#※ {obsidian – INBOX} | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Note

Queue me sprinting to the inbox when I got the notice that your inbox was open! First off, congrats on 5k! Ok now business: can I request something along the lines of Ghost realizing he’s become attached his partner (maybe the reader is the same rank or a sniper or something where they’ve known each other a while) but it’s a situation where it’s a harsh realization. Like it was the one time they didn’t go on a mission together and the reader got hurt real bad (like Ghost only found out because he happened to be on the tarmac when the reader’s body was being carried out of a helicopter by medics) and that’s how he realizes he loves the reader. Because it hits him like a ton of bricks that he might loose them and just breaks down but it ends with him being by the reader’s side and confessing in his own way when they wake up

—Blood Like Obsidian

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Simon can only fight against so many nurses as they shove him back from your operation room.] ❞

He doesn’t recall how he felt the moment he spotted your body being dragged out of that Helo, arm limp over the shoulder of one of the men in your unit. He doesn’t even remember what Soap was talking to him about on the tarmac.

Because at that instance, the entire world seemed to stop in one horrible moment of mute panic and brown, wide eyes.

Simon watched for a moment in shock, seeing your limp form as the soldier carrying you screamed out for a medic, moving as fast as he could in the direction of the on-base hospital; jostling you. Soap finally looks over.

“Holy hell,” the Scot breathes, head pulling back.

Simon’s already sprinting.

“Give her to me,” he growls to the soldier, who looks up at him in shock as he appears like an apparition.

“S-sir, I—”

“Fucking hand her over!” Simon orders, eye flashing, his accent already making the aggressive voice even more so as he spits from behind his mask.

The man immediately presents your unconscious form, blood so saturated into your gear that the black looks like obsidian; shiny like that natural glass formed after lava cools. There’s a damn hole in your chest.

Taking you up easily, your dead weight makes his chest tighten, a sharp inhale sounding off from Simon before he grits his teeth and holds you tighter.

The Lieutenant grunts and takes off, feet slamming into the ground. He glances down at you in rapid intervals, gazing at your expressionless face for long seconds before it snaps back up to the road ahead—it’s no more than a few seconds before Simon slams his shoulder into a door.

The barrier hits the far wall and nurses all look up in momentary fear.

“Help her!” He sounds desperate, and his hands dig into you harshly. If you’d been awake, you’d be telling him to let go before you developed marks. The nurses are still paused at the sudden appearance of the monster-ish man in black and gray. Simon barks like a dog, stepping closer. “Fuckin’ hell, are you bastards bloody deaf?!”

The others dash forward and tell him to place you on one of the rolling beds, and he does so without another word; heart so violently beating in his chest that he’s panting, breath loud in his own head.

The nurses are calling to one another, yelling to grab an available doctor and get you into surgery, beginning to wheel you away. Simon jogs along, eyes not leaving your face but ever silent with his hands clenched.

He hadn’t given much thought to how he felt about you—nothing was ever going to come of it. Years of missions and companionship with you. You, the ever-present bit of light that had stayed longer than all others.

You, the only woman he would ever love.

The realization makes Simon’s legs nearly lock from under him, stumbling for a moment as one nurse peels back your vest and takes a pair of scissors to cut away the fabric over the mess of torn flesh and spitting veins.

You leave droplets of blood behind you, trailing off the limp hand that points to the floor from over the edge of the bed.

Simon grabs at it and brings the hand to your chest, and he notices his own fingers shaking as he desperately moves his eyes up and down your body. He can’t even look at the wound—large, deadly. You jerk around with every movement as if you're already dead.

The Lieutenant feels his eyes burn with stark betrayal but barely pays attention.

As they’re pushing you into a pair of double doors, Simon remembers he was supposed to be with you during this mission, but had been reassigned last minute. The thought is so sudden he nearly forgets to ask where they’re bringing you. But the man recovers quickly.

“Oi!” He shouts, arms pushing him back from the door. Half of the nurses are telling him he needs to leave. He growls and jerks away from them, eyes flashing dangerously but always darting back to the door as it sways back and forth.

But he knows why he’s out here—and the Lieutenant certainly doesn’t know how to operate on someone no matter how much he did.

He steps back and the rest of the nurses disappear back into your room.

Simon puts a hand on the back of his head, gripping tightly at the fabric of his covering as he fears his teeth might break from how hard he’s clenching his jaw—grinding them across one another like a cheese grater.

He loved you. Oh, God, he loved you.

And he wasn’t there.

Turning away from the door, Simon paces the hallways until Soap re-joins him, any attempt the Sergeant makes at conversation is immediately slashed down ruthlessly. Simon’s shoulders widen; eyes grow more dead the longer you’re gone from his sight.

It’s five hours until there’s any word, and when there is, the Lieutenant is alone again—his leg jumping along the floor and his hands held in a single fist under his nose; elbows on knees.

When he’s able to see you—stable but the future still uncertain, he sleeps there.

Simon sleeps on the floor beside your hospital bed for two days straight, and the nurses are too afraid to tell him he can’t do that. So they don’t tell him at all.

On day three, the man has only left the room to go to the bathroom; no food, no showers, or new clothes. He’d gone through worse, what was hunger? What was the small uncomfortableness in his chest? Nothing. It was nothing.

During the day he watches your face, standing or sitting doesn’t matter. The nurses come and go, the doctor too, and he lets them work silently. Simon doesn’t speak to them.

But he does speak to you.

And on day four, he plays with your fingers with a single hand, taking the flesh and watching it move. Feeling your pulse.

The Lieutenant grunts.

“Should’ve been there,” he hisses to himself harshly. “Should ‘ave never let you bloody go alone, yeah? Been by my side for ages.” Simon scoffs, glaring at the bedsheets. “My fuckin’ fault you’re ‘ere. No one can watch your back better, should’ve known that.” He misses the small twitch in your hand, too self-absorbed with his faults.

Simon was never one for airing his grievances; the man was a master at suffering in the quiet nights. But this was a special case.

Your finger twitches again.

“...Shouldn’t say stuff like that,” your words slur, and Simon’s head snaps up; heart lurching. He goes silent.

Your eyes are only half-open, body heavy. You’ll be going back to sleep in mere moments, but you’d been awake long enough to understand what was going on. Simon watches, but his hand slips into yours. Grasping tightly.

An unknown weight is taken from him at the twitch of a smirk on your lips.

“Care about you too, Big Guy.”

He won’t tell you he loves you—he’s not that kind of person. He won’t explain the panic or the fear. Terror, really.

But he’ll slip off his mask and let you see him, his thumb running the length of your knuckles. He’ll sigh and those browns will give way to the rare expressions he shows so few.

He’ll let his head bend down to rest on your thigh as you fall back to sleep. Simon’s hand still holding yours.

You know.

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im-poe-dameron · 3 months ago

Text

NO LIGHT

a/n: wake up babes a new sith dropped and he's ridiculously hot. <- i wrote that when the episode dropped. and it's taken me a bit to finish. really i got this done out of pure spite, because what the fuck do you mean we're not going to see him again. expect tons more for this man from me and feel free to scream in the inbox cause if there's one thing that will remain, i am down bad for a sith. and all i could say while writing was: i can make him worse. this is the prequel fic to darkness within.

summary: jedi were the light, the path to good in a galaxy draped in darkness. he never called himself a title you'd grown accustomed to. a life that you'd been thrust into as a child. when doubts arise and beliefs shift, you find yourself entrapped in what you were taught to fight against.

word count: 8k

pairing: qimir (darth teeth) x jedi!f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS THIS AIN'T FOR YOU, corruption arc, enemies to lovers, but let's be honest it's more hate fucking, violence, he shows mercy, an unhinged villain obsessed with his lover, biting sort of, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), bad ending if you view it that way.

"The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural."

There was no name for them spoken aloud in the temples. No title for them to wield with pride as the Jedi did theirs. An armor they strapped to their chests before they carried the weight of the word knight. History was not a lesson to be taught, nor overlooked. Yet The Great War still remained fleeting in classes of the past. As if they willed each generation to forget.

You could feel your mouth form around the letters. The quick biting word that solidified in your heart, breaking open your armor the longer you thought about it. It sounded familiar. Each letter a hiss, as poison dripped between your lips. And you wracked your brain trying to remember where you'd heard it before, why the title came with flashes of memories long forgotten and feelings locked away.

Sith.

The darkness that lingered beneath what light the Jedi spread. A plague waiting to be brought forth and wrought upon the galaxy. Yet in the cracks of that obsidian void, you caught sight of a power that still remained. One not even the Jedi could detect within their midst, and yet you somehow latched on to what you found. The glimpse of his abilities far greater than anything you could ever achieve.

Images of his smile as you fought him alongside the people who trained you; those who didn't come home. How he held his lightsaber with the assurance of a man who'd done this before. Who trained in the same halls you did—who followed a path of light before sinking down to the depths of nothingness. He nearly killed you, held your life in his hands, yet his eyes flashed the second you began to fight back.

To show what you'd been hiding beneath the wall they taught you to built. The blockade which kept each emotion, each fear, trapped in your own mind.

You lashed at him with a fervor that scared you. With an anger that nearly consumed you.

And he smiled.

Questions ran rampant in your mind, yet no matter how hard you searched. No matter how far back you looked in the Temple records, there were no answers. The Sith seemed to have vanished from sight and wiped from existence. As if they never existed in the first place. You thought that something might arise, a piece of the past someone forgot to bury, but each time you looked the quicker you realized that this was done on purpose.

The Jedi cleansed the galaxy of evil—yet in doing so created the path for them to return without notice.

Since returning, you found yourself unable to sleep. When the possibility finally arose and you gave into the pleas of your body, his face returned with a vengeance. The smile that refused to leave you. The intrigue that crossed his eyes as he finally found your weak spot—the one thing that broke you. He fought you to survive at first, but as it continued, you suddenly felt like he was testing you. Attempting to figure out what made you tick, what would eventually make you fall.

You ignored whoever lingered in the hallways of the temple, their greetings falling on deaf ears, as you rushed to the training rooms. Night was cresting on the horizon of Coruscant and where you expected to be alone, you were surprised to find people still awake.

Apparently the attack left some Knights on edge. Including you.

"Maker," you gasped, pressing a hand to your stomach—a rush of nausea rolling through your body like a wave.

Whoever he was—whatever he was—he stuck to your mind like a fungi. Growing and feeding off your thoughts; finding joy in the depths of your head. You longed to claw him out, rip him to pieces until that calm serenity of peace finally returned. Until you felt like yourself again.

The room was thankfully empty, save for a few moved seats here and there. You gathered what control you had left on your emotions, practically collapsing onto the floor, each breath a gasp for the familiar Coruscant air. From what you were taught, meditating would help to ease your mind. Or at least assist in making sense of what you encountered, what knowledge you managed to accrue.

"I am one with the Force," you muttered. The words slipped off your tongue with ease, the memory of being a youngling in this very temple returning with a flash. It remained an old saying Masters told their Padawans when they first begin training. A reminder that while you may be powerful, while you may wield it to your own rhythm, you were surrounded and made from it. "And the Force is with me."

Your breathing slowed, eyes falling shut, and you allowed the room to fall away. You sought what lingered in between the liminal space of your mind and the world around you. Teal flickered on the edge of your vision as the darkness began to take shape—morph into something familiar. Cold licked down your spine, causing the hair to stand on the back of your neck, and suddenly you weren't sitting in the Jedi Temple anymore.

