#“hi yes i’m aware i have eyes drawn all over my face would you like a bag with that?’

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Vow 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!August Walker

Summary: your father’s murder leaves you in the hands of a dangerous man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

August draws you onto the dance floor. He tugs your arm so you swing into him, hitting his chest with an oomph as the first song begins. Your first song. Every girl dreams of this, don’t they? Their wedding day. Their first dance. But what about the father-daughter dance? 

You try not to think of anything but that moment. Not that bloody night, not the vows strangled from your throat, or the incessant pulsing of your heart. Just move your feet, sway, let the melody wrap you up and hold you close. 

Your husband has one hand on your lower back, his other cradles your gloves fingers and guides them onto his shoulder. You tilt your head up to see him. The spark in his blue eyes dispels your breath like fog. 

His hand falls to your hip as he turns you with him, moving smoothly around the floor, before all those watching eyes. Beneath the music is a drawn hush. His audience, his people, watch their new king take his crown jewel. 

His hand slips down and brushes the curve of your ass. He pulls you flush to him and growls. You squeak in surprise. It is another show of his dominance. Another proclamation of his power. If your father was alive, he would have his hands cut off but your father is dead and his hand remains as it is. 

“You are not his daughter anymore, you are my wife,” August intones under his breath. 

“Yes,” agree in a hollow gulp. 

“So smile,” he taunts. “Aren’t you happy to have a husband?” 

“Yes,” you repeat again. 

“You don’t seem it,” he challenges. 

You twitch. You make yourself lean into him. You drag one hand from his shoulder and to his chest. You feel the muscle beneath and your chest thrums. You feel his power nested beneath his suit. His cheek dimples, he’s pleased at the play of fear on your face. 

You make yourself smile and run your hand up to his collar and tickle along his neck. His throat bobs and you flutter over the short stubble already poking through his skin. He leans his head down and you nearly trip over yourself as you strain to kiss him. 

He hums, still moving you in his thrall, and his tongue flits over your lip. You let him in. He twirls you and bends you backward as he stills your feet. He deepens the kiss as he keeps you off kilter. The crowd jeers and eggs him on, shattering the brittle tension. 

He parts and puts you back on your feet. He spins you away and pulls you back in. You are weak to his whim. You are his wife, his possession.  

As he turns you, you see your mother. She watches in sombre stillness. She sits as others stands to watch, others joining the fun with their partners. 

Your hand drifts down and you keep it high on August’s shoulder as your other nestles into his side beneath his jacket. He purrs, content at your submission. He kneads your ass and breathes over your hair and veil. He toys with it as it brushes his knuckles. 

“Keep this on tonight,” he growls. 

Tonight. 

You quiver at the thought. This is only the beginning. That small hole in the back of your mind splits into a gaping tear and your fear floods in. 

“Your father always was greedy but I daresay his worst offense was keeping you locked up,” he snarls and kisses your forehead, the trim of his mustache bristling along your hairline. 

You shiver and curl your fingers against him. You cling to him as your legs threaten to give out. Your family mantle is suddenly a chain around your neck. The iron ball at the end will only drag you down. 

He nuzzles your hair, “will you shake when I have you under me?” 

You whimper, “please.” 

“Denial cannot protect you. It didn’t protect him,” he growls. “I could drag you out right now and fuck you over a toilet. Hell, I could throw you down on this floor and throw your skirts up and they would cheer me on. Every last one of them.” 

Terror surges through you and you pull back to look him in the face. To this point, he’s been patient. Stony and strict but not unkind. You can see clearly then what makes him so dangerous. His boldness. His shamelessness. His iron determination. 

“Yes, I know. I know you could. You can,” you eke out. “But I am being good. Sir, August, why would you be cruel?” 

He smirks, “I’m not, am I? I’m reminding you that I can, if you choose to stoke it.” 

“I understand,” you quaver and rub his chest appeasingly. Instinctively as you try to calm this sudden rise in him. “I can be good.” 

“For me or to me?” He wonders. 

“For-- to—Both. Whatever you will have of me,” you plead as you rub beneath his jacket. “Tell me what you want?” 

He stares down at you. His eyes sparkle and the corners of his lips tweak. He brings his knuckles up to pet your cheek. He considers you then stops, his hand on your hip. 

“It is time,” he booms out and signals to someone unseen. 

You turn to search for whoever it is. From your other side, a man approaches with a chair. You spin back and your mother stands. Her hands are fists. Her face is steel. She watches as her shame threatens to boil over. 

August puts you in the chair by your shoulders. You look around as the dancers still and circle around. Those still at their table angle around to see.  

You squirm as your husband gets to his knees. He puts his hands behind his back as Margot comes forward to lift your skirts. You stifle a yelp as she throws them over his head and he bows to drag his lips along your ankle. 

You twitch as he creeps up your stocking. You know what this is. You’ve been to many weddings. You always found the display terribly humiliating.  

His breath plumes over your leg as he reaches your thigh and he pinches you with his teeth. You cry out and your hands are grabbed before you can swat at your dress. Theo pulls your wrists behind you and you writhe as August continues his mission beneath the layers of tulle. 

His nose brushes along your leg and he kisses the tender flesh as you quiver. He nips and licks in a faux search for your garter, only biting down on it as you whine in discomfort. He tugs it down slowly as his growl rumbles against you. 

He brings it down the length of your leg and the skirts fall away from his head as he sits back on his heels. He has the lace in his teeth as his hair is askew from his plunge beneath the fabric. He grabs the garter and waves it at the ground as he stands and chortles in victory. You’re released and fix your skirts frantically. 

“Ahhh,” he scrunches it to his nose and inhales, “I can smell it. My wife is ready.” He shakes the garter in his fist and the crowd laughs, “aren’t you?” 

He turns to you and scoops you up. You cry out as he brings you against his chest. He sighs and looks around at the crowd; at his empire. 

“To the boss!” Theo calls out as he raises a glass and the entire room mirrors him in anointing their new king. 

[cryb4byem]

Purgatorium Part II

Kyojuro Rengoku x ArrangedMarriage! Reader

cw: 14.1k words, canon typical violence/injury, alcoholism, mild parental abuse/neglect

part one here

Every cell. Every fiber felt like it was trying to break free from your body. You had no idea what you were about to learn, and your implosion felt inevitable if you didn’t find out. 

The head of the Butterfly Mansion, the Insect Hashira, greeted you at the door. “Thank you for coming so swiftly, and by yourself. I am aware of your father-in-law's condition as well as how young your brother-in-law is.” She slid on a pair of white linen gloves before continuing.

“I’m sure you would like to know why my crow alerted you so suddenly.” If you weren’t wracked with panic, you would’ve admired her graceful, natural beauty. It seemed her almost enigmatic equanimity was the only thing keeping those around her, including you from spiraling. 

Her measured countenance and calm voice couldn’t have contrasted more with the state of the room around her. Three kakushi were slumped over each other, their faces to the wall quietly crying. Meanwhile other small girls with similar butterfly hair clips went in and out of the room beyond her with a controlled franticness. 

“Please listen to me carefully.” Her amethyst eyes pierced yours with a seriousness that was frankly, unsettling. “There was a confrontation between the Flame Pillar and the 3rd most powerful demon of Kibutsuji’s ranks about an hour ago.” Your breath catches in your throat, at the words. The 3rd most powerful demon? 

“He sustained severe transfixion trauma to his epigastric region. We moved quickly, and kept the demon’s limb in place as long as we could, and in that time he was able to stop most of the blood loss using a breathing technique.” Your hand shakily covers your mouth, the savagery of the attack, and the horror of such an injury were almost too much for you. 

“The amount of pain he is managing while conscious is unnatural, and quite concerning. We have been trying to sedate him since he arrived, but he begged to wait until you got here.” Her sharp gaze left you finally, shifting to the floor. “Despite his state, he was quite stubborn, and resisted our attempts to give it to him anyway.” 

You speak in a tensed whisper, “C-can I see him?” Each syllable was dragged from the pit of your body, you needed every bit of strength to not lose all composure. 

“Yes, quickly please. I trust you understand the criticality of this situation.” Shinobu looked over her shoulder to a young girl with bright blue eyes and pigtails as she turned into the room that seemed to be at the heart of the commotion in the Butterfly Mansion. 

“Aoi… please pull up the sheet on the Flame Pillar.” The girl’s brow furrowed in concentration, releases as she sees you, expression softening as she nods to Shinobu before disappearing behind the room’s entryway. 

“You can go ahead now.” Shinobu tells you finally. Upon her permission you begin hurrying into the room Aoi just turned into. “I just want to remind you we are doing all we can, and he is relatively stable for now… but… just be prepared…” 

You look over your shoulder back at Shinobu, words failing you before going in. The air hung heavy beyond the doorway, three little girls stood to the back wall awaiting orders while the slightly older girl, Aoi lighty ran a damp cloth over Kyojuro’s forehead. Delusionally, you imagined it was due to his warmth, the perpetual warmth emanating from his body everywhere he went, and not the onset of a stress induced fever and intense pain.

He laid, left eye wrapped in layers of bandage wrapping around his head, the thin hospital bed linens drawn to the base of his neck. Each of his labored inhale and exhale audible, a testament to his will actively clinging him to consciousness and keeping the looming threat of bleeding out at bay. 

His right eye fluttered open at your presence even without saying a word, the keen instincts of a warrior sharp as ever. 

“My flam-ACK.” He jumped to sit up, only for a guttural cough to send an abrupt jolt through his body, putting him onto his back. Laying immobilized once again, his breathing intensifying. 

“Rengoku-sama! Your wound! Shinobu-san told you not to move!” The little voice of one of the young girls behind you calls out her voice cracking, riddled with fear. 

His face contorts in discomfort, straining to utter “My apologies…” The words tumble out almost as if he doesn’t even know who he is saying it to; the little girls, you, himself, or maybe someone not even there. 

You look deeply into his uninjured eye, the bright golden orb that even now was completely free of clouds. You kneel at his bedside, feeling tears beginning to burn in the corners of your own eyes, you try to keep your tone as reassuring as possible and not let on how terrified you are. “Everything is going to be ok, alright?” 

His lips curl into a soft smile, his gaze softens, melting into yours like a stream of amber. You waited anxiously for a response, any response.

“Are you in pain?” His gentle expression remains unchanged as if he had just awoken from an afternoon nap, looking back at you. 

“Not anymore… If you’re here, I won’t feel a thing. I am fine, please do not worry.” His eye clamps shut as another searing pain courses through his body, making his breathing stutter again with a curt strangled groan. Despite what he said, it was clear he was in agony.

“Kyojuro…” Your brow furrows with concern as your eyes rake over his battered form. You look deeply into his eye intently trying to imprint every detail into your mind, as if the light may drain from it at any moment.

You didn’t even hear Shinobu’s delicate footsteps on the wooden floors or notice her until you looked up to see her at his opposite bedside, you were taken aback by her sudden presence. You shouldn’t be surprised, she is a hashira after all. 

“I’m sorry. We cannot wait any longer for the sedative. The more time goes without it…” She spoke solemnly, as though she knew what she needed to do, but almost didn’t have the heart to do it, almost. 

You felt one of the three small girls try to pull you back by your arm, “Ma’am please! Shinobu-san needs to work, you need to leave this room!” The words don’t even faze you, unmoving from your spot at his bedside. Making it clear to the entire Butterfly Mansion your stubbornness was only matched by Kyojuro’s himself. 

“Please don’t take him from me, not now. Please don't let someone else abandon me.” 

The words echo in your mind, like a cacophony of a lifetime of anxiety thrust to the surface all at once.

“She can stay. I’ll allow it.” Shinobu spoke, not taking her focus from the vial as she filled it with a solution, flicking it firmly to disperse any air bubbles. 

You feel the small girl release your arm going back to stand with the other two. You kept looking at Kyojuro, scared to look away, as if it was the last time you would ever bask in the warmth of his gaze. 

“My flame, let me tell you a few things.”  His voice was steady but strained, each word laced with sincerity.

“You don’t need to say anything… just save your strength.” You felt as though you were pleading with him at this point. 

“You’ve done enough, just rest.” 

You want to say to him, but you could see the seriousness on his face. Every man deserves to do with their last moments what they wish, and if these were just that, you would not be the one to deny him that. 

“Please, I want you to tell Senjuro he ought to follow the path he knows to be true, whatever path that may be. Remind my father to take care of his body.”

You look at Shinobu, almost as if to ask if there should be more witnesses to what could be the last words of the Flame Hashira, but she continued working, not even glancing down at you as she began administering the vial.

“And I want you to know that I love you.”

The tears you held in your eyes finally began to escape, your vision was cloaked in obscurity, but what did it even matter? As if anything was truly clear right now.

“I love you too.” That was clear to you if nothing else. What were otherwise the three most beautiful words one could utter to another, felt like they were just another deep wound you both inflicted each other with. Had he even heard what you said? Knowing him, he would feel personally responsible for the notion that another person would be agonizing over his condition.

The onslaught of emotion finally manifests in a strangled sob, wiping the tears from your eyes with the back of your sleeve. Seeing his golden iris enveloped beneath his closed eyelid and breathing softened, it is obvious the vial Shinobu gave him had already taken effect. 

Pressing the back of two fingers to his forehead, the only thing that you can use to ground yourself is that same unyielding warmth he radiated.

—————————————

You aren’t sure how many hours you’d been in the room. Time didn’t feel like it was passing. Maybe a part of you thought that if you kept looking at him long enough, you could pretend maybe he was finally getting the rest he deserved and not in a catatonic, forced respite from the wound that should have taken his life.

“You should go home. I’ll keep an eye on him personally.” Shinobu's voice was lighter than the chirp of a sparrow. “Trust me, the best recovery is sleep. Sometimes slayers sleep for months here, regaining their strength.” 

You cock your head over your shoulder to look at her, eyes wide and mouth agape. She raised a pointed finger, she was like a doll the way a perpetual contentment was painted to her face, it was a bit uncanny. 

“Not that I’m saying this will happen here. I induced the comatose state he is in, so everything is controlled, I made the compound so that he would naturally awaken when his body is in better condition.” 

This woman was truly a genius apothecarist, how did she even learn to make such a solution? 

“I see…” You didn’t want to stand yet; you craved just a moment more in his presence. You try to smile at her genuinely, but you knew it must have looked just as contrived as hers did. You didn’t have Kyojuro’s gift—the ability to smile authentically and joyfully, no matter how bleak things appeared.

“Before you go, can I give you his personal effects?” Your eyes moved from the floor to meet hers, nodding with the same polite smile still plastered on.

Shinobu took a package that couldn’t have contained more than a couple items from one of the youngest girls that helped around the Butterfly Mansion, transferring it into your grasp. 

Removing the thread and paper encasing the items, Shinobu stood unmoving before you, her eyes following your hands. Despite the smile she armed herself with, her gaze deepened, like this was something she understood all too well. 

Seeing the familiar kaen pattern, you stroked the back of your hand across the sturdy fabric of the Flame Hashira haori. Only to freeze as you feel something solid wrapped inside of it. Without hesitation, you reached within the white accented garment to pull out a rectangular box.

Could it be? Sliding the lid from the basin of the firm container to see delicate metal and crystal intertwined to make a plum blossom hairpin, the same kind that had saved your life not long ago. Your hands tremble uncontrollably as you remove it from its resting place.

“We found it in his pocket, even with the aftermath of the battle and the panic as he was rushed in, he implored us to be gentle in handling it…” 

After your first hairpin broke he must’ve planned to bring a new one for you that morning. Even with a gaping wound, he was concerning himself with being able to offer you an undamaged gift to replace the one he initially gave you when you arrived.

You clutched the package as if it was sacred, like maybe that if you didn’t, it would all slip through your grasp and cease to be like everything seemed to at the moment.

“Thank you for everything…” You finally broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper. You lower yourself to bow to Shinobu, before leaving, perhaps leaving a part of yourself behind as you do. 

 —————————————

There was a general malaise of silence at the house in contrast to the mid morning light, seemingly blanketing the grounds as if it was just another day. Something felt wrong about returning here alone from the Butterfly Estate. You scoured for the younger Rengoku, no doubt wanting– needing an update on the state of his older brother. 

You finally found him sitting alone in a room holding a sheathed sword in his lap. His head lowered as if in surrender, he was trembling as if terrified of what laid beneath the sheath.

You didn’t even know Senjuro owned a blade, it seemed ornamental at best. It looked as though it had never used a day since it was forged. 

Upon seeing you, his hazed and shaky expression was replaced with a mix of worry. Before he could ask you the burning question that had no doubt been haunting him, you notice a patch of tender skin on his cheek, an abrasion that looked as though it would bruise. 

“What happened to your face?” You lean lower yourself next to him to inspect, running your thumb over the skin, flushed red and running warm from the inflammation.

He turned his face to conceal the sore cheek from your view, putting his own hand over it. “One of the other swordsmen that joined brother on the mission came by the house…” His gaze faltered, shifting to looking at the ground. “He wanted to apologize… he was ashamed,  for not being able to do more in that battle.” 

“Father began insulting my brother, then suddenly was enraged by the slayer. Things began escalating. I tried to protect the slayer, and Father hit me…” 

You couldn’t believe the words you heard. You were sickened to your core. Beyond the scope of a Hashira, the scope of a patriarch, how could a father act this way? 

Words are one thing, as merciless as they were, especially to a man fighting for his life, but to strike someone so much smaller and weaker was despicable. Both were so egregious, it was impossible to even say which was worse. 

Taking a moment, you calmed yourself down, grounding your thoughts before responding. “Are you ok?” 

Senjuro kept his face angled down and the evidence of the violence that had occurred in your own home while you were out. 

“I’m fine… this is nothing.” He dragged his sleeve across his eyes with a soft sniffle, you could see how hard he worked to hide his emotions coming to the surface, there was something more important to him. “My brother… is he…?”

“He’s… sleeping, that’s all. They’re doing everything they can… ” You feel a lump forming in your throat at the words. You didn’t want to acknowledge what you were both thinking just as much as Senjuro didn’t want to. 

“I-I see.” His gaze stayed low to the ground, even as his fists balled at his sides with resolve. “Maybe… it will work now. It has to.”

Senjuro shakily removed the blade from its cover, sticking it straight in the air, looking up at it with anticipation. The sword quivered in the trembling hands of the boy. He looked up at it as if it was a beacon with the ability to connect him to a higher power. He stared up, waiting for something, anything to happen. Releasing a resigned exhale, his head dropped as the tears he had desperately held back began to flow freely. 

“I really don’t have any talent at all.” He looked up at you, dejection etched into every one of his features, “I prayed this day would never come, I knew I wouldn’t ever be able to carry on the Flame Hashira. This time, more than ever, my nichirin sword needed to change color. But even now, it refuses to. All because I simply don’t have what it takes.”

He set the sword down, his palms face up on his knees, silently sitting on the tatami floors. You wrap your arms around him, feeling him starting to shudder against you punctuating each sharp sob. 

“Do you want to know what your brother told me to tell you before he fell asleep?” You lower your voice to a murmur. 

“Wh-What did he say?” he stuttered, his lips pursed and voice trembling, but there remained a glint of hope evident as he stared at you, waiting intently to hear. 

You spoke steadily, trying to fully encapsulate the sincerity of Kyojuro’s words, hoping if he could hear his brother’s voice through you, maybe it would comfort him in ways you never could. “‘Walk the path you know to be true, whatever path that may be.’” 

He looked up at you, his glassy eyes widened, you could see him absorbing every syllable as if it was from a holy text leading him into enlightenment when the shoji door flew open to both of your shock.

“Senjuro! What did I tell you about the blubbering? I can hear your pathetic crying from across the house! As if Kyojuro hadn’t done enough, you had to show that Sun Breather how weak you are too! As if our family couldn’t be any more humiliated!”

Senjuro’s face drained of color, his pupils trembling at the intimidating figure in the doorway. 

“You’re the eldest son of this family now, so learn something from your fool of a brother!” He gritted his teeth, now speaking to no one in particular. “Trying to supplement his own inferiority, trying to make up for our insignificant bloodline, I have no doubt he used that cursed form to try to salvage a battle he was doomed to lose from the start. He should’ve never even picked up a sword to begin with!”

