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the-bar-sinister · 1 year ago

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The Seed that Grew a Pearl (5755 words) by thesavagesabretooth Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pearl Fey/Trucy Wright Warnings: Gender Issues, Gender Confusion, Referenced Child Abuse

Summary: Trucy takes Pearl on her first ever clothes shopping adventure in preparation for Pearl to enter the police academy and become a detective. Back at home, the two of them start to talk about their relationship, and Trucy accidentally reveals a secret about Pearl that even Pearl didn't understand.

August 15, 2028– 12:35 pm

Despite Pearl having finished high school right around the time everyone had gotten back from Khura'in, Trucy hadn't seen as much of her as she wanted to. She'd been busy. Helping Maya getting things together in Kurain village, and getting ready for her own big change.

Trucy had missed her…but it wasn’t as if she herself wasn’t busy. The fallout of the Gramaryeland show, her new assistants, and the constant stress of running the Wright Anything Agency and working through her own school work…she’d not gotten the chance to reach out for longer than she would have liked.

But that changed today. She’d managed to get a little time, and she’d managed to invite Pearl out on an afternoon about town.

They'd started with lunch in a little cafe at the corner of the shopping district that Phoenix had dropped them off at. Pearl was finishing up her boba, fishing around in the bottom of the cup for tapioca pearls, and looking a little lost in thought.

Trucy leaned on her hand with a little grin as she stirred what remained of her own with the thick straw. “Penny for your thoughts? Heck, I’d even give a dime.”

Pearl laughed. "So generous! It's just my first time going clothes shopping, you know?"

“I know!” Trucy took a sip of her boba with a slight frown. “there weren’t exactly malls in your village…and there was kinda a uniform…but it’s pretty exciting right? Getting to go out and buy your own stuff?”

"It is exciting!" she smiled, playing with the straw of her drink. "Kind of nerve wracking, too. I've never picked my own clothes before. I think I'd probably just default to my robes– but they're super not appropriate attire for police training."

Police training. Police academy. Trucy had known it was coming. Trucy had been the first one that Pearl had ever told. She would have killed to have been a fly on the wall when she told Maya. Not that she didn't know Maya would be supportive, but– the surprise!

Like a magic trick.

“Probably not! If nothing else I think they’d get dirty easy, and they’re not exactly made for like…skulking through crime scenes.” She tapped her finger against her chin. “but that leaves you having to figure out from like…step 0.”

"Super step zero," she nodded. "I asked Big sis Iris and Mr. Armando for some tips, but I'm still glad I have you here to help me, Trucy. Oh! Speaking of which, since Iris is busy tonight, your dad doesn't mind me staying over, right?"

Trucy grinned widely.

“Oh hooo, Miss Iris is busy tonight huh?” She leaned on her hand with a wink “if there’s good gossip, you gotta tell me….but of course daddy won’t mind! He likes you, and anyway, I’d insist! It’s been too long since we had a sleepover, Pearl!”

"It super has been," she giggled. "There's not any really good gossip– they just have Miss Lana over again, since she got out last month."

“Oh yeah! Everyone got real excited about that…” Trucy bobbed her head. The former chief prosecutor was someone she’d only met once or twice through her father…but from the way he, and especially Miss Ema, spoke about her it was clear she was someone important to a lot of them.

She’d finally gone free a month ago, and had been spending a lot of time hanging about the old guard around the various offices– and especially with Iris and Diego.

“They’re pretty close aren’t they? The three of them. She’s been visiting you guys a bunch!”

"She has! She's pretty restrained as a person, but she got a little excited when I told her I was going to be going into the police academy."

"Yeah? I’m not surprised. Daddy told me she used to be like…a superstar detective turned prosecutor. She’s one of the reasons Investigator Ema is Like That.” She grinned at Pearl excitedly. “So she probably got excited to hear someone bright and cool like you wanted to join the force too! Admittedly it IS super exciting. Officer or Detective Pearl Fey has a ring to it!”

"Awwww…. Trucy," Pearl covered her face as she blushed. "You're too nice to me! Um, hey can I ask you a favor, by the way?"

“Of course I am, Pearl! You’re one of my favorite people you know.” She leaned on her hand with a grin. “anything, what can magical girl Trucy do for you?”

Pearl leaned on her hands, and smiled, but there was a sad, worried look in the shadows of her eyes. "You'll make sure I don't do anything weird, or embarrassing while we're shopping, right? I really, really don't want people to know I've never been shopping for myself…"

Trucy leaned forward and placed both hands on her shoulders, grinning warmly from ear to ear.

“Of course…it’ll be our secret , yeah?” She winked at her playfully “like a magic trick, nobody’ll be any the wiser.”

August 15, 2028– 7:30 pmTrucy’s dad had of course let Pearl spend the night, especially when Trucy had begged him with her best puppy-dog eyed look, so when they got back to the Wright family home, they wasted no time in dropping the various bags and boxes all around Trucy’s eclectically decorated bedroom.

The shopping trip had been fun, very fun…and just like she’d promised Pearl, she made sure that nobody was any the wiser that it was Pearly’s first time hitting the stores in the LA malls and outlets.

The two of them had hit nearly every store (and Trucy couldn’t stop herself from picking up a new outfit or two herself), until Pearl was set with a whole new wardrobe for her first day in the police academy. But Trucy had to admit, the longer they shopped the more surprised she was by Pearly’s taste in clothes.

Not bad-surprised of course, she honestly found it pretty cool, and had to admit Pearl looked pretty great in it when she’d come out of the changing rooms to try them on. But it was still one heck of a surprise when the cutesy, traditionally dressed girl from Kurain Village went almost exclusively for outfits that Trucy would describe as ‘pretty damn butch’.

With how flustered Pearl had gotten when she pointed it out she had had to reassure her that she wasn’t ‘doing anything weird’ , or anything like that. It was just surprising— and, she had teasingly added, pretty dashing.

Pearl–once more in her usual uniform after they'd finished shopping– flopped down on the end of Trucy's bed. "Wow. Nobody told me that shopping made you tired," she joked.

“It’s the mall,” Trucy joked. “It takes your energy like a big vampire as payment for the good times you have there.”

She took off her silk hat and placed it on its mannequin head, before she picked up a bag to set it aside and flopped down on the bed too. “Oough. It’s all the running around…and difficult choices!”

Pearl flopped her head down on Trucy's shoulder. "So many difficult choices! Even with all the stuff I got there was still stuff to put back. … you don't think I got too much do you? It was probably too much."

“It’s a whole new wardrobe Pearl.” Trucy flopped onto her stomach as her bangs fell into her face. “Honestly I don’t know if you got enough”

Pearl chewed on her thumb thoughtfully and glanced between Trucy and the bags. "Maybe…. I did at least remember to get underwear…. and socks…. and new pajamas… Thanks for reminding me about those.."

Trucy leaned on her hand with a chuckle, waving one of the bags towards her.

‘Well yeah! I’m kinda surprised you didn’t realize you needed them! But I know things were uh…different…in Kurain.”

"It's going to be a big adjustment," Pearl said, still chewing on her thumb. "Sleeping in a dorm and everything. Aside from with you or Maya I'm used to being alone in my room at night."

Trucy nodded, watching Pearl with a bright and affectionate smile. “yeah? I’m not surprised…are you nervous about it? Maybe you’ll get a real nice roommate.”

"I hope so! Did you know Vera Misham is going into the academy, too? we might end up rooming together."

Athena’s eyes widened

“Vera?? Huh! I had no idea…I mean, she mentioned wanting to get into law and stuff and get out of her house, but I didn’t expect that!” She grinned and scootched a little closer to Pearl “ She’s quiet too, that wouldn’t be too bad of a roomie situation! Fingers crossed! ...do the barracks dorms allow occasional overnight guests?”

"Gosh! I'm not sure! Do you think they wouldn't?" Pearl cocked her head curiously. "I guess if police training is anything like spiritual training they might now."

It was probably silly for Trucy to have asked. It probably didn't even occur to Pearl why they actually might not allow overnight guests.

Trucy giggled.

“I don’t think it’s anything like spirit stuff, actually. But they uhm…well..” She leaned on her hands with a flush. “They…may…object to people who are close ah, spending time very close…in their dorm beds. A-anyway! if they don’t allow it I can always just magic my way in and pull a vanishing act if the drill sergeant or whatever gets wise.”

"That's because you're a super cool magician," Pearl grinned back at her. She poked her fingers together thoughtfully and seemed to reflect, as Trucy noticed her blushing. "You mean they don't want people being, uh, romantic, in the dorms, right?"

“Yeah…” Trucy nodded with a half smile and a flush of her own “they probably don’t want people getting romantic in the dorms…they probably see it as like , a distraction or something.”

"Well, I mean that makes sense," she nodded. "It's kind of rude to be romantic in a dorm setting anyway. But it won't matter if we're all girls, right?"

Trucy tapped her chin.

“if we’re all girls…maybe not? I dunno what the police’s stance on that is!”

She shifted on the bed thoughtfully, before she hugged one of the bags to her chest with a flush. ‘Romantic’. It was that word that brought up what had been on her mind for a while now. It was no secret to anyone that she was fond of Pearl…and the two of them had been practically dating for a long while.

But it was still ‘practically’, as they’d never talked about it despite going out on what could easily be called dates plenty of times. She chewed her lip thoughtfully “I think they could look the other way, probably?”

Pearl leaned on her shoulder, blushing a little. "Is this your way of saying that you want to come visit me, Trucy?"

“Wellll….” Trucy hummed quietly. “Yeah, actually…it is! I mean, if that’s o-okay, you know?”

Pearl covered up her face embarrassedly.

"Well, I mean, of course it is. But– do you mean like, you know…." her voice dropped to a whisper, "romantically?"

Trucy bopped the top of her head with a flustered grin.

“What if I told you ‘of course’? Can I be honest with you, Pearly? I know we’ve been close for a hell of a while now…”

Pearl bit her lip and gave her a wide eyed look. "I hope you'd be honest with me, you know?"

“Always,” Trucy said with a flushed grin “but I mean…I’ve liked you for a while now, I’m sure you’ve noticed that, and we’re practically dating…maybe I’ve kinda wanted it to be less practically and more…you know.”

She poked her fingers together with a flustered laugh “romantically? Visits and all?”

"Gosh. Um… okay, can I be honest, Trucy?" Pearl asked, flushing deeper. She didn't pull away from Trucy at all, so that was a good sign.

Trucy leaned her head against her shoulder with a laugh. “I hope you’d be honest with me too, yeah?”

"Yeah.. so um," she frowned and bit her lip. "Dating and romance is not really something that gets talked about in Kurain? All I've ever heard about is you know, finding a husband to continue the family line. And usually in the village they do that with a matchmaker. So… being honest, I had no idea if you felt that way about me or not… I don't know how any of that works, especially between girls."

Trucy nodded thoughtfully against her shoulder.

“Geeze…that makes a lotta sense. Things up there are a little…” Distressingly old fashioned and restrictive, even compared to the US’ cultural baggage of ‘keeping it private’ as her daddy always said about Mr. Edgeworth.

“Different,” she politely finished. “It makes sense you wouldn’t know a whole lot about romance and ah, stuff. I admit, I’m not exactly an expert even if I’ve had a little experience.”

It still took her all the way through the Gramarye-Retinz trial to realize Bonny and Betty had a thing for her….”but it’s like…down to how someone makes you feel, you know?”

