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interastral-peace-corporation · 3 months ago

Note

#31 bed for blade pls! naked if possible but if not then clothed is fine 🙏🙏🙏

I’ll do naked but we are keeping it SFW as per the rules

Comprehensive List of Scenarios

Blade

31. BED : for both muses to wake in the same bed, naked or fully clothed.

You wake up burning hot.

Your limbs feel heavy and your chest feels tight. Breathing isn’t supposed to be this painful. You don’t even know why you’re itching all over. Everything is a blur, thankfully you’re not so far gone to the point where you can’t sense your surroundings; you can at least tell that the ceiling is unfamiliar and the mattress you’re currently laying on is uncomfortable. The thin blanket does not do a very good job at keeping your shivering at bay. The only thing that you could recognize in this state is the scent of salve. You’re completely sure it’s yours, but even that can’t give you peace of mind — trying to cling onto that sense of familiarity proves to be futile because you don’t recall putting on the ointment, much less needing the first aid kit that you brought with you.

At this point you also realize that you’re completely bare. There are so many things going wrong and you don’t know where to start. You’re about to get up and reach for your clothes when—

“No.”

You nearly jump at the voice that suddenly emerged from your side. You quickly turn your head to the other side of the bed and there is Blade, laying down with his eyes closed and his body rigid. He shows no signs of speaking up just now; you could have passed that voice as your imagination if you didn’t know him well enough. And had he not made his presence known, you might’ve not noticed him from how silent he is unless he entered your line of sight.

“Blade?”

“Don’t move too much,” he says. You only look at him in response as if silently asking him, and why shouldn’t I, and he continues, “unless you want the poison to spread faster in you.”

Poison? That might be why you’re itching and red all over. You can’t be too sure. Out of curiosity, you peek at his skin to check if he is in the same situation as you are, but you can’t find anything out of place. His skin appears just as usual. You frown. “I’m not sure what kind of poison that was, but whatever it is, you don’t seem too affected.”

“Not exactly,” he replies. “My joints are flaring up more than usual. But my symptoms are not as bad as yours.”

It’s not that you could do a lot in this state when you feel like your entire being is drowned in hellfire, and you’re itchy and lightheaded and so out of it that your conversation just ends there and all you can do is to stare at him. You know he senses your eyes on him but he never tells you off, and it goes on for long enough until you make enough sense of your surroundings that it completely, truly dawns on you that you don’t remember how you got here, and Blade is right beside you and he is as bare as you are.

What. Is. Happening.

Try as you will, you no longer have it in you to question the situation any further. Blade thankfully manages to sense the apprehension in you even with his eyes closed, which he immediately clears up by answering the unspoken question that hangs in the air: “Our clothes got contaminated by the poison and it’s causing irritation, so I had to take them off. Washing them won’t do anything. We need to get new ones.”

“Oh,” you breathe out. It takes a moment for his words to sink in, and when it does, relief instantly washes all over you. “Oh. Okay.”

Your body relaxes back to the bed. Blade has given you bits and pieces of what’s going on, the least you could do right now is to not trouble him any further and put the pieces together on your own. Your last memory was of you and Blade having to run away after you both realized that there’s something wrong in the air, that breathing became too much to handle. Your memory is all blank after that; it’s highly likely that you lost consciousness in the middle of it all, and Blade had to get you both out in one piece.

You take a good look at your room. The ceilings are dusty and the floorboards seem rickety. There’s not much noise outside the room. It’s not the typical spot you would choose to hide in, if it were up to you. Blade might’ve broken in and taken off all your clothes, reached for your first aid kit that you originally intended to use on him, and put on ointment all over you to ease the irritation on your skin.

All while you rested.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out.

That’s the first time since you woke up when Blade finally looks at you. “Why.”

It sounded more like a statement than a question.

“Because…” You try to find the right words. His eyes are still on you. You scramble your brain for a response. “Because we could’ve finished this quickly, but I ruined it and I had to drag you down with me.” You don’t like how helpless you sound. “I don’t even know how long I was out for. It could’ve been days. I seriously couldn’t tell.”

Blade doesn’t immediately grace you with an answer. You would completely understand if he’s annoyed at you for delaying the mission, so even if his silence stings, you just shrink to your side of the bed.

“You’re forgetting something,” Blade suddenly says.

You pause.

“…What do you mean?”

“The script mentioned that there would be interference. It didn’t specify what kind.”

You can practically feel the gears turning in your head. “Are you saying this is the interference?”

His gaze on you is firm and sure. “What else could it be?”

Oh. You’re not sure if his intention is to comfort you, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten to doing so. He could’ve easily ignored you if he wanted to. At the very least, you know he’s being truthful.

“Blade?”

“What.”

“Thank you.”

Blade only exhales and closes his eyes.

#hsr blade #blade x you #blade x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr imagines #hsr x you #hsr x reader #comprehensive list of scenarios prompt list

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aquamarixx · 7 months ago

Text

breaking the internet

chapter six a series of misunderstanding and lack of communication finally leads Hiori and Miss Journalist to talk, once and for all. blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains slow slow slow burn, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, implied !NagiReo, suggestive nsfw masterlist

For weeks, there’s been nothing but radio silence.

You lost count of how many times you’ve typed a reply to Hiori, only to delete it afterward. Again and again.

Each time, the words feel wrong. Too stiff, too needy, too defensive. No matter how you framed it, everything sounded wrong. What could you even say that wouldn’t make everything worse?

Plus, he didn’t follow up either.

Every day, you’d sneak a peek into your Winstagram chats, only to see the same conversation where you left off. He’d view your stories, sure. A proof that he’s still there, just… watching. But other than that, nothing.

On weekends, you’d log onto Steam, hoping to catch him there while you convince yourself to unwind. Every time you do, a few minutes after you log in, his name would pop up on your notifications.

hiyooooooo is now online

Your cursor hovered over his profile picture more times than you cared to admit. But fear—no, humiliation—held you back. You’d tell yourself it was fear of rejection, of misstepping. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t just that. Maybe it was guilt too.

So you’ll sit straighter in your chair, hands gripping tight on your mouse, waiting. Waiting for a game invite, a little message, anything.

But nothing ever came.

Gaming was supposed to be your escape, something you both shared but it seems like it can’t break the cold shoulder treatment you’re getting from him.

Maybe I just need to see him. Or talk to him in person, you thought, clinging to the idea as though it might fix everything. Maybe it will. But still, easier said than done.

Desperation leads you to ask your editor for a beat change. Anything but Manshine City. The name alone made your stomach churn. You just need some distance from it until you clear the air between you and Hiori. Especially since you two haven’t spoken since the Nagi incident.

But Mercury in retrograde or whatever cruel force dictated your life these days, have other plans. Because your editor doesn’t budge. And to make matters worse, she hands you your next assignment.

“You’re covering another Manshine City game,” she said, her tone apologetic as it can be.

You want to protest. But before you can even spit out your rehearsed excuses, she cuts you off.

“They saw the numbers your Bastard München pieces pulled in,” she explained apologetically. “It’s PR gold for them.”

Her words hit you like a sucker punch. All the carefully prepared justifications in your head evaporated, leaving you standing there, mute and cornered.

Turns out, your editor and the Manshine City marketing manager are college buddies. She admits that the marketing manager cashed in a favor to get you to cover the team after seeing how you somehow brought good impressions to Bastard München.

As much as you want to get mad at your editor, you can’t. This was the woman who took a chance on you. The same woman who took you under her wing, believed in you when no one else would. How could you even say no to her?

You shake your head. It wasn’t your editor’s fault, really. That’s just how this business works.

And isn’t it good? People are asking for you, specifically. Isn’t that what you wanted?

Then why doesn’t it feel good?

You should be feeling good about it, right? Swelling with pride, even. Finally, people were putting a name to your work, treating you as more than a faceless, invisible byline. More than just an unfamiliar face in the video content.

Yet somehow, this void inside of you swallows every shred of accomplishment. And it leaves you unsatisfied and wondering if you truly deserve it.

And maybe—just maybe—it’s because you can’t untangle work from everything else. Because the lines are blurring, and you’ve let Hiori seep into every corner of your life. You’re not even sure you mind.

It’s ironic, isn’t it? He’s the one who made you believe in yourself, who made you feel like you could be more than just a name at the bottom of an article no one reads. He gave you the confidence to think you belonged here. And now, the thought of him lingers like a shadow, casting doubt over everything you do.

It’s not his fault. You know that. But it feels like the push and pull between your career and the “thing” you have with him is tearing you in two. That undefined, messy connection was supposed to be your escape—a rare piece of joy in the relentless grind of your career.

Instead, it feels like you’re being forced to choose.

Career or connection. Ambition or affection.

The tension in your chest is sharp and unrelenting.

No, you didn’t have time to dwell on that. At this point in your career, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Your personal life? Your preferences? None of that mattered.

You just had to suck it up. And do your job.

The stadium continues to buzz with energy as Manshine City wraps up their match with another clutch win. You just finished interviewing Nagi and Chigiri, notebook clutched in your hand.

Exhaustion pulls at you, but you linger a bit longer, tempted by the upcoming match between Bastard München and Italy Ubers. You have to get going if you want to get started with writing at home and sleep early.

Before you can give in to that temptation and the idea of seeing Hiori even from afar, Reo and the Manshine City marketing manager pull you into a conversation about potential content collaborations.

Despite their excitement showing, you’re pretty much drained. Instead, you offer your goodbyes, attempting to avoid getting roped in further to their impromptu planning.

“Stay, Miss Journalist, stay!” Reo calls out dramatically before he drapes himself over Nagi like a cat. With an apologetic smile and a small wave, you quicken your steps to get further away.

As you turn, you freeze when you nearly collide with someone. Hands catch you by the shoulders, steadying you before quickly letting go.

“Hiori…” you breathe as you lock gazes with him.

For a moment, you swear he looked… hurt. But it vanishes as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual calm mask. He takes a step back, scratching the back of his neck, his gaze darting away from you.

You’re just about to speak but Chigiri’s voice slices through the tension.

“Hiori, hey!” Chigiri bounds over, oblivious to the atmosphere. His bright energy collides with the moment like a sledgehammer.

Hiori forces a strained, lopsided smile. “Hey.”

“You’ve met Miss Journalist, right?” Chigiri gestures at you with a grin. “Sorry for stealing your fan.”

Hiori eyes the Manshine City jersey draped on your shoulders. A casual gift from the team manager, thanking you for the support and hard work.

His jaw tightens ever so slightly, his hands curling into loose fists at his sides. You feel your stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Oh yeah? I’m hurt.” A laugh escapes him but his sarcasm is unmistakeable.

“I-uh, I’m a Bastard München fan at heart, y’know that.” you stammer, gripping your notebook so tight.

“Well, we don’t mind changing that, do we, Nagi?” Reo teases, his smirk sharp.

Nagi, ever the enigma, tilts his head lazily. “Hmm, changing someone’s mind is a hassle. But Miss Journalist seems worth it.”

That statement doesn’t help.

What the hell is going on in that guy’s head? Are they really riling up Hiori?

“Wanna make a bet?” Reo’s voice is light, but the edge in his tone is clear.

“I don’t think she needs a bet to know who she likes better,” Hiori cuts in, his voice sharper than usual.

Usually, Hiori won’t be provoked by such trivial things. He gets enough shit like that within his team already. And it doesn’t faze him.

But this—this is different.

Because somehow, you’re involved and in the middle of it. And because it’s you.

He hates the way Reo’s arm brushes against your shoulder as he tries to invade your space. He hates the way Nagi’s detached comment earns a small laugh from Chigiri as if they’re onto something.

And most of all, he hates the image of you in that damn jersey. Or any other team’s jersey.

Not to mention, he never saw Nagi take an interest in you before. Nor Reo. Not that you’re not attractive. Because you are. But this possessive feeling, is it even right?

It’s irrational. He knows that. He has no right to feel this way. But the jealousy festers anyway, fueled by weeks of silence between you.

“Scared she might like us like us more?” Reo continues to taunt him, his grin widening as he zeroes in on the crack in Hiori’s composure.

Hiori’s fists clench tighter. “Yer delusional,” he snaps, the words biting.

Men. Are. So. Full. Of. Themselves.

You’re not a prize. You’re not some trophy for their ego-driven competition.

Or whatever pissing content is happening between the guys.

Without a word, you turn on your heel and walk away, your steps firm and purposeful. But before you round the corner, you throw a seething glare in Hiori’s direction.

He sees it.

And it hits him harder than anything Reo could have thrown.

Hiori stares at the untouched plate of food in front of him, the hum of conversation around the dinner table fading into a dull, distant noise. His teammates' laughter and energy fill the space in the way only Bastard München could.

But he can’t focus.

The moment from earlier—Reo’s teasing smirk, Nagi’s casual remarks, and the way you looked at him with such anger—loops in his mind like a highlight reel he couldn’t escape.

He doesn’t know what to do with the emotions simmering under the surface. The possessiveness, the jealousy.

It doesn’t make sense, not when the two of you aren’t even together. Both of you haven’t talked about feelings, about whether you even felt the same way.

So why did it feel like something sharp had lodged in his chest every time he thought about you with someone else?

His fingers drum lightly against his thigh as he fights the urge to check his phone again. He’s already done it too many times, looking at your messages, and wondering if he should text you. The silence between you has stretched so long that Hiori isn’t sure how to bridge it.

Am I being pushy? He thought, the question hanging heavy in his mind.

Is it selfish to want more when we haven’t defined what this is? Am I not being a creep?

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting.

To understand the little things that make you smile. To know you outside the boundaries of work. To know you in a deep, personal, and intimate setting.

To be the reason for all those moments.

The weight of the thought crashes into him. His chest tightens as the room around him seems to blur—teammates laughing, cutlery clinking, voices overlapping—fading into a hollow echo. The world slows, yet his pulse quickens, each beat louder and heavier than the last.

And then, it hits him.

“I do like her.”

The words slip out of him before he even knows he’s saying them.

The jealousy, the longing, the unspoken hope he’d buried deep enough to convince himself it wasn’t there. But it was. It always had been.

The realization doesn’t just hit—it collides, with the force of a meteor smashing into the earth. It leaves him shaken, reeling, and terrified in all equal measure.

Oh god, I like her.

He’s been running from it, denying it, pretending it wasn’t there. But there’s no escaping it now. No undoing it. It’s real, undeniable, and alive inside him, threatening to consume him if he doesn’t let it out.

His gaze drops to his hands, fidgeting against his jeans. He hates the jealousy twisting in his chest. It wasn’t fair—to you, to the relationship you shared, undefined as it was.

Is my possessiveness hindering her job? She’s here to do her work, and I’m… what? A distraction? A complication?

The weight of the thought makes his stomach churn. And then there was the nagging doubt he couldn’t shake: Does she like me for me? Or is it just Hiori Yo, the athlete? The player?

His teammates’ laughter jolts him out of his thoughts. He blinks, realizing he missed half the conversation. He forces a tight-lipped smile as Isagi nudges him, but his mind wanders back to the phone in his pocket.

He reaches for it, his heart quickening at the sight of your name on the screen. A message from you.

/yn_offthepage: what the fuck was that about earlier?

He freezes, his thumb hovering over the notification. He hasn’t heard you curse even once. Even through the text, he can hear your biting tone inside his head, ringing.

The screen dims, and Hiori lets it. The weight of his uncertainty presses heavily on him. For now, he couldn’t bring himself to open the message.

Later that night, back in his room, Hiori sits at his desk, staring blankly at his PC screen. Even the idea of gaming felt hollow. His mind was too restless.

His eyes wander to the image of you and him sitting at the pitch all sweaty. It was the candid shot someone had taken during the content shoot where he taught you how to dribble.

You were looking afar with a big smile on your face, and he was looking at you with so much yearning, the smallest smile tugging at his lips, betraying him.

The sight of it stirred something in him. A longing, sharp and bittersweet. He wanted to know if you ever looked at him the way he looked at you at that moment.

But what if opening up ruined what you already had? What if his feelings crossed a line you weren’t ready to acknowledge?

Hiori sighs, leaning back in his chair. The questions linger, unanswered.

For now, all he can do is sit with them, hoping he’d find the courage to face you—and himself—soon.

Your schedule finally winds down when the JFA hosts a midseason party disguised as a roadshow for the upcoming months and next season.

It’s a rare opportunity to step away from the chaos of your work, and you’re willing to take it. Networking, getting insider info straight from the lion’s den—and of course, free food and drinks.

Especially the free-flowing alcohol.

Despite the “casual” label slapped on the event, it’s still as lavish as you’d expect. Thank goodness there’s no formal dress code. You settled on your favorite gray high-waisted trousers paired with a tight-fitting black sleeveless turtleneck. Professional but bold, with just enough skin to leave an impression.

You can never go wrong with a little show of confidence, after all.

At the venue, you exchange pleasantries with Anri and Ego. The three of you make for an unusual trio, seated together like this. While you take notes as part of your routine, Anri occasionally scolds Ego for yawning or delivering sharp quips from the side.