Cursed form? Sun Breather? Did he mean the boy with the earrings that Senjuro spoke of? You had learned to ignore most of what Shinjuro said; these ravings were likely just another temper tantrum fueled by the stuporous overindulgence he found at the bottom of several bottles. 

The discomfort hung like a chill in the air, filling the space between the fragmented inanities of the harsh words echoing through the room. Shinjuro finally lumbered away, the jug still tied around his wrist. You sat in the silence left in his wake, almost envisioning Kyojuro in that hospital bed, each breath he took and each pound within his chest a cry of hope.

You close your eyes for a moment before speaking in a hushed voice to Senjuro, “Your brother believes in you, always has. He’s fighting so he can be sure to come home and remind you of that himself.”

—————————————

“This hurts like hell!” The Sound Hashira grumbled to no one in particular. Kyojuro could only watch as his fellow Hashira limped from the doorway into the hospital bed the Butterfly Mansion staff had apathetically pointed to. 

The young nurses reassuring him that the Insect Hashira would be there “when she gets the chance” to treat his injuries. The adrenaline from battle must’ve finally dissipated by the time he reached the Butterfly Mansion.

After settling in with a few labored breaths, the man finally turned to his side, noticing Kyojuro in the bed beside him.“Rengoku? How long have you been up? Why are you still here?” 

“A few hours. Kocho has been keeping a close eye before she discharges me, but I should be good to go by now. Nevermind that though, what happened to you?” He had never seen the Sound Pillar as battered and bloody as he appeared before him now. 

“Remember how I was organizing some infiltration into the Entertainment District? Looking for an upper rank?” Kyojuro nodded intently, he was well aware of the operation in the Sound Pillar’s sector before he even boarded the train. 

“Well, we found it. The district is leveled, but we defeated the threat. And look, the two of us are matching now, and I even got one up on you.” The man gestured to his own covered eye before waving his left arm, permanently disfigured.

Even in this state, Uzui always had something to say to lighten the mood. Kyojuro always respected that trait in him, it was one of the primary reasons they got along as well as they did.

“You didn’t…” Kyojuro searched for the right word to describe the Sound Pillar's hobbled gait as he made his way from the entrance to the cot where he was now confined, as respectfully as possible. “Ambulate…  yourself all the way from Yoshiwara I hope?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” The Sound Hashira shook his head with pride. “My wives were there for me, of course. But Kocho said they couldn’t help me inside. Something about a very strict rule with spouses not being allowed to enter the Butterfly Mansion for any reason.” 

Uzui spoke with restlessness, trying to get comfortable in the hospital bed clearly not befitting his frame before trying to read the face of the Flame Pillar beside him. “Did she tell you about that too?” 

Kyojuro’s eyebrows knit together. “I was not aware of such a policy…” He said slowly, as if he was trying to figure out what his fellow pillar was referring to with each word. He affixed his gaze upon his comrade’s arm, bandaged shoddily in the heat of battle, severed at the wrist.

“As a dual wielder…” His lips pursed as he analyzed the sight before him. “You may have to adapt your swordsmanship.”

Kyojuro chuckled before resting his hand lightly on the covered wound punctured into his abdomen, “I was quite concerned for myself, but fortunately recovery is an option for me as well. It’s all of no matter, we will just have to train harder and get back to where we were!” 

Uzui studied the face of the Flame Hashira looking for any shred of sarcasm. “A-are you serious?” His eyes widened with shock, glancing down at the tightly wrapped bandages over Kyojuro’s chest.

“Of course I am, what are you trying to say?” Kyojuro looked at the Sound Pillar inquisitively.

The Sound Hashira exhaled sharply, lowering his eyes resolutely with a soft smile, “I’m stepping down. I’m done fighting.” Upon processing the rest of what Kyojuro confidently announced to him his head jerked to face him in disbelief. “You aren’t actually considering going back are you?”

“But as pillars-” Kyojuro was cut off mid sentence, his curiosity now only building with what his friend was telling him.

“I like to think I’m Lord Uzui Tengen before I’m the Sound Pillar.” He declared matter of factly, before his tone devolved back into its characteristic quippiness. “You’ve always blurred that line, but most bastards lucky enough to take a hole in the chest and live would see themselves the same.” 

Kyojuro tried to think back to the exact moment of impact, the demonic fist piercing his flesh, in the face of what could only be described as certain death had he drawn a distinction between the two?

Kyojuro’s ponderance was interrupted by the petite form of the Insect Pillar shadowed by the younger girl with blue eyes and pigtails coming in the doorway seemingly with no urgency at all. “Thank gods!” Uzui exclaimed, the exasperation ripe in his voice. “I thought you all forgot about me!”

Kocho spoke her voice sweet and light as ever complimented by the poignant, contented countenance she always had. “Oh dear! Of course not!” She gestured to the three youngest Butterfly Mansion girls to bring her a tray with some instruments and antiseptics. 

Tears formed in the corner of their eyes as they approached the Sound Hashira’s bedside to hand it off to their master, clinging to each other and hurrying away once they did as they were instructed. 

“Hey Kocho, do you have any painkillers or anything before you stitch me up?” Uzui spoke with a tinge of desperation, one he was clearly trying to suppress in the presence of others.

“Unfortunately, I don't recall we have anything strong enough for you here.” The Insect Pillar spoke with a curt sharpness.

The blue-eyed nurse with pigtails was much easier to read than her master. Even with the grimace she typically bore while concentrating on work, there was a particular scorn in her eyes that seemed to run deep. She stared daggers at the Sound Pillar, it was truly a distaste only unpleasant familiarity can foster. 

The Insect Pillar worked, doing little to prepare her patient for her next action, hastily attending to the injuries of her fellow Hashira. Her doll-like smile unchanging as heavy handedly she doused his deep lacerations with antiseptic before stitching them shut with fresh bandages.

Upon finishing, she walked away without another word or so much as a check in to ask how the Sound Pillar was feeling now, even though she hadn’t seemed to be rushing to another bedside as she retreated without a second glance

Uzui released the grit of his teeth following his treatment, sincerity filling his tone. “About your injury, sorry I didn’t come see you. I had my crow watch closely; it told me you were stable in Kocho’s care, although maybe that should’ve been something that worried me more than it did.” He squirmed in place momentarily, no doubt feeling some residual discomfort in the absence of anything to ease his pain before being treated.

Kyojuro shook his head “No, the staff here is the picture of gentleness and care for its patients, Kocho and all her sisters treated me with the utmost kindness and consideration.” 

Uzui looked out the doorway to see the three youngest Butterfly Sisters looking at him with aversion, still on the verge of tears, while the blue-eyed pigtailed nurse’s contemptuous stare only intensified in her master’s absence. 

The Sound Hashira chuckled to himself blithely. “Huh. You don’t say.” 

His gaze moved from the main room beyond the doorway back to Kyojuro in the hospital bed beside him. “I just couldn’t bring myself to leave the district once I stopped getting updates from my girls.” A playful smirk crossed his face again as his solemn tone brightened, “I figured mere Upper Three wouldn’t be enough to take you out. I trust you understand.” 

Kyojuro looked at him knowingly with a reassuring smile, “Of course. No need to explain any further.”

“You know, the kids that were on the train with you volunteered to come to the district with me. The Kamado boy in particular gushed on and on, don’t be surprised if you start getting fan mail from him.” 

A warm smile crept across Kyojuro’s features at the mention. Hearing they had all recovered quickly and been assigned another mission while he had been out, made every drop of blood shed feel all the more worth it. He really had been able to protect them as he was expected to after the train incident, even if he in  the end failed to finish off the upper rank. 

“Ah yes, young Kamado. Truly good natured. I’m sure he would speak fondly of anyone who fought by his side.” He folded his arms across his chest assuredly as he always seemed to when he felt idle. 

The Sound Pillar moved his one good arm casually behind his head. “I don’t think just ‘anyone’ could have done what you did in the first place.” 

Uzui sighed. “You’ve done good, Mister Flame Pillar. I think you deserve to just be Rengoku now.” Kyojuro tried to hide the thoughtful pensivity welling behind his eyes before spreading across his face. Kyojuro knew he had always been able to read like a book, trying as he might to hide how he felt.

“Ugh. No need to do the Tomioka face.” The Sound Hashira said less than affectionately, He feigned annoyance, but his genuine concern was evident. “It’s up to you of course, but I think you should take a cue from me and go home to your wife now. Give my best to your mini-me.”

—————————————

By the time Kocho had let him leave the Butterfly Mansion, she wrapped his bandages extra taught, surely expecting he would have removed them the minute he was out of her sight. She was not wrong, he had definitely contemplated tearing them off before he returned to his home. 

But he knew he ought to leave them for now. Show the bare wound? Too disturbing. An eyepatch felt too drastic, permanent. Even though he was told to be cautiously optimistic at best on recovering his sight in that eye, bandages gave the hopeful impression to both his family and himself that regaining his vision was not out of the realm of possibility just yet. 

And there was the matter of crutches. He’d declined the nurses’ offer without a second thought. He wasn’t above using them, of course—he had used crutches before when it was necessary. 

But this time felt different. This time, he had come closer to death than he ever had before, closer than he had ever imagined. The weight of that knowledge was still fresh, he liked to think that was to blame for the piercing sensation beneath his ribs rather than the obvious.

Turning the corner into his ancestral home, he was not surprised to see his brother doing his daily chores per usual. Senjuro swept the entryway with a thousand yard stare. His gaze was unfocused, the bristles haphazardly brushing over the floor as if he wasn’t truly seeing it beneath him. He seemed to move mechanically as if the incessant noise in his head left him catatonic. 

As much as he wished Senjuro would let others help him, he knew productivity usually brought him peace of mind. Likely now more than ever thanks to his extended stay at the Butterfly Mansion riddling them all with uncertainty. 

Upon seeing him, Senjuro dropped his broom, his hazed expression replaced with overjoy. He ran over stopping himself in his tracks before jumping into his still recovering older brother’s arms.

Senjuro’s smile faltered as he took a small, hesitant step back, his gaze flickering down to Kyojuro’s chest, then back up to his face. He looked scared to get any closer, as if Kyojuro was made of glass and the slightest touch would make him shatter before his eyes. Kyojuro slowly opened his arms, donning his iconic smile brimming with warmth and familiarity. A simple reassurance.

That was all needed for Senjuro’s momentary unease to be erased. Without a second thought, Senjuro closed the distance, throwing his arms around his elder brother in a tight embrace. 

He let out a slight hmph slightly faltering backward for a moment. The pressure against his abdomen was not exactly comfortable, but that did not stop him from tightening his own arms around his little brother. 

“Thank gods Kanroji-san brought some sweet potato and sakura mochi earlier! I would’ve made more if we had gotten a crow you were discharged!”

Kyojuro did not have the heart to tell Senjuro he had been living off extra salted miso soups and herbal tea since awakening, and was told to continue doing so until breathing was more comfortable.

Kocho had mentioned that at least three times as he left the manor. She must’ve correctly suspected yet again his own appetite was a potential hazard to his recovery. Even castella cake was too solid and dense for him to consume in his condition. 

“I will have to thank my former tsuguko for her thoughtfulness when I see her next!” He tried to remain as lighthearted as possible as he declared what no one ever believed they would live to hear him say.  “As delicious as that sounds, I am not hungry at the moment!” 

“Not hungry?” Senjuro repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You?” His eyes raked over his elder brother searching for the cause of such an anomaly. 

Just as Senjuro inspected the state of him, Kyojuro noticed the dark circles beneath his brother’s eyes, and the complexion of his face paler than he remembered. 

“I am simply so full of energy and vitality I have no need for anything to eat! Why don’t you off from your chores for the rest of the day, Senjuro!”

“A-are you sure?” Senjuro swiftly took his broom back into his hands as if to prove he had no reason to not continue as he was. 

Kyojuro put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, a gesture that always seemed to make Senjuro feel more at ease. “Certainly, you look as though you could use rest. I will take over for you”

Not being deterred in the slightest Senjuro replied, “No I can do it I promise!” Senjuro swiftly took his broom back into his hands as if to prove he had no reason to not continue as he was before Kyojuro came.

 “She’s doing the laundry for me already outside. So at least let me do the rest of the chores!” The younger Rengoku boy seemed almost frantic as he tried to prove that he was still more than capable of carrying out his perceived responsibilities.

 Kyojuro was momentarily taken aback looking into the fuzzy silhouette of a reflection of himself, one that went deeper than their appearance. 

He had spent the better part of his life encouraging and reassuring his brother, for this exact reason. He had foolishly believed that maybe that would be enough for Senjuro to ignore the example that had been before him since their mother had died nearly a decade ago. 

There were many things he was capable of protecting him from, however there remained some things he could only try to ward off. He was more than happy to act as a human shield to all the unpleasantness of the world he had dealt with himself. 

That was not to say his brother was delicate. Senjuro’s meek and sensitive exterior was not beguiling of his fiercely loyal and indomitable spirit. His patience was seemingly boundless, while being the most empathetic person Kyojuro had ever met. Senjuro’s maturity was indeed far beyond his years.

In spite of all of this, Kyojuro wanted him to have had a normal and carefree childhood. Maybe if they were another family under different circumstances, in some kind of a perfect world, Senjuro would not be confined to doing household work all day. He would have a plethora of friends to enjoy the blissful innocence of juvenility, with two loving parents at home, and no perceived expectations he was forced to inherit or self-condemnate over. 

Most of all he would not feel the need to fight for the validation of others, or establish his worth in his actions. While he could not protect him from loss or neglect, surely he could do that much even now.

There was no use grieving over what could have been, the reality was Senjuro had begun to take after his own tendencies. Something he could never forgive himself for being the cause of if it went too far. His own resolve was still strong, but he could at least try to set an example of self preservation when Senjuro was watching. 

He took the broom from Senjuro’s hands once again, leaning it against the wall beside them.”Why don’t we both take some time off today!” He proclaimed as confidently as possible. Senjuro’s shoulders, which had been taut with unease, dropped and with them Kyojuro breathed his own sigh of relief.

He no longer protested his elder brother’s suggestion to get some rest. Kyojuro walked his little brother to his room. As he followed, the younger boy barely lifted his head, his gaze still unfocused, lost in the exhaustion that clung to him. 

Tucking him into his futon, Kyojuro adjusted the pillow beneath his brother’s head, fluffing it gently, even though he knew Senjuro wouldn’t mind either way. He moved deliberately, his smile unchanged despite his mind spinning. He couldn’t help but hope that his little brother wouldn’t notice the subtle shift in Kyojuro’s actions today—the slight urgency in his insistence. 

Perhaps fatigue dulled Senjuro’s emotional intelligence enough that he failed to detect the thinly veiled half-heartedness behind him emphasizing they deserve to both call it for the day. He had been home for moments, and on bedrest before that while Senjuro had been beside himself with worry, maintaining their home. Kyojuro felt dread pool in his stomach, the thought nearly sickened him.

Once making sure his little brother was comfortable in his futon, he rose from his crouched position to his feet again, clamping his eyes shut with a sharp exhale at the shooting pain through his abdomen at the sudden movement. 

Luckily, Senjuro had succumbed to exhaustion the moment his head touched the pillow, sparing him any more anxiety over his big brother’s condition. 

He was embarrassed at how rapidly even the simplest tasks; walking, standing, really had exhausted him. Kocho had not necessarily given him advice on activity now that he was no longer in critical condition, she just reiterated not putting “undue strain” on the body. As vague as that was, he figured he must be experiencing some version of that as his breath became more labored as he walked through the corridors of his own home. 

Almost as if moving against his will, he lowered himself into his futon. He hoped maybe he could get some sleep as soundly as Senjuro, his head barely made contact with the pillow before he drifted off  even with rays of early evening daybreak still illuminating the sky. 

He was happy he had managed to soothe the terrifying thoughts eating his little brother from the inside while he was recovering at the Butterfly Mansion. 

Hopefully, Senjuro genuinely believed things were right in the world again, and that he had no need to prove himself to those around him any further. If he did genuinely believe that, Kyojuro envied it. 

—————————————

The laundry had kept you busy from the late afternoon until the sun hung low in the sky, and you were grateful for the long days of summer, which offered a grace period of a few more hours of safety outside.

You must have looked strange in your tsumugi woven silk kimono, churning laundry by the creek. You wiped a bead of sweat from your brow, before brushing your hands over your hair to ensure the hairpin was still in place. You refocused on the task at hand, gripping the sentakubō with both hands once again. 

The water stirring and forming small whirlpools as you plunge the wooden paddle into the melange of soaking garments with a slosh. You raise the paddle up before submerging it again, fabric swirling in the sekken infused water. 

These were the ancient methods Senjuro had told you had been used for centuries in the family. 

“Drinkable well water is too precious to be used on clothes, there is flowing mountain water just beyond the gates by a small grove of wisteria trees. That’s where we have done laundry for as far back as I know of.” 

The fatigue evident in his every motion momentarily ceased for him to give you particular instructions before you handle the household laundry on your own for the first time. 

In Tokyo, you heard some families had found ways to pump water into their homes. No access to wells or streams necessary. You were unsure whether to be skeptical or amazed at the Western innovations being integrated at breakneck speed into the capital, but the Rengoku family seemed utterly disinterested and unimpressed by anything that brought them away from the techniques of the past. 

Regardless of the flow of time, the Rengoku family had yet to betray the techniques of their ancestors that had never failed them before.

Perhaps they felt both indebted and venerated by the practices that had upheld their name through generations of Flame Pillars and centuries of war against man-eating evil. Each Hashira over the ages living long enough to pass on every aspect, no matter how trivial, of traditional lifestyle to their children and then their children’s children. 

Proof of demons and time alike being unable to erode them into nothing more than history, a bloodline persisting even today, against all odds. 

Your nose prickled at the herbal scent of the laundry solution you had handled for the past few hours soaking, scrubbing the items against the ridges of a washboard before draping each clean textile over a clothesline to dry in the tepid air. 

It was dull, tedious, and somewhat exhausting work, but anything to take your mind and a piece of your heart from the Butterfly Mansion was a welcome distraction. 

As you carried out mundane household chores as of late, you had made it more engaging by picturing Kyojuro watching you with pride, a glint of familiar affection in his eye. 

It only pushed you harder to put your all into everything you did, regardless of how unremarkable it may seem to others. That was what he would no doubt do in your shoes.

—————————————

You had expected Senjuro to be milling about getting things done for the same reason when you arrived back at the estate.The broom leaned against the wall of the engawa was telling enough to you he must’ve finished his daily tasks up and retired into the house for the time being. It might have been slightly unusual, but not anything provoking much cause for concern otherwise.

You looked forward to idleness for the remainder of the evening. Slipping into fresh clothes, you made your way to your room, eager to lie down and rest. 

As you walk the corridor, a blur of fiery colors ignites in your peripheral vision beyond the sliding door of a room that had sat empty as of late. Was that? You freeze in disbelief. 

“Kyojuro?” The name slips from your lips before you can stop it, even though you know the chances of him hearing you from this distance without even seeing your lips were low, but it doesn’t stop your heart from leaping in your chest nevertheless.

Eventually he must sense your presence, his unwrapped eye meeting yours, and in that instant, it feels like everything else fades away. He shifts from his reclined position to sit upright. Even just sitting up in his futon, you notice the subtle tension in his body, the familiar way his arms instinctively cross in front of him—, a pose you know he adopts when idle, as idle as he was capable of being anyway.

You had seen him like this before, when he was always on guard, always ready for battle. The weight of responsibility had never left him, even when he wasn’t fighting. But now, in this quiet moment, it felt almost surreal. You felt a wave of relief flood over you—he was here. He was home.

You didn’t know whether to run over to him, break down into tears, fall to your knees thanking every god and spirit that was looking out for him, or all three at the same time. He watches you with that familiar intensity in his eyes, but there's something softer now, an unspoken heaviness in his gaze

“You were resting… I’m sorry for the disruption.” You did something you hadn’t done since you arrived at the house, lowering your head into a bow. It simply felt appropriate, the least you could do was show your respect, as unnatural as it felt. Kyojuro blinked, taken aback by your gesture, his brows clenching together in confusion as he watched you. 