Ancient symbols surrounded you, carving that were set into stones older than you. Sucking in a sharp breath, you scrambled to your feet, your hand reaching for your hip—for the lightsaber that wasn't there. Night was all you could see through the cracked open ceiling; the ruins of what you guessed to be an ancient temple. One before the time of the Jedi you knew on Coruscant.

"Tragic isn't it."

You whirled around, eyes wide as the darkness you believed to be empty, began to bleed away. A figure cloaked in black stepped forward. Only this time...he wore no helmet, no mask to hide his signature and the thoughts that surged through your mind. He gave you the freedom to find what he was, to see beyond the boundaries set by the Jedi.

"W-Who are you?" you asked, your voice echoing off the stone walls and reverberating loudly in your own mind.

He smiled, the very look shoving every emotion you fought to keep at bay to the forefront of your thoughts. "I think you already know the answer to that question."

You gulped in another breath. "Sith."

"So they haven't wiped away that memory entirely." He breathed a soft laugh to himself, taking a few steps forward. "I'm surprised by that."

"Surprised..." Your eyebrows pulled together, body going tense with each step he took. "Did they have that information before?"

His smile only grew, the haze in his brown eyes flashing a burnt yellow for the briefest of moments. "Once." His hand reached out, as if to grasp yours, but this was merely in your head. A projection of his energy and yours. Perhaps that's why you relaxed, why you didn't flinch when his Force signature began to twine with yours. Perhaps that's why you let your guard down. "When I was a Jedi."

"You were a Jedi?" you exclaimed, reeling back. "That's not-"

"Possible?"

The echo of his steps rang through the air, stifling the air from your lungs. He walked like a predator. Yet held the stance of someone who couldn't care less about what you wanted, what you might do to him. He gave you his back with ease and didn't blink twice when your hand twitched to the nonexistent weapon at your side. You began to wonder if he brought you here without it on purpose—if he knew that deep down...you wouldn't hesitate to kill him if given the chance.

"Don't you find it remarkable?" His question threw you off guard as you turned to keep up with his slow prowl.

"Where are we?"

He ignored you. "The Jedi spent so long fighting the Sith. They nearly lost. And yet...no trace of that history remains."

"There's no point to this-"

Stopping a few feet away, he assessed you with a tilt of his head, eyes scrutinizing your very being. "There's always a point. Because despite their grand powers and promises, they are doomed to repeat history."

"Lies," you spit, eyes burning a hole through him.

"The Jedi will fall," he began, coming closer until his face was mere inches from your own. You attempted to step back, to remove yourself from the warmth that bled off his body in waves. But you were stuck—forced to keep still as he finished. "It's in their nature to believe they won't. But they will. One day." His hand reached up, palm cupping your cheek and for a moment...you felt the gentle caress of his touch. "Do you really want to be a part of that?"

"Let me go."

He sighed, eyes falling to your lips without shame. "I can't do that."

"You brought me here. All to tell lies." You sucked in a shuddering breath. "You can let me go-"

"I didn't bring you here," he replied, his lips curling into another grin. "I don't know how...but you found me."

"Found you where?"

His faint touch vanished as he stepped back with a sigh dripping in disappointment. As if you'd confirmed his worst fears. "Ashas Ree."

The planet's name sounded familiar—somewhere on the outer rim. And for a mere moment, you accepted his words as truth. That he didn't call you to this place, but you in fact found yourself here. Yet all it did was open a door you couldn't close. It would give way to the chaos in your mind, to the feelings that begged to run rampant in your heart. That alone would tear you to pieces and you'd have no way to put yourself back.

He leaned in once more, lips a hairsbreadth from your own, and smiled gleefully when you gasped. Your eyes wide and body falling back. Only for him to catch you—his arm a vice around your waist as his hand went to your face, keeping you still.

His touch should have terrified you—sent trills of fear through your body—and yet...you found a piece of something softer underneath his mask of danger. Though he may have turned to the dark side, the part of him that remained a Jedi still existed in the depths of his heart.

With reluctance, you came to the understanding that he wouldn't cause you any harm.

That isn't what he wanted from you.

"I'll see you soon...Jedi."

With a gasp, you collapsed, your head slamming against the temple floor as your eyes flew open. Pain bled into your skull, vision black spotted and hazy, yet you still scrambled to your feet. Your robes caught on your legs, twisting around your body. The beat of your heart echoed loudly in your ears—his face, his voice, still prominent in your mind.

He was a scar on your heart, a reminder that no matter how much you fought against his will, you would never win.

So you ran.

The temple cleared out during the night as you sprinted through the halls, your breath quick and stunted with each slam of your boots against the sleek floor. You weren't sure how long you'd spent with him. How much time passed as you did your best to ignore his advances—to gauge what exactly had to be done. Given that you now knew where he was.

Ashas Ree. A planet taught, yet never visited.

It didn't occur to you to ask why. What was there that made the Jedi wish to ignore it's existence altogether. What had they left behind?

Slowing to a halt, you found yourself stuck between two paths. Each hallway dimly lit and bathed in shadows. You held a choice within your hands. One that could change the trajectory of the Jedi if you were able to succeed. You could forget this instance happened, continue on with being a Knight, and leave this man to someone else.

Or you could find him.

The possibility of putting an end to this problem tasted sweet on your tongue. Yet you couldn't deny the true reason for going.

Curiosity would one day be be the end of you. A saying your master told you repeatedly as you put him through every type of worry he could endure—your need to know more outweighing the logic of whether you should.

The strength he exhibited on Khofar nearly brought you to your knees, his power a force to be reckoned with. Yet there you stood, considering the option of taking him on by yourself. It would conclude with your death—you understood this. Somehow that still wasn't enough to stop you from taking the left path towards the hangar. That alone couldn't deter you from a path already carved by the Force.

A sleek muted gray ship was housed in the corner. You couldn't recall who it belonged to, nor did you find it in yourself to care. Whatever this vision procured—the emotions that began to bleed into your heart with a heady and restless need—there was no fighting against it. The steps taken would lead to an unknown future; a consequence that not even you could see through the Force.

What began would eventually end.

Yet how it would play out remained shrouded in darkness.

Flicking familiar switches and pressing buttons through muscle memory, you felt yourself begin to slide back to your mind. The hum of the ship jumping into hyperspace gave you a moment of silence to converge over your thoughts. To focus on your own Force signature that spread around you with ease.

The teal felt familiar enough to sink down into its depths with a sigh. You shut your eyes, hands falling to your lap, as you allowed yourself to step forward into the darkness. Until you felt it begin to creep up your body—chills spreading down your spine and curling around your stomach.

You expected to be faced with a wall of fear; horrors unlike those you'd seen before. Surprise filled your chest as an image began to take shape—a memory that didn't belong to you.

He sat on the floor of the Jedi Temple. His eyes closed, hands resting on his knees, and hair tied up into a bun that nearly fell free. The black robes he wore with pride were gone, traded for a familiar set of light beige Jedi robes, a perfect match for the ones you wore now.

"You're not focused."

The voice...you'd heard her before. The sharp tone of concise words teaching younglings to train until they reached a level of perfection you only dreamed of obtaining.

Soft brown robes flowed around him as she stalked in a circle. Yet no matter how far you pried, how much you attempted to clear the image, her face refused to form. As if he was merely letting you see a hint of his past. Of the man that once existed in the same place you did. Warmth pooled in your body at that thought; he wanted you to understand him, to see that perhaps you weren't as different as you believed.

"You must feel the Force. Not simply think about it."

He sighed, shifting his body—hair falling free around his face. "I am thinking Master."

"If that were true then I wouldn't be able to see in your mind. Try again."

You stepped closer, lowering yourself to sit across from him—your eyes focused on the furrow of his brows, the way his body tensed. Agitation spread along his form, growing by the second, until you saw it begin to take shape in his mind. Peace didn't come easy. Not when he felt the conflict that plagued his heart, the beliefs he once held true and firm now a distant memory.

Without realizing it, you leaned forward, and pressed your hands atop his. Hoping that in some way, he might feel the soft light of your energy—the warmth of a Jedi's presence willing to help him.

"What do you see?" she asked.

He let out a breath, expression softening. "A...Jedi."

"Good. Who?"

"I...don't know."

"Try harder."

Frustration began to cloud his thoughts, his hands clenching into fists on his legs, and just as you reached for him again, you felt it. The sharp tug of fear against your heart. As if he'd stabbed you with his blade. His eyes flew open, a ragged breath tearing from his throat. You backed away, hands falling to your lap as you awaited the memory to keep going—to see what came next.

Only for him to meet your gaze and see you.

Pain sliced through your head, invading your body as his eyes narrowed perceptively. And you cried out, hands clutching your face, nails scraping against your skin. Maybe if you dug hard enough you'd be able to get him out of your head. You would remove any part of him that weeded through your thoughts, past every wall you'd placed to protect what secrets you held. He picked at your wounds and for a moment you wondered if he held a knife in his hand.

"S-Stop," you forced out past gritted teeth and clenched fists.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Sucking in a sharp breath, you shut your eyes to the image of him, to the vision that must have projected from his own mind. He didn't want you to bear witness to his past. A version of him that once believed in the light, that once hoped he could help the galaxy.

"No," you muttered, shoving him from your mind. But to no avail did it work. He was insistent, angry at knowing you could breach him so easily.

"The power you hold. It will destroy you."

"You don't..." Your nails sliced through the skin of your palm, blood welling to the surface within seconds as you fought against his hold. "You don't know anything."

Though you couldn't see him...you felt his smile. The pleasure he gained simply from finding the weakest point in your mind and running with it. Your power, your strength. For so long you'd feared what you might become, what your abilities could manifest into. Yet they remained a mere figment of your worst nightmares, a reality that may never come to pass.

Meeting him changed that.

He knew it the second he saw you.

"You're scared you won't be able to control it. The darkness you don't show the others."

"Lies," you hissed, beating against the walls he created as he wreaked havoc within your own mind.

"Tell me...does your former Master know you're on your way to me?"

Your heart leapt to your throat, fear numbing every ability you once possessed to fight back. To keep him at bay. No matter how much you wanted to argue, to claim he was wrong, you could feel the truth ring in the back of your mind.

No one knew you were speaking to him. No one knew you'd left.

No one would know why you may never come back.

His laughter echoed through you, burning a hole in your chest large enough for the darkness to seep through.

"Thrilling isn't it? Playing against their rules."

Perhaps if you dug far enough, you could rip the tendrils of him from your mind. Pieces that threatened to ruin you. The darkness promised freedom, yet you could see the repercussions of your actions played out before you like a story already written. Accepting the bittersweet taste of something so tenuous would leave you broken by the end of it. You'd be a shell of the Jedi you grew to become.

A person unwilling to fight back.

"You want me weak." The ship rumbled as you began to claw your way out of his mind and back into yours; the show of your strength echoing through the Force. "You want me to say yes because you know that if I fight back...you won't win."

Whatever retort he had died on the tip of his tongue when your ship left hyperspace—ripping you back to the waking world. You fell back on your elbows with a gasp, eyes zeroing in on the planet directly in front of you. One that you'd seen before. Perhaps it was in a dream, a memory not of your own, but the landscape looked familiar.

Signs of life were sparse—scattered further from where he resided—and part of you felt grateful. If this concluded in a battle you didn't want to be the cause of an innocent's death. The Jedi could never know you came here. The consequences alone would lead you to be cast out of the Order with nowhere else to go.

The ground shook as you landed; the hiss of the door echoed out into the empty clearing. You expected to see wildlife within the thicket of trees that surrounded you. All that showed itself was the glow of the moon above. Illuminating the path carved into the grass by people that came before. You could see the structure ahead—it's grand entrance towered over you, becoming one with the stars that hung above.