"Yeah? And if you feel it, you just kind of know?" she asked, rubbing her neck nervously.

“I think so, yeah.” Trucy said with a lopsided smile. “Or at the very least have kinda an inkling. At least that’s how it works for me.”

"And…" Pearl said slowly. "You feel that way about me? Like… not as a funny joke?"

“W-well yeah!” Trucy held her hands up with a flustered smile “it’s not really something I joke about!... well. Much. There was that time I joked about making a good bride for Apollo with his dad, and that time I kept teasing everyone about my panties, but still. Not as a funny joke at all! I really do…it’s the butterfly feeling and everything…and every time we hang out I get really excited. I’ve had a crush on you for like…a long while!”

"Wow…." Pearl laughed and covered her blushing face. "I wish I'd known sooner, because I've kind of felt that way about you for a while. But, I didn't know what I was supposed to do with that."

Trucy turned pink and bumped her shoulder against her with a laugh, bopping the top of her own head and sticking her tongue out.

“Geeeze…I guess I spent too long beating around the bush, huh?” She flashed a bright grin at her. “If we both feel the same way, though…maybe we can figure out what to do with it together, huh?”

"I hope you don't mind me following your lead a bit," Pearl said. "At least for a while. Since all I have to go on is the movies we've watched together. And… I've been told you're not supposed to do everything you see in the movies."

Pearl laughed, but the way she turned pink, Trucy could tell she was really embarrassed about her lack of experience.

Reaching up, Trucy gently rustled Pearl’s hair with a wink

“True enough, but don’t worry… Magical Girl Trucy’s got this, huh?” she leaned in close with a hum, nuzzling against her shoulder. “You can follow my lead as much as you gotta, that’s absolutely fine!”

Pearl grinned, and leaned into her in return. "I'm glad! I'm also even more glad I didn't end up doing anything embarrassing today while we were shopping. I wouldn't want to embarrass myself in front of my…. girlfriend?"

She hesitated on the last word, clearly trying it out, and seeing how Trucy would react to it.

Trucy hoped the way her face lit up in a wide grin was what Pearl was hoping for, because she absolutely couldn’t help herself as she looped her arms around her and gave her a squeeze.

“It’d at least have been pretty cute!” Trucy laughed playfully, before she squeezed her again “but you totally didn’t! I’d say my girlfriend did pretty good for her first shopping trip in the city! And came out of it looking real good in that new wardrobe of hers.”

Pearl looked delighted, and put her arms around her in return. "You really think so? I picked the clothes I always liked to see on people and felt, you know, a little jealous about."

Trucy leaned a little closer with a grin

“I do think so, If we’d talked about this a little earlier I probably woulda stolen a kiss in the changing room.” She nodded curiously, though. “that makes sense honestly? That’s how you should clothes shop..look for the things you like and wanna see on yourself instead of other people. It’s how I buy most of the stuff I wear outside my stage outfit, myself. You like kind of a butch style, huh?”

She chewed on her thumb, thoughtfully. "I guess so? I've always really liked the way like, Mr. Nick, and Mr. Diego and some of the detectives dress, you know? It's really good looking, and everyone takes you seriously and thinks you look handsome and cool."

Pearl's ears blushed hotter as she admitted it, and she grinned awkwardly.

“They do dress really frickin’ great, admittedly,” Trucy nodded with a wide grin “I’ve always loved people in suits.”

She looked Pearl over with a thoughtful “hmmmmmmmm” and a sly grin plastered on her face. “You know…maybe you should try on one of those outfits you bought again, Pearly. Because I’m working off memory here, and I’m pretty sure you looked pretty cool, and real handsome… but I want more evidence for the court record!”

Pearl laughed, and rubbed her neck. "If you think so, I won't say no! … you really think I look handsome?"

“I mean…” Trucy blew a kiss her way. “if nothing else it gives me another good look. I’m not gonna complain about that….but yeah. I really do…they suit you, Pearly. I was surprised, you know? It wasn’t what I expected your style to be, but it really looks great on you.”

Pearl gave her another squeeze, and then hopped up off the bed, hurrying over to find one of the bags.

"I'm guessing you can't really picture me out of kimonos, huh?"

Trucy laughed. “admittedly, it’s all I’ve ever seen you in. I got kinda used to it, you know? Kinda like if you never saw me change outta my magician outfit.”

"Yeah, but your magician's outfit looks good! And at least it stands out, you know? My outfit is the same thing everyone in the village wears." She pulled some of the clothes that she'd bought out of one of the bags, and put them on Trucy's dresser.

She watched curiously, once more looking over the outfit Pearl chose to model as it sat folded on her dresser, and leaned on her hands after rolling to her stomach. “

"I mean, I do love my magician outfit, it’s kind of tailor made to be as cute as possible! But…that makes sense. Daddy said something to that effect a few times. About Miss Maya dressing the same way.”

"Yeah?" she cocked her head curiously as her hands went to her clothes. She paused. "Oh– should I change somewhere else, or? Um. I don't know the rules now that we're dating…"

Up to now, Pearl had always changed in another room, or with Trucy's back turned. They'd never really discussed it, it was just the habit Pearl at least, was into.

Trucy flushed deeply, and spread her fingers before leaning on her hands again. “I mean…I wouldn’t say no to watching if you weren’t too embarrassed! You don’t need to change in the bathroom or whatever if you don’t wanna.”

Admittedly…she’d had thoughts before and despite the hot flush that burned over her cheeks, or perhaps in concert with it, she was a little curious.

Pearl bit her lip, and hesitated for a moment. Then she giggled. "Well… if you won't say no– then I'll go ahead and change here. In front of my girlfriend."

Trucy clapped her hands together cheerfully “your girlfriend…is super excited, Pearly~”

She shrugged out of her robe first, gently placing it on the back of the chair, and then carefully– almost teasingly despite the bright, bright red flush of her face– tugged the ribbon sash free, letting the folds of the kimono fall open.

Trucy got a glimpse of what was underneath, pale golden skin interrupted by her magatama pendant, and a white set of underclothes– including an undershirt– still mostly hidden by the folds of the kimono as it hung open on her.

“Geeze, Pearl…” Trucy whistled softly. “...you’re really attractive, you know that?” She leaned on her hand with a grin.

Pearl laughed, and covered her face– which ironically gave Trucy another glimpse past the open kimono. "You're nice to say so, Trucy."

Pearl had a flatter chest than Trucy had expected– only a soft rise under her white undershirt, obscured, and perhaps sometimes a little exaggerated by the thick folds of the robes and kimono she usually wore.

Carefully, Pearl started to peel the kimono off of her shoulders, which were left bare except for the narrow strap of her filmy undershirt.

It was a bit of a surprise…Trucy had always expected that the garment and underclothes were intentionally slimming, sort of hiding it–but Pearl really must have been that petit.

She shifted a little against the bed until she was half sit up, crossing her legs under her with an encouraging grin.

Pearl finally fully shrugged out of the kimono fully, and stood barefoot in Trucy's room in only her white undershirt– which stopped just above the rise of her soft belly and bellybutton– and her white panties. She stood embarrassed, with her hands over her face, and wiggled her hips a little bit teasingly.

"Gosh," Pearl chuckled. "I've never been this undressed in front of someone before."

Watching the slightly older girl wiggle her hips in the middle of her room,Trucy felt flushed and a little dizzy as she brushed her hair over her shoulder with a wide grin.

“I haven’t had someone this undressed in my bedroom either. Changing rooms, sure, but my bedroom…” She winked “You look even better out of the kimono, though. I knew it.”

"What a thing to say!" Pearl giggled. She turned, and started grabbing the clothes.

As she did, Trucy got more of a view of Pearl's butt, and her body. Pearl was definitely very cute, and it was nice to see her undressed. But as she looked her over, Trucy couldn't quite help noticing that something seemed just a little… off.

There was kind of a lot more of a soft bulge in Pearl's white panties than Trucy had expected to see.

Trucy felt her face heat even more, and she let out an involuntary little ‘huh’ despite herself.

Pearl was in the middle of tugging a pea green silk button down over her arms when she heard Trucy and cocked her head, pausing mid motion.

"Hm?"

Trucy held up her hands with a flustered grin.

“oh! So-sorry Pearl! I was just uhm, a little surprised? Yeah, just uh…” She shot a fingergun her way with a shaky grin “got a magatama in your panties or are you just happy to see me?”

It wasn’t exactly the smoothest reply she’d ever managed, even taking into account the times she had to roll with improv during a stage show with a particularly rough crowd.

Pearl's hand went to the magatama around her neck, and she gave Trucy a confused, deer in the headlights look. "Huh?"

Trucy felt like she was putting her foot in her mouth in front of her recently confirmed girlfriend, and felt like her heartrate had spiked worse than it always did when she used her ‘perception’ ability for a little too long.

“Well uh…” she gestured vaguely down between her legs. “y-you know.”

Pearl, with her shirt half on and hanging open over her undershirt looked down, and blinked.

"Is… there something wrong with my underwear?"

She genuinely sounded like she had no idea what Trucy could be getting at.

Trucy leaned back on her bed with a furrow of her brow as she thought through what she wanted to say.

“No! I mean there’s nothing wrong at all!” She rocked forward again, her hands on her knees with a flustered grin “I just didn’t know you had a… ah…I mean…”

She usually was a little smoother than this. She felt like she might implode at any second.

Pearl bit her lip and her brow furrowed. She pulled out Trucy's desk chair and sat down for a minute, looking deep in thought.

"Trucy," she said, finally– sounding extremely hesitant. "Um. This… is a weird question."

“Yeah Pearly?” Trucy asked with a flustered murmur, leaning on her hands to prop her chin up. She was sure she looked as red as Apollo’s discarded coat in the office.

Pearl took a breath. "Is there… something that seems unusual about my body?"

“Not unusual! Just surprising!” Trucy responded quickly. She didn’t want Pearl to think Trucy found anything weird…she didn’t. It just– genuinely was a little surprising. “I just think your uh, bits…are different than mine. Which was a surprise? But not a bad one!”

"Different than yours," Pearl murmured. She tugged at the buttons on her open shirt. "And that's not something you expected?"

“Not exactly?” Trucy shifted shyly, before she hopped up and put her hands on Pearl’s shoulders with a small grin. “but that’s okay!”

Pearl leaned into her hands and smiled up at her, nervously. "Um, I'm glad it's okay. That's really genuinely fantastic to hear. I'm kind of trying to figure something out though. You wouldn't expect me to have different stuff in my underwear than you, because…?"

Trucy wasn’t a stranger to the things society didn’t exactly talk about– she’d heard a lot of things, going to school and hanging around the Wunder Bar in LA.. She knew of her father’s relationship with Miles, after all, and also of her father’s relationships with others around her. She knew of Clay and Apollo– she knew fellow performers whose bodies they were born in didn’t match how they felt inside.

She was utterly at a loss for where to start with the Pearl, the sheltered medium from the village that intentionally isolated itself from the world.

“well…I mean…It was just an assumption.” Trucy mused quietly before she stammered out “most girls I know don’t have dicks, so I just hadn’t thought of it. But it’s not what’s in your pants that makes you, you, you know? No matter what anyone says!”

Pearl blushed even deeper and slapped the desk. "Damn it, mom!! I knew it! I knew there was something up!"

“What.” Trucy said in a quiet squeak of a voice.

Pearl turned and grabbed Trucy by the shoulders– not roughly, but firmly. "Okay, Trucy. Walk through this with me. You know in Kurain only girls can be spirit channelers, yes? And how men are basically seen as useless?"