There was a moment where his eyes seemed to search yours, as if uncertain how to respond, had a distance that great grown between you? You raised from your bow before he could tell you it was ‘not necessary for the likes of him,’ your grasp taking hold of the edge of the shoji door to drag it shut. 

“I’ll let you enjoy some peace and quiet.” Your words felt inauthentic as you spoke, it wasn’t what you wanted, but it felt like what you deserved. You wished you knew what to say to him, but how could you? You could do nothing but watch helplessly while he writhed in pain waiting for you at the Butterfly Mansion. 

Standing by watching the sparks fade his eyes, feeling the room grow colder and colder still. Was that really all you could do? 

Every night since then, you had hoped for a miracle, that you would wake up and he would be back. Now here he was and all you could do was grapple with the futility of your every effort against the inevitable, one that would have come to pass with or without your consent. Like almost all else in his life, he overcame this on his own.

He tilted his head to the side trying to catch your downturned gaze with a soft smile, “You know” He paused until your glassy eyes met his. “I’ve had enough ‘peace and quiet’ for this lifetime.” 

He hesitated for a heartbeat, there was an almost imperceptible urgency in his tone, as though the simple request held more than he could express. “I would enjoy your companionship…” His eye locked onto yours, and you could hear him telling you what he truly felt, but couldn’t bring himself to say, “Please don’t leave me alone…”

Your fists closed around your sleeves as you looked on from the doorway. 

“Could I lay beside you?” You meant to ask gracefully, but a tremble caught itself at  the end of your words. In spite of you both being wedded, something ignited embarrassment within you at your own request. You weren’t quite sure what his experience with such things were, but you certainly had none to speak of. 

You had been confident everything would be ok, but a part of you filled with dread at every crow that flew overhead. Terrified, one of them was Shinobu-san informing you regrettably that they had failed, and he was gone. You just wanted to be close to him, close enough to hold onto and hope he wouldn’t come so close to slipping away from you again. 

“Absolutely!” His boyish excitement quickly commanding sincerity, his voice lowering to just above a breathy whisper “I mean… you do not need to ask. I am yours after all.”

If anything was capable of soothing the apprehension you felt, it was hearing him deliver an enthusiastic exclamation. You studied him, your eyes drifted down again to his arms crossed on top of his chest. Whether be a barrage of responsibility or self doubt, he always carried a tension palpable in every fiber. 

In a gentler world that asked for less of someone like him, maybe he wouldn’t need to. But even if he was not of that world, you could create a piece of it for him to dwell in. A place both his weary body and mind could be at ease.

You lowered yourself into the futon, trying to not focus on your heart, beginning to quicken, as the sound of his breath became audible each inhale and following exhale affirming to you he was alive, and he was yours.

“Am I making you nervous?” You asked genuinely, seeing his shoulders tighten and arms stitch together more tautly and a rouge flush across his cheeks even in the low light. 

He conveniently subverted your inquiry, rebounding it back to you.“You are not nervous, are you, my flame?” His tone seemed to waver in its usual certainty. 

“Not with you…” Even the intoxicating stillness, you cannot help but notice his strained comportment.  “You’re so stiff…”

He spoke no doubt a bit louder than even he anticipated, “Not stiff!” His sudden surge in volume took you back, the abruptness of his response leaving you momentarily unsettled. But as his words settled into the space between you, you quickly found yourself adjusting again into comfort.

“Just a habit, I assure you.” His voice was softer this time, a hint of something more raw slipping through his usual certainty. “I have been trained to be vigilant, at all times. I suppose it’s just how I’ve learned to exist.” 

“Hm. I see…” Your brow furrowed, pursing your lips together almost imperceivably. You extend your arms to place one hand on each of his shoulders, meeting his gaze you search the embers of his unbandaged iris for any sign of discomfort before cupping your hands. 

You, for only a moment, feel the heat of his gaze rake over, consuming each inch of your form. It was enough to make your skin prickle under its blistering intensity. Being used as its fuel, a slow burn ignited in your chest, radiating outward in waves, trailing sparks down to your fingertips and toes. You pry your eyes from your own hands back to his blistering stare to catch his lashes flutter briefly, clenching his eyes shut as if mentally reprimanding himself. 

Your palms take in the dense sinews forming sharp lines and curved ridges beneath your palms, before you push them down from their contraction. His arms finally dropping from their cross to his sides. You try to cut through the tension imparting a squeeze in a circular motion to the corded muscle between your thumb and fingers. 

As the pressure deepened, a soft, involuntary shudder rippled through him, a sudden tremor that surged from his shoulders down to his spine. It caused him to partially heave forward, his posture faltering as his head tilted to the side. A strangled sound—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper—escaped his lips.

You pull back your hands instinctively. “I-I didn’t mean…”

He shifted slightly, avoiding your gaze for a brief moment,  the blush deepening down to his neck. “I... I think I made a rather odd sound just now... My sincerest apologies” He spoke just above a murmur, his tone uncharacteristically timid, and pupils blown wide. “I must have broken my Total Concentration Breathing. I-I just… did not expect that to feel so good.”  

After a moment, his voice came again, a little more vulnerable than usual, almost tentative. “May I hold you?”  For a man so often brimming with confidence and conviction, this sudden bashfulness was endearing, almost disarming.

You echoed the words that had made your heart flutter since you heard them, “I am yours after all.” As the moments stretched on, the world outside began to blur, your breaths falling in sync with his. His hand trailed absentmindedly through your hair, his touch lulling you closer to sleep. Just before the haze of slumber overtook you, you felt him press the lightest kiss to your temple, his lips lingering as though committing the moment to memory.

And so, wrapped in his embrace, safe within the steady glow of his presence, you drifted off. For even in sleep, you knew you were wholly his, and he, yours.

—————————————

Kyojuro found himself restless with the first breaks of light, the flecks of dawn slowly spreading from the base of the horizon as the sky remained inked with the deep indigo of night. 

He sat up, given the opaque darkness of the sky it was hard to believe that golden rays of light would cut through the boundless pitch black expanse above him.

Since he had awoken, he had begun to be enchanted by things he had never paid much mind to before. The way the dawn happened to bleed into night, if there was nothing else you could rely on in this world, there was solace to be found in the consistency of daybreak. 

No matter how empty the void of night seemed, the dawn would overcome it anyway, illuminating the heavens without fail. Admirable. It was truly admirable.

Turning his gaze toward you, his heart softened even further. You lay curled beside him, your expression serene in the half-light, your hair tousled from sleep. Kyojuro couldn’t help but smile—bright and warm, though he kept it quiet, not wanting to disturb you. He leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to the crest of your hairline, lingering for a moment as if to savor the touch.

"Rest well," he whispered, his voice low and affectionate. Carefully, he slipped from the futon, each movement deliberate and gentle so as not to disturb the stillness that wrapped around you like a cocoon.

While cooking was outside his expertise, he was more than capable of boiling water in a hagama with tea leaves. 

As he entered the main room to prepare it, he noticed his father already seated with his gaze fixed on the sky. Kyojuro’s  instincts made him want to turn around and recede right then and there, before stopping himself.

“You are up early, Father.” Kyojuro shifted his head to the side almost as if to hide his face. He could hardly bring himself to face the former Flame Hashira. In his father's eyes, the cold sweat on his brow and the ghostly pallor of his skin would no doubt serve as a (half) living testament to the very words he had insisted upon to Kyojuro for years.

His hand quivered as he sprinkled a spoonful of the tea leaves into water before beginning to boil them together on the wood stove. 

Shinjuro hardly acknowledged the presence of another behind him more than a quick glance over the shoulder. His expression was as equally austere and annoyed as usual.

Similar to how Shinjuro kept his eyes firmly locked onto the slow ascent of the sun, Kyojuro relegated his own gaze to the kettle on the stove, barely looking away as the silence was intermittently broken by the sound of chimes swaying in the breeze.

When the water adopted the greenish hue from the tea leaves, he removed the hagama from the heat.

“Uh... tea, Father?” Kyojuro said as he set out two cups just in case. It was unusual enough his father was awake at dawn, and out of his room. He rarely saw Shinjuro eat or drink much, usually sleeping or drinking the day away, it would be even more unusual for him to break that pattern. But, he felt obliged to ask him anyway.

Shinjuro spoke, his voice gruff as it had been as long as Kyojuro could remember. “Sure.” He paused for a long time before adding, “Thank you…” 

Kyojuro looked up with shock, but only to look at the back of Shinjuro’s head once again. He poured the liquid into the cups, curls of steam wafting from each one with an earthy aroma. 

With one in each hand he brought it over to where his father sat at the edge of the room, the sky fading from nox to a peach tone as the apex of the sun became visible over the horizon line. 

He lowered his head as he placed the cup on the ground, Shinjuro’s scarred hand wrapping around it where it sat. Kyojuro slowly backed away from where he resided to leave him be.

“You can sit, son.” Shinjuro said, finally turning over his shoulder to meet Kyojuro’s gaze. Kyojuro moved closer again trepidatiously before lowering himself to the ground with a sharp exhale, the pressure on his wound making his face twist momentarily as he did so.

Kyojuro could not help but notice the thick, pungent smell of sake—a scent that had been a constant companion to his father for as long as he could remember—was completely absent this morning.

“In nearly 20 years as a pillar, I used that damned form three times.” Shinjuro spoke, his eyes not leaving the sky as he took a sip of the tea in his hand. “You’ve used it twice that I know of, but it’s been more times than that, right?”

Kyojuro did not even want to reply to his father’s probing, it would not matter anyway, they both knew the answer to the question.

The former pillar’s jaw clenched in grim recognition of Kyojuro's telling silence. However, the response was not angered, but seemed shackled with the heaviness of frustration.

Kyojuro took a long drink of the cup of tea in his hand, it was easier than thinking of the right thing to say.

Shinjuro continued, his voice steady but carrying a hint of weariness. “I practically memorized each word of the chronicles. The Breath of Flames like every other breath will always be derivative. Yet our swordsmen are the only ones who refuse to believe that. Neither the chosen ones nor those blissfully content with their own mediocrity use anything as foolish or self destructive as that damn 9th form.” 

Kyojuro knows the destruction he spoke of all too well. The gelatinous cartilage protecting the shoulders, knees, elbows, hip flexors, ankles, spine, it was all fickle. 

Once the body has worn it down, usually through decades upon decades of usage the grating discomfort of bone on bone friction rarely goes away, in many cases it can leave one chair bound from the intensity of every joint aching.

While all such an affliction can happen naturally with the flow of time, but the amount of power emitted from the 9th form was anything but natural.

The records of the ways of Flame Breathing made this clear to the user. Even by the standard of breath forms, which already amplify the body beyond its innate threshold, the concentration of power in the 9th form of Flame Breathing was exceptionally great.

The amount of strain on the body by the 9th form was more than some could handle. Some Flame Pillars of the past did not have the composition to use it more than once or twice at absolute most. The immense pressure on the body had a way of hastening degeneration. The form was strictly a last resort when facing a foe that needed to be defeated at all costs. 

The brighter and hotter a flame burns, the sooner it flickers out. Yet each time he was left with no other option but to use it, he did so without hesitation.

He had always fought to save lives with his body as little more than collateral in the grand scheme of his duty, so what did a few adverse side effects matter if it allowed him to prevail against a powerful demon that could go on to devour dozens?

Shinjuro muttered under his breath bitterly as if trying to suppress a visceral growl gathering in his lungs at the words alone. “The Breath of Flames, the Flame Hashira mantle, all of it, who gives a damn about a line of talentless fools breaking themselves just to end up average. It’s just a pitiful tale, nothing more. I’ve asked myself over and over why anyone would want to pass that on to the next generations.” 

He shook his head slowly with an exhale, his knuckles becoming lighter as he gripped his cup more tightly before releasing it again. “I knew I should’ve destroyed the infernal pages of the Flame Hashira Chronicles a long time ago.”

Kyojuro’s tone became calmer than even he knew it to be, almost as if unconsciously imitating the softness of how his own mother spoke to him all those years ago. “Whether it is pitiful or not, it memorializes their will. Their triumph, their struggle, none of it will go unnoticed, and they will be remembered fondly for their bravery and their role in our history.”

Shinjuro was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant still settled on the peach streaks as they became gold across the sky. “Did you ever read about my predecessor?” He grumbled with narrowed eyes.

Kyojuro’s brow furrowed into thought before replying. “Our grandfather, yes of course. I read about every Flame Hashira. It is a shame Senjuro and I never met him.”

“Trust me, you’re lucky you only ever read about him.” Shinjuro let out a forced chuckle before taking another sip. “Obsessed with the family legacy, he’d probably have carved ‘Flame Hashira’ into my chest the day I was born if he thought it would keep me from forgetting who I was meant to be. And just my luck—I happened to be the bastard’s only child. That meant all his expectations, all his delusions about immortality through legacy, fell squarely on my shoulders.” 

Kyojuro heard a pain in his father’s voice that he had only caught a handful of times before—a rare, almost fleeting vulnerability that Shinjuro rarely allowed anyone to see. His mind drifted back to faded, gilded memories. When his father’s smile had been constant, his pride unwavering. He could still recall the way his father’s eyes would light up as he passed down his sword skills to him and Senjuro, enthusiastic and patient.

Those memories were growing hazy with time, as though they were trapped in the mist of nostalgia, but the warmth they stirred within him was unmistakable. It was the kind of warmth that invigorated him—like the very ichorous blood of the Flame Hashira flowed through his veins, and he was destined for greatness.

“Perhaps…” Kyojuro murmured, his voice wistful, “Perhaps… He must have seen potential in you… " His eyes fell to the ground, his chest felt hollow as if the air was being drawn from it. "And that was the reason he pushed you so hard and did not ever give up on you...”

Shinjuro’s lips pressed together into a firm line. “Potential? No. He didn’t see me. Not as a person. I was a tool, a means to an end—a way to keep the Rengoku name alive, to make himself feel like he mattered.”

Shinjuro's voice held calm, but kept carrying the crushing weight of resignation.“Part of me wanted to show him I would be the last Flame Breathing user,” His eyes stayed distant, unblinking.

“Just let our name die out, fade into oblivion as a fragment of history. Just so my miserable old man’s last thought would be regret. That nothing he tried his damndest to maintain would last after one generation. I refused to be another cog in the perpetual machine.”

Kyojuro looked down at the swirls of green fluid in the cup as he held it in his lap. His voice curious as he looked over, as though trying to understand a piece of the past he had never been allowed to see. “What changed your mind?”

“Your mother…” Shinjuro’s lips twisted slightly, but not with anger—more like a quiet bitterness that he no longer had the energy to hide under anger or indifference. “But just like everything else, it was all futile, just a beautiful dream she was kind enough to let me believe in. Even for just a little while.”

Kyojuro’s eyes flickered, a quiet understanding passing between them at her mention.

Shinjuro let out a long sigh, setting his cup down with a soft clink, though his movements remained languid. “I don’t know if she fell victim to the suffering fate has ordained for us by becoming my bride. Maybe she stood a chance before then. But not us, if you’re born into it, you don’t have a choice, it's your cross to bear whether you want it or not. That’s the cruel joke. That’s the purgatory we’re bound to.”

The sun was higher now, and the colors in the sky deepened, casting a warm glow over everything.

Shinjuro’s voice broke the stillness again, his voice softer now than Kyojuro had known in so long. “I never wanted to be the kind of man to force a son to swing a sword until he vomited and his hands were torn open and bleeding. I should’ve never let either of you boys touch a blade. Just let the cycle end and be free. But you and Senjuro... you were always drawn to it. Always. I could see it in your eyes.” 

His gaze turned, albeit reluctantly, to Kyojuro, meeting his gaze in earnest. “We can’t help it, can we? It's in our blood I suppose.”

The sun was fully risen now, casting a golden glow over the room, spilling warmth across the tatami floor. Shinjuro, still staring out at the horizon, sighed deeply, a silent self condemnation. “I wasn’t capable of protecting Ruka, or the many junior swordsmen, or countless civilians, but I once hoped even a good for nothing father could protect his own children if nothing else.”

Kyojuro’s eyes lingered on his father, the warmth of the rising sun casting a gentle light on the hard lines of Shinjuro’s face. He didn’t know what he could possibly say. 

Kyojuro sat in the silence that followed his father's words, the weight of Shinjuro’s rare admission lingering in the air. He could feel the old, familiar tension between them, but it was softer now—more fragile, like the delicate balance of the morning light spilling across the floor. 

Shinjuro’s voice was both steady and solemn. "Kyojuro, you are a better man than I. You and your brother both. A strong man can learn from a weaker one how to become even stronger."

The words were unexpected, catching Kyojuro off guard. He glanced up at his father, his eyes searching the features of Shinjuro’s face for some sign that this wasn’t just another passing moment of wistful resignation. But there was no mistaking the sincerity in his tone. Kyojuro’s chest tightened, though he didn’t fully know why.

Shinjuro took a breath, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, a faraway look in his eyes. “Just remember, you have a whole life ahead of you. It’s yours to do with what you wish.”

There was something in Shinjuro’s words that stirred in Kyojuro—a faint flicker of hope, like a spark in the dark. He wanted to say something, to respond, but the weight of the moment was so heavy, so rare, that all he could do was nod.

Shinjuro shifted slightly, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, before leaving on heavy footsteps.

There was something in Shinjuro’s words that stirred in Kyojuro—a faint flicker of hope, like a spark in the dark. He wanted to say something, to respond, but the weight of the moment was so heavy, so rare, that all he could do was nod.

Shinjuro shifted slightly, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, as though the weight of his own body was a burden he carried with resignation.

He gave Kyojuro one last look, something softer than usual in his eyes, before he turned toward the door. "I’m going to go check on Senjuro. He’s been having nightmares lately."

Kyojuro’s gaze lingered on his father’s retreating back. The room felt quieter now, the silence settling between them like something solid. He wanted to speak—wanted to say something that could erase the years of distance between them, and his father’s regrets.

The warmth of the sun seemed to spill into his very bones, filling the hollow places with a kind of quiet understanding. It wasn't a resolution. It wasn’t a grand moment of reconciliation. But it was something. 

A rare crack in the wall that had always stood between them. And for the first time in a long while, Kyojuro thought maybe, just maybe, it was a step toward something else. Something better.

—————————————

He awoke to start the day as he had nearly every day for the past. Getting ready at dawn as he always did, cautious not to awaken you in the room beyond the thin panel walls. Donning his corps uniform kaen haori, against Kocho’s advice to receive help. 

Moving deliberately he raised his arms to twist the thick honey blonde layers of his hair, he felt a sharp pang in his abdomen. He froze in place, his eyes widened before clenching shut. The pain forcing him to grip the edge of the nearest furniture for support. 

His hand moved from his chest back to his sides as he opened his eyes slowly, a hint of embarrassment creeping over him. It was as if he feared that when his eyelids lifted, he would find disappointed faces gazing back at him.

He continued the routine that made him worthy of the rank of Hashira. His resolve only strengthened, it would not matter so long as he could prove to himself, he was still strong, the capable protector of others.

The sun’s early light casting across his face, he moved with purpose across the same grounds that he and generations of Flame Pillars before him honed their skills in the heart of the ancestral estate. The ground beneath him was packed earth, worn smooth from endless footfalls. 

Unsheathing his katana, he took a deep breath, grip tightening on the handle of his garnet nichirin sword. But the blade that was once a weightless extension of himself felt heavier, more cumbersome. 

Performing the stances he had forged into his very bones with the years. His fluidity between each form was lacking. Even in total concentration he found himself sputtering if his chest expanded too much on the inhale. Beads of sweat rolled down his temple in the Summer sun, the brine making the unhealed gash across his eye socket sting lightly. 

He was not blessed with the near supernatural acuteness of sense others possessed. Some of his comrades had such heightened perception, blindness itself was not even a burden. But he was quite the opposite, since the mission he lost most of his hearing, he had learned to instead rely on his vision to be fully aware of his surroundings at all times. 

In the line of duty, he even had trained himself to reduce the frequency of blinking so as to not let his own inability to perceive his surroundings with his other senses create an opening for an enemy to strike. 

Each swing and subsequent sharp ache in his abdomen was a reminder that not long ago, a demon had punched straight through his body as if he were hollow. A lifetime of working towards becoming a paragon of invincibility rendered worthless in an instant. 