The roadshow presentation is a mix of team management personnel, media representatives, investors, and a few JFA partners. As usual, the rest of the crowd is either running late or loitering outside, waiting for the afterparty to begin.

At least, you’re at ease knowing that you won’t bump into any players. Not just yet.

As soon as the program ends, the three of you continue to chat at the bar counter over drinks. But before you can even swap gossip with Anri, she’s whisked away by a group of Blue Lock graduates—punctual players from Italy Ubers. That leaves you alone with Ego, who sips whiskey neat while you nurse a Long Island iced tea.

“You’re doing better than the last time we met. Not bad for an unpolished gem,” he remarks dryly, lifting his glass.

It’s a backhanded compliment, but you can’t help the small flicker of pride it sparks.

“It’s... okay, I guess. But honestly, I didn’t expect how tough it’d be. The lines between work, passion, and personal life blur so easily.”

You ramble about juggling deadlines, clashing assignments, and the weight of endless expectations. Ego listens in silence, his sharp gaze unwavering.

“Then be an egoist,” he says bluntly, cutting through your ramblings like a knife. “You think those brats are just selfish jerks? They are. But egoism is what keeps them on top.

“It’s what makes them grow, thrive, and become the best. You’re no different. You have to feed your ego too, or else you’ll be devoured and spat out until you’re an empty husk of yourself.”

His words settle heavily in your chest. Before you can respond, Ego stands up, gives a half-hearted wave, and strides toward the exit, muttering something about how his tolerance for the evening’s schmoozing has reached its limit.

Scanning the room, you notice Anri still deep in conversation with some JFA people by the dance floor, while others mingle in scattered groups. The bar counter feels empty now, save for you and the two bartenders.

It’s a good time to pause and gather your thoughts—or maybe strike up a conversation with someone if the alcohol kicks in enough courage.

For now, you sit quietly, Ego’s words echoing in your mind.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s time to stand up for yourself—to push for better assignments, to confront Hiori, to stop burying your frustrations under layers of professionalism and fear.

Liquid courage starts to course through your body, loosening your hesitation. You pull out your phone and quickly type a message to your editor.

“I want a new assignment. I think I deserve that much, don’t I?” You hit send and switch your phone to Do Not Disturb before you can even second-guess yourself.

Before your musings can go deeper, someone slides onto the stool to your right. You glance up to see Reo with his cheeks flushed pink and his smile wide with mischief.

Behind him, Nagi trails, hands stuffed into his pockets, his disheveled hair giving him an even lazier charm. The scent of whiskey clings to them both, Reo more noticeably so.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our favorite journalist,” Reo greets, his voice dripping with playful charm. “What are you doing here all alone? Don’t you know parties are for mingling?”

You glance up, managing to offer a small smile. “And here I thought parties were for free food and drinks.”

“Touché,” Reo laughs, leaning against the bar counter. “But c’mon, there’s more to this party than just snacks. Like us, for instance.”

“Us?” you echo, your brows raising slightly.

“Me and Nagi, of course,” he says, draping an arm over Nagi’s shoulder. “You know, we were just talking about you earlier. He thinks you’re cute.”

Nagi gives a small, noncommittal shrug, his half-lidded eyes fixed on you. “He’s not wrong.”

You blink, the casualness of his statement catches you off guard. Before you can process it, Reo leans in closer, his grin widening. “You should come dance with us. I mean, what’s the harm? A little fun never hurt anyone, right?”

Your laughter is polite but nervous as you shake your head. “I’m fine here, really.”

“Oh, come on,” Reo presses, nudging Nagi toward you. “You look real nice tonight. Don’t tell me you’re just going to sit here all night while looking like that.”

The warmth of Reo’s arm brushing against yours sends a strange buzz through you. Nagi watches quietly, an amused glint in his eyes, as though content to let Reo take the lead in whatever this is.

“You don’t have a boyfriend, right?” Nagi asks suddenly, his voice calm but cutting through the noise around you.

The question startles you, and your answer comes almost automatically. “I don’t.”

“Good,” Reo murmurs, his voice dropping to a suggestive whisper. “Then no one’s going to mind if we take you home tonight.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and electric. You almost choke on your drink, coughing slightly as you gape at him. “Wait, what?”

“Take you home,” Reo repeats, his smile slow and deliberate as if testing how far he can push. “You, me, and Nagi. What do you say? We’ll make sure it’s worth your time.”

Nagi’s lips quirk into a faint smile, watching you with an unreadable expression. “Reo’s kidding… mostly.” His tone is dry, but there’s an edge of intrigue that makes it hard to tell where the joke ends.

Your pulse quickens, confusion and a strange heat mingling as you glance between them. Reo’s boldness is dizzying while Nagi’s quiet amusement only adds to your disorientation.

“I… I’m flattered,” you stammer, your voice wavering. “But I’m not interested.”

“Aww c’mon! Give us a chance?” Reo pleads, lightly touching your bare arms.

“I’m really-”

You wonder if this is just a game to him or something more. But before you can untangle your thoughts, a firm hand lands on the counter to your left, the loud cutting through the tension like a blade.

You turn your head to see Hiori, his smile strained but unwavering. His gaze flickers between you before settling on Reo.

“Mind if I borrow Miss Journalist for a while?” he asks smoothly, though his words leave no room for argument.

Reo raises his hands in mock surrender, his grin unfaltering. “Alright, alright. But I’ll get my dance one day, Miss Journalist! Think about it!”

Hiori doesn’t wait for a reply, instead, he places a gentle but firm hand on your lower back, guiding you away from the bar as Reo and Nagi watch the both of you saunter away.

"Hey," a small smile plays on Hiori’s lips as he greets you.

"Hi."

The balcony door slides shut behind him, muting the pounding bass and chatter from the dance floor. It’s just the two of you now, isolated from the noise, the cool autumn air biting at your skin.

You take a good look at Hiori. A white t-shirt tucked into matching trousers, paired with a soft navy cardigan that clings to his frame. He looks effortlessly put together, as always.

"Ya alright?" he asks, his voice laced with concern.

"Yeah," you lie, the words feel heavier than they should.

"What was that about?" Hiori frowns, tilting his head slightly.

"I… think Reo was asking me to uh… sleep with him and Nagi? Are they like, together?" you blurt out, half-laughing, trying to lighten the tension you can already feel brewing.

"Yeah, they are. Pretty low-key 'bout it. Wild, huh?" he chuckles, and for a moment, the tension eases.

But the silence that follows grows heavy. For a minute, neither of you talk. The soft whistle of the wind and the distant hum of the city fill the void between you, but neither of you moves to break it. Finally, you speak.

"You don’t text me anymore," you say suddenly, the accusation sharp.

"Ya never replied," Hiori counters just as quickly, his tone flat but the edge unmistakable.

You bite your lip. "I didn’t know what to say. It felt like you were accusing me of something."

Now, Hiori looks guilty, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Just… just stop tryin’ to avoid this. Shuttin’ me out isn’t going to fix the problem."

"I wasn’t shutting you out," you argue, but even you don’t believe it. "I just—didn’t know how to respond. It felt like no matter what I said, it wouldn’t be enough."

"And ya thought ignorin’ me was better? Just pretendin’ nothin’ happened?" His voice rises, frustration simmering to the surface.

"What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, it was just work. I’m not interested in Nagi or Manshine City.’ What am I to you to have to defend myself like that?" you snap back, your voice trembling.

"I don’t know!" Hiori snaps back, his frustration breaking through. "I thought we were close enough to say things like that to each other!"

"And your message had no emojis!" your words overlap with Hiori. It was definitely a petty statement but at this point, your emotions are spilling over in ways even you don’t understand.

Hiori’s eyes narrow, his voice dropping to a dangerous softness. "Didya ever care about me?"

"Because it doesn’t feel like ya do. Ya ignored me when we won. I looked for ya. I know ya saw me. But ya wouldn’t even look my way.." His voice cracks and you see the hurt he’s been burying.

"Do ya know what that felt like?" His voice is a whisper, pleading.

You know the answer. That it hurt like a bitch. Because you felt the same pain when both of you went on the silent treatment for weeks. Embarrassment flooded your chest.

This could’ve been resolved easily by just talking things through. This confrontation could’ve been avoided and saved you both the time. But no.

Instead, you let the hurt fester even further, creating this invisible barrier between the two of you. And now, the blame game is on. And it doesn’t even make sense.

"It wasn’t about you!" Before you can even think, your words tumbling out in desperation. "It was for work. I-I didn’t want to be seen as the Bastard München… fangirl."

"Why not?" Hiori’s voice rises, taken aback by your words. "We ain’t good enough fer ya? Or is it just me? Am I not good enough fer ya?"

The words hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you momentarily stunned. "I didn’t say that," you whisper, your voice trembling.

"And why should that matter?" Hiori snaps, his voice raw with emotion. "Why does it feel like yer always running away from me?"

Even Hiori himself can’t comprehend why he’s so frustrated. He’s felt betrayal from his parents before. For them caring more about his stature as an athlete than his well-being as their son.

But this one’s different.

He knows how petty he is being. But he can’t help himself not be vulnerable around you. All reason, all logic thrown out of the window because of you.

All he can think at this point is how good it felt talking to you about work and games. How good it felt when you would talk about football with him with such a glimmer in your eyes that it fascinates him to see how you view the sport.

How it felt good when you would run up to him to interview him and the team as you guys exchange knowing smiles, fingers grazing just barely. All he knows is that you are magnetic.

Even right now, all he can think about is being close to you.

You turn away from him. A shiver runs down your spine, regretting not wearing something more warm for this party.

I can’t do this. Not now, you thought.

“Please leave me alone. For now. I can’t do this, Hiori.”

The autumn air nips are your arms. Instinctively, you cross your arm in hopes of warming yourself, eyes gazing away from Hiori still. A warm hand envelopes one of yours and you feel the thick cardigan drapes over you, shielding you from the cold wind.

Hiori’s gaze softens, but his voice remains firm. "M’not leaving until ya tell me what’s going on. Why are ya pushing me away?"

Your shoulders slump as the weight of it all crashes down on you. "Because I feel guilty, okay?" you say. "I don’t want you to think I’m using you."

"People talk," you continue, your voice breaking. "All I hear is how I’m some opportunist, bandwagoning on Bastard München—on you."

You swallow hard, your chest tightening. "I don’t know what this is," you finally admit, gesturing between the two of you.

"I don’t know what we are, or what I’m even allowed to hope for. And I don’t want to push you or cross a line, but it’s—" Your voice breaks, tears threatening to spill any moment.

"It’s like I’m trying to walk on this invisible tightrope, and I’m scared of messing it all up."

Hiori’s gaze softens, but you keep going, unable to stop now. "I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know how to navigate this—whatever this is—without hurting you or myself or both. And why should you care, right?" you add bitterly, the words tasting like poison.

Hiori steps closer, his voice breaking. "I care. Yer the one person who made me feel like more than just a player. And it hurts like hell to feel like I don’t matter to ya."

"You do matter," you whisper, your voice trembling. "You’re the one thing I think about when I work, Hiori. You’re the reason I believe in myself. But you’re… you’re s-so out of reach, and I’m terrified of ruining what little we have."

Your voice quivers as you reply, "And I don’t know how to fix it, Hiori. I don’t even know where to begin. And it’s not fair to you. You’re you—amazing and steady and… everything I’m not."

He closes the distance between you, his hands gripping your shoulders. "Dontcha get it? I don’t need us to have all the answers now. Just need ya to stop running."

Tears stream down your face as the weight of his words sinks in. "I’m scared," you whisper.

"And ya think I’m not?" he shoots back, his voice cracking.

"Yer all I think about, and it terrifies me. But I don’t care. I’m here. I’m stayin’. And I’ll wait as long as it takes fer ya to figure out who ya are—because I already know who ya are to me."

For a moment, the world holds still. Then Hiori closes the distance between you, his hands cupping your face gently. He hesitates, searching your eyes for permission, and when you don’t pull away, he leans in.

"Yer amazing," he whispers, breath hot against your lips. "And ya don’t even realize it."

The kiss is soft at first, testing, but quickly deepens as the emotions between you spill over. His lips are warm, grounding you, and when his tongue brushes yours, it leaves you breathless.

You melt under his touch. The kiss itself is intoxicating, as if you’re drowning, lightheaded by the swirling emotions and the budding heat within you.

When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. "I like ya too, y’know" he murmurs. "M’sorry fer doubting ya. Fer making ya feel like ya had to carry this alone."

He kisses you again, slower this time as if savoring the moment. "I’m sorry for being a coward. For not talking to you."

You clutch at his shirt, your tears mingling with his kiss. "I’m sorry too," you whisper into his mouth.

He smiles faintly, brushing a tear from your cheek. "All this because my message didn’t have an emoji, huh?" he laughs softly, the sound vibrating against your lips.

You let out a shaky laugh, the tension between you finally giving way to something lighter. In this moment, with him, you feel the weight of your worries start to lift, even if just for now.

In this moment, with him, you wish the night would never end.

amari's notes: struggled to write this one, i wanted to really get this chapter out quickly but i wasnt satisfied with my first drafts so i had to rewrite it so many times. i really wanted this to come out well. this chapter is close to my heart, esp when hiori and miss journalist talk about their insecurities. anw, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask. i'll greatly appreciate it! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

#blue lock #hiori yo #blue lock x reader #hiori yo x reader #bllk hiori yo #bllk x reader #bllk #nagireo

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joocomics · 1 year ago

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Dinna, I'm here presenting to you preppy!jiseok, who's very cocky and has a corruption kink🤭 He absolutely loves it when you wear a short tennis skirt and a tight top, he looks at your ass when you walk by him after practice or something. You give him a look, and he knows what you want. All his friends want you, and they all want to take your virginity; they even made bets with each other. Jiseok took part in the bet too, but no one knew you were already dating him and you told him to take the bet so you both can rob his rich, posh friends from their money🤭 I say you'll fuck at his family beach house or something like that😌

money on my mind

pairing: preppy!jiseok x preppy fem!reader

genre: smut wc: 3.3k

contains: sub!reader, established (secret) relationship, enemies to lovers trope, forbidden romance trope? (nothing serious), light corruption kink, mentions of virginity, semi? public sex, pet names, (+ slut used once), fingering, oral sex (m!rec), multiple orgasms, overstimulation (f!rec), creampie, squirting, dirty talk, filming, jungsu cameo

a/n: you didn’t ask for this many words ok i’m sorry >< but no matter what i tried it just kept getting longer, because your idea IS SO GOOD. there’s no way i could just answer it with three sentences… no way. it’s jiseok, and the idea is genius. hope you enjoy it and sorry for the wait <3

( xdh masterlist )

Jiseok was your secret for a while.

He didn’t care about you being the daughter of the people his parents are rivals with, but you were hesitant about showing up in public as his girlfriend until wanting to be with him everywhere, all the time, clinging onto his arm, was the only thing you could think about.

And you found the perfect way to make it official in front of your friend group. None of them would’ve ever thought they’ll see the two of you together as something more than the two brats who always make faces of disgust when they are forced to sit next to each other.

“You should participate in the bet.”

“What—“

“The bet,” you repeat as your voice shakes. A moan slips from your tongue before you try continuing your thought with a distracted glance at Jiseok’s face. “Take it and win the money.”

He looks directly into your hazed eyes as his hips move against you slowly. The gentle gliding through your walls barely keep them open, and he sees the pretty fluttering of your curled lashes. Being in each other’s arms with bodies connected into one always makes the two of you look high; like you’re slowly losing grip on reality.

“Faster,” you plead in one quick breath before pressing your head back against the pillow.

“You’re cruel.” He grins before burying his mouth into your neck. “I like it… so hot, baby.” His speech turns more tense as you pulse with stronger vibrations around him. He doesn’t speed up though; he enjoys having you melt down underneath him. “I’m so fuckin’ in love with you, you know that, right?”

Your right hand gets lost in his blond hair, looking to tug on his dark roots so you don’t completely lose control over yourself.

“Make it worth it.”

Jiseok peers at you with a mischievous smirk that makes it clear he’s already looking forward to seeing his friends’ expressions after he claims his reward.

“Let’s pick up the pace, pretty girl,” he says, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“When did you get so big?” You lay eyes on the exposed bicep. “Are you working out, Jungsu?”You feel the firm muscles against your palm as you squeeze it gently.

His arms have earned a nice golden tan from the summer sun and the white fitted shirt looks really good on him; complimenting his broad figure even more.

“Yeah,” he smiles flustered so quickly that you almost missed the reaction. “I’ve been going to the gym more often these days.”

You notice the way his cheeks instantly earn a pinkish color from the unexpected attention, causing him to avoid your stare. He’s definitely going to bet double after this. That’s what you want after all, and you’re going to put in the work.

“I’ve been thinking of going too, but I can’t seem to motivate myself enough to do it.” You sigh with a fake pout, running your hand along his broad shoulders before positioning yourself in front of him with the goal to show off your legs. “Maybe we can go together? Some company will be nice, I don’t wanna be just by myself there.”