“U-uh huh.” Trucy nodded slowly. “Which, just as an aside, is completely fucked up…”

"Okay, but follow me here," Pearl said with a quiet desperation in her voice. "Let's pretend we're not being nice to people, we're just following the rules, okay? Are you with me, Trucy?"

“I’m with you.” Trucy gave her a firm smile as she snapped herself back to the moment. “I’m with you. Yeah?”

"Okay. Good. Then, Trucy, please tell me the truth. If we're following the rules– do girls not have… what I've got? Is a person who has that not a girl? Did my mom lie to make me a girl?"

There was a quiet desperation rising in Pearl's voice, a rawness at the base of it, and her eyes had gotten pinpricked.

Trucy’s smile had gone a little rigid as the situation once more evolved in her mind.

“Justitia’s tits…” she swallowed thickly. “Tyyypically, if we’re following society’s rules. Girls…don’t…tend to have…what you’ve got. I don’t, that’s for sure. I can show you if you want.”

She laughed nervously. She’d heard a thing or two about Pearl’s mother…mostly only her daddy’s furious disdain for the ambitious and cruel woman and what he’d done to Miss Maya and, if she picked up the subtext there, and now here, Pearl. “I uhm…I think she might have. I’m so-sorry.”

Pearl sagged against Trucy, and leaned her head on her shoulder suddenly. "I knew it. I… of course she lied. Why wouldn't she? All she ever wanted was for me to become the Kurain channeling master. No wonder…."

Trucy’s heart thumped loud in her chest as she moved on impulse to hug Pearl tight, holding her as she sagged.

“I’m sorry, Pearl,” she murmured, as she reached up to brush her hair.

“I’m really, really sorry. She wanted you to become the master so she lied to …to make you conform to the expectation, ye-yeah? ‘Because only girls are spirit channelers’ and thus can be the masters?” She took a deep breath “cruel…that��s, pardon my language Pearl, completely fucked up.”

Pearl took a deep breath too, and made a small keening noise as Trucy held her. "Yeah… only girls are spirit channelers. And it sounds like normally, I wouldn't be considered a girl? If my mom wasn't trying to do that?"

Trucy leaned into her, rubbing her back gently as she breathed in and out, maybe to try and guide Pearl into doing the same.

She wanted to comfort her– badly. She hadn’t expected to stumble into a big revelation, or something that so obviously hurt Pearl while flirting with her, but she wanted to be there. She wanted to help her feel …if not better, than like she could address all this with help.

“That’s what I’d imagine, Pearl..” Trucy nodded slowly. “normally, if your mom didn’t try to, ah, skew the impression of you, you’d probably have been seen as a boy…”

"So… I have a body that boys normally have," she said, leaning against her. She followed Trucy's breathing, in, and out. "This definitely explains why my mom told me to never, ever change or be naked in front of someone unless I trusted them with my life."

Trucy’s voice shuddered in a desperate half laugh, and her arms pulled Pearl closer as she rested her chin atop Pearl’s head.

“I’m glad you trust me with your life, Pearl…but still…geeze. How…how does it make you feel? K-knowing that. Not like, what your mother did. I mean…the other part.”

"Well I'm mad at my mom!" Pearl huffed. "I don't know… I feel pretty confused, Trucy… sorry I spoiled our fun sleepover…"

“You should be! Pearl…lying to you like that? T-trying to use you like that? It’s fucked up!” Trucy puffed her cheeks out in quiet fury, seething at the very thought of a mother lying to her child like that.

“Be mad! And…and” She squeezed Pearl tight. “no matter what I’ve got your back, okay? I’ll do all I can to help you sort it out! It..it’s not like the sleepover’s ruined, either! I still wanna see you in your new clothes!”

"You do?" Pearl perked up a little against her, and looked up at her with big, dark eyes.

Trucy nodded with a grin, and reached up to brush Pearl’s cheek with her thumb.

“Yeah. I bet you’ll look real cool and handsome in ‘em. Maybe even more than at the mall!”

Pearl smiled, and poked her fingers together as she leaned into Trucy's touch. "Hey um, I have a dumb question."

Trucy’s thumb brushed against her cheek again as she flushed with a smile. “Yeah Pearl?”

"Um, so I know you said my body doesn't bother you, even if you weren't expecting it, and I know you think it's okay if I'm a girl, right?" she murmured. "But… would it be okay if I um… if I actually said I might want to be a boy?"

“Gosh, Pearl…” Trucy looked into her eyes with a shy smile. “of course it would be. I mean…if you wanna be a boy, then that’s what you are in my book! If that’s who you are, and how you feel you should be, then that’s what you are!”

She leaned down and kissed the top of Pearl’s head with a flush. “And anyway…I’m bisexual~” she cooed against the top of her head. She’d picked up the term from a friend at the Wunder Bar a few years ago, and had been deeply relieved to hear it wasn’t just her “That’s what it is when you like both boys AND girls. A lot. So it sure doesn’t bother me, Mr. Detective-in-training Pearl.”

"Gosh!" Pearl giggled and swooned against her. "Well, I don't know for sure yet, exactly. But… I kind of want to try it out at least, even if it's just with you. I've never gotten a chance to be a boy before..."

Trucy laughed with her, brushing Pearl’s hair with her fingers.

“Even if it’s just with me, I’m happy to help you try it out, Pearl! And if it’s whatcha want…I’ll make sure nobody gives you crap for it! I’ll make them vanish with my magic act if I gotta…” She gave Pearl another squeeze. “We can have lots of fun with it, giving you the chance and choice your mom didn’t give you. Okay?”

Pearl rubbed her flushed face, and took a deep breath. "Have I ever told you you're the best, Trucy?"

Trucy put her finger on her chin with a grin.

“You have…but I do love hearing it.” She winked playfully down at Pearl. "...but thanks. You’re really great too, you know? You’ve helped me through a bunch too.”

"And I always will! Promise." With one more deep breath, Pearl stepped backward, and started buttoning up the buttons of the silk shirt.

Trucy leaned against the post of her bed to watch, rubbing her hand against her face to still the blush that still lingered.

“I believe you, Pearl…but for now…you’re gonna model the hell outta those clothes for me, Detective. And I’m gonna enjoy the hell out of the show.”

#trupearl #trucy wright #pearl fey #ace attorney #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #cw gender #cw child abuse mention

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sillylittlekinstuff · 6 months ago

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Tw for implied SA, manipulation, abuse, venting

i wrote another vent poem about my Charlie Mems if ya wanna read it

A hold so gentle After something so painful It almost erases the memories I have The touch I feel

You’re so gentle with me I wish it were all the time But it's not, and that hurts Why can't the tenderness be forever?

He loves me He loves me not He loves me But it’s all for naught

Why can't you love me softly? I want us to dance slowly But you’ve locked me in a violent masquerade You keep stomping on my feet

I just want you to love me Is that so much to ask? I know you’re capable But I guess I’m too naive

Why do I care so much? I should hate you But I can't bring myself to do so Why can’t I hate you?

I may even love you A twisted sense of dependency I crave your sick affection My love for you is a horrible affliction

Why the fuck do I want your touch I’d cry if you touched me now But at the same time I want you to hold me Please hold me

Please be kind this time Please love me right this time I honestly don't care if you hurt me Just love me

Please

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undf · 6 months ago

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Dior and Hevann lore, Diots side.

^ ^ This is the house where Diot grew up and Hevann was born. It is located on Dalna in the swamp lands.

Not long after the fall of the empire, Diot goes to Dalna to see if it is still standing, not really expecting it to still be there since it's been abandoned for around 25 years. But it still stands through earthquakes and rainstorms. it is mostly decrepit and a few rodent families living there but he is determined to have this place livable again. All their stuff is still there from when they left; Hevann's baby clothes, Diot's toys, unopened mail, and even some of their mother's jewelry stayed put. But the one thing that breaks Diot is finding the kalikori half broken on the floor. they didn't leave in a hurry, they were going to visit some of Mum's friends on Ryloth when the salvers took them.

Diot isn't in slavery as long as Hevann. he makes it out mostly because he wasn't much of an asset in any area the trade put him in because he was a drug addict and half-human. He wasn't worth much compared to Hevann. He told himself that Hevann was sold to a nice family and no longer needed him. but hearing a couple of slave wranglers on Ord-Mentell years back, when he first joined the rebellion, made the logical truth hit him like a freit ship.

"Sir, this one's a bit small don't ya think?" he hears from the slavers, a sigh of momentary relief before his blood ran cold "It'll grow."

those two words made his stomach drop out his ass hole and shoot back up into his throat. (yes he did find a way to get that kid away from the slavers)

how they got into the trade

The day the slavers came was the scariest day of either of their lives, for obvious reasons, but the Karazak are a ruthless bunch. their reputation for enslaving entire villages is infamous, and that's exactly what happened that day.

Thinking back is hard for Diot, as life starts to slow down after the fall of the empire he thinks about the years he wasted on booze and drugs, he'd had times of sobriety where things were nice but there were gaps in his memory where his addiction took center stage. unfortunately, all the drugs and alcohol never erased the memory of that night. Eme'tes finally asked one day while they sat on the dock.

"We'd been on Ryloth for a few days, staying with Momma's friend Aunti A'la and her wife. we went out playing with our cousins in the dunes, we weren't allowed to be out there but we went anyway. by the time we were coming back through the valley, there was so much smoke, we all ran back to see what was happening thinking it was just a house fire praying it wasn't anyone we knew." Eme'tes holds her husband's hand seeing the pain in his eyes as he tells this story. "everything was destroyed, a pile of bodies in the town center burning, all 5 of us were snatched and they put lek bands on us, we stood in a group till their ship came. I just stared at Momma's gold bracelet sticking out of that pile, melting off her wrist. Hevann tugged on my leku winning to get me up, he didn't talk for 3 years. I thanked the gods every day they let us stay together, I don't think I'd be here otherwise." Azreen jumped into his lap, wet from swimming was a welcome interruption.

The best parts of his life that he can remember being sober are with Hevann, the day He told Diot about their gender, the day they got matching tattoos, and the last time they saw each other crying in the dirty alleyway on the streets of Coruscant underbelly.

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hcneymooners · 4 months ago

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⋆ arcane headcanons but they're all vampires.

multi. vampire!f!characters x f!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: what it says on the tin, baby doll.

cw: vampire-related violence, mentions of gore (nothing graphic), mentions of blood-drinking (duh), dom/sub, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, masturbation, cunnilingus, power dynamics, power play, impact play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, semi-public sex on occasion, unhealthy relationships (in the sense of vampires + their fledglings! no abuse i swear), manipulation, gothic themes, mutual obsession, age difference, older woman/younger woman, morally gray characters.

notes: this includes jinx, caitlyn, ambessa, sevika, + vi. i just watched nosferatu and it’s now one of my absolute favorite movies. i loved it and so now i must invoke the spirit of the vampire into every fictional woman i’m desperately in love with.

this is also fully for @digit4lslut who wanted more evil women. i concur.

The winter is long and arduous and you find yourself hungering for something dark and warm. The world has always seemed to press against you, take from you, eat at you. You’re in bed now, and the spot next to you is plush and warm from your lover’s recent departure. Your neck stings and you press a hand to it, pull it away to find a gleaming sweet mixture of venom and blood. Beyond your hand the door opens and with a few more steps the curtain shielding from around the bed are pulled back.