He had spent his life mastering control over every part of his own body. Every fiber, every nerve ending. The idea he was spared by chance was nauseating. By chance, the blow didn’t destroy any vital organs, killing him instantly. By chance, the kakushi were able to move him quickly enough. By chance, he managed to wake up from Kocho’s induced sleep at all. 

Kyojuro shifted into the next stance, forcing his body to remember the rhythm of each fiery surge of power. He longed for the zone he could so easily slip into. When each cell of his body felt as though it burned with the intensity of his soul, no amount of pain or exhaustion could dampen it. 

The searing tenacity, the flow. Wiping his brow he found the warm flow he desired, albeit in a drastically different form. A crimson streak across the back of his hand was the last thing he saw before sanguine blood obscured the vision in his left eye once again. Pressing the heel of his hand against his eye once again in an attempt to stop the seep from the wound.

—————————————

You were well aware of Kyojuro’s routine, if he was off bed rest chances are he would go back to it even against the better judgment of others, and probably himself too.

So when you saw him sitting with his back to the house, cross legged in the middle of the training field, his katana sheathed on his right side a change from it usually placed on his left. Stranger than that, you had rarely seen him take breaks much less fully sit down on the grass. 

“Are you alr-You’re bleeding!” Once you were within his earshot, you 

He looked over his shoulder with his right eye anxiously following your exclamatory reaction. He assured you with a forced cheerfulness, though the flicker of uncertainty in his voice betrayed the bravado. “Although,” he continued, his tone lowering slightly, “I fear if Senjuro sees me like this, he might go into a panic…”

As much as you wanted to scold him for neglecting his own wellbeing for the sake of others yet again, he had a point. Senjuro had just been in a state of shock wondering if he would ever see his brother again. The last thing he needed was to see Kyojuro hurt yet again.

“Yes! I-I’ll get some first aid!”

You moved briskly back to the house to retrieve some standard medical supplies. Coming out to sit on his left side in the grass, mimicking his seated position with his back to the home. From the way you angled yourself, legs folding to your side, if Senjuro happened to walk by, perhaps he would just figure you both were basking in the sun on a nice day and nothing more.

You slowly shake your head as you begin to wet the clean cloth with rubbing alcohol. “You are an exceptionally lucky man, you know that?” 

He chuckled lightly, a glowing smile spreading across his face. “I suppose I am if a beautiful lady is willing to take care of me.” 

You sigh, glancing down for a moment fighting back a grin that will no doubt spread to you like a contagion. “Look up please.” As you asked, his irises shifted upwards as you moved the cloth in your hand toward him, the laceration across his left eye freshly reopened on full display, stretching clear across his eyelid and nearly severing his eyebrow.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Kyojuro Rengoku. You know what I mean.” You can’t help but smile through the scoff you force out, your attempts to remain stern and impress upon him seriousness foiled.

Holding the damp cloth with a steady grip, you approach his eye with utmost caution, ensuring you don’t accidentally brush against his ink-black lashes. You carefully touch the rag to his face, disinfecting the length of the wound, your movements deliberate and gentle. 

“No! I am merely speaking the truth you are-” His proclamation was halted by a wince at the sting from the antiseptic’s contact with the raw wound. 

“I’m sorry if that hurts.” Your brow furrows as you pull the cloth away, necessary as it was to do, it pained you to be the cause of any further bodily discomfort for him. 

You take a minute to find the most appropriate way to say what you mean, for both of your sakes. “First they weren’t sure you would…” 

You meet his gaze tacitly before continuing. “Then Shinobu-san tells you the chances of retaining sight in your left eye was nonexistent, and here you are breathing and seeing and yet you still keep pushing yourself to the point of coming apart at the seams.” You try to mask your unease, seeing him continue working himself beyond his limits, when he is already so fragile at the moment.

“At least wear the eyepatch the Butterfly Mansion issued you!” You implore with something of a half smile. The sheer stubbornness with which he dismissed every injury, no matter how serious, would be humorous if it wasn’t so deeply concerning.

“Oh please, I need no such thing! I’m doing nothing I cannot handle, I assure you.” That authoritative voice, brimming with optimism. It was so easy to hear it, and blindly take each word as fact. But you know better by now, you could’ve told him every bone in his body was broken beyond repair and he would probably still respond that way. Even so, you want to trust him to stay within his means. 

“Ok, ok you’re ‘fine.’ I understand.” You reply resignedly speaking on your exhale. “Just please just take care of your eye. You’ve always had the most lovely eyes…” You say looking deeply into the golden rimmed eyes of the man before you.

Usually, when those  spoke of the Rengoku family, they used the word "powerful" to describe their distinctive features—sharp cheekbones, avian-esque orbs, blazing hair, and the aura of intensity that seemed to radiate from them. They served as yet another irrefutable motif that connected each Flame Pillar to the long legacy of unrivaled swordsmen bearing the Rengoku name.

“Powerful” was no doubt a compliment. He had always taken pride in the honor of possessing the iconic visage of his courageous ancestors. “Lovely” was different though. It felt intimate, a word that captured a softness. One rarely used when likening the fierce warriors of the Rengoku lineage with description, or him by that association.  

“If you like them, then I am only more excited by the prospect of passing them onto our children one day!” He exclaimed, the ever present ember burning behind his gaze billowing into a roaring inferno with joyous fervor.

Your cheeks flushed like a watercolor canvas, rosy hues blooming across your complexion. He could only surmise in that moment the evident dilation of your pupils to be a product of shock, at worse maybe even discomfort. 

He had gotten overzealous again, it was all too easy for him to put his foot in his mouth and take someone aback when he felt impassioned enthusiasm overflowing from him. However, you didn’t seem jarred or off put by his sudden pronouncement. You gaze warmed, softly smiling back at him.

“Yes, me too.” Your voice on the gentle breeze was as steady and sincere. 

But for a moment, it all fell away. The corps, his family legacy, the pillars, all of it. Holding her knees gently on the grassy Earth beside him, looking back at him. Rays of light catching against her skin, wrapping around her like a golden embrace, illuminating her form with a radiance that seemed almost otherworldly. Her hair danced in the breeze, tousling it to frame her face with an effervescent allure.

He felt warmth creeping up his cheeks, just as it had for her moments ago. He desperately tried to suppress the flush as he turned his gaze downward, focusing intently on the ground.

Death or disablement. Kyojuro knew these to be the only two circumstances in which a pillar could honorably resign from their post. Here he was, neither dead nor maimed. The verdict ought to be clear as day. He was more than aware of the inevitable weakness that all humans must experience in time. 

But to face that inevitability when he could still do so much? If he could swing a katana, he had a duty to serve. Right? His father should have continued serving as the Flame Hashira until he lost his sharpness to age. 

But the day Mother passed, something died in Father, or maybe something already dead within him had begun to fester. Kyojuro always told himself that he would not succumb to the same fate, despair would not be the death of him, certainly not if even an Upper Rank wasn’t. 

“I have… a friend… who is thinking about their future as a Hashira.” Kyojuro spoke with an uncharacteristic softness, fingers fidgeting with the hilt of his sword.

You looked at him inquisitively before having what you believe to be a revelation. “You mean the Sound Pillar?” 

“Oh… right, yes. Uzui, of course.” Kyojuro's words stumbled out, a nervous smile flickering on his lips, eyes darting away, as if relieved to hear you identify the former Hashira, already settled on retirement. 

“If he decides to retire, does it mean he has lost his passion? Or maybe he is running away?” His voice raised closer to its usual vivacity, but the typical enthusiasm felt infected with an air of apprehension. His fingers tightened around the sword’s hilt, outlining the flame insignia swordguard with a deliberate motion of his thumb.

Before you could even think to answer, he pressed on with another question, his urgency palpable.

“What if…” He paused, lightly clearing his throat adding the aforementioned yet again, his cadence returning to its equilibrium. “My friend…” 

He looked deeply into your eyes, the bright vermillion honeycomb pools poured into yours like a gentle ray of sunlight at dawn, adorning everything within with its warmth. His words regained their normal directness in earnest. “Is worried the person he loves might not want him anymore, if he isn’t strong?”

You tilt your head, your gaze previously riddled with intrigue tempered tacitly at his probing, you understood now. “I’m certain the people in his life value him for more than something as superficial as his strength.”  

You put your palms flat behind you on the tufts of grass leaning back to feel the sun warm your face.

“I don’t think of ‘strong’ as a person, I think of it as a state of being. We are all allowed to be weak and rely on the strength of others, and when others are weak we can give them our strength. No one person has to be strong all the time.” 

More importantly, you saw through the electric personality of the natural born leader to all and the brave exterior of the warrior. You saw the man beneath it all. The kind of soul that was as tender as it was resiliently fortuitous. 

Hanging on every word you notice the intertwine of his arms, crossed against his chest as he clung on your every word with rapt attentiveness. You straighten your posture leaning toward him, interlocking your fingers to the corded sinews of his forearms, pulling them from their interwoven tensed state as you had done before.

You took his worn hands in your own. “Well I hope you tell ‘your friend’ as much. Although, I would like to ask you something now if you would allow me.”

“Of course my flame, anything.” he replied, his voice filled with earnestness, a bright smile spreading across his face. 

“Did you remember what I told you in the Butterfly Mansion? The last thing I said to you before you lost consciousness?” 

His eyes narrowed as they trailed off into thought. He racked his brain for the last moment of light before his eyelids fell heavily as the sounds around him dissipated into silence. Before the oblivion of the serum he was injected with took effect, only muffled words cut by sobs come to mind.

“Please forgive me, I cannot recall.” He bowed his head remorsefully before meeting you again with a hopeful countenance. “Would you tell me again, my flame?”

A rosy hue rouges your cheeks as you fidget from side to side where you sat, part of you didn’t want to tear your gaze from the safety of the trodden Earth . But you couldn’t stand the idea of missing a moment basking in the bright eyes of the man you nearly lost.

 “I told you that I loved you...” Your voice was a murmur, barely above a whisper, and as your heart skipped a beat in your chest. “I love you. I meant it, I love who you are. That will not be changed by what you are.” 

“I have never found many things in life that I could not bring myself to love, or so I thought.” “What a fool I was. I did not even know what that word meant back then. What a truly lucky man I am.” 

You would’ve liked to sappily argue that it was, in fact, you who was the lucky one. However, you knew the endless back-and-forth that would’ve followed if you did. 

So instead, you let both your body and heart bask in warmth from two separate suns—one worlds away, and one right beside you. You let the moment linger between you, content in the quiet truth that you didn’t need to say it aloud for him to know you felt the same.

To be continued...

Taglist: @rift-and-rise @leannathespacewerewolf @hellscampcounselor @hauntedaugust @obsidianlive @oh1boy @chocolatebannana2 @erexart @vaelzz @kalypsoox @jiy-une @mayyhaps

[blue2jay]

Name-First Smut

You’ve been stealing glances at Leon throughout the entire meeting. The agenda seems to fade into the background as your mind fixates on the snug shirt he wore, accentuating his muscular chest and the way the sleeves hugged his arms. Leon, in turn, couldn’t help but admire your figure, particularly drawn to the two unbuttoned openings of your blouse and the short pencil skirt that clung to your curves. “Y/N” “Y/N” “Y/N!” You snap back to reality. “Um, yes?” you reply, suddenly aware that you and a colleague are the last ones remaining in the room. “The meeting’s over,” she says, concern etched on her face. “Are you okay? You seemed lost in thought the whole time.” You clear your throat, hoping your daydreaming about your boyfriend went unnoticed. “Yeah, I’m fine, just a bit… tired,” you respond, wishing she would accept your excuse. She shrugs. “So, any plans for the weekend?” You let out a sigh. “I just want to relax and unwind.” Your colleague chuckles. “I get that.” She starts to share her weekend plans with her in-laws when a familiar voice cuts in. “Bebe.” It’s Leon, but his tone is different—deeper. You glance toward the door, where he leans against the frame, looking irresistibly attractive. “Let’s go.” You don’t say a word, just nod. Your coworker gives you a knowing smile. “Have fun,” she says. As you approach Leon, he wraps his arm around your waist, and you both step out together, feeling his grip tighten possessively. Time passes, and you enter your apartment quietly. The car ride was equally silent, with Leon’s hand firmly on your thigh, occasionally inching higher. You slip off your shoes and start toward the bedroom when you feel an arm encircle your waist. “Where do you think you’re going?” Leon’s voice is low and sultry. You shiver. “I was heading to the bedroom, babe.” His lips trail soft kisses along your neck. “Bebe?” he asks. “Yeah?” He lets out a deep chuckle, and you can feel his arousal pressing against you.

"That's not my name, sweetheart," he growled.

You felt your body pivot, and as you turned, you noticed the deepening shade of Leon's blue eyes.

His lips crashed against yours with a fierce intensity, leaving you aware that your lips would likely bear the marks of his passion.

With a swift motion, he hoisted you over his shoulder and strode purposefully toward the bedroom.

He tossed you onto the bed and took a moment to appraise you, just as you did him.

Breathless, his gaze was heavy with desire.

"Throughout the entire meeting, all I could think about was having you right there on the table, in front of everyone," he said, loosening his tie.

"You would have enjoyed that, wouldn't you, darling?" he asked, shedding his shirt.

He drew you to the edge of the bed.

"You'd love to be claimed in front of an audience, wouldn't you?"

You lay there, speechless, your eyes locked on his.

*SLAP*.

You felt a sharp slap against your thigh, a mix of pain and unexpected pleasure coursing through you.

“Did you hear me, baby?” he asked.

“Yes, Leon,” you replied, knowing how much he relished hearing his name on your lips.

“Off,” he commanded, tugging at your skirt.

You quickly complied, shedding the fabric. Leon's gaze was fixed on you, a noticeable bulge forming in his pants.

You reclined on the bed, clad only in your stockings.

“Hmmm,” Leon groaned, his eyes roaming over your body. “I’ve got the sexiest girl in the world right here.”

He leaned down, capturing your lips with his. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, moaning softly into the kiss.

Leon pulled back, his body pressing against yours. “I can’t wait to be inside you, baby.”

“Please, Leon, touch me,” you pleaded.

“I need to taste you first, baby,” he replied, guiding you to the edge of the bed. He lifted your legs over his shoulders, his face hovering close to your core, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

“Do you want me to taste you, baby?” he asked, locking eyes with you.

“Yes, yes, please!” you begged, urgency in your voice.

Leon dove in, devouring you like a man starved, his hand firmly holding you in place. You arched your back, a choked sob escaping your lips as you called out his name.

“Ugh, Leon, don’t stop!” you cried, your fingers tangling in his hair.

His voice was muffled in your heat "Yeah baby you taste like heaven" he lapped at your cunt moaning and making vibrations against you.

You moaned at the sensation.

He continued until you felt him stop.

"Fuck, I need more," you heard him mumble.

"Leon?" you panted.

"Turn around," he commands.

You felt heat spread over your skin at his voice.

"Yes sir," you reply.

You turn over and feel hands groping your ass.

"Yeah baby," he said.

He pressed his face close to your heart and inhaled your sweet scent.

"God baby you smell divine".

He pushed his tongue in and out from behind, moaning at your taste. You could do nothing but moan and whimper.

*SLAP*

"Come on baby, louder, let me hear you," he spits against your heat.

"Oh Leon!" you moan.

*SLAP SLAP*

"Louder!" he barked.

.

"LEON!"

Leon hummed in satisfaction, making you tremble as you felt the vibration.

He darted his tongue in and out of you quickly.

"Move on my face, baby," he commanded. He pulled your cheeks apart to make more room.

You did as ordered.

"FUCKKK LEON," you screamed, feeling your climax approaching.

"That's it, baby, cum on my face!"

Leon let go of your hips as you shook from your climax, your cum dripping down his chin.

You fell to the side, breathing heavily from the shock of your orgasm.

"Come on baby, come to me," you heard Leon say as he rubbed your legs trying to wake you up from your daze.

You opened your eyes to see Leon completely naked, stroking his length.

You looked down at his toned body which made you hot all over again.

"Are you ready baby?" he asked quietly.

In response you spread your legs wide, a naughty smile playing on your lips.

Leon growled and pounced on you, thrusting into you with abandon.

"Oh Leon that feels so good!" you threw your head back, feeling a hint of pain as you adjusted to his size, but quickly feeling nothing but pleasure.

"Yeah baby, you like that! How I pound that cunt of yours?" he hissed as he felt you flutter around his cock.

"YES LEON!" you screamed.

Leon watched as your eyes rolled back and you bit your lips as he rammed you.

He leaned down to your ear and whispered the dirtiest things.

"You like that?"

"You feel amazing"

"You drive me crazy"

"Dirty slut"

You could feel yourself getting closer.

"Leon," you choked out.

"Nope" was all you heard and all you felt was Leon pulling out.

You gasped, "Leon, what the hell?"

He stroked his length which was covered in your juices.

"Ass up face down baby," he ordered.

You whimpered and turned over.

You were on all fours but Leon didn't move.

"Leon please!" you pleaded.

"Come on baby you can do better than that."

You groaned in exasperation.

He laughed at your desperation.

"I guess you don't want to get fucked."

He mocked.

"Please Leon, hit me so hard I can't walk tomorrow, so hard I can't remember anything but your name, so hard-"

Leon dives in, his hips slapping your ass.

Your face outlined a silent scream.

He held your hips tight, his grip bruising.

"Fuck baby, look at you," he said between deep breaths.

"Couldn't help but think how sexy you would look bending over that table in front of everyone as I make you mine!"

*SLAP*

"You want this baby? Do you want our colleagues to see how dirty you are?"

"Yes Leon, I want them to see!"

His voice got a low tone "Especially that idiot from the grounds department" (made up go with)

"I see the way he looks at you."

"You like the way he looks at you, baby?"

*"No, I just want you!"

"Good answer"

His thrust became even more erratic.

"Rub that cilt baby, make yourself cum!" he ordered.

The moment you touched your tender cilt you lost it.

Leon looked down to see his waist and length covered in wetness.

"Shit, did you squirt?”

He asked his grip on your waist almost crushing you.

You couldn't even answer, your mind was almost gone with pleasure.

"Again babe, do it again!"

His hips were like a jackhammer, the sound of his hips hitting you echoing through the bedroom.

You bit the sheets, lost in a whirlwind of overwhelming pleasure, writhing.

Leon Kennedy was a sex god, taking you to the depths of pleasure and bliss with his cock alone.

Leon watched as your ass collided with his pelvis , the wave of your ass seducing him. Sweat gathered on his forehead, dripping down his back.

He could feel it, he could feel his end coming, and he knew you could feel it too.

" Do you want me to fill you, baby? Do you want me to fill you so deep that it drips? Do you want me to breed you?!"

All you could do was moan and nod.

Leon slowed down, but only a little.

"Need an answer baby"

"YES YES YESSS LEON BREED ME!" you howled.

"CUM baby CUM NOW!"

You felt it flood you, Leo's hips stuttered and he came.

Leon could feel your walls contract and spasm around his cock.

"So good baby, so tight," you hear him moan.

Leon maneuvers you slowly and gently onto your back. He rubs your belly and places soft kisses on your chest and neck.

"That's my good girl, stay right there, baby, I'm going to clean you up."

He went to the bathroom while you played in the afterglow of sex.

You winced as you felt the cold washcloth against your heat, cleaning you up.

"You were amazing Y/N"

Leon said as he played next to you, wrapping his arms around you.

You hummed contentedly.

"So were you."

You felt yourself drifting off to sleep.

But you didn't miss Leon's cheeky words.

"Round two in the morning?"

[starogeorgina]

Redemption

Warning: Swearing, oral sex

Pairing: Ivar × reader

1.02

“Once we lure them into position, I’ll give you the signal, then you’ll light the bastards up—Ivar stop,” you laugh, feeling his hands roam over your body. “I’m trying to help you plan a war.”

“I’m aware.”

“It’s difficult to concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Ivar smirks, kissing your neck. He continues to squeeze at your breasts over your dress. His two favourite things were fucking and fighting, so talking battle strategies was hard for im. Ivar begins kissing your neck, leaving purple marks as a way of reminding others that you are his. “I’m not doing anything you don’t like.”

You turn your head and kiss him. Your lips linger as your mind begins to race with a thousand thoughts. It hadn’t been long since you lost your baby, and you hadn’t been intimate since.