You can feel Jiseok lifting his gaze up from the ground. He’s behind you, sitting on the chair across from Jungsu with his tenis racket in hands, but the intensity of his stare is warm on your skin like the sun. His eyes skim your figure up and down, stopping right where your short pleated skirt ends as he concentrates on your conversation.

He’s determined to not miss a word.

“I’d like that.” Jungsu blinks up at you with a genuine curl of his lips and eyes partly closed from the bright sunlight.

“Cool.” You smile back, tilting your head in a flirtatious manner. “Gym buddies?”

“Gym buddies.” Jungsu gives you a high five, and you’re just about to add something when you hear the deep voice coming from behind your shoulder.

“I thought you shouldn’t put pressure on your ankle for at least a month or two more,” Jiseok calls out.

“Oh, it’s fine.” You lie nonchalantly after turning around. He fixates his gaze on your chest, dressed in a tight cropped top with no straps, and you know it’s because if he looks into your eyes the real emotions may slip out from his face. However, he seems just as tense while staring at your boobs. “The doctor said I can start working out again, I just need to be careful not to overdo it.”

Jiseok responds with a crooked smile watching you take a seat on the table. As you take out the novel you’re reading for your english class, Jungsu stands up, stretching his arms for the next round.

Jiseok grabs the tennis ball, and a sigh of relief calms his frustration, when he walks pass you and feels your fingers discreetly brushing his as he heads towards the tennis court of his parents house.

“Will this book ever get interesting?” Jiseok scoffs. “Jesus, I’m so bored…”

“Will you stop interrupting me only to complain?”

Not only are you doing him the favour of telling him all the important things he needs to know about the novel, and helping him out with the assignment, more than you should, but you also have to bare listening to him complain like he doesn’t have someone else doing his work for him.

“If you read to me naked, I will.”

You roll your eyes at the comment, but you don’t succeed at fighting back the urge to grin, as you bring back your attention on the open book in your hands. He’s blessed with the most enticing smile in the word, and it never fails to make your stomach swirl. It’s boyish, smug, but so attractive.

“If we weren’t dating…” Jiseok rests his head in his palm after turning on his side, “who else would have a real chance except me?”

“Jungsu is cute.” You reply calmly without looking away from the page.

“Cute?” Jiseok blinks confused. His face scrunches from your quick answer. “Since when do you like cute guys?”

“Why did you ask if you’re just gonna get jealous of my answer?”

“Is this why you’re gym buddies all of a sudden? Cause he’s cute?”

You close the book and put it aside with a deep sigh.

“It’s like you missed the whole point of this bet. I have to get their hopes up a little bit so they can bet more money, baby.”

“I know, I know…” Jiseok whines, turning on his back. His eyes gaze up at the tree which leaves move discreetly from the light breeze. “It’s just annoying having to listen to them talk about you… they really think they have a chance.”

You move closer to him, putting a hand over his chest.

“This means we’re winning.”

Jiseok takes your wrist and guides your hand to his lips, pressing them against your knuckles. A moment later, you sit on his lap and his palms go underneath your skirt; it’s like an automatic reaction and it makes you chuckle.

“I can be cute too.” He says.

“I don’t want that.” You reply quietly before leaning down. The minty scent of the gum he had in his mouth earlier invades your senses as you stare at his plump lips. “You didn’t win me over with a cute attitude.”

You both smile at each other, because it’s true. He’s always been a gentleman, but he never tried to impress you with cute compliments, princess treatment or anything like that… The way you challenged yourselves in class, the games of cat and mouse and the bickering in between pulled you closer till he couldn’t handle it anymore. After realising the hatred you feel towards each other, or more specifically the hatred you’re supposed to feel towards each other was actually lust, attraction, desperation to know each other in more ways than one, Jiseok came up to you and straight up told you he wants you. “Right here, right now,” he said. No pick up lines, nothing.

“But we hate each other,” you stated even though it didn’t sound believable, because it wasn’t true at all. You said it just because you couldn’t think of anything else that wouldn’t make you sound easy.

“I don’t believe it, do you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I actually think you’re good for me, Y/N.”

He fingered you in the library that day. It felt so inappropriate, so… filthy; but most importantly - exciting. Jiseok saw something shifting in you that day, and it made him realise that he was right about you. You had a secret filthy side that’s hiding behind that pure obedient smile of yours, and it was waiting for him to discover it; to make it his.

Two days later he fingered you in the restrooms, that’s when you returned the favour although he said you didn’t need to.

He ate you out in the dressing rooms before his basketball game, and days later he asked to sit next to you for your English lecture so he can sneak his hand under your skirt. He likes doing that to this day - sitting next to you when you’re out with friends and touching you under the table. He enjoys it, because nobody has to know you’re in a relationship especially your parents. Another thing he likes about this is how you let him do it despite this well known fact.

He took your virginity at his house when his parents were out of the country and you got the chance to wake up next to him for the first time.

“What do you want then?” Jiseok keeps shifting his gaze from your eyes to your lips. His hands, hidden from your skirt, are gripping your ass cheeks beneath it. “Tell me, doll.”

He presses his lips against yours into a soft kiss. Once, twice… You remain silent while the contact from his mouth floods your body with adrenaline. The only sound around you is from the nature of the park where you found yourselves a nice secluded spot.

“Why are you suddenly shy, baby?” He smirks after you break the kiss. “I already know how filthy you can be for me.”

As he speaks Jiseok’s one hand moves your panties to the side while the other pushes a finger inside your welcoming arousal. You moan into his mouth as he glides it through your tight walls.

“It’s why you wear these little skirts and tops, right? You let me get what I want whenever I want to…” His finger speeds up, and you hide your face into the crook of his neck. “You don’t really care who sees. You never did.”

“I think it’s time to end the bet.” Jiseok tosses his phone on the table between you and glances in your direction. “It’s been over two weeks now.”

“Hmm..” You’re lounging on the sunbed enjoying the sight of the calm beach as the sun is almost about to set meanwhile Jiseok is sitting on his, hunched over with a certain tense expression.

“It’s perfect.” He exclaims. “Not too late, not too early either.”

“Wouldn’t it look like I’m easy?”

“No, baby.” He disagrees immediately as he walks up to you. “It would look like I’m just too damn good at flirting which I am.” He sits on the edge, stroking your bare leg up and down. “I’m too hard to resist.”

“You’re getting all cocky, Kwak Jiseok.” You tease him with your foot ghosting over his crotch. His hand catches your ankle gently. “Not cute.”

“What do you say?” His eyes fixate on your contemplative expression. What’s there to think about so much? As you stay silent, just maintaining the eye contact with him, Jiseok feels his heartbeat quickening.

“If you insist.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He blurts right away.

You cannot help but laugh while peeling your back off the lounge.

“I’m just messing with you! God, your cheeks got all red.”

You cup his face, smiling at his cute frustrations, but he grips your wrists, speaking out in an even more serious voice.

“I’m putting an end to this, you hear me?”

You pull back to drag down the straps of your light summer dress which is enough of an answer to his words. Jiseok watches you with half parted lips, finally laying eyes on the new pair of Victoria’s Secret lingerie you got.

You’ve talked about this - that you’re going to film just a few minutes as a proof, - but you’ve never discussed how, when, where or which minutes exactly - the beginning, the middle or the end. You completely let Jiseok guide you, but he seems too excited right now. He moves quickly, and kisses you roughly as if he hasn’t done it in weeks. You try to catch up with his speed, but all you can do is gasp and moan at every next touch.

“You can’t stop me, doll.” His tone comes out more intense and raspy. “I’m done listening to them thirsting over your ass, goddamn it. It’s driving me crazy.”

His fingers are already pumping against your g-spot, spreading your wetness and causing even more.

“J-Ji… Jiseok, fuck—“

Your legs dangle in the air as his arm flexes, moving steadily in order to make you cum as soon as possible.

“Slow down,” you whisper in a rush, squeezing your eyes, but Jiseok is too immersed into the fact you’re becoming even tighter than a moment ago.

“C’mon, baby, when have you liked it slow?” He smirks and a second later he feels you clench intensely around his fingers. “Yeah, there you go.”

Your jaw drops in a silent scream as Jiseok thrusts few more times till your climax fades down. Your chest drops heavily as you pant from the overwhelming feeling, it came so quickly and suddenly.

You’ve never cummed so fast before.

Jiseok pulls out his fingers slowly, all coated with your essence and drags them up to your clit. It causes your flushed face to scrunch up again which makes your boyfriend smile. He gives you a light smack.

“You needed this, huh?”

“I did,” you say already feeling relaxed and slightly lightheaded. Jiseok sneaks his fingers through your lips, doubling the pressure in his shorts by making you clean them up with your tongue. “Don’t you need something too?” You ask when you’re done sucking his digits.

Jiseok stands up, getting rid of his clothes. His tanned fit figure positions itself in front of you after you get comfortable with knees planted on the lounge. He looks stunning in this setting with the beautiful sea behind him.

“You can film me.” You say before you lick the side of his cock.

“Not yet.”

That’s all he says, as he stays with eyes shut due to the pleasant rush that's spreading wildly in his veins from your lips wrapped around his tip. You twirl your tongue around his oozing shape, but a moment later Jiseok gets impatient and slides himself all the way in, holding your head steady.

“Fuck, baby…” He groans with his deep voice. He commands his hips to move back and forth a few times, pushing as further as possible into your throat before emptying your mouth. “Give me your wet pussy now.” His soaked cock smacks your cheek lightly as a sign to turn around.

You feel him entering with ease. The pleasure is familiar, but it never feels exactly the same as other times. Every time your bodies connect you get dizzy with even more intense delight; with even stronger lust that only grows your addiction to Jiseok.

His fingertips dig into your hips, threatening to leave marks as the pace of his thrusts increases. He found your sweet spot and he doesn’t plan on slowing down until the knot in your tummy snaps.

“Fuck, b-baby—“ you call out with your weak voice; it keeps shaking from the immense pleasure and Jiseok’s rough pounding. “… gonna c-cum…”

Here at his parents' empty beach house, you can scream as loud as you want, so you don’t force yourself to be quiet nor discreet. You let out a deep wail of emotion that towards the end becomes just a shaky whimper as Jiseok fucks you through your second orgasm. He groans at the same time as you while doing his best to endure the pressure in his cock.

You collapse on your back, squeezing your trembling thighs together, but your boyfriend quickly separates them.

“I want to fuck you all night long,” he utters before his mouth sucks on your neck that’s sticky from sweat and the breeze around you. His body weight settles on top of your chest as his cock shoves into you again, making you whine beneath him. “You feel so fuckin’ good…”

The soothing sound of the waves clashing together blends with your moans as the rush starts doubling inside your core again. You feel how all the energy you had disappears from your body leaving only the overwhelming thrill from his cock turning you more and more sensitive.

“C’mon, my pretty girl, give me more.” Jiseok grunts. “I know you can.”

“Jiseok—“ you begin to say something, but he rises up, placing his thumb on your clit.

“I’m not gonna film shit until you start squirting, baby.”

He reaches for his phone, but the device stays locked in his free hand as the other stimulates your bundle of nerves causing you to squirm with each rub.

“You can do this, doll, look how needy you are.” Jiseok’s voice sounds lower than before as your clenching grows stronger.

His hips are not moving at all. He’s standing steady on his knees, feeling his cock being gripped tightly by your warm walls. He’s trying so hard not to keep his focus on this, but it’s impossible. His fingers speed up on your clit, and he pants heavily while you on the other hand cry out desperately with your silhouette convulsing in front of him. However, Jiseok doesn’t see a flinch of yours, because he cums inside you, and his eyes close shut.

Your clenching during your climax was enough to get him off.

“Shit,” he sighs, meeting your hazy gaze. You look completely washed off, but you still manage to smile after feeling how he spilled all that he had.

Jiseok unlocks his phone and guides the camera at your cunt so he can film the way he pulls out of you. His white cum starts seeping out in a slow thick trail and he makes sure to catch that too.

He keeps the video going as he pushes two fingers inside your hole tempted to fuck his essence back into you. His cock is still too sensitive, and he wants to get one more orgasm out of you.

“One more, pretty doll,” he whispers while pumping his digits, “this pussy is doing so well for me, keep it up.”

The camera memorises all the lewd squelching you do; all the messy juices emerging out of you as Jiseok’s fingers furiously bump against your deepest spot. Each and every whimper that slips from your lips in addition to your boyfriend’s praises.

“… can’t—“ you choke in the middle of your hitched breaths. “J-Jiseok, I can’t.. can’t…”

“Don’t say that, baby,” Jiseok fakes a disappointing look while keeping up the pace. “C’mon, you’ve been acting like a slut so many times for me, don’t get shy now. Show them what I thought you.”

You don’t realise when it happens; you feel too high to recognise anything else except your own crazy heartbeat and the burning in your core that makes you feel like you’re going to explode any second.

Jiseok’s phone gets sprayed when you succumb to the pressure and let go. You don’t even have the energy to let out a proper moan, you just gasp as the juices make Jiseok’s arm wet along with the lounge chair and the camera that catches everything.

Now, all that’s left to do is to send the video to the group chat, and get your money.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise in advance for any mistakes i’ve might missed

#💌: xhdream inbox #— xhfics 💜#joocomics.xdh #xdinary heroes smut #xdinary heroes hard thoughts #xdinary heroes hard hours #xh hard hours #kwak jiseok smut #gaon smut #jiseok hard thoughts #gaon hard thoughts #gaon x reader #jiseok x reader #xdinary heroes x reader #xdh x reader

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jayktoralldaylong · 25 days ago

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There have been crossovers with Interview with the Vampire and Sinners, and those are always fun to see. I love ‘em. 🥰 Mary and Stack with Claudia, meeting Louis and Lestat and competing for sexiest biracial vampire couple. There’s also just the fun scenarios of how it would play out if these very different vampires interacted.

Like, how would Smoke and Louis relate to each other as the ‘big brothers that failed’. Would they judge each other harshly for making the same mistake in different ways? How would Mary and Claudia connect on not truly belonging, with Claudia frozen as a youth and Mary who could never blend in with the culture that raised her. Just all those fun little conversations.

And I see people try to fit Remmick in one way or another, sometimes pairing him with Lestat, which sounds like a match made in hell in a way that’s somehow worse than every other dynamic in IWTV. There is just no way that would ever work. 💀

But you know what? Nothing made sense like when someone mentioned Remmick and Armand.

Oooooooooh.

Remmick and Armand. Now that…is art. I want to see those two characters interact because I love how they sort of reflect each other in a both really clean and really ugly way.

Cause Remmick is a vampire who is hundreds of years old. He is ancient. So ancient that he has lost the people he grew up with, the language they used to speak, the songs they used to sing, the places they used to go. All of that has been erased by time. All of the time that he’s existed works against him and he is alienated from his culture because it has slowly disappeared, evolved and changed while he is stuck either standing still or sacrificing the parts of himself that matter so that he can better blend in with the Americans, and this makes him lose more and more of his core identity until there is more vampire than Irish man left.

And then on the contrast you have Armand….who was betrayed by his culture (going by the show, not the books). I mean, his parents dumped him first hand on that human trafficking ship. They did not look back. They dropped him and they ran and he was bundled away. Assuming he was sold to an Indian brothel house, he was still young when Marius came and picked him up and trained him to be his pet. Unlike Remmick, Armand is old but he is not too far removed from his culture. He knows the language, he knows the people, but he has no attachment to it because he was never allowed to truly be a part of it. 🥺 What he became instead was an extension of the will of Marius, and after Marius, he became the extension of whatever it was that people wanted him to be, what they needed him to be.

A puppet.

Remmick is going about physically, pleading his case from house to house, changing his accent, his way of speaking, his posture, his story, his words. He is becoming so many different people at once in the same way that Armand keeps switching masks depending on which role people require him to play, and they’re both conforming to achieve acceptance, yet at the end, that acceptance crumbles because they are both also dead-set on remaining in control. 💀

They think the control will protect them. Armand manipulating Louis, Remmick destroying Sammy’s family one by one instead of just ASKING him to play music. 💀 And all their need to maintain control does is destroy the thing that they are so badly trying to cling to.

Two hands reaching out, trying to hold on to someone, praying that someone will hold on to them. And people try. People try to comfort them because they are so pitiful and so alone. But their grip is vice tight and their claws dig in because they are scared of letting go of any kind of control, because they know how terribly it hurt when they did not have control (Armand as a sex slave and Remmick oppressed by colonialism), and yet they’re so stupid that they don’t truly realize that they’re doing that same thing to others. And that is exactly why they keep losing.

