#Small Box for Ashes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bluetooththereptile · 3 months ago

Text

The Crimson Snuff

(Yandere vampire family x female elf reader x yandere elven family)

(The video is not mine, original post, It's from the anime vampire hunter D bloodlust )

[Again, as I usually say in everything I write, English is not my first language, so if there is any mistakes made in creation of this text, I apologize]

Note: this text is inspired by this post.

Another note: for better imagination I recommend seeing costumes of the movie Le reign margot and the anime vampire hunter D blood lost for the general atmosphere of it, for more inspiration you can also look up Requiem chevalier vampire by Olivier ledriot. All of the characters belong to me, and if you'd like to read more of this universe, I'd love to provide. This is my take on some tropes of manhwas and if you are the type to love the obsessive family over long lost daughter or something like that, I'm tired of them lol. Enjoy this while listening to the harpsichord playing!

Another another note: it's sort of a sci-fi fantasy gothic setting

I was thinking of making this longer than other stuff I've made since it's oc and I'd like to ramble about details.

Tw: yandere tendencies, mentions of death, torture and injuries, emotional and physical abuse, racism (fantasy races).

@shenryu-sama

"Damn..." your phone fell from your hand and hit the mattress with a soft thud as you tried to process what you had just read "How can someone be so...cruel?" You mumbled to yourself, your voice muffled under your blanket. Holding your hand against your mouth, You felt your stomach churn as you tried not to recall the scene you had just read, but the image relayed in your mind over and over. You had read far worse things, but why this one stuck in your head and made you so sick, you didn't know. You looked at your phone's screen which was set to low brightness to not hurt your already throbbing eyes since your nightly habit was catching up with you, and watched the words dance under your unfocused gaze as you remembered the scene, your imaginative mind trying to create it for your mind's eye.

"As he strode about the sacred garden, the flowers that pulsated with the holy energy of the goddess perished in the vicinity of his dark Aura that lingered on his person, their withered petals turning to ashes with the soft gust of wind his floating cape made. The statue of the saintess of the household cracked with the sheer magnitude of his very presence, her open arms falling off of her marble-carved body onto the dead soil. No creature of the night had reached such power, not without feeding from the countless souls ripped off their mortal flesh by their sharp claws, and yet...he seemed to have exceeded the qualifications of the dark ones, their heads bowed in respect to the depravity of their creation.

His smirk grew more sinister as he watched the massive mansion burn in the purple flames of his mages, the once blue-colored roofs now in flames, the top-tier wood turning to cursed coal that would never burn for anything holy, the screams of the inhabitants locked inside, in the air. He stood and watched, circling the small locked box between his fingers as he usually did, the smooth surface of the metallic box reminiscent of her soft skin, was a balm to his senses, well, at least the senses that were not numbed to the world outside, his hollow mind filled with nothing but carnage and...her.

"Ahh sweetling, not even he is burning as good as you did" his whisper was lost to the wind feeding the frenzied flames, and a soft scoff left his thinned lips "Even if he claimed to be the purest" he spat the word to the statue of the saintess that stared ahead, just as he. The familiar numb feeling in his mind reached downwards to his nonbeating heart, as his thumb gently pushed the button of the lock to make the box's lid open gently with a soft click, he didn't want to waste even a speck of the crimson powder inside "May I sweetling?" He asked in mock gentleness as he buried the tip of his claw into the powder "Bon appétit" he murmured with mockery, bringing the snuff to his nose and inhaling the finely grounded dust.

His eyes fluttered in ecstasy, the wide pupils moving upwards before rolling "Ahhh sweetling" he called once more for his lady, her pure ashes coming down to his nasal cavity, coating his mouth in her taste, her perfume mixed with the ashes filling his senses, the tip of his pointed ears warming, just like a blushing boy...well, as much as his corrupt body would. "Watch sweetling, watch as I avenge us" he gestured to the State raised to ashes "Watch as they burn just as you did my beloved, I made them pay, just as I did you"

You wanted to throw up, what kind of a sick man would literally cannibalize his wife through snuff?! You trashed about in frustration, this villain was something else! Sure most villains were sick and twisted, but this bastard was supposed to fucking love his wife! What was all of this?! Why did it bother you so much though? It seemed like the scene made your own flesh burn, ack! This cursed novel sucked!

"Aaaaah!" You muffled your frustrated scream in your pillow, trying to be silent in the dead of the night. With a weak stupid protagonist who was supposed to be a Mary Sue "saintness" and a dumb male lead who didn't know boundaries and was toxic to his teeth, you didn't know how on the website's loaded server the author would manage to make this story make sense, which it did not! Plus the art style sucked! Ugh! After a few chapters of bodies proportioned so badly that made any good artist cry, you had switched to the novel to find any redeeming qualities since some stories were better in novel form but nope! It was still horse dump.

You scrolled past the text to read the comments, your eyes moving from one to another, everyone agreed with you on that, the novel sucked, many had thought it was because of the translation but a few had said it was just the same in its original language, a few had said the world building and the villain were the best parts and yet the compliment wasn't that good given the genuine sickness of the villain's character, UGH! Well the villain was as obscure as a shadow, you hadn't seen him in his drawn form, and you thanked the universe for that, after reading that scene you didn't want to associate anything with him!

Puffing the stale air of the covers you had pulled over your head you finally let it slide down, inhaling fresh air. You reached out for the VR headset you had managed to sneak out of your cousin's place, which they didn't even care about one bit since they were busy with their new gadgets, and put it on, making watching something light-hearted and nice or playing animal crossing would help you relax your mind, but as you shifted to sit up with the headset on, your phone from your mattress on the floor and you cursed under your breath, reaching down blindly to find it.

Your fingers moved on the floor, searching around, you bit your lip to focus, reaching a little further down without going off the bed, your lazy self not wanting to leave its warmth, but then you knocked the glass of water on your nightstand and it fell on your head, you gasped from the shock of it all, freezing, not just because of the water but also from the sharp "zzt" sound coming from the headset oh shi-

The sound of bombs could be heard in the distance, the troops of goddess Mekt kept bombarding the fallen city of Balna, but you knew the cavalry troops were on their way, everyone knew, and that was why there was a sense of dreadful urgency in the air that was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. The scent of the burnt flesh was in the air, making you sick to the point you thought you'd throw up by the polished boots of your kin, knowing whose flesh it was made it far far worse.

"I...I can't..." your voice shook as you clutched the large rifle in your hands, your limbs shaking from the weight of the weapon loaded with silver bullets. Your gaze looked upwards, in the dim light of the night, the shadows of the torches painted the pale faces of the company mounted on their steeds, the animals agitated from the noises and the sense of impending doom of the darkness that came with the approaching cavalry, their neighs jolting you here and there, the blood on your dress clung to your corset and skin.

"Just as incompetent as your mother" The ancient elf gritted his teeth in frustration, his sharp pale gaze on your person, his pointed ears sharply pointed upwards in a sign of anger and irritation. "Do as you are told, woman!" He hissed, reaching forward to grasp your hair, pulling it so hard that you thought a chunk of the strands were ripped off "I said kill them! Have you gone deaf?!" He shook your upper body by your hair, your scalp burning "You are the only one who can kill them without their curse infecting you! Do it before it's too late!" He threw you back onto the ground, your face hitting the stoned ground, the warmth of blood dripping off of your bruised lip.

Your blurry eyes turned to the tall couple embracing each other a few feet away, the dark cape of the male draped over his mate, holding her head against his chest in an attempt to hide her from the danger of their inescapable death, his own eyes set upwards onto the stars, you'd think the silver-haired vampire was thinking of his home planet, he had so many times told you of his sweet memories from his lands, where he had flourished and thrived. Maybe in his own faith and hope, he thought his dark soul would join his ancestors in an eternal dance with the dark ones, maybe he thought this fate wasn't going to be the end of the love he shared with his beloved.

"I can't-" You didn't want to harm them, no, you could not, not when they had accepted you in with open arms, and not, especially when they grounded him- a pained gasp left you as pain coursed through your veins, the magic-infused staff of your father hitting your back over and over as the elven lord unleashed his frustration upon you, "I said pull.the.damned.trigger you incompetent pathetic excuse of an elf! Do it before I end them with you just out of spite of seeing you flayed!" He kept hitting you down, the voices of the couple before you muffled by the rushing blood into your ears...or maybe it was your own blood?

"Ardana!" A voice called, nearly beast-like, mixed with the frantic screams of the female vampire "Let me go! Let me go to her Eckhart! My child!", the beastly growls and demands of you being left alone though soon silenced the female one "Let her go! Let her go you filthy elves!" your haunched form didn't have to turn to see the caged vampire to know from where it was coming from, bound with silver cuffs, his flesh burning by the blessed alloy, his mind a frenzy both from the pain and the weight of his mate being beaten down in refusal of killing his parents.

You refused to do as you were told, your limbs crawling to hold onto the leg of the elven lord, your blood-covered limbs clutching onto the silky fabric of his robes, your will long fused with titanium. You knew the death of the dukedom's lady and lord would mean chaos, you had many times rethought your actions over and over, dreadful of the destiny carved out for you, but the staff's attack on your body were turning unbearable, your muscles giving in onto the beatings as your father let go of his long-held fury, making you his punchbag. You needed to buy time and it'd be over! Just a few more seconds and the cavalry would be here, just a few more...seconds...and your fate...and his...would change...

"ARDANA!"

The gravity of the ground pulled your unconscious body down, your soul long gone into the realm of dreams that you couldn't feel the pain of the impact "My sweetling! No! NO!" The desperate roars of the bound vampire were soon mixed in with the sound of the hooves of the mechanic steeds, your father's horrified gaze not leaving your bloodied form as he was pulled away by his men, his lips calling for your mother, his hands shaking with remorse and guilt.

It'd be worth it...right?

Cuteness Aggression is real, you had realized it early on when you were swallowing the fluffy head of the feline creature on your lap as you kissed her over and over, her fur getting into your nostrils but you could careless when you were squeezing her gently, and the cat actually enjoyed it! Trifine she was, a good-sized feline with sharp baby blue eyes and white fluffy hair, her meows soft and girly-like, her presence always glued to your side, she was a gift upon your coming of age ceremony, and the magic-infused animal was with you ever since. Her ears twitched as a butterfly sat on it's head, looking like an airplane with a look saying "Really now?" You giggled, scratching it's chin to which she swooned into, making the blue insect fly away into the gardens below.

"Mæa?" The cat looked up in confusion as you stopped kissing her head for the 45th time that hour, looking at your wide saucer eyes, those globes wanting your attention all the time, but the maids were busy braiding your hair and needed your head to be steady. You petted her head with an apologetic "It'll be done soon" your voice coming in a rather breathy feminine voice, which you had yet to get used to, yet still it felt odd using it. Trifine purred in contentment as she made biscuits on your thighs, letting the stress of waking up too early out, uncaring to the bustle of the maids in the room as they did your daily routine of getting ready, her pink bean toes leaving marks on the fabric of the towel draped over your lap.

Your gaze went to the reflection of your face in a small round mirror held up by a maid as she smiled at you, her bright eyes round and lovely "What do you say, your ladyship? Is the new hairstyle to your liking?" The round face of the dark-skinned elf stared at you through the reflection, framed by the clay flowers around the mirror, when Aradana had to respond, you did "Aye, it is quite lovely" Your long pointed ears twitched in delight as your shapely fingers touched your cheeks. It'd be embarrassing if you were to realize how expressive your ears were, letting on for your any emotion, that was why many ladies wore lace hats that restricted the movement of their ears and held them in place to hide their true emotions, just as they did by hiding their faces behind their fans.

The maids smiled at your satisfaction, they had trained hard to learn how to handle the unique hair texture of of the sun elves, which was rare in these grounds, but they were learning, and your mother was pleased. One maid powdered the golden-colored braids to ensure their health, the powder laced with a sweet calming perfume that filled the aura about you, giving your person an even more pleasing presence and soothing the spirit of anyone about and you. They dabbed your scalp with purified pomade to trap moisture, it's cool texture making your scalp tingle, and you couldn't help but shudder at its effects.

Who knew being pampered felt so good, even if the body you were in was a complete stranger to you a few weeks ago. That electric shock the headset had put you through had sent your consciousness out of your body, and somehow, in some way, by the will of a sick deity or something, you had ended up in another world. At least the VIP care you got was nice. Baths and showers every time you wanted, the best beautiful flowing gowns that puffed around your shoulders, the glistening pearls and jewels in drawers upon drawers of jewelry cases. Yeah, being a noblewoman was nice, it felt like playing Barbie in real life, and by some miracle, which you had learned was the magic of the items you used, you didn't tire of it.

The voices of the maids echoed in the vast chambers, the soft hums and even occasional singings giving a background noise to the opulent residence. They diligently polished the floors and dusted every nook and crony, the skirts of their uniform dresses tucked under their belts, their bare legs in full view, low-heeled shoes petter pattering about, their short ears hidden under their clean and purely white bonnets. Where humans used skin color for segregation, elves were ranked by their ear size, which about yours...they were...something. as long as the palm of your hands they were. The soft appendages were delicate and took extreme care to maintain, just like the ancient Chinese tradition of growing your nails long as a sign of nobility, highborn elves of every branch that were created by Mekt had longer and more expressive ears. The priests said Mekt adored pointed ears, which favored the nobles, but you knew it was all bullshit to secure power, elves and humans weren't much different in the grand scheme of things.

Your perfectly filed fingers ram through the soft fur of Trifine, the fluffy gal purring a storm, gently batting imaginary flies around her. The maids cooed as they pampered the feline as well, offering it snacks and brushing her long tail that moved about as if it had a mind of its own. You sighed softly, giving Adarana, or you, to be honest, another look. You had screamed your head off when you had woken up to realize where the hell you were. The damned headset had sent you to a very dangerous place and from the looks of it, you had no way out of it.

Your eyes moved about to hide the tears of frustration, your cute button nose twitching a little in an attempt to scrunch up. Your chambers was something out of a commercial in size respectively, with a large marble-styled bathroom that ran on magic-infused boiled water, a toilette that had flowered patterned tiles that shimmered under the candlelight, a whole dedicated prayer room with everything needed there, especially with a statue of Mekt, which you covered with a cloth, given your trauma with the scene you had read about her and the villain. Two walk-in closets filled with every fashion item imaginable, an office that you got your lessons in and met your tutors at, and a boudoir which was reserved for close friends, to which you didn't have any, only your mother visited you there for tea, and you had counted, exactly three window seats and 12 windows of different shapes in total around the living quarters.

So you had truly ended up in that damned novel huh? It wasn't a dream, your countless attempts to wake up which some may had been too painful than others reminded you of that but how did you end up here in the world of "The silver-spooned saintness", you did not know, maybe it was another version of the "Truck-kun" messing with you or it was a punishment out of nowhere or the sheer hatred of the stupid author, you weren't sure. And the title, whatever the hell that translated title means, sure, silver spoon in Korean meant being born of wealth, but still...you now HATED the damned title.

Speaking of the saintess, you rolled your eyes so hard that the poor maids thought there was something wrong, to which you just waved your hand, ignoring their confused glances. The saintess was the protagonist, the oh-so-powerful, beautiful, all-knowing Yuviel Palewand, Adarana's sibling and now...your little sister. How?! Why?! Why she author? Why she?! Yuviel had the personality of a fluffy white bread and oh you'd be cursed, she was just aa white to the core. Sometimes you flinched at how translucent her skin was, the author's obsession with white skin, a tall skinny body, pink hair, and purple eyes made you want to find the author and shove some sense into them, not even Asians themselves were that "perfect", which was alright! Yuviel looked bad in the art style of her story, but in person, she seemed so sickly it was...disturbing.