Ivar rubs his finger along your cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say, kissing him again. “I want you, Ivar. I want you to do more things I like.”

He tilts his head to the side and gives you a small smile. Ivar smooths your hair out of your face, and the gaze in his eyes somehow brought you comfort; it was as if he was looking deep into your soul and knew what you were thinking. “I will not rush you, Drifa,” he says. “But I know something we can do, something we both like.”

Seeing the mischievous look on his face, you raise your brows and ask, “What's that?”

—

Ivar smirks in amusement as the sword in your hand rests at the top of his neck. He says, “You fight dirty; I’ve taught you well.”

You toss your sword to the side, pick up two axes, and hand one to Ivar. He told you that non-Viking armies didn’t see women as much of a threat; he wanted you to prove them all wrong. Ivar took great pride in coaching you in sword fighting, throwing spears, and aiming your bow and arrow.

“Perhaps one of my brothers will spar with you later.”

You pull a face and say, “Ubbe or Hvitserk. Last time I sparred with Sigurd, your mother was mad at me for hurting him.”

With a boyish smile on his face, Ivar says, “You knocked his front tooth out; it was a wonderful thing to witness.”

You’d always hated Sigurd and the way he treated Ivar and his mother. You think back to that day and how you and Sigurd got into a fight because he kept insulting your dead parents. At first, his brothers laughed until the first blood was drawn. You feel awful thinking about Hvitserk trying to separate you and accidentally backhanding him.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice Ivar talking to you until he places his hand on your waist. “What are you thinking about?"”

“The time I burst Hvitserk lip.”

“Hvitserk adores you.” Ivar throws his axe, which hits the mark on the tree. “So do Ubbe and Bjorn. As did my mother.” Ivar takes the other axe from your hand and repeats the action, hitting the mark perfectly again. “Sigurd is scared of you because he is weak and knows he cannot compete.”

“Have I told you recently how much I love you?”

Ivar blushes. “No, but I never tire of hearing it.”

You kiss him on the cheek before going to retrieve the axes so you can continue throwing them. You continue training until the sun begins to disappear behind the clouds and the sky quickly becomes dark as the weather changes quickly.

The rainfall is heavy, causing the mud to splash up onto Ivar’s face and neck while he dragged his body along the ground as you headed home. Seeing the pain in Ivar’s face, you suggest taking shelter from the rain underneath a large tree. You sink down beside Ivar and lean your head on his shoulder.

You sit in silence until Ivar lets out a deep breath and asks, “Why doesn’t it bother you?”

“What?”

“Being married to a cripple.”

You roll your eyes. Every time Ivar felt self-consciousness, he would question why anyone loved him. His insecurity became worse when his brother told him; nobody loved him, and everyone felt sorry for him. “I’ve told you to stop listening to Sigurd.”

“It’s true, though; I am a cripple. And my weaknesses are your weaknesses.”

“Your legs aren’t a weakness, Ivar. They are your greatest strength. People will always underestimate a cripple.”

Ivar opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off with a kiss. You brush your nose against his as you straddle his lap, careful not to put too much pressure on him. The feral look in Ivar’s eyes sparks something inside you; all you wanted was for him to devour you. “You are Ivar the boneless, the strongest and most violent man I’ve ever met.”

Ivar grips your jaw with a devilish glint in his eyes. “You think I’m violent?”

“I think you're the most bloodthirsty Viking to ever exist.”

“Stand up.”

Following his order, you stand up. Seeing Ivar lower his trousers so his cock can spring free, you pull up the bottom of your dress. He grins, clasping his hands around your thighs. Ivar brings you in closer so he can put his mouth on your aching core. You let out a moan when you fell his warm tongue swipe over your folds before turning his attention to your clit.

“Mmmm.. Ivar, just like that,” you encouraged, “please don’t stop!”

He sucks and flicks his tongue on your abused clit, speeding up his actions until you cum, legs shaking around his head. When you come down from your high, you kneel down and twirl your tongue over the head of Ivar’s hard cock before taking him full into your mouth. He uses one hand to grip your hair, while Ivar uses the other to pinch your nipple, as Drool dribbles down your chin while you bob your head. Tears roll down your cheeks as you gag, feeling his cock start to jolt in your mouth. Ivar tightens his grip as spurts of hot cum shoot down your throat.

He grunts, “Swallow all of it like a good wife.”

Sitting up, you wipe the saliva away with the back of your hand. Ivar shuffles to put his cock back into his trousers. You kiss the palm of Ivar’s hand when he cups your face. “We should get back; it’s almost time for supper, and we both need to bathe.”

—

You take another mouthful of ale as your eyes jump between the brothers sitting around the table. There was a weird atmosphere, and you were trying to figure out why. Ubbe and Ivar feasted, laughed, and drank ale while Hvitserk looked nervous. He kept glancing at Sigurd, who had been smirking most of the night. When you returned, you had bathed and changed into a clean dress, while Ivar remained in the same mud-covered clothes. The only reason his hands were free from dirt was because he washed your back and hair.

Sigurd suddenly burst out laughing, gaining the attention of his brothers. “Do you all remember when Margrethe said Ivar couldn’t pleasure a woman? Well, today I found out that’s not true.”

You and Ivar look at each other and ask, “What?”

“Me and Hvitserk were coming back from a hunt and saw-”

“I did not look,” Hvitserk says quickly, not letting his brother finish his sentence. You patted the back of his hand; although he was a menace at times, Hvitserk was respectful and would never deliberately watch such a thing.

“Enough,” Ubbe says. “We will hear no more of this.”

Sigurd ignores his elder brother and continues talking. “I’m just sharing that I’m happy for Ivar. At least it can finally put the rumors of Drifa carrying another man’s child to rest.”

“It was you who told others that!”

He shrugs. “I stand corrected; I can tell others I know Ivar gets hard because I caught you with his dick in your mouth.”

Ubbe and Hvitserk stare at him, unimpressed.

Tears of embarrassment swell in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You glance at your husband to see his reaction to his brother's taunting. Ivar peels the last bit of meat from the bones of his meal off with his teeth, then tosses the bare animal bone onto the table. “What kind of man talks about his brother's wife in that way?”

The amused smile drops from Sigurd’s face, “I’m—”

“I swear to the gods that if I ever hear you talk about my beautiful Drifa in such a way again, brother, you’ll leave me no other choice but to kill you.”

The room falls silent as Ivar’s threat lingers in the air. Sigurd looks to his brothers, but when neither of them say anything, he storms off, leaving the rest of you to enjoy the remainder of your night.

[sailorholly]

Strictly Business Pt 2

Summary: Spencer wants to gain sexual experience before asking out his dream date. You just want a way to release stress. What could go wrong?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F. BAU Reader

Warnings: Smut. Oral (f. receiving). 18+ only. Minors DNI. Typical Criminal Minds violence and case descriptions.

W/C: 1.2K

See the Strictly Business Masterlist here

Catch up here: Part One

The morning after Rossi’s, you got called in on a case. Three bodies were discovered and you all knew you had to work quickly or there would be another.

You and Spencer decided to wait until after you were home from the case to begin your physical relationship. You quickly learned it was easier said than done. Hotch paired the two of you on the way there. So you were around each other constantly. Your body was hyper aware of every move he made.

You were sure you had a similar effect on him. He would sneak glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. You could tell he was thinking about it too. You had caught him checking you out on more than one occasion.

It was like you were drawn together like magnets, always finding excuses to touch each other. His long legs would brush against yours while sitting. You would touch his back when you walked by. When going over files, both of you placed your hands on the other’s and let it linger a little too long. You were practically bubbling with anticipation.

It was taking longer than usual to find this unsub. The stress was affecting the whole team. You were starting to take your frustration out on each other. It all came to a head when Derek and Penelope started fighting when she couldn’t find the answers he needed.

His misplaced anger was the last straw for Hotch. He told everyone to take the night off. He wanted you to relax and try to rest.

You just got out of the shower. You stayed in longer than you expected, but you were enjoying the spray of the warm water on your tired body. You put on a tank top and shorts. Your nightly skincare routine is interrupted by a knock on your hotel room door.

You look through the peephole to find Spencer pacing the hallway outside. You open the door letting him in. “Hey, was there a break in the case? I can be ready in a few minu-“ Spencer cuts off your sentence by placing his large hands against the sides of your face, his lips moving eagerly against your own. He pulls away as quickly as he began. You didn’t have time to reciprocate the kiss.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve wanted to do that all week. I thought if I just did it quickly, my nerves would subside. But it didn’t work.” He smiles at you sheepishly, his whole face turning different shades of red.

“It’s okay. I’m really nervous too. It’s all I can think about. Do you want to start tonight?” “Yes!” Spencer answers almost too quickly. You giggle and take his hand leading him to the bed. “Let’s talk about what you’ve done before so I know what you’re familiar with.”

“I’ve had sex once.” he replies. “Okay, what did you do during sex? Did you use your fingers?” He keeps his eyes on yours shaking his head no. “So you went down on her?” “No, I didn’t do that either.” Your eyes widen.

“So you just put it in?! Spencer, you have to get women ready first.” “I know that!” he says defensively. “You’ve read so many of my romance books, surely you know what to do.” He clears his throat. “Yes, in theory, but having you right here in front of me is completely different.”

“I wanted to do something to her, but she didn’t give me the chance. She started kissing me. One thing led to another and she lifted her skirt and got on top of me. It was over before I knew it.” You sigh, “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

You decide to start with kissing to get comfortable with each other. This time the kiss isn’t rushed. It almost feels natural. Spencer pulls away first. He nips at your earlobe. Your breath hitches when his lips latch onto your neck. He sucks the tender skin there causing a moan to escape your lips.

He pulls away, his gaze falls to your face trying to gage your reaction. You place your hand on his thigh. “That was great. I think we can move on now. Is there anything in particular you want to start with?”

Spencer lowers his eyes to your tank top, your nipples visible through the thin fabric. You take his hand placing it on your breast. Spencer loudly swallows. “It’s okay, Spence. I want you to touch me.”

That was all the confirmation he needs. Slender fingers begin toying with your nipple. His other hand pushes you gently against the bed. His mouth descends on your hardened peak through your shirt. You arch upward into him.

His movements are more confident now. His hands travel to the hem of your tank top, lifting it over your torso and off you completely. Wandering hands find their way back to your chest. He gently kisses down your stomach while he rolls your nipples between his long digits.

When he reaches the waistband of your shorts, he stops looking up at you. “Is this okay?” You squirm under his intense gaze. “Yes, please touch me.” Your response comes out needier than you expected. He smiles, loving the effect he’s having on you.

He slowly slides your shorts down your legs, leaving you exposed to him. He swipes a finger down your center, collecting the wetness already gathered there. “You’re so responsive. So wet and I’ve barely touched you.”

You watch incredulously as he places his finger in his mouth. He gently sucks before removing it with a loud pop. “Can I taste you?” he asks as casually as if he was asking to borrow a pen.

You raise up on your elbows to look down at him posed between your open legs. “I think I might die, if you don’t.” Spencer scrunches his nose before responding. “Actually it’s not possible to die from-“ “Spencer, please?!” You interrupt him with your begging.

He smirks lowering his face to your waiting heat. You almost fly off the bed when he licks a hot stripe up your center. One hand grabs your hip pulling you down. He places the other over your stomach to hold you in place.

He dives in, eating you like you’re the best meal he’s ever had. His lips tug on your clit. You reach down tangling your hands in his curls, pulling him closer. His moans vibrate against you, adding to the pressure building low in your stomach.

He laps at your core taking everything you give him. Your body arches toward him, but he firmly presses you back into the mattress. You dig your heels into his back. You can feel his fingers pressing into your hips, you know there will be bruises in their place tomorrow. But you don’t care.

He fastens his soft lips around your clit, lightly sucking while his tongue flicks rapidly against you. He doesn’t slow down when you shatter. Your legs shake around his head, cries of his name fill the otherwise silent room.

When you come back down, Spencer pulls away. He places a light kiss to your inner thigh. You sit up, handing him your discarded tank top to wipe his mouth. “You got a little something there.”

You point to your own mouth failing to conceal your smile. Spencer snakes his tongue out, licking your remaining arousal off his lips. Although he said it was impossible, you weren’t sure you would survive this.

Part Three

Tags (if you wanna be added let me know!)

@cindylynn @potter-puff007 @multifandom-worlds @mochie85 @modern-mermaid @analethicia @marimorena06 @ghostheartbeat @clownprincess09 @thebiggestscamislife @whistle1whistle @lockwoods-coat-and-reids-vests @twsssmlmaa @cynbx @padlockedhearts @wheredafandomat @salempoe @emarich7 @itzdarling @baku-hoes-blog @anonymously-ominous @arabis-world

[rendy-a]

Hey, um hi! I'm new here, nice to meet you, sorry I'm a bit awkward with requests

So, Could we have some of the Self aware AU with Idia and Sebek? It can be whatever you want, a headcanon or a mini one shot, whichever you prefer more^^