This is your lover's return. You look at her, smile softly as she crawls over you and hovers with a blood-wet mouth. Her chest rises, body fevered and aching after a hunt. She places a hand on your stomach, pushes down until you gasp and clutch at her. Yes, this is your forever. You cup her face, turn her toward the light.

You see her. You see your history. Who is she? What is your history? What is her name?

jinx.

♱ you both were small when you first met. you had a tendency to sneak out into the gardens, tuck yourself under the thicket of white hydrangeas and stare out into the water. one day, the darkness shifted and she was staring back.

♱ she was all wild hair and wilder eyes, skin pale as moonlight. her hair was crystal, ocean blue. you weren't scared—maybe you should have been. instead, you reached out your hand and she took it, fingers cold against yours.

♱ you let her trace your palm, intertwine your fingers. something began to hum deep and low in your body and her eyes went pink, bright and starlike. she smelled so overwhelmingly of rose and plum, almost sickly sweet. you breathed in deeply, from your stomach up through your chest—like you were swimming.

♱ that was the beginning.

♱ for years, she was your shadow companion. you'd meet in the garden at midnight, sharing secrets and stolen sweets. You’d tuck a cake under the flat of her tongue and she’d hold it, smile close-lipped while it turned to ash. she'd braid flowers into your hair while telling you stories about magic and monsters to distract you while she spit it out.

♱ then one spring, she vanished. you woke to nothing but a puncture wound on the flesh of your palm, the holes almost tender with their dried blood and lack of pain. you didn’t know it then, but she’d spread her saliva, her venom over it to spare you from any pain.

♱ the hydrangeas bloomed without her, and you learned what it meant to mourn someone who left no trace behind. you grew into yourself slowly, carefully, always feeling half-formed without her there.

♱ when you saw her again, you were twenty-three and she was everything you'd dreamed of in the dark. she stood in her cousin's drawing room, all sharp edges and sharper smile. "this is jinx," they said, "she's been abroad." you knew better—the girl from your garden had never left, she'd just become something else entirely. maybe she always had been.

♱ her cousin, viktor, spoke of marriage within weeks. you agreed, but your eyes were always on her. you caught her watching you too, gaze heavy with something that made your blood sing. this was what you'd been waiting for, you realized. this hunger. this need.

♱ you couldn’t be alone with her. you recognized your lack of will, your deference almost immediately and set about avoiding her when you could. you only realized she allowed it, was indulging your fancy, when she cinched your waist with an arm just outside of the dining room and pressed her thumb into your chin until your jaw hinged wide enough for her to see the tissue of your cheek.

♱ “enough of this,” she told you, and then closed your mouth. she leaned forward, flooding your mind with her saccharine perfume as she held your head inbetween her spindly fingers and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

♱ she took to painting you. at first, it was formal portraits, the kind viktor commissioned. but soon the paintings changed—you in the garden, surrounded by hydrangeas, then by roses. you sleeping, hair spilled across silk pillows. you with bitten lips and eyes that held secrets.

♱ you never told anyone how you'd pose for her in the dead of night, how your skin would flush under her gaze.

♱ "you're my best work," she'd whisper, fingers trailing over fresh canvas. "my masterpiece." her studio became your sanctuary, far from viktor's polite affections and careful touches. she never kissed you, but god, how you wanted her to.

♱ the sculptures started after your engagement was announced. you in marble, you in bronze, you eternally preserved in cold, beautiful stone. she worked feverishly, possessed by something you both couldn't name. "i'm making you immortal," she'd say, and her eyes would glow like embers. "isn't that what you want?" it was. it is.

♱ you found her old sketches one night—drawings of you as a child, then a teenager right before her abandonment of you, then a woman, dated through all the years she'd been gone. she'd never stopped watching you, never truly left.

♱ the pages were stained with something dark at the edges. you traced them with your fingers, understanding finally what it meant to be beloved by something inhuman.

♱ "do you ever think about that night in the garden?" she asked once, hands covered in clay as she shaped your likeness. "when we first met?" you nodded, remembering the cold touch of her hand. "i knew then," she said, "that you'd be mine. but you didn’t understand it."

♱ the way your heart raced at those words should have frightened you. instead, you whispered back, "i understand now."

♱ viktor speaks of jinx with a mixture of fear and reverence. "she's not right," he whispers against your neck one night, and you feel nothing but impatience at his touch. "the things she does in that studio..." but he never finishes the thought. the family—the coven, jinx’s voice corrected you—needs her, so they keep her close.

♱ you need her too, but for entirely different reasons.

♱ sometimes she watches viktor touch you—at dinner parties, in the garden, during your dancing lessons. her eyes are molten in those moments, and later you find your face torn to pieces, canvas slashed with violent strokes of red.

♱ anyone else would be terrified, but the desperation with which she wants you makes your body riot with heat. you begin to leave your windows open at night, hoping she'll come to claim what's hers.

♱ "sit still," she commands, and you do. you always do. she's sculpting your hands now, obsessing over every line, every vein. "beautiful," she murmurs, and her fingers trace the paths her chisel will follow. your pulse jumps beneath her touch. she smiles, knowing. you smile back, trembling and wanting.

♱ the studio walls are covered with you now. sleeping, laughing, reading, dancing—moments you don't remember posing for. "my muse," she calls you, but it feels more like worship. every angle of you captured, preserved, devoured by her artistry. you wonder if this is what it feels like to be transformed into myth, and if she would lash out at your desire to be her priestess instead of her god.

♱ you find her one night in the garden, beneath your hydrangeas. she's painting with something dark and wet, and the flowers are turning red beneath her brush. she’s upset, her spin flexing agitatedly. "your wedding is in a month," she says without looking up. "i'm running out of time."

♱ you kneel beside her in the dirt, press your fingers to her cold cheek. "what do you need me to say in order for you to just take me?" you whisper. her eyes flash in the dark.

♱ the paintings change again. now they're fever dreams—you with wings of thorn, you with a crown of bones, you surrounded by writhing shadows. in every one, there's a crimson figure reaching for you. in every one, you're reaching back. they're no longer paintings but prophecies, and you ache for their fulfillment.

♱ "he'll never see you like i do," she tells you, circling your latest statue. “i know,” you answer. "he'll never capture your essence." her hand hovers over the marble's heart. “i—i know.” "he'll never make you eternal." the way she says it sounds like a promise. "i know,” your breathing is erratic now. “i don't want him to," you answer. "i only want you."

♱ the sculpture shatters that night; neither of you mention the blood on her hands.

♱ you start finding dead hydrangeas on your pillow, their petals black with age. beneath them, sketches of you in a wedding dress, the train stained scarlet, the veil made of lace and gray shadow. her signature is always in red. you press the flowers between book pages, collecting them like love notes.

♱ "tell me about the night you disappeared," you ask her once, lying among the ruined canvases of her studio. she traces patterns on your throat instead of answering. "i had to become worthy of you," she finally says. "i had to learn how to keep you forever." you turn your head, bare your neck and spread your legs. she lies against you, begins to drag two finger to your center. "show me," you breathe. “please.”

♱ she eats you like she does everything else: wildly, insatiably, and relentless. you feel out of control, grasping at your thighs as you finish over her.

♱ the night before your wedding, she asks to paint you one last time. viktor warns against it, but you go anyway. her studio smells of copper and roses.

♱ she doesn't use canvas this time. instead, her fingers trace runes on your throat, your wrists, your heart. "art needs sacrifice," she says, and her teeth gleam in the candlelight. "and i've waited so patiently. given you up for long enough." you think of all the years she watched, waited, wanted. your hands find her hair. “stop waiting."

♱ your first night as her creature, you understand why she always painted in red. the world explodes into color you never knew existed—violets deeper than bruises, blues that pulse like veins, reds that sing of life itself. "everything's so beautiful," you whisper. she laughs against your throat. "this is just the beginning, baby."

♱ viktor never makes it to the altar. the coven whispers that he fled, abandoned his bride-to-be. only you and jinx know the truth of his final portrait, painted in shades of crimson and hung in the deepest chamber of her studio. his last gift to art. you understand now—true art should hurt a little.

♱ the garden blooms year-round now, hydrangeas stained perpetually dark with your midnight feedings.

♱ "do you remember when you were afraid of me?" she asks one night, centuries after. you're both covered in bed, her mouth slick from where she’s been drinking. "i was never afraid," you correct her, licking the color from her fingers. "i think i just always loved you and found myself incomplete. that’s terrifying at thirteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty. and it never stops.”

♱ “good” she murmurs, and you know then that if you ever die she will be the thing that kills you.

caitlyn.

♱ she's been watching you grow into yourself for years. quiet, careful, always maintaining that perfect distance. you think she's just being professional—the respected vampire mediator, keeping an eye on the human liaison to her kind.

♱ she knows better, knows what you are. she feels the pull every time you enter a room, like gravity shifting to accommodate your presence.

♱ you begin to speak to her, lay yourself bare. you find that she’s so attentive when she listens, her body twisting to match the shape of yours as she leans her chin on hands and never breaks her gaze.

♱ "you'll find them," she tells you one night, when you're crying in her study about another failed relationship. her hand hovers over your shoulder, not quite touching. "your perfect one is out there."

♱ the lie tastes of rot in her mouth. she knows exactly where your perfect match is—sitting across from you, centuries old and terrified of how young you are.

♱ you bring her wine she can't drink and tell her your secrets. your life spills out of you, a thin timeline that is a speck in how long she’s lived. she collects each one like precious stones, storing them away with all the other pieces of you she's gathered over the years.

♱ "i just want someone to look at me and know," you confess. she grips her desk until the wood creaks, fighting the urge to say: i know. i've always known.

♱ she can’t help herself in some ways. there are some things she can't hide, one of them being her favor. books appear on your desk about subjects you mentioned wanting to learn. your favorite flowers stay blossomed in winter outside your window. a shadow follows you home on dangerous nights. you think she's just being kind. she's being careful—so, so careful.

♱ "do you ever feel it?" you ask her once. "that pull toward someone? like your whole body already knows them?" she looks at you for a long moment, memorizing the way moonlight catches in your dilated eyes. for a moment, she zones out and listens to your body pump and pulse. she hears your sudden arousal, the sticky syrupy run of your cunt as you watch her the swell of her chest.

♱ "yes," she says finally, slightly breathless. "i know exactly what you mean." you smile, relieved to be understood. she turns away, centuries of control cracking.

♱ when you finally find out, it's not gentle. there's a fight, an ancient vampire who gets too close, wounds you and tells you too much.

♱ "ask your protector why she keeps you close," he sneers before caitlyn tears him apart. "ask her why she won't let anyone else have you."

♱ you're magnificent in your rage. "all this time!" you seethe, hurling books at her head. "watching me cry about being alone. letting me think—" she catches a particularly heavy tome before it hits her face.

♱ "i was trying to protect you," she starts. "from what?" you roar. "from me," she whispers.

♱ you settle and she finds it worse than the rage.“caitlyn, you are my mate. out of everyone, you could only ever save me.”

♱ "i've lived centuries," she tries to explain. "i've seen everything this world has to offer. i didn't want to take your chance at a normal life. you will resent me as time passes. that is the truth." you laugh, bitter and broken. "that wasn't your choice to make. and it was the wrong one. resent you? it’s as if you don’t even know me."

♱ she finds you in her study at midnight, surrounded by her journals. centuries of entries about you, dreams at frist—about the pull, about fighting it. then you came into the world and it was real, more terrifying.

