?!"
cue the two of you squealing in excitement. "holy shiiiit, that anime was my childhood, i can't believe you know it!" you just couldn't wipe the smile off your face.
"duh, it's a classic. any anime fan worth their salt knows AND loves it. who do you think i am? a tasteless tourist?" idia leaned a little closer towards you, his hair emitting a healthy neon blue glow.
"of course not. i even carry a little keychain of minnie around for good luck." you placed the designer handbag your parents pushed onto you last minute onto the table, pulling out a little plush keychain of the aforementioned character. "i felt like i could use a bit of her star☆beam☆power today."
he shifted in his chair, studying you with his gaze "you know, i totally thought you were a normie when i first saw you."
"oh fuck, that means my parents' makeover worked, actually. they tried to make me look like 'a proper lady', or whatever... i look much more dissapointing usually, so don't get too used to it." you laughed a little, trying to make the self-deprecating comment sound a little less depressing.
"so do i. i can't believe mom made me put on this stupid suit. it's not like i'm gonna be wearing it in front of you every day." idia clicked his tongue, hooking one of his lanky fingers behind the collar of his suit and pulling on it as if it was suffocating him.
"with your face? get outta here." you raised an unbelieving eyebrow, shaking your head slightly.
"...what's that about my face?" idia didn't follow. not in the least.
"i'm saying you're... hot, or whatever." you immediately felt cringe after saying it out loud, clutching the edge of the fancy tablecloth with one hand and shoving food into your mouth with the other.
a strange noise escaped idia's throat, like a sentence suddenly deciding it doesn't want to be spoken out loud after all and slipping back down his larynx against his will.
a girl, a real, actual 3D, made of flesh and bones girl.... just called him hot. he needs a moment to remember how to function again, even if he doesn't exactly believe you. you're definitely just trying to make him feel better about the whole arranged marriage thing. definitely.
and it's definitely NOT getting to him right now. (ignore the shaking fingers as he picks at his food).
you noted the tips of his hair turning pink, finding it sort of cute how it matches the blush on his face. not that you have any room to talk, you're just as flustered as he is right now.
but then again, what's the harm in calling your future husband hot, anyway? you're gonna spend the rest of your life with him.
yeah, it's kinda like an otome game. call the character hot and watch him blush. you're good at that.
the silence soon becomes suffocating again, though, so you feel the need to speak up again despite your nerves eating at you after the accidental flirty comment.
"so, uhm, now that we've covered that base... i have to admit i don't actually know how to code very well. i mean, i've tried and failed making a videogame using SY-PHR before, but that's like, about it." you decided to change the topic to something that's arguably more important considering the impending marriage. though from the minuscule amount of information you got about STYX (which is that they do fancy tech stuff aside from the magic stuff) this might be an obsolete thing to mention.
after a few seconds of seemingly processing your words, he grinned at you widely, which prompted you to grumble out: "...what? don't laugh at me." it's like you always say the wrong thing when you aren't talking about your interests with him.
"no, no, it's just... i made that game engine when i was 7. what a callback." with a smug smile, idia propped up one elbow on the table (which is something your parents drilled into you to not do, but oh well, you could use some reprieve from dumb dining rules, so you'd rather your future husband doesn't give a damn about them either).
"...you're shitting me."
idia sighed internally. they've moved past that dastardly compliment that's no doubt gonna haunt his dreams for the next few days.
just how is he gonna kiss you on the wedding day if he can't even handle one compliment from you? (that is, if you were actually being honest and weren't just gassing him up (he is in extreme denial).)
wait... kiss you? he's sort of been through this before because of the whole ghost bride situation, but he was much less attracted to that lady and in much bigger mortal peril at the fact that if that marriage did come to pass he'd actually die.
"i... idia, are you okay?" you asked, worried about the way his hair was flickering widely.
"fine.... i'm fine." he assured.
(he wasn't.)
.
"idia, dear, it gets better, i pro-" idia's mom paused at the elated smile splaying itself on her son's face upon his return to STYX headquarters.
"... how come you're so happy?" her face twisted in disbelief. she even had a whole speech prepared for him, very sure he'd return home looking just as unhappy as he left. well, it is quite a nice surprise to see he isn't, so she won't complain.
"how could i not be? she's a kindred spirit, wheheheheeee. i won't be miserable!~♪" idia giggled happily, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his dress shirt and finally feeling like he could breathe.
idia's parents exchanged a half happy half worried look.
"well, as long as you're happy, that's all that matters." idia's dad shook his head slightly, thinking about how his little boy is all grown up now.
"what's that supposed to mean?" idia looked at his parents askance but all he got in return was a suspiciously wide smile from each.
"...well then, did she say anything about how nice you look?" idia's mom interlaced her fingers innocently, not meaning much by asking that question.
the memory of you calling him hot echoed in his mind and that manifested in his face turning completely red and the flames of his hair flaring up and crackling widely for a moment.
that was answer enough for his parents.
"ummm... i gotta go... anddomydailiesbye!" idia quickly excused himself before he could be hit with any follow-up questions, retreating to his gamer lair (his room).
"hehehe, you used to make the same face when i complimented you back when we just started dating." idia's mom twirled a piece of her hair, smirking up at her husband.
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