Thank you ahead!

~~~🌟🎃

The interesting thing with Self Aware AU is that you can write it like the game characters are aware of you as you play or you can write where the player is isekai’d into the game and everyone knows about it.  Last time, I had written it in the perspective of playing the game irl.  I thought this time, I’d write it as though the player was somehow drawn into the game.  Hope you enjoy it. 

Remember, the Self-Aware AU is a yandere AU!

When you’d awoken inside your favorite phone game…well, you’d freaked out.  But then!  You’d made one rule; never mention the game to any character.  It was just strange.  Plus, you weren’t sure how they’d react!  It was a rule you’d managed to follow, until today.

You, like the character Yuu in your game, were a first-year student at NRC.  As much as you’d liked to have avoided all the game characters to prevent triggering any dangerous events, you shared class with Ace and Deuce (plus lived with Grim).  Over time, you’d been pulled into lunches and joint classes with all the first-year students.  Thankfully, the first-year students weren’t where the problem was.  That was with the Housewardens and you avoided them in every situation possible.  You were relieved that the plot of the game had you living in such a remote dorm and excused you from attending any sort of club activities. 

And yet, you sometimes wished you would meet the characters.  It would be so cool to talk to your favorites, see them in actual real life!  Only, you were also pretty sure the minute you came face-to-face, you’d say something embarrassing or stupid.  Like you did when you met Ace and Deuce.  You still cringe when you remember calling them the ‘single braincell duo’ to their faces.  Yes, it was probably for the best that you took isolated halls to class to avoid the seniors.  You wouldn’t want to turn the corner and ACK!

You rolled over from where you’d fallen and gazed up to see who or what you’d collided with.  You recoiled in horror as nebulous blue flames made patterns across your vision.  “What kind of ridiculous anime situation is this.  Real people should look at where they are going in the hall.  This place needs a mini-map to avoid NPC’s like this.  I can’t believe on the one day I have to attend class in person some extrovert is lurking in my quiet hallway…”  He hadn’t looked up from where he’d fallen but you could tell in an instant that you’d triggered some rare event and encountered a wild Idia.

You spend this small moment wondering if you should pretend to know him or not.  He’s a Housewarden, so you should probably know who he is, right?  But at the same time, he never leaves Ignihyde, so how would you know him?  Maybe you should pretend to not know him.  “It’s you,” a small voice interrupts your dilemma.  You look up at Idia in surprise only to find a matching expression of surprise on his face.  Then his mouth parts slightly and a string of words emerges.  “What should I do?  I didn’t prepare for this event.  I’m not ready to meet my Oshi in person.  How do I trigger the correct dialog option here?  I’m going to get a death flag; I just know it…”

He says a lot of things, but one thing catches your attention: Oshi.  Were you somehow Idia’s favorite?  That can’t be, right?  You let out a giggle at the absurdity of the situation.  Idia’s eyes grow large, and he shrinks back at the sound, started to hear it coming from your mouth.  “Don’t be so nervous Idia.  Nothing bad is going to happen,” you say softly.  When you speak to him, Idia loses control of himself and starts talking rapidly, “Of course!  If the Player says so, then it is so.  They are so amazing, like limited SSR class amazing.  I don’t deserve to even be in their presence.  They are probably thinking, who is this gloomy weirdo with the fire hair?  Why is he dressed so strange, he probably doesn’t have any fashion sense.” 

“That’s not true!” you shout, “I remember when your Ghost Marriage card came out!  Oh my gosh!  It looked so cool!  It was totally my favorite card.  I had to pull 200 times to get it!”  Then you abruptly stop, realizing you’ve said too much when Idia’s hair turns completely pink.  “I…I’m just going to go,” you say as you cover your face in embarrassment and walk back around the corner the way you had arrived.

The students of Ignihyde gave Idia a wide berth as he returned to the dorm.  No one dared approach him while his hair flickered so violently from gentle pink to blazing red.  Idia himself seemed entirely unaware of the bizarre show he was putting on.  He continued mumbling and giggling to himself all the way back to his room.  When he finally found the solitude of his inner sanctuary, he jumped on his bed and hugged his Player-print body pillow.  “Hee Hee Hee!” he laughs out loud for no one to hear but himself.  “I did it.  I meet my Oshi!”  Then he rolls over onto his back and stares dreamily into the ceiling, “They knew who I was.  That must mean something.  Maybe, this is fate?” 

There was only one rule all the inhabitants of Twisted Wonderland had; don’t interfere with the Player.  It was a rule he’d managed to follow, until today.  Today, Fate intervened.  If Fate wanted you two to be together, who was Idia to argue?  As he stared at the ceiling, Idia’s engineering brain went into gear planning designs for a place he could take you where no one else could reach.  A place where you’d finally be alone, with only him.  Just like Fate had planned.

Over time, you’d noticed that the residents of Twisted Wonderland treated you differently.  You remembered the first time you heard Crowley tell the aggravated student body he’d assigned weekend cleaning duty to all students to clean up the campus for their use…because he was so kind.  While all around you, students started grumbling, you’d burst out laughing.  When everyone had started looking at you, you’d choked off your laugh and covered your face.  “Sorry, he just…he said the thing,” you managed to get out between smothered chuckles. 

No one ever called you out on your strange behavior.  It was like they all collectively got together and decided that you were allowed to behave in any way you chose.  They, on the other hand, often seemed to struggle with deciding if they should act normally in your presence or not.  The number of times you’d slipped into a room of rowdy students to have the conversation cut off into a silent awe was alarming.  Today was just another example.

You’d gotten back after a class and lay in your bed, bored.  You’d think that being pulled into your favorite game would give you endless entertainment but, after a time, it just settled into being exactly like school in your world.  The only difference is you occasionally went out looking for locations or characters in the game, like a sort of anime pilgrimage.  Sometimes, you’d been caught in awkward situations, but you’d just sort of nod and say, “This all looks fine,” and leave.  No one has ever called you out on your intrusions.  So…you just felt free to invite yourself anywhere you were curious to go.  Today, you thought about things you were interested in and decided that you’d go to some of the clubs to find out what the club uniforms looked like.  After all, not all those cards were released; it’s like the ultimate preview!

You were almost used to the way things fell silent when you entered the stable yard.  Members of the Horseback Riding Club stopped what they were doing to stare at you.  Those who faced away noticed the attention of their fellows and turned to see you before they too, fell silent.  In almost no time at all, they had casually circled you, as though waiting for you to hand out some sort of instruction or give a speech.  You rubbed your head and thought, guess it’s time to break out the old ‘nothing to see here’ and bounce.  Before you could though, a call broke the silence.  “HUMAN!”

You turned toward the sound, an eager expression coming over you.  Were you about to experience the famous rants of Sebek?  As you hoped, Sebek was loudly berating students at the outer edges of the semi-circle for their inattention during club activities.  You eased yourself forward, hoping to catch sight of him.  No one tried to bar your way, parting before you as you progressed.  You easily reached his side and leaned forward to watch his antics.  Suddenly, he turns and grabs onto YOU!  “HUMAN, YOU AREN’T EVEN DRESSED YET!  THIS SORT OF SLOVENLY BEHAVIOR…” and then he trails off as he looks at your face and you can see the awareness fall over him.

His eyes go wide, and he immediately let’s go of your shoulder, visibly taken aback.  He stammers and you imagine you even see tears gathering in his eyes.  You think to yourself, time to find a way out of this before things get even worse.  “I…I’m here for an inspection…” you say carefully.  All the gathered students listen intently, standing just a touch straighter.  “Sebek, I have decided…I have decided to see how many push-ups you can do in a minute.”  It made no sense, and you knew it made no sense.  You wondered if this would finally be the time someone calls you on your BS but instead, Sebek perks up to an extreme degree.  “YES, OF COURSE!  RIGHT AWAY!” he bellows. 

You stand at his side as he begins, pretending to care far more than you do about the results of this demonstration.  Honestly, it is impressive.  The speed at which he sets out to complete the exercises is extreme.  You wonder for a moment just what sort of training Lilia DOES give to Sebek and Silver to get them to this level of fitness.  When he is finished with the allotted minute, he jumps to attention, standing much as you’d imagine he does on guard over Malleus.  You give it a moment and then say, “Yes, that will suffice.  You may all return to your duties now.”  Having ordered the students to depart, they comply with a surprising speed.  They all still watch you but now they do it while pretending to be engaged in filling buckets with water or looking over curry combs. 

You give one final nod to Sebek and say, “Good job,” before you walk away.  That was more than enough excitement for one night.  You’d rather spend the rest of the evening in Ramshackle than deal with any more things like this tonight.  Behind you, Sebek watches you go in awe.  You praised him; you told him he did a good job.  Before you quite got out of earshot, you heard one last shout, “SILVER WAKE UP!  THEY PRAISED ME, THE PLAYER PRAISED ME!”  You laughed to yourself, what a strange world this was.

That evening in Diasomnia, Sebek carefully pulled his portrait of Malleus off the wall.  Nestled behind it was a photograph of the Player.  He gazed at it reverently.  They’d spoken to him today; praised him even.  He wasn’t yet over it.  He thinks we will never get over it.  He places your photo next to his pillow as he lays down to sleep.  In the morning, he’ll put it back behind the portrait.  He’d not dare to change his room’s layout from what the Player knows!  But for tonight, he’d fall asleep to your face and the remembrance of your voice.  Someday…maybe he’d not even need to use a photograph.  ‘NO!’ he tells himself sternly, ‘the Player is not for you!’  And yet, some dark corner of his mind tells him that ‘good job’ is just a small step away from ‘I love you.’

[huntersrequiem-if]

Astaroth x Hunter x Night

Sooo this idea has been plaguing me all night (heh), so I must inflict it on you all. Enjoy!

The soft flesh under him shifts, a low hum reaching his ear. It brings him to awareness – faintly. Burying his face deeper into them, he grumbles when they shift.

“You’re still awake.” His voice is low, rough from the hold of sleep.

They still for a moment before their chest rise with a sharp breath. He can feel their heartbeat, slow and steady.

“Hard to sleep when someone is squeezing the life out of you.” Their voice comes out amused. Soft.

Astaroth blinks slowly, suddenly aware that he was hugging them. “I did not!” The indignant protest leaves him easily, even as he stretches out his arms. His hold was lose – nowhere near strangling. He shows them that with a small wiggle of his hand. See?

“Not you, idiot.” He can hear the eye roll in their voice. With a huff, he untangles his arms away from them before leaning on his elbow.

What, pray tell, could bother Their Royal Grumpiness so much in the dead of the night?

Ah, that.

His eyes soften when they land on his partner, with their limbs tangled around Night’s torso, one of their legs hooked around Night’s. Their expression is so serene he can’t help but wonder what are they dreaming about. He hopes it’s something sweet.

A smile blooms on his face as he reaches out a finger to tuck one stray strand away from their eyes. Hunter doesn’t stir.

“Oh, leave them be, you crybaby. Can’t you see how cute they look?” Astaroth drags his eyes away from them, meeting Night’s stare. They look less than impressed by his smirk, eyebrows drawn together.

“I have things to do, mind you.” This earns Night an eye roll from Astaroth. Because of course they do, instead of lying in bed with them. Relaxing.

“Of course,” the smile he gives them is sardonic, a bit sharp around the edges. They pay him no mind, eyebrow raised. “Yes, yes, you’re a creature of the night.” He chuckles slightly as he throws an leg over their waist, careful to not kick Hunter in the face.

By the sharp breath Night takes under him, he wasn’t that careful. Whoops.

“Did you have to dig your knee into my stomach?” Their glare is something that would scare lesser beings. Instead, Astaroth only bats his eyelashes at them, a picture of innocence.

“I have no idea what are you talking about, grumpy.” His words are drawl out, wiggling slightly to get comfortable in their lap. Comfy.

“You’re not helping.” They stare at him, one eyebrow twitching and he bites his lip sharply to hold the laugh that threatens to bubble over.

“Ah,” he leans in, until their noses are nearly touching, “that’s your first mistake. Assuming I want to help.” He grins, eyes darting between their ruby eyes and dipping toward their plush lips.

Night looks cute when they frown like this. Adorable even.

Their eyes dance around his face for a moment before raising their chin slightly. With a smile, he dips his head to taste their lips. The kiss is brief, a feather-light caress that Night break it soon. He pouts, disappointment making his shoulders slump. “Your second mistake is assuming I’m satisfied with just a peck, really?” He dips his head into once more, wanting to claim their lips just a second longer.

A dull pain followed by a sharp tug drag his head away from Night. Their fingers are tangled in his hair, a loose hold on the black strands.

His eyes widen, but nothing stops the grin on his lips. “Oh my!” Voice dropping to a purr, his eyelashes flutter. “You’re so bold, grumpy! But, I must refuse! To do something near my sleeping darling? How scandalous.”

“Astaroth.” He laughs at their expression – they look ready to strangle him. Truly, Night is just too easy.

“Fine, fine.” His smile softens, mirth dancing in his gaze. Leaning away from their face, he sits on his haunches, gaze finding their sleeping Hunter.

Ugh, he just wants to mush their cheeks, but alas. Maybe later.

Wrapping his fingers around their wrist – he manages to pry Night free from Hunter’s grasp. When Night doesn’t move immediately, Astaroth watches them, one eyebrow quirking as they hesitate. Conflict flashes in their eyes before they sigh and plant a quick kiss on Hunter’s lips.

They stir, one bleary eye blinking at them.

“Wha --”

He silences them with a kiss on the forehead. “Aw, don’t cry over them, darling. I will keep you company.”

Night wiggles free from their hold and Astaroth wastes no time in taking their place. Hunter’s arms wrap around him and he smiles, his hand on the back of their neck.

Still, he throws one last glance at Night. Even a blind man could see the soft smile on their lips as they hesitate at the doorway.

[charmingradiobelle]

Genuine question: Why do you ship Radiobelle? I've seen a lot of people doing it, and I'm curious as to what the appeal is!

The real question is, why do people ship anything? Why do we all see two or sometimes more characters interact with each other and imagine how cool it would be if they both had deep-seated romantic feelings for the other?

Answer: cuz we can!😌

Idk about the rest of you, but I don’t exactly have much control over what I ship and don’t ship😅 I just see the characters together and my brain randomly decides either “yes I want them to make out” or “nooo I don’t really see it”

But as for Radiobelle specifically, there’s just something about them that my silly fangirl heart can’t resist. While I am fairly new to the HH fandom, I did watch the pilot around the time it came out and a small part of me did ship them back then. But I never really allowed myself to indulge in it and I just wasn’t that into the show anyway so I didn’t bother. Now, after actually watching the episodes and engaging in fandom content, I finally embraced the cringe to the full extent and let myself be consumed by the radio demon and his charming demon belle! :P

Now I’m aware that the majority of people don’t like Radiobelle, or even full-on hate it for multiple reasons. Sure, whatever. You don’t have to like every ship, nor does anyone expect you to! I can understand it’s not for everybody. The main thing that bugs me, though, is when people try to start arguments about why it’ll never be canon and why you shouldn’t ship it. “Charlie is with Vaggie and Alastor is aro/ace!” People ship Alastor with a multitude of other characters and nobody bats an eye,, why is it only when you see him being drawn with Charlie that you lose your shit and get offended about his sexuality being ‘erased’? (That’s a topic for a whole other post tbh). And people can ship Charlie with other people. Hell, they DO! I’ve seen numerous art of her and other characters.

Then there’s also the “Alastor thinks of her as his daughter!” See, I want everybody to actually watch episode 5 again and come back to me on this. No, he fucking does not. The only reason he was saying any of that was to get under Lucifer’s skin. That’s it. That was his whole intention. He doesn’t like Lucifer and wanted to rub it in his face that he has been a lousy father to his daughter, in comparison to all the ways he has helped her, with the hotel and whatever else.

Phew, now that I’ve gotten that out of the way! Onto why Radiobelle has stolen my heart!

I just love their dynamic and it all really started with the pilot. Alastor—this mysterious force of nature who can kill anyone and anything, is capable of unimaginable power and torture—randomly showing up on the doorstep of a hotel to help out. And literally no one else trusts him (reasonably so) but Charlie, the good-hearted soul she is, lets him in. She’s cautious, of course, but she’s giving him the chance to do some good because that’s what her dream is all about!

Now while I do wish they had some more interactions in the actual show, what we have so far is scrumptious✨ Alastor may have been giving an abundance of praise to Charlie to piss off her dad, but I don’t think he was lying. Deep down I’m sure he is enjoying the time they’ve spent together—even if he doesn’t fully realize it. Charlie defends Al’s sadistic behavior to her dad because he was doing it to defend the hotel (and bc he’s a cocky mf lol but it’s endearing to her in a way).

Oh and don’t even get me STARTED on episode 7 bro,, omfg the content!! The way he’s extra touchy with her even after they’ve made their deal. Her being nervous and stressed out but he encourages her anyway and verbally admits that he had faith in her the whole time. Him giving her his microphone—which is likely the main source of his power as shown in episode 8 (where he let her use his mic AGAIN!!!) which just shows how much he actually trusts her,, UGH it’s just 🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻 give me more!!

Now, do I expect Radiobelle to become canon? No. Would it be fucking awesome if it did? Oh absolutely. But I know it won’t, and I don’t care! I’m having the time of my life shipping these two hell-dwelling idiots and I don’t care what anyone says about it!😋

[cocogrrrl]

off-week

part two to bandages: mysterion crashes in your apartment again, and some things start to be revealed.

mysterion!kenny x gn!reader cws: cuts and bruises wc: 1943

It’s been a week since your encounter with Mysterion.

You hadn’t really thought much about what happened, mostly because you couldn’t. You had friends that lived in South Park their whole lives, like Wendy and Kyle, but you were sure they would ask why you wanted to know who Kenny McCormick was if they knew him. What excuse do you have if that situation arose?

Still, despite that, you were a hopeless dreamer who put all their faith in his revisit once more. You weren’t sure why you were quite drawn to a man whose literal broken rib you helped restore, but the bottom line is that you might like him. He was the only thing you’ve been thinking of all week as well. Mysterion, Mysterion, Mysterion.

You didn’t want to be selfish or mean, but you hoped he got hurt again so he could come running back to your place for your nursing aid. 

It was almost as if your prayers were answered.

You were busy that night, finishing up some extra work given to you by your boss. You were completely immersed in your work that you were drowning yourself in it. You hadn’t showered, eaten, or even taken off your shoes—you headed straight to whatever you needed to do.

This was for the sole reason of reducing the number of things you needed to do, even if you were well aware that these types of things are never fully eliminated. They’re always something that is piled up on, at least in your experience.

A loud thump out your window pulled you from your work, though. Initially, you thought it was some stray cat, so you quickly fixed your attention back to where it was. Then, you heard some shuffling after that. You were confused by the noise. Now wasn’t a good time to be robbed.

As you made your way to where your fire exit was, the thought hit you like a brick—it was Mysterion, wasn’t it? To your delight, it was.

You opened the window, and you were greeted with a disheveled-looking Mysterion. His state wasn’t as bad as when you first saw him, but he still look like he just fought in the rain and got his ass totally beat again. You noted that some scratches littered across his upper half, biting through his clothes as his skin bleeding from sharp claw marks.

“Hello, YN.” There was that gruff voice you missed all throughout the week. His eyes were diverted away from you. You could tell he was embarrassed by the defeated look on his face.

“Bienvenida, Mysterion.” You nodded, opening the window wider for him to hop in. “Your off-day’s now an off-week?”

“Very funny,” he rolled his eyes giving you a dead stare after. “Unfortunately, you’re correct. I got my ass beat by the Coon again today.”

“Do you need me to clean you up?” You asked loudly, already heading into your bathroom to grab your med kit.

You heard a faint, “Yes. Thank you.” as you searched through your drawers. You found the kit and headed back to your living room, being greeted by Mysterion shirtless and sprawled over your couch. He supported his upper half up, but his legs were stretched out. He looked worse than you thought. He had cuts and bruises all over him.

“Jeez, what did he do to you?” You winced at the sight, setting your things on your coffee table as you settled by the foot of your couch to grab the things you needed.

“The fucker had brass knuckles and metal claws on. You think I’m gonna win a fight with a guy who has a great upper hand?” You delved into your kitchen for a split moment to grab an ice pack, throwing it to him—which he had caught with finesse.

“No, but that means you got to one-up him! Bring a gun, then shoot him in the stomach or something.” You said, dipping a towel in a soap-and-water solution and then wringing it out.

“Nah. I don’t wanna bring a gun to a fistfight. I’m not gonna stoop to his level.” He said, seemingly deep in thought. 

You motioned that you were going to sit on top of him, but he probably didn’t catch it. “May I?” You hummed, using your head to point over to his lap.

“Huh? Oh- uh, yeah. Totally.” He mumbled, clearing up his throat.

You situated yourself on top of his lap, embarrassment clear from the red blush on your cheeks. You pushed it aside, though, grabbing his arm as you cleaned his wound. “Ah, this is gonna hurt.” You warned, gently dabbing the cloth on his arm.

He knew what was about to happen, yet his teeth dug into each other you leaned his arms and chest. His eyes were tight shut, and his nails clung onto the ice pack he held against his body. Yikes, the cuts seemed to be a little deep.

After you cleaned his wounds, you set the towel aside, one hand cupping his cheek as the other massaged his shoulder. “You’re okay now.” You cooed.

“Thank you…” he grumbled, eyes opening once more, but turned away from you. You could see red forming on his cheeks.

“I’d stitch some of your cuts up, but my stomach’s a tad bit too weak to do that. Instead, I’m just gonna put some petroleum jelly then patch you up, okay?” He nodded in reply.

You reached over to grab a tube of petrolatum, squeezing a little onto your finger and then putting it on the cut. Repeat the process. “Seems like you’ve already made yourself at home, even if it’s just your second time here.” You said mindlessly, just wanting to make conversation with him.

“I guess so. I mean, you’ve seen me half-naked before, and I’ve already slept here—in your clothes, mind you.” 

“You think I’ve forgotten?” You chuckled, mostly for yourself.

“I’d hope not.”

“Oh, pretty boy, I promise you,” you paused briefly, eyes flickering to his. “I would never forget about you.”

“Uhuh?” His voice buzzed, a smug smirk on his face as he leaned closer to you.

“Yeah,” you whispered back, giving him a short peck on the lips before you pushed him back to focus on fixing him up like nothing happened.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him dart his eyes at you. Not in a bad way, not at all. You noticed a pink in his cheeks under his mask. Cute. “You look like you wanted more.” You giggled.