#And they would totally 100% hate each other #they really would XD #Remmick would cock his head at Armand and Armand would straight up sneer XD #amc iwtv #sinners #sinners movie #sinners movie 2025 #sinners 2025 #interview with the vampire #armand #remmick #armand iwtv #remmick sinners #I think it’s neat

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the-fiction-witch · 2 months ago

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Lady Wife

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Oscar Tully (Age Up) Couple - Oscar X Reader Reader - (Unseen) Y/n Ayrnn Rating - 17 Word Count - 1163

Oscar grew more and more restless. He couldn't help himself he was yearning like he never thought possible. Oscar took his family words very seriously family, duty, honour. in that order. Even If he was the only member of his family left now. But he knew his duty and his honour both of which had led him to Harrenhal and King's landing as lord paramount leading his men to war. He did his duty to his people and his family legacy. But while the other men rejoiced in the thrill of post-battle with tavern girls and brothel workers. Oscar did not.

He knew his grandsire had arranged a marriage for him many years before he died, and Oscar refused to break his honour and his duty to his betrothed by sleeping with someone else. Even if… the gods did tempt him after the battle of kings landing when a few girls came to kiss him in thanks. But he did his duty and kept his honour.

Once back to Riverrun, things returned to normal or as close to normal as possible. But Oscar still felt this unwanted ache. An inch that couldn't be scratched no matter how his own hand tried. And this week was worse. Finally his maiden wife was of age, So she had arrived in Riverrun this week for them to marry in a few days.

He'd only seen her briefly but already just sitting at dinner with her was making him cross his legs under the table. And today was the worst! Or best! He wasn't sure… He'd been sitting in the lounge watching a storm when his betrothal lady Y/n arrived soaked from the rain having gotten lost on her way back from the castle sept. Her dress left no inch hidden, her clothes soaked and tight to her skin. And when she fell into his arms for comfort he felt… Everything!

Needless to say, Oscar had to run to his chambers to excuse himself and… Change his britches.

But tonight he was just too restless to even consider sleep. With the rain pouring and crashing outside, he paced the floor of his solar staring into the fire. He tried to distract himself with anything he could. A book, some paperwork, even his sword. But nothing seemed to calm the stirring within him, the…need…

Oscar's eyes wandered out of his windows on to the night sky, and in the direction of his betroth's chambers. He looked across the castle walls towards her chamber window. Seeing fire flame flicker beyond them. He tried to reason with himself.

‘She's my betroth, she's young and innocent.’

But the images in his head, wouldn't leave. Her wet small clothes clinging to her, the curves in her body that he'd only seen in glimpses.

Oscar groaned as he felt his breeches tighten at the thought of his maiden bride, he was tempted, so tempted to go to her. She deserved to be wooed, as any other maiden. and…he needed her, more than he thought possible. He was still just trying to get his body to calm down and his breeches to loosen,

A loud tap came from his door and a voice spoke up.

"My lord Tully!" The voice of his master of arms lord Samuel Deddings,

Oscar's head snapped around to the door, as he tried to compose himself, adjusting his breeches trying to hide the bulge. "Yes, enter!"

Samuel headed in, the older man adjusting his sword as he arrived. Immediately he clocked the issues his lord was having and looked away. "Forgive my interruptions, My lord."

"It's quite alright, Samuel."

"The travelling party fear the storm, my lord. Lady Y/n's party wish to leave so they may return home."

The mention of his betroth's name made his body stir even more, he tried to focus on the words, instead of the thoughts in his head. "Leave…during the storm?" Oscar asked, his voice slightly strained as he tried to calm himself.

"They wish to make preparations, to head away as soon as there is a break in the storm. Aiming to get back before the pass becomes too wet."

Oscar nodded, "Let them make their preparations then, the storm should subside in few hours, I'll escort the lady and her party personally to the gates, it would be safer that way."

"… The lady Y/n will remain here, my lord."

"Remain…here?"

"She wishes to remain in Riverrun, she has already given her party grace to leave her here." Samuel explained, "She says she will be Lady Tully with the week anyway, and there is no need for her Arynn party to remain if they fear their safety."

His mind went back to the thoughts of her earlier, in her wet clothes. her body tight against her wet clothes, her form so small and delicate. "Of course…that makes perfect sense."

"Do you give them leave to go, my lord?" He asked,

Oscar nodded, "Yes let them go," His mind kept wandering to her, her wet body pressed against his…

Samuel nodded and went to leave but he turned back. "My lord, if I may… Speak freely?"

Oscar nodded, "You know you may speak freely Samuel, I trust you wholeheartedly so speak as freely as you need."

"I am many years your senior as you know." He laughed, "Married for six years with two children… And I did have my share of… Cold feet around my own wedding but… I fear coldness is not your issue currently?"

Oscar sighed, "No…I think we can both safely say that…heat…is very much my issue at the present moment."

"I… I feel your pain, I remember it. It is a thirst that cannot fully be quenched." He nodded, "I can try and summon a-"

Oscar cut Samuel off, "I don't want a whore. my maiden betroth is right around the corner, I don't want them… I want her."

Samuel nodded. And glanced over his shoulder before he spoke quietly. "Then go to her. You are to be her husband in mere days, you cannot rob yourself of her maidenhead when you yourself will later take it officially. Many lords and ladies share a bed the nights before their wedding. Whether it happens tonight, or in a few days she is your bride regardless."

Oscar sat frozen at Samuel's words. He had heard of such things before weddings. his own grandsire and his grandam had done so, so he could do the same. "You think… she wouldn't mind?"

"I'm sure she would not turn away her husband to be, if perhaps he came to her suite late one stormy evening with perhaps some comforting words and a warm embrace."

"You are quite a sage man. Thank you, for your wisdom."

Samuel nodded and left to attend to business,

Oscar headed over to the wash basin, he washed his face, and wet his hair. he wanted to look presentable for his betroth. it's not every night you visit your soon to be wife, after all. he dressed in a simply red shirt and breeches. He ran a hand through his wet curls, and started towards her chambers.

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rita-repulsa-ke · 8 months ago

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The Present

One more Agatha/Rio fanfic, post-finale, angst and tragic romance.

Rio goes to visit Agatha, and brings her a present.

Rio watches Agatha sleep, all of her dignity lost, mouth open, limbs askew. She takes a few steps forward and waits. The year is 1803 and by now, she knows the steps to this dance. Somewhere in this peaceful room, there is a trap.

Agatha Harkness cannot kill Death. But she can wound her, bind her temporarily, inconvenience and humiliate her. She can certainly hurt her feelings and she delights in doing so.

And Rio, when hurt, retaliates. She uses magic, knives, but most of all taunting, callous words. She derives a sense of twisted satisfaction from watching her beloved crumple and beg for something they both know she cannot give.

Sometimes, later, she regrets. Today, she carries a present, folded in her green and black cloak, either a peace offering or a dagger to the heart.

She takes another step, sits on the bed, then stretches to lie next to Agatha, inches away from a few locks of dark hair. She wants to caress them, put them in her mouth, as she once would have done.

Before she can do either, the trap springs. Runes on each wall glow purple, and fine wires of magic snap around her, haul her up by the neck, wrists and ankles, suspended in midair.

“You trapped the bed?” she asks, incredulous, as Agatha jerks awake, sits up rubbing her eyes, wearing only a nightshirt, her hair a tangled mess.

She still takes Rio’s breath away.

“You are so utterly predictable,” Agatha says, smug even though her voice is laced with sleep. She motions to the walls, to the carved runes. “The six bindings runes are done in the Solomonic tradition, but I added an extra layer with the—"

She stops abruptly. Explaining the cleverness of her magic to Rio is an old habit, from better times. “The point being, it should hold for a couple of years, if I’ve done it right, and the doors and windows to this room are bespelled so that once I leave, everyone will forget its here.”

“Clever,” Rio praises and Agatha’s jaw tightens, though the praise is nothing but truthful. She has always been impressed by the sheer skill of Agatha's craft. “But I’ve brought you a gift.”

“Keep it,” Agatha says, packing her things from where they are scattered about the room, fishing out clothes from where they've somehow ended up under the bed. “I think we’re past the courting stage.”

“You’re going to want it. Trust me.” She sees the other woman pause. She can still provoke Agatha’s curiosity, always her strongest emotion.

But Agatha won't ruin her own work. “It can wait a couple of yea—“

Rio tires of this game. She reaches for power, not magic, but the simple truth of what she is. Wisps of black and green smoke escape her, pour from her mouth to settle on Agatha’s runes.

“You can't do that!" Agatha protests, watching with clenched teeth as the magic dies and Rio glides elegantly to the floor.

“You can’t bind Death, Ags.”

Agatha’s face contorts with fury, the realization of how many times Rio has chosen to let her think she had won, to indulge her pride, when she could have freed herself so easily. “I hate you,” she snarls.

Rio pulls out the portrait and offers it to her.

It’s a good one, a little boy with crooked teeth and long hair, as perfect a rendering as she could manage.

Agatha takes it and sinks to sit on the bed, trembling, stares at it, traces the image with a finger and whispers his name.

Rio shrugs, doesn't quite look at the other woman, allowing her a private moment of grief. “So you don’t forget what he looked like.”

After some immeasurable length of time, the longest either of them have gone without violence toward each other in decades, Agatha puts the painting carefully, almost worshipfully, on the table and stands, opens her arms to Rio.

Death steps into the embrace at once, clings tight and is aware that she is shaking as Agatha’s fingers smooth her hair. For one blissful moment, her world is whole.

“Pathetic,” Agatha says and the word is spoken so flatly that it delays the blow, takes Rio a second to even comprehend what was said. “Pitiful, desperate, like a dog with its tail between its legs, rolling over to show your belly for me, as though I will ever, ever care about you ag—"

“Incendem,” Rio says, the word spoken quiet and empty.

Agatha reacts too slowly, lunges as the portrait goes up in flames. She burns her hands, fumbles and drops it, uses a nearby shirt to stamp out the flames.

What is left is a ruined mess of canvas, blackened beyond recognition.

Death laughs and laughs and laughs. “Please,” Agatha whispers, sinking to her knees, clutching the painting as though she could protect it, as though she could protect anything. “Please, please, please.”

Rio crouches next to her, too close, absorbing the heat from her body as a mortal might sit near a fire for comfort. “Pathetic,” she murmurs, almost affectionate. “Pitiful. You can't help yourself, can you? It’s all right, Ags. Cruelty suits you.”

“Give it back,” Agatha whispers, her voice cracking like a skull. “Rio, please, give it back, give it back, give him back to me…”

Rio gathers her beloved in her arms, unprotesting for once, lets her sob like a broken-hearted child and feels a gentle contentment with the situation, murmuring sweet nothings in a handful of dead languages in her ear.

"Rio," Agatha whispers against her neck, and the way her breath brushes over Rio's skin is a reminder of so many better times.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Let me drop my barriers for you. Read my thoughts."

Rio hesitates, it must be a trap, but this time it is her curiosity that gets the better of her. Even when there was genuine affection between them, Agatha always guarded her thoughts so closely. She reaches tentatively for the mind she always wished to understand above all others.

Hatred, raw and pure, impales her, a spear shoved through her guts and out the other side, a sucking, fatal wound. She recoils from the agony, a sob building in her throat.

"No," she gasps. "You love me. You love me, you do, you love me, you're hurt, you're angry, I understand, but you do love me, Agatha!”

Agatha's turn to laugh now, her cackling, witchy laugh that Rio has always loved, a hint of insanity wound through it. "See for yourself. Look as deeply as you want, my heart." She presses her lips to Rio's cheek, untwines herself and comes to her feet to look down at Death, sitting on the floor, staring up at her with blank, empty eyes.

Rio looks. She does not wish to, it is an act of self-harm to stare into the abyss of Agatha's relentless hatred, but she lets it cut her, wound and scar her over and over, relentless in her search for any morsel of affection.

There is nothing. Agatha's hatred is an endless fall, a vast, dark pit of torment.

Rio wrenches her mind free and doubles over, a terrible shriek ripped from her, the sound of her heart being torn from her ribcage, her chest flayed open, entrails flopping out.

"There is only one thing I want from you now," Agatha says. "And it is never, ever to see your face again."

Rio winks out of existence.

Agatha sits and stares at the blackened portrait, then carefully releases the spell on her mind that withholds her true feelings, a complicated rush of true hatred, the aching memory of a world-devouring love, a desperate desire not to be abandoned, and the sudden yearning to be back in Rio's arms.

Feel free to comment/reblog if you like this sort of thing. If you want to read something written pre-finale and therefore less angsty, try the talk. The part where Rio says she’ll never leave hits different now.

#agatha all along #agatha x rio #no one is nice to each other today #angst #agathario

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whendesdayisoveritwillbethursday · 4 months ago

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Cover Your Ears

2nd part of previous post

Summary:

“I’ll help Nemi, so spiders don’t eat your head!” He paused, seeming to think about something before he looked worried. “You’ll protect my head too, right Nemi?”

Sanemi smiled, wrinkling his nose at him. “Of course silly, that's what big brothers do!”

-------

Word Count: 1147

Warnings for referenced spousal abuse/rape. (Nothing is witnessed. I promise) It's only insinuated and is mainly about the kids. Also I don't think you can read this as a stand alone as there are many references to the first post.

-------

It was a few months later….

THUNK-BANG.

Crashing sounds woke Sanemi, Genya, and their mother up.

“AGHHH!!”

…..that Kyogo lost his job.

It was their father, Kyogo. He was back from drinking all night. It sounded like he was throwing things outside.

“FUCK YOU GAKU!”

His anger was different this time, Sanemi could sense it. His mother could sense it too by the nervous look on her face. Kyogo continued to scream curses outside and Sanemi waited for the tyrant to come inside. To come inside and swing at them and break their things that they couldn’t replace. A hand shook his shoulder. He looked at the face connected to it.

“Sanemi, I want you to take Genya and hide in the backyard.”

“But-”

“No.” She said firmly. Her eyes darkening. Ma was never like this. She never had that look in her eyes. His Mama was scared.

“He’ll hurt you.” He whispered.

“I know.” Her head bowed.

“But worse!”

Her head stayed bowed.

“Mama please-” She cut him off by picking him up.

He stood, now on his feet, watching her.

She grabbed Genya under his arms and quickly went to the back door with him on her hip. Sanemi followed, flinching as he heard more things break outside their front door. She set Genya down in one of their very large laundry baskets that he had helped Mama make from bamboo. She grabbed a spare blanket that had been drying on the clothes line. She looked at Sanemi now.

“Get in.”

“No.”

“Now, Sanemi.”

“You’ll be alone!”

She looked at him, an unknown emotion flitting across her face, before she kneeled and rested her hands on his shoulders. “Listen to me.” He wouldn’t look her in the face as tears pooled in his eyes and ran over their lids.

“Hey none of that.” She chided gently. She titled his chin to look her in the face and she smiled. The smile that made bruises and cuts disappear, the smile Sanemi loved. He sobbed. She shouldn’t be wearing that smile. Not when she was one who was going to get hurt! His arms reached around her neck as hers wrapped around his middle.

“I don’t want you to go.” He sobbed.

“I know.” She ran her fingers through his hair as her other hand rubbed his back.

“I hate him.” He said.

“I know.”

Sanemi hiccuped and squeezed her tighter. Maybe if he squeezed tight enough she would stay. Maybe they could run away and he’d help her raise Genya, he’d show Genya how to be a brother, how to be a father, and how to sew and mend and how to help Ma too.

He squeezes her as she squeezes back.

“I love you Mama.” He pleaded.

“I love you too, my little blossom.” He could tell she was crying too.

They heard another crash from the front of the house.

“I have to go now Sanemi, you have to let me go.” Tears ran down her face.

“But I love you!” He sobbed, clinging harder. She pulled away. And Sanemi stood there staring at her as she stood up. She stooped over into the basket and kissed Genya on his head. He blinked his big eyes at her and smiled. He made grabby hands, so she would pick him up. Tears fell as she smiled back.

“Bye-Bye, love you Genya.”

Genya giggled and waved.

“Bye-bye.” He repeated softly.

She stood back up and looked at Sanemi. She sighed before bending and picking up Sanemi under his legs and back.

“Hey!” She placed him beside Genya, who immediately clung to his sobbing brother’s arm in worry.

“Don’t go!” He pleaded again.

She smiled sadly before she dried her tears. She lifted the blanket and covered them both.

“I love you.” She said above them as Sanemi heard her footsteps retreat.

“Don’t go.” He whispered as his crying made his body tremble.

Genya continued to cling to him as he cried. He wanted her to come back. He heard the door close. He wanted Mama to come back. He heard their muffled voices. He wanted his Mama. Sanemi buried his face in his knees, waiting for Ma to come back for them. After a moment, something began wriggling and digging in between his hand and his leg. Sanemi stopped crying to look. Genya was trying to inch his finger in between where his hand tightly gripped his leg.

“Genya. What are you doing?” Sanemi was confused. He raised a brow.

Genya looked at Sanemi and went back to what he was doing. He looked to be on a mission. Genya’s face became more determined and his finger more persistent until one of his little fingers finally breached his tight clasp and Genya whipped his head full of hair around with a determined look and said, “Hey Nemi! Don’t be sad. Genya here!” he cheered. He beamed at Sanemi. And Sanemi froze, before he wetly chuckled and wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand that wasn’t occupied with holding Genya’s finger. He gripped Genya’s finger and met his eyes.