Jedi once walked these grounds. Their energy practically hummed in your veins the closer you came to stepping foot on the stone floors. Carvings of old symbols still remained—placed there by a Republic that no longer existed.

An era of Jedi you'd only heard stories of.

The history of the Olde Republic wasn't unknown to the Jedi that existed today. You understood their practices, the ways they viewed the Force. Part of them were lost to the war when they began to form the Order that still remained.

This place should be taught, visited, to keep the remaining legacy of what came before alive. This was the history you wanted to know—a past you could almost picture in your mind.

Stepping into the temple, you felt the energy before you saw it. A constricting echo of nothing that slammed against your chest with a brutality you'd witnessed once before. Gasping, you nearly fell to your knees as the obsidian nature of his Force signature began to seep into the ground. Fighting against it felt futile as it clambered over your body—sinking into your skin. Into the very fiber of your being.

"It's quite beautiful." His voice resonated in the small circular temple.

You sucked in a sharp breath, hands slamming to the cold stone floor—your knees collapsing beneath you. "What the fuck is this place?"

Controlled steps echoed behind you, his black robes brushing the ground as he stopped mere feet away. "The past your Jedi have chosen to hide."

"This is-" Your chest tightened, air sucked from your lungs at the feeling of his power laying above you—crushing you to the ground. "No Jedi temple."

He crouched, head tilted and eyes bleeding with a curiosity he held in the forest. "You continue to defend them, even when you know they haven't told you everything."

Attempting to reach for your lightsaber felt as if you were traveling through sand. It swallowed you whole. Ate at your insides and begged for more. You couldn't see past his power, past the darkness that formed over your body. He could have killed you like this; helpless and weak to his own weapon.

Why he never did is what filled your mind; the same mind screaming for a reprieve from what lay beneath the stone. What called out to you in screeching tones.

"Long before you and I walked this galaxy, this temple was created to hide the powers of what they considered dark and unnatural." He left you to lay on the floor, your back against a symbol you recognized. "They built this above a Sith temple to wipe their existence from history."

"The Sith followed the darkside of the Force," you spit between gritted teeth and tensed muscles. Your body was on fire and yet no one had lit the flame. "They wanted to destroy the galaxy."

Though you couldn't see it, you knew his lips curved into a grin. "Why do you have so much faith in an Order that would do the same to you if they knew where you were?"

Anger fueled your actions, gave you the strength to fight against whatever bonds he created against your body. With a piercing scream, your lightsaber hit the palm of your hand, igniting as you scrambled to your feet. He stood with his back to you—entirely aware yet uncaring of how you struggled against his hold. How the darkness began to seep its way to your heart.

You'd never felt this before.

The anger.

The hatred.

The Jedi taught you to quell that part of yourself before it had a chance to rise up. For so long you allowed their teachings to define you. To put a barrier between peace and bitter anguish. And you held that wall up with pride—with the knowledge that you could center yourself at a moments notice.

Yet he managed to tear it all down within one day.

"Good," he replied, his voice a soft rasp that penetrated the wave of emotions which sought to consume you. "Feel it. The anger."

"I am a Knight of the Jedi Order-" Raising your blade, you felt the hum of it sear against the side of your face. "And I am here to enact my duty."

The familiar echo of his blade coming to life—red illuminating the walls before him—sent a thrill of fear down your spine. One he could no doubt feel through the Force. You weren't scared to die. This had been ingrained in your mind since the day the Jedi found you. No, you felt at ease knowing this fight could only end one way.

You were scared of what might become of you if you slipped beneath the might of his powers.

"You have the strength of the old ways." He turned, brown eyes gleaming crimson as he advanced. "But your duty will be your end."

You felt the wall shatter within your mind—pieces crashing to the ground—as you leapt at him. Blades crashed together, lighting up the night with sparks of teal and red. And you felt how much he held back in the forest. He didn't want to kill you then; the way you called to his intrigue kept him from slicing his lightsaber down your spine.

Tonight you could see the difference. The strength he held back within his body.

A swipe of his blade nearly knocked yours from your hand, but the foot you landed to his leg kept you upright. He barely stumbled, regaining his stance with an agility you'd only seen in the Jedi Temples. You lunged again, aiming for his shoulder only to be knocked out of the way. He shoved you back with the Force—grinning at the sight of you enraged.

"You were a Jedi." A crack echoed in the night air as you landed a hit to his saber. "And you betrayed them."

"Betrayal." He spun, circling you as if you were marked prey. "I was cast aside as you will be. I did not betray the Jedi. I chose differently and they didn't accept that."

"You chose the path to darkness." Something sparked down your spine—foreign in its nature. Yet no matter how much you tried to pinpoint its origin, you came up blank.

"Desire," he replied, lips twitching when your eyes went wide. "The emotion you're fighting."

"Stay out of my head."

He took a step towards you—the hum of his lightsaber electrifying the air. "You're confused why you're feeling that way. You shouldn't be."

"Stop-"

"I can answer your questions." The palm of his hand reached for you—offering his touch. Promising peace in spite of the anger you felt. "If you'd like."

Fear seized in your chest and you stumbled back; your saber raised as your last line of defense. "Desire is the path to the darkside."

"And yet you feel it." The closer he stood, the more you felt his pull. A whispered promise tinged with the lust of more; the want for knowledge overshadowed by the truth of his beliefs. "You should feel all they make you push down. I can see that's what you want. Let me show you how."

Temptation ate away at your heart, claiming you in ways you'd never felt before. Yet the dread of what you'd been taught began to strike. Rearing in your mind with a vengeance that overtook what he offered. You flinched, eyes narrowed and hands gripped tightly onto your lightsaber as he took another step.

"No!" Your hand flew out, a push of strength bursting free. He slid back, his hand slamming to the ground to keep himself from falling.

That's when you saw it. His patience snapped, anger breaching the otherwise calm exterior he attempted to give you. This was the Sith that lay beneath his seduction. The man you caught glimpses of in your mind. He surged forward, saber striking down against yours hard enough to rattle your bones. Each hit felt as if you were battling something stronger—older.

You could feel the weariness in your body as you blocked and parried as often as you could. Spinning on your heel, you fell to one knee as he struck down a blow that resonated against the stone. Cracking it along the grooves of the center.

There was no mercy in how he battled. No offering of penance. He was your executioner come to life—the promise of death quick to fall from his tongue as he placed you in a corner.

He dragged you forward with a pull of the Force, crimson clashing with teal as you blocked his strike. And pride swelled in your chest at the sight of the frustration that crossed his face. This was not a fight as quick to the death as Khofar was. You would battle until your final breath and he seemed to realize that the longer you went.

"You die here today," you spit, struggling against his weight.

Pain sliced through your side, burning its way through your body as his lips pulled at the corners. Eyes alight in a way you'd never seen. He was amused by your fight—your willingness to die for the Jedi's beliefs. Yet you did the one thing everyone fell for on Khofar.

You underestimated him.

Yanking the small red blade from your side, he watched your face fall. Fear lacing your heart with a poison that held no antidote. This would be where you would have your last moment. The place he'd leave you to rot. But unlike what came before, he caught you in his hold, lowering you gently to the ground—his hand reaching to cup your face.

"You're afraid," he murmured, thumb tracing the top of your cheek. "You don't want to die."

Whether he could see it painted across your face or find it in your thoughts, the truth remained the same. You didn't want your story to end here. You couldn't fathom a death so small compared to what you'd been raised to believe. Jedi's were warriors. They were the protectors of the light; the keeper of peace.

Yet there you were, withering in the darkness and begging for hope.

"Let me in." His hand slid down to your gaping wound—pressing it gently even as you cried out in pain. "I can help you."

"You'll kill me." Even when you spoke, you understood the gravity of your situation.

He offered you salvation—safety within his hands—and yet you were willing to die. Teachings of your past suddenly felt minuscule as you stared death in the face. This would not be peaceful; you could feel the ravages of your injury begin to seep through your body. And he watched while you grappled with a choice that may very well set the path of your future.

Let me see your darkness. Let me help you control it.

His voice soothed the calamity in your veins. His touch a caress against your open robes—his skin hot against yours.

The look on his face—the clarity in his gaze—may be why you finally relented. Why you nodded slowly, fear traveling through every inch of your already broken body. He watched you with a desire that you'd only read about in stories. A feeling you'd pushed away at every waking moment. One that haunted you like the ghosts of this temple.

"Please," you breathed, hand clutching his robes.

Shifting you higher, he bent his head—his palm covering your wound—and pressed his lips to yours. Electricity streaked down your spine the moment you felt his kiss. His mouth was firm, yet soft in their nature when he gripped you closer. You gasped into it, hand cupping his face as he breached your mind slowly—gently enough to make you look past the act.

Until you felt it.

The warmth that bloomed beneath your skin when your body began to stitch itself together. He pushed the Force of his life through your veins—seeping it slowly into your heart. His thoughts melded with yours, memories of a past you never lived filtered through your mind. But he remained firm and solid in the way he kissed you. His tongue slipping past your parted lips to taste you, to take what he never got to on Khofar.

"I can give you more," he mumbled against your cheek, lips sliding along the curve of your jaw. "All that you want."

You would later blame his life Force, or the thoughts you were privy to. But the word yes slipped off your tongue with ease. A quickness that nearly left you startled.

This was forbidden. Every moment spent here would damn you to an eternity of punishment. Yet his touch felt delicious against your body as he pulled up your robes—spreading them open on the floor of the temple. You should have pushed him away. Dragged your lightsaber towards you and sunk it into his chest. And part of you wanted to.

Part of you ached to kill him.

Though no matter how hard you tried...you couldn't discern whether that stemmed from the throbbing heat between your legs. Or the violent echo in your heart.

His eyes caught your bleary gaze—pupils blown out and dark as he regarded you with a searing look you felt to your bones. "How do you want this?"

"I..." A burning heat spilled beneath the skin of your cheeks, spreading down to your chest. "I don't know," you whispered.

He smiled and you couldn't help but notice how he bared his teeth. Hunger etched on every line of his face. He liked that you were lost; that this was going to be the first and only time someone would touch you this way.

He suddenly felt the urge to claim you, call you his in every way that could exist within this galaxy.

Chalking it up to the ache in his body, he waited for your head to clear. "I can show you. Teach you."

A nod of your head set him off, he pulled at your pants until they pooled with the remainder of your robes. You lay bare beneath the moon—hands reaching to touch him—and felt that nothing this pleasurable should be wrong.

How could the Jedi claim a feeling like this as dark? How could having your needs be met be so horrendous to their beliefs?

With a gasp, you rose up on your elbows to watch him hoist your legs over the wide breadth of his shoulders. His fingers dug into the meat of your thighs—eyes fixed on the way you practically dripped onto the stone floor. You were given a second to breath before the oxygen was pulled from your lungs and his mouth sealed over your cunt.

"Maker!" Your body fell to the ground in a heap—head dazed as he laved his tongue between your slick folds with a need never shown before.

He groaned at your taste, the tang of you spread along his taste buds, and felt his body throb at the sight of you. So open, so willing to let him devour you whichever way he wanted.

The burning need from earlier began to build in your body, tightening along each muscle and pulling at your stomach. Your hand dug into his hair, fingers curling against his scalp as he sucked at your clit. And you had no choice but to moan—to let your sounds echo in the air and fall back down. If someone were to pass by they'd see you—hear you.

They'd bear witness to how you sank deeper into the darkness with a dazed smile on your lips.