“Well-” He pouted, voice losing its deepness and raspiness for a split second. You whip your head back to him to give him a funny look. He quickly covered his mouth with his hand.

“Ha! I knew that wasn’t your actual voice.”

“Duh,” he said, his voice the higher-pitched one you heard just now. “You think I go to my regular day-to-day sounding like this?” He laughed.

“I just assumed.” You shrugged.

The two of you stayed like that, you on his lap as you tended to his wounds. A looming air of want was clouding over you two. You were sure he could feel it as much as you. He was the first one to cut the air.

“I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, but I think I have some bruises on my face.” He awkwardly said, hesitantly pulling down his mask and hood

You paused there for a second, entranced by what he actually looked like. It’s true, the bruises got his face as well, but you imagine him without it. He was awfully gorgeous both ways. His hair was a little long, split ends littering everywhere. He had the faintest freckles on his face. You only noticed it now, but he had a gap in his teeth, which you found adorable.

“Hellooo? YN?” He asked, waving his hand in your face.

“Oh, uh—” You shook your head, setting yourself out of your trance. “—Yeah, yeah. You do have a few bruises. Just put the ice pack over it.”

“It’s warm, though.” He pouted.

“Oh, let me change it then,” you said, grabbing the ice pack as you were about to get off of him. You didn’t, though, he pulled you down to him. You turned to look at him, giving him a confused look.

“I, uh, should get it.” He awkwardly muttered, getting up. “You’ve done a lot, and I don’t wanna tire you.”

You clicked your tongue, finding yourself giggling at him. “Mysterion—”

“Kenny.” He cut you off.

“Why Kenny?”

“It feels weird to be called Mysterion if I don’t have the mask on.”

“Oh, well, Kenny,” you corrected yourself. “It’s just an ice pack, a walk to the kitchen. It’s not a hassle.”

“Please, let me do it.”

“No,” You hummed, getting up. “You’re the one who’s injured, so it’s my duty to help you.”

“You’ve been helping out this whole time! It’s the least I can do.” He pouted.

“Fine, you go do that.” You rolled your eyes light-heartedly, getting up to head to your bedroom, though. “Do you need to change?”

“I, uh,” he said, taking a brief moment to think. “Yeah, thanks.” He gave you a toothy grin.

Immediately, you felt your heart skips a few beats at the sight, quickly heading into your room so that he wouldn’t see your red, red cheeks. You got clothes that were in a familiar fashion to what you got the last time he was here: a big shirt and some basketball shorts.

When you exited the room, you spotted Kenny sitting down on your couch as he was holding up a new ice pack against his face. You handed him your clothes.

“Hey, YN?” You hummed in reply. “Was I interrupting you or anything when I got here?”

Your mind flicked back to the work you had to get to. Well, you weren’t upset that you were disrupted. “Yeah, but I don’t mind. I mean, I’m happy to help you out anytime, Kenny.”

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna get in the way of anything important.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” You gave him a reassuring smile, patting his shoulders. After that, you headed to the dining area where your work sat. As Kenny changed, you quickly tidied your things up.

“Are you staying the night?” You asked as you headed back to the living room, deep down hoping he would.

“No, sadly. I think I have to head out now. I have to go do something.” He said, seemingly knowing you’d be disappointed at your answer.

“What? Poison the Coon in his sleep?” You joked.

“Great idea, but no.” He laughed, making his way to your window.

“Don’t forget your shirt!” You folded it up and placed it in a paper bag you had lying around. “When, uh, will I see you again? So you can return my clothes?” You half-joked, not forgetting the extra pair he still had with him.

“Hmm,” he paused, feigning a deep thought. “How does this Wednesday, 5 PM sound?”

“Why so specific?” You raised a brow, not quite getting where he’s at.

“Because I’m asking you out on a date, silly.” He chuckled at you, grabbing the paper bag with his clothes in it.

“Oh! Yeah, totally.” You beamed. Although you would probably be busy that night, you were busy all the time anyway. You were willing to sacrifice a shit ton of paperwork just for a night out with him.

“See you then. I’ll meet you right here, cutie.” He said, giving you a kiss on the cheek before he exited through your fire escape.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 14 - Choice

@jegulus-microfic March 14 Word count 665

Previous part First part

Because Regulus didn’t need to get Remus back to the pack, they found themselves with a bit of free time. When Evan offered for them to all stay over if they wanted, his father was apparently in Romania for Voldemort and wouldn’t be back until the following week. 

Sirius and Remus instantly took him up on his offer and barely had time to say goodnight before Sirius dragged Remus out of Evan’s room and into another bedroom.

Barty looked at the clock on Evan’s bedside table. 

“They do realise it’s only 5 o’clock, right?” 

“I don’t think they care.” Evan snorted. 

“Well, anyway, what information have you found?” Regulus asked, trying to steer the conversation away from what his brother might be doing in the other room. James saw the grimace that had crossed his face and slipped out to put a silencing charm on their room as yet again Sirius and Remus had neglected to do so. 

He slipped back into Evan’s room just as Evan began telling them what he’d discovered. 

“Thank you,” Regulus whispered as he slid his hand into James’s and squeezed gently. 

“So, I managed to find out where he went after he left Hogwarts. He went to work at Borgin and Burkes for a while and then completely disappeared.”

“We went to the shop and basically charmed the pants off old Borgin, and he told us something very interesting.” Barty took over.

“Riddle, by all accounts, was a model employee, but then one of their best customers was found dead, and her house elf blamed for it.” Regulus had opened his mouth to complain about that. House elves couldn’t hurt their masters. It was all a part of the magic’s that bound them. “Yes, Regulus, we are well aware of House elf rules. However, the same day she was supposed to have died, Riddle handed in his notice and disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“But, Burgin also mentioned to us just as we were leaving that a priceless artefact went missing at the same time, and he’s convinced that Riddle took it.” Barty was grinning now. 

“Go on, what was it.” James had taken a step towards Barty, completely drawn in by their story.

“Helga Hufflepuffs cup.” Barty finished with absolute glee in his eyes. “Slytherins locket and Hufflepuffs cup. I bet MV turned it into a Horcrux as well, and my money’s on he found something of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors as well.” 

“What’s MV?” Regulus asked, his brow furrowed as he tried to work it out. 

“Mouldy Voldy!” Barty cackled at them. The other boys ignored Barty and looked at each other excitedly. They might not know where the Horcruxs were, but at least now they had an idea of what they were looking for. 

“I wonder what Ravenclaw has,” James said. “Gryffindor had a sword, but Ravenclaws a mystery to me.” The others turned to James.

“A sword?” Regulus said. “How do you know that? Do you know where it is?” 

“He has it in his portrait. But it’s been lost for hundreds of years.” 

“Just like Slytherin’s portrait in our Common room. Perhaps Ravenclaw has whatever her thing is in the Ravenclaw Common room.” Regulus mused aloud. He had a choice to make now of which artefact they tracked down next. Pandora came floating in, coming to stand beside her brother. 

“Ravenclaw had a diadem.” She said breezily.

“Pandora, how is it that you always turn up just when we need you?” Evan sighed. It had been the same story his entire life.

“Because I’m smarter than you.” She smiled as she kissed his cheek. 

“Do you know where it is?” Regulus asked, watching Pandora closely. 

“You might want to talk to the grey lady.”

“The ghost?” James looked confused. “Why would we want to talk to her?”

“Because,” Pandora rolled her eyes as she stretched out her hand and patted Barty’s hair flat. “She’s Helena Ravenclaw. Rowen Ravenclaw daughter.” Four mouths dropped open.  

Next part

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sparkling Bright

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You are set to meet your betrothed but find yourself unexpectedly detained.

Character: Heimdall

Day Nine of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - *hand on forehead* oh gosh, your burning up! 

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You sit at your mirror as you adjust the gem dangling right below your collar bone. The topaz shines in the lantern light, gleaming like gold. You admire its beauty, a stark contrast to your own gaunt appearance. You don’t know when you grew so drawn. Lately, you’re noticing these things. More than your appearance, you feel the weakness in your bones. 

You have to resist from rubbing your eyes. You’ve already lined them and it took so much effort to do so that you don’t think you could do it again. You’re doubtful you’ll even make it through the night you’ve so diligently prepared for. 

Your hand falls away from the necklace and you lean forward to sift through your jewelry chest. You should find a bracelet or ring to go with the gem. Maybe even a pin for your hair. You pluck out a golden band but put it back. You suppose it needs no compliment after all. 

You yawn and roll your eyes back as fatigue burns in your lids. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. It’s such poor timing too. You are to meet the prince tonight and putting it off is not an option. 

There’s a knock at the door. You check your reflection then stand. You go to open it and muster a smile for the figure on the other side. Heimdall is tall and stoic, his eyes as bright and golden as the jewel at your throat, and his shoulder broad and strong. Like all Asgardians, he is formidable. 

“Princess,” he says in his placid tone. “You are nearly due to depart.” 

“Yes, I know it, sir,” you say and take another long blink. “Forgive me, I’m only touching up.” 

His sparkling eyes lower to meet your gaze. A line forms between his brows. He hums, in that way that he does. In the way that speaks doubt. 

“I only need a shawl and we might leave,” you suggest. 

“A shawl. In this weather,” he peers out the tall arched windows. The curtains stir in the breeze. 

“Yes, your Asgardian climate does not agree with me, I think,” you say. 

He looks back to you and tilts his head, “it is not cold.” He raises a hand without pretense and you wince as he touches your forehead. His touch is like fire. “You are alight.” 

“Sir,” you step back at the impropriety of his touch. 

“A fever. No doubt, your travel has weakened you. Made you susceptible to ague.” 

“An ague?” You utter, “but no, I must meet the prince.” 

“The prince. For once in his life, he can wait,” Heimdall insists. 

“But, sir--” 

“And what would he say of me if I allowed his bride-to-be out in such a state. He will understand. If truly he means to be a good suitor,” he argues. “I know these things, princess. I see them as I see all.” 

You look up at him. You are far too weak to argue. Only standing there has you swaying. He gestures you away from the door. 

“You must rest,” he girds. 

“I...” you begin and smother the yawn that rise. “I think you are right.” 

Your shoulders slump as you turn. You’re wobbly on your feet as a shiver crawls over your sweat-beaded flesh. You go to the bed and he follows. You sit and feel yourself leaning forward without meaning to. 

“Princess,” he catches you before you can fall off the mattress. “Oh, your grace,” he takes you by your arms and holds you up. His palms have you sweltering. He looks you in the face with worry. “A living bride is much preferable, I’d say.” 

“Yes, I’d...” you begin but trail off, your head lolling on your neck. “Oh, I feel... rotten.” 

He hushes you and suddenly, you’re sprawled over the bed. Your head is on the pillows as the dark figure works over you. A shadow without features. You blink several times before you see Heimdall clearly. You say his name as he folds the blankets at your waist. 

“The prince is aware of your condition. He sends his well wishes and hopes you will recover soon,” he says. He turns and reaches into the basin at the bedside. Water stirs noisily and trickles as he squeezes out the excess. He lays the cool cloth over your brow. “And you will. You only need to adjust to this place.” 

“Oh I hope,” your eyes close as your daze deepens. 

When you look again, he is there still. In a chair near the bed. He reads a book as if nothing worries him. You watch him for a while before you drift off again. 

The next time you stir, he is sat on edge of the bed once more. He wipes your brow delicately. The soft light suggests the night has passed and morning will soon be there. You moan and lean into his touch. 

“Heimdall, do I worsen?” You croak. 

“You remain as you were,” he affirms. “I have cleaned your face as best I can and you did sweat through your dress.” 

“Oh...” you cringe. 

“It is nothing I haven’t seen, as I’ve seen you before you even came here.” 

Your lashes flutter, “you did?” 

“Yes, certainly, my eye is often drawn to the most shining beacons,” he intones. 

You don’t reply. It is rather sweet of him to say. Norns, you feel utterly ruinous. 

“Do not trouble yourself. It will not aid you,” he brings his hand down to cradle the stone around your neck. “You must reserve your strength.” 

He squeezes for a moment before he lets it rest on your chest. It is hot, burning like red iron. You shiver and close your eyes. When they open again, it is still morning. You frown. 

“Has the day not come?” You ask. 

No answer comes. You peer around at the vacant room. Heimdall appears through the door and replies all the same, “another, yes. You’ve been abed, Princess.” 

“I... have?” You wonder. 

“Time is the best medicine,” he says calmly. Something about the way he speaks is so reassuring. He doesn’t seem as if he could ever tell a falsehood. 

“Will you tell the prince I am most regretful for my absence?” You ask. “I think tomorrow I might feel better.” You try to smile, “I think already I feel myself flourishing.” 

You wipe the sweat from your neck and your hand trails to the necklace. That’s odd. You tug on it. 

“Will you take this off?” You ask. 

“It was a gift from the prince. You shouldn’t...” he peters off. “But if you insist.” 

“Oh, no, no, I suppose it is good to keep him close to my heart.” 

“I will brew some tea, it may help,” he suggests. 

Heimdall goes again and returns with a crystal mug of tea. The brew is so vibrantly purple that it almost seems to change colour. Or perhaps it is the fever causing hallucinations. He helps you sits up and puts the brim to your lips for each cautious sip. 

When you finish, warmth flows through your body, from your fingertips to your crown to your toes. A new sheen of sweat rises and you push the blankets away from your body. The incessant cold that’s plagued you for days dissipates into an equally unbearable heat. 

Heimdall watches you without reaction. You fan yourself as the flames burn an itch into your skin. You wipe your face and the sensation of your own touch makes you shudder. You can’t help but drag your hands down your neck and along your chest. You moan as your mind tickles with a peculiar urge. 

You cup your chest and groan again. You push your thighs tight and bat your lashes at the man perched beside you. His expression is cryptic as he gazes at you as if he were watching the sky. His eyes narrow as yours widen. 

“I feel...” you breathe as a sultry sweetness bleeds onto your tongue. “I feel...” you rub your thighs together. “Everything.” 

“But you feel stronger?” He reaches to pinch the topaz medallion between his fingers. When he lays it back, it feels lighter. “You feel... needy?” 

His hand sits on your leg and you stare at it, teething your lip. Your confusion washes away with the tides of your desire. You nod eagerly. 

“Yes, yes, I am,” you latch onto his hand and whine. “I need... I need something.” 

“Mm, yes, starling, you need delight,” he curls his fingers to caress you, “you need tenderness,” his touch creeps up beneath your skirt, “you need diligence.” 

You hum and shake your head through the fogginess. You clutch the necklace and whimper as a surge rolls over you. You twitch as the rippling force swelling within you. His other hand wraps around yours and draws it away from the stone. 

“You don’t want to break it,” he warns as he puts your hand to his cheek. “You want me, don’t you?” 

You blink. You should say no. He is not the prince, not your betrothed. Yet that coiling inside of you screams otherwise. It is more than desire, it is desperation. 

“Do not fear, starling,” he says. “You will be safe, as I have kept you thus.” He leans in closer, “the prince is much too distracted with the ladies of his court. He does not deserve a princess so precious as you.” 

You cling to him even as your despair rises. What does he mean? You have sworn yourself to the prince, as he has. He is the watcher of the realm, the protector of Asgard, and you are to be its queen. Yet here you are, getting closer and closer, and you cannot not stop. You will not. 

“I can see even your fear, starling,” his lips brush yours as he slips his hand around the back of your head. “But I can see too that you needn’t be afraid for no one shall ever take you from me. Not even the prince.” 

[klaustozier]

memories ; chishiya

SUMMARY: you go to the hospital for medical check-ups, chishiya comes to check on you, and for some reason he feels like he's met you, but he can't remember quite well from where.

this is smut, be aware of what you read!

warnings: chishiya x fem!reader, daddy kink, big cock!chishiya, light spit kink, praise kink, degradation kink, quickie, begging, breeding kink, creampie, face slap, masturbation, dirty talk, voyeurism

this was a request, so i hope that the person who asked likes it!

english is not my first language, so i’m sorry for any mistakes

word count: 2.2k

i hope you enjoy it!

You were waiting for your doctor to come back to do your checkups, but apparently he had been called to see another patient, and the situation got worse and they sent another doctor to attend to you.

"Hello, miss, good morning", he said as he entered the room, you were sitting in front of the doctor's desk, you smiled at him when he greeted you, "Nice to meet you, I'm Chishiya", he offered you his hand and when you touched it, something happened, he frowned at you and smiled without understanding, "I feel like I know you… have we met each other before?"

Your cheeks flushed instantly, letting go of his hand as, for some very inopportune reason, your mind had come up with a very inappropriate scenario where you were bent over a desk in an office you didn't know, getting fucked by him and whimpering his name, asking for more.

"I don't think so…", you chuckled awkwardly, "Maybe I have one of those faces."

"I don't agree… I would never forget your face", and he smiled making your face feel flushed even more, and that's what he wanted to see, "So", he continued, happily following the conversation so you didn't have to say nothing, "can you sit on the gurney over there, please?"

You got up from your chair and climbed onto the padded gurney against the wall and waited. Chishiya took your blood pressure, checked your breathing, and assessed your reflexes, as you tried to push all rude thoughts away like the one where you both were making out on a bed in what seemed like a hotel room. Where did you get those ideas from? What was your problem? He was very handsome, but damn, wait a minute to think like that.

"Let's do a complete blood count", he said after writing things down on his clipboard, "is that all right? Are you fasting, right?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Just call me Chishiya, please", he smiled, "I'll have a nurse take you to get your blood drawn, ok?"

"Yes, Chishiya", you smiled, making him sigh.

Something inside of him told him that the thoughts of fucking you on a table weren't just his head making a wish of its own, it felt like a memory, and he wanted to relive them, "Are you going somewhere to eat?", you frowned at him, "You can't go home without eating."

You laughed, "Oh, yeah, I was going to eat at a convenience store nearby."

"Can I make you a proposal?", you nodded and waited, "Here at the hospital there is a restaurant for employees and the breakfast is wonderful", you raised your eyebrow doubtfully, making him laugh, "I'm not lying, it's really good. Pinky swear", and he lifted his pinky making you smile.

You laced your pinky with his, "But what if I don't like it, what do I get?"

"If you don't like it, I'll take you out to dinner."

"I think I already hated it", he smiled, and, fuck, his smile was beautiful.

"I'm going to call the nurse, as soon as you're done wait for me and I'll take you with me, ok?", you nodded, "See you in a bit, miss."

You had to force yourself to stay still as the nurse drew your blood, your legs shaking non stop with anxiety. All you could think about was him, you could see so clearly his eyes devouring you as you knelt before him, blowing him. You were going to need to talk to a psychiatrist soon.

"Can we go?", asked the blonde as he approached, smiling.

You nodded and took a deep breath as his gaze devoured you from top to bottom, could you make that erotic fantasy in your mind come true? And with him in that lab coat? Could that happen?

The staff restaurant was quite small, with four four-seater tables and a small counter with a black menu on the glass with various snacks, there was no one to offer them, the staff could get them on their own, the people who worked to make them were in the kitchen behind the counter, so they were alone. He chose a chicken salad sandwich each and sat down next to you.

"Are you sure it's okay for me to be eating here? I'm not an employee", you commented feeling guilty, you hadn't thought about that when you were invited, you only thought about his blonde ponytail.

"It's okay… I'm the best doctor here, I have privileges", he said jokingly.

"Says who?", you mocked back.

"I said and I'm the best doctor here so you have to believe me."

You smiled and accepted the sandwich. The two talked softly while eating, everything was fine, until his voice started to get smother. His hand went up to your wrist, being gentle.

"I know this is going to sound weird… but I have memories with you", at the same instant your eyebrows rose, the fact that you knew exactly what he was talking about made your heart race, "But they're not memories that I remember having, if that makes sense", he chuckled, "I think you know what I'm talking about… I introduced myself and you started blushing."

"Chishiya", you whispered, looking at him in amazement, your cheeks flushing again, your skin glowing.

"I think you saw what I saw", whispered the doctor, his lips approaching your ear, "You riding my cock, your pretty face contorted", his hand slid down your jeans-covered thigh, "you kept moaning my name in such a cute way, begging to be spanked and choked… if I'm not mistaken, you called me 'daddy' too."

"Chishiya, I don't… we can't…"

"Can't we?", he repeated, laughing softly, "I can do whatever I want, I'm the best doctor here", and he brought his face close to yours, "Are you doubting daddy, princess?"

"No, daddy."

Chishiya smiled and stood up, pulling you by the hand, "Come with me, I need better memories of you blowing me."

"Chishiya, keep it down!", you asked in a whispered scream.

"I will not…"

You were taken to a private room for employees, where they could sleep in short breaks on very long shifts. The door was locked and he kissed you, desperately, his hands grabbing your thighs and placing them around his waist, laying you down on the bed. His lips dominating yours, your tongue rubbing against his, your legs wrapped around his waist, your hips grinding against his, feeling his erection pressing against your pussy, the thick material of your jeans rubbing against you, but not that satisfying.

You parted your lips, sticking out your tongue, purring as Chishiya let saliva slide from his tongue onto yours.

His hands pulled your shirt up, revealing your bare breasts, making him smirk, "Oh… still with that braless thing, huh?"

He sighed, took his tongue to the delicate nipple and licked it, being delicate while his hands went to your pants, opening them and then took them off along with your panties, returning to suck your breasts, while his fingers started to fuck you. They didn't have much time to be in there and he didn't want to wait until his shift was over, if he didn't fuck you right now, he wouldn't going to be able to concentrate all day.

"Daddy", you whispered, your fingers sliding through the his fringe, sliding the blonde strands back, whimpering, your hips rolling against his fingers, which quickly fucked you.

"You're so fucking hot", he whispered, licking your nipples, sighing, "Such a fucking slut."

"Daddy", you whimpered, "let me blow you, please."

Chishiya smiled, one of his hands squeezing one of your breasts while his hand was still working on fucking you, your body squirmed under his, "Do you want to suck my cock, little girl?", he asked, you nodded, "Then ask for some more."

"Please daddy, let me suck you", you began, your hands sliding through his blonde hair, "please, please, please, let me choke on your cock, please, I need to remember what it feels like to have your cock pounding my throat."

"Fuck", he whispered, darkly, "You know how to beg, baby girl", and chuckled as he sat down on the small bed, "You can do whatever you want to me."

For a second, you thought about his clothes, he looked so handsome in that lab coat, he looked so important and serious, so the only thing you did was open his pants. You were kneeling on the floor between his legs, his cock pulsing in front of your face, your hand gently touching it, the red tip leaking pre-cum, begging for attention.