“I won’t be sad, Genya.”

“Yay! Genya here! Nemi here!” He cheered as he practically hugged Sanemi's hand with his whole body, but the joyous atmosphere dropped as they heard the scream. Mama’s scream. Genya whimpered beside him. Sanemi pulled him close as her screams grated against their ears. Tears dripped from his eyes again. There was nothing they could do. There wouldn’t be any “Genya here! Nemi here!” for Mama. A small hand gripped his shirt, but…

“H-hey Genya.” He looked up at Sanemi. Fear was quivering in his eyes.

“Can-can you do something for me?” Genya nodded, a diligence taking over, though he still looked a little shaken.

“I want to cover your ears and I want you to cover mine.”

Genya tilted his head. “Why?”

Sanemi smiled. He leaned closer as if to divulge a secret. “I don’t want spiders to make nests in my ears.”

Genya looked affronted and grossed out. “Ew! That gross Nemi.”

Sanemi giggled weakly as he heard another scream. “I-I know!”

Genya got a determined look again. “I’ll help Nemi, so spiders don’t eat your head!” He paused, seeming to think about something before he looked worried. “You’ll protect my head too, right Nemi?”

Sanemi smiled, wrinkling his nose at him. “Of course silly, that's what big brothers do!”

Genya beamed and scooted closer. Sanemi crossed his legs and pulled Genya into his lap.

“Up you go.” Genya giggled.

“Now what Nemi?”

He grabbed Genya’s hands and placed them on his ears, while he reached around and put his on Genya’s.

“Now you hold my ears and I’ll hold yours, like this. Sound good?” He felt Genya’s nod with his hands. Genya began to nod off not long after and with it his hands slipped, allowing Sanemi to hear the screams again. Genya slept peacefully and that’s all that mattered.

Sanemi's vision blurred in and out, trying not to succumb to sleep. Maybe he’d see Mama in the morning, he hoped he would, but Kyogo might kill her like the baby. Sanemi shuddered. No. He would see her. She’d come get them in the morning. She would… was his last thought as he drifted to sleep.

—

The next morning Shizu wouldn’t wake Sanemi and Genya. Sanemi would wake with the sun and find her passed out on the floor, bloodied and bruised. And after two weeks they would find that Shizu was pregnant once more.

#sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi headcanons #demon slayer sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba #kny genya #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #kny #genya shinazugawa #shizu shinazugawa #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #sanemi shinaguzawa

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specialagentlokitty · 7 months ago

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Merlin x reader - past or present

Could I please request Kingsmen Merlin x reader with this prompt “You don’t know anything!” “You’re right, I don’t. But I do know that no one should have to lose as much as you have, should have to feel pain as much as you have.” from one of your prompt lists? - Anon💜

You had a reputation among everybody, you were cold and callous, you didn’t care what the job was or what had to be done at the end of the the job was always finished.

It’s why you were sent on a lot of missions, usually alone, sometimes you did work with a handful of others, and sometimes you were brought in the scare the crap out of the recruits.

It was how you first met the likes of Merlin, Harry and Eggsy.

Harry you had done many missions with him, both of you having a track record for completing missions in record time.

Eggsy you had been brought in to help with training him, and at first he was reluctant and cocky, but he was quickly put into his place and he’s admired you since.

Merlin however.

That was a different story.

He’s known you for longer than you can remember, a particular mission had left you with some amnesia, you didn’t remember when you met him, and he wouldn’t tell you, but you were close to him.

He knew you, the real you before this cold persona took over your mind and soul.

He watched you go from a happy and friendly agent to what you were now and it worried him.

He did his best to look after you, he always tried to lead you into the right direction and help you but sometimes he found it hard, and today was no different.

Standing in the doorway with his arms crossed he watched you pace back and forth the length of the briefing room.

Something you did when you were stressed or having flashbacks of things from before you lost your memory, things you could piece together.

You were stressed and overwhelmed.

“(YN).” He called out.

He tried to keep his voice quiet enough he didn’t startle you, but loud enough that you would hopefully hear him and listen.

When you stopped pacing he gave a small sigh.

“You’ll wear down the floor pacing like that, what’s going on?” He asked.

Merlin didn’t get any closer, he didn’t want you to feel overwhelmed or pressured but he didn’t move from the doorway either meaning there was no exit.

Whatever was going on inside your head he needed you to talk about it before you just exploded.

Flicking your gaze to him you don’t say anything, you just carried on pacing.

For the past hour you had been trying to piece together the little bits of your memory that had returned, but nothing made sense.

It filled you with so many different emotions and the one that prevailed over them all was angry and the feeling of being lost.

You felt lost, utterly and completely lost, and you were angry at that feeling, you were angry that you couldn’t remember anything, you were angry at everything right now.

“Whatever’s going on inside your head you need to talk to me about it because this isn’t going to solve anything for you.” Merlin spoke up again.

Just leave me alone!” You snap slightly.

Merlin sighed a little bit, shaking his head as he stepped into the room and closed the door so nobody could overhear what was doing to be said.

“I need you to tell me what you’re going through okay? Otherwise I can’t help you, you can’t keep doing this alone.”

Spinning around you glare at him.

“You don’t know anything!” You snap louder.

Merlin sighed, walking over he gently placed a hand on shoulder to stop you from pacing.

“You’re right, I don’t. But I do know that no one should have to lose as much as you have, should have to feel pain as much as you have.” He said softly.

That seemed to be all it took because the tears started to fill your eyes and before you knew it Merlin had pulled you in for a tight hug, placing a hand on the back of your head.

“I’ve always been here for you, and I always will, okay?” He whispers.

You nod a little bit, clinging on to him like a lifeline.

Even if you couldn’t remember your past, you always somewhere deep in the back of your mind remembered him

#kingsmen #the kingsmen x reader #the kingsmen x you #the kingsmen imagine #kingsmen Merlin #kingsmen Merlin x reader

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httydfan26 · 2 months ago

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legends don't die

There are legends carved into the cliffs of the North. Tales whispered through the howling wind, of dragon riders with inked skin and ancient bonds forged in fire and flight. Of immortality earned not by blood, but by love—so fierce, it defies death.

She’s heard the stories all her life, told in the soft voice of her father beside the fire: of dragons and their riders, of immortality born through love and loyalty. She never believed them. Not until now.

Now in her twenties and working as a seasoned search and rescue specialist, Astrid has seen many strange things in the harsh, snow-laced peaks. But nothing like this. Survivors speak of a man who flies with a dragon—silent and swift. A shadow in the sky. A myth made flesh.

Haunted by the loss of her father and driven by a pull she can’t explain, Astrid follows the trail of the legend. But what she finds isn’t just a man or a dragon. It's a truth buried by time, a bond that once changed the world—and might do so again. Because some stories aren’t just stories.

And some legends never die.

chapter 1 finding the lost

There was always a story my father used to tell me when I was a child—a story about dragons and their riders, and the unbreakable bond that tied them together. He spoke of how, once a dragon and rider were bound, they gained incredible power, their lives intertwined so completely that they became immortal as long as they remained together. The stronger their bond, the greater their strength. But it was a fragile immortality; if one died, the other would soon follow, their connection so deep that even distance could cause the magic in their veins to ache and burn until they were forced apart. Each rider bore a tattoo somewhere on their body, a symbol of the dragon they were bound to—a mark of pride, of loyalty, of destiny. He would always end the story with the same tale: the legend of a young boy and his Night Fury, the rarest and most feared of dragons. It was a legend I never truly believed, just another one of my father’s many bedtime tales. Yet now, years later, after his death, it’s those stories I find myself clinging to—the memories of his voice, his laughter, and the unconditional love he gave me. Now here I am, well into my twenties, working as a search and rescue specialist in the mountains, chasing down the lost and the desperate.

Sitting at my desk, I studied the spread of maps laid out before me—topographical charts of the Rocky Mountains in British Columbia, Canada. My eyes traced the rugged terrain, searching for any clue that might help us find a missing ten-year-old girl named Alessa. She had vanished sometime during the night, after a heated argument with her parents on a family camping trip. In a moment of anger or hurt—or maybe both-she had run off into the wilderness alone. Why would a child do something so reckless? It was beyond me. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. It was already 7 a.m., and we were scheduled to leave within the hour.

I quickly gathered my gear—radio, survival pack, first aid kit, ropes, flares—double-checking everything before calling out to my team. "Ready to go, team? Helicopter will be here any minute," I said, pushing away from the desk. Waiting for me, as always, were my teammates: Ruffnut and her twin brother Tuffnut, along with Heather and Dagur. We'd been together since my first day on the job—an odd but tight-knit group who had long since become my second family. They stood ready, gear slung over their shoulders, faces set with determination.

The helicopter ride to the search zone was relatively short, though the engine’s roar did little to quiet the knot of worry tightening in my chest. When we touched down, we were only a short distance from the family's campsite. The world around us was a sea of towering, jagged peaks and endless, vivid green fields. The mountains loomed high, their rocky faces cutting into the sky like the teeth of some ancient beast. It was beautiful—wildly, heartbreakingly beautiful—but deadly for anyone who didn't know their way. Out here, it didn't take long to get turned around, and panic only made it worse. One wrong step, one wrong choice, and even a seasoned hiker could disappear without a trace.

It had been hours, and still, no sign of her. "How far behind do you think we are?" Tuffnut asked, his voice tight with frustration. We'd been combing this stretch of forest for what felt like forever. The only clue we’d found was a scattered trail of footprints, half-faded in the underbrush. She had to be close. At ten years old, Alessa couldn’t have gone far… but with how cold it had gotten last night, a new kind of fear had begun to settle in my chest. What if she hadn’t made it?

“Just a little longer,” I said, more to myself than the others. “She has to be here.” We kept calling her name, voices echoing through the dense trees. Then something caught my eye—a strip of fabric snagged on a low-hanging branch, torn and fluttering slightly in the breeze. It looked like part of a shirt. My heart jumped. I pushed deeper into the brush, moving quickly but carefully. That’s when I saw her.

Alessa stood beneath the trees, barefoot and covered in dirt. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and twigs tangled in her hair—but she didn’t look scared. Just... tired. And calm. She was smiling. “Hey,” I said gently, crouching to her level. “My name’s Astrid. I’m here to take you home. Are you hurt?” She blinked up at me, then slowly glanced around the forest before returning her gaze to mine. With a quiet shake of her head, she reached into her small backpack and pulled out a blanket, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders. That’s when I noticed something strange—clutched in her hand was a dark, gleaming object. “What’s that you’ve got there?” I asked, gently reaching for it as I wrapped the blanket more securely around her.

She held it a little closer at first, hesitant. “I got it from a friend I just met,” she said softly, her smile returning.

“A friend?” I frowned. “There’s nobody out here. We’re in the middle of nowhere—no one could’ve gotten to you.”

“He was here,” she said, matter-of-factly. “He kept me warm all night. He had this big animal he called Toothless. He gave me this as a gift.”

She extended her hand, slowly offering me the object. It was smooth and black, almost glassy with a slight shimmer. A scale—large, much too large to belong to any animal native to Canada. I turned it over in my hand, feeling a strange warmth radiating from it. I knelt beside her, puzzled but careful not to alarm her. “It’s very pretty,” I said, handing it back. She smiled again, then tucked it carefully into her blanket.

“Ready to go home?” I asked. Alessa hesitated. Her eyes flicked over her shoulder toward the forest again, as if she were waiting for something. Or someone. Then she nodded, slowly. We walked back through the trees, my team silently falling beside us. I stayed close to Alessa, watching her eyes constantly scan the trees, like she wasn’t quite ready to leave.

When we reached the helicopter, she stopped just short of stepping in. She turned back to the woods and lifted her hand in a small wave. I followed her gaze, expecting to see nothing. But then, for the briefest of moments, I saw it. A shadow moved through the trees, sleek and impossibly fast, vanishing before I could focus on it. My breath caught. There was someone out there. Something.

Alessa was safe at home, curled up on her couch with a mug of hot chocolate and her worried parents hovering nearby. Meanwhile, I was packing up my gear and getting ready to leave base. As I slung my backpack over my shoulder, I turned to Heather. “She said someone helped her. A man with a big animal. And she was holding a scale—black, smooth, definitely from something big.”

Heather glanced up from organizing a map. “Yeah, I heard her. But come on, Astrid. Who would be out there in the middle of nowhere? Maybe she was hallucinating… dreaming.”

“Maybe.” I tried to sound convinced, but the image of that shimmering scale still burned in my mind. So did the fleeting shadow I’d seen in the trees. “It just doesn’t add up.”

Heather shrugged. “You’ve barely slept. You said it yourself—weird things start making sense when your brain's running on fumes.”

“Yeah… maybe.” But even as I said it, doubt gnawed at me.

The drive home was quiet, but my thoughts were anything but. I couldn’t stop thinking about Alessa. About the strange calm in her eyes. About the way she smiled when she spoke of the man and his dragon. It didn’t sound like a dream. It sounded like a memory. And I couldn’t shake what I saw in those woods. A figure. A presence. Real or imagined, I wasn’t sure anymore.

Back home, I dropped my keys on the counter and collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion pulling at my limbs. I needed sleep. I wanted to sleep. But the moment I closed my eyes, the dreams came. Dreams of my father. He was sitting beside me, just like he used to when I was a child, his voice deep and warm as he wove stories of dragons and their riders. Of ancient bonds and powerful creatures. Of a young rider chosen not by destiny, but by heart. "You’ll be next," he said in the dream, eyes shining. “The bond is in your blood.”

I jolted upright, breath catching in my throat. He’d never said that to me. Not once in real life. Just stories. Just legends. Nothing more... right? I ran a hand through my hair, heart pounding. Maybe I was just missing him. It had only been two years since he passed—cancer. Quiet, cruel. But his stories had never left me. Maybe they were all I had left. Unable to sit still, I got up, padded barefoot into the kitchen, and started the coffee machine. The hum and click of it were a comfort in the early morning stillness. I reheated some leftovers from the night before, trying to ground myself in the mundane. Work started in an hour. There were more people to help. More mountains to search.

I pulled into my usual spot just off the gravel lot, the early morning air crisp and cool against the windshield. The mountains stood like silent sentinels in the distance, their peaks brushed with mist. As I stepped out of the truck, I spotted a familiar figure.

“Mark,” I called, walking toward him.

He turned at the sound of my voice, flashing a tired but friendly smile. “Astrid. Hey! How’ve you been?”

“Busy,” I said with a shrug, falling into step beside him. “But nothing I can’t handle. You?”

“Same here. Non-stop lately, but I’m not complaining.” Mark was taller than me, with shaggy blond hair that curled slightly at the ends and sharp blue eyes that always seemed to be studying the terrain—or the people in it.

I hesitated a moment before asking, “Hey, this might sound weird, but… have any of the people you’ve rescued mentioned someone—anyone—giving them a black scale?”

Mark blinked. “Huh. Actually… yeah. A few, now that you mention it. Most of them said they found it or that someone gave it to them. One guy claimed he was saved by some man and his dragon.”

I stopped walking. “They said dragon?”

He gave a low chuckle. “Yeah, but honestly, they were probably delusional. You know how it is—exhaustion, dehydration, fear… it messes with your head. I figured they mistook a bear for something else or were just dreaming things up to cope.”

My heart thudded. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Alessa had said the same thing. A man. A big creature. A black scale.

“Are you okay, Astrid?” Mark had stopped too, glancing back at me with concern.

“Yeah,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… thinking. Thanks for the chat.” I gave him a short wave and turned back toward my vehicle, but my mind was racing. More than one person had said it. And they all had the same scale. That couldn’t be chance.

What if my father’s stories weren’t just bedtime tales?

I shook the thought away. Maybe they were hallucinating. Maybe they saw a moose and imagined wings. Maybe I was just tired and letting memories of my dad twist reality.

Or maybe… I’m finally starting to believe him.

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pleasestaywithmedarling · 6 months ago

Text

Sin of Purity, Purity of Sin: Part XXVII

previous masterlist

see end note for content warning

She woke in her cell, curled tightly under her thin blanket, and she could hear Anden crying.

Something was wrong, something was so horribly wrong, because Anden didn’t cry. She’d long since lost count of the beatings he’d taken, the lacerations he’d endured. She’d heard his groans of pain, his screams of agony. She’d seen the tears pooling in his eyes, clinging to his lashes. She’d never once seen them fall.

But now Anden was crying, sobbing. She had to go to him, had to help him, but something was wrong, something was so horribly wrong, because she couldn’t move. The blanket weighed on her body as heavily as iron. She tried, she tried so hard to sit up, to move, that she trembled with the effort. But all she could do was lay trapped on her cot as Anden’s tears filled the chamber, higher and higher until she was drowning in them.

She woke in the cabin, curled tightly under a worn quilt, and she could hear Anden crying.