♱ "when?" you ask, voice raw. "when did you know?" she kneels beside your chair, finally letting herself touch your hand. "the moment you walked into my office five years ago. it felt like walking into sunlight after an endless night."

♱ "i've memorized all your habits," she confesses one night, when you're still angry but can't stay away. "the way you tap your fingers when you're thinking. how you always have to turn to an even-numbered page in a book before you leave it. the exact sound of your heartbeat when you're about to cry."

♱ you want to hate how well she knows you. instead, you ache.

♱ she starts leaving collections of letters for you, months of longing bound in leather. you read about the first time she saw you smile, how she had to leave the room because the wanting was too much. about all the times she nearly shattered, nearly told you, nearly gave in.

♱ "i wrote novels of you," she whispers when you confront her. "i just couldn't let you read them."

♱ "i want to know," you demand one evening, tired of careful distance. "show me what it feels like."

♱ she presses her hand to your chest, lets you feel the pull that's been tormenting her for years. it's like drowning in fire, like every love poem ever written condensed into a single touch.

♱ "oh," you breathe. "why did you keep this from me?"

♱ you find her old paintings hidden away—you in every season, every light. she's captured moments you didn't even know she witnessed.

♱ "i told myself it wasn't possessive if i never showed anyone," she admits. you trace a picture of yourself sleeping, rendered in oils and longing. you turn to her, face open and wet. "what if i wanted to be possessed?"

♱ the first time she kisses you, it's like coming home. "i'm still angry," you murmur against her lips. “furious even.” her hands shake as they frame your face. "i know. i'll spend decades earning your forgiveness."

♱ you bite her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "decades? is that all?"

♱ she tries to maintain control even now—always asking permission, always holding back. you learn to break her resolve with casual touches, with bared skin, with whispered confessions. "let go," you tell her, pressing closer. "i want you to trust yourself so implicitly, that you let yourself go. i'm not made of glass."

♱ when she finally does, there are stars exploding behind your eyes and gunfire in your head. you will never forget the feel of her, her cunt swollen and pink and weeping against you.

♱ "i used to stand outside your door at night," she admits, tracing patterns on your bare shoulder. "listening to you breathe, making sure you were safe." you should find it creepy. instead, you think of all the nights you felt protected without knowing why.

♱ "next time," you say, "come inside."

♱ you start finding little gifts—first editions of books you mentioned loving, antique jewelry that matches your eyes, pressed flowers from centuries ago. "i've been collecting things for you," she explains, shy suddenly. "since before the day we met."

♱ you wear her history around your neck, let her sink into your blood.

♱ sometimes you catch her watching you with that old hesitation. you've learned to read it now—the fear that she's taking too much, loving too deeply. "i choose this," you remind her, pressing your wrist to her mouth. "i choose you." she kisses your pulse point like a prayer.

♱ "i thought i was protecting you," she whispers one night, when you're tangled in her sheets and her guilt. "but i was really protecting myself. from how much i could love you. from how much it would destroy me to lose you."

♱ you kiss the confession from her lips. "you will never lose me. but i will ruin you, if you ever try to keep me from you again. in any fashion.”

♱ she shivers, understands that you are saying this as a vow. she rolls you over, climbs on top of you, tries to tear apart your body to find a place to stay.

ambessa.

♱ she never looks at you. not really. you're furniture to her, useful and invisible. you clean lip stains from her wine glasses, replace torn sheets, erase all evidence of her endless parade of lovers. sometimes you find drops of blood on the marble floor and wonder what it would taste like to be wanted by her.

♱ "excellent work as always," she says without turning around. you've just finished clearing away another morning-after scene—scattered clothes, broken crystal, the lingering scent of sex and copper in the air. her praise feels like acid in your chest.

♱ you want her to see you. you want her to devour you. you want, you want, you want.

♱ you keep track of her lovers in your mind, a masochistic catalog. the willowy blonde who screamed her name. the dark-haired man who left claw marks on her sheets. the redhead who stayed for three nights (a record).

♱ none of them last. none of them matter. but they get to taste her, and you're just the ghost who cleans up their remains.

♱ "my perfect attendant," she calls you, when she bothers to speak to you at all. she doesn’t even know your name, yet you know every detail of her life—how she takes her blood (warm, with a drop of rum), which silk sheets she prefers (harvest gold, 800 thread count), the exact temperature she likes her chambers (a cool 65 degrees).

♱ you know everything except what her fangs would feel like against your throat.

♱ it breaks on a tuesday. you find another lover's scarf wound around her bedpost, stained with blood and something else. your hands shake as you untie it. maybe they were kept captive with it. ungrateful. she wouldn’t have to hold you down for anything. you would prostate, beg for her. you would be good.

♱ "leave it," her voice commands from the doorway. you turn, and finally, finally she's looking at you. but all you can see is the fresh bite mark on her neck, already healing.

♱ something about it needles at you, guts you. she usually doesn’t let them bite her back. "no," you whisper. then louder: "no."

♱ she raises an eyebrow, amused at your defiance. "excuse me?" the scarf falls from your trembling fingers.

♱ "i can't—i won't do this anymore. i can't keep cleaning up after them. after you. i can't—" your voice breaks. tears spill down your cheeks. her amusement vanishes.

♱ “my entire life, i’ve been right there. and i know you know. i know you can smell it.” you practically hiss it. “every day, i debase myself in front of you. i can never hate you but i want to get close.”

♱ "you're dismissed," she says quietly. you laugh through your tears. of course. of course she'd throw you away the moment you showed weakness.

♱ you leave without packing your things, without looking back. you don't see her expression as she watches you go, the way her fingers dig into the doorframe hard enough to splinter wood.

♱ another coven takes you in. lesser nobles, but they're kind enough. you don't have to clean up after anyone's trysts. you don't have to smell blood on sheets or wonder about the sounds coming from behind closed doors. you should be happy.

♱ instead, you dream of her every night. hot, detailed, torrid visions that make you wake weak and wet.

♱ a month passes. then two. you learn to breathe again, to exist in spaces that don't smell like her perfume. "you seem sad," your new mistress says. you force a smile. "only tired."

♱ gyou don't tell her that every room feels wrong, that every bed you make feels empty without gold upon it.

♱ she comes for you on a moonless night. you're changing linens (always changing linens, even here) when the temperature drops. "did you think i would let you go so easily?" her voice slides down your spine like ice. you don't turn around. you can't. “i thought you’d have returned by now, would have reconsidered what you gave up.”

♱ "look at me," she commands. you've never been able to deny her anything. she's exactly as beautiful as you remember, but her eyes are different. starved. "my perfect attendant," she purrs. "do you know how many lovers i've taken since you left?" you flinch. she smiles. "none."

♱ "come home," she says, like it's that simple. you gather your pride around you like armor. “why should i?” her eyes flash. "because you're mine." you laugh, bitter and bright. "i am—i’m not a medarda. i was never yours. i was your furniture, remember? you didn’t even call me by name."

♱ for the first time in centuries, ambessa medarda looks uncertain.

♱ she starts leaving gifts—not just jewelry and silk, but tokens of attention. oysters, shelled and presented to make your consumption easier. books you'd mentioned wanting to read, when you thought she wasn't listening. a bottle of the perfume you wear, worth more than your yearly salary. you send them all back. she needs to learn that you can't be bought.

♱ "tell me how to fix this," she demands one night, appearing in your chambers. you're still in your evening dress from serving at the coven's gathering, throat on display and adorned with delicate chains. her eyes fix on your nervous swallow.

♱ "you can't just command everything better," you say softly. "not this time."

♱ she follows you to another gathering, watching from shadows as you serve blood-wine to lesser vampires. you're dressed in black silk, your neck a graceful line adorned with gold. the whole room's attention shifts when you move—too many hungry eyes, too many sharp smiles. you pretend not to notice. the attention means nothing; it isn’t hers.

♱ you hear her growl when one of them gets too close, asking if you'd like to "serve privately." before she can move, you handle it yourself: a polite smile, a steel-edged refusal. you've learned to navigate these waters. you don't need her protection.

♱ (but oh, how your heart races when you feel her rage across the room. you’re almost sick with it.)

♱ "they want to devour you," she seethes later, cornering you in an empty hallway. "i can smell their desire. their need." you meet her gaze steadily. "now you know how it feels."

♱ understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by something darker. "is this what you felt? watching me with them?" you turn away. her hand catches your wrist. "answer me."

♱ "yes," you whisper. "every night. every morning. watching you choose everyone but me. wanting—" your voice breaks. her grip tightens. "wanting what?" you pull away. "everything. anything. just one taste of being yours."

♱ she moves differently after that.

♱ no more commands, no more assumptions. she courts you properly, like you're something precious. leaves letters detailing all the things she noticed but never said. how graceful your hands are when you pour wine. how your hair settles against your back when you sleep. how she missed your scent in her chambers.

♱ "i may have taken you for granted," she admits one evening. you're both in her study, you perched carefully out of reach. "i thought you would always be there. my perfect girl." her laugh is self-deprecating. "i didn't realize i was losing my only match."

♱ another gathering. another dress. this time when the vampires stare, she's at your side. "she’s spoken for," she says evenly. you raise an eyebrow. "am i?" her hand finds your waist, possessive but questioning. "if you wish to be."

♱ "make me believe it," you challenge. she watches you, then sinks low. she’s kneeling before you and the sight makes you dizzy—ambessa medarda, on her knees. the room goes silent.

♱ "i have loved you," she says, loud enough for all to hear, "in all the wrong ways. let me love you properly." you touch her chin, tilt her face up. "prove it."

♱ she relearns you slowly, deliberately. no more invisible servant—now she watches openly as you move through her chambers. "tell me if you want me to stop," she says, but you don't. you want her to see everything she missed before.

♱ "you've redecorated," she notes one night, when you finally return to her rooms. you've replaced the golden silk with deep purple, changed the artwork, rearranged the furniture. made it yours. "i'm not here to clean up after you anymore," you remind her. she traces a finger along your jaw. "no. you aren’t."

♱ the first time she feeds from you, it's like death— you are breaking apart all at once; you are coming together and it is sweet.

♱ "you taste like nectar," she breathes against your throat. you thread fingers through her hair, holding her close. "you taste like mine," you answer. she shudders against you.

♱ the next time she kneels for you is in the drawing room, her head beneath your skirts and your legs on her shoulders. she laps at you, pulls orgasm after orgasm from you until you kick at her back. even then she continues, with fingers instead of tongue. the pain, the pleasure—it’s endless.

♱ old habits die hard—sometimes she still tries to command rather than ask. but now when she slips, you arch an eyebrow and wait. "please," she'll correct herself, the word foreign and stilted on her tongue. you reward her with kisses that always spiral out of control.

♱ you keep one of her old lover's scarves, tucked away in a drawer. sometimes when she's being particularly imperious, you take it out, let her see it. "i could leave again," you remind her. she pulls you into her lap, buries her face in your neck. "you won’t. it won’t be as easy. you know this." you gasp as her teeth sink in.

♱ "do you miss it?" she asks once. "taking care of me?" you run your fingers along her spine. "i still take care of you. i just do it as your equal now."

♱ she presses you into silk sheets, whispers "show me" against your skin. you do.

♱ you catch her watching you dress for bed, something vulnerable in her eyes. "what is it?" you ask. "i suppose i keep waiting," she admits, "for you to decide that you would like something different." you straddle her lap, cradle her face in your hands. "i decided that i deserve exactly what i chose."