Yuviel had the typical childcare story plot line, the daughter of a long lost lover sent to an orphanage found in the worst condition possible, doted upon by her father and siblings, it would be a really good plot for fluffy fillings on the pages, which it was. Palewand state was a very gorgeous one, with lush greenery and a mansion so massive it rivaled a palace, which it had to, Balthinal Palewand, your father, was one of the few viscounts in elven domain of the planet Leril after all. Your three younger brothers were just as typical as one could be given a story of as Yuviel's, things were perfect, but you were there, and as an imposter in the body of the young elf, you knew things weren't as simple.

"Your" father was a high elf of the branch of the moon elves, pale, tall with gray eyes, he literally could shimmer under the direct light, his excessive use of silk didn't help either. He had an arranged marriage with "your" mother, Eponia of Woella, a sun elf, to strengthen the bond of the states. She had a fair build, with a full body and lovely dark skin, and you, Ardana, had inherited most of her features but still shared the same pale silver eyes with your father. Your father had cheated on your mother and Yuviel was the fruit of it, and he had the audacity to not only bring her in but shower her with more love than he had shown Ardana, which had made your mother resentful.

Eponia was not a woman of pettiness, she was wise and a lady through and through but Mekt's enemies be damned, if one were to say something bad about you, she'd gauge their eyes out. That was why you liked Eponia more than others, she was genuine and loved Ardana fully. None of these details were mentioned in the novel, especially, the fact that YOU were ENGAGED, to the villain of the story, in an attempt from your father to save YUVIEL from the clutches of a bloodsucking beast, oh you nearly forgot, on top of being a misogynistic, pro classism, and an asshole that had favorites, he also was racist to the bone. He had thrown you under the bus to save his favorite. Obsessive fathers like him made you sick to the bone, especially knowing one of the reasons she was so liked by his was Yuviel's likeness to her late mother, which the older maids had said he was obsessed with as well...ew.

At least the sons of the family were rather normal, well as normal as spoiled nobles could be, none of them had an inch of a hard spine, aside from Irtar, who was a young teen in elven years by the time you had gotten there, if the story would proceed as it did in the novel, the talented elf would go through so much. Surprisingly Eponia seemed to like you more than she did her sons, Curufor, your eldest brother and the heir to the Palewand state, had told young Ardana it was because Eponia always wanted a daughter, that was why she had put up with Balthinal and gave birth to three sons only for the fourth babe to turn out as a female. Good thing you had Ardana's memories. That was how you had escaped the skeptical gaze of Mellion, the middle son, who seemed to stare right through your eyes and reach your soul, your mother always disliked how much that piercing gaze was reminiscent of Balthinal's, to add salt to the already festering wound of Eponia's resentment, none of her sons looked like her either, you could see why she was so attached to Abrana, in Leril no bride had the chance to take any maid or lady in waiting of her father's state to her new home. The Palewand family was well, at least "functional" to a degree, Abrana was always grateful that none of her siblings turned against their family as most elves did.

Racism was prevalent in Leril which was actually acceptable to any elf, not only on the green and lush planet of elves but also in the whole universe Abrana knew of. The elves from different planets shared the universal hatred of any races other than their own, thank Mekt they are not racist to their own- oh right...the ear size thing...Mekt had some explaining to do, but nah, according to the scripture of Mekt's church, she was the bride to Kytvan, the lord of all, and not many dared to question her ways, aside from the dark ones, who themselves had their own can of worms that was spilled everywhere. But again, given how humans and orcs acted, you didn't think other deities were good enough to criticize Mekt. At least she had managed her creation better than others. Other planets were a constant mess.

Especially on Sevonad's dead soil, where Necropolis, the city of sin and decay, had festered like a plague, oozing puss and sickness. You had once seen the map of the dark planet and its moons and by Mekt! Why half of Senovad's surface was covered in a hulking hive city?! Necropolis was like a living behemoth of a parasite of metal and wires, withering with energy and countless towers that pierced the atmosphere of the planet, it had slithered into it's never dying core and rooted at the shadowed side of the planet that was stuck in its orbit and didn't turn its northern side towards the sunlight, which had given the nocturnal side of Sevonad the perfect condition for the creatures of the night to thrive in, the other side was under constant sunlight, and was mostly a never-ending sahara, deprived of any shade, literal demons roaming it's grounds. What were the dark ones thinking when they created this massive rock in space?

The readers sort of liked the worldbuilding of the story, a mixture of fantasy races in a universe of gothic horror with futuristic technology and magic, but the author hadn't had given much of the details, not to the clarity you had seen. There were three habitable planets in the Zorak sector, aside from the planet of humans, which in itself was like a fantasy version of Earth, named Sabra, they had the same state of tech as the modern days, fused with magic and conflict, hardly reaching for the stars since vampires sabotaged their endeavors in an attempt to keep them trapped for their own harvesting, though victims of vampires colonization, even the orcs didn't like to touch them, why? Given that you yourself were human in spirit, you knew why.

There was Sevonad, the dark planet, Sabra, Leril, and the fourth and the most barbaric one, Adigog, a planet covered in the bile-like greenery that seemed sickly from the outside, home to orcs and other fantasy races that were too barbaric for the other planets, good thing they hadn't developed technology to the point of space travel, which you didn't think they were capable of, given the constant tribal wars they went through. Diegord, their god, was just as repulsive in nature in mythology and scripture as his creations were, always harassing Mekt. It was a solid world-building, and further from the planet sectors of Zorak were other sectors, which were not mentioned in the book or in the maps you had seen, it seemed they didn't want to interact with Zorakians, and the ships coming in and out of the three planets of the sector didn't venture out of its borders either.

Life in Palewand state wasn't that bad, Eponia watched over you, doted on you, babied you even...yeah sure...Life in Palewand state wasn't that bad, well aside from the constant stress of where the hell the story was going!

The silver-spooned saintess's story was of a struggling elf maiden that had taken sanctuary in the capital of Leril's monastery after a grueling war between vampires and elves, the typical saintess arch, and that included a very toxic elf prince, and the whole story was about them dealing with the villain of the story. Silvain Agarand and his pursuit of avenging the Palewand family by any means.

Leril had been long under the colonization of the vampires coming from Sevonad as well, vampires had reached their claws to every single planet in search of new resources, greedy and cruel, they had taken the Eastern hemisphere of the planet for themselves and with use of their superior technology and Mekt's absence, since the priests said she had gone to a millennia rest after fighting off Diegord in the heavens. They had occupied the land and had extended their influence and power on the dark elves of the east, making the Drows their minions and thralls. For centuries it was total chaos on the eastern side, with the frontiers of the states close to the east in constant war with the vampires, but in the end, the elves, given the absence of their deity and patron to fund their mana, gave in, and relented to their terms, aside from letting the vampires suck up the resources of the planet, every century, from a chosen state, by random, a young elf would marry into the realm of the vampires on Leril and your family was chosen this time. At first, Yuviel was put up as an option given her perfect nature, which was the author's way of adding coal to the fire of fangirling for her, oh perfect Yuviel! So perfect that she was chosen to be the oh-so-pure sacrificial bride...yeah, you wanted to rip your hair out in frustration. Your father had changed the candidate to you, earning your and Eponia's scorn. And who was your darling betrothed? Yes, it was HIM!

According to the story, the villain Silvain Agarand, the Duke to the Agarand state, which was a large continent on the northern part of the occupied lands, was a sadistic mad vampire that sought nothing but the demise of Yuviel Palewand and her family, and he does to an extent, killing everyone but her and her youngest brother Irtar Palewand, who somehow with the help of the male lead and Mekt's blessing would get rid of the villain. You hadn't read enough to know what was going to happen, the poor grammar and also the all-over-the-place plotline of the story had frustrated you, but you still remembered one thing.

Arbana had died in the original plotline. Yes, because she was married off to that sadistic Agarand and Mekt knew what he had done to her, and now that your father had pushed the engagement onto you instead of Yuviel, you were going insane from the stress, so much so that even Eponia noticed and tried to argue with your father, day and night to make him see the absurdity of it all. He had finally relented and agreed to annul the engagement if the Agarands were not to respect the elven tradition of meeting the bride in person before choosing her. Which was impossible, given the fact that no vampire could reach Palewand state without being weakened to the stage of a mere thrall because of the pulsating veins of Mekt's mana in the land.

You huffed in frustration as you paced around your room, your pet cat looking at you in confusion as you frantically mumbled "Why me? Why me? Why me?!" The reality was setting in and it was setting in HARD! Not even those damned good-smelling tea or delicious snacks could calm you down, why on Leril's soil you had to be the "tribute"?! The night's dinner no matter how many times your mother had insisted was a good meal had made you nauseated with its strange aroma, and it didn't help your anxiety at all. The soothing tea that your mother had sent to your chambers was sitting in the corner, long forgotten and had turned cold half an hour ago.

You were going to kiss little Trifine in your arms as she let out a soft 'mrrp' of concern, before you heard a soft "squeak" coming from the window, you furrowed your brows and looked down at Trifine, the purring cat tilting her head as well, as if sensing something wasn't right. Trifine didn't make such noises, sure she had made some weird noises here and there like soft meows that sounded like she was singing but not a squeak-"Squeak"

You turned around, searching for where the noise was coming from only to find a small FLUFFY batling on the window's railings, any thoughts of your misery were thrown out of your mind as you met its wide crimson eyes "Squeak" It made another noise as it realized you had noticed it, perking up, Oh Mekt!...why was it so cute?! You put Trifine down, the feline looking up quizzically, not understanding why she was put down, as you approached the window slowly to not scare the batling, but the fluffball seemed unfazed, sitting on its small stubby legs.

"Hello" you greeted it with a high-pitched voice out of your excitement, and the batling just puffed its fluffy chest and squeaked again, as if greeting you back. Its large flap-like ears perked up, the flat nose twitching a little. You clawed at your chest "Ack!" It was so unexpected, you hadn't seen any bats like it before and surely there was not a place for them in the state's grounds. You tilted your head closer, refusing to give in to the urge of petting the creature. You couldn't help but coo as it rubbed it's head with it's left wing, fluttering it's wings before looking up once more, as if it was preening for your attention.

The batling crawled closer, it's leathery wings shuddering a little, maybe because of the unfamiliar situation it was in? It seemed curious and eager, which was strange, even for elves animals were still apprehensive of them. You tried to reach out to pet the fluffy white creature when another voice startled both of you, another white batling came screeching as it attacked the first one, you gasped and tried to do something but you realized the attack wasn't harmful, it was as if the second bat was scolding the first one by slapping it with its wings over and over. Before you could do something the second batling literally threw the first one off of the railings and then flew off, leaving you flagbastered and little Trifine confused as hell, the poor thing was sitting there looking up, a look of "What just happened?!" On her face. Well, that was something.

You were puzzled, shaking your head to clear your mind, You turned around to pick up Trifine once more before the first batling poked it's head in again "Squeak!" You giggled at it's persistence but- "You look even more lovely in person-" "EEK!" You screamed in shock hearing a very deep masculine voice coming from the batling, and it was so loud it startled the creature and it fell once more as it let out a loud scream with a voice that wasn't befitting of the manly voice "Ahh!". After you had calmed down, you looked down the window to see if what you had seen was real or not but down on the white rose bushes below the window there was nothing, maybe the meal had messed up with your mind? Your mother had said it was a special herb inside, yeah, maybe it was the game of the mind, but why did poor Trifine keep frantically meowing around you? Maybe she was startled by your scream as well, how strange...

And even more strange was- "The engagement will proceed as planned" Yes, the engagement wasn't annulled as much as your mother had wanted it to. Why? You didn't know "But why?" You spoke, making others look your way "I haven't seen the heir of the Agarand state and he hasn't seen me! It's...it's..." You trailed off to find the right words "It's ridiculous!" Your mother shouted, coming to your aid, standing up from her seat, the plates on the breakfast table moving at her sudden movement, Eponia rarely lost her temper like this, but it was her baby she was defending. "It has been decided woman-" your father sighed "I do not care! They haven't followed the tradition-" "They have actually, sit down and listen" Balthinal sighed, rubbing his temper, why breakfast needed to be complicated like this?

"He has seen our daughter" he started, everyone's head snapped in your direction to which you gave them a confused look back "I haven't-" "It seems the heir and his chaperone had entered the Palewand state last night in disguise of-" your mind started to reel as your father explained, trying to remember the past few nights, wait-so the batling-NO WAY! That explained the crimson eyes and the deep voice! Those filthy vampires could shapeshift! "It's unacceptable! I was in my sleeping gown and he-he has breached my privacy and dignity!" You tried to argue, but your father was busy cutting down the bread in front of him "It is decided, and they will send a company with offerings before taking Ardana for the engagement ceremony at the border" The finality in his tone made you stop, fuming silently, as a daughter you couldn't argue with your father further, and your mother didn't seem any better, and the 'pure' Yuviel was being handfed by Mellion once again, oblivious to everything.

It took only less than a week for the ceremonial party to reach

Palewand state, that you refused to leave your room, but curiosity got the better of you after the arrival of the company was announced. You and Trifine watched from the window of your chambers, your eyes widened at the sheer amount of gifts and carriages they had sent. You held up Trifine who seemed curious as well, wanting her to be the judge of it all just as you were. "Meow," She said "Yeah...that's a lot of carriages" you agreed with Trifine, looking down at the five full carriages colored black with the symbol of the three-headed hydra plastered on their doors in a glistening purple color. Your doom seemed to approach you in extravagant robes.

"Are they courting the daughter of a king or something?" Your father huffed as you and your mother watched the vampire vassals wearing dark Bautas to hide their faces from the glaring sun and bring in the many caskets of gifts. Your mother slapped his arm with her fan, making him give back a glare "Your daughter doesn't have anything less than a princess" Eponia huffed, fanning herself. You wished you hadn't come down to the entrance hall to see the gifts pouring in, but Trifine was restless and so were you plus your mother had insisted, she spoke of the vassals' need to see you up close to know your worth or something, whatever it was, you didn't want to touch even a speck of dust coming down the gifts let alone use them, but soon they'd be part of the dowery you'd be taking with you.

The caskets and chests were opened, filled to the brim with dresses up to date in fashion in silk and other materials, pelts of legendary animals, jewelry of any kind, shoes of different heights, books of different subjects, large vials of glistening perfumes, even a golden harp. Alright...maybe they were doing too much- "Five hundred thousand gold?!" Your father spat in disbelief as the vassals silently opened the gold chest, revealing the golden bars branded by the symbol of Palewand state, basically a payment to the father of the bride for giving an "asset" away, how convenient. You kept petting Trifine, showing disinterest.

"Darling" Your mother called for you gaining your attention as she gestured to a vassal approaching with a dark red velvet cushion in his hands, a glistening golden ring upon it "This is your naming ring my dear" She spoke softly, holding your right hand, gently caressing the back of it with her thumb, if you were going to leave, she'd try to make it somehow tolerable for you in any way she could. "Naming ring?" You asked and she nodded, your gaze on the vassal's hand, the realization that every vampire of importance had numerous rings on them setting in. "By accepting the naming ring you accept the engagement, at the ceremony of engagement you will be given another ring, and then another at your wedding, three rings, symbolizing the three...dark ones... and the three hydras of the house Agarand" Your mother fanned herself even faster, trying to keep herself calm, it was like giving up her precious little girl to the slaughterhouse, but she couldn't say no.