Too weak to move, she let her own tears fall.

“That’s right, boys, flat on his back,” the woman called over her shoulder as she bustled about the kitchen. “You can go ahead and get him undressed, but leave the bandages for now. Mind that broken arm!”

As Antoni helped Korvu lay Anden out on the table, he couldn’t help but pause as he considered the woman’s words. The sling binding Anden’s left arm to his chest made the break obvious enough, but the strips of cloth winding around his torso were entirely hidden. So how had she even known—

There were more important things to worry about right now, Antoni reminded himself. Far more unsettling than this strange woman knowing so many things she shouldn’t, was the grisly sight that awaited him as they stripped Anden of his tunic. So much blood and other fluids had seeped through the makeshift bandages—Antoni didn’t know much, but he was sure that the yellow stains at the left side of Anden’s chest were not a good sign. His throat closed up as he watched his brother’s eyes blink open, unseeing, before squeezing shut again with a pained, frightened whine.

A familiar weight covered Antoni’s shoulder, and he reached up to squeeze his partner’s hand gratefully.

“What now?” asked Korvu.

“Now I need to take a better look at him.” For a long moment, though, the woman continued to stand with her back to them, her stooped shoulders tensed. Then with a heavy sigh, she turned and immediately blanched at the sight before her. Her arms crossed to hold herself in a tight embrace as she wordlessly scanned the length of Anden’s battered body. At last she stumbled back into the counter behind her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she said in a horrified whisper, “Merciful Dainagh, save us! How could they do this?”

Antoni swallowed hard. “Can you help him?”

She took in a shuddering breath. “I’ll not lie to you. He shouldn’t even be alive right now—his core’s light is only a small flicker. But—” Steeling herself, she looked at Anden once more. “What little light he has is feeding his body to keep him alive, but if it goes out completely he’ll die regardless. If we can draw out the infection, that would free up his light to feed itself and grow—with any luck, it’ll be enough for him to pull through.”

Korvu looked to Antoni for confirmation, and after a moment of hesitation he nodded. It all sounded like nonsense to him, but he’d seen so much of this woman that he could neither explain nor deny—perhaps it had made him more receptive to listening to her.

Or perhaps he was simply desperate.

A few quick orders from her set them both to work. Korvu began making efficient work of peeling and chopping a small mound of gnarled tubers, and Antoni found himself standing before a mortar and pestle. His protests that he’d never used such tools went disregarded.

“You’ll have no trouble. Just grind everything until it’s a fine powder.” The woman began tossing in small handfuls of various dried leaves and flowers that he didn’t recognize, chattering anxiously all the while. “My gods, that poor boy. Hardly an inch of his back left untouched, down to his thighs too, but at least that’s all mostly healed. There’s a few lacerations over his shoulder blade I’ll need to look at—looks like they’d been healing nicely till the stitching was ripped. But those cuts on his chest are the biggest concern. I’d like to give a piece of a mind to whoever did that—bad enough to carve up the boy like he was a piece of meat, but to write such awful words—”

Antoni didn’t want to have to think about what exactly the temple had done to his brother—not now when he was trying to keep his hands steady. He turned his mind to safer subjects, like the fact that none of what the woman had just described about Anden had been made visible to her. “Who are you?” he asked. “How do you know so much?”

“I’m Enn,” she answered simply. “And I have the Sight.”

“What, is that like—like magic?”

“Of course. Not many of us with that particular gift, but it’s more common than most folk know.”

“Can you—” Antoni’s grip tightened on the pestle. “Can you see if Anden will live?”

She hummed sympathetically. “Doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid. The Sight works a bit different for everyone, but no one can see what hasn’t happened yet. But I do know that he’s stubborn, and that’ll serve him well; he may have a chance. There, I told you this would be easy for you—keep going just like that.”

Antoni was surprised to realize it was true: the mixture wasn’t quite a powder, but he was making good progress. The task was oddly soothing to his frayed nerves, but then he’d always found calm in working with his hands.

Enn threw in a pinch of small black seeds, then pulled a hand-bound book from a shelf and began scanning through its weathered pages. “Your brother’s a strong lad. There’s not many that could survive being so wounded, even with the Touch. But he’s made it this far, and if he can hold out just a bit longer then—”

“Wait—what do you mean, ‘the Touch’?”

She spared him only the slightest of glances before going back to rifling through her book. “Oh, you didn’t know about his gift, did you? But yes, he has the Touch. My husband had it, too, the gods be with him. That silly ass of a man never did believe me when I said it’s why he always healed up so quick. Most folk who have it think it only lets them manipulate what’s around them—they don’t realize how much control they have over their own bodies. But I’ve seen it at work—it’s a subtle kind of magic, to be sure, but mighty powerful. Ah!” she exclaimed, tapping the open book with satisfaction. “Found it!”

Antoni’s mind was reeling. Not only was magic real, but his own brother could use it? That couldn’t possibly be true, but this was no time to argue. “What’d you find?”

“I’ve never made this tonic before,” Enn admitted. “But it’s one of Aunt Sela’s recipes, and she was reliable more often than not.” Hastily she cleared some counter space and began gathering the listed ingredients. “It’s supposed to aid in strengthening your core’s light. The gods only know how long your brother’s been burning through his to keep himself alive. And with it so small now—well, we need to try to give him a boost. Dainagh above, why would this call for edros root? Shit, I need to check the cellar.”

She hurried outside, and the slam of the cellar door hitting the cabin wall made the whole building shake. Antoni strained his ears, hoping to hear some exclamation of triumph that she’d found what she needed. But the only sounds were the grinding of the pestle and the soft rhythmic thud of Korvu’s knife as it hit the cutting board, punctuated by Anden’s sickly moans.

“I’d wondered how he could have declined so quickly last night,” Korvu mused. “I mean, he was in rough shape yesterday, but he was lucid. Hell, he was running with us. He needed help to do it, but still.”

Antoni remembered how brightly Anden’s eyes had shone when they first saw each other, how fiercely Anden had hugged him back. He glanced over his shoulder to the table where his brother lay prostrate, whining in pain or in fear of whatever fevered nightmare he was trapped in. To think that it was only some mysterious magic that had kept him out of such a state for so long—gods, he must have endured so much torment.

Anger washed over Antoni in a wave of red. What exactly had they been doing to his brother all year?

The door burst open so suddenly that it startled them both. “It’s only me!” Enn cried, and at Antoni’s prompting Korvu slowly lowered the knife he’d readied to throw. “Finally found some edros. Only the one jar, but—” She paused in her bustling to look at the open book on the counter and nodded. “We should be able to get a few days’ worth of doses out of it. Oh, that powder looks perfect.” Grabbing a vial from the windowsill, she poured in half of the muddy liquid inside. “Now then: Antoni, you work this into a paste, mash in those caba tubers as you go, and then I can get started on Anden while you make the tonic—” She indicated the instructions scrawled in her book. “Korvu, there’s a bin of rags in that corner—I need you to boil them.”

Antoni looked over the yellowed page in alarm. “I’ve never done anything like this,” he pointed out. “Are you sure I—”

“Yes, yes—wouldn’t be quite so potent if I made it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I see you didn’t know. You have the Touch, same as your brother.”

“W–what?”

“You didn’t know you have magic?” Korvu asked him, incredulous.

“What? No, because I don’t!” Magic had died out ages ago—or at least, that’s what he’d thought until today. But he would certainly know if he had any—wouldn’t he?

Then something else about his partner’s question struck him. “Wait, you knew?”

Korvu shrugged. “I always figured you were gonna tell me about it when you were ready.”

“Just get to work!” barked Enn.

They both hastened to comply. But now Anden found that the pestle didn’t sit so comfortably in his hand. Enn had said something about people with the Touch manipulating things around them—that was why she’d wanted him to make whatever the hell this was. Had he been doing magic this whole time?

That wasn’t possible, of course.

But if he had been, what exactly had he been doing that caused magic to occur? The more he tried to recreate his previous grip and motions with the pestle, the clumsier his movements became.

When Enn peered over his shoulder into the mortar, she exclaimed over the lumpy texture of the mixture. “You can’t overthink magic, dearie—you’ve got to get out of your own way.”

“How?” Antoni demanded testily.

“Mind your tone, young man,” she chided, not unkindly. “Now, you listen good: what matters isn’t what you do, or how you do it. It’s why. We’ll be applying this dressing to your brother’s wounds—it’s the best I know for dealing with infection. You think on that, think on why you want it to work, and that texture will even out.”

Frustrated, Antoni stared down at the brown lumps for a long moment before picking up the pestle once more. His movements were more forceful this time, more agitated. None of this made any sense. This woman’s ravings about magic and gifts and lights in cores, and doing tasks never done before without being taught how—it all flew in the face of every fact he knew about the workings of the world.

But his brother was whimpering, and his heart was breaking at the sound. And, damn it all, he really was desperate.

He couldn’t watch Anden leave him.

“That’s perfect, dearie—see, I told you it would turn out.”

It was only then that he really looked at what he was doing, and realized Enn was right.

So he didn’t argue when she told him to get started on the tonic. The measurements were too vague, with units like “large pinch” and “half a small jar.” Other instructions seemed too specific—he’d never seen any recipe call for a liquid to be stirred seventeen and quarter counter-clockwise turns. There was no room to worry about whether he was doing it right, though—not when the cabin was filled with the sounds of Anden’s pained groans as his wounds were cleaned.

He blinked rapidly against the tears that threatened to form. Anden couldn’t leave him—he couldn’t.

Just as Antoni set the pot to heat on the stove, the groans turned into a sharp cry. In an instant, he was at his brother’s side. Anden was struggling feebly against Korvu’s grip as Enn dressed the inflamed wounds on his chest. His eyes were open, darting everywhere wildly as a stream of quavering syllables fell from his lips. His voice was far too weak to make out the words, but the pleading in his tone was unmistakable.

“I know it hurts, dearie,” the woman crooned as she worked. “I know, but we just need to patch you up. You’re not there anymore.”

There—what the fuck had they been doing to him all year? Antoni had known it was bad, but he’d never imagined anything like this.

“You’re safe now,” he choked out, clumsily taking Anden’s hand. “We got you out. Kiri, too. She’s over on the sofa—she’ll want to see you when she wakes up. You—you have to get better.” Gods, Anden’s skin was so cold. Antoni tried to will some of his own warmth into him, and almost thought he felt a trickle of heat pass between their clasped palms. “You’d fucking better get better. You can’t—”

He was twelve years old and that man had come out of nowhere, had dragged him into that alley and hadn’t been content to take Antoni’s money. No, he’d thrown him to the ground, kicking him, pummeling him, harder and harder until each gasping breath sent a stabbing pain through his chest. And he’d seen the glint of the knife, and his mouth had opened in a silent scream, when suddenly it was gone, the man was gone because Anden was there—Anden had found him, Anden had kept him safe. Anden had always been there to keep him safe. But then the soldiers came, and the man was dead, and Anden was yelling at him to run. And he was running, running, but Anden wasn’t with him. His brother was gone, and Antoni was alone.

“You can’t fucking leave me again.”

He wasn’t imagining the strange line he felt between them. He pushed at it, urged the pulsing heat to travel faster down its length—gods, Anden shouldn’t be so cold, and he had to fix it, had to—

“That’s enough,” snapped Enn, and suddenly Antoni’s knees nearly buckled. He felt Korvu’s arms around him and leaned instinctively into his partner, gasping.

“What the hell did you just do?” Korvu demanded, alarmed.

“Tried to give his light to Anden,” the woman huffed. “Don’t you dare try such foolishness again, do you hear me? His core can’t accept another’s light—you’ll only kill yourself trying.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Antoni stammered. At his partner’s tightening grip, he insisted, “I didn’t—I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

But what was the use of having magic if he still had to watch his brother leave?

Enn hummed. “Well, he’s calmed down a bit, at least. Now, you two get him on his side so I can tend to his back.”

By the time Anden’s entire torso had been cleaned and dressed and stitched and swathed in new bandages, the tonic was ready. Somehow its color had gone from a murky brown to the clear, rich maroon described in the book. Antoni was dumbfounded, but Enn seemed entirely unsurprised.

“It’s no guarantee, now,” she warned. “But if anything can brighten up your brother’s light, this’ll do it.”

In desperation, Antoni clung to that hope as he helped coax Anden to drink four teaspoons of the thick, oozing liquid. He tried not to dwell on the pallor of Anden’s complexion, or the cold tremors that ran through his spine, or the yellow stains that were already blooming through the fresh bandages. Anden would be fine. He would.

He couldn’t leave Antoni again.

There was nothing but cold.

He was shivering in his cell, and they must have taken even his thin blanket, even the clothes off his back, because he was so, so cold. From somewhere came a voice he didn’t recognize, but the voice was so warm that it must have been Kiri’s, and where was she, where was Kiri? He had to find her, she was too small to survive this cold and he had to find her. But he couldn’t see her, because there was nothing, nothing but cold—harsh, bitter cold that froze his limbs and froze his lungs and froze his very core. Even as Emitis’ knife ran over his skin, probed at his wounds, drawing out his terrified screams, the white-hot pain did nothing to thaw the terrible ice.

The voices were so warm, and they were so far away—why were they so far away? He wanted to follow them, but he was trapped, frozen in the nothingness, and tears stung at face because, gods, he just wanted to be warm again.

But there was only cold, the frigid waters of the Great River rising higher, higher, and he couldn’t move, he couldn’t move. Somewhere outside this coffin the sun was shining, but its rays couldn’t reach him, couldn’t heat the water that lapped at his chest and sank into his wounds. It hurt, it hurt, and he was so, so cold.

There was nothing, no one—only the pain and the biting cold. And when the Great River at last rose too high, when it forced its thick waters between his lips, he drank and he prayed that if Vato must claim him now, He would make his death swift, swift and warm.

He drank, and the waters oozed down to his core.

There was nothing, nothing but cold.

Till a flame, weak but warm, warm, flickered to life.

I can't remember the last time I ended a chapter on even as small a note of optimism as this. Thank you so much for reading!!!

taglist: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @monarchthefirst @whumplr-reader @scoundrelwithboba @shadowicepuma Y'all let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

content warning: multiple characters briefly relive experiences of near death by stabbing and by drowning, there are references to past captivity and torture, a major character is dying of a whole lot but specifically of an infected wound, and everyone is generally very traumatized

#whump #whumpblr #whump fic #whump writing #fantasy whump #multiple whumpees

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baddybaddyadardaddy · 8 months ago

Note

is it barn time if they're both under the barn now? many such questions

The Southlander huddles up next to the orc commander as the earth rumbles and dust continues to waft through the trapdoor above. She can braethe thanks to the cloth the orc tied over her nose and mouth, but between the darkness and the dust, she can see very little save the red slight filtering in from above.

"You'll be safe here," the orc reassures her. His armor is flesh-warmed, his arms tight around her even when she jumps as things crash and crackle above them. "You won't be harmed. The tunnels will hold."

"How can you know?"

"My children trusted in me when they made these. It will take more than the mountain's wrath to crush them."

His children... "Do you have a wife, then?"

There is just enough light to see grief strain his face. "No. My other half has long since passed."

It is sad, that he is bereaved. But also, ah - the older women said it was good to marry a widower who had cared for his wife. And he was old, and he was not human, and she could not bring herself to care.

"I am sorry," she says, and kisses him. It is chaste, veiled by both of their protective breathing cloths, but when she pulls back his eyes are dark again.

"You do not know what you ask of me," he says.

"Maybe so. I ask it nonetheless. I have no husband, no living family, just me and what few of my sheep have survived the poisoning of this land. You say these tunnels are safe, and I believe you - but I can still wish for something nice in what could be my final night, can't I?"

His eyes roam her body - her dress clinging to her breasts from sweat and the damp of the tunnel, her hands on his hips, the way she's spread her legs over his lap -

"Then it is yours," he breathes, and drags her down to him to kiss you again. His tongue rasps against fabric as he laps over her lips, and his bad hand dips under her dress to run a rough hand up her inner thigh to the place between her legs, tracing through her linen underclothes.

The southlander gasps as he finds the nub within her folds and rubs two fingers against it.

"Wet already?" he asks. "Is watching an old man be tortured so exhilarating for you?"

"You can't be that old," she retorts as she grinds against his hand. His nails are long enough to pinch a little as he plays with her, as his fingers drag fabric against her inner lips and tease her hole.

"I am older than the sun and moon, and I am older than the oldest Man whom you would call elder," he rumbles, and his other hand drags her dress and linens down, freeing one breast. He grabs it with an appreciative sigh, his fingers digging in and relieving pressures the Southlander had not realized she had.

"Is that - ah - where you learned all this?" If not for her smallclothes, his fingers would be IN her, and she cannot decide if that is a blessing or a curse.

"Where else? The Uruk didn't simply spring from a hole in the ground," he says. "Though most of my partners were less reckless."