You sighed and let your tongue run the length of the thick cock, smiling as the blonde whimpered softly, your hair being stroked as your mouth moved up and down, his body tensing whenever you allowed his cock to reach your throat. Saliva glided over your lips, drooling over his skin, helping the movements of your mouth and hands, one helping to massage the part that didn't fit in your mouth while the other massaged his balls.

Your jaw ached, your eyes were teary and your pussy throbbed, it hurted, you could feel your pleasure wetting your thighs. Your eyes rose to Chishiya's and you purred softly, the vibration in your throat caressing his cock, making him moan.

"You were made to suck cock", he whispered, "Look at you", his thumb slid along your lower lip pulling it down so he could see your tongue, "with that perfect little mouth", and he whimpered rolling his eyes eyes of pure pleasure, "Don't you want to ride me, baby?"

"Please, sir, I want to be stretched out", you whispered, rolling your tongue around the tip of his cock.

"Come here, kitten", he asked, pulling you by the waist, placing you sitting on his lap, your legs wrapped around his, your arms hugging his neck. The two kissed, one of Chishiya's hands was on your ass and the other was holding his cock, pulling you down to sit on it.

You moaned, feeling yourself being stretched out as you wanted. When you were all sitting on it, you tried to move, but Shuntaro grabbed you by the ass, keeping you in place, getting separate whimpers from you.

"Chishiya", you whispered, "Fuck me…"

He smiled, one of his hands letting go of your ass while the other wrapped around your waist to keep you in place. His free hand caressed your face before slapping, "No… beg nicely and I'll do whatever you want."

You whined, "Please, mister Shuntaro, fuck me, I already said I wanted to be stretch by your cock, don't be mean to me."

He smiled, "I would never be mean to my little doll."

And Chishiya started to move. The memories you had and didn't know from where, didn't do justice to what you were feeling at that moment. Your moans grew louder, but you kissed him to try not to make a scene while you clung to his lab coat, feeling your pussy being punished.

"Fuck", whispered the doctor, "such a tight pussy…"

"Daddy", you purred, your body moving more with the man's strength than yours because he had a rhythm he wanted to follow and who were you to go against his will?

"Where did I meet you?", he whispered softly, giving you a peck, "Where was that office I fucked you in? I wanted to go fuck you there again."

You smiled, laying your forehead on his, moaning and panting heavily, "I have a nice home office…"

The blonde grinned, "It will do", he whispered.

Chishiya came first, his cock sunk inside you, panting softly, but you still hadn't cum and he had a plan to satisfy you. He laid you down on the bed and spread your legs, kneeling in front of you, watching your pussy all fucked and wet.

His thumb pressed onto your clit and started massaging it, "Fuck that little pussy so I can watch, c'mon, princess."

You moaned and nodded, your hand going to your pussy, two fingers sinking into you without difficulty, the massage on your clit never stopped, your free hand squeezed your own breast as you moaned for him. You looked at him, feeling like a piece of meat, he looked at you hungrily, watching you fuck yourself. His cum slipped between your fingers, slicking your pussy even further.

"I'm going to cum, daddy, may I?", you asked slyly.

"Of course, my baby girl, cum for me."

It didn't take long, your orgasm hit you hard, moans and whimpers leaving your lips as you felt your body burn. You didn't even have time to catch your breath, being kissed with desperation by the blonde.

"Did you like the sandwich?", he asked, giving you a peck.

You shook your head, "I hated it."

"Fuck…", he sneered, "I'm going to have to take you out to dinner."

"Too bad", you whispered, kissing him again.

He waited while you got dressed and exchanged phone numbers with you. The doctor accompanied you downstairs and said goodbye. Fifteen minutes later, he received a message from you. It was a picture of you, in the hospital bathroom, in front of the mirror, showing your breasts, making him smile and shake his head. How he was going to pay attention to his work until it was time to leave, he had no idea.

…

tags: @rinmoeii @proseinborderland @thereeallink @kalinkavx @butttttterbean @chishiyasbbg @aichiomei @sp1ng @ehddsnys @smiley-roos @bowscale @itzz-me-duh @crybabyyzey222 @smh-anon @rainqissedd @marigoldflwrs @xxxsecuritybreach @bo-mitski @zooni92802 @ang3liclov3ly @gold02

please reblog and leave a like if you enjoyed it! and leave a comment with your thoughts, i would love to know!

see ya next time.

(´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

♡masterlist♡

[littlelovelyra]

The Overstay

*disclaimer: I am by no means a good fic writer lol I've just had this in my head for a long time and I just want to get it out. Please be kind*

Rating: Mature themes

Pairing: Astarion x GN Tav

Warnings: Maturish topics

Summary: You fell asleep in Astarions tent while getting ready for his daily feed. There is a sweet progression in your relationship

A soft warm light filters through a small gap from the drapes that are drawn closed to provide you both with privacy. Still half asleep you inhale deeply… the scent of bergamot, rosemary and aged brandy fills your lungs, a scent that has become all too familiar. Strange… you think to yourself, maybe his scent lingered on your clothes while he fed last night… Did he feed last night? Did you go to your tent? You can’t remember, yesterday’s adventure really took a lot out of you… you remember being exhausted but still offering to feed him before you planned on curling up in your tent for a good rest.

You suddenly become completely aware of his presence, you feel his arm wrapped around your shoulders and feel his gaze fixed on you. Peeking through your tired eyes you confirm that you are indeed still in his tent. You must have fallen asleep while preparing for the usual evening's pre-bedtime rituals. Shit. 

“Well, good morning darling. So nice of you to finally wake up.” His words are playful, teasing you while he shifts onto his side. “You were rather exhausted last night… you fell asleep the minute you lay down, I’m afraid we didn't quite get to our usual routine…”

“Oh hells… I’m sorry, I was pretty tired from yesterday. I didn’t mean to fall asleep here, it won’t happen again. We can feed you now before everyone wakes?” You look up at him through hooded eyes offering an apologetic smile. You secretly welcomed the idea of waking up to him next to you, it's something you have longed for but you have never been sure where you stand with him. 

A soft smile spreads across his face as he brushes your hair to the side. Delicately, he cups your chin tilting it at an angle that exposes your neck into a good position for him to drink. Leaning down he gently punctures the skin, you feel the usual initial sting which is quickly replaced by the warm comforting feeling you have grown accustomed to. The moment is over before you fully drift off into sleep, perhaps he felt you starting to drift off and he doesn't want you to stay too long.

He places a gentle kiss where he drank, “My sweet, even though you were exhausted you still offered this to me.. Perhaps I can repay you with something else?” His eyes meet yours as he slowly drifts himself down your body.

“Um.. Astarion…” Your throat suddenly feels tight, emotions flood your thoughts.

“Yes darling?” He pauses arching his brow while confusion settles over his face.

“Uhm, look… while I appreciate the offer I don’t want sex to be a transaction. I want it to be something meaningful. I want it to mean something to you. I don’t want you to feel like you owe me. I allow you to drink from me because I care… I care about your needs.” Your voice shakes and you feel your eyes sting. “I don’t expect you to feel the same way but I’d much rather just cuddle or talk simply because I enjoy your company. I’m sorry that I fell asleep here, I know you would rather me go to my tent-” your ramblings are interrupted as he places a single finger on your lips. As your gaze meets his eyes you notice that in them there is a softness which speaks volumes. Slowly, he wraps his other arm around your waist pulling you close to him into a gentle hug. 

“Thank you.” he whispers into your ear you can tell there is more he wants to say but he chooses not to instead slowly he rises moving towards the exit of the tent. “Well, are you coming to help?” he looks back at you, a cheeky smile spreads ear to ear.

Confused, you look at him while you follow  “Help with what?”

Placing a small kiss onto your forehead his eyes beam “We’re moving your things to my tent Darling.”

[winters8child]

It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 23

We fell asleep in each other’s arms, only to be jolted awake by a series of loud, impatient knocks on the door. The curtains were still drawn, making it impossible to tell the time. It must have been late evening by now, given that I had arrived at the hotel around noon. Bucky stirred beside me, rubbing his eyes as he tried to get up without disturbing me, but when he saw that I was already awake, he leaned over and gave me a quick, tender peck on the forehead before heading to the door. Before he could ask who was there, Steve’s voice came from the other side.

“It’s me, Steve. I need to talk to you.”

Bucky glanced back at me, silently asking if it was okay to open the door. I was still naked under the covers, and I would have preferred not to have Steve see me like this, so I shook my head.

Bucky opened the door just a crack and asked what Steve needed.

“We need to go over the plans for the Howling Commandos mission. Meet me in the lobby in ten minutes—the both of you,” Steve said, his voice as cold and detached as ever. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.

Bucky and I dressed in silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on us. I was aware of the curious glances from the other Commandos, but I was past the point of caring about their opinions or judgments. I expected at least a few lewd comments, but to my surprise, no one said a word, as if they were deliberately ignoring us.

In the lobby, Steve had spread out a map on the large table, and we gathered around it. Points marked in red indicated Hydra hideouts. He was all business, giving instructions and strategizing with a professionalism that left no room for personal feelings. I was nervous, struggling to focus on the details of the plan. My first real mission was imminent, and I could barely keep my hands steady. To distract myself, I took out my handgun and began to disassemble it, just as Howard Stark had taught me. I found the rhythmic motion of cleaning and reassembling the weapon oddly soothing, so I continued to do it over and over, trying to beat my previous time.

My focus was so intense that I didn’t hear Steve approach until he touched my shoulder. I looked up, surprised to find him standing there, his eyes hard and unreadable.

“Your job is to protect Dernier. We’re all relying on you to keep him safe. Don’t leave his side, is that clear?” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The formality of his command stung. I understood that he was hurt, but I hadn’t expected him to be so cold.

“Yes, Captain,” I replied, my voice barely more than a whisper. I turned back to my handgun, trying to keep my focus on the task at hand. Steve left us with a curt nod, reminding us that the attack was scheduled for the next morning and that we should get some rest.

As everyone retreated to their rooms, I found myself alone with Steve in the lobby. Bucky had slipped away without me noticing. Steve was sitting by the fireplace, his head in his hands, lost in thought. I was torn between the desire to hide in my room and the need to resolve things between us. I took a deep breath and sat down in the chair opposite him.

I watched him for a moment, trying to decipher his emotions, but he remained still, his face hidden by the shadow of his hands.

“I can’t do this,” he said finally, his voice breaking. “I can’t pretend everything is okay, like you didn’t betray me. After all those months we spent together, I thought you might have felt something for me, that maybe I was finally good enough.” His eyes were wet, his voice trembling with hurt and anger.

I reached out to touch his hand, but he pulled back, standing up and beginning to pace.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I can’t change the past, but that doesn’t mean my feelings for you were any less real,” I said, struggling to keep my own emotions in check.

His eyes were red, his frustration raw. “Would you undo it if you could? Would you change what happened?”

I couldn’t bring myself to lie, but I also couldn’t regret the love I’d shared with Bucky. The silence between us was deafening, the only answer my unspoken truth.

“Be mad at me,” Bucky’s voice cut through the silence as he appeared at the top of the stairs. He walked down with a determined stride, his eyes locked on Steve’s. “Be mad at me, because I’m the one who lied to you all these years. I’ve been lying to you from the day we met her, because you never had the courage to confront your feelings.” His voice rose with anger, his finger jabbing at Steve’s chest.

I tried to intervene, but the situation spiraled beyond my control.

“I’m mad,” Steve shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. “I’m mad at her, I’m mad at you, and I’m mad at myself. I’m angry at myself because the first thing I felt when I found you in that Hydra base was dread. Dread that no matter what I did, I would never be enough.” With that, he shoved Bucky aside and stormed upstairs to his room.

I was left standing there, stunned into silence, unable to find the words to make things right.

I sank into the chair by the fireplace, staring at the dying embers as my thoughts spun in a chaotic whirl. Bucky sat beside me, his hand resting gently on my shoulder.

“We should try to get some sleep. We won’t resolve this tonight, and tomorrow’s mission is important,” he said softly.

I nodded, too exhausted to argue. “You go on ahead. I’ll be up in a minute.”

He left without another word, and I was left alone in the quiet, the weight of the coming battle pressing heavily on my mind. As the hours ticked by, I dozed off in the chair, my dreams filled with visions of a blood-soaked battlefield and a heart still beating as I crushed it in my hand, laughing maniacally.

I was jolted awake by Falsworth’s concerned voice.

“Did you really sleep here?” he asked, noticing the blanket someone had draped over me and the cold ashes of the fire.

I stretched, wincing at the sharp pain in my back. “I must have fallen asleep,” I said.

He handed me a cup of coffee, its taste as bitter as my mood. “We’re the first ones up. You look like you’ve had a rough night. What’s on your mind?”

I liked Falsworth, but I wasn’t in the mood for a heart-to-heart. “I’m just nervous about the mission,” I said, taking a sip of the coffee.

He gave me a skeptical look but didn’t push further. “I know something that might lift your spirits,” he said, grinning as he handed me a small packet of “Cadbury’s Ration Chocolate.”

“It’s British chocolate,” he said proudly. “Better than the stuff you get over there.”

I was surprised he still had chocolate rations. “Are you sure? Don’t you want it for yourself?” I asked.

He shook his head. “You need it more than I do.”

“Thank you, James,” I said, tearing open the packet and taking a bite. The chocolate was delicious, a rare treat amidst the war.

When he saw me smile, he patted my hand and said, “Whatever’s bothering you, it’ll work out. Or maybe we’ll all die today and it won’t matter anyway.” His sarcasm was a small comfort.

“Fingers crossed,” I mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate.

Soon, the other Commandos began to stir, their nervous energy palpable as they prepared for the mission. I returned to my room to put on my suit, re-cleaned my handgun, and polished my knife. Another knock on my door interrupted my preparations.

“Coming!” I called, opening the door to find Bucky standing there.

He looked me up and down, his expression a mix of nostalgia and sadness. “It feels like just yesterday we were sitting by the lake, reading our books,” he said, holding my arms gently. “Be careful out there, okay?”

I nodded, trying to push away the sentimentality. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

He gave me a reassuring kiss before leaving. I rummaged through my handbag for the small, tarnished ladybug charm Steve had given me. It wasn’t as shiny as it once was, much like me, but I hoped it might bring some luck. I pinned it to my collar, took a deep breath, and headed downstairs to face the day’s challenges.

Next Chapter

[extravagantliar]

Five times of receiving letters for maxima

They write often, more than what should be socially acceptable for two people no further intertwined than their financial situation to those who looked no closer. Business is part of it, unlikely acceptance and friendship being the rest. 

A look into the friendship and financial relationship of Varric Tethras and Maxima Aurum —  A meme from the Great Abyss -

9:41 Dragon 

Magister Aurum 

Thank you for your insight during today's Merchant’s Meet within the Inquisition. It seems these devilish dukes and cowardly counts are becoming bolder with the ongoing civil war. I appreciate the backup; it was unexpected and much needed. I do say we caught some of their rarest behaviour. 

Why don’t we cut them out of the deal?

If the cloth has to move through Jader, we should send it through Kirkwall and avoid most of Orlais if possible. I am aware of where Jader sits, but Redcliffe seems too far and likely that Arl would want a piece of the pie if that were the case. What do you think?

Want to make a bit of gold?

Of course, you do. Come find me at the Herald’s Rest when you’re up for it. Tiny and his bunch will help with logistics. 

Deceitfully yours,

V. Tethras

9:43 Dragon 

Lady Maxima Aurum, Magister of House Aurum,

Well, well, well! You certainly were a sight for sore eyes. All gold and glitter, if you had been any more shiny, every damn bird in Kirkwall would have been on your shoulder. Don’t tell me that’s the trend in the North now.

All of the teasing aside. It was nice to see a friendly face among the sea of sycophants and dignitaries, the same thing if you ask me. If you are still in town, please come by the Keep. I will not be in that hideous crown, but I would like you to sign the trade paperwork and make you an official partner. You deserve it. You took the helm on some projects for me when Kirkwall needed more of me than I could give. You’ve been a boon to this city. We’re a great mixing pot. Lowtown has people from all over, and they are doing better; their crafts are going further because of us. 

On a lighter note, I owe you one. Drinks? I will even take you to a nice bar in Hightown since The Hanged Man was so offensive last time. It was just one bar fight, with just one well-known criminal. You act like that doesn’t happen in Minrathous. I know it does, I get the papers on delay, but I get the papers the same as you. 

Bran will have something more fancy and official delivered to you at a later date. 

Stay golden, 

The Viscount of Kirkwall

Varric Tethras      

9:46 Dragon

M, 

If you’re reading this note, I am about to pass you my hand and flip the table - the man across the table has a knife. I also think he’s who we are looking for. Charter said he could have changed his appearance. 

It takes more than blood magic to fix a bad personality. 

- V

9:48 Dragon

Maxima, 

I’m stepping down as Viscount. You’ve likely seen the papers, the charges. You know it’s assumed guilty in this city-state, right? 

Shit. 

Before you offer me your opulent and beachfront home, I say in jest, knowing how rainy and horrid Minrathous is, I know I am already out of the city. I’ve been out since they started making threats. The old bald one, Orkney ( yes, I am aware half of them are old and the other half are bald; this is the one that is both ), was the one that had charges drawn against me and started making threats at me and my house. You can threaten me, but the girls are another thing.

Do you know what the charge is? Something about embezzlement, well - it doesn’t matter if I have proof or my books are clean, I did gamble buildings away in 9:42 Dragon. However, the buildings were seized by Dumar and then another by Stannard. 

I just don’t have the proof for that. 

I’m also not fighting it. 

Things are picking up again; I’ll need you to take the helm on some of the trading companies. I’ve outlined the ones my estate can run, but I’m handing these over to you. You don’t even have to do anything; my solicitor has seen to it all. You should have the paperwork soon. 

Don’t blow it all on shoes. 

Your deposed Viscount, 

Varric Tethras 

9:52 Dragon

Maxima, 

Thank you for taking care of the businesses over the last few years. I didn’t expect the turn this took. I don’t think any of us did. I want to say thank you for all the help you offered Charter and me in Orlais. I’m currently in Minrathous, in Dock Town. I don’t know for how long, but if you aren’t offended by The Swan, come and find me. I have some additional things for you that you will need and some information that I cannot safely put in this letter. 

You know who to look for.

Varric

An Undated Letter 

Max, 

Hopefully, you find this on a warm day. Hopefully, the sky has cleared, and all of this has come to a close. Hopefully, the city is starting to heal, I knew a thing or two about broken cities in my day. 

Whatever you choose to do with our trade network is entirely up to you, and there is no wrong choice. The thing we built together, I have slowly put in your hands over the last six years. I watched you rule from the sidelines during our time in the Inquisition; you challenged the norms of those traders and made me question myself. Not many people give me pause; you’re on a shortlist. 

Well, Max, is this our great parting?

Highly unlikely, as House Tethras still owns a good fifteen percent. Will I be less annoying? Likely, considering that half of our trading partners think I’m rotting somewhere. I am currently rotting, can’t tell you where, but the terrain is awful. They offered me a horse, with my hip and shoulders? 

I’ll walk. 

Take care of yourself, and stop letting weird dwarves talk you into bad business deals. 

VT

[icystorm76]

Lauren’s comments on Ep 4

My sister has now watched Ep 4, and again I wrote down what she had to say. She has never read the books and has no idea about basically everything. Anything in parentheses is my comment on her comment.

Her reaction to Ep 3: https://www.tumblr.com/icystorm76/753858454799761408/laurens-commentary-im-forcing-my-sister-to-watch

“The title of this is “I want you more than anything in the world”, which GREATLY concerns me”

Claudia’s performance

“Wow, she in the show”

“Ok this is kinda creepy”

“Yes, slay Claudia”

“Claudia must hate this. It’s like her biggest pet peeve, being treated like a child”

“His face!!!”

“Ok, that ghost thing is kind of cool”

“Ok, that is abuse again”

“So what happens if Claudia falls in love with another vampire who was turned as an adult”

“I want someone to edit that scene with “it’s a small world” but it’s just Claudia on stage”

Coven meeting after performance

“Anne rice you kinky little bastard”

“It’s funny because she doesn’t like windows when they close but I don’t like Louis boyfriends when they abuse”

“He’s kinda daddy with those muscles”

“Abuser. Victim”

“Understand his commitment issues. Please.”

Louis and Armand

“Wow, eww, keep that gay stuff to yourself. Yes. Thank you. One time I’m with you Lestat.”

Dubai

“He has sad eyes. Daniel does. He looks like the restaurant guy from ratatouille”

*Extreme sarcasm* “Thank you Louis, that cleared it up”

“I feel like his face would be fun to sculpt”

“What? Fire at the theater?!”

“PTSD awareness too. That’s crazy”

Claudia and Santi’s convo in the wet room

“That moment when trying to be a cottage core bitch comes back to bite you”

“Awwww, they’re going to be friends!”(NONONONONO CLAUDIA AND SANTI ARE NOT GOING TO BE FRIENDS)

“Daddy vamp?!?!? I’m using that”

“Marketing campaign, she lays on the ground like she’s fucking dead”

“When are they going to notice she doesn’t age”

Dinner with the coven

“I love how they’re like “we need to get far away from Lestat, who has a French accent. Let’s go to France!””

“Awww, she’s smiling!”

“Du ponte du lac, say his full name”

“Theoretically, if him and Lestat got married he would be Louis Du Ponte Du lac De Lioncourt”

“You know what I need? Lestat drawn by the same person who did Miku binder Thomas Jefferson”

“Why don’t vampires have Orgys?”

“Don’t put all my sexual comments in here. People are going to think I’m oversexual, tell them in not oversexual!”

“That’s kinda gay”

Les+Lou and Claudia+Madeline

“This feels like a scene from a marvel movie, the way it’s shot”

“Is he a goat?! Hello?”

“Oh God, I knew he was going to say that. I knew he was going to say that. You vain bitch”

“Yeah, I think we learned from your last family that thats not always good.”

Art gallery

“Wow, that is doing to much.”

“Look at how bored Lestat looks”

“I love how it’s been years and years and none of the vampires are over their exs”

“I feel like I’m in therapy”

Louis and Claudia’s arguing and Lestats goodbye

“She keeps repeating things. It’s like in books when they do that Oh. Oh. OH. Thing. It was nice the first time but after that it felt like she was looking for things to say.”

“I like the detail that he’s not getting wet because he’s not really there”

“Yo butt gonna get wet. People gon think you peed yourself”

“Oh my god he’s imagining Lestat with emotions”

“Oh my god the snap just happened”

“Ok. Idea. Daniel fucked Santiago.” (She is really stuck on the idea of Daniel fucking a vampire, she just keeps choosing the Wrong one)

“Is the dark gift really just a vasectomy?”

“There it is!”

“I am… so confused. What just happened?”