The vassal knelt as he offered up the pillow, his face and emotions hidden by the mask, which any vampire you had ever seen wore to protect themselves from burns. You hesitantly reached out for the ring and picked it up looking at the glistening viper coiling around it "Who gives their betrothed a viper ring?" You scrunched up your nose in disgust, your mother chiding you in a murmur "Darling!" You knew your comment was rude but you had to let out your anger in some way. The horned viper was one of the three hydras of the house Agarand, but alas...it was rather heavy, and the ruby gems worked in its eyes glistened, reminding you of the eyes of the batling, oh that weasel Silvain-

You lowered your head and put it on your mother's shoulder for support as your father put the ring on your trembling hand, finalizing the betrothal process. "His lord and ladyship Agarand will be hosting the ceremony at the border by the Kalmas lake by the third full moon" the vassal spoke, bowing before backing away. Here it went, why couldn't you change the story of your doom like other characters in different stories you had read? Or it was just a hoax the author put in? Your will didn't matter, and the ring on your finger seemed very heavy, your blood freezing in your veins feeling it's magical grip around your heart.

The parting ceremony held by your parents a week later from the gifting was nothing short of a nightmare, everyone gave you either pitiful or disgusted glances, and women behind their fans whispered to themselves as you walked past them, their eyes narrowed in on your every action and Yuviel and your siblings weren't anywhere to be seen, probably coddling Yuviel or something, you didn't want to see them anyway. You felt like a sacrificial lamb paraded around, your mother refused to attend out of spite of your father, who tried to smile and failed miserably at every given minute, because he knew he was the one to blame, and the nobility for once were siding with his wife instead of him, because he was taking his child away to hand her to bloodsucking wolves.

You had wept the night before your parting, the company sent by your new family would leave before the break of day since the exchange spot was a day away, and vampires could not stand in direct sunlight. Your mother had wept her eyeliner off the whole time, Yuviel as well, though you didn't show any emotions, other than a soft hiccup when Trifine was taken from you, it was direct orders, no pets, servants, or belongings of the bride would be transferred with her, upon the engagement ceremony, which the bride had to attend alone, she'd be reborn as a lady of the night. Poor Trifine kept meowing as she looked at you, and you swore you could see her cry, your maids wept too, it was nothing like a happy parting, but you didn't blame them either.

Your mother kissed your face over and over, pulling the hood of your cape down to cover your face "Make sure to eat well alright my little mouse?" She caressed your face, not wanting to tear up again at your trembling lips. "Woman-" "Just shut up and let me say goodbye to my daughter!" Eponia snapped at her husband before she guided you into the carriage, putting a blanket on your lap as she fluffed it up for you, trying to hold back her tears "If anything happens..." She trailed off, there was no turning back now was it? She reached out and put a small vial in your hands "Dying with dignity is worth more" She whispered, and the realization dawned on you.

The carriage's door closed and enclosed you in it's darkness, leaving you alone to digest the reality that Eponia had given you the poison to kill yourself with, but the irony was, you didn't seem to dislike the idea either, after all, the war was away for less than a year, and your sealed fate wasn't that better either, maybe you'd do it to spite the dark ones and the Agarands.

In the carriage you were on your own, refusing to touch any of the gifts put there, glaring at the hidden portrait of your to be fiancé inside a velvet-covered box, you hadn't seen him yet, but his audacity and rudeness as well as his apparent character from the novel made you want to set the portrait on fire. Your head rested on the soft inner padding of the seat, rocking softly as you listened to the hooves of the mechanical horses touching the road, your family had sent nothing but the gifts the Agarands had sent for you with you, no dowery to your name, a literal nobody entering the maws of death.

You had fallen asleep from exhaustion and mental fatigue, the company reached the massive tents set beside the lake that shimmered under the moonlight before you could know it. You woke up by the knock on the door of your carriage and your heart started beating faster and faster with each knock after you had jolted out of your sleep, your breath quickening, what if he were to set you on fire here and there?! You didn't want to turn into snuff of a sick and twisted man!

The door of the carriage opened on its own letting the chilling breeze of the twilight time in, your nose burning from the cold. You finally managed to gather up your courage and leaned forward to see you were at the other side, meeting a full group of maids and ladies in waiting in dark purple clothing did courtesy upon seeing you "Your ladyship" one of them spoke with eloquence, gesturing with her gloved hand towards the tent behind them as her fingers fluttered. "Come forth" She beckoned, holding her other hand out for you. Taking her hand you left the carriage, her pink-colored eyes downcast in respect as she guided you toward the tent.

You entered the clothed walls of the tent, shuddering at the coldness of the atmosphere, the ladies in waiting gave you demure polite smiles ss the maids unfastened your clothing to have them removed. Your cape left you, their hands diligently unfastening the buttons of your dress. Too nervous to protest them practically undressing you in front of the eyes of each other you relented, listening to them whispering soft measurements and discussing the needed jewelry and powders, not looking up from their tasks. None of the Agarands had attended you yet, and it felt rather refreshing, you didn't want to meet any of those silverheads.

The cold hands of the dampier maids were covered with gloves, their silence rather comfortable, but you still missed your own girls, which you were sure missed you as well. The golden dress you wore was changed with the latest gown coming right from Sevonad, the ladies in waiting made sure to mention that, the purple gown sat right under the airy chemise, that your corset was tied up, apparently the Agarand's family color was purple, which showed their closeness to royalty. White stockings with soft garters were put on, the underwear soft as cotton on you.

A lady in waiting of yours offered her hand for you to take after your hat was fitted on your head and a fresh coating of powder was put on your head and shoulders "This way your ladyship" She guided you out of the tent, letting you step on the occupied soil, belonging to the frontlines that decades ago were covered in the bodies of both races, their deaths still heavy on the atmosphere. The lady guided you towards the largest tent, the guards, their faces hidden behind their helms saluting as you walked past them, your lace shoes dipping onto the fresh doed grass, your gait slightly limping at the heavy skirt of your new dress.

Upon your arrival at the main tent, a soft violin tone started playing, your head didn't move to find the one playing, it seemed like a piece of music to your funeral. You looked up to see the tent having a makeshift alter made of wood in the shape of the dark ones' church you had seen in pictures of your studies of Senovad, with a curtain cutting it's space in two, basically hiding the two betrothed from each other until the end of the ceremonial process. A subtle hint of incense was in the air and it's sweet hints could be felt on your tongue, maybe if you lived long enough you could ask the name of it from the maids. Your marvel at the scent in the air was cut short as your eyes landed on something or rather someone particular.

You gulped down the lump in your throat that seemed to gnaw at your windpipe, your breath shuddering at the hulking figure's back facing you, his board shoulders adorned with epaulettes glistening with a dark silver color, his cape reaching down onto the floor. Why was he so...HUGE?! How on Sevonad's dark soil they fed him? Or better to ask WHAT they fed him because from the width he seemed he could eat two men whole and still have some place left in his stomach for seconds. Now the scenes you had read about him were ringing more and more horrific, your legs shaking under the skirt of the gown. He didn't move his head, the pony-tailed silver hair of his perfectly still, but the subtle twitch of his pointed ear gave you the signal that he had realized you were there.

"My child" a smooth male voice called you out of your shock, and your attention snapped to the other tall figure behind the alter that had appeared out of the shadows, his face chiseled with the shade of the light of the torches around you set on his deathly pale skin. His crimson irises were deep set in hunter-shaped eyes, his arched brows tilted downwards, and his silver hair was combed back, pomade glistening on his tresses as a lovelock fell from the lace collar of his clothing. He seemed like a marble statue that had come to life by the will of the dark ones, wearing a dark doublet that was adorned with golden stripes, the deep cuffs of his clothes set in place with buttons that seemed made out of pearls, the hose upon his stockings weaved with precision. The emblem of the purple-colored hydra on his chest.

Within a blink of an eye, the tall silvered-haired vampire loomed over you, using his super-powered speed. Given the emblem and the way he had called you, he'd be none other than Eckhart Agarand himself, the Duke of the northern fronts, and the lord and master of the Amethyst Peak. Your soon-to-be father-in-law leaned forward to take your hand from the lady in waiting in his, the red gloves on his person thick to the touch. The large palm of the ancient being dwarfed yours, your hand looking like a child's in his, oh right, you had forgotten royal and pure blood vampires were twice the size of a normal one...nice. He petted your hand with his other hand, gently, as if to soothe you, a fatherly smile upon his glistening lips, you had heard vampire men used balms for their skin because of lack of moisture coming from their bodies, but seeing it up close was something else, from the close distance you could take the hints of roses of it.

"I apologize for this meager ceremony my dear" he started, the smooth voice rolling out of his bright white teeth like notes of a flute "But my beloved had insisted upon meeting you sooner and could not wait to prepare a better ceremony, she has promised for a grand wedding in return" he petted your hand once more, but oh your eyes was set on those two sharp fangs on his person, from that angle you were sure you were just like a pray to him. Thank Mekt the Agarands were one of the view nobles that adhered to the lifestyle of using artificial blood, which in the eyes of their kin made them seem like radicals that had lost their minds.

"Come" the duke guided you to the free spot at the left side of the curtain, and you tried your best to not look at the way your soon-to-he fiance was, holding your gaze forward. "It must be very cold, the dews are turning to crystals" he muttered to himself, waving his free hand to send a servant to fetch you a coat after the end of the ceremony, the telepathic order of his followed without question. The senior Agarand guided your hand to a small iron bowl set upon the alter, putting it there with your hand's palm up, he cleared his throat, and the hand of your betrothed reached out as well, your stomach dropping at the large clawed digits on his long-fingered hand, the limb already covered with different shapes of rings, just like his father's "Ah" the duke chuckled softly, taking your reaction, if wide eyes and your hand shaking as enthusiasm WHICH WAS NOT! Tell your son to not touch me! Ever! You wanted to yell at him.

As he started reciting prayers to the dark ones he picked up a small blade, holding it onto the flame of the candles upon the alter, it seemed the duke had sensed your apprehensive look and he gently spoke "Do not worry my child, it'll only cut a shallow wound" he tried to reassure you, which didn't help at all, but you were to frozen by the cold and the weight of your dress to move. The blade moved on your skin, the painless cut opening, your blood dripping off of your hand into the bowl into soft drops, the Duke cut his son's hand as well, though after a few small droplets his wound closed off on its own, his blood mixing with yours, after a few moments and a handful of drops the duke reached out, rubbing a healing balm on your skin to make the wound close, wiping the access blood away "You did well" he praised, your heart thudding a little at the gentle praise. Damn him and his well-shaved goatee.

After a few seconds, the duke picked up the bowl and poured the mixed blood into two different silver lines cups adorned with symbols of darkness. "Hear me thee dark ones, for tonight I hath gathered the blood of my offspring and a child of Mekt, bless their union with thine hands, tie their souls, for may they never part" he offered the cup on your side to you, his son reaching out for his. The duke seemed oddly attentive for some reason. "I know it might seem rather...unsanitary, but it is an ancient ritual, drink my child, it is for the sake of the engagement."

You looked at the liquid, your lips not wanting to part as you circled the blood inside it. You parted your lips to protest but suddenly a raven made a loud crow, startling you into dropping the cup and it fell upon the altar, coloring it red the lady in waiting gasped "Bad omen!" But she was silenced by the sharp glare of the duke. "Mayhaps the dark ones have willed the blood to be offered to them" he tried to lighten the mood. "We can redo the ceremony at the Peak if you'd want to my child." You just stared at the spot made on the white altar, the redness of it making your stomach churn.

"She can have as much as she likes" the same deep voice you had heard from that batling on that night spoke, and the curtain moved to reveal your now fiance "I can cut myself all over if she wants me to", and your eyes set upon his, the spitting image of his father, with a smile that seemed sweet for a man of his stature. Silvain Agarand...the villain, the sick man himself. But why was he looking at you like a bashful boy?

Waking up to the soft hum of engines, you tried to roll around in the small space of the medical sarcophagus, but you were restrained down by its confines, the sensors inside beeping in alarm. Thinking you had once again slept in you tried to reach out for your alarm "I'll get up" you mumbled sleepily to your non-existent phone, your voice muffled by the air mask on your face, trying to turn it off as you heard the alarms of the metallic casket encasing you in its padded interior, your hands clawing at the soft cushions that had held your wounded form as it had healed you for days on end.

You soon were jolted out of your sedated rest by the door of the sarcophagus nearly being ripped open "Darling! Oh, my sweetling!" Your eyes snapped open hearing the frantic sound of Silvain, your ears perking up and aching since you hadn't used them for days. Silvian was panting loudly, his teeth bare as his monstrous side fought to come out to posses it's mate his eyes wide, bloodshot red with his tears of blood. He quickly reached out for your hands, gripping them firmly but not harshly, his chapped lips kissing your fingers over and over as he thanked the dark ones for their blessings. He looked a mess, his stubble had grown and brunt against your palms as he grazed his face to them, wanting to feel your warmth on his ice-cold flesh.

"Oh my beloved" he sobbed, your dazed mind not nearly registering that you had been nearly regenerated whole by the cloning technology of the ship's medical wing, the physician and your appointed nurse carefully administrating tests on you, trying to see if you were fully conscious or not. "Bless be the dark ones, she's healed fully!" Doctor Halden whispered to himself as he checked for your cognitive presence, the brain waves without any problems. Silvain let out a gasp of relief as he resumed kissing your fingers, his breath shaking "Blessed be Holodor, lady of blood, blessed be Semias lord of flesh, blessed be the mother to the soul, Deidron, thank thee for thy kindness, I shall bathe thine alters in the blood of thine fallen enemies for decades to come" he kept mumbling prayers, his eyes closed.

Valeria was by your side within seconds, after she was notified of your waking. The vampiress tearing up at the sight of you in that condition, under the weight of many wires and tubes, holding her handkerchief close to her face to wipe the blood made tears staining her plain cheeks as she approached, her rose-colored dress fluttering. "Oh my sweet child, are you in pain?" She asked softly, so distressed you could swear she'd faint within seconds if you were to whimper. Eckhart joined his wife, holding her shoulders, and leaned towards the sarcophagus, his brows knitted in worry "You are nearly healed my child, there is no doubt you will be healthy as ever in the coming days" he reassured you, the paternal warmth in his voice evident as he swallowed down his distress, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I-I am just tired" you finally spoke, surprised at how sluggish your movements were, as if you were using them for the first time, which given your newly grown flesh it wasn't that far from the truth. You inhaled to speak once more, to reassure the worried family but Silvain gently put his finger on your lips to silence you "Shhhh, rest, I am here" he whispered, kissing the back of your hands in small pecks, his eyes closing as his nostrils flared, his will holding the dam of his tears from breaking once more, you were alive, and the medical sarcophagus had healed you to the point of health without you being in too much pain.

It took two weeks in the medical wing of the ship for you to recover, Silvain and his family's physicians guiding you through the physical therapy steps, the heir of the Agarand state holding you in place with his hands holding your waist tightly, his hands guiding you through every obstacle, he was there when you walked again, he was there when you spoke once more, he was there when you wrote your first word once again, he was there, and he cared, with all his being. Also, he ruined lots of tissues because your man kept crying every day like a cloud in the spring.

You were glad the war was over, the Agarands had frantically gathered their belongings before the elven army had reached their state, and your father had seized the moment to get rid of your in-laws so he could marry you off to someone more profitable. The original Abrana had chosen that fate and ended up dead, but you had refused and well, you were at least alive.

After your recovery you could spend time the way you enjoyed it, roaming the insides of the spaceship, the castle like structure of it was filled with luxuries, branded with the head of the three hydras, specifically commissioned by the dark emperor for the Agarand family after the war broke on Leril, Eckhart was the dark emperor's second removed grandchild and he adored the Duke. The six months stay in the ship as it traveled to Sevonad from Leril meaning you'd have enough time to see what kind of the place this marvel of technology and gothic design was. You had heard the dark emperor rarely gifted his relatives such things. It was massive, with wings of different uses, the buttresses magnificent magical gardens that withstood the darkness of vampires being, literal ballrooms, dining halls, music rooms, and a gallery. The cargo was full of decades worth of artificial blood and frozen foods, ready to use in the hands of the staff.