♱ the other covens still whisper—about how the great ambessa medarda let a servant become her consort, about how she kneels for you in private (did it in public, even). they don't understand that she's never been stronger than when she's yielding to you.

♱ besides, it is you who often submits. she drives you insane with how much you need her. you just force her to work for it.

♱ "sweet girl," she calls you now, never attendant. occasionally, she speaks your name, usually in the midst of pleasure. you're arranging flowers in her study (old habits), and she's watching you like you're something holy.

♱ you meet her eyes in the mirror. "yes, mistress?"

♱ her eyes darken. she rolls up her sleeves, comes over.

sevika.

♱ she comes to collect on a sunday. you're serving tea to your mother when the door creaks open—no knock, no warning. just sevika, silco's enforcer, filling the doorway like an omen.

♱ "time to pay up," she drawls, flashes teeth. your mother starts to cry. you pour another cup of tea.

♱ "would you like some?" you ask, steady-handed despite your racing heart. she blinks, caught off-guard by your composure. "what?" you gesture to the cup. "it's jasmine. very soothing."

♱ her laugh is sharp as broken glass. "you think tea will save you from your family's debts?" "no," you say simply. "but it might buy me an hour to pack."

♱ she studies you over the rim of the teacup she doesn't remember accepting. you pretend not to notice how she watches your throat when you swallow hard. "one hour," she agrees. you hide a smile in your cup.

♱ one hour becomes one day. becomes one week. becomes one month. you're clever with your delays—always just reasonable enough, always with something to offer. "you're playing a dangerous game, priya," she warns you.

♱ your fingers brush hers as you hand her another cup of tea. "i know."

♱ she begins to linger after delivering silco's threats and your family home becomes a strange fairytale in this winter—ice flowers blooming on windows, shadows moving like living things, sevika's footsteps echoing on wooden floors. you serve tea in your grandmother's bone china cups, and sometimes there are teeth marks on the rims that weren't there before.

♱ you always meet in your mother's parlor, all faded elegance and desperate pride. snow falls outside like ash, and the samovar steams in the corner, waiting. when sevika enters, the dark worn world follows her—frost crawling up the windows, ice crystallizing in your lungs. you never stood a chance at escape. so you just shift the goal.

♱ you learn that her mechanical arm aches in the cold, the phantom of the real one haunting her. that she has a secret fondness for your mother's butter cookies.

♱ "you're stalling," she tells you over and over. "yes," you agree. "is it working?"

♱ your mother catches on first. "oh, clever girl," she whispers, watching sevika watch you over dinner. "but be careful. a jaguar is still a jaguar even if it hides its teeth." you think of the way sevika's hands shook when you touched her last, how she pulls back if you flinch even slightly at her approach. "mmm. the jaguar is still a cat."

♱ your first kiss tastes like smoke and metal. she's furious about something—another clever excuse, another day bought—and you silence her with your mouth. she pulls back, eyes wide.

♱ "you can't seduce your way out of this," she tells you, her voice almost dead. you trace her bottom lip with your thumb. "i’m not trying to. my desire for you is a separate thing."

♱ she brings you gifts that feel like warnings: a silver hairpin sharp enough to kill, a red cloak lined with raven feathers, a ring set with stones that look like frozen blood. "are you trying to save me or damn me?" you ask, letting her fasten the clasp at your throat. she kisses your pulse point. "both. neither. everything."

♱ you find out she's older than your great-grandmother's grandmother. "does it bother you?" she asks roughly. you're curled in her lap, mapping the scars on her human hand. "does what bother me? that you're ancient?" she pinches your side. you kiss her neck. "you're just well-preserved."

♱ eventually, your meddling works. after one too many unsuccessful collections, silco summons you both.

♱ "fascinating," he muses, taking in sevika's protective stance, your carefully blank expression. "you've found quite an interesting solution to your family's situation." you meet his knowing gaze. you let your heart marr your face with its emotion. "oh, how sweet,” he murmurs. “marry my enforcer, erase the debt. is this what you want?"

♱ “i want to live,” you answer, with your jutting out. you feel sevika turn and look at you, feel the realiztion come that she’s been a (delightful) means to an end.

♱ "you’ve been using me," she accuses later, pressing you against your bedroom wall. "from the first day.” you wrap your arms around her neck. pull at her hair until her head falls back."yes." she shudders. "why?" you kiss her mechanical knuckles. "because i see you and you see me. really see me. you know i am wicked and you still drink my tea.”

♱ she fucks you hard, fast. your stomach is bruised from where she holds you, your legs nicked by her claws as she grabs you when you try to scramble away. she’s mean, understandably confused and maybe even feeling betrayed. you let her rut her frustration onto your cunt, gasp softly as she laps her slick from between your folds.

♱ “i should drain you,” she murmurs into your sweat-slick neck. you pull away, grasp her jaw. “i often thought that you should eat me. dreamed of it. sometimes,” you confess, “i even came. i had to squirrel away the sheets before my mother could find them.” she shakes, slips a finger inside of you. “liar,” she accuses. “if that makes it easier,” you respond.

♱ "my mother believes i did this to save us" you tell her one night, snow gathering on the windowsills like secrets. "she thinks i'm sacrificing myself." sevika's hand whirs as she pulls you closer. "aren't you?" you smile against her throat. "i only reward myself in this life. it’s not a sacrifice if you really want it."

♱ your wedding preparations become a dance of power and submission. you choose a lavish black dress with silver threading for the rehersal, drape yourself in diamonds cold as death. "you look like you're already one of us," sevika murmurs, and you can't tell if she's pleased or terrified. "isn't that what you really want?" you ask. her silence tastes pleasant.

♱ the night before your wedding, you find her in the garden, snow melting around her feet. "having second thoughts?" you ask, wrapping your arms around her waist. she rocks into you. "wondering when exactly i lost control of this," she admits. you press closer, sharing warmth she doesn't need. "bold of you to assume you ever had it."

♱ your wedding is a power play, a business transaction, a love story written in blood and tea leaves. you wear red and gold, traditional colors for a vampire's bride. sevika looks at you like she's drowning. "still think i'm just a clever little girl?" you whisper during your first dance. she kisses you hard enough to break your jaw. "you're the most dangerous woman i've ever met."

♱ you move into her quarters in silco's mansion—all dark wood and darker secrets. at night, you hear screams from the lower levels, but you never flinch. instead, you pour tea rigidly in cups rimmed with gold, light candles that smell of grape and amber, create a home in the heart of a monster's lair.

♱ "you should be more afraid of me," she tells you one night, after you've watched her tear someone apart. you're helping her clean blood from her joints, gentle and thorough. "what’s the point? i’m in this now. anway, you should be afraid of me," you counter, pressing a kiss to her gore-stained knuckles. her laugh catches in her throat.

♱ silco watches you at dinner parties, amused by how you've tamed his beast. but he doesn't see how you feed her morsels from your fingers, how your soft touches leave her trembling, how your love is its own kind of violence. how you aren’t afraid to lash her with it, refuse her affection to keep her in line. you know she needs this, that she’s rarely had it before.

♱ "you've made her weak," he accuses. you smile, all teeth. "i've made her mine."

♱ you develop rituals together, sacred as prayer and sharp as knives. every night, you clean her mechanical arm—each gear, each plate, each deadly piece. your hands never shake, even when they're stained with someone else's blood. "my good girl," she murmurs, and you pretend not to notice how her voice trembles.

♱ the tea ceremony becomes something close to holy between you. your grandmother's samovar, polished until it shines like a mirror, brewing tea dark as sin. you pour with steady hands while she tells you about the night's violence.

♱ sometimes you taste copper in the cup and realize she's kissed the rim, leaving traces of her work behind. you drink it anyway.

♱ you draw her baths after hunts, water turning pink with vicera that isn't hers. she lets you wash her hair, lets you trace the scars on her back, lets you piece her together again. "i could kill you just like this," she says when you massage her scalp. you kiss her shoulder. "i’d drag you down."

♱ on cold nights, you brush and braid her hair, weaving in strips of leather and small, sharp blades. your touches are gentle but your intentions aren't, and she knows it. "am i pretty enough yet?" she teases. you rest your chin on her shoulder, dig down. "you’re easily the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen." her pupils dilate and her legs part, so you reach a hand around her waist to drag between them.

♱ the other vampires think it's sweet, how you wait up for her. they don't see how you position yourself by windows, arranging your reflection to watch all the doors. how your devotion has teeth.

♱ you keep her schedule in a leather-bound book, writing in codes you invented as a child. meetings marked in red ink, kills in black, feeding times in gold. "my good little wife," she coos, but you catch her studying the patterns you create, trying to decode your secrets.

♱ sometimes she brings you presents from her hunts—jewelry still warm from its previous owners, books with bloodstained pages. you accept them with genuine delight, arrange them carefully in your shared space. "magpie," she calls you fondly. "collecting pretty things." you don't tell her that she was your first collection. your most prized.

♱ your bedroom becomes a museum of decadent violence—diamond necklaces with broken clasps, antique daggers hung like artwork, silk sheets that have seen both birth and death. you keep her arm's spare parts in a velvet-lined box beside your perfumes.

♱ "do you ever regret it?" she asks one night, watching you stitch up a wound on her human arm. your needle is silver, your thread is silk, your hands are sure. "falling in love with someone—someone like me?"

♱ you tie off the suture with precise fingers. "you simply have claws and i’ve always believed love was meant to scar." she kisses you, surging forward to suck you up.

bonus: vi.

♱ you first notice her at the local underground fighting rings, all raw power and feral grins. you can smell what she is - werewolf, obviously - but she's so young and unrefined in her movements that you assume she must be newly turned. still, something about her draws your centuries-old heart.

♱ you only dare to attend the fights under the guise of accompanying your brother, a known patron of these brutal entertainments. each night you tell yourself you'll stop coming, stop watching her. each night you fail, drawn to the way she dominates the ring with savage grace. you wonder if she could make you fall like that.

♱ she catches you watching one night, corners you in the shadowy hallway with a grin that's all teeth. "see something you like, vamp?" she asks, and you flush.

♱ you turn, run away, your chest clenching tightly as you remember her in the privacy of your rooms. your fingers work deep inside you and you let out a small wail as you think of her tattooed hands inside you instead.

♱ she keeps showing up at your usual haunts, those golden eyes following you with an intensity that makes your dead heart flutter. when she finally approaches you again, her flirting is clumsier but endearing, and you find yourself charmed by this baby wolf despite yourself.

♱ “it’s good to meet you under proper circumstances, vi,” you say and her eyes shine at her name.

♱ your "guidance" begins with teaching her to hunt properly, but she always seems to know exactly where to find her prey. you chalk it up to natural instinct until you notice how the other wolves defer to her in passing. still, the way she looks at you with those eager eyes makes you forget your suspicions.

♱ quiet moments become your undoing - the way she brings you still-warm blood in crystal glasses, how she curls around you on cold mornings like you're pack. you find yourself sharing centuries of secrets, and she listens with an ancient patience that should have been your first clue.

♱ the first time she takes you to her territory, deep in the woods where the trees whisper ancient songs, you feel the power thrumming through the earth. she presses you against the bark and holds you as you’re ravaged by the first feel of the werewolf bond. you let her. her hands leave bruises that heal too quickly.

♱ you convince yourself it's only in your head, her unwavering attention, just the mental thrill of forbidden fruit. but then she starts leaving little gifts where only you'll find them - a baby blue ribbon for your throat or hair, a wolf's tooth on a golden chain. each token makes your dead heart ache with something you dare not name.