A finger pushed at your entrance, curling into you slowly in search of something hidden within. You were wet—dripping down his hand—and he merely smiled into you. His tongue lapped against you as he sunk into you down to the knuckle. Dragging along your walls until your legs jolted—a cry ripping from your chest at the feeling of him brushing something devastating.

"There." Your head fell back, hips canting up into his face. "Yes. Fuck right there."

The wet echo of his fingers pounding into you drove you mad. He dragged you the brink with a merciless hand and you followed him with a gasped cry of bliss. Something broke within you—spreading through your body rapidly—as your legs shook and toes curled.

He groaned drunkenly into your cunt, eyes half lidded and cheeks stained the color of his lightsaber. You cried out when he sucked at your clit—curling his fingers mercilessly as lust clouded his vision. The unknown feeling you'd fought for so long began to eat at your body. Building along your spine, spreading through your stomach. Until you held no choice but to relent to its power.

"W-What's happening?" you whined, fingers tugging at his hair.

You weren't sure if you wanted to rip him away or keep him close.

The response you got was a heady moan muffled into your slicked thighs. Slick poured out of you, drenching the floor below. Your hips began to shift of their own volition—grinding against his mouth as you struggled for breath. For a semblance of peace against the war of pleasure that ripped you apart.

He sucked hard and the tension in your body snapped.

"F-Fuck!" you sobbed, thighs shaking and body bending off the floor.

Heat blinded you as white flashed behind your shut eyelids—a vibration unlike any you'd felt before now surging up and out of you. The stone floor cracked to the center; your strength sending a wave through the Force strong enough to break anything nearby.

He curled his arms around your legs, clamping down to keep steady. Even as the power rushed through him—tempted to shove him off and across the room. His tongue was a continued to lap at your entrance, drinking down every drop of that you fed into his open and waiting mouth. A broken moan ripped from your chest—body weary and sore—and yet you let him keep going.

Even as he licked until pain spliced up your stomach. A sharp discomfort you relished in.

"Tell me," he panted, climbing his way up your body—his lips trailing a wet line of kisses up your sternum. "Did the Jedi ever tell you about that?"

You grinned, hazy and languid in your newfound bliss. "I want more."

He smiled. "I can give you more."

Whatever convictions existed before you came here died in the back of your mind when his hips settled between yours. The heavy outline of his now hard cock was a firm press against your dripping cunt. It made you whimper. Made you needy. He watched you with glee in his eyes as you reached beneath his robes to feel him—the press your skin against his.

"Do you want it?" he asked softly, thrusting forward and tearing a moan from your throat.

"Yes," you gasped. "Please. I want it."

Moving your hands to rest above your head, he shifted his robes the best he could—the fabric soft against the inside of your thighs. You watched in rapture as he pulled his cock free; the sight of the red and leaking tip only serving to make your mouth water. The need from before now burning quicker. Brighter.

"Stay still," he murmured against your lips, stealing a kiss when you nodded.

Entirely at his will.

You felt him slide through your slick, coating himself with a raspy moan, before he pressed at your entrance. The head of his throbbing cock breaching you slowly. Stretching you with the slight flicker of pain. Only for him to push forward with a gritted moan. His forehead falling to yours as you gasped for air—for anything that might keep you latched to the surface of the planet.

"So perfect," he managed to bite out, his hips finally atop yours.

Your mouth fell open at how full you felt. How he pressed against your walls and carved a place for himself inside your body. Whatever path you might have taken before tonight vanished before your very eyes. This was always meant to be your future.

He is what you were led to.

"Okay?" His eyes met your blurry gaze—tears dripping down into your hair. "Speak to me love."

A ragged breath echoed in the temple. "'M good."

His lips curled up. "I'm going to move now."

"Will it hurt?" you asked, hesitancy lingering in your voice.

The grin bloomed into a smile as he shifted his hips back, thrusting into you slowly and striking against your walls. Pushing the spot he found before. Only this time the brief tendrils of pleasure burned through you like a roaring flame.

"Oh-"

"You like that don't you?" You nodded frantically, hands still obediently above your head. "Such a pretty thing. So willing."

"Yes," you whined, legs curling around his hips with each thrust.

The reverence from before slowly faded each time he plunged into your cunt. His groans muffled into the skin of your shoulder. He fucked you with a passion that would linger. A feeling you'd search for in the middle of the night—begging for the release you once had. His teeth scraped against your skin, fingers digging sharply into your hips, and you jolted when he shifted the angle.

Pounding down into you and pulling free sounds you'd never made before.

"All mine to have," he breathed against your cheek, lips catching yours in a messy kiss of teeth and tongue. "They would dare to throw away someone to perfect."

"Maker I'm gonna-" Your head fell back, eyes screwed shut as the tension began to build again.

"Yes," he gasped, cupping your ass to help your stunted movements. "Cum for me. Give me everything."

The pleasure eviscerated you. Slammed into your body with a vengeance and ripped every doubt you had about him from the very root up. He moaned against your chest as you came with a scream. Your thighs clamping around his and body curling up in search of his heat. A hand latched onto your back, holding you close, as you drenched his cock until it smeared on the inside of your thighs.

You couldn't find your way out of this maze. The darkness shrouded you in a layer of warmth—seeping into your body with ease. Yet that isn't what horrified you. That isn't what made the hair stand up on the back of your neck as he chased his own release.

What scared you was that you liked it.

You longed for it.

He came with a hoarse shout, spurting into you and filling you with warmth that you felt spread throughout your body. It consumed you. Welcomed you with a heady kiss and the promise of more. And you drank it down like the finest glass of wine.

The lingering echo of your Force signature still flickered in the background. You refrained from reaching for it. Content to remain in this river of peace that sank you down to the bottom.

His lips found yours, tongue sliding hotly into your open mouth. You returned his kiss with a fervor you didn't know you held. A wanting that now knew what the full extent of desire felt like. A need that would crave more.

"I-I liked it," you whispered against his lips. His cum slowly dripped out and around his softening cock. You yearned for him to show you again. "All of it."

"Good," he murmured. "There's so much more to show you."

"When?"

"Soon," he said, gathering you in his arms with a kiss to your forehead. "I promise my love. You'll know all of it."

You awoke to the echo of birdsong. The bright ray of sunlight blared down through the ceiling, turning the once cold stone beneath your skin hot. It burned you as you shifted, arm searching for the warmth of another that lay beside you.

Sometime in the night he began to tell you the history of what he knew. The people that once walked these temple floors. The Sith whose memory still echoed beyond time and space. This was their legacy. A path that you would soon take as your own. Yet the doubt of what it would cost still lingered at the edges of your mind; the reality you would soon have to face.

He would be hunted.

Sought out by the Jedi who would want revenge for what happened on Khofar. By joining him, you would be setting yourself up for a fate worse than death.

When your touch came up empty, your eyes fluttered open. Expecting him to be mediating somewhere nearby, you sat up still naked from hours before. A sore ache bloomed between your thighs, spreading down your legs. Each bite he placed on your skin remained tender to the touch, and you smiled at the memory they would incite.

"Hello?" you called, hoping to draw him back. To hopefully entice him for more.

Silence was all you were met with as you stood on shaky legs. Gathering your robe, you draped it around yourself—your lightsaber already clutched in your hand. You searched for his presence in the Force; picked through the life on this planet in the hopes of finding the one you recognized.

Only to be left with an empty voice.

An expanse of nothing.

Pain sliced through your heart, shattering a piece you didn't know existed. You watched it fall to the floor—breaking you open without mercy. Without forgiveness. What hope you had that he might find you again diminished as you gathered the rest of your robes and headed back to your ship still in the clearing. The truth of what occurred, now a solid belief in your mind.

Last night you offered yourself up to the darkside of the Force and this was your consequence.

To be left alone, waiting for your lovers return that would never come.

#this took me so long to write but it's finally HERE #qimir x f!reader #qimir x reader #qimir x you #qimir x y/n #qimir smut #the stranger x reader #the stranger x you #the stranger x y/n #the stranger smut #my writing #the acolyte

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forlix · 1 year ago

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𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・779 / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・hyunjin x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲(𝘀)・fluff, established relationship, intentional lowercase / 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲・inspired by That ig post and my own recent visit to tokyo. happy birthday, @astraystayyh; consider this my official proposal (˘⌣˘ )♡

𝟭𝟳:𝟱𝟮 — when you slip out the hotel’s double doors, you’re stunned to find the world has gone completely dark.

just a few hours ago, you were oohing and ahhing at the colorful chaos of tokyo as the van trudged slowly along the jammed freeway. now, blue has been overtaken by obsidian, and the illuminated city sprawls beneath an invisible horizon like stars plucked from the empty sky.

“the sun sets early here, huh?” hyunjin hums as he appears at your side. his dark hair is scented and silky from his shower, his broad shoulders outlined by the denim trench coat he’s thrown over a black turtleneck—the most beautiful boy on earth, and he’s yours.

“i was j-just thinking that,” you answer through chattering teeth, and your boyfriend’s chuckle hits the air in the form of a silver cloud.

“i told you you’d need this.”

he drapes a puffer jacket around you; his arm follows, draws you near. you slot into his side perfectly.

“better?”

your eyes lock with hyunjin’s, then flicker downwards. the doormen are busy loading a luggage cart. the foyer is empty for the most part. empty enough.

“better,” you respond, moments before you lose yourself in the warm pressure of his lips.

soft hair tickles your cheeks like butterfly wings. hyunjin’s been tempted to cut it recently, complaining that it’s getting too long. you’ve been rejecting the notion vehemently, and this is one of many reasons why. your fingers skim over the base of his neck, and the air that hyunjin sucks through his teeth whistles past your parted mouth.

“cold,” he whines.

a giggle escapes your throat. “sorry.”

recently, your and hyunjin’s schedules have been clashing so awfully that you really only see each other before and after bed. both of you are well accustomed to these cycles of mutual scarcity by now; it is enough, during such times, just falling asleep to the sound of the other’s voice, or waking to kisses scattered across every inch of exposed skin and a quiet, melancholy “see you tonight, angel.”

but then, you miraculously stumble upon a free weekend that coincides with the last leg of hyunjin’s tour. he’s on the phone with staff within seconds of hearing the news; your boarding pass arrives in your inbox later that night; now, here you are, in japan on a friday night, burrowed in your boyfriend’s arms, your sights set on a tiny udon joint in the back alleys of shinjuku.

going out in public with hyunjin feels like you’re playing poker. dispatch is your opponent and the deck is always rigged. ninety-nine percent of the time, you prefer to circumvent the game entirely.

you’re all in, tonight.

“it’s a twenty-seven minute walk.” dark locks fall into hyunjin’s face as he looks at the navigation app on his phone. “is that okay?”

“you tell me. you’re the one who rehearsed for three hours today." you reach for the loose strands; tuck them behind the cuff of his ear. “maybe we should just take the subway.”

“but i wanna explore the city with you.”

“and we can, after your concerts.”

“i only have you for two days. let’s start now.”

the funny look you give him says, we have an apartment together, idiot, and he hastens to add—

“okay, i only have you here for two days. it’s different.”

that, you can’t argue with. hyunjin takes your lack of a retort as his cue to begin your journey, dragging the both of you onto the sidewalk.

“i will not be the one answering to chan when you oversleep tomorrow,” you mumble.

his hand stretches out where it rests on your shoulder, silently asking for yours. you oblige before you even process his request, your fingers sliding thoughtlessly in the spaces between his.