In your endeavors you found the duke and a few dampiers in front of the chambers that were supposed to be Silvain's and yours after your subsequent departure from the medical wing, the small crowd discussing things in hushed whispers, Eckhart tried to brush off the situation, gently ushering you to spend time with his wife and the twin boys in the eastern wing, but you insisted and he finally shared that toxic gasses had leaked in the quarters for a while, and Silvain was lucky that he had spent his time on your bedside, away from it all. Oh...OH?!

Oh...you had heard the name of that gas before in Irtar's chemistry books...it was harmless to humans, but it seemed it caused severe brain damage to vampires or other races, humans used it for chemical warfare against other races before being occupied by the vampires, and given how it had been rumored that the elves had occupied the shipyard for a few weeks before giving up the station to the cavalry sent by the dark emperor himself, could it be that they had laced the air supply of the ship? Vampires didn't need to breathe but they had supplied air vents for their staff which were mostly thralls and dampiers, some even had human victims as pets and companions and they needed air, some said the gas affected the mana and corrupted it, which directly imbalanced the chemicals of the body and mind, but given that it had leaked through Silvain and your chambers things were piecing together.

In the original story, from what you have gathered and matched with your own memories you wouldn't even be alive to reside there since the feral Silvain would drain you of your blood and after he had come to his senses he'd cremate your body and his parents in his guilt to keep your memories with him, then the lonely new master to the Amethyst Peak was definitely poisoned to his fangs, given his habit of wallowing in his grief and sadness when he was overwhelmed with guilt, and subsequently, the small doses of the nerve-wracking gas would slowly lead him to lose his mind. And in his twisted delirium Silvain had turned your ashes into a snuff to consume you piece by piece, in a sadly macabre way of holding you close, the revenge he had of your family was to see them pay for their neglect of your life and decision...oh poor Silvie.

Now everything was clicking into place! The dukedom's couple living had changed the whole plot and storyline! With his parents alive, he had guidance to help him with his emotions, and certainly, you had lived, even if the injury you had sustained by the hands of your father was nearly as fatal as what Silvain would give you if you hadn't had refused Balthinal's orders and had killed Valeria and Eckhart. The twin boys were too young to help their brother anyway.

But Mekt knew, from the snickers of the dark ones echoing through the heavens, that your new weaved fate, wasn't going to be as bright as you had hoped for.

"Hnngh!" You tried to suck in your breath as the maids behind you pulled on your corset to tighten up your waist, the lace pulling being such a difficult task that two maids tried to pull the strings, making the air push out of your lungs even more "I can't breath" you managed to say nearly choked from the pressure of the tightly weaved fabric against your middle, the chemise beneath it pressing tight to your flesh, it wasn't your fault you didn't have an hourglass figure! You whined uncontrollably, your ears drooping in a show of distress, which was answered with apologetic glances of the dampier maids, whispering with embarrassed smiles muttering how they only followed orders, oh it was so awkward, you wished your own maids could be here to take care of things, you could at least joke with them about the situation.

Speaking of a tense situation... you tried to ignore the small shivering ball of fur on the nightstand before you, who had shamefully buried his head under one of the powder puffs there, his small body practically buzzing from how fast he was shivering. The maids giggled to themselves as they walked about with different items in their hands, finding the situation so endearing. You had come to realize that your mental image of the dark vampire that would be the monster of your life was all made up by your mind, because in reality, the tough dangerous looking vampire villain you had made up in your mind and had read about, was nothing short of a shy nervous wreck of a man that in elven years was actually even younger than you. Oh and he had a very bad habit, he'd shapeshift upon being overwhelmed. And after thinking he had seen his bride in her wedding dress the poor lad had turned into a batling and was hiding behind the large powder puff, refusing to get out even if his butlers were looking for him to get him ready for the ceremony, thinking it'd be of bad luck for your upcoming marriage, Silvain had walked in, bringing you a box of macaroons before he had shapeshifted into a batling. You knew he had chosen that form to avoid being scolded by you or his mother, knowing he could use the cuteness of his form against you two as well. But still, the power of a mother was more.

He peaked out of the powder puff upon hearing his mother calling for him, the vampiress giving him a scolding look before practically throwing him outside the bridal chambers like a ball so he could get ready. Valeria Agarand she was, a lady and nothing short of her husband, both in height and status, with sharp, high-boned cheeks, thin lips, and fox-like eyes, her gaze sparkling with wit and wisdom. You had come to know her as a cunning vampiress who knew how to manipulate people, he had your fiancé and her husband in the palm of her hand, which could be seen as toxic, but alas, nothing in your life was short of literally venomous anyway.

Duchess Valeria smiled softly as she looked at you up and down as the maids put the first layer of your dress on, the gown sitting on top of the inner cotton skirt, the white fabric soon covered with another layer, the weight of the heavy lilac colored wedding dress you could hardly breath "Oof" you whined once more, earning Valeria's chuckle as she got the long array of jewelry you'd be putting on for the wedding "Bear with it my sweet child, I remember I nearly passed out upon my own wedding" She turned to you, the pins in her raven hair glistening under the lights.

"Oh how I wish my daughters were here to see the beauty of their new family member, but it'd take months for them to get here" She sighed, circling about to check if every item was up to her standards, oh right, a control freak, you had nearly forgotten that. Just great, a too friendly father-in-law and a mother-in-law that seemed like a fox in the form of a lady, this way their son was the least of your concerns at the moment.

The Agarands were a family of seven, two sets of twins, and Silvian was born out of the union of the duchess and the duke, and your fiancé was the eldest son of the family, Madge, and Benedicta, his twin sisters were older than him, already married to influential families back on Sevonad, you had heard Benedicta was married to the legendary general Rambrecht Werder, the conqueror of humans, Madge's husband was still a mystery to you, but he seemed even more important than Werder. Younger than Silvain were young twins Bernolt and Gerhart, who had just learned how to write and were busy wreaking havoc somewhere, always under heavy supervision of their army of nannies.

Your in-laws seemed to be busy in the bedroom, which was a very rare notion because one, vampires could rarely get pregnant, and five children already meant they were really busy with each other, something that others noted and teased the duke and his mate about often, earning their chuckles that sounded like money flying in the air, and two, vampires were rarely known for love between couples, but it seemed the Agarand's couple were passionate and their children had inherited it. Silvain was like a schoolboy in love.

The wedding ceremony surprisingly was a private one, in front of the immediate family members that could catch up, and a priest of the dark ones' monastery. It was set in the prayer room of the large castle you had moved into, fast and efficient, just as Valeria had insisted it to be, she knew the traditional wedding dress that was passed down through generations was taking a heavy toll on you, and right after silvain had put a kiss on your cheek the maids were taking you away to have you changed into a more airy chemise like dress, which Valeria was happy to see you in, calling it a fitting dress for a nymph such as you, which has made you blush. The rest of the night was spent on eating cake and getting to know everyone.

Life in the Amethyst Peak was strangely pleasant, especially after the second batling incident, you had realized Silvain was much more different than he was in the stories, your man was as heavy as a tank and just as large but he'd turn into a batling out of nervousness if he was in your presence, not that your love for cute things changed anything for the better. He'd either get squished in your hands as you held him, or end up covered in your lipstick as you kissed him, he had taken the role of Trifine for you, and you had seemed to adopt his batling persona as your pet and he had taken the habit of turning to the bat form of his when he saw you angry. Unlike many ironical protagonists of the novels you had read, you could see the signs, and hopefully, seeing how the Agarands were in private, you'd find a way to stop your fate from happening.

The peak had grounds covered in darkness fused fauna, which sounded scary only to the name because the flowers that only bloomed in the moonlight were as gorgeous as one can be, the ponds were covered in small mermaid-like nymphs that would sing and chirp, their eyes wide and unblinking. The castle was not even a dark shade of pink, but people called it so because of the marvelous Amethyst statue of a small snake in the middle of the garden that was a gift directly from the dark emperor himself, you shuddered every time you saw the serpent, as if the first vampire could see you through its eyes.

The family always considered your needs when planning their own events, they had hired a full chef team to cater to your palate, and made sure to have family dinner times from time to time, who knew drinking blood from different fancy glasses that warped and coiled was just as fun as eating a pudding that melted on your tongue? Silvain seemed to like it a little too much, his mother would always glare at his habit of suckling the blood out instead of holding the glass upside down. It was not manly she said, which the younger vampire would give sheepish glances at his parent in response, but he still kept doing it.

They made sure your chambers and the library you frequented were always warm, and Mekt knew how many coats and jackets Valeria had stuffed into your wardrobes because she had made sure you had a coat for every and any occasion. One time she had put on so many on you that you had to waddle about inside the cold Peak. They even let your mother visit, well at least her hologram would visit you through the portable antenna they had sent her, Life seemed to be smooth sailing, but no...Mekt had other plans for you.

The war between the elves and the vampires was inevitable, and so was your decision.

You'd soon come to realize that you had to choose, and this choice would change everything.

"You would like to see the new garden darling" Valeria spoke with a soft smile as she prepared the ribbon that was going to be on your hair, the cold hands of the dampier maids combing through your strands as they prepared them to be braided once more after a rigorous washing session with the finest oils Sevonad could offer. They had tried their best to treat your special hair type.

"It is of fashion these days, I've seen the grand duchesses wear ribbons to royal balls" She spoke softly as she showed you three different rolls of red colored ribbon in varying width "What do you think? Threaded out of the finest we could find" Her crimson gaze was gentle and motherly, as if trying to soothe a stressed child, which you were, and fussy, so to speak.

You had not left your quarters after the Agarands had entrusted you with their firstborn daughter Madge, who was now a consort to a Grand Duke, connected right to the imperial family. Madge swirled the blood in her glass, looking at it's narrow flute, her gaze upon the liquid as it swirled around, as cunning as she was just like her mother, she could not continue to pretend that things were normal, they in fact, were not.

Silvain had nearly gone feral after the incident that had happened back on your home planet, and now back in the birthplace of the first vampires, Sevonad, it had taken so long for him to calm his senses down, long after you had healed by the power and grace of the technology of the dark planet. He had improved, so to speak, mentally. Improved, as much as to save face in public, behind closed doors he'd change, like a guard dog only loyal to it's master he had grown bipolar, with anyone but his mother and you, he was like a beast ready to be provoked. He was a mother's boy but still...this was too much. He had changed, but the family made sure to not have you notice.

Too much so that he stopped mid-air from killing the elf that had snuck to meet you, your youngest sibling, Irtar, but he had refrained from doing so by your request, which was more like frantic pleading as you had put yourself between him and the male elf.

"What flowers have you chosen?" You finally asked, not wanting to let Valeria down, everyone knew how much...bitter...she could get if not appreciated, which happened very very rarely, but when it did, even Eckhart himself would turn to a hiding place. You didn't blame her though, she did everything she could to ensure her family's happiness, she sometimes just...popped.

Valeria perked up "Oh darling we were thinking of doing a huge row of sunflowers! The artificial sun ray of the garden can grow so warm and cozy that it can nourish them!" The duchess clasped her hands together, the lace of her gloves making a soft pat sound. "How...how about roses? White roses?" You asked softly "Oh my child we can have white roses as well! How about tulips too?" You nodded, making the ancient vampire let out a happy chirp as she walked about. You had sulked for too long and you were tired of confining yourself to your quarters.

Madge gave you a thankful look before she pretended to read the small prayer book in her hand, which was a common tradition for expecting mothers, after all, she needed every single one of the dark ones to bless her child as well. You had heard Valeria prayed for a full week without feeding on a single speck of blood, which given Silvain's powers, she was very successful since many pregnant vampires would go mad without feeding within a day.

Speaking of Mr.husband- he hadn't forgotten his habit of showing out of nowhere, so you let out a soft "eep" noise when he appeared, kneeling before you, holding a box in one hand as he caressed your stocking-covered leg with the other "How are you doing my sweetling?" You put your hand on your chest, taking in a deep breath "Silvain Linus meinheart Agarand!" He chuckled, tilted his head to the side as his ponytailed hair fell onto his shoulder, giving you his best puppy-eyed look "Yes?" He replied with the mischief of a young one in his voice, his sharp fangs showing themselves off "What is wrong with you?!"

"Ow" he pretended to be hurt when you slapped his head with a fan, but his insufferable grin wouldn't go away. Finally, he relented and as he put a kiss to the sole of your foot in his hand, feeling the white thin lace on his lips he looked up at you with an apologetic gaze "I know I know sweetling, I should always knock first" Holding up the box in his other hand. You were going to roll your eyes when you heard a soft meowl, your ears perked up at the sound and you beamed, for the first time, making your husband's breath hitch. "I uh..." he trailed off, not knowing how to speak for a second, holding up the box still.

You snatched the box from him, giggling uncontrollably as you opened it, to reveal a very round and fluffy calico kitten, lovingly collared "Saffie" The kitten let out a soft-pitched meow, it's pink mouth opening and closing before it tilted it's head, looking up at you. "Hello, honeybee!" You cooed and the kitten circled around in the box, giving you a twirl as the bell on its collar jingled in a proud parade of itself, as if already knowing how cute it was. "Meow" it called once more, making your heart melt even further.

Silvain watched you interact with the furry creature with a soft smile, his hand still caressing your foot in the palm of his hand, your happiness meant his, and he'd do anything to ensure it to happen. "It rhymes with taffy!" You held Saffie up, who had a face of "I'm already full of this bitch's shit". The atmosphere of the quarters lightened by your smiles and giggles, making the mood of others improve for the better.

You wanted to pretend to not remember how your husband had shoved your brother into a pod and had ordered him to be sent back to your home planet, how the young elf had shouted over and over for you to come back home, that everyone had realized what you were trying to do for them, but to be honest, you thought poor Irtar had gone insane from the toxins of the war, yeah, he must have gone insane, you'd better be happy with the quarantine you were in before the duchess would decide you were "healthy" enough to leave the mansion.

Silvain had promised you a fitting home, which was a very spacious mansion close to where his parents' was getting built, that was why he had entrusted you with his siblings, who as equal as the heir to the house of Agarand in enthusiastic way of caring for you.

Life now wasn't that bad if you were trying to be honest. Necropolis was a city of sin and madness, but it was for the poor and the zombies lurking beneath the guarded borders of the protected neighborhoods of the nobles. Life was funded, and you were being adored, but why...why that damned feeling in your gut was warning you, again?

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463 notes · View notes

rimzaaa · 5 days ago

Text

You Belong To Me

Series!

Chapter Four: Under His Control

Pairing: Dark!Inho (Frontman) x Fem! Reader (y/n)

Fandom: Squid Game (오징어 게임)

Summary: Y/n barely makes it through the second game, her nerves fraying as the games grow deadlier. What she doesn't know is that someone—hidden in the shadows—has been pulling strings, keeping her safe, protecting her like a treasured possession. But protection in this place comes at a cost… and she may soon learn what it means to be under his control.

Warnings: Dark themes, obsession, possessive behavior, implied violence, implied threat of assault (non-explicit), canon-typical death, psychological manipulation, intense emotions.

Author's Note: Thank you for all the love on this series— we are just getting started.

Words Count: 2036

Tag list: Want to get tagged? Lemme know in the comments.

@salesmancarddd @marymun @astronomicalastro-blog1 @filthygalli @thehellhaveubeenloca @yosoylaprincesa2004 @watasinekoru @nightlark100 @drewstarkeysrightarm @doodle-with-rhy @lunaryoongie @ilovehwanginho @yxluana @sammie217 @sammat97

The next day began with the same blinding white lights and soft, eerie music echoing through the large hall.