♱ but the world cannot allow you peace. the tension between covens and packs grows thicker than old blood. you see it in the way your kind bare their fangs at passing wolves, in how the wolves' eyes gleam with barely contained violence in return.

♱ still, you meet her in secret, pretending the world isn't fracturing around you.

♱ when the council announces the marriage alliances, you volunteer quickly - anything to make living easier for her. she is young, has so much ahead of her. you arrive at court in your finest blacks, ready to do your duty. then you see her standing among the pack leaders, power radiating from her like the sun.

♱ it's when, in the middle of this supernatural court, that someone addresses her as "heir apparent" and your world tilts on its axis. the realization hits like a stake to the heart.

♱ vi, heir to the most powerful pack in the territory, had been letting you believe she was some untrained pup. the way you’ve been treating her is deeply disgraceful. you can feel her eyes burning into you as you swear your agreement to whatever contract, make your excuses, and flee under the pretense of preparing for the following diplomatic talks.

♱ your pride wounded, you avoid her for days that stretch into weeks. but she's persistent - leaving gifts at your door, handwritten notes that smell of earth and pine. your resolve weakens with each gesture, even as you try to stay angry

♱ she finds you anyway, because of course she does. she corners you in your own haven, and there's nothing puppy-like about her now. her power fills the room like smoke, making your knees weak. "enough games," she orders, and when she kisses you this time, there's no pretense of submission.

♱ "i know i withheld, but i only wanted to keep this.” you say nothing, raise a hand to sound the servants bell. she grasps your fingers, holds your hand. “i know you’re upset, but did you really think i'd let them marry you off to some other wolf?" she’s walking you forward, backing you against the library shelves.

♱ "i've been working for months to position myself as the logical choice for this alliance." her laugh is dark and rich against your throat. “even brought up the damn idea myself.”

♱ “i wasn’t listening,” you finally say. “i only answered to leave faster. to be less humiliated.” she softens at that.

♱ "that wasn’t ever the intention, my love.” you look away. “but did you really think i was some newborn pup?" she whispers against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. "i've been alpha-in-training since before you noticed your first gray hair, little bat."

♱ "all those nights at the fights," she continues, "watching you try to hide your interest from your brother, from everyone. knowing you thought you were being so careful with the naïve little wolf." her hands grip your hips possessively. "when really, i was just waiting for the perfect moment to claim what's mine.”

♱ the way she manhandles you onto your own bed leaves no doubt about who's really in charge.

♱ "my sweet girl," she groans as she marks your throat, your chest, your thighs. "watching you try to show me how to track when i could smell your desire from miles away. how to fight when i've led warriors. but gods, the way you touched me like i was new to this world…"

♱ she bullies her fingers into you, milks you until you cry. after, her mouth finds your cunt and she eats of you—slurping so loudly that you cover your face with embarrassment. she only grins, laps at you harder. you white out as she orders you to cum again.

♱ and so the war that threatened to tear your worlds apart becomes the very thing that lets you keep her. your nights are filled with new lessons now - how her pack honors the old ways, how the moon-song flows through her bloodline. in public, you play the part of diplomatic necessity. in private, she follows your body like law until your weeping and can barely stay up.

♱ she returns from hunts, blood-drunk and fierce but still gentle as she pulls you close. you think that perhaps being prey wasn’t the worst thing. this was your way of finally belonging to something wild and true.

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comatosebunny09 · 5 months ago

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— cw: kidnapping, torture, sedatives, abuse, mentions of r*pists, p*dos, & murder, angst, helplessness, heavy subject matter all around, language, mdni

— notes: a continuation of this blurb. something a little darker than what i usually write. please be mindful that there's some heavy stuff ahead. if i forgot to tag anything, please let me know in the comments. thank you for reading!

— now playing: dusty room - evgeny grinko

An insistent dripping draws you from the inky embrace of unconsciousness.

It always does. It’s been your alarm clock for the past…three days? Four? Week? You’re not sure anymore. Time moves differently when you’re in captivity, and your mind is constantly invaded and warped.

At first, you could glean the passage of time by the moon or sunlight seeping through the small window in the corner—your captors had shoved you into a spacious room of rotting metal walls and only one entry point. It reeked of mildew and sweat, and you’d nothing but the creak of metal and that ceaseless dripping sound to keep you company.

But your senses are no longer reliable. They’ve poked around your mind so much that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to gauge the difference between reality and fiction.

Only a few things remain constant during your stay here: the henchman of the day comes in to administer you a dose of something potent with a syringe. Something to ease the ache of your limbs, to curb the hunger gnarling in your gut. But it’s also to keep your Evol tucked in the furthest reaches of your mind. To keep you at their mercy.

Next, two more men trickle in, sinisterly laughing as they deprive you of food and warmth and keep you lucid. And one of them constantly probes your mind, manipulating it to see and experience things that aren’t always real. Dredging up memories you had compartmentalized after taking up this new life, furthering your torment.

You would be impressed—their ability is almost on par with yours and would certainly make a man clad in red and black whistle with appreciation—if you weren’t already clinging to your sanity by a thread.

Your captors have been surprisingly generous, only hitting you a few times when you get mouthy. You’d once heard them say to each other they had to keep you alive long enough to lure your boss from the shadows. Still, you’re sometimes their human punching bag, suspended from the ceiling by chains rubbing your wrists and ankles raw.

They learned their lesson when they first brought you to this prison. When you’d called them pussies and, with what little strength you could muster, took three of them down before they subdued you with stun batons and a heavier dosage of whatever cocktail they’d been pumping you with.

Each time they enter, they ask you more questions. Interrogate you about Sylus and the inner workings of Onychinus. Splash you with frigid water to wake you, inject more serum, and sink their claws into your psyche when you display an inkling of resistance. All in an attempt to bring you to the brink of insanity. To break you.

You’re a little worse for wear. Bruised and battered. It hurts to breathe when the medicine wears off. You’re constantly shivering, constantly blacking out. You’re sure they’ve shattered a rib or two. And you haven’t much strength left, stripped of nourishment and proper blood circulation for God knows how long.

You have one good eye, the other swollen shut from their previous assault. Your lips keep splitting, so goddamn dry. They could’ve done much worse. Could’ve violated you in unspeakable ways. So you’re grateful the illusions are seemingly their most potent form of torture.

No matter how many levels of hell your captors subject you to, you don’t cave. You’re still as haughty as ever. Piss them off whenever you can, fighting back with your tongue in a way that your body can’t. Anything to distract you from the unyielding torment and pain. From your thoughts creeping in, from your mortality looming over your shoulders.

“He won’t come for me,” you bitterly laugh each time your captors taunt you. “He doesn’t care about me. You’ve got the wrong person.” To which they heckle like hyenas, looking at you as if you’ve said the most absurd thing.

They tell you you are the right person. That it’s only a matter of time before your ‘boyfriend’ comes sniffing you out. You’re more valuable than any treasure, any amount of money. But you always push those words to the back burner. Those empty attempts to give you a flicker of hope.

He’s subjected you to danger numerous times before. Thrown you to the wolves on several occasions. What makes this time any different?

One thought reigns supreme in your mind each time they torture you. Each time they fill your head with trickery, visions of him, and memories of past misdeeds.

If he wanted to save you, he would’ve already come.

The truth hurts, but it’s somehow comforting. Sylus will never find you like this. Never see how far you’ve fallen from grace, breaking apart at the seams, slowly succumbing to the cold and delirium. He’s got more important things to worry about—more important people to occupy his mind.

You’re disposable. You’ve known this from the start.

The notion only rooted itself deeper the moment a certain Hunter disturbed the monotony of your lives.

It was merely a matter of time before one of Onychinus’ most revered assassins was wiped out.

In a way, your captors are doing Sylus a favor, ridding him of your presence so he doesn’t have to lift a finger to do it himself. You’ve always worried he would no longer find a use for you. Knew you couldn’t always be at his side. And now that he has someone else to play his bait, to bat their lashes at him and tug at those little heartstrings, you know you don’t stand a chance.

Savagely, you laugh, your face turned up at the silvery moonbeams sinking in through the window. And it hurts, your throat dry like it’s been rubbed with sandpaper. Unbidden tears scorch down the sides of your face. Whether they’re heralded in from agony or hysteria, you don’t know.

Your solitude in this room is as much of a reprieve as it is a cage. Sure, you’re free to collect what little coherent thoughts you have left before your captors are back at it, shocking you to hell and tearing your mind at the seams. But you’re also left with nothing to do but stew in thoughts of your inevitable demise.

Maybe this is your punishment. All the lives you’ve taken. All the innocents you displaced when you were a fiery-eyed killer fueled by rage and fear. Murdering coldly, killing because you were told—forced—to.

No matter how far you ran, the past always snuck up on you. But shielded beneath Sylus’ wings, you were able to delay its descent onto your shoulders.

Sylus had taken you away from it all. Redirected your ire, your revenge, onto the scourge of humanity. No longer were you a gun for hire, taking out high-profile figures because your very life depended on it. No. Instead, you wiped the most vile men from the face of the planet. Pedophiles, rapists, murderers. And you supposed that served as enough repentance for your life before.

Still, no amount of justification will support what you’ve done. What you continue to do. And all for the love of a man who will never see you as more than a rook. A chess piece, lazily dragging across the board for use at his disposal.

The single door to your prison groans open, dispelling the nebula of your thoughts as a blinding stream of light pours in. You wince against its brilliance, your bruised lips canting up in a sardonic smile.

Once the new presence clears the entryway, a shock of white greets you. And it’s followed by a wash of scarlet, moving through the bleariness. You huff a painful laugh as the figure nears you, agony swelling in your chest. This trick again. Weren’t they getting bored of using it?

Finding your voice, you grit out, “You’ve tried this one already. It’s getting old. Gonna have to do better than that.”

But your tormenter doesn’t err in their steps. Instead, they hasten their approach until the warmth they carry wades over your skin. And through the dank scent of your entrapment, you make out familiar notes of amber and sandalwood. As convincing as the illusions have been lately, they’ve never smelled this vivid before.

Searing hands curve around your cheeks. Angle your head back until your vision fills with red. Red eyes nestled beneath brows knotted with anguish. Pink lips parted with the effort of breathing. As you fully take in your tormenter’s harrowed features, you slowly realize that maybe you’re not hallucinating this time. And a thick film of tears washes over your good eye, the world blurring and bending.

“You’re getting better at this,” you sob-slash-laugh, still disbelieving. There’s no way he could be the real thing. There’s just—

—no way. Could he? Could it…

Suddenly, the metal chains of your shackles rattle and loosen. And you’re freefalling, loose-limbed and weightless, heading for the ground along with your restraints. But a pair of virile arms spread like wings beneath you, cradling you against a rigid chest, and a ferocious heart beats a war cadence beneath your cheek as you press further into it.

Weakened by your time in captivity, you feel something prodding around inside your head. Something warm and feather-light creeps through the folds of your mind, chasing away the darkness. It’s a voice—an inherently masculine voice reverberating in your head, working like a soothing balm over your psyche.

I’ve got you, it soothes, dulling the ache in your bones, the maelstrom in your head. And its familiarity is enough to bring a smile to your lips. More tears pour in rivulets down your cheeks, and you cling to the silk of his shirt, unconsciousness pulling you under. He came for you. He really—he actually—

—came.