“deal.” hyunjin presses a swift kiss to your temple, your eye squinting shut at the contact.

if you’re being honest, you hardly remember the walk to the restaurant. all the bright lights are beautiful but get old quickly, eventually blurring into a forgettable, fluorescent mass.

what you do remember is hyunjin’s excited gasp when he recognizes the anime being advertised on a distant billboard. hyunjin’s flawless japanese as he helps an old couple with directions, and the proud smile he wears afterward (he’s been practicing). hyunjin’s fingers pulling you close by the loops of your jeans, his mouth slanting over yours for the ninth, tenth time with no justification except for you’re just so pretty. hyunjin’s hair fluttering over his eyes when he tilts his head at the camera, the resulting picture so maddeningly beautiful that it becomes your new wallpaper right away.

what you do remember from that evening, and what you would remember in every iteration of your life, is hyunjin.

(you remember the udon, too. it was very good.)

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn

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itsabouttimex2 · 6 days ago

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Could you write something for shadowpeach with yandere wukong? Maybe it takes place right after wukong sees macaque for the first time since he killed him or maybe it takes place during season 4 when wukong gets trapped inside the scroll and sees their relationship before he killed macaque and once he gets out of the scroll he got full on yandere? :3

(Hai, im rlly sorry. i just realized i sent this originally when your inbox was closed. im super sorry😭)

(Hey, no big deal! It’s sweet that you remembered your request!)

Lost and Found

“…you hurt a lot of people,” the Great Sage starts, plucking at the hair around his wrists, “and you don’t even feel bad, huh?”

“I’ve got nothing to feel bad for,” returns his rival, rolling a drupe pit between his palms- a remnant of the peaches that Sun Wukong so adores. “None of this was my fault.”

It’s hard to tell whether or not Macaque is being sincere right now- he’s more guarded now than ever before, even as rays of sunlight spill softly across his pitch-black fur and his stomach fills with sweet fruit.

He’s like shattered obsidian, inky blackness casting rainbows in the glinting light.

“Bud, you made a deal with the literal most powerful demon in the world, and didn’t even try to-

“Keep this up,” cuts in the umbrakinetic, “and I’m gonna leave.”

Wukong springs to his feet suddenly, crushing a few pink-white petals under his reckless soles, squashed into mangled clumps of cellulose under the reckless monkey- then crushes a few dozen more as he charges to Macaque and slings himself over the startled simian.

“No, no, no! Bud, you said we would-“

“Get off me! Dammit, I’m not some kind of toy!”

“No! Lay down and listen to me!”

Macaque struggles under Wukong’s iron grip, his claws digging into golden arms as the tension between them crackles like static. The multi-eared monkey snarls, his claws scraping at Wukong’s clothes and fur, but the Great Sage’s skin is long hardened by fire and trial- it remains unblemished.

“Listen,” Wukong huffs, his voice trembling somewhere between desperation and long-baked sorrow. “You can’t just walk away every time someone calls you out! That’s not how this works, Mac! That’s not how we work!”

Macaque’s pupils narrow to slits, his breath heavy as he glares into Wukong’s golden eyes. The sunlight dances on them, warm and radiant. “You think- you think a little chat will make ‘us’ work? ‘Us’ never worked!”

“It can! We can make this work, if you would just try!”

Macaque stills, his claws frozen mid-scratch against Wukong’s wrist. The afternoon sunlight filters through the cherry blossoms, casting fractured patterns across their fur. For a moment, the only sound is the wind rustling the petals around them.

He gives, eventually. The sable simian huffs and deflates under his old mate’s grip, going slack against the meadow’s grass.

There’s a moment where Macaque leans in, ruffled black fur thrown askew with effort and sweat, still flecked with debris from the Lady Bone Demon’s final push for utter “perfection”.

He’s tired, worn, spent from battle and spent from a lifetime of old regrets circling his heart.

But he’s still Macaque.

“…not in a thousand years, Wukong.”

Even though the rejection is tempered, the king wilts under it, golden fur dimming under the weight of his mate’s refusal.

“Mac... you can’t just-“

“I can. I make my own choices now, Wukong,” the darker monkey snaps, lips pulling back to reveal his sharp canines- a threat, if the matter is pushed.

...but the king just can’t let this go. Not after centuries spent waiting and wanting.

“...there’s no one else who can protect you.”

A harsh snort comes from Macaque’s creased snout, the unpleasant sound smoothing into chuckles.

“From what, O’ Great Sage? What do I need to protected from?”

“The Celestial Realm, bud. You think they haven’t already figured out who you threw your lot in with? That you made a deal with the Lady Bone Demon?”

A pause, sharp and stiff- he’s hit a nerve.

“...they wouldn’t. Not after I helped defeat her. Not after I put my life on the line,” he almost pleads, as though the court could hear his defenses. “They wouldn’t.”

“After what they did to me? You’re not off the menu, bud- you never are. Not after you’ve wronged the Celestial Court.”

There’s a dread rush of panic that starts to race through Macaque’s cold veins, an icy chill radiating slowly through his skin.

“They wouldn’t.”

Right after he says it, Wukong signs and rolls off of Macaque, offering a hand to help him up.

“They never let go, bud. The moment we sieged their home, there was no way they’d ever stop looking for a way to ‘repay’ us.”

His old rival sits up with panic in his shrouded eyes, slapping away Wukong’s hand.

“No,” he snaps, bolting upright under a shower of plink petals. “You’re right. They won’t. Which means I-“

“You’re leaving,” the king sighs. “You’re running away, again. You’re gonna leave me, just like every one always does.”

Macaque pulls his face into a nasty sneer, dark and creased. “You don’t get to try and pull me into some little pity part, Monkey King. Not after you put me in the ground.”

To his surprise, one of Wukong’s golden eyes twitch, lit with a sudden anger.

“You know what? No. No, you aren’t going anywhere,” the monkey snaps, snaring one of Macaque’s wrists in his hand. “Not until you’ve actually started to change. You spent five centuries down in the underworld and don’t even start to think “Hey, maybe there’s a reason I ended up down here?!” Not even for a second, Macaque?!”

The umbrakinetic pulls back a little, eyes wide with surprise at having his usual shit-slinging slung back at him.

“That’s not- shut your damn mouth. I don’t deserve to be yelled at, and-“

“Did I “deserve” to be alone under a mountain for five hundred years after one fight? Did I “deserve” to be abandoned while I was fighting the Jade Emperor? Did I “deserve” to be collared by the Celestial Realm while you got to run around wreaking havoc?”

Things are going wrong, Macaque faintly realizes. He’s not usually the one get reamed out for centuries old mistakes, a dynamic he was quite fond of- Wukong takes all the blame, and he slinks off to hide in the shadows. That’s what he likes.

And he realizes more and more with each passing second that things are going further south- especially when he see the way that Wukong’s hand dips into his pocket.

From it, he procures a gleaming circlet.

No. No. No.

It’s wound with the image of branching vines and flowers, a step up from Wukong’s own in term of design- perhaps someone had grown bored with it

The golden hoop exudes a warm, almost soothing aura- it’d be calming if Macaque didn’t know what it could do.

But he knows almost everything about it. He knows how it works. He knows who made it.

Guanyin.

She had been like a mother to the Monkey King during his short stay in the Celestial Realm, one of the very few gods that he thought of fondly- and one of the even fewer who looked on him fondly in turn.

“My dear Monkey,” she had cooed to the intruding demon, both her warm hands cusping his furry cheeks, “what have you come for today?”

“Guanyin, I… I found my old mate,” he admitted to her, his palms nervously clasping over her own. “And I don’t know what to do. I want him back, but...”

“Oh, my little pilgrim... you wish to reunite with... wasn’t his name Macaque, then? Well, if you do desire this... shadowy little imp... I will lend you my aid.”

Her head had dipped forehead, lips gentle on his forehead, a blessing born of warmth and love- a blue sigil etches across the skin-warmed spot, riding the king good luck and protection. “Anything for you, my dear Monkey. Take my blessings, and take this... this circlet. I trust that you will do good with them.

But Macaque hadn’t know that.

That Wukong had a plan all along, that it was backed up by an adoring goddess of mercy, that he had a damned tightening fillet from the start and was never above using it-

All he knows at this moment, frozen in place form shock- is the tightness around his forehead as Wukong snaps the hoop into place.

“We can still fix this, Moonbeam. I’m not losing you again.”

#Romantic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Macaque #Guanyin #Shadowpeach #The thought of Guanyin as a platonic enabler for her dear Wukong hits hard NGL #Or maybe even being a yandere herself who just wants all her ‘dear children’ to be happy

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talia-black · 28 days ago

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A Gift Repaid (Is But A Favor Owed)

(I started this a week after 2.3 went live. Clearly this sat in my WIPs before boredom resurrected it. Based on the 2.3 post-quest. Currently in the middle of a hurricane and the internet is out so I finally have no choice but to finish some of my WIPs.)

Angsty, because Lord knows I can’t separate poor Aventurine from his trauma, but let me know if you want a fluffy sequel.

Trailblazer!Gender neutral!Reader

(But I do use the name Stelle because I am a part of the AvenStelle agenda)

Stelle wants to repay Aventurine's gift, but doesn't have a single clue about how to do that. Maybe something just a little bit more will come of their clueless but sincere gesture.

Aventurine let out a well-earned sigh as he collapsed into bed. The weeks following his return to Pier Point had been nothing but a series of meetings, debriefs, more meetings, follow-up reports, and even more meetings. Leaving the normally free-wheeling gambler feeling restless and pent-up. Watching the drama unfold on the Radiant Feldspar had been his only form of entertainment. So naturally once the negotiations had settled and the Fool's prank had been dealt with, the Stoneheart had nothing to distract himself from the stack of paperwork taunting him from its perch on his desk.

Admittedly he had resorted to browsing one of his favorite online stores when he got the notification that the limited-edition model of the Astral Express was finally open for bidding. He won naturally, and it only took him a few seconds before he decided what to do with it.

Aventurine bundled up a few trinkets he had collected while on Penacony and had them packaged alongside the train model before shipping it off to the formerly-named Radiant Feldspar.

Stelle had been by far one of the most interesting and delightful characters he ever had the pleasure of meeting. Despite the power they wielded simply by hosting a Stellaron and being a member of the Astral Express Crew, they were almost chronically lawless and free-spirited. Although, squirrel-brained might be the most accurate descriptor. They could be in the middle of a punch line to some terrible dad joke one moment, and the next they are sprinting off because something shiny was poking out of a trashcan and they just had to take it with them. Every expensive gift he sent their way was met with sincere gratitude. But Stelle's wide-eyed, embarrassed blush didn't hold a candle to the expression of pure joy that lit up their entire face whenever they dug out something they deemed worthwhile out of a pile of abandoned boxes or an alley that looked like it could launch a thousand microbiology studies. Stelle was just so genuine and thoroughly lacking in any kind of malicious intent or agenda that it was impossible to not be endeared to them.

As far as the Stoneheart was concerned, the Astral Express' resident raccoon in human skin could have whatever their heart desired.

()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Honestly, Aventurine forgot about the gift after a week. Work wasn't any less busy, and it was becoming clearer by the day that part of his punishment for damaging his cornerstone and putting two others in jeopardy was to be grounded on Pier Point until Diamond was forced to send him somewhere else.

Five weeks later, the gambler was willing to take a second shot at that Emanator if it meant he would be able to escape the never-ending mountain of paperwork. One way or the other.

Which is why he decided to spend an afternoon sifting through his backlog of physical mail instead of addressing the two-foot stack of papers that one of Obsidian's lackeys had dropped on his desk five minutes before his lunch break or the 1000+ emails sitting in his inbox.