Y/n had barely slept. The screams from the first game still echoed in her ears, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw red. So instead, she just stared up at the giant glass piggy bank hanging from the ceiling — the one now slowly filling with stacks of money. It gleamed under the lights, cruelly beautiful.

And away, in the dim warmth of his private office, In-ho sat on the edge of his leather couch, staring at the same screen. The camera had zoomed in on her — curled up on a lower bunk bed, eyes wide open, fixated on the fortune above her.

How could he sleep…

When his entire world was wide awake?

With a loud hiss, the heavy metal doors creaked open, breaking the morning silence in the hall. A group of guards in pink jumpsuits entered with cold, mechanical precision, pushing trolleys loaded with breakfast — plain bread and boxed milk.

The players moved like ghosts, forming a line to receive their rations.

Y/n took her share and silently walked back to her bunk. She sat down, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened the plastic wrapping of the bread and tore a small piece off. She forced it past the tightness in her throat and washed it down with a sip of milk.

But then —

She paused. Her stomach twisted. The sound of gunshots from yesterday echoed again in her head.

The bread suddenly tasted like ash.

She quietly set it aside and pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. Her breath shook. Her heart ached. She wanted to scream, to run — but she had no choice now. She had to survive.

Back in his private quarters, In-ho’s eyes narrowed as he watched her.

The food was untouched. Her expression hollow.

His jaw clenched.

Without looking away from the monitor, he reached over and grabbed the walkie-talkie from the side table. His voice came low, cold, and sharp

“Make sure she chooses the easy one in the next game. If she doesn’t… help her.”

He didn’t need to say her name.

They already knew who she was.

Player 222.

---

Y/n stepped into the game room alongside the other players, her steps uncertain, yet alert. Her eyes scanned the wide, sterile space — and then they landed on the wall ahead. Four shapes were displayed in bold outlines: A circle, an umbrella, a star, and a triangle.

In front of each shape stood a long table, behind which guards in pink uniforms waited silently, their gloved hands resting near small round tins.

Y/n furrowed her brows.

What game was this supposed to be? She thought.

Before she could think further, the familiar robotic voice rang out overhead, sharp and soulless

“The next game will begin shortly. Please stand in front of one shape on the wall.”

A ripple of confusion spread through the players. But quickly, panic gave way to instinct, and they began shuffling into lines — some in front of the umbrella, others crowding near the star, triangle, and circle.

Y/n stood frozen, thinking. Her heart pounded in her chest.

And then, it clicked.

Her lips parted, and she mouthed the word under her breath—

“Dalgona.”

The realization struck her like a bullet.

The shapes. The tins. The guards.

This was the infamous sugar honeycomb challenge.

She didn’t hesitate a second longer. Her feet moved fast toward the triangle — the easiest shape to carve without breaking.

Across the compound, deep in the quiet shadows of his private room, In-ho sat before the screen, eyes fixed on her.

He saw the flicker of recognition in her eyes… the speed with which she analyzed and reacted.

And the satisfied smirk slowly spread on his face.

He leaned forward, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and swirled it with calculated ease.

“So…” he murmured darkly, voice low like a secret,

“Your police instincts are still working… beautiful.”

He chuckled to himself, the sound quiet and laced with pride.

Then leaned back on his leather couch, one leg crossed casually over the other, eyes never leaving the screen — his drink in one hand, the other draped across the armrest like a king surveying his kingdom.

A kingdom where only one thing mattered to him anymore.

Her.

---

The final seconds ticked down.

Y/n’s hands were cramping now, knuckles white from tension, but her gaze stayed sharp, needle working with steady control.

Then — crack.

Not hers.

A man beside her gasped.

BANG.

Blood splattered onto her sleeve, warm and metallic. She froze for just a second, throat tightening.

But then her needle traced the last edge of the triangle — clean, unbroken.

It was done.

She blinked rapidly and slowly lifted the tin, showing it to the masked guard standing near her. He examined it in silence, then gave a single nod.

She had passed.

A pink-gloved hand gestured for her to move to the side. She stood up on shaky legs and stumbled toward the exit doors. Her body felt like it might give out at any moment, heart still hammering from the gunshots — and the victory.

Up in the private room, In-ho had stood frozen for the final minute, not even realizing he’d held his breath until she passed.

He exhaled deeply now, a sound between relief and obsession escaping him.

“Good girl,” he whispered darkly, voice low and hoarse. “You survived.”

The game ended.

More than half of the players were gone. The walls were splattered with blood. Tin trays and needles lay abandoned in the sand beside lifeless hands.

And then — the familiar mechanical click-click echoed from above. The massive golden piggy bank began to descend again, lights flashing.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Money dropped into it — thick, heavy stacks of won — blood-earned, blood-soaked.

Y/n watched it fill from the ground floor, her arms folded around herself, lips pressed together tightly. That money was never going to wash the blood off her memories.

---

It was lunch time now, the metal doors hissed open again and in came the pink guards with steel trays.

This time it was a single hard-boiled egg, a soda bottle, and a small, square rice cake. Basic. Cold. Tasteless.

The players lined up.

Y/n accepted her tray, hands still trembling. She glanced down at the food, but hunger had long left her body. The egg reminded her of the gunshots. The soda reminded her of the blood. And the rice cake just sat there like a silent taunt.

She picked at it slowly and sat alone.

Up above, In-ho watched her in silence — always watching. He hadn’t touched his drink since she’d passed the game. There was a strange stillness in him now, like a storm waiting for the next crack of thunder.

She voted X again.

She didn’t want to stay. He knew she wouldn’t.

The second round of voting had been announced shortly after lunch.

Each player was called, the same two buttons lit up on the wall — O to stay, X to leave.

Y/n stood before the panel.

Her hand hovered.

A part of her wanted to run. She had survived two games already. That money, divided among the remaining players… maybe it could still be enough to pay her debts. Maybe she could still have a chance at life.

She pressed X.

She didn’t even hesitate this time.

But when the final tally of votes was displayed…

Majority had chosen to stay.

Again.

A loud murmur spread in the room. Some screamed. Some cursed. Some simply collapsed against the bunk beds, covering their faces.

Y/n sat back on her lower bunk, lips parted in disbelief. She stared down at her hands. They were sticky with sugar, blood… and now guilt.

She didn’t want this.

She didn’t choose this.

But she had no choice but to play.

---

And far above her — in the darkened room with a bug screen infront of him— In-ho stood still again.

He had watched her vote. Had watched the tears in her eyes as she saw the results.

He should’ve felt victorious.

She was staying.

But something inside him twisted painfully.

He wanted her to stay… but not like this.

Not suffering. Not terrified.

He brought the glass of whiskey to his lips but didn’t drink. His eyes stayed locked on her curled form on the bed.

“You’ll thank me later,” he whispered, running his thumb along the rim of the glass. “When it’s all over. When you’re finally… in my arms.”

A soft, cold chuckle left him.

“Safe.”

---

The room was dimly lit as the robotic voice had already announced lights out thirty minutes ago.

Y/n slowly climbed down from her bunk bed, her body stiff and tired, and quietly made her way toward the door tucked in the corner of the room. She knocked gently.

A small metal window In the door slid open, revealing the blank, faceless mask of a pink guard on night duty.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she whispered.

The guard shook his head. “No one is allowed to use the bathroom after lights out.”

Y/n sighed in frustration. “But I really need to go. Please.”

Up in his private surveillance room, In-ho clenched his jaw.

He had been watching.

Every second.

Every move.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the walkie-talkie connected directly to that hallway guard’s earpiece.

His voice was a low growl of controlled rage.

“Are you new… or do you have a death wish?”

“Who the fuck are you to deny her?”

“Open the damn door!”

The guard immediately stood straight, startled. He unlocked the door without another word.

Y/n blinked, confused by the sudden change — but she didn’t think much of it… not yet.

She slipped past him and walked toward the bathroom area.

---

A few minutes later, she returned to the sleeping hall.

The atmosphere had shifted.

Some players were watching her now… eyes tracking her movement like hungry wolves.

One man in particular — Player 315, rough-faced and probably in his mid-thirties — walked past her, brushing his shoulder against hers with deliberate force.

He walked straight to the guard and knocked.

“I need to use the bathroom.”

The guard didn’t respond.

“What the hell?” Player 315 hissed. “She gets to go but I don’t? Why?”

He turned to Y/n, a crooked smile spreading on his face as he stepped closer.

“Why did he let you go, huh? You offer him something?”

Y/n glared, her blood boiling. “What the hell did you just say?”

He laughed under his breath. “Come on. Did you agree to please him a little? Huh? That’s how things work here, right?”

She raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist mid-air.

And that… was the last straw.

In-ho was already on his feet, his glass of whiskey shattering on the floor as it slipped from his gloved hand.

He grabbed the walkie-talkie, voice shaking with fury.

“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU ALL?”

“DO YOU WANT ME TO GO DOWN THERE MYSELF?”

Within seconds, the guards burst through the doors.

Two of them shoved Player 315 back, but he pushed one of them in return — a stupid mistake.

A rifle was instantly raised toward him, and the man’s bravado vanished.

“W-Wait! Wait, I’m sorry! Please—don’t—don’t kill me!”

The guards lowered their weapons, giving him a final shove before letting him go. He stumbled back to his bunk, eyes wide with panic.

Y/n stood still, shocked, confused by the sudden chaos — but she assumed it was just because the man had pushed a guard. She had no idea the order had come from someone far more dangerous.

Someone watching her. Possessively. Obsessively.

In-ho stood in front of the screen, hands clenched at his sides, chest heaving.

He picked up the walkie-talkie again, voice low and venomous.

“I want Player 315 dead.”

---

The familiar childish tune echoed across the room as the overhead lights blinked on the next morning

Y/n stirred, blinking against the brightness. Around her, the other players whispered anxiously to one another.

She sat up slowly, brows furrowed.

And then—

She froze.

Chapter 5

291 notes · View notes

missmadella · 19 days ago

Text

Caught in the Fall (Chishiya x Reader)

Summary: “You shouldn’t have come back to my room.” - “You didn’t stop me.”

In the deadly chaos of Borderlands, trust is a luxury no one can afford—especially not with someone like Chishiya.

After barely escaping a brutal game, you find yourselves trapped in a crumbling building, forced to share a single threadbare blanket to survive the cold night.

What starts as necessity soon sparks something unexpected—secret kisses, quiet moments, and small acts of care breaking through the walls you’ve both built to survive

Words: 5925

You don’t even know how you ended up in this situation.

One moment you were both buried under a collapsing building, the next you’re cuddling with a person you swore never to be close with.

It wasn’t part of the plan.

Then again, nothing ever is in the Borderland.

The air inside the ruined structure is still thick with dust. Every breath feels like inhaling static—dry and bitter. Outside, the wind howls through the fractured walls, echoing against broken concrete and twisted rebar. The sky’s gone dark, not from nightfall but from the smoke and ash kicked up by the chaos.

And here you are—pressed shoulder to shoulder with him, under a scratchy emergency blanket salvaged from what’s left of a supply box. You’re both bruised and scraped up, the sharp sting of minor injuries flaring with every twitch. Blood crusts on your temple. You’re fairly sure something in your ankle isn’t right. But none of that compares to the surreal reality of being this close to Chishiya.

Shuntaro Chishiya, the infuriatingly brilliant man who rarely speaks unless he’s dissecting your every move. The man who plays games with people’s lives like he’s playing chess in his head. The one who always made it clear—he doesn’t do attachments. Doesn’t trust anyone. Certainly not you.

And yet... here he is. Lying beside you. Sharing body heat. Letting the silence stretch without breaking it.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye.

He’s on his side, facing the ceiling—or what's left of it. His silver hair is dusted with debris, and a thin trail of dried blood runs from the edge of his brow into his hairline. His arms are pulled close to his chest beneath the blanket, and you notice the way his fingers flex every so often, like he's testing for pain without making it obvious.

He’s trying to stay composed. Of course he is.

You shift slightly to ease the pressure on your side, and the movement draws his attention. His eyes slide toward you—calm, analytical, and yet... softer than usual.

He says nothing.

Neither do you.

For a moment, the world is just your breathing, his breathing, and the way the thin blanket does barely anything to keep out the cold seeping in from the broken floor beneath you.

"This wasn’t supposed to happen," you mutter, more to yourself than him.

He’s quiet for a second, then replies, voice low and even: "Neither was surviving that game."

A flicker of something passes through his expression—dry humor, maybe. Or fatigue. Or something he won’t name.

You huff a tired laugh through your nose. “That’s comforting.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” He shrugs slightly, and you feel the movement through the blanket. “You’re the one who insisted we go back for the injured players.”

You glance down. “And you didn’t stop me.”

“I was curious how far your altruism would get you.” A pause. “Apparently, buried.”

You shoot him a look. “And cuddled.”

He doesn’t smirk—doesn’t even blink. But the faintest crease touches the corner of his mouth. “Unavoidable,” he murmurs. “Unless you’d rather freeze to death.”

You want to say something sharp, something that puts distance between you again. But you don’t. Because the truth is, it is freezing. Your fingers are already numb, and the warmth of his body against yours is the only thing keeping your teeth from chattering.

Still, it’s not just the cold that’s getting to you anymore.

It’s this… strange comfort. This closeness. His heartbeat, steady and human beneath all the armor he wears.

You’ve never seen Chishiya like this—silent, still, not calculating his next move like everyone else is a pawn. Just… being.

And you can’t help but ask, quietly, “Why haven’t you moved away?”

Another beat of silence.

Then, without looking at you, he replies, almost too soft to hear:

"Because... you're warm."

It’s the kind of answer you expect from him. Evasive. Simplified. But underneath it—layered between every carefully chosen word—is something else.

Something real.

And for once, you don’t question it.

You just let the silence stretch again, this time not uncomfortable, not heavy. Just there.

Like him.

Beside you.

You shift slightly under the blanket, feeling the dull ache in your shoulder and the weight of exhaustion finally settling in your limbs. Chishiya is quiet beside you, not asleep but still. Calm in the way only he can manage after everything collapses—literally and otherwise.

The silence brings memories with it, uninvited but not unwelcome.

And before you know it, you’re remembering the first time you saw him.

___________________________________________________________________________

It started simple. Almost forgettable.

A Diamonds game in a dimly lit tower where trust and logic were pitted against each other in equal measure. You worked in silence, scanning patterns on the wall, sorting false clues from real ones. Most players panicked. Some shouted. A few cried.

He didn’t.

You spotted him across the room—silver hair like a slash of moonlight, hands casually tucked into his hoodie pocket as if this whole life-and-death puzzle was mildly annoying rather than terrifying.

He didn’t try to lead. Didn’t bark orders.

He just watched.

Not the game.

The people.

And then he looked at you.

Only for a second. But it was enough. His eyes flicked to where you’d already solved one of the riddles before he had, and for a moment—just a flicker—his mouth quirked upward in the smallest, subtlest twitch of recognition.

You didn’t smile back.

But you didn’t look away either.

___________________________________________________________________________

Days later, you were sitting alone on the floor of an abandoned metro station, legs stretched out, the sting of shrapnel embedded in your calf making your breath catch. You’d just barely escaped a Hearts game that left more bodies than survivors.

He walked in from the far end of the platform, dragging a half-empty backpack, silent as ever. He looked around once, then spotted you. Paused.

No words.

He pulled out a medical kit—clearly from a previous win—and tossed a roll of gauze toward you with a lazy flick of his fingers.

You caught it midair, confused.

Before you could ask, he just said, “I had extras.” Then walked past you like it meant nothing.

You almost let him go. But something inside you—something stubborn—made you dig into your pack the next day and leave a water bottle in his usual spot on the upper balcony of the observatory. You didn’t wait to see if he took it.

But the next time you were out of supplies, you found a protein bar on your bag when you returned from the restroom.