"They've never had to climb down a cliff to get a lost sheep," she says, and her hand drifts to his cock. He's somehow already getting half hard again. Most Men needed some time between rounds to be ready once more, but it seemed orcs were sturdier stuff.

"You'd be surprised what I have done," the orc says. "But I am sure you will know soon. If you are too foolhardy to flee, then there will be places for you in my new kingdom. Both for shepherds, and for those who wish to share a bed."

"Is watching an old man be tortured so exhilarating for you?"

AND THE CHORUS OF RABID ADAR GIRLIES SCREAMED:

"YES, LORD-FATHER!"

SUB-TERRANEAN BARN SCENE SMUTFEST, COME AND GET IT

#hehehehe we are all the specialist brand of pervs #adar #baddydaddy #barn scene smutfest #baddydaddy brigade #adar after dark #(it's actually dark)

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robinette-green · 2 years ago

Text

Spooky Stories from the Daycare!!!

Part 1: Beneath The Full Moon

part 2

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Sun asked for what seemed like the hundredth time. He was clinging so tight to Moon’s arm that Moon had to concentrate not to trip over Sun’s feet. Moon didn’t want to tell Sun to let go, though. He was finding comfort in his sunny companion’s hold, and it was helping him pretend not to be nervous as they walked through the moonlit trees.

“This is the way she told us to go. Follow the lanterns, and we’re following the lanterns… It can’t be much further.”

Deeper and deeper into the forest, they walked, following the light from the lanterns along a winding dirt path. As they passed through the trees, clouds slid over the moon, blocking its light and casting the duo into an inky blackness only broken by the lanterns on their patch, but even those barely cut through the dark.

Sun’s hold on Moon’s arm turned into a vice grip, and Moon stumbled slightly.

“M-Moon!” Sun whispered, voice trembling almost as much as he was. This was supposed to be a fun little adventure out to a forest cabin for a little Halloween retreat, but now it seemed like they had become very lost.

“W-We should have reached the cabin ages ago! We’ve b-been walking in circles, and n-now it’s pitch black!” Sun was starting to panic. He didn’t like the dark, and there were stories of creatures living in these words. Stories of people getting lost and never coming back.

“The cabin is probably feet away. Has to be.” Moon said, primarily to comfort Sun but also to reassure himself.

And then the lanterns vanished, leaving the two animatronics in the pitch black.

Both animatronic’s eyes glowed in the dark, but the light only illuminated a few inches, not creating enough light to see the closest trees.

It was Moon’s turn to grab Sun, letting his unease get the better of him, clinging tight to his trembling companion. What had happened to the lanterns? Why would they all go out like that? All at once?

They had been following lanterns… right?

______

You looked down at the two trespassers from your perch in the tall oak tree, tail flicking behind you. They would regret wandering into your forest. You’d scare them, just like all the others, and send them running… but maybe you should play with them first? Subject them to some nasty tricks before sending them running.

You giggled to yourself, the sound floating through the trees and sending chills down the spines of the men below.

You could use your fox fire to lead them into the pond. They’d fall in and get all wet and slimy.

Or you could approach them through the trees in the dark, pretending to be a ghost, scaring them silly.

Maybe you could make spooky noises, screams, and howls to chill them to the bone before jumping out of them to send them running.

There were also trying vines across their path to trip them or shoving frogs down the backs of their shirts.

So many choices.

As you watched the two men standing below you, pondering what you would use to terrorize your victims, you found yourself wondering why they were wearing such silly costumes. Humans were so strange.

The shaking one appeared to be wearing some sort of halo of points around his head, making him look like the sun, and his companion was wearing a cap covered in stars. Both were wearing regular human clothes, but their heads were round like they were wearing masks.

It didn’t matter. They’d run off like everyone else and leave you in peace.

___________

Sorry this took me so long! I wanted to get this out sooner but life happened 😅. I’m just glad it’s out now. In theory the next parts will be longer but we’ll leave this short to get things rolling.

#glitter rock #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #fnaf fanfic #sun and moon x reader #fnaf security breach #fnaf sun and moon #dca fanfic #glitter rock writing #DCA ss #dca fandom #halloween story

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stardustandash · 9 months ago

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in the ashes

Whumptober Day 6: Not Realizing They’re Injured – “It’s not my blood”

Ao3 Link

Smoke lies thick on Cal’s tongue. It’s all he can smell, all he can taste, in the wake of the attack on the Anchorite’s base. The fires have grown cold, but the ash still floats in the air, coating everything in a dull grey. Cere and Cordova lie before him, both wrapped in what blankets Cal could salvage from storage to preserve some dignity for the two of them. Kriff, Cordova had barely had a face left in the wake of Bode’s attack.

The hum of the Mantis’ engines overhead is the sweetest sound Cal’s ever heard. It sounds like home and comfort and family, and he’s glad the others are safe, even if he has to be the one to face them with the news that their small family will never be the same again. Years apart is different than dead. Grief rises in Cal’s throat, but by the time the Mantis touches down he’s managed to swallow it back into the part of himself he tries to ignore.

He clings to BD-1 when the little droid rushes down the ramp and into his arms. What else can he do. Greez follows, falling to his knees beside Cere’s body. Merrin stands by Cere’s feet with eyes a thousand miles and many years in the past.

“I’m so-“

“Don’t even start, kid,” Greez cuts him off. “Don’t even begin to try and apologize for this.”

Cal swallows hard. Fear makes his throat tight. What if Greez never lets him set foot on the Mantis again, or eat at his table, or even see him. What if Merrin hates him for letting their friends and mentors die.

“None of this is your fault, okay? I can go in depth about it later, but for now, know that none of this is on you,” says Greez. His voice is rough and wet.

Some of the fear trickles away, but it only leaves room for grief to come rolling back in. Merrin is still standing still as a statue, and Cal latches on to the chance to do something, to not give in to the emotion.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand hovering next to hers.

It’s a stupid question, but at least it gets her eyes off of the bodies and Cal can see her mind returning from wherever it went.

“She sent us away,” says Merrin in a small voice. “She knew what was coming and she made us go. I should have stayed with her.”

Greez lays one hand on Cere’s shoulder through the blanket before standing up and turning to the two of them. His cheeks are wet, and his eyes are red around the edges, but his face is full of determination.

“I don’t want to hear either of you talking like this, am I clear. Cere wouldn’t have wanted you to die with her. What we do now is we give them the respect they deserve.”

“And get the compass back from Bode. He can’t take Tanalorr away from us now, not that the Path has lost Jedha,” says Cal.

“Yeah, okay, and that too,” says Greez. “But first, let’s get them onto the ship.”

Merrin sets her mouth in a grim line and nods, Cal alongside her. The two of them carry Cere and Cordova onto the ship with as much care as they can manage. Now that Greez has somewhat taken over, Cal feels his energy draining away with it. Every step into the ship feels heavy, and not just from the burden in his arms. Even BD-1 feels heavier than usual. In fact, BD must have grabbed him wrong, because his shoulder’s starting to twinge where he usually plants his foot.

Still, he will not falter with Cordova in his arms. The man deserved a death with dignity, and though Cal cannot clearly remember Jedi funerary customs, he will do his best to see that both Cordova and Cere get his best approximation of being laid to rest with honour. Cal settles Cordova next to where Merrin has laid Cere and vows that he will not rest until they have time to lay the both of them to rest.

In the aftermath the four of them cluster in the lounge, three of them with a glass of the nicest brandy Greez has on board and no one telling BD-1 to get off the potolli-weave. Not like he hasn’t been climbing all over it for the last few years anyway.

“You feeling okay, Cal?” asks Greez.

Cal blinks at him. Of course he isn’t feeling okay. The real question is how well can Cal function right now. To which the answer is of course; “I’m fine.”

“You’re looking a little pale. You sure Bode didn’t get a good hit in?”

Cal frowns. Sure, Bode had shot him and he’d fallen off the cliff, but he’d gotten back to the base fine.

“You are covered in ash,” supplies Merrin. “Perhaps a shower could help.”

Cal almost makes a joke about being as pale as her, but the thought is knocked out of his head when Merrin puts a hand on his shoulder and it sends a line of fire down his arm. He can’t help the flinch that runs through him and Merrin pulls away. There’s an odd reddish-grey smudge on her hand.

“You are bleeding,” says Merrin.

“See, I knew you weren’t fine!”

“It’s not my blood,” Cal protests. “It’s from carrying Cordova.”

Yet as the words leave his lips Cal can feel his shoulder start to ache and notices just how much he’s slumped against the couch.

“I’m fine,” he says again quickly.

Merrin and Greez send him matching disbelieving looks. BD-1 unhelpfully starts scanning Cal and trills a self-satisfied confirmation that yes, Cal has been shot and the wound edges didn’t fully cauterize.

“I’m fine, it’s not going to kill me.”

Greez lets out a long sigh and sips at his brandy before standing on weary legs. “You’re right, but I’m not risking it with your luck and everything that just happened. Merrin, keep him there, I’ll go get the medkit.

Merrin is all to happy to swing her legs up into Cal’s lap. BD-1 hops on top, perching on Merrin’s knees and settling in. It’s nice, to have the weight on top of him to keep him grounded. He puts a hand on Merrin’s thigh just to feel the warmth of her beneath his fingers.

The pain in his shoulder is building now that he lets himself feel it. He refuses to cry, but he can feel the tears burning at the back of his eyes. All he can do is hold on to the family he has left, and embrace the fire in him to hunt down Bode for all he’s done to them.

#jedi survivor #j:fo #fanfic #fanfiction #jedi survivor spoilers #cal kestis #greez dritus #nightsister merrin #cere junda #eno cordova

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tearfallpixie · 1 year ago

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Trust and Love - Chapter 2: Savior

Tags: @nerdraging4point0 @thesazzb @synthetic-wasp-570 @circle-with-me @beaker1636 @itsjustemily @witchyweeb34 @agravemisstake @cookiesupplier @cncohshit @faceless-mirror @nonamessblog @yournecessaryevil @black-damask1999

@lyschko666 @vinyardmauro @skulliecadaver-blog @some-daniela @latenightmusiclover @rye14-blog1

“You two looked adorable earlier.” Ricky murmured when I joined him later that day.

“What?” I asked, looking at him in shock. He pulled out his camera and I melted. The photo he had taken was cute with Vinny and I snuggled together. “I’m sorry. We just got to talking and once I told him what happened with my ex we just kind of drifted off.”

“Hey, no need to apologize baby girl. He’s my best friend so it makes me happy that you trust him. Especially enough to tell him that.” I leaned into his side and dropped my head on his shoulder. “You need all the support you can get so having someone you are as comfortable with as you are me is really good, especially while we are on tour with so many people in one tight space.”

That turned out to be a good thing later that day even. We decided to stop and go get some essentials we had forgotten at Walmart but by the time we finished apparently word had gotten out that we were there and there were hundreds of fans outside. Ricky grabbed my hand and pulled me through them but at some point, in the chaos his hand slipped from mine and I lost sight of him. I felt myself start panicking but hands grabbed my hips and a body pressed against my back.

“Hey, sorry for touching you but I got you.” Vinny whispered in my ear. I let out a cry of relief and spun to wrap my arms around his neck. “Do you trust me?” I nodded and felt myself being lifted off the ground and into his arms. “Excuse me guys. I really must get my friend to the bus.” It was as if the fans disappeared. All the noise stopped and all I could feel was the security of Vinny’s arms wrapped around me. I barely registered the clicking of the door or him stepping up into it before another familiar set of arms grabbed me.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” Ricky murmured as I adjusted to cling to him. “The fans got ahold of me and pulled me away from you. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m lucky Vinny was there.” I sniffled.

“I cannot thank you enough Vinny.” Ricky stood and wrapped the drummer in his arms.

“No problem. I know if she was my girl, you would do the same for me.” He shrugged padding over to where the other boys were watching us with worry.

“Maybe think I could test out one of those games you brought?” I asked in a futile attempt to change the subject. Chris perked up and nodded.

“We have Halo, we have Battlefield, there’s Destiny.” He said flicking mindlessly through his game book.

“I’ve played Halo before I think.” I mumbled. Ricky smirked, knowing what I had up my sleeve.

“Hell yeah. Its always one of my favorites.” Chris cheered popping it in. He handed me one of the controllers and took another one for himself.

“Ok, I feel like something weird is going on here. I have to get in on this.” Vinny said snatching up a controller.

“You’re both going to regret that.” Ricky coughed.

“What the fuck? You think you’ve played Halo before?” Chris cried. “You fucking team wiped us on your own!” I flopped back onto the couch cackling maniacally. Ricky was sitting over in the booth and grinning at his computer. “You knew too? You traitor.”

“I can’t betray my girlfriend.” Ricky snickered. I looked over to see Vinny dying of laughter next to me. I got up and grabbed a Gatorade out of the fridge and took my seat once more. Vinny sat up and leaned onto my shoulder and I was pleasantly surprised that I didn’t feel the need to recoil instantly. I looked over to see Ricky had noticed and was smiling at how we were sitting too. “Alright, move. It’s time for me to whoop him too.” Ricky picked me up and practically shoved me in Vinny’s lap who instantly wrapped his arms around me to keep me from falling.

“You ok?” He asked quietly as Chris and Ricky played the Xbox. I looked up at him and smiled.

“Yeah, I am. Thank you for earlier by the way. I don’t know if I properly thanked you for saving me.” He blushed and nodded.