The majority was junk. He was appalled that most of it got past his subordinates desk, and he happily watched the papers be chewed to pieces in the shredder. A few particularly inventive scam attempts even managed to get a chuckle out of him before they met their fate.

The slightly more personal letters were mildly amusing. Threats from past "friends", professions of love from strangers who had caught a glimpse of him at this place or the other.

He would definitely need to have HR reevaluate the person who handled his mail.

Aventurine saved the packages for last, mainly because he knew those had been thoroughly inspected before they were even allowed in the building. One attempted bombing incident and now all of his shopping orders took a minimum of 72 hours before he was allowed to pick them up. But it wasn't until he had actually started to examine the boxes that he noticed something odd.

One of the packages wasn't so much a "package" as it was something vaguely spherical wrapped in newspaper. A shipping label that barely met postal requirements was the only thing holding it together, and the smell of burnt metal radiated from it. The sender's name had been smudged, which only fueled the gambler's curiosity.

Mostly confident whatever was in the package wouldn't kill him, Aventurine tore away the wrapping paper.

"What in the name of the Preservation-"

Aventurine hissed. His fingers had struck metal, nearly slicing his finger open on a particularly jagged corner. The rusted bronze burned in the low lighting Aventurine had illuminating his office, offset by the shiny aluminum that had been soldered to it. Aventurine continued to unwrap the package and it was only when the last of the newspaper had fallen to the floor that he was able to make out what it was.

Several pieces of scrap had been melded together in a caricature of a star. Different types of metal and alloys gleaned in the light of his office, and despite the patches of rust and wear on it, a lot of effort had clearly been put into it.

Aventurine had no clue what to make of it. It wasn't some high-end art piece if the shipping was anything to go by, and wasn't anything close to gifts people had attempted to bribe him with before. He reached down to pick through the wrapping and take a second look at the shipping label and a folded piece of paper fell out. It looked like standard cardstock, but Aventurine could see his name scratched on the top.

The gambler's intrigue was practically suffocating him at this point as he snatched the paper up and folded back the crease.

Hey Aventurine, hope you're doing alright. I've been stabbed before. It's not a fun experience once the adrenaline wears off and you can't get your legs to work properly. Make sure you wait at least a few days before trying to go out and pick a fight, or you'll wake up with very disappointed people hovering over you.

Sorry I didn't respond to your gift sooner. I would say social anxiety is bitch, but March has been nagging me to stop masking my vulnerability with humor.

Truthfully, I didn't know how to thank you. Excusing that little scuffle at the theme park (No hard feelings there. A lot of my friends have tried to maim me before) you've been great company and I wanted to give you something in return for all of the presents you’ve given me. It took me a while to decide on what exactly that was. I've watched a few of your poker games. You can make more credits in a single evening than I've ever had in my entire life. It wasn't until Dan Heng commented on all of the "junk" in my room that I had the idea of making something.

March 7th says I'm a hoarder. I prefer the term "low-budget collector". The metal you're holding was scavenged from a massive junkyard that most of Belobog's decommissioned robots end up in, though some of it came from abandoned cycranes I found near the Alchemy Commission. You wouldn't believe the types of odds and ends that get thrown in their dumpsters.

I had to ask for Himeko's help to actually weld the metal though. I think I did a pretty decent job for my first time, and aside from a few burns I made it through the experience unscathed. Word of advice: never touch the tip of a welding torch. Even after it's been off for ten minutes.

I really did like hanging out with you, Aventurine. Not a lot of people are willing to put up with my hyperactive raccoon brain for long, and it was nice to meet someone else who enjoys causing general mayhem. There should be another present in here if I get Pom-Pom to approve it.

Anyway, I hope you at least like this gift. If you don't, feel free to toss it.

May your journey lead you starward

-The Trailblazing Raccoon

Stelle

P.S. If you were serious about that round of cards, the Express will be staying at the Luofu for the next few months before we go out of range of the HoloNet for a while. I know a place with great food and mostly empty tables if you feel like stopping by.

Stelle.

The letter’s words blurred from how hard his hand was shaking.

Aventurine blinked furiously. A single tear escaped and smeared the postscript. He set the ornament gently on his desk before looking through the newspaper for a second envelope.

Instead of another folded note, there was a smaller envelope crookedly taped to what had been the inside of the newspaper.

The Astral Express welcomes all who wish to move beyond their past and journey along the silver rails, no matter their intent or agenda. Ms. Topaz has already been granted an Express Pass, so it would be inconsiderate to not offer you one as well when a Trailblazer has vouched for you. The Pass enclosed will allow you to board the Astral Express whenever you wish, barring emergency circumstances or a crisis state.

- The Conductor of the Astral Express, Pom-Pom

A golden ticket was nestled in the folded page. The rainbow sheen on its glossy gold surface was a perfect replica of the reflection of the stars outside Aventurine’s office window.

Those same stars were the sole light in Aventurine’s penthouse apartment later that night as he drowned his memories and anxieties in a bottle of Penacony’s finest. His alcohol-addled brain scheming away as he clutched that golden ticket in a death grip.

()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

A few days later…

“Hey Stelle!”

The Trailblazer in question looked up from their game to see March leaning into their room.

“You’ve got a package. Well, a few packages. And a letter.”

Stelle raised an eyebrow as March dropped six nicely-wrapped boxes and a letter on their bed.

“Are you sure you haven’t gone over your budget this month?” March asked as Stelle reached for the letter.

“I haven’t ordered anything,” Stelle mumbled, distracted by the ostentatious gold calligraphy decorating the front. The list of people she knew who would send them such a thing was short, and with the packages…

Stelle ripped open the envelope and leaned back, away from March’s prying gaze.

Dear Stelle,

It would be my honor to accept your invitation. The gifts I’ve sent are a small measure of my gratitude for such a thoughtful present, and I hope you won’t object to similar gestures in the future. I’ve never had the chance to visit the Luofu, but I managed to free a few days next week for me to spend at my leisure. You have my number, so if you’re looking for a little risky fun, give me a call.

Your close friend, Aventurine <3

#honkai star rail #aventurine x trailblazer #aventurine x stelle #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine

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buckets-and-trees · 3 months ago

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2200 FOLLOWERS!

TWO YEARS AGO IN JULY I HAD ZERO FOLLOWERS! NOW THERE ARE TWENTY-TWO HUNDRED OF YOU PLAYING AROUND HERE WITH ME?!

I love you, I love you, I love you!

I know there are blogs with way more people, but this is very humbling for me, and all of you make this so much fun - worth it to slog through the writers block, and so frequently I'm blessed with pick-me-ups from either an ask in my inbox, messages, comments, and reblogs that are just so generous/kind/hilarious.

It's kind of a crazy time right now, so I might do something bigger and fancier and more engaging at another follower milestone, but... what if I just run a poll for what you actually WANT me to update next from some of the more popular stories? I think my life could handle that right now without my head reeling/with enough time for me to actually finish it...

#aspen milestones #aspen is writing #deliciously debauched labor day weekend #2200 follower celebration

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angst-star · 9 days ago

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One word. Airy. PLEASE. Airy content. I need. I NEED!!!!

ANOTHER REQUEST!!!!!

Wowowow!! Here’s our second request of the day!

These drawings are based on our GlassLight au! Airy has gone through some… r o u g h things to get where he is….

From attempting to help Sage with their awful fear of driving,

to learning about Sages…illness.

to finding out about his power to create pure worlds from his own hands, with the help of someone who only had his own amusement in mind..

To agreeing to something that would change lives for the worse..

And meeting Obsidian, his son, for the first time after an unfortunate.. mistake to only send him back, even if it was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, it was all for her.

Have a question for Obsidian, Sage, or even GlassLight au Cobs, Airy or MePhone? Feel free to ask in our inbox!

#object shows #ii #inanimate insanity #inanimate insanity steve cobs #ii steve cobs #cobs #airy one #airy hfjone #airy fanart #one object show #fanart

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toxicrevolver · 6 months ago

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Just coming here to tell you that you didn't sound weird on your tags in the Junhan post 🥺

You were nice and I'm glad there's someone who likes curly hair as much as I do 🤍

AHHHH

Hi. I’m glad I didn’t sound weird!! I genuinely appreciate curly hair so much and I love seeing people embrace their natural hair!

It’s also so nice seeing more idols embrace their natural hair textures instead of it all just being super straight and super damaged. I love seeing the diversity in hair types and how they get styled (when done properly especially).

#asks #obsidian rambles #ALSO #I genuinely freaked a little getting this in my inbox #you’re like a super popular account in my mind and the fact we’re even moots still confuses me #we were mutual in laws for a bit and now we’re mutuals and it’s just like AHH in my brain at that.#also also #hi my keonhee friend!!!#<- that’s gonna be your tag if you pop up over here again if that’s alright.#I always think of keonhee when I see your blog in my dash.#everyone is automatically friend but if you’d like a different tag that’s also okay!#(even if I have a keonhee curse when it comes to oneus album pulls)

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elysiaheaven · 10 days ago

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Ronin X devil reader? Like we're an actual devil

Even the devils are tired of you Ronin! Ronin x G.N Reader!

Character: Ronin x Devil Reader!

Game: Killer Chat! (Stopping requests for now to focus on the ones in my inbox!)

Hell has always been cast as the ultimate punishment, the endless abyss reserved for those who defy heaven’s grace. But what most mortals don’t understand is that Hell isn’t chaos incarnate. It’s order—dark, necessary, and strangely beautiful. Every corner is tailored with purpose, a place where sinners face justice. Heaven takes its saints, and Hell, well… we handle the rest.

You were lounging in your quarters, eyes half-lidded as you reveled in the sweet symphony of suffering echoing through the lower realms. For you, this wasn’t horror—it was righteous order. The sinners who came here were executed in more ways than any earthly punishment could manage, each deserving soul bound to their perfect sentence.

But today, Satan himself had summoned you.

The air in the dark, obsidian throne room crackled with a cold, intoxicating energy as the Lord of Hell emerged from shadows that seemed to wrap him like silk. His presence was breathtaking, the power radiating from him tempered by a charisma that only an ancient devil could carry.

“You wanted to see me?” You huffed, feigning boredom, though the corners of your mouth betrayed a smirk. Meetings with Satan himself were rare—this had to be good.

“Yes,” Satan’s voice was smooth as velvet, his scarlet gaze intense. “There’s a human I want you to take care of.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped. A human? You were royalty here, born to rule realms and break egos. Any human who saw you would either cower or scream. "If he saw the devil, I’m sure he’d bolt.” You tilted your head with a half-amused grin. “What could possibly make a human worth my time?”

Satan’s eyes glimmered with something wicked. “He’s... special. A rarity. This human is doing my work. He delivers more sinners to us than any plague or war.”

Intrigued now, you raised an eyebrow. "So he kills them. Does it mean he’s your… apostle? Or just another twisted soul doing his own thing?”

“He’s... both.” Satan’s voice was rich with satisfaction. “He knows exactly the kind of people he’s sending down here. Abusers, corrupt men hiding behind religious devotion, tormentors of the innocent. Each soul he damns enriches Hell, while Heaven sighs in relief at the balance. He needs protection to continue.”

“Oh, really?” You hummed, sitting forward in interest. “What’s his name?”

“Ronin,” Satan said, watching your reaction carefully. “And he’s every bit as bloody as his name.”

“Ronin,” you echoed, savoring the name. “And why should I keep this… human safe? Seems more than a little ironic, no?”