No note.

But you knew.

___________________________________________________________________________

The shift came in a Hearts game.

You were both unlucky enough to get pulled into it. The rules were convoluted—classic psychological manipulation. One player could sabotage the rest, and the only way to win was to figure out who before time ran out.

Everything went sideways.

A panicked player pulled a concealed knife after being accused. Everyone scattered. The room became chaos.

You saw it before Chishiya did—he was focused on decoding something on the wall, the glint of the blade catching your eye just in time. Without thinking, you lunged. Your hand hit his shoulder, and the two of you went down hard.

The blade caught your back. Not deep, but enough to burn.

The pain didn’t register until you saw blood soaking through your shirt. Chishiya blinked up at you, stunned—more by your action than the fall.

You remember the look on his face.

For once, the usual calm calculation was replaced by something else.

Something like disbelief.

He didn't say thank you. Didn't joke. Just tore a piece of his hoodie sleeve and pressed it to the wound, his hands steady even as his jaw clenched.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said eventually, voice low.

You laughed bitterly. “Neither did you—when you tossed me that gauze.”

He said nothing else.

But when the game ended, and the smoke cleared, he walked beside you the entire way back to the safe zone.

Didn’t ask. Didn’t offer.

He just did.

After that, you never questioned why he kept showing up.

Or why you didn’t mind.

___________________________________________________________________________

Now, lying beside him again, that memory feels closer than it should. You wonder if he’s thinking about it too.

His voice is barely above a whisper when he finally speaks.

“You remember that game?” he asks, like it’s an afterthought. But you can feel the tension in his voice, the careful way he phrases it—as if asking means something.

“The 7 of Hearts?” you ask, keeping your own tone neutral.

A slow nod. “Why did you push me?”

The question hangs in the air.

You swallow, heart ticking just a little faster, surprised he’s asking after all this time.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “Instinct, maybe. Or maybe I just didn’t want to deal with this place without at least one familiar face left in it.”

He hums softly, thoughtful.

Then, a beat later, his voice quieter:

“You could’ve died.”

You let out a breath. “So could you.”

There’s a pause.

Then you feel it—a small shift. His hand, resting between you both under the blanket, brushes against yours. Not intentional. Not overt.

But not accidental either.

You don’t say anything.

And he doesn’t move away.

___________________________________________________________________________

The hours stretch on. You're not sure how long you lie there, pressed against Chishiya beneath the thin blanket, but your body aches less from injury now and more from stillness. Your limbs are stiff. The air has only gotten colder, and you can see your breath in the pale morning light sneaking through the cracks of the broken ceiling.

Neither of you has spoken in a while.

But that’s never made you uncomfortable with him.

Eventually, Chishiya shifts beside you, slow and quiet. His breath hitches, like the movement strains something. You glance over and see him clench his jaw, eyes flicking down to his ribs.

He’s hurt. Worse than he let on.

“You’ve been hiding that,” you say gently.

He doesn’t deny it. “Didn’t seem relevant at the time.”

You sit up slightly, brushing off dust and broken drywall. “It’s relevant now if we’re going to get out of here.”

Chishiya doesn’t argue. Just nods once and watches you with that sharp, observant gaze of his—calculating even in silence.

You crawl to one of the fallen slabs of concrete blocking the doorway. It’s shifted a little since the collapse, probably unstable. You test the edge of it carefully with your fingers. It’s heavier than you expected, but movable. Maybe.

You glance over your shoulder.

He’s already beside you.

“I’ll lift,” he says. “You wedge something under.”

You pause. “You sure?”

He nods, already rolling his sleeves up, teeth grit against the pain. You don’t waste time arguing.

You move in sync—wordless, efficient.

It’s not easy. The slab grinds against the floor with a low groan, and dust rains down from above. Your muscles scream from the strain, and you hear Chishiya suppress a quiet grunt of pain.

But he doesn’t stop.

Not until the slab tips enough for you to wedge a twisted metal pole beneath it. It holds, barely.

There’s just enough space now for the two of you to squeeze through.

“You first,” he says.

You raise a brow. “You're injured. You should go.”

He eyes you, unreadable. “And let you stay behind and do something reckless again? No thanks.”

It’s… the closest thing to concern you’ve heard from him.

You don’t argue. Just crawl through the gap, careful of the jagged edges, until the rubble gives way to open air and biting wind.

Freedom.

You turn to offer your hand—and to your surprise, he takes it.

His grip is warm despite everything. Solid.

You pull him through slowly, his teeth clenched as he drags his body past the debris. He winces when he’s fully out, but the tension in his shoulders loosens once he’s free.

You both sit there for a moment in the grey light of morning. Exhausted. Filthy. Alive.

He exhales, leaning back against a broken concrete pillar, and closes his eyes for a beat. “Well,” he mutters, “that wasn’t ideal.”

You huff out a breath. “And yet, we survived.”

He glances sideways at you, something unreadable in his expression again. “We always do.”

The way he says we doesn’t go unnoticed.

It’s not gratitude. Not affection. Not even a confession.

It’s… acceptance.

Of your presence. Of your place beside him. Of the fact that, somewhere along the way, you stopped being someone he just noticed—and became someone he trusted.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a crushed energy bar, snapped in half. Without looking at you, he holds one half out.

You blink. “Is this your idea of breakfast?”

“Unless you want to fight a tiger next,” he replies flatly. “Take it or leave it.”

You take it.

Your fingers brush again—just briefly—and this time, he doesn’t pull away.

And neither do you.

___________________________________________________________________________

The sun begins to dip below the skyline, setting the shattered city in hues of gold and rust.

You’ve both walked for hours, navigating broken roads and hollow buildings. By the time you stumble across the half-collapsed hotel, your body aches in places you didn’t know could ache. Chishiya walks beside you, a little slower than usual—his side must still be bothering him, though he won’t admit it.

The hotel looks unstable, but familiar enough in its decay to be worth the risk.

Inside, the air is stale but dry. The lower floors are ruined, the lobby reduced to cracked tile and broken glass. But upstairs—after climbing past crumbled staircases and stepping over a dead vending machine—you find the jackpot.

Beds. Real ones.

Dusty. Lopsided. But beds nonetheless.

The rooms are mostly intact. There’s even a functioning door that clicks softly shut when you try it. Two rooms side by side. No threats. No other signs of life.

It almost feels like peace.

You spend the next hour scavenging. Chishiya finds a half-full medical box in what used to be a spa room. You dig through supply closets and snag a few protein bars and two bottles of mostly-clear water. One is slightly expired, but Chishiya just shrugs when you point it out.

“We’ve had worse,” he says.

Which is true.

You both return to the room you picked—the one with a window that still opens—and divide the supplies without speaking much. There's no debate over who gets what. No bargaining. Just an easy, automatic understanding.

As the last of the sunlight filters through the dust-streaked glass, you glance over at him.

He’s seated on the edge of the bed now, arms loosely folded, head tilted toward the window. There’s a faint orange glow along his cheekbone, catching in his pale hair, making him look unreal. Like he doesn’t belong in this world.

But somehow, you’ve never felt more grounded.

You break the silence after a long moment. “Do you miss it?”

He turns toward you slowly. “Miss what?”

“Before.” You motion vaguely toward the city. “The real world. Whatever your life was.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then: “Not really.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“There’s nothing to miss,” he says simply. “Most people just survive pretending they’re alive. Here, at least, there’s no illusion.”

You stare at him, unsure what to say to that. The cynicism is pure Chishiya—but something about the way he says it makes your chest ache. Like maybe, despite the indifference in his voice, there's a quiet thread of loss buried under it.

After a pause, he turns the question back at you.

“You?”

You exhale slowly. “Yeah. I miss… having music in the background. Late trains. Stupid things. The smell of clean laundry. Having somewhere to go that wasn’t life or death.”

Chishiya watches you, eyes narrowed slightly. Not mocking. Not judging. Just… listening.

You offer a tired smile. “And I miss sleeping in a bed that doesn’t try to kill me.”

At that, the corner of his mouth twitches.

Progress.

___________________________________________________________________________

Eventually, night settles fully over the ruins.

Chishiya stands up and stretches, moving toward the door to the room next to yours.

“There are two beds this time,” he says lightly, one hand on the doorknob.

You nod, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah. Guess we don’t have to cuddle tonight.”

He pauses—not long, just for a breath. “Guess not.”

The door clicks softly shut behind him.

You lie down in your bed, adjusting the blanket around you. It's not bad. The mattress sinks in just enough to feel something like comfort. The room is quiet, still.

But it's cold.

And it’s worse, somehow, than last night.

You turn onto your side. Then your back. Then your stomach. Nothing helps. Your thoughts churn restlessly.

Last night… was warm. Peaceful, in a way nothing has been for a long time.

You hadn’t planned to fall asleep next to him, but once you were there—wrapped in that makeshift blanket, with the heat of his body close—you’d slept deeper than you had in weeks.

And now?

Now you're just cold and annoyed at your own neediness.

You stare at the cracked ceiling.

You wait ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.

And then, finally—quietly—you rise.

You don’t bother putting on shoes. Just cross the hallway in your socks, listening for any sound from inside his room. You pause with your hand on the doorknob, nerves fluttering in your chest.

Then you turn it.

The door creaks slightly as you open it. The room is dark, lit only by the city glow bleeding through the window. The bed creaks faintly as Chishiya shifts. You can see him clearly enough—propped on one elbow, watching you enter like he expected it.

Maybe he did.

You close the door behind you, slowly, and move toward the bed.

Chishiya doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask what you’re doing.

He just watches as you lift the blanket and crawl in next to him.

You settle in beside him again, careful not to touch too much. The mattress is smaller than the floor had been. Your shoulders brush. Your legs bump under the blanket.

It’s quiet.

Then, finally, he lifts one eyebrow, dry amusement in his voice.

“Couldn’t resist my charm, huh?”

You snort. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He hums, then lies back down fully, arm folding behind his head.

You lie beside him in silence. The warmth starts to spread again. Not just from his body—but from the stillness. The peace.

A beat passes.

Then another.

Chishiya speaks again—so softly you almost miss it.

“…You sleep better this way?”

You turn your head, surprised.

His face is turned toward the ceiling. He’s not looking at you.

You hesitate.

Then nod once. “Yeah. I do.”

He doesn’t respond right away. But then his arm shifts. Not touching you—just moving a little closer beneath the blanket.

The space between you shrinks again. Just enough.

You let your eyes drift closed, heart still pounding.

And then, in the dark, you hear him say—so quietly it might’ve been a thought rather than a voice:

“Me too.”

___________________________________________________________________________

You don’t remember falling asleep.

Only the steady rhythm of his breathing.

The warmth that slowly seeped through your skin.

The feeling of being held by silence, not alone in it.

The first thing you notice when you wake is the quiet.

Not the panicked kind. Not the empty kind, either.

Just… peaceful.

Then you notice the second thing: you’re not where you started.

You’re closer to him now.

Somewhere in the night—whether by choice or instinct—you must’ve shifted in your sleep. One of your legs is draped over his, and your head has ended up on his shoulder, nose buried slightly into the soft fabric of his hoodie. One of his hands rests loosely at your back. Not tight. Not holding you there.

But not letting you go, either.

The sunlight filters softly through the broken blinds, casting pale gold lines across the wall, the bed, the sharp line of Chishiya’s jaw.

He’s still asleep.

And that alone surprises you. You didn’t think he could sleep like this. So open. So exposed. But he does — his features slack and unguarded, lips parted slightly in rest. The ever-present edge in him has softened.

For a long, suspended moment, you just watch him.

You don’t want to move. Not because of the comfort — though that’s part of it — but because if you shift too loudly, if you break the spell of morning stillness, you might have to face it.

Face what this has become.

Because this is not nothing anymore.

You close your eyes again. Let yourself stay there. Just for a little longer.

But, as if he can hear the thoughts rattling inside your skull, Chishiya stirs beneath you.

His breath catches lightly, then evens again.

A slow blink. Then two.

He opens his eyes, turns his head slightly toward you, and you feel him go still.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t push you away.

Instead, his fingers flex just slightly against your back — the only sign he’s even registered the intimacy of the position.

And then, of course, in classic Chishiya fashion, he breaks the silence with dry irony.

“…You drooled on me.”

You gasp and lift your head instinctively, already about to deny it—before catching the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You scowl. “I did not.”

“Mm. Must’ve been rain, then,” he deadpans, one eyebrow lifting. “From inside the building.”

You groan and shove his shoulder lightly. He allows the push, shifting under you with a soft exhale that’s almost—almost—a laugh.

You move to sit up, but his hand lingers just briefly at your back.

Not to stop you. Just… stays.

And that hesitation—that small, unconscious tether—makes your chest tighten.

When you finally sit upright, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, he follows a beat later, dragging a hand through his hair, still disheveled from sleep. He doesn’t meet your eyes at first.

Neither do you.

But the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. Not like before. It’s thicker now, weighted with everything you didn’t say.

After a long moment, Chishiya stands and moves toward the window, peeking through the blinds.

“Still clear,” he says. “We should move soon if we want to get to the Beach by sundown.”

You nod and rise, stretching your sore limbs, still feeling the ghost of where your body had pressed against his.

You glance at him again before leaving the room.

He’s looking out the window, but his voice follows you as you step toward the door.

“…If we find another place like this,” he says, quiet but even, “and there’s only one bed again…”

You turn your head, waiting.

He still doesn’t look at you.

“…I wouldn’t mind sharing.”

Your breath catches.

But you don’t tease him. Don’t ruin it with a joke. Instead, you nod once — small, sincere — and step into the hallway.

He follows after a moment.

And neither of you say another word about it.

But you both know:

It won’t be the last time.

___________________________________________________________________________

The Beach is louder than you remember.

You walk through the gates with aching legs and dirt on your face, but it’s the noise that hits you hardest: laughter, splashing water, music from someone’s half-broken speaker. It feels wrong, somehow—this joy in the middle of hell. But you suppose survival breeds strange coping mechanisms.

Chishiya walks beside you, his hoodie pulled up to shade his face. He doesn’t speak as you pass through the clusters of half-naked strangers. He doesn’t have to. His posture tells you enough: tense, alert, calculating.

As always.

Still, you notice how his shoulder stays just close enough to yours to be deliberate.

A few heads turn as you both pass. Some recognize him. A few glance at you, eyes lingering—noticing the proximity, the silence between you that's less awkward and more… familiar.

Hatter’s not around, but Kuina spots you almost immediately and jogs over, her usual smirk widening as she takes you both in.

“Well well,” she says, sweeping her eyes over you with a grin. “I didn’t think I’d see both of you again. Figured one of you would have murdered the other by now.”

You glance at Chishiya. “Tempting.”

He hums. “You sleep too deeply to be worth the effort.”

Kuina laughs, but her gaze sharpens slightly as she looks between you. She picks up on it. Of course she does. The small shifts. The softer edges.

“So…” she drawls, eyes twinkling. “You two close now, or just sharing body heat to conserve resources?”

You open your mouth to deflect, but Chishiya cuts in first:

“Both.”

Your head whips toward him in shock. His face is unreadable—but his lips twitch ever so slightly, betraying that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Kuina raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but lets it go. For now.

___________________________________________________________________________

The Beach is quiet at night.

Too quiet.

You lie on the stiff cot in your assigned room, blankets pulled up to your chin. You stare at the ceiling and pretend the bed feels fine, the air feels warm, and the space beside you doesn’t feel… empty.

You last about fifteen minutes.

Then you're up.

Quiet steps across the hallway.

No shoes. No excuses. No hesitation.

The door to his room creaks slightly as you push it open. He doesn’t turn — doesn’t even flinch — just watches you with that unreadable expression as you pad across the room and crawl into his bed.