“Of course. That was pretty intense out there.” I dropped my head onto his shoulder and continued to watch the boys with a happy sigh.

~~~~

“Love, you’re tossing and turning. Are you ok?” I rolled to face Ricky as tears streamed down my face. We had been on tour for two weeks and it just seemed like the crowds had just gotten more and more intense. “Oh, baby.” He pulled me into his arms and hugged me tightly.

“I can’t sleep, I keep remembering you getting pulled away from me. I just feel so overwhelmed, and I don’t know what to do.” I sobbed, clinging to his shirt.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do!” I exclaimed. He pulled away and stood up, making me cry out.

“I’ll be right back.” He left our little room for a second and when he returned he had a sleepy Vinny in tow. Once Vinny saw the tears on my face he was by my side instantly.

“Hey, sunshine. No need for tears.” He murmured, wiping the wet streaks from my cheeks. He laid down next to me and pulled me into his arms, Ricky settling behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his head into the back of my neck.

“We got you baby girl. You’re ok.” He whispered. I felt my fear and panic melt away as I laid there in their arms. It was a few minutes before I felt calm enough to speak.

“Why did you grab Vinny?” I asked once I had collected myself.

“Because he was the one that saved you when I couldn’t. I figured that he would be comforting right now.” I rolled around and nuzzled under his chin.

“I love you.” I whispered into his chest. He had said those three words to me before, but he preferred to show his feelings vs saying them. I had not gathered up the courage to say them yet though so when I did, I felt his arms tighten around me and hold me impossibly closer.

“I love you too.” He murmured. I heard him take a deep breath and exhale slowly, so I knew he was holding back his emotions at that moment. I finally felt myself relax in between my boyfriend and the man who had become so unbelievably important to me in the two weeks I had known him and allowed myself to drift off.

“Is she asleep?” Vinny whispered after about an hour.

“Mhm.” Ricky hummed. He was drifting off himself.

“I can go if you want.” There was a hint of sadness in that statement letting Ricky know that Vinny did not actually want to leave.

“No. If she wakes up and you’re gone she’ll have a panic attack. She freaks out if she wakes up without her partners next to her.” Ricky mumbled. “Just stay the night.” Vinny settled back in and the three of them fell into the most comfortable sleep they had yet on this tour.

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cosmicjoke · 1 year ago

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Winter

Winters in the Underground are bleak.

It’s the drafts, Furlan knows, coming in through the holes in the caverns roof, the ice melt which sinks down through the sewer grates, and flurries of fat, freezing flakes of snow. There is no sun to melt it as it carries on the strange currents of wind which suck down like a vortex into the open space, blowing endlessly through the dark tunnels of their world.

Isabel hates it. Complains constantly about how cold it is, shivering and shaking as she tries in vain to warm herself by their pitiful firepit.

Levi bears it like he bears everything. In silence, grim faced and unreadable.

Though, sometimes, Furlan catches the tremble in his small hands.

This year is worse than usual.

There’s a famine up above, apparently. No rain during this last spring resulting in fields of dead crops.

It’s well hard enough getting food down here, even when things up top are thriving.

But people struggling for food on the surface meant people starving to death in the Underground.

It’s been hard for everyone, even the three of them, who usually did a descent enough job staying afloat, thanks, mainly, to Levi.

But these last, few weeks, they’ve had to take to scrounging through the gutters in hopes of finding some tossed out and molding piece of bread, or wilting, days old vegetables, just to get by.

There’s no food. The merchants from the surface willing to come here, few and far between as they are, have all packed up their stalls and left, and whoever’s left has nothing to sell at all, stands left bare and empty, their owners gone and out of sight.

Levi had managed to hit one of the fleeing merchants about a month back now and steal a sizable sack of dried goods from him, and they’d been living off that ever since. But, between the three of them, even with Levi skipping meals and leaving the bulk to Furlan and Isabel, much to their dismay and protests, they’d finally bled the haul dry, and now they had nothing.

Each new day was weighted with uncertainty, then, as to whether they would eat or not.

They all knew what starvation felt like. They’d all been through it.

That didn’t make bearing it any easier.

It didn’t make the pain, or the fear, go away.

And the cold was only making things so much worse.

It was fucking freezing, even holed up in their little space as they were, clinging to each other for what little warmth they could share. Levi has his arms around both of them, drawing them against his sides as they hunch with their heads together in front of their meager fire, and Furlan can feel Levi shaking just as violently as he and Isabel.

Through the thin material of Levi’s shirt, Furlan can feel his ribs and the ridges of his spine. He’s lost a lot of weight, from skipping so many meals these last weeks.

“… I’m gonna’ die, ain’t I?” Isabel’s voice breaks the pressing silence, dried and cracked and barely more than a whisper.

Furlan feels Levi stiffen.

“Don’t be talkin’ like that.” He scolds her, his own voice barely seeming stronger. “You ain’t gonna’ die.”

“… B-but I’m so hungry, B-Big Bro, and… and I’m cold. Oh, God…”

“I know. But ya ain’t gonna’ die, Izzy. I wouldn’t let that happen. Alright? You trust me, don’t ‘cha?”

“Y-yeah Big Bro. Yeah…”

Levi’s arms squeeze tighter around them, and the room goes silent again, but for the pops and crackles of the fire.

Furlan squeezes his eyes tight and bites the inside of his cheek ‘till he tastes blood.

He knows Levi means it. He means it when he says he isn’t gonna’ let them die. Knows Levi would give his last damned breath to keep both him and Isabel going. But… strong as Levi is, it doesn’t amount to much when there just isn’t any food to be had.

Shit… they might have to resort to trying to catch rats soon, if things don’t improve.

Furlan doesn’t think Levi would eat a rat. He doesn’t think Levi could bear it, twitchy as he is about disease and filth and the like.

Something to do with his mother, Furlan thinks, who Levi told him died from disease when he’d been a child. He hadn’t said more than that; Levi rarely spoke about himself at all. But Furlan can guess at the ugliness of the thing.

“… I’ll go out and look for somethin’ to eat. You two stay here.” Levi says after a while, and he starts to stand.

Furlan is slow to react, his energy sapped almost to nothing, and it takes too long for Levi’s words to process. By the time they do, Levi is already wrapping his cloak around his shoulders.

“Levi, wait…” he starts to protest, beginning to stand. “you can’t go out there now. It’s too cold. You’ll…”

“Stay here Furlan. You and Izzy keep holdin’ each other, try to stay warm. I’ll be back soon as I can.”

“Levi, please, you could die out there…”

Levi just shakes his head, starting for the door.

“I’ll be alright. I’m strong Furlan. You know that.”

“Y-yeah, but…”

“I’ll be fine. Stay with Izzy. Don’t leave. Don’t come after me neither. Alright? I’ll be back, soon as I can.”

Before Furlan can lodge any more protests, Levi is gone, the shabby wooden door creaking shut behind him, and Furlan feels what’s left of his energy drain outta him as he sinks back to the floor. Isabel throws her arms around him, burying her face against his shoulder.

“H-he’ll be alright, won’t he Furlan? Big Bro’s the strongest, s-so he’ll be alright. Yeah?”

Furlan puts his arm around her, laying his cheek to the crown of her head and holding her tight against his side.

“… Yeah.” He promises, and wishes he felt as confident as he forces himself to sound. “He’ll be alright.”

Levi doesn’t come back ‘till almost four hours have gone by. Isabel had fallen asleep, somehow, and Furlan had been grateful for it, because he’d been starting to grow sick with worry, more and more convinced with each second that past that something horrible had happened to Levi.

He didn’t know what they would do if something happened to Levi.

He didn’t know how they would survive.

But then Levi walks in through the door, carrying a heavy looking sack over his shoulder.

Furlan stands immediately from where he’s still sat by the dwindling fire, stumbling forward a step, before coming to a halt partway, eyes wide.

Levi’s got blood on his face, a thick smear of it coated across his brow, over his eyes, running from what Furlan can see is a large gash, just a little above his left temple. Gaze dropping to his hands, and Furlan sees Levi’s cut up and already swelling knuckles.

He’s been in a fight, then. A bad one, from the looks of it.

Furlan can’t help the words which spring unbidden to his tongue, a tight, sick knot in his gut.

“What happened?”

Levi looks dolefully back at him, silent.

It wasn’t that Furlan was surprised.

Levi was rough stock. He came from some kind of hardship extreme even from down in this place, and for a long time, violence was his only friend. The only thing he could depend on to make it from day to day. Furlan knows that. He knows. Even though Levi rarely spoke about his life before he met him, or Isabel. You could hardly miss the scars littering the kid’s hands, or all over his body. Knife fights, long, gnarled ropes of raised, white skin, some clean and straight, some jagged and twisted, like whoever’d done the cutting meant to make it ugly as possible. There were starburst shaped patterns of raw, too smooth skin on his chest, parallel in place on his back, and Furlan knew those to be entry and exit wounds from bullets.

Yeah, Levi was rough stock, and he’d made his way before mostly through fighting.

That was the thing down here, in this place. Predators picked off the weakest looking prey, and Levi was small. Just a tiny kid. The top of his head barely reached to Furlan’s chin. Hell, Furlan knows, when he’d first seen Levi, he’d thought like everyone else. Short, scrawny looking kid, should be an easy mark, even though, by then, there’d started to be talk of a scrappy little midget who could take down men twice, three times his size, even. And like everyone else, Furlan had wanted to see if the rumors were true.

Well… Levi was rough stock. He was fucking terrifying. Stronger than any man Furlan had ever seen. He’d felt it, one time. How strong Levi really was. One time, when a guy from a rival gang had come charging at Furlan, ready to sink his knife into his back, and Levi had caught Furlan by the arm and jerked him outta the way before it could happen. In his panic, Levi’d grabbed him hard, harder than he’d meant to, Furlan knows, and the power in his hands, in his grip, had stolen the breath right outta his lungs. He could break bones with his bare hands. Furlan knew it then sure as he knows his own name. And then that’s what he did. He took hold of the man who’d tried to put a knife in Furlan’s back, and he’s crushed his hand. Mangled it, ‘till he couldn’t hold a knife, or any other kind of weapon, ever again.

You didn’t fuck with Levi.

That’s what kept Furlan and Isabel safe. Because everyone knew. You try anything with them, and it was Levi you’d bring down on your own head. And you didn’t fuck with Levi.

Unless you were the MP’s. They fucked with Levi all the time, ‘cause they fucked with everyone, down here, and ‘cause they knew Levi wasn’t fool enough to kill no government workers. That’d draw attention. That’d get people from up above involved. And Levi was always telling him and Isabel, it was best not to get people from up above involved, ‘cause they had money, and money gave ‘em power, and they could take everything from them. Levi was always saying. They could take everything.

Furlan’s eyes catch on the sack over Levi’s shoulder. It’s one of those stitched potato sacks, starched white, and printed out in bold, black letters across the front, are the words “Government Property”.

Well, shit…

“Levi… what happened?” Furlan asks again.

Levi slides the sack down, lying it gentle onto the floor.

He doesn’t say anything as he kneels down on one knee, starts undoing the tie round the bags end.

“Levi… did you kill military police?” And even as the words leave him, Furlan feels a dizzying horror in his head, threatening to black out his vision. If Levi killed police, then…

“… I didn’t kill ‘em. Just roughed a couple up. They ain’t dead. Just socked ‘em, some.”

“Levi…”

“They did me first. I… I tried talkin’ to ‘em Furlan. You know how I ain’t good with no words. But I tried talkin’. I told ��em I could do stuff for ‘em, if they was willin’ to spare some ‘a their food. They got… all this food, Furlan. More ‘an they need. It ain’t fair. It ain’t right, down here, what you got people starvin’ to death, droppin’ dead in the streets from starvin’, and cold. I told ‘em Fur… I said…”

“Levi, alright. It’s alright.” Furlan says, keeping his voice even and level.

Levi got like this, sometimes. He got emotional, like this. He kept himself so even keeled most of the time. Was most of the time so reserved. He only got worked up like this when he was real upset about something.

Levi sniffs, wipes the back of his hand against his nose, and keeps working at the bags tie. He gets it open after a minute, and starts pulling what Furlan can see are dried goods, mostly. Crackers, standard military rations, some cans of beans. Stuff like that.

Levi’s hands are shaking.

“… What did you tell ‘em you could do for them, Levi?” Furlan asks, even though he doesn’t want to.

Again, Levi says nothing, just keeps pulling the goods from the bag.

There’s a lot.

Enough to last ‘em several weeks, Furlan thinks.

Their lives are saved.

“Levi, you didn’t…”

“I said, ‘cause, like… you know.” Levi cuts him off. “I said I could do ‘em some jobs. If they needed anything, like… like, I could steal stuff for ‘em, or what. You know how good I am at that stuff Furlan. You know, ‘cause I’m small. I can sneak into any place. You know it, right?”

Furlan nods.

“Sure do, Levi.”

“Well, but then they got to laughin’ at me. And one of ‘em says, he says, what I could do for him is suck his dick, ‘cause I’m… ‘cause he says, I’m the perfect height for it. And they were laughin’ at me Furlan. And I got mad. So I beat ‘em up, and took a bag. They got dozens ‘a bags, Furlan. They won’t miss just the one.”

“… Okay.”

“They were laughin’ at me Furlan. They… they used to laugh at Mama like that. I remember. They used to laugh at her just like that. I got mad.”

“Okay.” Furlan feels his heart sink.

“But I didn’t kill ‘em. I just socked ‘em good.”

“… What happened to your head?” Furlan tries, and Levi blinks at him.

Furlan points to his own head, near his temple, and he sees understanding come into Levi’s eyes.

“… Yeah. I socked the one who said about my height, and the other one came in and hit me with his billy. Caught me good too. I almost went down.”

“God, Levi…”

Levi shakes his head.

“But I kept my feet. Kenny says to me, you gotta’ keep your feet, no matter. No matter what they hit you with. So I kept my feet, and I socked him too. I just knocked ‘em cold Furlan. I didn’t kill ‘em, so you don’t gotta’ worry none about that. Don’t worry none. Only, maybe we’ll have to move soon, in case anyone comes sniffin’ around. Them MP’s don’t like to be stolen from. You ask me, they’re the ones stealin’. There’s people starvin’ to death in the street, Furlan. There’s little babies dead out there in the cold.”

“I know, Levi.”

Levi looks at him, and his eyes are, for a moment, so damned hurt, that Furlan has to look away.

Fuck…

“Well, I gives some ‘a what I stole to some poor lady, ‘cause she had a baby, Furlan. I lied, before. I’m sorry. I took more than one bag. I… I took a couple. And I gives one to some poor lady. Don’t be mad, Fur. We gotta’ eat. You know that. We gotta’ eat.”

“I ain’t mad Levi. God, I ain’t mad at ya.”

And he isn’t. He can’t be.

Fuck, Levi just had too much feeling in his heart, and Furlan couldn’t ever be mad at him for that.

It got sometimes so he could hardly stand to look though, for all the hurt Levi had in him. All the hurt he had for everyone else.

People didn’t know, ‘cause Levi was rough stock, and he grew up learning to keep it all in, pressed down so nobody could use it against him. He kept it all in, usually. But when he got like this, there it was, plain as anything, all that feeling and hurt he carried around inside him for everyone else, and sometimes Furlan could hardly stand to look.

He couldn’t imagine what that felt like, to be carrying around all that hurt, keeping it all inside like that.

“… Yeah? Well, alright then.” Levi says and starts up emptying the sack again.

“Say, Levi, that can wait ‘till later. I should clean up that gash you got on your temple. Okay? Fix up your hands too.”

Levi keeps unpacking the canned goods for a moment, before he stops, rubbing at his nose again.

“… Okay.” He finally agrees, and Furlan feels an almost dizzying relief.

He has Levi sit down along the bench in what they’ve designated the living area of their small hovel, and tells him he’ll be right back, going to fetch a bowl of water and some clean rags.

They’d filled a couple wooden buckets with water a few days ago, when the ice stopping up the well a little ways from their place had final broken enough apart, but they were gonna’ have to get more soon. Assuming the well hadn’t frozen over again. It probably had. Furlan tries not to think about it. Getting drinkable water down here was almost as hard as getting food, now.

He sees Levi’s removed his cloak, finally, as he makes his way back towards him, and he’s got his arms crossed against his chest, his hands stuck in the pits of his arms. He’s shivering, and Furlan knows he must be freezing, though Levi won’t ever complain about it.

Furlan knows better than to make a fuss about it either. Levi never liked anybody fussing over him.

Instead, Furlan just takes a seat across from him and sets to work, cleaning his wounds.

The gash along his temple is pretty bad. Might even need stitches, Furlan thinks, frowning to himself. He tells Levi as much, and Levi huffs, but doesn’t otherwise protest as Furlan gets up to set the bowl of water to boiling over the fire and fetch a needle to sterilize. He needs to add some kindling to the fire to make it hot enough, and Isabel tosses and turns in her sleep, mumbling incoherently to herself, dreaming.

“She alright?” Levi asks as Furlan comes back.

Furlan shrugs.

“Sure. Good as she can be, I suppose. She’ll be happy to see you’ve got us food.”

“… Yeah.” Levi says, and goes quiet again.

Furlan doesn’t say much as he sets to cleaning and stitching Levi’s wound, good as he can, and Levi doesn’t complain, sitting stiff and still, mouth pulled tight at the corners.

“Hands.” Furlan orders after, and Levi dutifully holds them out for him.

There’s scar tissue all over Levi’s knuckles, the skin split and bleeding now. It must hurt, but Levi gives no indication of it as Furlan works, trying to be gentle as he can.

“Alright.” Furlan says when he finishes, letting Levi’s hands go.

“Thanks, Fur.”

Furlan smiles tightly back.

“No problem.”

Furlan packs the materials away, leaving the used rags in the bowl of water to soak for a bit. He’ll have to clean them later, or Levi will get upset.

Levi busies himself by storing away the food items he’d nabbed, and there’s a heavy, comfortable silence which falls over the place.

Furlan wants to ask Levi if he really thinks they’ll have to move again soon, but he knows Levi will let him and Isabel know if they do. If he’s anything, he’s cautious, and keeps his eyes open and ear to the ground. He’ll know if their spot’s been compromised.

Furlan rummages around in their pile of wood bits they’ve been collecting for kindling, throwing a few more pieces on the fire, stocking it and building the flames back up.

“Levi, you should rest.” He calls to the smaller man after a while, watching Levi move restlessly about the space. He’s got his duster out, aimlessly waving it at different surfaces. Even from half the room away, his face looks gaunt, pale and too thin. The circles under his eyes are like dark bruises. He must be exhausted.

Levi stops, but he doesn’t turn to face Furlan, just stands there, staring at the ground.

“Come on, Levi. You can lay by the fire, try to warm up a little. You need rest.”

“… Okay.” Levi at last relents, placing the duster down and making his way to where Furlan and Isabel are lying together. Furlan scoots some to the side and holds his arm out, inviting, as Levi settles down, nestling against him.

They’re quiet for a while, and Furlan stares absently at the ceiling above them as Levi turns, pressing his face against his shoulder.

There’s a thousand and one things Furlan thinks he wants to say to Levi. He wants to beg him to stop doing this. Going out and putting himself in so much danger like that. He wants to thank Levi for it, for taking care of him and Isabel, even at the expense of himself. Wants to find a way to show Levi how much he appreciates it, how grateful he is. Wants to understand why it is Levi seems to care so little about himself in turn. Why he… treats himself like a tool to be used, instead of a person who matters.

Maybe it’s his fault, Furlan thinks dismally. Maybe, because when he first met Levi, that’s all Furlan saw him as too. A tool. Somebody he wanted, so he could use him to move up in the Underground gangs. Somebody who’s strength he coveted.

He was still using Levi for that, in a way. Even though Levi was their de facto leader, he let Furlan make all the plans, let Furlan, ultimately, call all the shots. He didn’t have to. If Levi wanted, he could rule their gang with an iron fist, and there wasn’t anything Furlan, or anybody else, could do about it. But Levi only ever leant his strength to make Furlan’s plans reality, only ever did all the hard stuff, the dangerous stuff, and Furlan let him.

He thinks he shouldn’t.

But he does, and he knows it’s because it’s comfortable for him, this way. Because he’s too selfish to try and change their setup. Because his plans, he knows, wouldn’t even be possible if he didn’t have Levi backing him up.

So he says nothing now, just curls his arms tighter round Levi and Isabel both, lets the silence settle over them as the night deepens outside.

#Levi Ackerman #Furlan Curch #Farlan Church #Isabel Magnolia #fanfic #fanfiction #attack on titan fanfic #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction

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