A shadow of a smile crossed Satan’s face, a rare sight that intrigued you further. “Because Hell will thrive. Heaven is pleased that those who prey on the weak are delivered their justice. And you know how Hell benefits from order, from new projects, new sinners to receive what they deserve. Our purpose will evolve.”

You took a moment to digest that. Hell would grow, and you would have the task of guiding this Ronin—a mortal as vicious as any soul here. You'd never had such a responsibility before. The prospect of protecting a human who practically had Satan’s blessing was almost amusing.

"Fine," you replied, crossing your arms with a mock pout. “I'll keep him safe. Just so you know, I expect him to hold his own, or I won’t bother."

Satan’s face softened, looking almost… endearing in his satisfaction. You blinked, surprised. Cute, you muttered under your breath, earning a glint of amusement in Satan’s eyes.

So, Ronin—the butcher of sinners, as Satan described him—was your charge now. This mortal with a knack for dragging Hell’s future residents to their doom was now under your protection. You straightened, taking in the weight of it with a surge of smug satisfaction. A little human, blessed by Satan and doing Hell's work—who would’ve thought?

You’d find this Ronin, wielding his crowbar. A human who could see Hell’s purpose as clearly as you did? Oh, you’d make sure no one laid a finger on him.

After all, he was yours to protect now.

Ronin was in his old haunt—an alley so stained with his handiwork it might as well be called his personal purgatory. A rat skittered across the damp pavement, dodging the sticky pools of blood splattered from his latest kill. This one was a lowlife, a fraud hiding behind faith, the kind that preached virtue while committing sin with abandon. Ronin couldn't hold back a bitter laugh as he plunged the crowbar into the man’s ribs, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone beneath.

The alley was dark, wet, and stinking of decay—just the way Ronin liked it. This place, his little purgatory, was his own slice of sin where he could carve out his justice without judgment. The man cowering before him was just another worthless sinner—a pathetic creature who’d hidden his filth under a mask of piety.

Ronin chuckled as he raised his crowbar, loving the gleam of terror in the man’s eyes. "You think heaven’s got a place for you, huh?" he taunted. "Maybe if you like the view of Hell better."

The man twisted free at the last second, slipping out of Ronin's grip and stumbling to his feet. For a moment, Ronin's face twisted in disbelief before his expression turned manic. The game was on.

“You think you get to preach,” Ronin sneered, twisting the crowbar. “No gods left for you now. Just me.”

But the man, wild-eyed with terror, managed a last-ditch scramble, breaking free from Ronin’s grip. He sprinted, tripping through the alley's maze, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

Ronin laughed again, his tone almost amused as he prowled after his prey. Just as he was about to corner him, a shadow fell over the alley, and a voice—smooth, poetic, and eerily commanding—rang out, halting him in his tracks.

“Why struggle against fate when justice waits? Perhaps the darkness needs an introduction.”

Ronin turned, his eyes narrowing. Before him stood a figure that seemed out of place, yet perfectly suited to the hellish backdrop of his alley. The figure’s dark, graceful form stepped forward, the presence so intense it made the two men stop dead, each one feeling the weight of the stranger’s gaze.

You smiled, an expression filled with cryptic knowledge. "Is it not strange, mortal? To kill in the name of justice without knowing the true face of sin?" Your words curled around him like smoke, dark and melodic. You made eye contact with the other man and muttered a single, arcane word under your breath. In an instant, the man’s face twisted with rage, and he lunged at Ronin, screaming like a possessed animal.

Ronin, still gripping his crowbar, raised an eyebrow, his face caught somewhere between amusement and frustration as the two men grappled, exchanging blows. When it was over, he turned his gaze on you, eyes cold and suspicious.

“Ronin, butcher of the damned, You have earned my gaze on you.”

“Who the hell are you?” he muttered, wiping blood from his face. “And what kind of shitty Christ joke is this? You the angel of death or something?” he scoffed, though there was an edge of something else in his tone—almost intrigue. ”

Your smile faltered, your pride pricked. “Hardly,” you replied, leaning in closer, your voice dripping with barely restrained malice. “But you ought to show some respect. You’ve attracted the attention of Hell itself, little butcher, and that… is no small feat.”

At that, you smirked, crossing your arms. "And a ‘Christ joke’?” You feigned offense, eyes narrowing. “I am far beyond your simple mortal concepts. I am royalty here, a devil charged with guiding those who think they understand sin. My name… well, I suspect you’re clever enough to learn it in time."

Ronin let out a dry laugh, voice thick with sarcasm. “Royalty in Hell? Cute. And here I thought I was the only one play-acting god around here.”

Ronin tilted his head, watching you with a calculating glint. His usual bravado was there, but there was a new curiosity mingling with it. He didn’t back down. Instead, he met your gaze with a slow, almost predatory grin.

“Oh, yeah? Then what’s Hell need me for? Last I checked, I’m doing just fine without you supernatural types meddling in my affairs.”

“Oh, you’re certainly godlike to your victims,” you murmured, tone like dark velvet. “A god of punishment, an arbiter of justice for those who fail to hide their sins.”

He fell silent, unsettled as you seemed to pull thoughts directly from his mind, each word of yours landing with the weight of truth. For the first time, he couldn’t laugh off the presence before him; he could only stand there, fists clenched as you held his gaze with a darkly intense stare.

“You think you understand the game of sin, Ronin?” Your voice softened, almost hypnotic. “Oh, darling, I am sin. Every dark thought you’ve ever indulged, every twisted urge you’ve satisfied, I am the essence of it all. And you? A pawn I’ve come to protect.”

The words sunk in, but they didn’t fully make sense—not yet. “A pawn?” He laughed, but there was tension in his voice, an edge he couldn’t quite control. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking like that?”

“Not hell. Of Hell,” you replied, leaning closer, your eyes piercing his. "I am not some petty human—I am the devil’s own emissary. And you have been blessed by him, Ronin.”

He raised an eyebrow, trying to fight back the chill creeping over him. “Yeah, well, don’t think for a second I’m some errand boy for the Devil.”

“Oh, you’re far more than that.” You leaned in, voice barely a whisper, your words brushing against the edges of his mind, seeping into his thoughts. He felt his vision haze, the faintest compulsion to obey sparking at the edge of his awareness. “I’m here to ensure your work continues, that you’re unchallenged and safe in your mission. But that means you answer to me.”

Ronin’s expression twisted, torn between fury and confusion, but he didn’t move, barely able to keep his head straight as your influence took hold. Your voice grew softer, hypnotic, threading through his consciousness like the faint pull of a dream.

Just as his resistance faded, you stepped back, releasing him from the web of compulsion. He blinked, slowly regaining his senses, but the feeling of your control lingered like a whisper in his mind.

You chuckled, watching him struggle to compose himself. “Get some rest, Ronin. Even sin gods like you need sleep.”

You turned to leave, he scoffed, forcing a smirk onto his face. “Get lost, human.”

You looked back over your shoulder, your eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “Oh, sweet mortal, you still don’t understand. I’m far from human.”

Ronin’s eyes blinked open, groggy and disoriented, his gaze meeting the warm, flickering light of old oil lamps casting long shadows on ancient, splintered wood. The air was thick with the faint smell of alcohol and wine, tinged with a darker, headier note he couldn’t place. He squinted, taking in the wooden beams overhead and walls lined with objects that had no place in any church he’d ever seen—sigils, ancient weapons, twisted statues that looked like mocking parodies of holy figures.

“Nah…” he muttered, a dawning realization creeping in. This wasn’t Earth. This was Hell.

He shifted, or tried to, only to find himself held tight, his wrists and legs bound by something strong yet oddly warm, something that pulsed like a living thing. He craned his neck down, catching sight of a long, sleek, pointed tail coiled around his limbs. A devil’s tail.

A low, amused chuckle echoed through the room, dark and playful, and he tilted his head up to see you floating just above him. You looked every bit the devil you claimed to be, with razor-sharp horns curling back from your head, a smile that was far too wide and full of unnervingly perfect teeth. You looked down at him as if he were some adorable pet, something amusing and innocent—certainly not a man who spent his nights taking lives with a crowbar.

Before he could spit out some snarky retort, you reached down, gripping his face and tilting it up, your fingers cold and unnaturally steady.

"How fucked up,” you murmured, voice dripping with fascination, “can someone’s mind be to take such pleasure in killing? Tell me, Ronin—do you ever find satisfaction? Does it ever make you feel whole?”

Ronin stared back at you, jaw clenched. For once, he didn’t have a smart comeback, caught off guard by your sheer presence. He glared, trying to ignore the way your grip held him firm, your thumb brushing against his cheek like you were examining a rare, broken toy. Silence hung between you, thick and electric, as he refused to answer, though the words lingered in his mind, each one pricking at his thoughts like sharp needles.

You leaned in closer, your smile widening as if his defiance amused you even more. “Come now, I don’t bite… much.” You tilted your head, eyes gleaming with a perverse kind of curiosity. “Surely you have something to say to your new… patron. Or are you too busy pondering all the ways you’ve painted Earth red?”

“Patron?” he finally spat, his voice dripping with scorn. “I don’t need a patron. I don’t need anyone, least of all some fancy devil with a superiority complex.”

“Such bold words,” you mused, your voice lilting in a mocking singsong. “Yet here you are, bound and at my mercy. Do you really think you’re in a position to play tough, Ronin?”

He tried to wrench himself free, but your tail tightened its grip, the tip tracing a slow, almost taunting path along his jaw as you held him in place. “Tell me, Ronin,” you purred, voice thick with dark delight, “are you even remotely aware of how beautifully shattered you are?”

He scowled, refusing to let you see the flicker of discomfort that crossed his face. “I don’t need you psychoanalyzing me. What, you gonna try and fix me? Play the devil with a heart?” He laughed, though it was strained, defiant.

“Oh, fix you?” You laughed, a sound like shattered glass and honey. “No, darling. I like you just as you are. After all, you’re not here to be fixed. You’re here to serve a greater purpose. But that shattered little mind of yours… I simply must understand it.” You grinned, eyes gleaming with a hunger that wasn’t entirely of this world. “You have no idea how utterly fascinating you are to me.”

He glared up at you, his defiance dampened but not extinguished, even as you kept him bound, floating there like some impossibly powerful nightmare. He was beginning to realize just how deeply he was in over his head, but he wasn’t about to let you have the satisfaction of knowing it.

Finally, he smirked, a glint of his usual bravado returning. “I’m just another sinner, aren’t I? Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

You leaned closer, your breath cold against his skin. “Oh, but you’re so much more than that, Ronin. Sinners come and go, screaming and begging.” You tilted his face toward yours, eyes narrowing as you studied him with a disturbing kind of affection. “But you, you’ve painted yourself a god of sin, the judge and executioner of those who dare hide behind lies and faith.”

He raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sounds like someone’s got a crush. and very obsessed..”

You scowled as Ronin’s eyes flickered with amusement, his lips curving into a smug smirk. The nerve of this guy! How dare he look at you like that, all high and mighty, like he had some sort of upper hand here. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, your tail twitching in irritation as you stepped closer to him, floating just out of reach.

“I am obsessed?!” you snapped, voice rising in pitch, but you quickly reined it in, trying to regain your cool. “Don’t you dare act like you know me, you stupid human!” You threw your hands up in a mock dramatic flair, something that screamed more tsundere than you ever intended. "I’m just… just reciting lines! You think I’m some clown trying to play a role?”

His dead eyes, now glowing faintly, flickered for a second before he actually started laughing. A low, guttural sound that echoed through the room, and it made you clench your teeth. How dare he? He was laughing at you, and not in the way you wanted!