You don’t speak. Neither does he.

You slip under the blanket. He shifts slightly, just enough to make space for you without making it obvious that he was waiting.

His shoulder brushes yours again.

It's familiar now — that quiet warmth. That silence that doesn't ask for permission.

You rest your cheek against the curve of his upper arm and exhale softly. “Separate beds are overrated.”

He hums. “So is pretending this means nothing.”

You don’t answer.

Neither does he.

But you both fall asleep faster than you have in days.

__________________________________________________________________________

The next game is a 8 of Diamone — logic, psychology, trust.

And, of course, betrayal.

The room is a maze of mirrors and timers, each choice leading to a countdown, a riddle, or a trap. You and Chishiya are separated halfway through. You can still hear his voice sometimes through the walls — clipped commands, calm assessments, telling others where not to go.

You hold your own. Until you don't.

One wrong answer. One misstep.

You're cornered in a dead-end hallway with a pressure floor and no visible way out. The timer above your head flashes red — 00:09, 00:08 — and you're too far to run.

You freeze.

Then the door behind you bursts open.

Chishiya is there.

His hoodie is soaked with sweat, chest rising with sharp breaths. “Move!” he yells.

You do — not because your body listens, but because his voice cuts through the panic.

He grabs you roughly by the wrist and yanks you into the corridor just as the trap triggers. The door slams shut. There's a thunderous BOOM behind you, and the force knocks you both forward.

Your knees hit the ground hard. He lands beside you, his arm thrown around your back to brace your fall.

The silence after is deafening.

You're alive.

You turn your head, eyes wide. “How did you—?”

“I heard the timer.”

“You were three zones over—”

“I heard it,” he snaps, sharper than you’ve ever heard from him. His voice trembles at the edges.

You stare at him.

His jaw is clenched. His fingers dig into your wrist, too tight to be casual. His breath shakes. Just once.

And that’s when it hits you.

He was scared.

You’ve never seen it before — not like this. Not from him.

His walls don’t crack. They shatter, just for a second, and you see the truth behind them.

You weren’t just another player to him anymore. You were something else. Something dangerous.

Something that could be lost.

__________________________________________________________________________

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, but it’s already too late for silence.

Without a word, your bodies slam together.

Your lips crash hard and hungry against his, urgent and desperate—like you’re trying to make up for all the time lost, the dangers faced, and the unspoken truths hanging between you.

His hands move fast, rough and possessive, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him with fierce intensity. The fabric of his jacket wrinkles under your fingers as you dig in, anchoring yourself to something solid in the chaos of your racing heart.

His breath is ragged, hot and trembling against your skin, and your own gasps mingle with his in a frantic rhythm.

You’re not gentle. You don’t want gentle. You want raw. Real.

His fingers thread into your hair, tugging you closer, tilting your head with an insistence that makes your pulse spike.

Your arms wrap tight around his neck, fingers curling into the soft hair at the nape, as if holding on is the only thing that might keep you both from falling apart.

There’s no hesitation, no delicate testing — just pure need, spilling out all at once in the rough brush of lips and the sharp bite of teeth.

Your teeth graze his bottom lip, a spark igniting low in his throat as he groans—a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through your chest.

He opens for you, tongue slipping in, claiming and tasting, a silent confession in every movement.

Your body melts into his, the heat between you a sharp contrast to the cool night air drifting through the cracked window. The faint scent of saltwater and sweat and something uniquely him clings to your skin, making the world outside this room vanish completely.

Your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can hear it, but his hands never loosen their grip, never let you forget that you’re here, real, and not alone.

You push closer, body pressed tight against his, and feel him respond — a low hum of something fierce and guarded.

His jaw is tense under your fingertips, but his hold never falters.

When you break apart, gasping for air, your foreheads press together, breaths mingling, hearts beating out a wild, shaky rhythm.

His dark eyes hold yours — fierce, unreadable, raw with something unspoken.

Neither of you speaks.

Neither needs to.

You just stay there — caught in the fragile, burning silence of a moment that says more than words ever could.

___________________________________________________________________________

The morning light slips through the cracked blinds, casting thin stripes of gold across the floor.

You’re still there, pressed close against Chishiya, the warmth of his body the only shield against the chill in the air.

Neither of you moves for a long time — just breaths, soft and uneven, the silence heavier than the night before.

His hand finds yours, fingers curling around yours almost instinctively, but his gaze stays fixed somewhere past your shoulder.

You squeeze his hand gently, waiting for him to say something — anything — but he doesn’t.

Instead, he shifts, pulling the blanket tighter around you both, anchoring you in the moment without a single word.

When he finally speaks, it’s quiet, rough at the edges.

“Don’t expect this to change anything.”

You meet his eyes, steady now, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips.

“I don’t.”

But you know it already has.

The unspoken promises, the guarded glances, the way his hand lingers a little longer when he thinks you’re not looking—

It’s all there, under the surface, quietly reshaping everything.

And maybe that’s enough.

For now.

___________________________________________________________________________

Even when he said nothing changed, everything had.

He let you into his heart in the smallest ways — the ones no one else could see.

You understood how you two kissed when nobody was looking — quick, secret touches of lips that spoke more than words ever could.

How he let you borrow his hoodie before the harsh games, the fabric hanging oversized on you but carrying his scent like a shield.

How, without a word, he took care of you in quiet ways — a bandage wrapped a little tighter, a glance that said stay close, a hand resting lightly on your back when you didn’t even realize you needed it.

He wasn’t one for grand declarations or easy emotions, but you saw it all in the way he stood a little closer, in the moments he didn’t pull away.

The diamond game had changed something — not in what he said, but in what he showed.

And you knew, no matter how much he tried to hide it, that you’d become something he couldn’t let go.

___________________________________________________________________________

The night is cold and unforgiving, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones no matter how tightly you cling to a threadbare blanket.

The echoes of the King of Spades’ attack still ring in your ears — shouts, frantic footsteps, the sharp crack of gunfire, and the heavy weight of dread pressing down on your chest.

Somehow, you and Chishiya have been separated from the others, finding refuge in a crumbling building that smells of dust and rust.

You don’t speak. Words feel unnecessary.

Instead, you huddle together beneath the single, thin blanket, the chill forcing your bodies closer.

His arms wrap around you, strong and steady, pulling you flush against his chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath your ear is a fragile anchor in the chaos.

You close your eyes, letting yourself be held, the warmth slowly replacing the cold that had settled deep inside.

After a long silence, your voice breaks the quiet — a whisper trembling with something more than fear.

“I… love you.”

Chishiya doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers tighten gently around your shoulder, a silent promise.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost reluctant, but laced with something unmistakably real:

“After this… after Borderlands… meet me.”

His words are simple, but they carry a weight heavier than any confession.

It’s a quiet hope, a promise of something beyond the endless games and death.

You look up, searching his eyes — dark, guarded, but shining with a fragile vulnerability.

He doesn’t say ‘me too,’ but you know what he means.

His quiet invitation says it all: he cares.

He wants more.

And for the first time in this cruel game, you feel a flicker of something that feels like hope.

Wrapped in his arms, with the night pressing close around you, you let yourself believe that maybe — just maybe — there’s a future waiting beyond the Borderlands.

___________________________________________________________________________

The first light of dawn creeps through the cracked windows, softening the shadows in the room.

You’re still nestled against Chishiya, the thin blanket now a fragile shield between you and the cold world outside.

Neither of you speaks—there’s no need.

His quiet invitation to meet after Borderlands lingers in the air, a fragile thread of hope woven between the two of you.

You squeeze his hand gently, a silent vow passing between you — that no matter what the games throw at you, you’ll face it together.

Because in this brutal, unforgiving world, you’ve found something rare.

Something real.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s enough.

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hotdrinks · 1 year ago

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[ID: The Magnus Archives fanart of Jon and Martin kissing in Jon's office. Jon sits at his desk, his fist is balled in Martin's shirt, and he is pulling him down for the kiss. There is a spilled mug of tea, and several papers fluttering to the ground by Martin's hand. There is a painting of Jonah Magnus on the wall behind Jon and Martin. He looks at the viewer with wide eyes. The office is cramped and messy, there are boxes and stacks of paper on the floor and shelves. There are small references to each of the 14 fears in the background. They are as follows: a coffin drawn on the chalkboard, a skull on the shelf on the left wall, a copy of The Bone Turner's Tale, a jar of ashes, and a spider on the shelf behind Jon, fog in the hopper windows near the ceiling, candles, a pair of antlers, a knife, and a clown doll on the shelf behind Martin, a surrealist painting of a door on a flat landscape, a tall painting of a ship on a stormy sea -both on the right wall-, and a cracked cabinet door revealing complete darkness on the left side of the room. End ID]

Jonmartin sucking face in a messy environment?? by me???? it's more likely than you think. (a commission for @primtheamazing <333)

#my art #jonmartin #jmart #tma #scopophobia #sorry the jonah magnus painting looks like that one picture of jonny sims #it was an accident but i'm not changing it #the lil nitemares influence on this image is. palbable

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bunny-claws · 30 days ago

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types of spells and ideas for methods of casting [long post]

attracting

fill a small jar with honey and add a written statement of intent to the jar - seal and set the jar in direct sunlight to manifest your intent

stir your morning coffee or tea in a clockwise motion while focusing on the intent of what energies you wish to attract for the day

fill a jar with herbs and crystals that represent what you want to attract and add a statement of intent

charge a crystal and wear on your person to attract certain energies

create a sigil and either draw it on yourself or on paper and keep in your pocket

create a talisman, charge it, and wear it to attract various energies

banishing

take an item that represents what you wish to banish and: throw it in the trash, flush it down the toilet, burn it, bury it, drown it

burn the item and sweep the ashes out the back door or bury them

carve the name of what you want to banish into a black candle and let it burn down completely - bonus points if the candle is anointed with herbs or a binding oil

transmute negative energy into a stone (preferably a black stone like onyx) and throw it over the fence in your backyard (or whichever direction is south in reference to your home)

stir your morning coffee or tea in a counter-clockwise motion while focusing on the intent of what energies you wish to banish for the day

using incense that is associated with banishing negative energy, walk around your space in a counter-clockwise motion with the lit incense in your hand

binding and sealing

wrap a string around a poppet or other representation of the target or item you wish to bind

put the poppet or other representation in a plastic bag filled with water and freeze it

place the item in a black box and seal it - store in a dark place or bury the box in your backyard

write the item you want to bind on paper and seal with wax - keep safe until the bond is broken

perform a tie-breaking spell

blessing and consecrating

anoint an object with holy or blessed water/oil

use spring water to bless objects

place the object in a dry bath of herbs or flowers that are known for blessing

pass the object through incense smoke that is associated with blessing

use a censer to consecrate a place or a room

cleansing

leave the item in the path of direct moon, sun, or starlight

place in a dry bath or herbs or flowers that are associated with cleansing

place the item in a bowl of sea salt

pass the item through incense smoke that is associated with cleansing

pass the item through running water

anoint the item with a cleansing oil or charged water

bury the item in soil for 3 days so it may be “reborn” when unearthed

place a cleansing crystal on top of or next to the item

hang a wind chime outside of your home to negate negative energies before they have the chance to enter your home

physically clean and freshen your space - dust, mop, open the windows and let some fresh air inside (you can view this as an "out with the old and in with the new" situation)

cursing

fill a poppet with baneful herbs and crystals, seal it, and store in a black box

add baneful herbs and crystals to a jar with a piece of paper that states the target’s name or a description of them and seal it

create a poppet or other representation of the target and destroy it (commonly by burning)

utilize martian or saturnian energy for baneful magic

stab the poppet with pins and needles

curse an item and "gift" it to the target

dreams and sleep

fill a sachet with herbs associated with restful sleep and peaceful dreams and hang above your bed

place the sachet under your pillow

wash your bedsheets and sleep clothes with a few drops of lavender or chamomile essential oil

alternately, choose fabric softener that is lavender scented to wash your sheets or sleep clothes with

create a sigil for peaceful dreams or dream recall, charge under the light of the moon, and place it under your pillow before you go to sleep

utilize lunar or neptunian energy in dreamwork

mugwort, peppermint, or valerian root tea before bed for vivid, lucid dreams

chamomile tea before bed for restful sleep

lemon verbena (vervain) tea before bed for dreamless sleep

when bathing at night, create a sachet that matches your intent and place in the bath or shower

glamours

utilize energy from venus and pluto for beauty and transformation but also neptune for illusions, mysticism, and confusion

anoint the containers of beauty and hair products with venus (beauty) or pluto (transformation/metamorphosis) water/oils/herbs

leave the item you wish to cast a glamour on under the full moon

charge a talisman with the effect you wish to have on others and wear when you go out for the day

add pluto water/oils/herbs and moon water to a bath for a full body glamour (write your intent with bath crayons on the tub or shower wall for an extra boost)

create an energetic shield over yourself in which the outside mirrors what you want others to perceive of you

goal and wish manifestation

write your intent on a bay leaf and burn it

turn your intent into a sigil and store it in a jar filled with herbs or other items that represent said intent

place a written description of your goal or wish in the center of a crystal grid using stones that are associated with manifestation and power

place a coin in moon water while focusing on your wish or goal (leave container under direct moonlight overnight so that it may charge)

light a candle whose color matches your intent and while focusing on your goal or wish, blow out the candle

add a catalyst to your spell

use energy from mars (power) or jupiter (luck)

personal power and effects

create or enchant a talisman that represents your intent, charge it, and wear it on your person

add herbs that are associated with personal power to a ritual bath

create a potion from herbs associated with power and drink in the morning for a boost during the day (think caffeine)

use a catalyst in the aforementioned activities

utilize whichever planetary/cosmic energy you see fit

warding

sprinkle a mixture of protective herbs around the perimeter of your home while walking clockwise

leave protective crystals at each corner of your space

hang a protective amulet above the door to your space; wear a protective amulet for personal protection

create a protective witch bottle and bury near your front door

plant herbs or flowers that are associated with protection outside at each corner of your home

draw a protective sigil or symbol on the outside of your front and back door with saturn or protective water/oils

hang witch balls or a witch’s ladder near your front door

create an energetic shield and place over yourself, your loved ones, or your entire home

wealth, prosperity, and luck

craft a money bowl and place it at the farthest left point away from the entrance of your home

involve mercury or jupiter in your spellwork (luck, money)

anoint candles with mercurial or jovian oils and/or herbs and burn on wednesdays or thursdays (ruled by mercury and jupiter)

use prosperity/luck runes or craft sigils to carve into candles

on the first of the month, you can do the following: say "rabbit rabbit" for good luck all month and let that be the first thing you say when you wake up; blow powdered cinnamon into your front door from the outside or place a cinnamon stick above your front door for prosperity

craft a crystal grid using prosperity/lucky crystals - where you place it is up to you

please be wary:- of putting essential oils directly on the skin or on items that your skin may come in contact with- of leaving crystals in prolonged sunlight (might fade) or exposed to liquid (might dissolve, might become toxic when dissolved)- of blowing cinnamon into a home or using incense that has pets, or humans with respiratory issues- ingesting/burning/touching herbs/plants/etc. that you are not familiar with (could be toxic, could affect the efficacy of your prescribed medications, could be harmful for pets or other members of your household)

compiled from my personal grimoire & based on my personal associations & research

#witchblr #witchy #witch #witchcraft #witches of tumblr #spellcrafting #spell casting #spellwork #magic #beginner witch #beginner witchcraft #bunny-claws

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hummingbird24220 · 2 months ago

Note

Ello, I'm back to respectfully request Sanji with a reader who smokes. Reader has been stealing smokes from Sanji while also keeping their bad habit a secret from the rest of the crew. Once the rest of the crew find out and a light scolding from sanji (especially if you wanna do fem reader because he'd never yell at a lady in anger) Reader and Sanji become smoking buddies and it becomes a kinda unspoken thing that when sanji steps out for a smoke break reader will follow.