And as you succumb to fatigue, hypothermia, and hunger, two sentences pierce through the darkness like a lighthouse beaconing through the storm.

“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all.”

#tw: kidnapping #tw: torture #tw: abuse #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus angst #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus qin #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #limerence maybe

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dysphxriaii · 1 month ago

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kintsugi

xavier rafayel sylus zayne caleb

cw; self harm, razor blades, hurt comfort, angst, fluffy ending, reader/mc is slightly hinted at being chubby (body dysmorphia + negative body image), self-isolation (reader/mc), dddne (proceed with caution).

authors note: this is a mere work of fiction and i do not condone or am encouraging people to inflict bodily harm upon themselves. if the contents in this ff will trigger you in any sort of way, please do not read it!! as a person that is/was going through similar situations shown in this ff, i want to raise awareness and help support others in need.

this rough patch in our lives will soon pass <3

ps: the sh in this ff is very vague and up for interpretation. there is no exact place mentioned for where the sh is taking place on the body, nor where the scars are. i tried to make everything very vague so it's easier for everyone to relate to. it is HINTED!!! at that reader/mc in this ff is slightly “chubby” and/or has body dysmorphia. this can be interpreted however you like :)

also, in this ff the boys haven’t had any major sexual intimacy with reader/mc due to the scars, it's explained further in the fic.

xavier: 2.2k wrds

stress ridden, you frantically fled through the hallways of the hunter’s association, your mind in shambles.

there was a rapid influx of wanderers flooding into Linkon, thus causing mass chaos among the citizens.

this led to more and more being added onto your plate, more missions, which led to more paperwork, more unorganized files, ect, ect.

and most importantly, as the days went on your mental health slowly deteriorated. eyes constantly wandering to that tucked away box within your cabinet that would give you temporary relief.

it wasn't until a particular day until you caved into your cravings, your desire to feel the rush of blood, the rush of adrenaline, your little secret, your little safe haven.

the feeling you ravaged at like a man starved, the place you resided as the blade cut through the awfully abused skin, the sensation of the bathroom’s cool hard-tiles contrasted the pounding of your head.

the feeling of shame after. the feeling while cleaning up. the feeling of shame as you stood under the shower head and blood pooled.

the stinging sensation as the water trickled down your skin, the signs of your voluntary abuse was permanently etched onto your skin.

the hot tears that pooled down your face as you looked at your own reflection. the image of your body frightened you no matter what anyone told you. the newfound scars only heightened your insecurities.

and since that box was opened the cycle would repeat, over and over again.

rot, repent, repeat.

over and over again.

when will it be over?

the next day at work was the same, wanderers were relentless and your coworkers were restless.

“new missions”

“new paperwork”

“new deadlines”

when will this stop?

it was truly suffocating, and painful. the talking of your subordinates that filled the room, half assed conversations on your end, all while the fabric pulled and tugged on your raw skin.

a battle where a wanderer ripped your uniform, the scars barely visible but it was enough to put you on edge for the rest of the day.

walking back to the dreary office building that was filled with a vast amount of high tech, you hurriedly maneuvered past people, avoiding conversation at all costs.

your little plan was going well until you saw him.

the person you considered your lover, the one that always knew how you were feeling solely based upon observational skills was standing right infront of you.

you couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. it was so obvious with your demeanor that something was off with you the entire week.

your phone has been shut off for days on end. sometimes, if someone sent you a somewhat important message, you’d send them a quick thumbs up to show that you're acknowledging their presence.

xavier’s gentle voice called out for you as you hurriedly scurried away from his gaze, exiting the building in the same fashion you entered it.

it wasn’t until you got home you had realized a good 75% of your belongings had been left behind at the office building.

you shuddered at the thought of willingly walking into that horrid building again, not on your one day off.

your phone was left at the building, but it wasn’t like you had much use for it anymore.

you fled into the bathroom before freshening up, replacing the haphazardly placed bandages over your fresh wound.

the bathroom was dark. you didn’t want to see any of it, you didn’t want to see yourself.

the thought of doing more damage crossed your mind, before you quickly dropped the thought, and the box. shame slowly creeped up your shoulder, reminding you of the feeling of cleaning up after yourself, and basking in the sadness of your own mistakes.

finishing up bandaging your wound, you simply put the box of your tools on the bathroom counter, before moving back into your disarranged room.

clothes were askew on the floor, the lighting was dark, the windows only opened enough to see what was in front of you.

moving under the bed covers, you began to close your eyes, basking in the silence.

however, that silence was quickly broken after a series of knocks cascaded at your door.

you tried to ignore it, but loud knocking every 2 minutes was a horrendous sound to sleep too.

groggily getting up from your bed, you exited the room and made your way to the door.

you slightly cracked open the door to see xavier in all his glory standing there.

his soft blue eyed gaze landed directly on your face, his eyes held a warmth that was hidden for you soley. your bag from work was hung over his shoulder, all of your belongings resided within the bag.

a sense of adoration fluttered in your heart as you looked at him, his face slightly flushed due to the weather, his serene complexion that contrasted the pink dusting his cheeks.

it wasn't until a few moments after xavier basked in your presence he spoke.

“have you been okay? you left in a rush today, and your phone has been off” xavier’s voice came out hesitant as he asked you, his brows furrowing as he attempted at asking without sounding too brash.

“no i've been fine, thanks for getting my stuff xavi” you rushed out the words before hastily grabbing the bag that xavier had extended out to you.

you attempted to shut the door before xavier’s hand grabbed a hold of the door.

“can i..stay? just for a bit i promise. just want to make sure your okay” xavier spoke to you softly as his eyes raked over your figure, your eyebags had become darker as the days went on, the skin around your eyes looked slightly irritated as if you had been rubbing it.

you looked at him blankly before nodding and walking away from the door.

“sorry its a little messy in here, just haven’t had enough time to clean up, you know?” your attempt at enthusiasm didn’t go well, your voice slightly shaking as you spoke.

you were uncovered, the bandages covering up your fresh wounds did little to hide the rest of the scars you had accumulated over the years.

you felt xavier’s gaze on your skin. hurriedly you began to make your way back into your own bedroom before saying,

“i'll be right back—just stay put for a while. I need to get changed” your voice came out more harshly then you had intended, your shaky hand lifting to open the door before closing it shut.

xavier’s eyes widened in shock, a pang of sadness reverberated throughout his heart as he saw the marks upon your skin. what had been going on that you didn’t want to tell him?

fumbling through your dressers, you immediately found something that covered up the scars on your body, your mind was in a haze, your body moving on autopilot as you changed.

when you exited the bedroom, xavier was nowhere to be seen, that was until you saw the bathroom light shining, the light from underneath the door casting a glow onto the living room floor.

you began to move onto the couch, pulling one of the many blankets that littered the couch over yourself.

a slow click resounded throughout the room as xavier exited your bathroom, the atmosphere was tense and dreary as he sat next to you on the couch.

xavier called out your name before speaking,

“have i done anything wrong? recently?” xavier’s question rang out in your ears as your eyes blankly met his.

“no xavi you didn’t do anything, i've just been a bit busy lately” your voice sounded hesitant, as if you were lying. your eyes avoided his gaze as you began to look away to another part of the room.

you knew xavier well, he craved your presence, a few days without you and he was better off dead. it had been a week before the two of you had sat down and had a conversation, a week since you simply sat in each other's company.

well enough time had passed for you to fall into your bad habits again.

“i went into the bathroom, i saw everything, the gauze, the razors, your scars. how long were you planning to let this go on for?” xavier’s voice stated this gently, with a firm undertone to it.

xavier’s body moved closer to yours, his body heat burned your skin. but you still felt yourself subconsciously moving closer to him, his comforting scent filling your nose, making you feel more at ease.

“xavier, it's really not a big deal. it's just skin, it will eventually heal.” you responded with a half-assed lie. with every mark you made on your body, a scar always remained.

your insecurities just grew and grew as the days went on. you began to question if you really deserved xavier, he was handsome and strong willed. while here you were, a person with a fragile heart that shattered at every moment and every situation.

“it's a big deal to me. i don’t want to see you like this, you don’t have to suffer alone.” xavier responded sincerely, he cupped your face, moving your gaze back to his eyes. his eyes were gentle as he held your face with care, as if you were fragile porcelain that would break at any given moment.

hot tears pooled down your cheeks as you heard his words. the sincerity in his voice, the soft touches, everything warmed your heart.

xavier’s thumbs wiped away your tears before he leaned in close to your face, before giving a soft kiss on your cheek, where the tears once resided.

everything made sense to him now, why you always turned down his advances, your nights together that always ended at a few kisses down your neck, it all made sense.

“my star, don’t feel forced to do anything. i’m sorry i didn’t notice this this sooner” xavier’s arms wrapped around you as his neck craned down to your shoulder

“xavi it's okay, it’s not your fault, don’t blame yourself for my mistake” you responded to him, your voice coming out nasally due to the tears prior.

the word mistake rang through xavier’s ears. his head bolted up from your shoulder to look you in the eyes once more.

“no—it's not a mistake, these scars just make you more beautiful. there is nothing wrong with them. as long as if it's you i’m with, no marks will define who you are to me” xavier said sincerely, beginning to move his face closer to yours

“may i?” xavier inquired, his gaze flickering from your eyes down to your lips

you nodded, before melting into the kiss. it was different from the ones you usually shared, it was soft and gentle. xavier’s hand made its way through your hair, gently brushing his hands through it as the kiss slightly deepened.

your lips disconnected as xavier’s mouth left soft kisses down your body, whispering praises onto your skin each time his lips disconnected.

his lips hovered over the area where your scarred skin was, lifting the fabric of your clothing and pressing his lips on the scars, a glint of adoration filled his features as he basked in the sensation of your skin.

“perfect, my perfect pretty girl.” xavier’s lips left a warm sensation over your scarred skin, it was like the pain and shame went away in an instant. it felt as if a weight was lifted from your shoulders as he whispered multiple praises against the area.

xavier’s negative thoughts were soothed when you didn’t jerk away from him, your hands simply ran through his hair as you looked down at him with the same admiration he had given you.

he eventually stopped, resting his head on your lap, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as his eyes looked up at you.

your hands ran through his lightly colored hair, playing with the strands as xavier began to leave kisses along your stomach.

“xavi stop that tickles!” your giggles echoed throughout the dimly lit living room, as xavier simply just smiled at you.

he eventually stopped, getting up from his lying position, freeing your lower body from his torment of kisses.

when he returned to his sitting position, he was suddenly shoved back onto the couch. his back was pressed against the cushiony material as your lips crashed onto his. a sudden abrupt movement that caused his eyes to widen, and his cheeks to flush even more.

as you pulled away from the kiss, his normally pale complexion was a rosey shade of pink, his ears were also shaded a dark red.

xavier pulled you down onto him, suddenly crashing into his arms. he left an array of kisses on the top of your head, and your face.

“don’t leave me again please. nothing physical will make me want to separate from you. i just want it to be you, your most authentic self is all i want.” xavier’s words were said softly as he whispered them into your ear, leaving a few soft kisses along your neck before pulling you into another soft kiss.

the rest of the afternoon was filled with love, and acceptance as you stayed in xavier’s soft embrace, his hands tracing along the scars, his body enveloping you in his sweet, secure, embrace.

#love and deepspace #lnds #lnds xavier #lads xavier #lads #xavier x reader #l&ds #l&ds xavier #fanfic #lnds x reader #lads x reader #fluff #hurt/comfort #angsty #angst with a happy ending

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