“You—you think you're a devil?” he choked out between his laugh, voice full of mockery, “But you’re just a freakin’ wannabe!” He wiped a tear from his eye as he continued to laugh, and it was almost too much. “Oh, my bad, a royal devil, right? You're not even pretending to be terrifying. You're just… pathetic."

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Your hand twitched as you resisted the urge to burn him where he stood. Pathetic? You were anything but! And yet, somehow, his words cut deeper than you expected. You had a role to play in this, dammit! A role that you worked hard to perfect. Every word, every gesture, was meant to give you authority, make him fear you, respect you.

But instead, he was calling you out, reducing your entire performance to nothing more than a joke. You bit back a curse, hands curling into fists at your sides as you finally spoke again, your voice laced with venom. “I’m a devil of royalty, you idiot! I don’t need to play tricks on you like some stupid human. If anything, you're the one who’s insulting me right now!”

Ronin wiped another tear away, his laughter dying down, though his grin remained wide and irritating. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he drawled. “I still think it’s hilarious. You’re like some bad actor trying too hard to be edgy. Like I’ve never seen a wannabe demon in all my life.”

You felt a surge of heat rising to your cheeks, frustration boiling over. “You—” You gritted your teeth, “Just because I’m not out here spouting random nonsense about the end of days, doesn’t mean I’m not the real deal, okay?”

He raised an eyebrow, still grinning like he had you figured out. “Oh, I figured you out ages ago. You’re just all bark and no bite, huh?”

You inhaled deeply, trying to maintain some semblance of control, even as your tail lashed in irritation. “I’m not here for your entertainment, Ronin. You’re the one who’s going to be taught a lesson. I’ll have you begging for mercy by the end of this. Mark my words.”

But when you finally looked him in the eye again, his smirk hadn’t faded. Instead, it was… genuine. And somehow, that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t afraid of you. He wasn’t even impressed. He was mocking you, yes, but it was almost like… a form of respect?

The realization hit you like a bolt of lightning, and you couldn’t help but curse under your breath. “Damn you, Ronin,” you muttered. “You��re not even worth the effort.” But inside, the embers of frustration were still smoldering. You had something to prove now. Something you couldn’t just walk away from.

Ronin finally stopped laughing, his eyes narrowing as he tilted his head to the side. “Oh, no need to get all sensitive now. Just calling it like I see it. And I’ve gotta say…” His lips curled into a small, wry smile. “You’ve got more personality than I expected. I thought I was just dealing with another devil spewing the same tired lines.”

You blinked at him, the words sinking in slowly. More personality? You stared at him, and for a moment, the room felt unnervingly quiet. "I’m not here to entertain you, Ronin," you said flatly, but the edge in your voice was softer this time, as if something had shifted.

Ronin nodded slowly, his amusement fading into something… else. A flicker of understanding, maybe? Whatever it was, you weren't sure you liked it. But before you could dwell on it, he threw a final barb.

"Hey," he said with a teasing glint in his eye, "I’ll give you credit. You’re not boring. I’ll give you that."

You scowled at him, tail flicking agitatedly behind you. “Shut up.”

Ronin’s grin only widened at your frustrated outburst, and he leaned back, the chains binding his arms creaking slightly as he stretched. “God, you're like a dog with a bone, huh? So touchy," he teased, his tone dripping with amusement. His deadpan expression was still smug, like he’d just figured out the secret to driving you mad, and he was loving every second of it.

“You’re so annoying!” you snapped, your voice sharp and cold, but underneath it, there was a subtle hint of exasperation. How was he managing to get under your skin so easily? You had so much more control than this, but Ronin just seemed to unravel it all. It was almost like he knew what buttons to press, and you hated it.

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with mock curiosity. “Am I?” His grin morphed into something a bit more wicked, a glint of mischief dancing in the depths of his gaze. “Funny. I thought you were supposed to be a devil of royalty, not some whiny little brat.”

Your tail twitched violently at his words, the sharp tip of it slashing through the air like it had a mind of its own. “I’m not a brat,” you spat, almost instinctively puffing your chest out in a way that was more comical than intimidating. “I’m royalty, damn it. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ronin drawled lazily, his hands still bound but his posture completely relaxed. “But if you're royalty, shouldn't you, I don't know, be a little scarier? You’re kind of like a kid pretending to be an adult, and it’s adorable."

“Adorable?” You hissed the word like it was poison. “You really think I’m some cute little plaything for you to laugh at, huh?” You took a step toward him, not fully realizing how much closer you were getting until your breath hitched.

But Ronin didn't back down. No, instead, he gave a lazy smirk and tilted his head further, eyes scanning you with a sort of casual, unimpressed interest. “Well, not cute exactly… but definitely something. I mean, you’re trying real hard to be intimidating, so it’s cute in a... 'this isn’t working at all' way.”

“You’re seriously pissing me off,” you muttered under your breath, your patience already wearing thin. You could feel the heavy weight of the energy building up inside of you—the raw, primal urge to do something. But you held yourself back, mostly because the way Ronin just sat there, not even slightly fazed by you, was starting to make your skin crawl.

“And yet,” he continued, utterly unfazed, “you’re still here. Which means I must be doing something right, right?” His voice was thick with that irritating, infuriating smugness that made you want to rip him apart, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to.

“You’re... You’re so infuriating!” The words practically exploded out of you, and you turned away, pacing the small, dimly lit room. You could feel your control slipping further with each second that passed, and it was like he was doing it on purpose—getting under your skin until you had no choice but to react. You could hear the low chuckle coming from behind you, and it made your teeth grind together.

“You’re funny, though,” he mused, his voice rich with sarcastic sweetness. “Not as funny as me, of course, but you’ve got some charm. Keep going like this, and you’ll be the star of my personal hell.”

You spun around, eyes flashing with frustration, and he just raised an eyebrow, his expression all but saying, You know I’m right.

“Don’t mock me, Ronin,” you warned, your voice low, warning laced with venom. “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, waving a dismissive hand, as if you were a pest he could easily brush off. "I’ll let you get to that. But just so you know..." His eyes gleamed with amusement. “If you really wanted to make me regret anything, you’d have to actually do something about it, sweetheart. Right now, all you're doing is making me laugh.”

The last of your restraint snapped, and before you could think, you marched right up to him, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at you. The act was impulsive, but there was something about that irritating smirk on his face that finally pushed you over the edge.

“You think you’re so clever, huh?” you whispered through gritted teeth. “You think I’m a clown? Maybe I’ll show you just how terrifying I can be.”

You leaned in, a mischievous glint in your eyes that mirrored the mocking challenge in his. But instead of stepping back, his lips curled into something just a little too intrigued.

“Well then, make your move,” he said with a half-smirk. “Prove it to me, Your Highness.”

The moment he smirked again, that same irritating, condescending smirk that made your blood boil, you snapped. All that self-control you’d been pretending to have, all those carefully crafted lines you’d spent time perfecting, shattered in an instant.

Before Ronin could even react, your tail whipped forward, wrapping tightly around his throat with the precision of a predator capturing its prey. The pressure was instant, and you could feel his breath hitch as he fought against it, but you weren’t about to let go. Your tail tightened around him, lifting him slightly off the ground as your anger flared to life, burning hotter than before.

“You’re so damn annoying!” you growled through gritted teeth, a mix of frustration and something else bubbling up inside you. “If you’re gonna keep mocking me, at least make it worthwhile, you stupid human!”

Ronin’s eyes were wide now, but his grin didn’t falter. Instead, he chuckled—chuckled! Like he was actually enjoying this. His hands tried to pry your tail away, but it only made you squeeze tighter, your grip unrelenting as his face started to turn a little redder from lack of air.

“Why... are you so... pissed?” he managed to rasp out, his voice barely audible, but that damn smirk still stuck on his face.

You snarled, pushing him up higher, your floating form steady, even though the anger burned through your veins like wildfire. “Because you don’t stop, Ronin! You think you know me, but you don’t know a damn thing! I’m not just some… some little devil here to play games!”

And yet, despite your words, something in you was still... off about this whole situation.

Your mind screamed at you to stop—to pull away, to let him breathe. But no. He’d crossed the line.

"I’m a devil of royalty,” you hissed, your grip tightening. “You’re the one who’s gonna learn respect, got it?”

But Ronin, that bastard, only chuckled again, this time with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. “You know... if you wanted a kiss, you could’ve just asked.”

You stopped. You stared. Your tail loosened slightly, but only out of sheer disbelief. What the hell did he just—?

“You... you—!” You cut yourself off, realizing you were staring at him like some blushing idiot. “You’re—ugh!” Your tail tightened again, but not in anger now. This was more of a reflex, a defensive move, like you were trying to shake off the absurdity of his words.

But then he did the worst thing possible. He grinned wider. “I mean, you’re cute when you’re mad. Really cute.”

You froze, a wave of frustration washing over you. Cute? Did he think you were some kind of child? Did he think he could just—?

“Shut. Up,” you spat, but the venom in your words was overshadowed by how genuinely mad you were now. You were supposed to be a devil, a royal one at that. And yet here you were, looking like some lovesick... idiot who couldn’t even keep it together.

Your tail, like a reflex, tugged him closer again, as if you wanted to shut him up once and for all. “You... you just don’t get it, do you?” you muttered, looking away as you tried to regain your composure.

Ronin, however, looked completely unfazed, eyes dancing with amusement. “No, I get it,” he said coolly. “You’re just not as scary as you think you are. You’re like one of those... princesses who’s stuck in her tower, throwing temper tantrums.”

You blinked at him, and for a moment, you honestly couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. Princess? Tower?

And that’s when it clicked. You… you did have a bit of that princess vibe, didn’t you? The whole “royal devil” thing, the way you floated around, angry yet trying to maintain some composure. You were like one of those fairy tale princesses, locked away in a tower, trying to pretend like everything was under control.

The realization hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you felt a strange wave of embarrassment. Rapunzel, of all things?

“Are you... comparing me to that stupid princess?” You demanded, your tail loosening, now only holding him in place rather than choking him.

He nodded. “Yeah, I mean, you’re all high and mighty, but honestly... you don’t even know how to really handle me. You’re just making it all worse. You know what you need?” He looked at you, his smirk almost kind. “You need to get out of your tower. Take a step down. Get your hands dirty.”

Ronin’s expression shifted the moment he spoke, his tone veering from amusement to something darker. “So… if Hell exists,” he muttered, “then Heaven must exist, too.”

You nodded slowly, watching his face, the usual hard lines and cocky smirk softened with something almost vulnerable. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Heaven and Hell… they’re both very aware of you, Ronin. Let’s just say, they’re happy with you making certain… types suffer.” You gave a crooked grin, hoping to lighten the mood, but he didn’t bite.

Instead, he scoffed, his face twisting with pain he hadn’t let slip before. “So Heaven does exist…” he whispered, as if the words themselves hurt. He looked off to the side, jaw clenched.

You could feel the weight of it immediately—the shadows in his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders. “Ronin…” you ventured, softer than before. “Is this… is it some kind of religious—?”

“Shut up,” he spat, but there was no real venom in it. Just exhaustion.

The silence stretched long and heavy, until finally, he looked at you, eyes sharper, more focused, like a steel trap snapping shut. “Someone I knew once… named Ther,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “Where… where would she be?”

You froze, taken aback by the rawness in his voice. He didn’t ask for your answer, didn’t even look at you, his gaze lost somewhere beyond you, as if searching for something he couldn’t name.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, you watched him, and for once, you didn’t have anything clever to say.

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