(A very fluffy request after the the flith I requested as a palette cleanser <3)

Yuus!! Something about Sanji smoking is just so..GODDAMN...HOT. Unfair, really.

Hope you enjoy!

Smoke Signals

Sanji x Reader

You didn’t mean to start stealing them. It just… sort of happened.

At first, it was one—snuck from a box left out on the counter while Sanji was distracted bickering with Zoro. You were planning to toss it. Honestly. But it sat in your pocket all day. And when the sun set low and the crew was distracted by a loud game of cards, you found yourself behind the galley, crouched next to a barrel, lighting it with shaking hands.

One became two. Then five. Then… well. You were practically on a schedule.

No one knew. At least, you thought no one knew. But Sanji? Sanji always knows.

It came to a head one quiet afternoon.

You were perched behind the Sunny’s mast, tucked away in your secret spot between some crates, the butt of a half-finished cigarette between your fingers. You hadn’t even gotten three puffs in before:

“That’s my brand, y’know.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, spinning to see Sanji leaning on the railing just around the corner, one eye visible through his fringe, narrowed with something between amusement and quiet judgment.

“…Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He tilted his head, slowly approaching with a cigarette of his own tucked behind his ear. He didn’t look angry—if anything, he looked… smug. Too smug.

“Thought I was losing my mind,” he said. “Box after box, lighter always warm. You think I don’t keep track of my own stash?”

You blew smoke to the side and muttered, “Thought you were just chain smoking more than usual.”

He huffed a laugh at that, crouching beside you.

“I do chain smoke,” he admitted, “but not that much. You’ve got light fingers.”

Silence.

The breeze tickled the hair at your temples, but you didn’t look at him. You focused on the cigarette instead, avoiding the way he was watching you.

“…You gonna tell the others?” you asked, tone low. “It’s a bad habit. I know. I don’t need Chopper or Nami getting on my ass.”

Sanji was quiet for a beat. When he finally spoke, it was gentle.

“No. Not unless you want me to.”

You blinked, glancing at him. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “I get it. Sometimes it’s not about the smoke. Sometimes it’s just about the moment.”

He pulled the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it, flicking the lighter once before handing it to you without looking.

You didn’t speak, just took it with a small nod.

The two of you sat like that for a while—quiet, back to the mast, knees pulled up. The smoke curled in lazy spirals, drifting off into the wind.

Then Sanji added, a little softer, “But I am cutting you off.”

You blinked. “What?”

“If you’re gonna keep the habit, you’re buying your own packs. I’m not your dealer, sweetheart.”

You snorted, laughing for the first time all day. “Fine. Stingy.”

He smirked. “Damn right I am.”

“You know, if I were anyone else, I’d be giving you a damn lecture,” Sanji said, flicking ash over the rail as you exhaled beside him. “It’s a filthy habit. Bad for your lungs, your skin, your stamina—”

“Your teeth,” you added, puffing smoke toward his head with a sly smile.

He side-eyed you. “I was being mature, thank you.”

“You’re being hypocritical.”

“Tch.”

You both went quiet for a moment, listening to the soft creak of the ship as it rocked against the sea. A gull squawked overhead. Somewhere in the distance, Usopp shouted something about a “sea beast with too many eyes.”

You took a long drag, eyes half-lidded. “How long have you been smoking anyway?”

Sanji gave a small sigh, his lips curling into a crooked smile. “Since I was about fourteen, actually. Zeff used to catch me behind crates and throw bread at my head.”

You laughed. “Sounds like something Nami would do.”

“She’d use a shoe,” he muttered, and you both grinned.

Then—

“WHAT IS THAT SMELL?!”

You froze. Sanji swore under his breath. You turned to see Chopper, eyes wide, nostrils twitching like he’d just walked into a burning pharmacy.

“WHY DOES IT SMELL LIKE BURNT POISON?!” Chopper shouted.

You panicked, immediately stuffing your cigarette behind your back (like that would help), while Sanji coolly tried to step in front of you. It didn’t work. Chopper had already seen everything.

“You’re smoking?! YOU’RE BOTH SMOKING?”

“Calm down, Chopper—” Sanji tried.

“CALM?! CALM?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT DOES TO A DEER’S LUNGS?! OR A HUMAN’S?! OR A HALF-HUMAN-HALF-GIRAFFE—?! Wait. No. That’s Kaku.”

The shouting attracted everyone.

Luffy dropped down from the upper deck. “Smoking? Who’s smoking?” Usopp and Franky came bounding over. “Yo, what’s the drama—whoa. Are you smoking behind the barrels?!” Nami’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. You? You’re smoking?”

You looked at Sanji. He looked at you.

“…Traitors,” you muttered.

“WE KNEW SANJI SMOKED,” Nami said, pointing a very betrayed finger your way. “You were supposed to be the healthy one! The one who eats fruit voluntarily!”

“I still eat fruit voluntarily!”

“NOT ENOUGH IF YOU’RE PICKLING YOUR LUNGS!”

Franky leaned on the railing, looking impressed. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Secret smoke ninja. Suuuper stealth.”

Usopp gasped. “You’re the smoke thief! I told Sanji he wasn’t just losing them!”

Sanji, still trying to play it cool, waved a hand. “Alright, alright—everyone back off. I already gave them a hard time. They know it’s bad. They’re cutting back.”

You snorted. “No, I’m not.”

He kicked your shin. You elbowed his side. The two of you bickered until Luffy finally said:

“Wait. Are cigarettes like candy sticks?”

“NO!” “YES!” “Sanji—!”

The cook sighed, rubbing his temples. “Okay. Fine. Don’t be like me.”

Nami crossed her arms, and Robin, from the stairs above, smiled with that ominous softness. “We could always hide the cigarettes.”

Sanji and you both paled.

“Try,” you challenged, only half-serious.

“Please don’t,” Sanji added. Fully serious.

That night, the two of you lit up behind the kitchen’s back wall, now exiled to the furthest edge of the deck. You both inhaled quietly, the stars above you, the sea whispering soft shushes around the ship.

Sanji spoke first, blowing smoke toward the moon.

“…You’re gonna quit someday.”

You didn’t answer.

After a long pause, you replied, “Maybe. But not tonight.”

He bumped your shoulder. “Yeah. Me neither.”

It became a rhythm. Not one either of you planned, exactly. It just… was.

If Sanji stepped outside after a meal, still rolling his sleeves up and sighing like the weight of the kitchen was dragging him down, you’d be about thirty seconds behind him, arms crossed, pretending you were just happening to be out on deck at the same time.

If you stood up mid-conversation and brushed a hand against Sanji’s arm, gave the lightest nudge to his side or shoulder, he’d sigh with the fondness of a long-suffering boyfriend, reach into his breast pocket, and wordlessly follow.

Eventually, Sanji stopped bothering with words. He’d pat your head twice—tap tap—and head toward the usual spot near the edge of the galley, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you were following.

You always did.

It was quiet time. Not for venting, not for planning. Just existing. Just breathing the same poisoned air together while the Sunny glided across blue.

And to everyone else on the ship… it was maddeningly, weirdly cute.

One afternoon, Nami was laying out her maps, trying to concentrate while Luffy snored on the floor beside her. She didn’t even look up as she muttered:

“There they go again.”

Zoro, from the other side of the deck, raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

She jerked her chin toward Sanji, who had just padded across the deck. Tap tap. Two fingers on your head. You blinked, stood up, and followed him with zero hesitation, the two of you slipping around the corner like practiced dancers.

Zoro blinked slowly. “They really do that every day now, huh.”

Robin turned a page in her book. “Every afternoon, post-lunch, and before dinner prep. Like clockwork.”

Usopp groaned from above, dangling off the mast. “They’re like pigeons. Pigeons that blow smoke rings and flirt without knowing it’s flirting.”

“I can hear you,” you called over the wind.

“THEN STOP BEING CUTE ABOUT IT!” Usopp yelled back, voice cracking.

That evening, as the stars peeked out of the inky sky, you and Sanji leaned against the railing, barely speaking.

He offered his lighter, but you were already flicking yours.

“Beat you,” you said.

“Only ‘cause mine’s temperamental,” he muttered, puffing smoke from the corner of his mouth.

You were quiet for a moment, letting the silence settle.

Then: “Why do you pat my head like that?”

Sanji blinked. “Dunno. Habit now. Easier than calling out.”

“You do it in front of everyone.”

“Is that a problem?”

“…No.”

You leaned forward on the rail, elbows braced, head tilted slightly to the side. The way your hair caught the breeze made something tight curl in his chest. He quickly looked away.

You didn’t say anything else.

Neither did he.

But when he flicked the ash from his cigarette and nudged your elbow with his own—lightly, just once—it felt like a wordless secret. A shared ritual. A pact of smoke and quiet and weird affection.

Back in the kitchen later that night, Zoro shoved a dish into Sanji’s arms.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Sanji blinked. “What did I do this time?”

Zoro rolled his eyes. “You’re turning smoking into flirting. It’s disgusting.”

Sanji just smirked, lighting another stick.

“Jealous?” Zoro growled. You walked past. Tap tap. Sanji followed you with a grin.

Zoro muttered, “I’m gonna start setting their cigarettes on fire with my swords.”

You didn’t always smoke anymore.

Sometimes, when Sanji stepped out for a break, you followed just to be there—hands in your pockets, leaning beside him in the breeze, letting the silence hum between you while he lit up. No cigarette in your mouth. Just presence.

He noticed the first time.

“You forgetting something?” he asked, tapping the box in his hand.

You just shrugged. “Nah. Just wanted the company.”

He blinked. Looked at you for a second too long. Then turned away, ears just barely pink.

“…‘Course,” he murmured, smoke curling around his lips.

It happened gradually. You’d disappear after docking on a new island and return with little brown-paper-wrapped bundles tucked under your arm. Sanji would be in the middle of slicing something or stirring a sauce, and you’d toss them onto the counter with a casual, “Got your favorites. That one vendor in the alley with the beard. He remembered you.”

The first time, he blinked, looked down at the pack, and tried not to smile too obviously.

“You didn’t need to,” he said, voice soft.

You just shrugged again. “Did anyway.”

Even if you weren’t low. Even if he had cartons stashed away. Even if you were technically trying to cut back.

Didn’t matter. You always brought him more. Unprompted. Like a quiet habit.

He always thanked you. But over time, the thanks started slipping into things like “You’re too sweet for your own good,” or “How’s a guy supposed to stay cool when you do stuff like that?”

The words came with little touches. A nudge of knuckles. A pat to your head that lingered half a second too long. His thumb smoothing a wrinkle out of your sleeve.

The crew noticed.

“Oh, they’re worse now,” Usopp muttered one day, watching the two of you return to the ship side-by-side, matching stride for stride.

“They’re not even smoking!” Nami whisper-hissed. “What’s the point of sneaking off together?!”

Robin didn’t look up from her book. “The point is each other.”

Franky whistled. “That’s suuuper soft.”

“Do we say something?” Chopper asked, fidgeting.

“No,” Zoro groaned. “If we say something, they’ll stop. Let the weirdos have their little smoke-date thing.”

“…You’re just mad no one shares cigarettes with you.”

Zoro turned to Usopp slowly. “You want to go through what their lungs are going through?”

“…Touché.”

That night, you leaned against the galley wall, eyes closed. Sanji was beside you, watching the stars. He was halfway through a smoke, and you were sipping a cold drink instead, exhaling like you’d just finished a long day.

He glanced at you. At your relaxed posture, the way your eyes flickered open to look at him without urgency. The way the corners of your mouth pulled just slightly upward.

He wanted to kiss you. He didn’t.

But he said quietly, “Thanks for the pack earlier.”

You just smiled and said, “Don’t mention it.”

He didn’t. Not out loud, anyway.

But when he knocked the ash off the end of his cigarette and brushed your pinky with his own, holding it there for a heartbeat longer than usual…

You understood.

Sanji wasn’t watching you. Not intentionally.

He just… happened to be looking in your direction. And happened to see you talking to some flashy vendor with too many rings and not enough shame. You were laughing—shoulders bouncing, face bright in a way he hadn't seen all week. And you leaned in close—too close for his comfort.

He felt something cold twist in his gut. It wasn’t rage. Not the kind that flared and shouted. It was quiet. Burning slow, like the cigarette pinched between his fingers.

He turned away.

Didn’t even finish his smoke.

Later that afternoon, you returned to the Sunny with a bounce in your step and a suspiciously smug grin.

He was cleaning up the galley, moving a little more sharply than usual. His sleeves were already rolled, jaw clenched slightly as he chopped onions like they’d personally offended him.

You came in with a paper bag and chirped, “Sanji!”

He grunted, not looking.

You held the bag out with two hands. “Look what I got. I don’t even want to smoke these—I just wanted to see your face.”

Still silent.

You dramatically opened the bag with a flourish, revealing a golden box of premium black-label, sea-aged cigarettes, the kind Sanji would never buy for himself.

His knife paused mid-chop.

You beamed. “They’re limited run! Normally like—five times the normal price! But the guy was a fan of the Straw Hats and gave me a discount!”

Sanji finally looked up. His eyes flicked from the box to your excited face, and something in his chest twisted in a completely different way.

“…You dumbass.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He sighed, putting the knife down and walking over. He took the box gently, fingers brushing yours—just for a moment—and examined the seal with an incredulous look.

“You bought me the stupid expensive ones,” he muttered, voice softer now. “Just ‘cause you like seeing me happy.”

You shrugged, a little bashful now. “Well. Yeah.”

Sanji snorted. Then laughed. Then reached out and flicked your forehead.

“You really are a dumbass.”

You rubbed your forehead, pouting. “Rude.”

He didn’t deny it. But the way he looked at you—lingering, fond, helplessly endeared—it said more than words.

That evening, you didn’t even get a chance to step outside.

As the crew gathered for dinner, Nami finally put her chopsticks down and stared across the table.

“Alright,” she said. “What’s going on with you two?”

Silence.

You paused mid-bite. Sanji froze, halfway through pouring water into Luffy’s cup.

Robin looked amused. Usopp leaned forward eagerly. Zoro sighed with a muttered “Finally.”

Chopper blinked between you both. “Wait—are they not together?”

Luffy tilted his head. “I thought they were married.”

“MARRIED?” you both exclaimed.

“Emotionally,” Robin clarified. “It’s a very domestic vibe.”

Nami crossed her arms. “So?”

You looked at Sanji. He looked at you. There was a beat of quiet. A little laughter bubbling at the back of your throat. You nudged his foot with yours.

Sanji scratched the back of his neck, exhaled slowly through his nose, and said—

“…I like them. A lot.”

Your heart thudded once, loud.

You smiled, slow and sure. “Yeah. I like you too, cigarette hoarder.”

Luffy let out a victorious whoop. Usopp choked on his drink. Franky pumped his fist and yelled “SUUUUPER FINALLY!” Zoro raised his glass wordlessly. Robin smiled behind her book.

Nami leaned toward Chopper and whispered, “Pay up.”

He groaned and handed over ten berries.

That night, Sanji stepped out for a smoke.

He didn’t say anything.

He just tapped your head—tap tap—and waited with a crooked smile until you followed.

You didn’t smoke. You didn’t even bring a lighter. You just leaned on him while he puffed quietly, the two of you close enough to share warmth. He reached over and laced his fingers through yours.

“…This counts as a date, right?” you asked, voice low.

He chuckled, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “Dumbass.”

But he was grinning.

And you knew he meant yes.

#x reader #one piece #luffy #reader insert #sanji #nami #nico robin #tony tony chopper #usopp #request #sanji x reader

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